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butterflybuckethat · 3 years

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Gamble

Notes: Anthony x Reader - This one's a bit long (2.3k)

Request: Could you do an Anthony x reader with prompt #48? (“You’re mine, do you understand? You belong to me.”) set during the reader’s first season perhaps… thank you!

Request: Hi! I love your writing and I was just wondering if you could do an Anthony x reader fic where they’ve always been best friends and are always at each others side but then some other guy starts showing interest in the reader and they spend more time together which makes Anthony jealous and realize his feelings? Thank you!

Warnings: Anxiety.

🦋 Masterlist 🦋

Anthony Bridgerton had always been controlling; over his family, his affairs, and even yourself- you were his best friend after all. It never really bothered you, for the most part it meant always having someone looking out for you, that is until your first season. You weren't exactly a diamond of the first water but you certainly weren't unattractive, and it definitely didn't hurt that you were popular with the Bridgerton's- you expected your first season to be quite productive indeed. And, initially, it was.

You arrived at the Bridgerton country home for the weekend much later than you had intended. You were surprisingly sought after that morning, your mother typically hosted at least a few suitors every afternoon but that day they just kept coming until you absolutely had to excuse yourself for your journey up from London. "I reckon Y/N will be engaged by the end of the month," Daphne declared, beaming at you across Violet's table. This roused a great deal of teasing, mostly centering around how you were going to forget about them and move to Scotland or some such thing. Anthony was being suspiciously quiet. He was always the brooding sort but usually, surrounded by his family, he perked up a bit. "What's wrong with you?" he was sitting a the head of the table, between you and Benedict. "You were supposed to be here earlier. Then we wouldn't have to deal with all this," he made a vague hand gesture towards the rest of the table. "You're not enjoying our company, brother?" Benedict teased, effectively turning this into a table discussion. "Besides, Y/N was a little caught up," Colin snickered. "Can't you live without her for a second, Anthony?" Eloise added, ripping the spoon Gregory was banging out of his hand. "Of course not," Francesca deadpanned. Anthony looked affronted she even engaged in this conversation and gave her the fiercest he could muster for her, which wasn’t that fierce at all. You took his hand under the table, reclaiming his attention. "I would have rather been here, with you," "You don't fancy anyone, then?" there was almost an intimation of a smile there. You narrowed your eyes, if you had known him any less you would surely have missed it but you did know him, you caught it, and you had no idea what it meant. "Not yet," you looked into one another's eyes, a unknown tension building until Violet decided it was time for dessert.

Anthony had already joined the shooting party by the time you came down for breakfast the following morning. It wasn't that late but you were the only one at the table. You plated eggs but focused almost entirely on the pastries before joining the rest of the group. It was a perfect day, clear skies and the slightest breeze, and everyone was in good spirits. You caught up with him in a group of his friends. You weren't planning on joining, wanting instead to hang back with the ladies and goad them into playing cards, but some of the men let out a groan when they saw you. "Please, tell me she isn't joining," one of them said. You only recognized a few of them, definitely not the one who spoke. "Easy fix: don't give her a pistol," Arthur Barnaby commented with a grand smile on his face. He was always in good spirits and was quite a fan of yours, proven by his sarcastic tone. "I brought my own, I'm afraid," you teased. "I should like to see that," another mused. You recognized him as Lord Kittridge but were never formally introduced. "I do not believe you do," you winked, "but do not fret, I already had plans to gamble these ladies out of their dowries," you spun on your heel a joined the rest of the women. "Y/N!" Anthony called, jogging up behind you, "you're in fine form today." "As per usual, dearest Anthony." He smiled at that. "If I stake you, would you give me a percentage?" he gave you a smirk. "How ungentlemanly," you feigned a gasp. "You adore me for it," his expression turned wicked and you felt your heart skip a beat. You weren't sure if that had ever happened before, he had been more attentive to you recently so perhaps that was the cause. "That is fair," you sighed, "but I did not realize the Bridgerton estate was in such dire straits, you should have come to me sooner." "Keep your voice down!" he laughed, pushing you slightly, "If that rumor started swirling then I shall be stuck with my siblings forever." "It will be worse for them, I assure you." "Then think of my poor brothers and sisters and please," he grabbed your face, "shut your mouth." "As you wish, my lord," and you did a small curtsy prompting that wicked look again. You bit your lip, plucked a glass off a footman's tray, and seated yourself next to Daphne. "I believe Lord Kittredge has his eye on you," she whispered behind her white glove. "What?" your eyes widened. "He has been peering at you since you stepped on the lawn." You snuck a glance at him and, sure enough, he was looking at you. You caught his eye and blushed, immediately looking down to your lap. He was really quite handsome; tall and broad with eyes the color spring grass. His hair was graying around the edges, despite him being barely twenty-seven, but it was really rather becoming on him. "I heard his father was completely gray by thirty," one lady commented. "But he kept all his hair," another added. "And he has no siblings," the first one said. "He really is a catch," Daphne mused. "Why haven't I been hearing about him?" you asked. You would think he would be the talk of the ton, a handsome unwed Marquess with absolutely no responsibilities. "Well, he has avoided society events like the plague," the second lady explained. "Someone told me that he mostly stays on his estate in Scotland," a third one joined the conversation, how ironic. "A handsome recluse," Eloise finally looked up from her book, "sounds like the hero of a novel." "Is that a good thing?" you asked her. "It would certainly be entertaining," she shrugged. You took a sip from your lemonade, not even sure how to process the conversation you just had, and listened to the firing sounds of the shooting, completely forgetting about the cards.

"At any rate, you will have another opportunity this evening," Anthony was right. All of his friends were avid gamblers, even the ladies though it was never outwardly mentioned, and tonight was game night. You did have your eye on Lady Margaret's pearls and you were sure she would put them on the table. You all were getting seated in a circle around the room to play courtiers. You were sat near Anthony, Lady Margaret, and Lord Kittridge. Lady Margaret was an incredibly wealthy woman married to an Earl who dashed off to India mere weeks after their nuptials. She drank heavily and encouraged everyone in her company to join in. She might have been the youngest eccentric to ever live, with a fun-loving spirit and odd Versailles-inspired baubles in her hair. You were proud to say that you were one of the only people she considered a friend. “Lady Margaret, I love that necklace of yours,” you said, leaning forward to look at her. Anthony threw his arm over the back of your chair, leaning back so as not to be in your way. “It’s yours, darling,” she winked, pouring herself another glass of champagne, “if you can win it off me.” "How might I encourage you to put it on the line?" you inquired and took a sip of Anthony's glass. The way courtiers worked was someone was selected to play the king or queen and the rest of the participants were her courtiers. Any movement the king or queen made must be replicated by the courtiers with all the gravity that the action of a monarch possessed, meaning that if anyone so much as grinned or, god forbid, laughed they must forfeit. "I can think of a few ways," Lord Kittridge smirked. You ignored him completely but you did not miss the sharp glare Anthony sent him. "That carnelian ring of yours is quite enticing." And you nodded. Lady Margaret clapped her hands together in excitement, "Shall we place our bets on who will be the first to break?" You all went silent, looking around the room trying to decide who was the weakest link. The men joined in, just for fun. One of the Smythe-Smith cousins was selected to be queen and the game was about to commence. "Colin," Anthony decided. Colin sat across the room continuously reaching over this poor woman to get to the dessert table- although she did not seem to mind, which made sense considering how handsome and eligible the Bridgerton brother was. "That is only wishful thinking on your part," you commented, placing a hand on his side. "Nevertheless," he smiled at you. "I reckon the tall redhead," Lord Kittridge nodded towards the woman who you had to admit you had never seen without a smile. "Much too obvious a guess," Lady Margaret tutted. "I choose Benedict," you decided and leaned back in your seat. "Benedict?" Anthony laughed, "terrible guess." "It will be him," you had a feeling. "I reckon Mister Bridgerton would be rather good at this game," Lady Margaret brought her hand to her chin. "Oh, he is. I don't believe he has ever lost." "He will tonight." "Alright, everyone!" Daphne announced, trying to quiet the room. "Mister Barnaby," Lady Margaret gestured to him, pouring perhaps his sixth glass of wine. You had to admit it was a good guess, certainly better than yours, but you trusted your gut. "What happens if neither of you is correct?" Lord Kittridge asked. You and Lady Margaret only scoffed in response. Daphne finally succeeded in getting everyone's attention and demonstrated to the queen to start the game. The gestures were boring at first: a fan of the hand, the cross of a leg. Then, the queen graduated into making noise: a yawn, a gasp, a snore. You watched Benedict closely. Lady Margaret clenched her fist; Arthur was about to crack, his lips were pressed together. Queen Sythe-Smith let out a haughty breath of air, all thirty courtiers repeated it making their best effort at dead seriousness, and Benedict cracked a smile. "Ha!" you pointed to him and the room erupted into laughter, shock, and relief that it was Benedict. "Damn," Lady Margaret slapped her knee, "I had a good chance with Mister Barnaby," she unclasped

her necklace and handed it to you. "Allow me," Lord Kittridge took it from you. Lady Margaret waggled her brows and stood, dragging a reluctant Anthony with her. You turned your back to him and he strung the pearls around you, his cold fingers grazing your neck, shooting a shiver down your spine. "It looks wonderful on you," he said after securing the clasp. "Thank you, Lord Kittridge," you blushed. "Please, call me Kit," he gave you the most dazzling smile and topped off your drink, "or, at the very least, Lord Kit." "Alright, Lord Kit," you looked up at him through your lashes. He was spectacularly handsome. "You really are quite the lucky sort." "Anthony always says that I hoard it all," you laughed. "In that case, I might have to keep you all to myself, in hopes that some will rub off on me." Your eyes widened and you stammered something intelligible. "We do not have to tell your Anthony, if that would make you more comfortable." You couldn't believe your ears. Never in your life had a man been so forward with you. Candlelight flickered in his eyes and everything seemed to slow. You took a gulp of your champagne and tried your hardest to appear confident but you were so hot in your dress it seemed nearly impossible. "I believe I need some air," you choked out. "I will accompany you," you walked in silence to the gardens, filled with a group of people toasting and enjoying the night. You remained close to the house, suddenly wondering where Anthony was, even peering through the window to try and spot him. "Are you enjoying the weekend?" you made small talk, trying your damndest to ignore the feeling that your stays were suffocating you. He responded, sticking to perfectly respectable topics of conversation, but his deep eyes felt as if they were peering into your soul and you weren't sure you liked it. The tall smiling redhead stumbled into you, her hands flying to Lord Kittridge's arms for support. You took that moment to excuse yourself and walked briskly into the house and up the stairs, bursting into the nearest bedroom. It was dark and quiet. You fell against the wall breathing heavily and pulling at your dress, trying to get some air. The door burst open and Anthony found you leaning against the bedpost. You weakly asked for help. "What do you need me to do?" his voice full of worry. "Shut the door." He did it immediately. Your vision began to blur and your head felt light and you couldn't get any air to save your life. Anthony grabbed onto your waist, swiftly undid the buttons at the back of your dress, and pulled at the strings of your stays. He spun you around and tipped your face up to his. "Better?" you nodded weakly, allowing your lungs to be filled. You fell against his chest, suddenly terribly exhausted, and he wrapped his arms around you. There was knocking at the door, "Y/N? Are you in there?" it was Lord Kittridge, "Are you alright?" "Piss off," Anthony shouted before pulling you even closer to him, "are you interested in him?" you shook your head no, your eyes closed, enjoying the steady bobbing of his chest, "Good. You’re mine, do you understand? You belong to me." You nodded, wanting nothing more.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton ff #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #requested #gamble

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usergreenpixel · 2 years

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MALMAISON MEDIA SALON SOIRÉE 9: THE SECOND EMPRESS (2012)

1. The Introduction

Greetings, my dearest Neighbors. Welcome to today’s soirée here at the Malmaison Media Salon.

Tonight is a special gathering, mostly for two reasons. Firstly, I’m not the only host today - @maggiec70 , @joachimnapoleon , @josefavomjaaga and @count-lero were kind enough to agree to help me out. @suburbanbeatnik is also welcome to chime in, seeing as she writes historical fiction involving Napoleon so I trust her expertise as well.

Secondly, tonight we have a bingo night! Props to @tairin for suggesting that I turn this review into a bingo game. I already posted the images of your bingo cards and sent them to my mutuals in the Napoleonic community personally but, just in case, here they are:

These cards were designed by yours truly and you’re going to need them. Trust me.

The rules are simple. You just need to put a check mark on the square that corresponds to what you just heard. For example, check off “Inaccuracies” when I mention an inaccuracy. Okay?

Anyway, before we begin the bingo game, allow me to introduce the subject of today’s review. It’s a book published by Michelle Moran in 2012 and it’s called “The Second Empress”.

How did I stumble across this book? Actually, I must give credit to @maggiec70 , who suggested that I review it after Imperial Venus, as both the former and the latter feature Pauline Bonaparte as an important character.

Well, after reading the entire thing here, I’m extremely happy with my decision not to purchase it in any format and dig up a free online version instead. Let’s just say that annoying ads were the least of my problems while I was reading this shit, but we’ll get to that later.

Please, prepare to check things off your bingo cards, sip tea and demolish this motherfucking abomination.

Let the soirée commence!

2. The Summary

The following (lengthy) summary comes from Goodreads:

“After the bloody French Revolution, Emperor Napoleon’s power is absolute. When Marie-Louise, the eighteen year old daughter of the King of Austria, is told that the Emperor has demanded her hand in marriage, her father presents her with a terrible choice: marry the cruel, capricious Napoleon, leaving the man she loves and her home forever, or say no, and plunge her country into war.

Marie-Louise knows what she must do, and she travels to France, determined to be a good wife despite Napoleon’s reputation. But lavish parties greet her in Paris, and at the extravagant French court, she finds many rivals for her husband’s affection, including Napoleon’s first wife, Joséphine, and his sister Pauline, the only woman as ambitious as the emperor himself. Beloved by some and infamous to many, Pauline is fiercely loyal to her brother. She is also convinced that Napoleon is destined to become the modern Pharaoh of Egypt. Indeed, her greatest hope is to rule alongside him as his queen—a brother-sister marriage just as the ancient Egyptian royals practiced. Determined to see this dream come to pass, Pauline embarks on a campaign to undermine the new empress and convince Napoleon to divorce Marie-Louise.

As Pauline's insightful Haitian servant, Paul, watches these two women clash, he is torn between his love for Pauline and his sympathy for Marie-Louise. But there are greater concerns than Pauline's jealousy plaguing the court of France. While Napoleon becomes increasingly desperate for an heir, the empire's peace looks increasingly unstable. When war once again sweeps the continent and bloodshed threatens Marie-Louise’s family in Austria, the second Empress is forced to make choices that will determine her place in history—and change the course of her life.

Based on primary resources from the time, The Second Empress takes readers back to Napoleon’s empire, where royals and servants alike live at the whim of one man, and two women vie to change their destinies.”

Okay, I must admit now that the summary itself has breadcrumbs of slander and Anglophone propaganda more blaringly obvious than a neon sign, but let’s not jump to conclusions and unpack this, if only to see what “primary sources” contributed to the creation of said “masterpiece”.

3. The Story

Let’s start with the only thing that I liked about the story - its potential.

Propaganda aside, when you think about it, Marie-Louise was in a difficult situation in reality so I do like the idea of exploring what she had to deal with in a work of fiction. Although courtly drama usually isn’t my cup of tea in fiction, I can see the potential of such a story if it is given a good plot, good characters, good writing style, etc.

Unfortunately, the plot is definitely FAR from good. Multiple inaccuracies aside, it was insufferably boring to me, with flashbacks, filler scenes and the unnecessary inclusion of letters between the historical figures ruining what little immersion I had and making me want to drop the book completely.

The pacing doesn’t help, because it’s slower than a pregnant sloth and, to me, all the attempts to add action (in the form of a love triangle) fall flat quickly.

Plus, with time the happy ending for Marie-Louise (as in, Napoleon being exiled for good and her return to Austria to be with her lover) just becomes more and more predictable! Of course she will get her happy ending and of course the “villains” in her life will lose! Well, that was anticlimactic...

The stakes aren’t exactly there most of the time and it’s really hard to be concerned about the heroine due to this fact. Why should I give a shit if I know everything will work out for her in the end?!

I also hate the fact that the author chose to adopt a “black and white” morality for the story.

The protagonists may as well be candidates for canonization by the Catholic Church, while the antagonists feel almost like cartoonishly evil bad guys from a Disney movie.

We’ll talk more about portrayals of characters later, so here I will only add that, most of the time, the “good vs bad” approach isn’t really fit for historical fiction as a genre.

Heck, even some children’s cartoons know better than do that, so I’m genuinely surprised that this is the approach that a book clearly aimed at a much older audience uses. And by “aimed at adults”, I’m referring to the fact that it has scenes with nudity, an all but stated outright sexual assault and all that fun stuff, so the childish morality really looks out of place in something that is trying to tackle such mature topics.

Oh, and the love triangle between Pauline, Paul (the chamberlain) and de Canouville (Pauline’s lover)? Totally unnecessary sideshow that didn’t need to be there in the first place. And it especially didn’t need to almost end in a duel between the two men but it fucking did. Yay, melodrama... Check it off your bingo cards, everyone.

4. The Characters

Okay, let’s begin with Marie-Louise, the protagonist.

She starts out as someone forced into a difficult and awkward situation, what with being supposed to marry a monarch of the country in which her great aunt got executed and the groom having a horrible reputation because it’s none other than Napoleon himself!

However, the potential to make Marie-Louise a somewhat tragic character is quickly thrown out the window when the author goes out of her way to make her heroine into a perfect saintly angel.

Marie-Louise is hardly ever wrong, she never fucks up, she is almost universally loved by everyone (except the bad guys of course) and, of course, she gets a happy ending.

So, basically our Saintly Marie-Louise ™️ is a textbook case of a Mary Sue character - a character who is perfect in every way, never wrong, almost universally adored, etc. She might also be the author’s avatar and a way to express the author’s views on the historical figures portrayed, but I’m not sure if there is a case of a self-insert at play.

Napoleon.... oh boy. Look, my dear Neighbors, I’m going to preface with the fact that I don’t like him at all, but the levels of demonization he is put through in the book make me feel bad for the guy, which is a big fucking achievement!

In this book, Napoleon is explicitly stated to be unable to love anyone but himself, not even either of his spouses or his own son. He is close with Pauline, but doesn’t seem to care about her all that much either.

He quickly does away with all his charm as soon as Marie-Louise is with him after he gave her the official welcome, shows exactly what he thinks of her by calling her “a birthing cow”, yells in the presence of his toddler son to toughen him up... The list of the misdeeds of Napoleon the Tyrant ™️ continues, but all of this is nothing compared to the stunt he pulls during the wedding night.

(Dearest Neighbors, here’s a trigger warning because the description of the following scene implies assault. Please click away if you don’t want to read this.)

Here’s the deal. So, we have the wedding night and the marriage must be consummated. Marie-Louise is too tired, however, and refuses to undress when Napoleon orders her to do so. Yet he repeats the order and bangs her anyway! Yes, I’m being serious. In this book, he shags his wife without her consent.

I... WTF did I just read?! I wish I was joking when typing all of the above, but nope. I wasn’t. And I regret ever reading this...

Napoleon isn’t the primary villain though, believe that or not. That role goes to Pauline.

Throughout the story, Pauline is portrayed as a possessive femme fatale who is in love with Napoleon and wants him all to herself. Yes, in that way. It’s basically incest here, which is apparently an old chestnut when it comes to lies.

She wants to rule Egypt together with Naps, she does everything in her power to make other women in his life feel inferior to her and is shown to be on her way to becoming outright delusional towards the end.

Oh, and she is ambitious. Ambitious enough to protest her newborn nephew’s status as King of Rome because she wants Rome for herself (even though the real Pauline wasn’t about politics, from what I know).

The author seems to employ a lot of tactics to show how tyrannical and evil (and later delusional) Pauline is, up to the point where, in one scene, she uses one of the ladies serving her as a footstool and dresses her servants as Egyptian slaves. I don’t even know how true it is in the swarm of all the lies, but that scene is clearly there to demonstrate that Pauline is evil and just as bad as her brother.

Paul, Pauline’s Haitian chamberlain, has a much more interesting character arc in the beginning so I would rather read a book about him. He is a mixed race young man who is in love with Pauline and loyal to her until she becomes so evil he can’t tolerate her company and runs off to Haiti, so to me his character felt wasted and the resolution of his arc is a bit too boring. Add the love triangle, and the impression that this character was flushed down the drain along with his potential only amplifies. Shame, really. I kind of like him as a character.

Caroline Murat gets a treatment only slightly better than what her siblings do so she is still slandered.

*Laure Junot has entered the chat*

She is portrayed as a callous, miserable woman who is arrogant with Marie-Louise, is extremely cruel and insensitive when the latter has to leave her dog behind and even wonders why anyone would love a pet. I honestly expected Caroline to kick that dog with how overboard the author’s portrayal of Caroline and Pauline as callous bitches went!

Murat himself, fortunately, doesn’t get slandered but this could be because he only makes a brief cameo. Still, the first impression he has on Marie-Louise is pleasant enough for her to wonder how Murat could be married to Caroline...

Aside from Murat, other characters who don’t get slandered include Hortense. And here she is idealized like Marie-Louise!

They apparently become friends when Hortense is made Marie-Louise’s Mistress of the Robes despite the fact that Hortense is already the Queen of Holland here so she can’t be a lady-in-waiting, making the plot point illogical.

(In reality, Marshal Lannes’s second wife was Dame of Honor to Marie-Louise, but here that woman only makes a brief cameo and is largely left out because the author forgot about her.)

But, all that aside, Hortense is also portrayed as a victim of the cruel Napoleon, the sweetest person ever who was married off to a cruel tyrant of a husband, etc. Oh, Poor Sweet Hortense ™️! 🙄

When it comes to minor characters, I kind of like Metternich, even though I’m not sure how accurate his portrayal is. He is nonchalant, weirdly enthusiastic about Marie-Louise’s wedding and he is implied to be having an affair with Caroline Murat. He is also the one who helps Marie-Louise prepare for her life with Napoleon.

Josephine doesn’t appear and is only mentioned, so I can’t make very accurate judgement on her.

Unfortunately almost every character is smeared with slander so let’s move on.

5. The Setting

Can’t judge the accuracy of costumes and buildings described here, but the descriptions fail at immersion and there are tiny inaccuracies that just make things even worse.

For example, Napoleon is described as having a cup of orange flower water each morning, while in reality orange flower water was mainly used with recipes or drank as a spoonful of tonic to aid with digestion. Supreme Being knows what else is inaccurate, but research has clearly left the chat.

6. The Writing

Oh god, the writing style is atrocious like in a bad fanfiction! There’s a first person present tense narration, which is annoying and sounds like characters are just voicing what they’re doing on the go, making things sound unnatural with this writing style.

There are also gems like Marie-Louise, a Hapsburg princess mind you, saying “What the Hell”, a phrase that would be more appropriate for a commoner or a drunk soldier than her. But at least she isn’t dropping f-bombs.

And also the narration is littered with unnecessary long descriptions of how characters look, their dresses, flashbacks of their backstories and inclusions of letters in their entirety. Like I said, it only breaks immersion and feels completely unnecessary so I don’t understand why all those elements are in the book.

Other than that, though, at least the language used in the writing is comprehensible.

7. The Conclusion

Phew, it’s finally over! As you may have guessed, I would NEVER ever recommend this book. Not just due to propaganda, but also the horrible style, flat characters, wasted potential and an oversimplified, overstretched story.

Okay, it’s time to end our bingo night here at Malmaison Media Salon. You can keep the cards and help yourselves to food and drinks as a reward for sitting through the review of such a monstrosity.

As for me, I gotta go now, but I will post updates soon so please stay tuned.

Your Neighbor,

- Citizen Green Pixel

#history #napoleonic art #napoleonic literature #napoleonic media #napoleonic era #napoleon bonaparte #pauline bonaparte #caroline murat #marshal murat #prince metternich #empress marie louise #the second empress #michelle moran #malmaison media salon #literature review

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pastel-odette · 3 years

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Revenge- A Banana Fish Fanfiction

This is a fic written for @emi-joanna. Sorry it took so long, I started work and college this past month. I hope it's as angsty as you requested!

(tws are properly tagged as tw _____)

“Eiji! Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!”

Eiji came rushing out of the house, locking up before making his way to the car. “What took you so long?” Aslan asked. Eiji opened up his satchel to reveal various snacks and sweets. “I had to grab the essentials,” he said with a smile. Aslan chuckled. “You really think we’re gonna need them?” “Yes!! During last year’s shrine visit you whined and whined about being hungry, so this time I thought I’d come prepared.” “How do you even remember that?” “Magic, my love. Now enough questions! Let’s go already!” It had been seven years since the couple had moved to Izumo. The first year had been the toughest. Despite being months out of the hospital, Aslan had still been reeling from the attack from Lao. The realization that even after Dino was dead, even after he thought he was finally free, someone still wanted to kill him had hit him extremely hard. He had felt foolish for thinking he would ever be anything other than what Dino made him. To hunt and be hunted, was that really all there was left for him? He had almost wished he hadn’t survived. He didn’t even understand why he survived in the first place.

The decision to move to Japan with Eiji did not come easy. Almost every part of him was screaming at him to abandon that hope that he could ever have a normal life. The physical distance made it seem more unattainable, too. However, Eiji was persistent. He would text every day, and call as much as he could. He was determined to make sure Aslan saw their original plan to move to Japan through.

Eventually, Aslan caved in. He said goodbye to New York, and started a new life with his soulmate. It wasn’t until he laid in bed that night, Eiji sleeping peacefully next to him, that what he did hit him all at once. An entirely new country with nothing to protect himself with.

For a while, they stayed at the Okumura family house. Eiji’s father was still in the hospital as he learned, so it was just the two of them, Eiji’s mother, and his sister. He felt surprisingly welcomed, like he was truly part of the family. It was strange to him to meet people so truly kind and hospitable upon first meeting. It wasn’t long until it started to feel like home.

But it still didn’t feel safe. He would lay awake at night, Eiji beside him, terrified of every little noise he heard. On the rare occasions where he did sleep, he would have terrible nightmares, and when he would jolt awake he would reach for a gun that wasn’t there.

The Okumuras noticed how fidgety and cautious he was. So, they installed a security system in their house. They did everything, big and small, to help him adjust to this new life. When Aslan and Eiji moved out into their own house, they took a lot of these things with them. The security system, the protective charms, the little statues of gods that could protect them. It stunned Aslan how… good he felt to be living this life.

Izumo is where Aslan had found peace and happiness. “We’re here,” Aslan said.

They made their way through the rows of trees together, surrounded by other people also dressed for the chilly weather. Some wore their traditional kimonos, some wore more casual winter clothes. As they approached the torii gates they saw a familiar person standing there. “Mari!” Eiji shouted as he waved to his sister. She waved back as she walked up and gave them both a tight hug. “How are your studies going?” Aslan asked with a soft smile. “Well, just as tough as last year. But I’m glad to finally be visiting again!” She beamed.

When Aslan moved to Japan, Mari was right there alongside Eiji to greet him. She was thrilled to meet him, and sympathetic when she realized Aslan had lived a much different life than her and her brother. It wasn’t long until she felt like his own sister. When she moved to Tokyo for college, he nearly cried with how proud he was.

“You’re not wearing mom’s kimono this year,” Eiji pointed out.

Usually, Mari would wear a deep blue kimono with a stunningly complex design depicting a soaring phoenix and a gold-colored obi. It was passed down through many generations until it was owned by their mother, and now her. Now she was wearing a pale yellow kimono with a much simpler chrysanthemum pattern and pink obi with a chrysanthemum obidome to match. Mari gave a sad smile. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I just didn’t want something so… connected to her anymore. So my friends took me shopping and I found this. Don’t worry though, I didn’t throw away the other one or anything. It’s still in my closet.” “I think it looks good. Suits you,” said Aslan. Eiji nodded his head. This time, Mari beamed.

Being the very first day of the New Year, the temple was crowded with all sorts of people. The chozuya was completely packed, and it took them a few minutes before they were able to purify their hands. Ash always wondered if his hands could ever be truly pure, but he tried not to think about that as he poured the water. It was supposed to be a day of celebration and good luck. He didn’t want his thoughts to ruin that.

Every year, Aslan wished to the gods for protection. Protection from violence, from grief, from assault, from everything that made his life miserable for so long. This year was no different. However, there was something else this year he needed extra luck for. He prayed for that too.

Next, they went to exchange their omamori. Aslan chose the protection charm, as he did every year, and Mari chose the education charm. Usually, Eiji would get the protection charm just as Aslan did. This time he chose the success charm. “What goal do you want to be successful?” Mari asked.

“This year, I’m determined to have my own photo gallery.” It was a goal he had for a while, but this year he was going to have the luck of the gods on his side.

Finally, they needed to pull their o-mikuji.

“I’m a little nervous,” Mari jokes. Most of the time she had negative fortunes. However, this year, she would apparently have a future blessing (and small luck in her romantic relationships). Aslan was given half-blessing with lots of luck in travel. Then it was Eiji’s turn.

“Curse…”

“Well, it could be worse,” Aslan said, “at least you’re not super-mega-cursed.”

Eiji just sighed and folded up the paper.

“You’re not gonna read the rest of it?” “Nah. Not really a point.”

As they left the shrine, Eiji trailed behind and sulked.

Aslan gave Mari a nudge.

“You talk to him, you're the psychology major. I’m no good at this stuff.”

Mari nodded and went to walk beside Eiji.

“Listen, if it’s just a regular curse, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It’s mostly just little everyday inconveniences. The worst I’ve experienced with just a regular curse is that really bad breakup I had with Yui.” “With who??” “Hush, Aslan, this isn’t about you. Anyways, I don’t think you have anything to really worry about.”

When they get to the parking lot, they have to part ways. Mari made plans to go visit some of her old friends, and Aslan and Eiji had to return home, as they were going to host dinner that night.

When Aslan and Eiji arrived home, they were greeted by a very excitable golden retriever. They had gotten him about a year ago, when he was just a year old, from a local shelter. Even then, he still acted a little bit like a puppy.

“Hey, Bud,” Aslan said as he knelt down to pet Buddy. The dog jumped up to lick his face.

“Should we start dinner now?” Eiji asked as he put down his stuff and made his way to the kitchen.

“You can. Might as well. Just in case someone comes early or something.”

“You can’t just spend all afternoon petting Buddy, you know.” “I know, I know! I’ll help you in a minute.”

Buddy didn’t seem to mind all the extra attention he was getting, though. But eventually, Aslan had to go help his partner.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” asked Aslan as he put on his apron. He didn’t always help in the kitchen, his skill level was limited to basic survival foods, but over the years he got better and better at it. It felt very domestic, to cook alongside someone.

“How about you start on the datemaki? I’ll make the ramen.”

Aslan nodded, and they both started getting their ingredients. The kitchen was large enough that they could work around each other comfortably, and it wasn’t long until the kitchen started to smell delicious. Buddy noticed this, and trotted over to beg for treats.

“I have nothing for you,” Aslan said. Still, Buddy sat beside him, wagging his tail and giving him an expectant look. Aslan tried to ignore him as he started to whine, focusing on mixing the ingredients together.

“Here, Buddy!” Eiji called the dog, waving a large bone. Buddy instantly jumped up and ran over, wagging his tail furiously. Eiji then gave him the bone, which Buddy took to the living room happily.

“There we go, that’ll keep him occupied,” Eiji smiled. Aslan couldn’t help but smile back.

They continued cooking nonstop into the evening. As time went on, the more dishes they completed, and the more it started to look like a full meal. However, they were still pretty far from done.

Aslan sighed as he stretched. There was enough time to just take a tiny little break, he thought. He leaned against the counter and looked over at Eiji. His partner seemed distracted by something as he stared off into space.

“Hey.”

“Ah!” Eiji jumped, fumbling the bag of flour he was holding before dropping it on the counter.

“Ohhh no!” he exclaimed. Aslan chuckled slightly before helping his partner clean up the mess.

“Looks like your bad luck has officially begun.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Eiji said as he smacked the other with a floured towel. Ash looked down at his arm then back up at Eiji with a smile.

“Really? You wanna start this?” He dipped his thumb in the flour before smudging it across Eiji’s cheek.

“You’re on!”

And that’s how it started, a full-blown flour war.

Nothing was spared. Flour was thrown, smudged, and flew everywhere. The counters, the floor, their clothes, their skin, their hair and skin, all of it was covered in at least a thin layer of flour.

It was stupid, it was childish, they had wasted an entire bag just making everything dirty. But they didn’t care. It was fun. They were having fun and messing around together. At that moment, they weren’t thinking about having to clean up and get back to cooking, they just thought about each other.

The couple just laid on the floor together as Buddy sniffed around them before licking Aslan in the face.

“No, Buddy!” Aslan squealed, pushing Buddy’s face away. The dog just wagged his tail as his owners helped each other up.

“You’re a mess,” Eiji laughed.

“Speak for yourself! You’re even dirtier than me! Go take a shower, I’ll clean this all up.”

Eiji kissed Aslan’s floured cheek before going to wash himself and his clothes.

Once everything was all clean, both of them included, they had to work faster in order to get everything done by the time their guests would arrive. Occasionally, though, they would look over at each other, and laugh silently before getting back to work.

Eventually, they had a complete New Year’s Day dinner. Eiji set the table while Aslan arranged the food into the boxes.

“Well, I’d say it looks pretty good,” Aslan said.

“We make a pretty good team!” Eiji shouted from the dining room.

When everything was all set for their guests to arrive, they high-fived to celebrate their hard work. It was the first time they cooked for New Year’s all on their own, and it was the first time they would be hosting.

The first to arrive were Ibe and his wife, Namiko. They met shortly after he returned to Japan, and she was a very kind woman, the kind that got along with all her neighbors and would check in on them from time to time. The couple greeted their hosts warmly with hugs and a bottle of sake.

Buddy was thrilled to have guests, and quickly ran over to receive pets from two of his many favorite humans.

It wasn’t much longer after that when Mari arrived, and the party officially started. Chatter filled the house as they ate. They talked about everything that had happened during the past year, everything they accomplished, and everything they hoped to accomplish this year.

“Well, I have no complaints,” Ibe said, “We traveled a lot this year for work.”

“It was great! So many fun new places we visited,” Namiko said.

“Mine was just another normal year of classes. I made a new group of friends, and they’re really great," Mari said through a mouthful of food.

“We adopted our dog,” Eiji beamed. Buddy was resting in the living room. After a while of whining for food, he had finally given up, and they knew if they mentioned him by name he would come over and start begging again.

The party went on late into the night as they continued to chat and drink. Everyone’s spirits couldn’t be higher as they celebrated the past and welcomed in the future, giving a toast for good luck. Eventually, though, the night had to end. They said their goodbyes to each other, and the guests went home, leaving Aslan and Eiji to clean up.

Aslan felt content as he washed the dishes. It was a great night, surrounded by people he loved. Seven years in Japan. He hadn’t felt like Ash Lynx in so long. He felt like he had control over his life.

A partner, a house, a dog, a legal job, friends, a little sister. The old ladies on his street fawned over him as if he was free from sin. The local coffee shop knew his face and order by heart. Nobody feared him, they were all friendly towards him, and treated him as if he really was normal.

Oftentimes it felt unreal. But as he sat on the couch, Eiji nestled into his side, he knew it was.

“Thank you,” Eiji murmured.

“For what?”

“For helping out today. For everything you do. You’re so good to me.”

Aslan smiled softly.

“I should be the one saying that to you.”

“How about we’re both good to each other?”

“Yeah,” Aslan whispered, “I can agree with that.”

The next few days of the New Year were spent with Mari. The plan was for her to go back to Tokyo on the fourth, when the holiday was over, so they wanted as much time with her as they could.

During the Japanese New Year, businesses are closed for the next three days. They couldn't go to restaurants, shops, or the market. So mostly, they just spent time at Aslan and Eiji’s house. Watching TV, playing board games, and video games on the SNES they got a few years back. They could also go to the beach.

Izumo was a coastal town, with cliff sides to the north, and a long, thin strip of beach to the west. When the three of them stepped out of the car, they were glad they brought thick coats, as there was a cold breeze.

“Come on Buddy!” Eiji said as he opened the car door. The dog jumped out of the car, wagging his tail happily.

The beach was an important place in Izumo, something Aslan had learned shortly after he moved. On the northern shore of the beach, there was a very large rock with a small shrine on top, too high for humans to reach. Every October, the gods would come to Izumo, and convene at the beach and its shrine.

Aside from it being a spiritual place, the beach was also just beautiful. It reminded Aslan of when he was younger, when he and Griffin would run across the sand and splash in the waves. Sometimes, when he and Eiji would take a walk along the beach, they would see children or a family, and he would feel a bit of nostalgia.

Now, he walked this beach with his new family.

It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky. They were only planning for it to be a relatively short walk, and would return to the car not long after the sun fully set. It was just nice to get some fresh air.

The trio walked in silence, aside from Buddy’s pants, until Aslan broke it.

“You know, Mari, you got a pretty interesting fortune this year,” he said.

Eiji caught on to what he meant. “Yeah! Are you excited for it?”

“For the future fortune? I guess so. It’s better than I get most years,” she said.

“No no, I mean about your romance fortune,” Aslan smiled.

Mari became slightly flustered, glaring at the couple. They just laughed in response.

“You should really get back out there again,” Eiji teased, “You’re not still heartbroken over Yui are you?”

Mari lightly punched her brother in the side.

“Of course not! That was the beginning of high school! Butt out of my love life!”

“But you, dear sister, are the one that butted into my love life when I went to America.”

“I shall have you know, dear brother, that I have matured since then. Besides, the charm I gave you worked, didn’t it?”

Eiji looked over at Aslan with a smile and squeezed his hand.

“Yeah. It did.”

The sun had begun to set at this point, halfway across the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, soft pinks and reds across the sky. The three stopped to admire it, Buddy sitting beside them.

“I think this is a moment worth capturing,” Eiji said. He got the polaroid camera from around his neck. They all posed close together, Aslan picking up Buddy so he could be in the shot, with the sunset in the background.

“Smile!”

Click.

The photo printed slowly, and Eiji shook it so it could develop faster.

It showed the four of them, happy in smiling, in the place they loved so much. They waited for the sun to set fully before returning home.

Instantly, the photo went up on their wall.

Unfortunately, the fourth eventually came, and Mari had to leave. At the train station, they said their goodbyes.

“Be sure to write!” Eiji said as she waved.

“I always do!”

With that, the train doors closed, and she left Izumo. Since it was the first day of the new year that businesses were open, Aslan decided he might as well go run some errands.

“See you at home,” he said as he pecked Eiji on the cheek.

“Mhm, see you.” Eiji waved goodbye to him.

The first stop was the coffee shop. Why not, right? It was a very cozy little shop and the majority of the patrons were locals and regulars. When the barista noticed him, he smiled.

“The usual?”

Aslan nodded, and the barista got to work. The coffee shop was relatively small compared to those in America, and it was warmly lit. As Aslan sat at the counter watching the barista he felt the chill of the mid-winter weather.

“Here’s your coffee,” the barista said as he placed the mug in front of Aslan. Most people see Aslan as the type of person to drink straight black coffee. And for a while, he was. As soon as he was “old enough” to drink coffee, he would drink it without sugar or creamer. It fit the persona he had and made him seem more mature to those around him. Now he didn’t care about any of that. He made his coffee super sweet. Tons of sugar, tons of creamer, because that was the way he actually liked it.

Usually, he would take the time to stay and chat with the barista for a bit. He was a funny and friendly guy, most of the reason Aslan liked this coffee shop in particular. However, today he had the odd urge to get home as much as possible. Maybe it was just because of the chill, he thought.

The next stop was the grocery store. They only really needed things to replace what they had used to cook dinner on New Years, including the flour that they had wasted.

He absentmindedly went through the small store until a voice called out to him from behind.

“My dear Aslan!”

He turned around to see his neighbor, Mrs. Tanaka. She was an old woman, kind as can be like almost everyone else in the neighborhood, who loved to garden in her front lawn and chat him up whenever she saw him. Aslan greeted her back and smiled.

“How have you been? How’s Eiji? Did you have a good new year?”

“Everything is good. How was your trip?”

The two chatted for a bit, catching up on things that happened since the last time they talked. Most of his neighbors he could strike up a conversation with just like this. It was the kind of neighborhood he could see himself and Eiji growing old in. It was a weird thought, to grow old with someone in a small town, but it was right.

They said their goodbyes, and Aslan continued shopping as normal.

When Aslan came home, the front door was unlocked. Huh. Maybe Eiji just forgot. However, when he opened the door, he was met with a horrible sight.

There lay Buddy, unmoving, in a pool of blood.

Aslan dropped his bags and rushed to his dear pet. He picked him up gently as tears began to fall.

How did this even happen? When? Why wasn’t he here to stop it?

That’s when he saw it. The wound on Buddy’s neck. A bullet wound. Someone… shot Buddy. There was no way. He was supposed to be safe in Japan. He was supposed to be safe with Eiji. Eiji... “Eiji!” he shouted. No response. He shouted again. The house was silent. Aslan gently placed down Buddy’s body. He had to make sure Eiji was okay. Eiji had to be okay, right?

Aslan crept through the house silently, listening for any sounds that might lead him towards Eiji or the intruder. As he approached the kitchen, he saw a pot on the stove bubbling over, so he turned off the stove. This whole thing must have happened fairly recently. A knife was also missing from the drawer.

Finally, he made his way to the bedroom.

What he saw terrified him.

Eiji. Sprawled across the floor, next to the open closet doors as if he had been pulled out, a knife in his hand. A bullet in his forehead. His eyes were wide open, and his cheeks were stained with tears.

Ash fell to his knees. This couldn’t be happening. Eiji couldn’t be dead. He was dreaming, he was hallucinating, this was some kind of joke. What separated him from his old life now? What stopped him from being Ash Lynx again?

Ash sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed. His love had been murdered. The bastard shot his dog, too. Why? He didn’t do anything. Neither of them did anything. It wasn’t fair.

He reached into the closet and pulled out a small box. Inside was a silver engagement ring. He picked up Eiji’s greying, cold hand and slipped the ring onto his finger.

“I know that we could never get married legally. But I still wanted to think of you as my husband. After all we had been through, didn’t we deserve that much?”

Eiji didn’t respond. His glossed-over eyes stared at nothing. Ash closed them.

“My soul will always be with you.”

--------

This might turn into a chaptered fic

Thank you to @syanara for betaing!

Tag list: @mycatshuman

#banana fish #banana fish fanfiction #ash lynx #aslan jade callenreese #eiji okumura #tw death #tw murder #tw guns #tw animal death #tw dog death

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Text

the conclusion to the fëanorian tauriel saga! this one’s mostly about the state of affairs after she gets adopted into everyone’s favourite family of murderers, plus a couple of extra bits and bobs. there’s some more stuff i’d like to put down somewhere - a deleted scene, a minific - but this is mostly the end of my headcanons for this particular au. so far, anyway. part 1 part 2 part 3

mandos may have, in the past, given off the impression that fëanor would remain within the halls until dagor dagorath

that statement was always a bit of a conflation of terms. like everybody else in the halls, fëanor would get a clean pass for reinbodiment as and when he attended elf afterlife therapy and got a handle on his shit. it’s just nobody thought he would ever do that

but he has done that, and more besides. he’s honestly been clear to go for a while now, he just refused to leave until his sons were ready

and since then... mandos will admit to certain political pressures exerted towards keeping fëanor under lock and key

but over time, those pressures slowly yield to the fact that mandos absolutely cannot deal with this lunatic for the rest of arda

death has not put a damper on fëanor’s unstoppability. he was preoccupied for a long while with the damage done to his sons but with them all out he had a conspicious lack of things to Do

and a bored fëanor is a dangerous fëanor

so yeah. fëanor is less released from the halls of mandos as he is unceremoniously kicked out. mandos refuses to talk about it. the maiar of the halls throw a massive party

this all happens on extremely short notice. as in, manwë announces his release like half a day before it happens

this of course throws his extended family (and a decent proportion of the rest of the continent) into this massive frenzied whirlwind of panic. everybody thought they’d get more warning than this, and nobody knows what’s going to happen next

at the epicentre of this maelstrom is the elf himself. fëanor doesn’t know either, he’s still trying to catch up on everyone he left behind and everything that’s gone down since he died. so much has changed, and he’s still stumbling groggily in the darkness

at some point between his long-practiced apology to finarfin and the maglor encounter everyone’s been dreading, though, he makes an unexpected discovery

he has a daughter now. apparently

her name’s tauriel, she smells like woodsmoke. he first meets her when she wanders into the living room, blinks blearily for a couple of seconds, goes ‘hi dad!’ and immediately falls asleep on his lap

and it’s not like he’s not incredibly stoked to have another child, it’s just how???

the first time he asks this question, the motley collection of relatives and old friends he’s talking to all come to the same conclusion

they can either (a) walk him through the history of tauriel’s growing friendship with and eventual adoption into the least reputable branch of the house of finwë or (b) dump the latest copy of the grand unified tauriel conspiracy theory on him with absolutely no context

considering they’re the hellfamily and friends, they go for the chaos option

it takes fëanor, like, two days to read it. the thing was ridiculously elaborate even before people started competing to come up with the craziest possible theories

the people around him keep the ruse going as long as they can stretch it. eventually celebrimbor takes pity on him, and legolas fills in the details

(legolas currently occupies a position in the fëanorian internal hierarchy not dissimilar to fingon’s. he has no idea how to interpret that)

fëanor also just. talks to tauriel. about how she came, and why she stayed

the next day, fëanor loudly announces to the entirety of tirion that he has a new daughter, her name is tauriel and she’s amazing

she’s been a de facto part of the house for years but this is the first official confirmation of it. the news, and the gossip, spreads all over aman

not that this marks a massive turning point for tauriel. even without a big announcement, she made which side she was on pretty clear back when shit went down

and honestly her life hasn’t changed that much since then. she still spends most of her time exploring noldorin country or chilling in the forest with her silvan friends

this isn’t too uncommon a situation for a member of the house of fëanor. they usually do their own thing, whatever that may be. even nerdanel abandons her house every so often to spend a year or two in the mountains

even in tirion, it’s not that different. she still crashes in the same place, hangs with the same people

she just also occasionally does stuff for :mobster voice: the family

she’s part of the second generation’s extremely overprotective mutual defence web. she has a few responsibilities vis-a-vis the definitely-not-minions. she’s not quite as magnetic as her older brothers, but she’s charismatic enough people tend to both legitimately like and let their guard down around her

she goes to court events sometimes, if she’s in town and in the mood. she’s not virulently allergic to it like celegorm but she doesn’t thrive there the way elrond does. she prefers lower-city forge parties. way more booze, way less bling

(the greenwood elves have stopped needing to bring her along to every political meeting for quote-unquote moral support. everyone knows who she rides with now, and the court bureaucrats tend to give her people whatever they want without the need for extortion)

she’s not the rowdiest of fëanor and nerdanel’s brood, but that’s really not saying much. she’s kicked off the last vestiges of social respectably and indulges fully in her family’s ability to do whatever they want, whenever they want, because who’s seriously going to tell a kinslayer they can’t do something?

a decent proportion of the population of tirion, it turns out. eh, the arguments are always fun

that’s the state of tauriel’s life when fëanor comes back. afterwards - like i said, it doesn’t change terribly much, fëanor rocking valinor to its core notwithstanding

he is massively, intensely supportive of everything she does. she knows that it’s partially that this family is just Like That, but she also gets the vibe he’s overinvesting a little? she’s the only one of his children who doesn’t have a reason to hate him

but they get along fine. he’s had a lot of practice at being a dad, and is trying to improve on his personal faults. his relationship with her is blissfully uncomplicated compared to the mess most of his pre-death bonds are, and while she’ll protect her brothers from him if need be she’ll protect him too when the world is out to get him

there’s this moment at one of those fancy court galas. tauriel’s chatting with some sindarin visitors when something explodes a few rooms away

almost immediately, she locks gazes with curufin, who’s peoplewatching some distance away. they have a conversation conducted entirely in eyeflicks that could be summarised as ‘did he just...’ ‘alas he probably did’

they stride out of the hall together to rescue their idiot dad from the consequences of his terrible decisions

that’s another subtlety to the way the fëanorians work, tauriel is discovering. the siblings hellspawn may be a constant fight cloud of bickering nutbags (with the obvious exception of herself) but they all always out-sane their dad

she keeps learning things like this as the years roll on and her families get closer. she finds silvans having tea with nerdanel, tirion craftselves looking for her in the woods. across both of her worlds, she’s building a posse

(just like her brothers did, long long ago under the light of the trees. when next the host rides to war, there will be those who follow tauriel’s banner)

even legolas has mostly gotten over it. their initial friendship, after all, was founded on them both being chaos children. tauriel is one in a way they called silvan in greenwood and noldorin in aman, fully conscious that the powers that be disapprove of her shenanigans and deliberately and vindictively defying them

legolas’ style is more sindarin, vaguely aware that the rules exist but doesn’t really understand how they apply to him. he did sneak a dwarf up the straight road, after all. him and tauriel got up to so much nonsense when they were kids, and no matter who else she runs with, he’ll always be her best friend

he’ll never be fully comfortable with the literal childhood horror stories she’s taken up with, but for her sake he’s willing to try. they might be scary, but, he’s realising, they can be fun too

(even if he does spend most of their family gatherings hiding behind elrond)

and then, one day...

tauriel doesn’t exactly pine for kíli, but she does kind of regret how it all turned out. she wonders what being in a relationship with him would have been like, sometimes

but he’s a dwarf, and she’s an elf, and she can’t leave the undying lands, and dwarves aren’t supposed to come here. they are sundered until the breaking of the world

when she tells this to fëanor, this massive smug grin spreads across his face. ‘unless’

three hours later, they’ve turned fëanor’s front room into a base of operations. maedhros is on project management, caranthir is on logistics, amras is going down a list of maiar they can strongarm. celebrimbor stops by, looks at the plans on the walls, and, somewhat excitedly, goes ‘are we breaking into the dwarven afterlife???’

yes. yes they are

epilogue:

when the end comes and all elves return to cuivénen, certain people tauriel knew back in middle-earth discover what she’s been doing for the past few ages

they get the full skinny later, after they talk to her and stuff, but the first whisper they hear is ‘tauriel’s been taken in by the fëanorians’

reactions vary. tauriel’s mama, who doesn’t recognise the name, goes ‘the spirits of fire? that’s sounds so much like her, i’m so happy she’s made friends’

tauriel’s mummy, who does recognise the name, is laughing too hard to speak

and thranduil cradles his head in his hands. ‘of course’ he mutters ‘of course she fucking did’

#silmarillion #tauriel #house of feanor #the feanorian tauriel saga #my terrible fic #wow this ended up way longer than i expected #sorry if it's rambly i stayed up kinda late #and yeah! that's my headcanons for this au!#like i said there's a couple more things i wanna write #and once i'm done i'll probably put it all up on ao3 #with edits (read: capitalisation)

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kjack89 · 3 years

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 4/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest. This time, with duel-shenanigans as well! (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3)

Dearest Readers,

This Author recommends that young women prone to swoon do not read this most peculiar of updates without someone there to catch them, as the most shocking of scandals has broken, and not, as one might expect, from the city but rather from the country.

If you have guessed that it involves our two unlikely friends out for a country jaunt, you would be correct, but we doubt even the most voracious of readers would guess the nature of the scandal. It turns out Mr. Grantaire is not an only child, as many have supposed, but instead has a sister of the marrying age. Why she was not presented to society is anyone’s guess, but we expect she’ll be along soon enough, given what has occurred.

Details are still forthcoming, but suffice it to say, the Marquess of Enjolras, perhaps least likely amongst his cohort to find himself in this situation, appears to have been found in a compromising position with Mr. Grantaire’s sister. A quick, quiet wedding is the fastest way to deal with a scandal of this nature, but the salacious nature of this situation doesn’t end here:

The Marquess has allegedly refused to marry Mr. Grantaire’s sister, so Mr. Grantaire publicly challenged the Marquess to a duel for his sister’s honor, and the Marquess accepted.

Tales of Mr. Grantaire’s prowess in physical contests are well-known, so this Author hopes for the Marquess’s sake that his aim with a gun is less impressive. Fear not, dear Reader. This Author suspects that both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire will emerge from the duel with all limbs intact, but we also suspect that Grantaire will emerge with a soon-to-be brother-in-law – and the Marquess with a fiancée. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 4 May 1831

It was, charitably speaking, ungodly early when Enjolras was roused from his bed by the ever dour-faced Le Cabuc. There was not even a hint of sunlight when he glanced out the window before getting dressed, and when he and Grantaire set off a half hour later, there was still just the beginning rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon.

Usually, Enjolras did not mind waking at an early hour, though he was more inclined to work late into the night and have a bit of a lie-in the next morning whenever possible, but he had slept poorly the previous night. Undoubtedly, he thought sourly as he followed Grantaire away from the house, because of what they were setting out to do.

Not that he had much real cause for concern – after all, if Grantaire was going to shoot him, surely he would have done it long ago.

That said, he would also have felt slightly more comfortable if he was carrying one of the guns, rather than Grantaire carrying both as he currently was.

But he suspected his tossing and turning was more related to the grand scheme they were attempting to pull off, and his very real concern that they were not going to be able to. Thus far, certainly, all pieces of the plan had fallen in place, but that as much as anything was setting him on edge. After all, it would take but one thing going awry from the whole arrangement to unravel, and Enjolras was not thoroughly convinced that—

Grantaire heaved a sigh and glanced over his shoulder at Enjolras. “Could you please be quiet?” he asked, sounding as tired as Enjolras felt.

Enjolras scowled at him. “I haven’t said anything!” he protested.

“No, but I can hear your mind going a mile a minute,” Grantaire groused, waving a dismissive hand. “It is positively spoiling what should otherwise be a magnificent morning.”

It was a lovely morning, Enjolras supposed, especially as the sun inched further up in the sky. “There is only so much I can do about the relative volume of my mind,” he told Grantaire, half-smiling as he did.

Grantaire pursed his lips slightly before shaking his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said, pausing in his stride to allow Enjolras to fall into step besides him. “Which means that I shall have to distract you instead.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” Enjolras asked, more amused than curious.

“Well, I could regale you with what little I know about the vegetation in this area,” Grantaire offered, and when Enjolras wrinkled his nose, he laughed. “Very well. Then what conversation topic would you prefer?”

Enjolras considered it for a second. “I suppose you could start by telling me where, exactly, you’re taking me.”

“So banal,” Grantaire said, half under his breath, and he laughed and dodged when Enjolras tried to elbow him in the ribs. “Fine, fine. There’s a field not far outside of town that’s up on a small bluff. Isolated so that no one will see, but the elevation and lack of foliage between the field and town will allow the sound to carry, which is what I am banking on.”

“Not a lot of shooting out this way?” Enjolras asked, mostly jokingly, though Grantaire seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. A fox hunt every now and then or something or the sort, but usually advertised well in advance and taking place further afield.”

The terrain sloped upward at that point, and both Enjolras and Grantaire fell silent as they trekked along. Finally, the slope evened out, and as Grantaire had promised, they were standing on the edge of a fairly flat field overlooking the town below. “Well,” Grantaire said, rather unnecessarily. “Here we are.”

He handed one of the pistols to Enjolras, who took it, feeling unusually out of sorts, even though this was hardly his first time wielding a weapon. “Ten paces?” he asked, mostly for lack of anything better to say.

“I suppose so,” Grantaire said, before winking at him. “Of course, in keeping with our attempt at verisimilitude, I could shoot you, if you wish. Just a flesh wound, in the shoulder maybe – just a little something to demonstrate how coerced you were into this whole affair.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “While I am certain that you would have no compunction shooting anyone, I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Instead, he squared his shoulders and dutifully marched ten paces away before turning to face Grantaire again. “Here?” he asked, but Grantaire was frowning, his gun held loosely at his side.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “I mean, is this the correct distance?”

“No, by my not having any compunction about shooting anyone.”

There was something unfamiliar in Grantaire’s tone and Enjolras frowned, trying to figure out what exactly he had said to put Grantaire out. “I meant no offense,” he offered.

Grantaire shook his head. “I do not necessarily take offense,” he said. “But I would still wish to know what precisely you meant.”

Enjolras considered him for a moment. “I know that you are an accomplished boxer,” he said after a moment. “And I have it on good authority that you know also how to wield a blade, so it can only stand to reason that you know how to use a gun. That s all that I meant.”

“Know how, yes,” Grantaire said, “but I’ve never shot anyone, and I’m not certain that I could bring myself to, were it to come to that.”

Now it was Enjolras’s turn to frown and ask, “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged, glancing down at the gun in his hand. “I mean, with boxing, with fencing, hell, even with street brawling as Bahorel and I are wont to do—”

“Wont is certainly one word for it,” Enjolras said sourly, too aware of how many times those two had gotten themselves into scraps.

“—with all of those,” Grantaire continued, ignoring him, “the goal is surrender. You wound or injure to get the offending party to back down. But with a gun?” Again he looked down at the gun in his hand, hefting it as if testing its weight. “With a gun, the outcome is too often death, no matter the intent. And I am not certain that I could bring myself to shoot a man, knowing the likely outcome is his death.”

It had not been at all the answer Enjolras was expecting. “Oh,” he said, a little stupidly. “I suppose I did not think of it that way.”

“What of you?” Grantaire asked, with a wry half-smile, as if aware of the absurdity of this conversation when the two men were facing each other with pistols in hands so as to duel. “Have you ever shot a man?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I don’t think I would have the same hesitation you would. Death is a tool, and there are times when, in order to bring about the best future possible, killing someone is the only option.” Grantaire shifted as if he was about to interrupt, but Enjolras did not let him. “But the law of progress is that this will no longer be the case some day, and that is the moment for which I would fight, and kill if necessary, so that none after me would face that choice.”

Grantaire was silent for a few moments after, and he was too far away for Enjolras to be able to read every line in his face like he normally would be able to. “I understand,” Grantaire pronounced finally, the two words spoken almost like a vow.

Enjolras felt strangely tongue-tied at that, and looked away. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice strangely thick, and Grantaire nodded.

Both men faced each other once more, lifting their pistols to aim in the rough direction of the other, ready to get this over with. Later, Enjolras would never know what possessed him in that moment, but as he stared down the barrel of the gun at Grantaire, he could not help but blurt, “I could have sworn that you were going to kill that soldier.”

Grantaire lowered his pistol, his brow furrowing. “What soldier?”

Enjolras lowered his weapon as well. “Do you remember the demonstration we hosted outside of parliament last spring?”

“I am fairly certain the authorities deemed that less a demonstration and more a riot,” Grantaire said, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Even so,” Enjolras said, refusing to allow himself to get distracted. “Soldiers were called in to ‘enforce the peace’, though I am certain they were more violent than any of us—”

“They certainly were,” Grantaire murmured.

“—and there was this one soldier in particular who seemed quite determined to…”

Enjolras trailed off, and Grantaire cleared his throat. “To beat you to death in the street?” he supplied, a false, sharp cheerfulness to his words.

Shaking his head slightly, more at the memory than in disagreement to Grantaire’s words, Enjolras swallowed before continuing, “That’s one way of putting it.” He met Grantaire’s eyes. “But you stopped him.”

“Yes.”

“Quite violently, as memory serves.”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Yes.”

“But you did not wish to kill him?”

“Oh, I wanted very much to kill him,” Grantaire said, an ugly look crossing his face. “But I did not.”

Enjolras had the sense that continuing too far down that path was not going to end well, so he changed tacks slightly. “So then you too agree that death is a sometimes necessary tool.”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “I suppose, yes,” he allowed. “If the circumstances were right.”

“And the circumstances were not right that day?” Enjolras asked, because he couldn’t resist prying, just a little.

Grantaire shook his head. “No.”

He did not seem inclined to elaborate any further, and Enjolras frowned. “Because you feared that you could have been arrested?” he asked, though he doubted that was the case, as Grantaire had been arrested as many times as any of their number.

Indeed, Grantaire snorted derisively. “As if the threat of incarceration has ever once stopped me,” he scoffed, before arching an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Or you, for that matter.”

“It helps knowing that you or I would only be incarcerated until the police realized who we were and released us,” Enjolras said dryly. “The perks of nobility – or gentility, I suppose, in your case.”

“Gentility,” Grantaire repeated, smirking again. “I dare you to use that the next time you’re arrested, just to see what the officer placing you in irons has to say in response.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and ignored him, steering the conversation back on track. “What did stop you, then?” he asked, and when Grantaire looked confused, he elaborated, “From killing the soldier, if not the possibility of incarceration.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with Enjolras. “You were no longer in danger,” he said simply.

The stark words left Enjolras feeling as if his chest was suddenly a size too small, and it took him a moment to compose himself. To know Grantaire had reacted that way when the man was not convinced he could take a life, and all because Enjolras had been in danger...it was too much. Finally, he met Grantaire’s eyes once again, and hoped the two words he could muster conveyed everything that he wished they did. “Thank you.”

Grantaire seemed suddenly flushed, and he cleared his throat and looked away. “In any case,” he said loudly, “can we kindly get back to the business of shooting each other?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Shooting at each other,” he corrected.

Grantaire smirked at him, all traces of the previous conversation disappearing. “Is that not what I said?” he asked innocently.

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes before once again raising his gun and aiming it in Grantaire’s general direction. Grantaire followed suit, a half a beat later. “Are you ready?” Enjolras asked.

“As ready as I will ever be,” Grantaire said. “On your count?”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “On my count,” he affirmed, taking a deep breath before counting, “One...two...shoot.”

Both guns went off with a flash of powder and smoke, the gunshots echoing loudly in the still morning air, loud enough to make Enjolras wince – though that may also have been from the recoil, which left Enjolras’s arm feeling weak. “Do you yield?” Grantaire called, and it took that question for Enjolras to remember the absurd reason for which they were there in the first place.

“Yes, I yield,” Enjolras told him, the first and only times those words had ever come out of his mouth.

Grantaire smirked at him. “And do you agree to marry my sister?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “There is no one here to hear my answer, you realize.” Grantaire returned his look with one of his own, and Enjolras sighed. “Yes, I will marry your sister.”

“Then I have my satisfaction,” Grantaire said, sounding just a little smug.

But as Enjolras handed his pistol back to Grantaire, as lingering pieces from their conversation played over in his mind, he could not help but feel that they had both gotten satisfaction that day.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les miserables #fanfiction #chaptered #part 4 #bridgerton au #regency era #canon era #no those two eras don't overlap but don't @ me #fake marriage #duels #guns cw

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kanri-tea · 3 years

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Ageswap! AU

Some headcanons for a HypMic ageswap! Au

Except everyone's ages are all over the place lol.

Ichiro is 32, Jiro is 30, and Saburo is 27

Samatoki is 29, Jyuto is 25, and Rio is 26

Ramuda is 30, Gentaro is 34, and Dice is 34

Jakurai is 14, Hifumi is 22, and Doppo is 22

Sasara is 31, Rosho is 31, and Rei is 16

Kuko is 32, Jyushi is 31, and Hitoya is 14

Otome is 19, Ichijiku is 26, and Nemu is 23

Buster Bros!!!

Ichiro is a bit of a mess, but he's getting better. He used to be pretty bad, working as a debt collector for Mozuku, doing drugs, and drinking, etc., but thanks to his brothers, he's gotten out and gotten clean.

Unfortunately, during that period, his relationship with his son, Rei, turned sour and Rei ran away at a fairly young age. Ichiro has been trying to repair his relationships, especially with Rei, but Rei isn't interested or receptive at all.

Jiro and Saburo live together, Jiro as a PE teacher at a middle school and Saburo as a white hat hacker/computer security stuff.

Jiro and Saburo's relationship with Ichiro isn't the best, but after Ichiro started getting clean and shaping up, their relationship has improved enough to form a team.

Jiro and Saburo are aware of Rei's existence but haven't actually met him before.

Mad Trigger Crew

Not huge changes here, Samatoki still works with the Yakuza, Jyuto is still a cop, and Rio is still Rio.

Jyuto isn't quite as experienced in being a corrupt cop as canon, so Samatoki makes sure to cover for him whenever he stumbles.

Samatoki is a big brother through and through, so he keeps an eye out for both Jyuto and Rio. His relationship with Nemu is okay, though sometimes she thinks he's the dumbest fool in the world.

Rio is more than well-aware that his survival cooking is not for the faint of heart. He finds it hilarious how Samatoki and Jyuto stutter and flinch whenever he brings it up, as well as how easily they falter under his puppy eyes.

Fling Posse

Ramuda deliberately makes sure as little people know his actual age as possible

It's one thing for a 24 year old to act cutesy and call girls "onee-san," it's a whole other thing when it's a 30 year old, no matter how cute and small he is

Ramuda finds Jakurai small and cute, so he sometimes goes and harasses coo over the boy, though, there have been times where the cops have been called for suspected pedophilia.

He's free from all the Project lambda stuff since it got exposed years ago and after a long hospitalization, he's completely healthy. You might even run into another clone occasionally, though they're all split to the four winds, each having chosen to pursue their own dreams.

Gentaro still is a writer, though he usually wears normal clothes. Honestly, he's way too old to continue to wear a kosode and hakama everywhere. It is way too hot out, plus he's not in his 20s anymore, when he thought it was cool and unique.

Dice is Dice. He's a gambler, though he does make sure to keep enough money around for rent and food. He's old enough that he's not so dumb enough to gamble away everything. Plus, he doesn't want to worry his daughter, Otome. She's already pissed at him enough.

Dice and Otome have a fairly good relationship, though that might just have been a result of Dice being an attentive and easygoing parent and never having to live with each other. Otome cares a lot for Dice, though she hates his gambling addiction.

Matenro

Everyone's pretty sure Jakurai is a mob boss or something. There's no way 14 year old should be able to live alone and be financially well off. Jakurai just smiles through everyone's suspicions, and since there's no proof, no one can do anything about it.

Jakurai acts like a literal angel, though, if you anger him, he might actually stab you (*cough* Ramuda *cough*). Jakurai, Hitoya, and Rei are friends, though no one knows how are when, they just are.

During the TDD era, Ramuda, Ichiro, and Samatoki acted a bit like pseudo-parents for him, though nowadays, while they do their best to keep an eye on Jakurai out of a sense of responsibility, Jakurai is content to ignore them.

Doppo and Hifumi are together and happily so. They still tell most people they're just roommates, due to Doppo's lack of confidence, but they're pretty content together.

Hifumi still works at a host club, though he does fumble sometimes from having less experience. Sometimes he doubts himself because he's not as old as his peers at the host club.

Doppo is just as self-deprecating as always, though there's a whole helping of fatalistic humor as well. His favorite way to relieve himself of stress is to hug Jakurai.

Both Hifumi and Doppo love Jakurai and really worry if a 14 year old living alone is okay. They like taking turns hugging and cuddling with the boy and Jakurai is somehow okay with it.

Dotsuitare Honpo

Sasara is in a pretty happy relationship with Rosho. They've moved past their issues in their youth and are now together.

They live separately, though that's mostly because of convenience for their workplace rather than because they want to

They planned to move in together soon, but their plans are put to halt when they meet Rei

Rei is a student at Rosho's school. He's not a bad student, just a bit inattentive and laissez-faire when it comes to others.

Rei helps them out of a bad situation and shows that he's good with a hypnosis microphone, but nopes out of the situation before either Sasara or Rosho can talk to him. He gets caught by Rosho the next day at school though.

Somehow, he gets roped into joining Dotsuitare Honpo, but there's a gleam in his eyes that tell Sasara that he's pretty pleased with the outcome.

When they find out that Rei lives on his own in a really rundown and small apartment, they freak out a bit and then try to make him move in with one of them.

It... kind of works? Rei still works on a near daily basis and insists on paying rent, but at least he's not living in a shitty apartment anymore.

Rei isn't used to people caring for him, having pretty much raised himself, and it shows. Any bout of affection is waved off with a laugh, light teasing, or a strained grin. When Sasara and Rosho find out that his dad is Ichiro, Sasara gets a little bit more than just mad at at his former teammate.

Bad Ass Temple

Kuko is a full-on monk at the temple, having taken over the temple after his father's retirement. He met Jyushi there, who was praying for luck for his next concert.

Kuko has calmed down a lot since being a teenager. There's still bouts of anger sometimes, but he's mostly exasperated, especially at Hitoya. Kuko is super interested in Jyushi, but not sure how to make his intentions clear without startling the other man or inciting Hitoya's ire.

Jyushi is still a sweetheart, though he's not as permanently attached to Amanda as before. He's a very popular idol/music artist, primarily is visual kei, though he does do other things.

Hitoya originally was a homeless kid, though he did occasionally crash at Jakurai's place. His pride wouldn't let him do it too often, scared of becoming too reliant on the other boy or showing himself as weak.

Jyushi met Hitoya when he was in Tokyo for a concert. Somehow, he convinced the boy to come live with him. He took him back to Nagoya and that's where he's lived since.

Hitoya is very, very protective of Jyushi. He thinks Jyushi is too naive and air-headed for an adult, so he does his best to protect Jyushi from his stalkers and any other people that could hurt him. He's a bit of a hothead and comes off as overzealous and even hissing at people who stand too close to Jyushi.

Jyushi is very patient with Hitoya and thinks he's the cutest kid in the world, an opinion that Kuko very much disagrees with.

Kuko sometimes feels like apologizing to his father after dealing with Hitoya, because damn, was he ever this bad as a kid?

Chuuoku

Otome is young, but she's not stupid. The world sucks and she's doing her best to make it a better place, especially for women. Being responsible for an entire country is overwhelming at times, so she's grateful for Ichijiku's help.

The men vs women agenda isn't quite as fervent as it is in canon, and Otome does her best to include all LGBTQ+ in her equality agenda

Ichijiku still hates men, but she softens a bit when it comes to Otome. The girl is young, but dang if she isn't doing her best.

Nemu willingly works with the Chuuoku, though she is very tired of her brother's dumbassery. Seriously, who actually calls themselves Mr. Hardcore without being embarrased?

Otome used to live with her mother, but she got sick of all the "being a lady" BS that traditional family spout and ran away once she was old enough. Dice being her dad, helped her settle on her own and sending whatever money has sometimes.

Once she overthrew the government, she has a steady home and paycheck, so she regularly sends money and visits him. Thankfully, the money is never spent of gambling because Dice finds it too precious to throw away like that.

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ravenwingdarkii · 3 years

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BNHA Ch 303 Coda Todoroki talks to Bakugo

(because we didn’t get the one sided bakugo and deku convo we were hoping for. Oops, it’s whump)

Moments after Best Jeanist and Hawks left Endeavor’s room, the atmosphere, well, it didn’t relax, this was the first time the (majority of) the Todoroki family was in one room together after all, but it settled into a heavy tension Shoto was accustomed to.

Then there came yelling and screaming that Todoroki was also, unfortunately accustomed to.

“DEKU YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!”

The yell jolted most of the Todoroki family slightly, but Shoto simply turned to look in the direction of the door. It seemed Bakugo was awake as well. He’d heard from Kirishima and the others that he was going to be fine, but hearing him screaming was another matter. He’d expected a few more hours before...this.

“WHY THE HELL AM I AWAKE WHEN YOU’RE STILL SLEEPING, HUH?!”

Then there was shouting from a host of their other classmates, and what sounded like a scuffle broke out. Shoto listened for the pop of explosions as he headed toward the door, but there weren’t any. By the time Shoto had entered the hallway, Bakugo had been dragged down the hallway, presumably back to his own room, tied up in Asui’s tongue.

So he was looking for Midoriya, then. Shoto closed his eyes as the image of Bakugo pushing Midoriya out of the way of Shigaraki’s tendrils pierced his mind. The confusing amalgamation of relief and pure terror-

He shook his head. He almost wanted to stop his classmates dragging Bakugo away. And if Bakugo could force his way in to see Midoriya, then Shoto could probably get in by following Bakugo’s wake of destruction. But it wasn’t as if he could stop or even get the attention of his classmates, short of using his quirk in the hallway.

He lowered his hand and watched blandly as Bakugo was dragged back to his room by a force of over-protective classmates as Bakugo continued to yell incoherently. Just as they rounded the corner, Bakugo managed to get a hand free and pointed straight at Shoto, yelling something he couldn’t make out over their classmate’s raised voices.

Shoto stood in the hallway for several moments, considering his options. The threshold back into his father’s room was seeming to be an unpassable barrier. He saw Natsuo watching him out of the corner of his eye. Endeavor was still collecting himself. His mother was inside, calm and placid as a frozen sea. His instincts still told him he couldn’t allow himself to leave them in the same room together. Just as he was gathering the strength he didn’t have to rejoin them, his sister leaned forward to give him the shoo-ing motion.

Bewildered, he watched her repeat the action again, more forcefully, before his feet were leading him down the hallway toward his room. The meaning was clear in a way only a school teacher could be- get out of here. He technically shouldn’t have been out of bed either. If the nursing staff weren’t so brutally overworked at the moment, getting caught might have actually been a concern.

He didn’t make it to his room, only because he found a window, and from that window he could make out the street, which, of course, was full of reporters. Reporters because of the message D--Touya had put on national TV. Possibly the biggest hero scandal of all time. He watched the figures move and shift for several long moments before continuing on, past his own room in a haze. He wondered how long it would take for them to abate, weeks, months, or if the shadow of his father’s doings would shadow him his whole life, as he’d once feared.

He couldn’t leave the hero wing, or even the secured floor, media and all. He knew he shouldn’t have even left his room. There were injured heroes on this very floor that would be very angry at his family. People who lost friends by his brother’s hand. His fist clenched, the bandages squeezing painfully across his burns. His head began to swim. Burns his brother- that Touya, who was alive-- who had burned himself alive, who had tried to burn him to- he was alive. And because Shoto had been born, he’d burned-

“Half and half? You fucking lived, too, huh?”

Shoto only became aware of his own harsh breathing when he heard Bakugo’s voice from the room he’d been trying to pass. He passed a rough hand across his eyes quickly, trying to clear the haziness and dizziness that had encroached. He took a few seconds to recollect himself before he backed up a step to be in view of the open door and peer in.

It was Bakugo’s room but the others who’d dragged him back into his room were gone now and he seemed to have cooled off marginally, though it easily could have been due to blood loss. He was at least sitting up in bed, and though most of his body was unscathed, Shoto knew the major damage was to his torso, after all, he’d been trying to keep his blood from soaking the battleground just two days ago. The blond boy had a breathing mask on his side table that he was clearly meant to be using, judging by the fact the machine was still on. But seeing as he didn’t seem to be following any medical orders, he didn’t know why this one would be different.

Shoto pointed to the machine questioningly anyway. Bakugo’s face scrunched up in a unique mix of outrage and confusion only he could achieve.

“What the hell are you doing, half-face?”

Shoto sighed inwardly and stepped into the doorway. In his quietest voice he managed. “You...sh-should-” he cut himself off when what felt like ash crept up into his throat.

“Eh?! What was that? I can’t fucking hear you?!”

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Shoto walked up to Bakugo’s beside and tapped insistently on the machine. He hadn’t intended on being the hospital police but here he was anyway.

“We-ar,” Shoto managed quietly. He hadn’t intended on speaking anymore but his throat closed up on him anyway leaving him trying to very calmly breathe out of his nose and wait for the pain in his throat to pass. He’d overdone it badly when talking to his father, but his voice was his least concern in that situation.

Bakugo was looking at him like he was trying not to yell some more and was piecing something together, because of course he was. He was scary smart.

Shoto rolled his eyes, which did wonders in releasing some of the tension building in his body, and took a seat before his shaky body could decide to take one for him. He’d powered through where he’d needed to though, so he didn’t have regrets there. But his adrenaline was spent and now he was sitting silently in Bakugo’s room like a wallflower as the other boy fumed.

“What’s wrong with your voice? Did your shitheel of a brother do something?”

Shoto just stared levelly at Bakugo, inclining his head slightly in agreement. Then, as an afterthought, pointed to the bandages on his neck.

Bakugo stared back for a few long seconds, which made Shoto suddenly feel self-conscious about how he looked like he’d just climbed out of a furnace, and it wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Don’t expect me to pull out any JSL knowledge or anything, Icyhot. It’s your own fault for coming and following me and the nerd into that shitstorm,” Bakugo grunted, finally turning away.

Shoto didn’t know much either, and his hands were damaged enough he couldn’t write well, so he certainly couldn’t sign clearly either. He wished he could, or that he hadn’t been so in shock to see his mom visiting that he’d remembered his phone. Suddenly the prospect of getting his phone, literally one room over, was too much to consider.

So he couldn’t say anything he wished he could back and instead tried to see if he could get some answers. He tapped the side table with a finger to draw Bakugo’s gaze again. The looking away wasn’t going to work right now. Shoto had a hundred questions floating around in his head, mostly about Midoriya, mostly ones Bakugo couldn’t answer. He sat there helplessly for a moment before he pointed at Bakugo and tilted his head.

“I’m fucking great, asshole. I’m pissed that worthless nerd isn’t up yet. The gall of that bastard, sleeping in like this.” Bakugo started getting up again and Shoto rose and held out a hand in front of him, which Bakugo pushed past to stand up.

Shoto sighed inwardly before scrubbing his face with a hand despite the discomfort it brought.

“Well as much as I enjoyed what must have been our worst conversation yet, I’ve got fucking places to be, namely shaking some consciousness back into Deku.” He glanced back slightly to look at Shoto. “Go fucking crash or something, you peppermint-haired mime bastard.”

Shoto shook his head, joining Bakugo in the hallway and pointing in the direction Midoriya’s room was in. He wanted along for the ride. It was probably going to be his only chance until Midoriya was well on his way to recovery. And he’d been in such bad shape…

“You’re following me, the hell?! This is a stealth mission, I need to get past Deku’s fucking goons. They’re like patrolling the hallways or something.” At Shoto pointing blandly to himself, Bakugo unprickled a bit. “They’ll let you by. Alright, fine. We’ll give it a shot.”

Badly injured, they were making progress, though admittedly slow progress down the hallways to the other side of the hero wing. Bakugo’s eyes glanced over to the name plate once they were walking down the hallway he’d been apprehended in.

“Enji Todoroki,” Bakugo ground out, “that’s the room you were leaving when I saw you.”

Shoto shrugged helplessly.

“Everyone fucking heard. I’ve been awake for an hour and even I’ve seen Dabi’s propaganda shit,” Bakugo started.

Shoto suddenly found the corner of the hallway to be the most interesting thing he could be looking at.

“The country, if not the world, is gonna be airing the Todoroki dirty laundry,” he continued.

Shoto thought about the news crew that hadn’t dispersed yet outside. Wouldn’t, probably, until they got pictures, a status update on him or his dad, or a statement. Books would be published about the event and the implications of the hero industry. The victims of Dabi would rightfully hate them. He leveled an exhausted stare at the other boy. Bakugo must have been too busy using walls as a handhold to glare back at him.

Another burning question pushed to the forefront of Shoto’s mind. Not a question, really, an acknowledgement he desperately wanted to address. He gestured to Bakugo’s torso.

Quietly, he wheezed, “Sa-aved Midori…” his voice cut off on its own and he had to stop walking for a moment to let a round of wheezing, wet coughs shudder through his body. That couldn’t have been good, but then again Bakugo had been coughing up blood half an hour ago, so it was the status quo.

“Oi, shut the hell up! Don’t even try with that shit, you sound like lungs were cooked!” He yelled, pointing at Shoto. Shoto gave him an impatient look, still holding his painful throat and blinking the tears out of his eyes. He hadn’t gone through that just to have his question ignored.

“Christ. Fine, yeah, I shoved him out of the way. I knew I could handle it better than shitty Deku and did you see him, anyway? He was out of his fucking mind. I did what I had to. I figured we were all gonna bite it anyway.” Bakugo said. “Clearly I missed some things in the fight though, because you weren’t this fucked when I went down.”

Shoto nodded. Yes, he’d missed a few things. Midoriya losing any semblance of sanity for one, Dabi for another.

“Ah! Bakugo, you shouldn’t be up! Allow--” Iida appeared from around the hallway, in Shoto had no choice to believe was in fact a patrol route. The class rep broke off when he noticed Shoto a few steps behind. The ice and fire user gave the other boy a small smile in greeting. “I- Hello, Todoroki. How are you--it’s to say-” Iida fumbled for words, arm knifing the air.

“Engine legs, shut the hell up and quit pussyfooting around! It’s fucking annoying to listen to you blab,” Bakugo ground out. “We’re going to see Deku.”

Iida ran up the Bakugo to put a hand on his shoulder, but Shoto walked over to meet him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head. Iida met his eyes, and the fight started to leave Iida. He quickly diverted his gaze, a droplet of sweat beading on his forehead. “Well, if Todoroki is going to keep an eye on you, I don’t see why I should refuse...but I must insist you two get back to bed as soon as you’re done!”

After that, Iida beat an even hastier retreat than usual. Shoto let out a sigh. Another of his friends, treating him differently now that they knew. How much would this shake Class 1-A to its core? Was it salvageable, or were they going to think of him as the boy with the not-dead villain brother from now on? He just wanted to find Touya and figure out the rest later.

“Oi, Icyhot. Get over here,” Bakugo called. While Shoto had been in thought, Bakugo had pulled ahead, and he looked pissed about waiting. “You’re my fucking get out of jail free card, since know one wants to say ‘no’ to the abused kid. You’re gonna follow me around while we’re here, got it?!”

Shoto leveled Bakugo an annoyed stare but followed anyway. It didn’t have the same hurt, coming from the class loudmouth, somehow. At least there was one person he could rely on not treating him differently.

Might become a series...

#bnha spoilers #bnha ch 303 #bnha 303 #mha 303 #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #whump #h/c #hospital arc #post paranormal liberation arc #todobaku #friendship #bromance #todobaku friendship #gen #no pairings #icyhot

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musedblues · 3 years

Text

A Taste Of Honey (Part 2)

summary: A 1920's Deacy au! In which the reader, who comes from a family heavily involved in the American temperance movement, meets John, a bootlegger from overseas.

a/n: Well here it is. I'm fully aware interest may be completely lost in this fic but I'm very proud to have finished it. Im not sure where my writing journey will go from here. All I know is that this has been a very long time comin'... enjoy if you dare!

part 1 - 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"If anything happens, Deacy, I'll have your head!"

Ivan shook his fist from the front porch, illuminated by the light flooding from the opened front door.

"I'll be fine!" You dismissed, skipping toward the car, still getting used to the sway of the heavy golden dress you borrowed from Alice.

"I'm talking about my car!" Ivan shouted, correcting you. John let out a laugh at the remark, and gave your brother a nod, while he opened the passenger door, nudging you toward it.

Your brother and his wife had loaned the essentials to send you and John away for the party a man you never met was throwing. It was a small thrill, the prospect of such fun to be had, in comparison to the sickening exhilaration that coursed through you at the thought of spending any kind of evening at John's side. And the fact he'd asked you to.

The ride was quiet and short, but dragged on with each new glance you dared to steal at the man driving. Both of John's hands relaxed on the wheel. A hint of that deadly smile on his lips.

By the time you got to where you were going, you'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the man by your side, that you'd nearly forgotten your plans for the evening.

If you had any expectations, they were blown clear away. Before you was an estate made up of too many windows to count, draped in vines and hanging lights.

Even the crunch of the gravel that decorated the winding path you entered into sounded oddly elegant.

Inside was a fever dream of all the things you'd imagined on your short journey into the threshold. Across a giant winding staircase and below the shimmering chandelier were people from all walks of life, crammed together to have one grand time. Different music came from different corners and wild laughter filled the gaps, if there were any.

And before you, John led the way. You couldn't recall the moment your hand found the bend of his arm, or if he cared that you'd reached out to him as he weaved through the crowd. But the grin on his face when he turned back to catch your eye had to be a good sign; despite the way your heart nearly burst at his look.

John led you past hoards of people and trays of half full glasses. There was only one way to go, further inside the home, but John seemed to move as if he had an idea of where he was headed. Sure enough when the pair of you met the landing of the staircase, the host of the party was there to greet you.

The host's initial booming hello was focused mostly on John. And without more than a glance your way, the party thrower shuffled John away from your side, insistent on sharing a chat with him on the top landing of the stairs.

You were left to linger, stalling at the base of the stairs and studying the crowd around you. Girls in beaded skirts and men with slicked back hair passed you by flashing well meaning but entirely distracted smiles.

You'd felt mesmerized enough by the scene to slowly start to drift into it yourself. Reaching to brush your finger across meticulously carved bookcases and daring to take a glass from the extended hand of the first person to smile directly at you.

You reached for the stem of the blue stained flute, and managed to make your talk small enough for the interested lad to wander far off. But offers kept coming. Glasses of this and that shoved in your face. You accepted the offers more out of respectful politeness than any eagerness to lose your wits.

By the time you lost track of everyone's kind gestures, and a man was leading you closer to a table decorated with cards and chips, another hand intervened.

John was back, letting his fingers curl around your shoulder and nudging you in another direction of his choosing. Thrilling as it was for you, to have been handled just so by him, you were a little taken aback.

Funny how after the sips of this and that, you felt steady as ever. But one look from John and your knees threatened to give out and all your cares too.

In the middle of the packed house, with John looking at you that way, you felt like the only person alive. And somehow this all added up to equal your new found courage to speak a little bolder than usual.

"Are you on strict orders from Ivan to steer me clear of any strange attention or do you maybe fancy me a little, John?" You dared wonder. You almost didn't care of the answer. So long as he kept guiding you through this evening with a strong steady hand.

"Both." John seemed to decide, continuing to guide you along. The pair of you had reached the patio doors by now, and the cool night breeze rushed through in perfect time to ease the heat that had rushed to your cheeks at John's response.

"Let's go see the gardens!" You decided at first glance of the sprawling greenery that surrounded the estate.

John let you tug him along, darting between couples and groups who'd come to ruin the fresh air with all their smoke.

He followed along, a very good sport, smiling as you pointed out flowers and trees you didn't realize could bloom in this part of the country. As you turned from marveling over a certain rose's colour, John seemed almost enraptured. Maybe not by your subject but certainly by some part of you. His gaze was fixed, and he seemed to bite back a wider grin. And your already lightened spirits seemed all the more weightless as your eye's met his.

"If you keep looking at me like that, John, I'm going to have to kiss you." You let a small laugh escape, as the foreigners' expressions remained steadfast.

He'd kissed you only the night before, on your brother's staircase. It was the only reason you felt free of regret enough to lean in and brush your lips against his again. John reciprocated fondly, letting one of his hands creep around the bend of your waist. You never realized it was possible to feel so happy.

"Did you do that because you've been drinking? Or do you perhaps fancy me a little?" John mocked your earlier statement, when the kiss died and your eyes locked.

"Both." You smiled, charmed enough to try it a second time. But this kiss was broken much sooner than you reckoned any kiss ought to be.

"You know I'll be leaving soon. Just a week's more time." John killed the mood with a few words. You glanced to your feet and muttered understanding, noticing his hand still clutched your waist.

"I just don't want to see you disappointed." John spoke up after a beat of heavy silence, and the words seemed hard for him to piece together, but he spoke them all the while.

"Then don't disappoint me." You shrugged, glancing back up to the perfectly handsome man, who's smile seemed sad now.

"Come on, then." John said, moving his hand to find your own. "Not even I get to enjoy parties like this too often."

And you let him guide you back inside. You let the sun set on all the pretty flowers. And you let yourself feel grateful for the rest of the evening at John's side.

///

He rode the train home with you the next day, sitting across the bench from you, and not saying very much.

You felt the need to chatter at the pass of every few minutes. You got John to ramble a little about the other places he was due to visit in the states. The guy only one more stop at some.fancy hotel after your town, in the big city, next week. Then he'd head home.

After explaining as much, the man went quiet again. But you couldn't let the silence last. It was as if you didn't work to hold his attention, it would be lost the next time you looked up. Maybe that wasn't true. But you couldn't risk letting John slip away so easily. Not when your heart practically lept from your chest each time his eyes met yours. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it. But you were going to fight for the chance that you had, while it was still within reach.

So when the train pulled into your neighborhood, and John stepped onto the platform, you stopped him waving goodbye.

"Will you be back? To our shop, I mean?"

John took a step closer toward you with a very serious expression that softened just before he spoke.

"I wouldn't dare leave before telling you goodbye." He promised, in a low, sweet manner.

John pressed his lips to your temple for one brief heavenly moment. And then he turned away to hail a cab.

At least now, in your terrible mix of emotions, something very bright and warm burned within you. And you got to believe, for a moment, that the same reigned true for John.

///

But all was not well at home. How could it ever be?

Your mother was horrified that you'd up and left for the night without so much as a word about it to her, and to your brother's home no less.

Her disdain for her first born left you sick to your stomach more and more each day.

But this was nothing new. You knew to give the woman a showy apology and to stay silent as she confined you to the kitchen table as she lectured about morality. Tomorrow things would be back to her regular sort of unhappiness.

What really stopped you cold in your tracks that night, though, was the sight of your father stood in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed.

To bring a frown to his face was your greatest fear. For he'd loved you and shown it. And you dreamed of doing good by him every chance you got. As you stalled in the hall and waited for him to speak his mind, you hoped this would only be a reprimand for causing your mother unnecessary grief, for her madness made you all ten fold more miserable.

"I know you've been with your brother..." Your father nodded with understanding, not looking right at you as he spoke calmly. "But that also means you've been with John. And I don't like that."

Oh. Ivan had warned you this might be your fathers mood. But you'd ignored his warning in hopes it wouldn't have been true.

"You know John!" You countered, "You work with him! You're telling me you get to work with a man you don't like but I can't see him?"

"He's a fine man. But all wrong for you."

"You're supposed to be the one who lets me find these things out on my own." You reminded. Your mother did plenty of directing you from day to day. Your father knew of what you spoke and nodded reluctantly, uncrossing his arms and looking you square in the eye.

"Well not this time. Stay away from John, you hear me? He'll be gone before you know it anyhow."

Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze as if to ease the blow of his demands. But as he walked back down the hall, the uncertainty that had stormed within you since John left you at the train station, raged wilder than before.

What a jam...

///

There was nothing stopping you from returning back to the depths of the coffee shop, the next time Ivan started up his business.

Your mother was sound asleep, and your father was already there, serving the last of the coffee up top. Once you arrived you knew he'd be cross but unable to march you away.

So you slipped on your finest dress and twirled down the rickety staircase that led to the party your brother charged for.

There were already a good deal of friends jam packed into the small basement; dancing to swells coming from the gramophone and lining up to grab a glass from Ivan's makeshift bar. Your brother flashed a grin when he saw you sauntering in, but his smile turned somewhat more into a worried grimace when he saw you march up the man near the end of those overturned book shelves.

So was everyone concerned over your connection with John? Even the man who'd held your interest sort of frowned at the sight of you demanding his attention.

John had his fingers curled around a glass. You took it from his grasp and the action made the bootlegger grin oh so slightly. But his frown returned after you slammed back the swallow of liquor in his glass- unsure yourself by what had come over you.

"Hey, come on, don't be that girl." Ivan called to you from behind the bar. You couldn't be sure if he was commenting on the way you'd claimed Deacy's drink for your own, or on the way you seemed too eager to get the stuff in your system.

Before you could snap back at your brother's comment, though, John spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," He insisted in the charming draw of his. "Just pour me another." And as the man who you adored stepped past you to hold your brothers attention, John sort of let his hand brush across your waist. And he left his fingers to linger along your sides as Ivan, disgruntled, poured another for John.

"Is that all you cut in line for?" Ivan sighed, nodding toward the few people, impatiently waiting to fill their glasses, stood in a row behind John.

And you hadn't really considered this before your brothers prompting. But at his asking, you were moved to pull out a twenty dollar bill from your coin purse, and demand he give you your money's worth.

Ivan was reluctant, going on for a bit how once your father spotted you here, like this, that he'd surely be disappointed. And you didn't want that, did you? But little did Ivan know, you'd already disappointed your father. And you were determined to get something you wanted tonight, one way or another.

So with a sigh, Ivan poured you a tall drink and informed you were good to come back for a few more, to match your payment.

So began your evening of ignoring John's worried remarks about slowing down. And as you kept the drinks coming you weren't even sure why. Perhaps it was to test your very own limits. To somehow prove you were more in control of your path than all the others who seemed to have something to say about the direction of your life.

And damn John, for the way he kept his eyes locked on yours between the distance he silently kept insisting upon. And damn him for helping you find your balance, despite the steps he kept taking away from you. For letting his hands stay secure around your waist, long after you'd straightened up from stumbling.

And damn your father. He had to have been behind John's change in attitude. From the moment you'd met, John had been a flirt. And steadily, his quips kept getting bolder, until the last party you attended. Ivan's rambling about your fathers dislike of your fondness of John had to be what caused him to step back.

And damn your father, for finding you all dizzy in John's well meaning clutch, now. Your dad pointed to the door and demanded you find your way out of this scene.

"I know you're not taking her back to your hole in the wall you've been staying at, in the state she's in." You father grumbled in a low curse, his eyes searing into John's. You tightened your hold on the fellow, shooting your father a glare all the same. He couldn't tell you where to go or with who.

"Take her upstairs if ya like. But don't step foot past the alley. I'll be up in a minute."

After a shared look, John moved, pulling you alongside him. You moved, happily leaning into him, disgruntled by the course of the evening all the while. Even Ivan seemed to shoot you a sorry grin when he noticed you being marched away, from across the room.

The alley was a little cold. But John's figure was warm. And as you followed his lead pausing just beyond the backdoor, you could feel this chance waiting to slip away.

"You like me, don't you?" You wondered, turning to face the man you'd been so taken with since the moment he showed up at your door.

"Of course." John nodded, and answered so softly and with such care truly felt as though it were melting.

"Then kiss me, John."

"You're drunk."

"But we may never get the chance again. One or both of us are about to be beheaded. Either way, that'll make kissing hard to do from now on." You implored, letting your head fall to rest precariously on his shoulder as you finished your plea. You heard John let out a somber little chuckle as he dared to tighten his arm around you.

And then you heard a shuffle beyond the backdoor, and let out a sigh at the timing of your father coming to ruin everything.

But instead, the door bursts open to reveal Rita in a fluster. Her usually perfect makeup streaking down her cheeks. At the sight of the girl you'd always admired, a pang shot through your chest. But not immediately for her upset, whatever it was, but because you realized you'd failed to see your friend here all night, until now.

Before you could apologize, or ask what the matter was, Rita sucked in a breath and let out a string of words for you.

"He was a snitch. He-he told my parents everything." She stammered, wild eye'd.

"Who?" You begged to know, having turned away from John, but not having totally turned your attention away from his hand still rested on the small of your back.

"The pastor's son. Cole. He- he said he was alright with this whole thing. But he... He told your mother. She's on her way here, she's-"

Sound of a car roared closer, and the engine died away, drowning out the last of Rita's warning. For a second, you thought of making a break for it. But then the click of heels on the pavement seemed to count down your fate.

And then she stood there before you. Your mother, dressed to the nines, complete with her usual scowl.

You couldn't let go of John. Your nails seemed to dig into his side on their own accord. The pair of you stared ahead to the woman who gave you life, and kept you from living it all the same. She stood and stared too, almost like she was giving you a chance. And that was the scariest bit of it all.

As time seemed to pause, John let your name escape him in a nervous breath, like a warning. Trying to alert you that your hanging off him wouldn't help. But there was no way you were gonna let him go now.

It was then your mother decidedly sauntered up to the two of you, letting her eyes search your from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back up again.

When she let out a scof, you realized you'd been holding your own breath. And when you opened your mouth, willing oxygen in, or words of mitigation out, your mother decided what was next.

Before you could blink, one of her strong hands was digging into your arm, and she was tearing you away from John's gentle hold.

And despite his caution earlier, you could feel John's hand still trying to keep hold of you, as you were yanked away. The sensation of being taken from the man's clutch was horrid, but what was more painful was the feeling of his fingers trying and failing to keep hold.

So when your mother tossed you aside, toward the brick of the coffee house wall, you were hardly affected; not like you'd only just been.

And when you looked up, after steadying yourself and dusting your stone imprinted hands of dust, John was stepping closer toward your mother. He shouted something at her, about how she didn't have the right to treat you just so. But before he could finish defending you, he was shut down.

Your mothers hand flew across his cheek, and the sound of the slap and John's shocked hiss echoed through the alley and caused something vile to rise in your gut.

You pushed yourself from the wall then, indifferent to the dizziness you felt, desperate to reach out to the man you'd been so fond of; calling his name.

But your mother was there, more sober and more angry. And she halted your mission to make it to your man, digging her nails into your sides and forcing you in the other direction.

"John I'm sorry, John..." You called past the lump in your throat. That was when Ivan came upon the scene. He darted from the doorway and did his damnedest to block your mothers storming off.

"You're a monster. Let her go!" Your brother fummed, as your mother managed to storm around her first born, pushing you along.

"I'm her mother. And I'll do as I see fit to keep my child out of harm's way." Your mother stated, almost calmly.

"You're no mother. You're a walking nightmare. She's not your plaything-"

"Word's won't fix this, Ivan." You said, reminding him that his defying of the woman only ever made her ten times more evil.

"I'll pray for your children, son." Your mother nodded, opening the passenger door of her car, and flinging you toward the bench. "They're going to need it."

You didn't look to Ivan, as your mother drove off. You didn't dare look to John. You only hung your head and cried silent tears while your mother peeled down the road. And the whole way home, she spat vile things about you and Ivan. Her own children. About your father, her beloved husband. And aout John, a man who, since his arrival, had only tried to help out.

You let your tears dry when the car pulled up to the house you'd never really felt at home in. And went willingly from the ride to the door, knowing you would get very far in the countryside if you dashed away now. You'd need a wiser plan. Still, your mother dug her claws into your arm and marched you up the staircase to your room, like you were a girl no oler to know better.

"Stay here." She demanded after pushing your further into your bedroom, her fist around the doorknob, establishing total control.

You expected to be banished here. What you didn't expect, however, was the return of your mother with boards to nail against your windows. You might've laughed if you weren't the one being all locked up. Wasn't this sort of thing only supposed to happen in twisted fairy tales? You're life was twisted enough, you supposed.

She left you there, trapped in the space that was meant to be your own, meant to be safe. As you sulked in silence, the memory of your mothers assault on John haunted you. The horrid sound her action resulted in. His gut wrenching reaction, the small hiss, his stalling in the place she put him in.

And the way he watched you being dragged off, helpless and sorry for you. It was pathetic, the situation you found yourself in. So you let your tears bubble up again and you cried and cried; until exhaustion set in. Tomorrow was a new day....

///

There was a pounding at your door, loud enough to jolt you from slumber.

"Open up!" The sound of your father calling from beyond the hall stirred you fully conscious. In one swift dash you were stood before your door, jiggling the handle, feeling silly for hoping that would work.

"She's locked it." You groaned. "Do you have a key?" Your wonder was nearly frantic, and so were you- trying still to twist the knob. At the sound of your fathers grumbled cursing, you began to bustle about for some hair pins, but quickly realized you wouldn'tve had a clue to how to finess the tools into working like another.

Then you heard your mother. She shouted down the hall, telling your father to get out of her sight, to leave you be. Shouting that you were better off confined. That you'd be locked away until she found the right reformatory to ship you off to. You knew she meant it. You knew she'd send you away without a care of your consent.

"She's not a child anymore. You can't just treat her like a bad pet who needs training."

"I'm her mother. And I'll be damned if I don't do what's best for my child. I failed the first time. God knows you never cared about either of them like I care." Your mother spat, breaking your heart and your fathers too no doubt.

Their bickering lasted a while longer, and you spun away from listening in to force yourself to think. There had to be a way out of here, out of this life. There had to be a way to a better world.

And the best you could do was wait. Until dinner. Wait until your mother brought you a tray of soup and bread, trading a few put downs before she twirled from your room. And then you checked the time, and counted down the hours to her always predictable nightly routine.

And you waited still, until your bedside clock ticked well passed after midnight.

And then you used a lamp to pry the nails away from windows. You could tell her bedroom light was out by leaning against the sill.

With no time to spare, you tossed a change of clothes in your purse, and the envelope stashed with tips you'd been saving for over a year.

It wasn't a very long way down. With the help of a lattice panel and the dark of night, you found grassy freedom in no time. Your heart beat heavy as you crept toward the road. It wouldn't be safe, not until the city lights were in view. But your shoes were flat and your hopes were high.

Miraculously, no one stopped you. Not the truck who zoomed by somewhere still deep along the dark country road. Not the school kids on the edge of town, tossing bottles off the bridge. And not the sleepy clerk at the desk of the hotel you raced into.

"Be here, be here, be here..." You prayed under your breath, hurrying to the room you remembered John booking. And right as you rounded the hall, the door of the room you'd been in search of opened.

But the squeak of wheels gave away the presence of a maid, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies out into the hall.

"He's gone?" You sighed, stopping at the end of the hall, your feet aching after moving so ceaselessly through the night.

"Whoever was here left a while ago." The maid stopped for a moment, looking to you with a sorry expression. "Around dinner time."

"Right. Is there a phone at the desk?"

The maid nodded and wished you luck, and you thanked her for it. You'd need as much as you could get.

The clerk who was still kicked back, sleeping, startled at your ringing the bell on the desk. And though they didn't seem pleased at your begging to use the phone, they let you.

It only rang twice.

"Hello?" Your fathers voice was a pleasant surprise. Of course he'd gone to stay with Ivan, in the midst of all this chaos.

"Dad, Im-"

"Where are you? Does she know you've gone? I'll come fetch you."

"No." You implored, holding up a hand as if he could have seen your insistence. "No I've phoned to let you know I'm taking the train to the city. I've got to find John before he leaves. And I'm sure of where he is. I've got to try."

John had told you where he was headed next, on your last train ride together. And you'd felt silly for keeping the details at the front of your memory... until now.

The other line went quiet for a beat. And you'd fully prepared yourself for your fathers disapproval. But then he just said,

"Okay." Your father seemed to realize the weight of your feelings, you thought, by his tone of voice. "I knew you'd get out of there, eventually." And once more, you could tell by his tone he wasn't just referring to the room you'd been locked in for the last couple nights. "Phone us again, when you're safe and sound. I know you will be."

At his blessing, tears sprung in your eyes. You were going to go no matter what. But to have your father on your side made you even more determined to fly out of this hotel, and to the next one you knew John was meant to be staying at.

///

Booking a train ticket was nearly impossible. And if you had spent much longer pleading with the station, you would have missed the bus pulling up down the block, offering rides in the right direction.

The couple hour journey was maddening, and thrilling, and terrifying all at once. You were on your way to change your life. No matter what John said, or how he greeted you; no matter if he fell into your embrace or left you in the hotel lobby, you'd never go back the way you'd come from.

And luckily, you managed to find the hotel John had briefly spoken of, without much trouble. It was the grandest of the business booming on this side of the city. Folks flooded in and out of the revolving doors, as you considered the past set of days that had led you to standing before here with such an erratic heartbeat.

But you only stayed paused for a moment. Your feet were darting inside before your mind caught up with how close you were to the mission at hand.

The lobby was just as full of people as the revolving doors had been, lines forming near the desk, groups fighting to fit their luggage into golden elevators.

And though you hated to be the person you'd decided to be, you dashed to the end of the front desk, hoping the clerk would spare you a minute at most.

"I just need to know if someone's booked a room." You begged to know, shooting sorry looks to the people you'd cut in front of. The clerk seemed to have no patients for you, but miraculously, another set of hands swooped in to help. Some nice older woman flipped through the bookings to find John's name, after you gave it, and came up short.

"What about Deacy?" You hoped all of a sudden, quickly beginning to lose your ambition the longer she shook her head.

You'd done what you could, rudely so. And scurried away so your unwelcome presence would no longer be in the way of things.

And as you sauntered away, giving one last pathetic glance about the crowded lobby, you reminded yourself that it was all alright. You might not have found John. But you were finally free.

And then you pushed through the revolving door. And past your ghostly reflection, you spotted a familiar set of grey eyes.

John seemed to wait until your gaze registered his own, before spinning around to make it indoors. You ignored the chilly night air and pushed on until you were right back where you'd just started to leave from.

There he was, before you as real and sure as the sun and moon.

"You never gave me a proper goodbye." You reprimanded through a growing smile. He'd promised to give you a farewell, once.

"How about a rain check? I've got lot's more important things to tell you, as a matter of fact." The man you'd come to adore smiled then, and offered his arm. You held on without hesitation and managed to follow his lead through the crowd, to the room he'd been staying in.

It was a humble little space, his suitcase opened on the coffee table and a yellow lamp left on by the window. John shut the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the pale blue tie round his neck, as you glanced about the room.

"I came by. Your place, I mean." John admitted, leaning against the closed door, as you turned from admiring the wall art to face him.

"You did?"

And then John said your father had dragged the Brit along, that night he'd knocked at your door. John was outside with high hopes. But your mother had caught your father before you'd even known there was a plan.

"So you did try to come and tell me goodbye." You laughed a little, kind of glad he wasn't able to. This reality where you'd run to him was much more befitting to the situation, you thought.

"Well, no." John pointed, not laughing along with you. "I never really wanted to say goodbye."

You stood there, taking in the sight of him. Watching John's brows oh so slightly furrow upward, hope pouring from his expression. You considered the gleam in his eye and the way he slowly seemed to shift his posture a little closer to you.

"So we haven't got to part ways in a hurry then?" You wondered. Asking more than if you could linger a while longer in his rented room.

John seemed to know what you were asking. He seemed relieved, too. His shoulders loosened as the man crossed the space between you, in no big hurry. It seemed the two of you had all the time in the world at your disposal, now. John took his time, reaching out to tuck away some loose hairs near your ear. And his smile grew steadily too. By the time the guy pressed a kiss to your lips, you'd been wondering if the dawn would be breaking any time soon.

But the longer John went on kissing you, the less you thought of the sunrise. As John enclosed you in his arms, all your thoughts were of the man you'd come to adore.

And as laid next to him and closed your eyes to the rising sun, you couldn't recall ever having experienced such a bright morning.

"So you're not too eager to head back home, yeah?" John asked, once you'd both stirred from a restful slumber.

"I think I found a much more suitable place to be." You smiled, referring to the spot you'd settled under John's arm.

And it didn't take much convincing on his end for you to agree on catching the next boat across the pond.

///

The other line rang so long you'd almost decided to hang up. Then your brother answered.

"Helllooooo!" He sang in a chipper timbre, making you wonder if he'd been expecting you at exactly this time, or if he answered everyone that way.

"Well I was going to ask how you were but it seems you're so well I don't have to wonder." You laughed into the receiver.

The morning was early, and a breeze blew back a sheer curtain, obscuring your view of the grey English morning.

Ivan spent the next few minutes yaking about how glad he was to hear from you. And you were glad to listen. On your rather spontaneous journey overseas, you were bogged down for a brief moment, at the thought of being so far from your dear brother. But as he rambled in your ear now, you'd never felt closer to him.

Ivan asked how things were. He asked after John, and that mattered so much more to you than his concerns for your well being. And when you had had your fill of the attention being on you, you begged your brother to give you all the details of what happened after you ditched home.

He said your mother was as furious as expected. Said she tried to blame your brother and her husband for your running off. Said she tried to get the police to shut down the coffee house for hosting such an undignified business after hours.

"You should'a seen her face when she found out officer Willard was our most loyal customer." Ivan chuckled.

"We did have to pay a fine, in the end, so she'd quit her raving. It was almost everything we'd saved away for the baby."

Your brother sighed. And you cooed his name in commiseration.

"But my friend who owns that estate, the one who threw that party John took you to," Ivan explained. "He was good enough to loan us a bit of cash to stash away." Your brother said the man tried to give the money away outright, as a thank you to Ivan for helping start up his own speakeasy of sorts. But Ivan was dead set on paying him back, one day.

"Now we can't decide to name the babe after him, or John." Ivan chuckled.

"And what if it's a girl?" You mused.

"That'll just have to be a surprise." Ivan said, and just then the line went dead. You called your brother's name with a little hope he'd come back to tell you more.

But you didn't worry when the line went on buzzing. You'd see him and his darling wife and his child to be, one day. You'd see your father too, if he was still hiding out at your brothers place. Hell, maybe they'd all come over here.

Maybe you'd build a life with John, in his humble little English flat. You certain felt at home, watching the guy of your fancy stay dreaming as the sun rose.

John had been kind to you. He'd been your friend when he didn't have to be. He'd let you lean into him, and he laughed at your jokes. He invited you into his world and smiled wide the closer your ship rolled toward London.

And he'd treated your shoes as if they'd always been stored in the middle of the welcome mat. John opened his space up to you, and asked every night for the first few weeks, if you were happy, if you needed anything more. Your answers were always yes and no.

And he didn't need to ask for honey in his coffee anymore. You just knew to add a little in the warm cup you'd have ready near the place he liked to sit in the morning.

It was familiar and it was sweet, and so was John. Maybe he liked honey in his tea, too. And dear God, how you prayed every year from here on out; got to be spent guessing at life alongside the man who'd thrilled you by wondering all your answers all along.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #john deacon fanfiction

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ilikemesometaetaes · 3 years

Text

Don’t Hold Your Breath ~ jjk

Chapter Five (M)

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes

•••> Summary: As the CEO of an international government security company, you have the world at your fingertips. Living life lavishly and extravagantly has become the norm. Behind closed doors, however, you host a past that renders you lonely and, quite frankly, miserable. It’s only a matter of time before your past comes back to bite you right in the ass.

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader, Taehyung/Reader (slight)

•••> Inspo: This fic is inspired by the song “SAVAGE ANTHEM” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. Thank you to @dariangarcia, @btssmutgalore, and @junghoseokit for supporting my work. To my mamas, Kaitlin, Adora, Lauren, Lanie, Lu, and Sher.

•••> Word Count: 6.54k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Warnings: angst, infidelity, oral (m receiving), heartbreak, cursing, pining, depression, breakup, mention(s) of therapy/counseling, arguing, drug use, alcohol use | Warnings are written specifically to chapter.

Taglist: @dariangarcia @apurpledheart @itsgottabeyoo-ngs @hytibm @namjinsbaby @ggukkieland

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, say so in a comment to this chapter or the DHYB Main Page, or send me an ask!

NAVIGATION: Chapter Four (M) <- | -> Chapter Six (M) -> Mini-Masterlist -> Series Masterlist

•••> Official Playlist

~#~

“Is it something we discussed now? The truth got you in disgust now, ‘cause I’d rather we just fuck now.”

THEN.

Sitting at your desk at work never felt so somber as you remembered how it all changed. The chain of events that led up to your fight with him the previous night were too hard to ignore anymore.

You remember fighting for him- for the both of you.

The tears flooded your eyes and, thankfully, blurred your vision from the scene before you.

Jungkook sat on a couch placed in the corner of the club, completely inebriated and high out of his mind. But that’s not what hurt you.

What completely ripped your heart from your chest was the woman draped across his exposed lap with her hair held in one hand while she used the other to wrap around the part of his dick that she couldn’t reach whilst she closed her lips over it.

Blinking your tears from your eyes on instinct allowed you to see that another set of eyes was looking at you. And they weren’t Jungkook’s.

Taehyung’s scowl, paired with furrowed eyebrows and sad eyes, was another image from that night you couldn’t get out of your head. There was no shock nor surprise on his face- he was expecting you. Taehyung knew that you would see. He didn’t try to deter you from coming to the club and he didn’t send any warning texts. He was the one who invited you in the first place.

The scene was an unforgettable one.

You should have taken Taehyung’s word for it from the start. He had given you hints that you simply couldn’t bother yourself to pay attention to.

While you possessed the knowledge and evidence that Jungkook cheated on you that night, you couldn’t bring yourself to properly address it. Each time you got around to speaking with him about it, you ended up brushing it off for another time.

Finding an excuse for yourself to defend him was easy.

The drugs and alcohol were the problem. You saw it yourself that night. He was in a completely different world when you saw him doing the deed. His eyes were glazed out with beautiful lips agape in complete, drug-induced ecstasy, unknowing of what he was doing. There was no way he was aware of what was actually happening or even what day it was.

But then came the day that it got so bad that you asked him to go get help. You were willing to forgive his negligence if he was willing to get it fixed.

It was the cause of your final fight.

“I’m not going to fucking rehab, Y/N.” He laughed spitefully. “There is nothing wrong with me. I’m a fucking rockstar. This is what rockstars do.”

“They also cheat on their girlfriends?” You sarcastically asked.

Jungkook chuckled darkly while looking at the floor. After a moment, he met your eyes in a cold gaze before he opened his mouth.

“Rockstars don’t have girlfriends.”

The weight of the statement pressured heavily on you in realization of what he was implying, pushing all of the air from your lungs. You were struck silent with an invisible smack offered by his words. No sound could escape your mouth as you stared back at him in a silent question: did it mean what you thought it meant?

“Yeah.” Was all he said in the deafening silence to answer your unspoken query, looking at the ground awkwardly. He was quick to add another few words to finally hit the nail on the coffin. “But if you still want to fuck, I’m down.”

“But- but I…” Your voice trembled weakly, feeling your eyes ache with incoming tears, but you fought them with every ounce of will that you had as your abhorrence was built up by his last words. The ground was swallowing you up and you were trying to claw your way free. “I waited for you to get better. You told me things would get better once you took off.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Y/N.” He laughed heartily.

Your heart was no longer beating. Not in your mind, anyway.

You felt as the life was torn from your lungs with the most simple and practical words; your world taken from you and all air seeming too thick to inhale.

Awfully, you couldn’t seem to listen to his words this time. You didn’t want to. Breathing seemed much too difficult as you felt him snatch the light from your life with one swipe.

There was no chance that you would let him watch you cry- no way he was going to watch the pain he delivered onto you take physical effect. You were disappointed and neglected- a pawn in the game he played. You were sick of playing now.

Instead, you turned around, grabbed your purse off of the kitchen table-

And left.

Sitting at your desk with all of the sadness that Jeon Jungkook brought into your life, you decided that it was finally time to leave. You needed to leave Korea. You needed to move on to bigger and better things.

Your hand was reaching for your phone before you could stop yourself from doubling back. It’s about time.

Googling for a moving company- any moving company- only took you a few seconds and you pressed the call button with a new sense of conviction.

“Good afternoon! Thank you for calling Team Wang’s Moving Company! What can I assist you with today?”

Making sure your voice was level and controlled, you spoke, “I’d like to schedule a move of items from a storage unit here in Korea to another country. Am I able to do that?”

“Of course, ma’am! We can get started on preparations for that right away! What was the location that you were referencing? We are limited on the countries we can ship to due to certain regulations.”

Without any further hesitation or pondering over the past, you settled on it.

“Italy.”

Jungkook

He sat in his room for a while with an empty lyric journal, letting the high slowly fade from his body as regret began pumping through his veins. Jungkook had put up the act for Taehyung, but after he saw his brother angrily storm out the door and he was left alone to the ever familiar havoc in his mind, the fight to maintain his mask was easily lost.

What the fuck did he do?

Seeing you cry was common for him; Jungkook had made you cry too many times to count, but that didn’t take away from the way it ripped apart the sinew in his chest every time he saw that look in your eyes as tears streamed down your cheeks.

He managed to convince himself of the belief that it was impossible for you to care that much anymore. You just couldn’t. Not when he had fucked up the first time. He had broken your trust and he didn’t trust himself enough to try and earn yours back, fearing that he would just fuck you up past recovery- like himself.

Jungkook was beyond rejuvenation and beyond any form of succor. Nothing could help him silence his demons except the cold and dark embrace of death. Even now, sitting in silence in his bedroom to let the remorse for you distract him from the torment of the empty organ beating in his chest, he felt them begin to criticize him.

Jungkook’s parents and brother died young, victims of a drunken asshole who decided that it was a good idea to get behind the wheel to try and get home to his girlfriend. What a fucking prick.

For some reason, Jungkook decided that it would be a good idea to stay home and worry about the girl that he liked at school, making little sketches to slip into her lunchbox once lunch came around.

Of all days he could have stayed home, it just had to be that one. He should have gone to the grocery store with them. He should have been in that car with them.

The voices in his head began three weeks after the funeral- when Jungkook reached the ripe age of twelve. Constantly battering him down, twisting his heart, and suffocating his head, he recognized that it was his own voice and his own psyche attacking the sanctity of his soul after he watched the three coffins sink into the cold ground.

It just had to rain that day, water filling the nice dress shoes his father bought for him a few months prior as mud covered the black leather.

He reached adulthood much too fast. Even under the care of his parents’ friends, he was forced by his own will to become independent. They tried to shower him with the same love and support that his family had, but it was no use- Jungkook was alone. No one could fill that gap in his heart once it was made empty.

He’ll admit, he was a bit more dramatic back then.

He was approaching his seventeenth birthday when he smoked for the first time, turning it into a habit by the time he graduated high school. He had been dragged out to an end-of-the-year school gathering by Taehyung, a senior who was much too silent like himself- who understood that Jungkook preferred the quiet due to the mayhem in his mind. They had formed a tranquil and mostly unspoken bond over the months that they studied together.

“Is it safe?” Jungkook muttered while looking at his older companion of the silence curiously.

“I’ve done it a few times and I was fine. Just take it slow at first. Try two hits and then wait like twenty or thirty minutes.” Taehyung’s contralto voice was somehow comforting to Jungkook, a beacon in the chaos that was the kickback they were currently separating themselves from. “If you don’t want to, that’s cool. You don’t have to.”

“Nah,” Jungkook’s desire to break out of his shell was a little spurred by Taehyung who seemed to aid him in the most odd yet unobtrusive way. “I’ll try it. Might be cool.”

The only two at the campfire while the rest of their year mates drank and danced to music in the house, Jungkook and Taehyung shared their first high together.

Then, the voices stopped.

Jungkook was shaken to his core, gripping the arms of the camping chair he sat in until his fingers ached and his knuckles turned white. For the first time in six years, his head was blanketed in silence.

Slightly panicked at the new sensation, he turned to Taehyung for help, only to find that his friend was sitting back with his head craned up, gazing intently at the stars. Jungkook followed his stare and struggled to see them past the glow of the flames in front of him, only to grow enraptured by the gorgeous twinkling of each small dot in the midnight sky once his eyes adjusted. Strangely, he was hit by a sudden burst of inspiration.

“I could write a song right now.” Jungkook told the sky confidently.

“You write?” He saw Taehyung turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Meeting his friend’s observance, he let a smile lazily grace his face for once as he replied.

“I do occasionally. I always wanted to be a singer when I was younger.”

“Me too.” Taehyung chuckled with a sense of wistfulness, fixing his stare on the small inferno in the fire pit. “Well, I wanted to be a bassist really bad. Maybe sing a little.”

Overcome with the emotions of maybe not being totally alone, Jungkook’s inner sageness spewed from his mouth without falter, wholly due to the graceful and relaxed feeling that he received from the high.

“We’re still young.” He reasoned. “We can still do it.”

“I’ll be studying music in university after my military service is over. My most realistic dream now is to become a studio bassist for some record company.” Taehyung laid his head back again, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Jungkook called for his friends attention and the older boy looked at him with slightly bloodshot eyes. “We can do something with this if we really want to. I’ll follow you to university. Never really had a solid plan for where I wanted to go to anyway.” Jungkook stuck his hand out in a silent offer, hoping that his proposition wouldn’t be crushed.

Taehyung smiled mellowly, taking his younger friend’s hand with his in a handshake. “Sounds like a plan, my friend.”

After Taehyung graduated and enlisted, Jungkook completed his senior year with a new hobby- well, two new hobbies: writing and smoking.

With the impending date of his enlistment, he knew that he had to give it up as he was going to get drug tested. For two years, he kept up with himself without the help of the self-administered psychoactive drug therapy.

Service was a good distraction from the voices. Having things to do to keep him busy and writing in any free time he had, he was kept delightfully aloof from the dark corners of his mind. It also helped that he enlisted into the same garrison that Taehyung was assigned to.

Taehyung welcomed Jungkook into university with open arms. Now, at the age of twenty, Jungkook was a seasoned and trained man. The voices still loomed over him, but they were pushed to the back of his mind as he learned to deal with the emptiness.

He had highs to suppress his demons, he had his songs to communicate himself to others, and he had Taehyung.

Although it wasn’t nearly enough to fill his empty glass, it was empty no longer.

Jungkook lay in his bed as he watched the violet sky turn midnight blue, the already-set sun pulling the rest of its light away from his side of the earth.

Naked and vulnerable under the scrutiny of the world, he lay in the sheets with his head turned toward the window, presenting the sorrow brimming in his eyes right back to the invisible gaze of the universe. With no form of judgement in response to him, he was left to ponder over the things he had done.

Because even now, with a slight high from the drugs, he realized that he could still hear them- the whispers, murmurs, and dronings of impugnment continued to poison his mind. He found it funny that he was always pressing the voices away, yet whenever confronted by the menace that was his emotions, they were his safety blanket.

Pulling the sheets to his body while he curled into himself, Jungkook realized that he felt completely bare and exposed without the voices.

He’d keep them back to the point of a whisper so that he could call on them to protect him with a roaring intensity during bad times. There was never a time that he wasn’t manually suppressing them if he wasn’t high anymore.

With a shaken mind, he realized the only true way they were silent without true effort now. The drugs had stopped suppressing them a long time ago. There was no way he was able to have silence unless he was actually enforcing the lack of sound onto himself.

Not unless he was with you.

You provided light and hope and everything good to him, You gave him the things that were snatched away from him all those years ago- the things that he forced himself to live without. Unlike Taehyung, who gave him the sense of having a brother again, you gave him the love of everyone he lost. You acted like a sibling, gave him the comfort like a mother, and gave him the stern challenge and teachings of a father- if that made any sense.

Without you, he felt like his family; Jungkook felt lost and alone. Even as an up-and-coming rockstar with thousands of fans scrambling to get to know him, he felt like he was the last man on the planet who kept himself back while everyone else moved on to a better world.

The night at the club still haunted him, the truth of what happened chilling him to the bone- even if he didn’t exactly remember any of it.

Shit. Maybe he needed help after all.

NOW.

Sitting with his back to the door, staring at the night of New York City, Jungkook did not hear Namjoon enter the room with both of his bodyguards in tow.

“We’re staying another few days.” His older brother informed him, breaking him from his trance-like gaze.

“Goody.” Jungkook sighed, setting his empty glass down on the table in front of him. With a huff, he stood and stretched. Namjoon uttered a quick ‘give us a second’ to his men before the shuffling of feet and the door closing behind him signaled the beginning of a serious conversation.

“You know she’s still here, right? It’s not too late to go and talk to her.” Jungkook could feel the man’s eyes on his back, pity dousing the information that Jungkook was already aware of.

But Jungkook didn’t need Namjoon’s pity. It was enough that Namjoon saw his feelings on paper. Nothing more needed to be shared.

Still, he respected his brother’s wisdom and he remembered the words of his counselor. ‘Accept the silence. Then, do the talking from the inside. The only one truly speaking, inside and out loud, is you.’

“I know. I already spoke to her. Some things…” Jungkook’s volume died down for a moment, unsure of how to put it, as he turned his head to look at his brother in a silent plea for assistance. “…happened the other night. She came and saw me again today,”

“-I didn’t know what to do and I acted like a dickhead.” He looked back down and chuckled spitefully to himself, wisps of a shadow materializing back into the depths of his mind once he stopped speaking.

Namjoon exhaled after not realizing that he was holding his breath following his own comment. Carefully, he approached Jungkook so as to not trigger him into closing himself off. Despite having received professional assistance and counseling for two years, Jungkook was still as fragile as fine china.

The older man placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder before slightly forcing Jungkook to face him.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” Namjoon looked into his eyes, prying into the windows of his soul, to capture a glimpse of the storm clouds brewing in his brother’s brown orbs. “Do you still love her?”

Jungkook didn’t know how to answer at first.

The voices began permeating Jungkook’s mind ever so slowly as an automatic reaction to being emotionally jabbed. He didn’t like addressing his feelings; the voices were all he could fall back on when he felt threatened, deafening volume drowning out the possibility for anything to reach into him too deep. They gave him the things- the bad things- he needed to say in order to protect himself.

As he sifted through the past two years, however, looking back on the help he had received and the exercises he went through that allowed him to no longer fear the natural silence- to embrace it without the drugs- he knew that no one was threatening him and no one was going to hurt him. Jungkook was asked if he still loved you and he couldn’t have the negativity surrounding him if he was going to answer that question, so he moved his trepidation out of the way to see what was left for you.

Behind it all- the fear, meaningless women, music, loss- lay a withering yet ever-present being, its wings tattered and flayed at the edges. With its first glances of light, with no smog to block it, it beat its tiny appendages with potential and came to life upon Jungkook’s realization of what it was.

His arrant and perennial love for you.

Jungkook briefly remembered the meadow- your meadow- and all of the tiny butterflies that were living out their lives in the beauty of the world that day. A butterfly adorned with blue and black splotches of color on its wings had managed to land on your head for a split second when he adjusted your hair. The particular memory and the events that followed on that day relocated as the tiny butterfly inside his mind fluttered upwards.

Jungkook’s heart soared with newfound beginnings- a second chance.

“I do, hyung. I do.” He whispered, voice wavering under the force of the emotions that came bubbling up from his chest. Tears filled his eyes, prompting his older brother to pull him into an embrace.

Jungkook’s body racked with cries at the feeling of comfort and warmth, unable to stop himself from feeling the raw emotions he had delayed for too long. Instead of needing to push the darkness out of the way, it came pouring out of him in radiating waves much too intense for him to handle alone.

“Hyung! I love her! I love her!” He chanted into his brother’s shoulder. “I hurt her! She was all mine and I tossed her away!”

Namjoon, although shocked by the psychological state and emotional outburst of his usually stoic bandmate, held him with care and waited until his brother’s breathing calmed before suggesting his next move. “Then go and get her, Kook.”

“She’s-” Jungkook had to swallow to wet his dry throat. “She’s with Taehyung right now.”

“Then wait until morning. From what Jin-hyung said, she’ll be here until the end of the week.”

So, wait is what Jungkook did.

He woke up at eight the next morning and called your personal assistant, finding his number easily on your company’s preliminary email to everyone in his organization for the whole UN ordeal. After two rings, the man answered.

“Halo! This is Brian Morena, representative and PA to Ms. Y/N Y/L/N. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Jeon Jungkook.” Jungkook stated his name lowly and unsurely, cautious as to how to approach asking him about your schedule.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon! It is a pleasure to speak with you! I’ll just verify your phone number really quick. It will only take a moment.” The line went silent for a few seconds and Jungkook waited on the edge of his bed with a bouncing knee and a fingernail between his teeth. After a few more seconds, the man was back on the phone. “You’re good! What can I do for you today?”

“I was just wondering if I could possibly get my hands on Ms. Y/N’s schedule for the day.” Jungkook heard how weird the request sounded the moment it flew from his lips. Quickly, he came up with a lie to soothe the request with reasoning. “She left her jacket in the elevator and I wish to return it to her- personally.”

Jungkook added the last part, knowing that the man would just tell him to give it to an employee of your own building, and Jungkook couldn’t have that. He wanted- no, needed- to see you.

“I see.” Brian responded thoughtfully. “Well, in that case, I’m unable to disclose her whereabouts due to security reasons.” Jungkook’s heart dropped a little at the notion of being unable to speak with you while his heart was still flying open. Then, Brian spoke again.

“But if she is in her hotel during her free time, she will be in her penthouse and I will assign you a temporary elevator key so that you can get to her door. It won’t unlock the door, but it will get you in front of it. Does that sound alright, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook smiled triumphantly. “Yes, that sounds lovely. Thank you, Brian.”

“It’s no problem, sir! Though, I do suggest you move quickly because she only has the next two and a half hours before she has her first scheduled event of the day. Your key will be ready for you in the next ten minutes. Have to wait until your status change goes through properly.” Brian was busy clacking away at his keyboard while he spoke, but Jungkook couldn’t be more overjoyed that he had succeeded in his plan thus far.

Things will work out. I’ll get her back. However much and however long it takes.

He dressed casually and indiscriminately with a mask over his face so as to not draw attention. After searching for it on google and exiting the hotel onto the street, he hailed a cab to take him to the first flower shop he could find to order you a bouquet of white tulips- obviously, he had to google that too. Jungkook had no idea what the best flower for apologies and hopes of new beginnings was. He was no botanical genius and that was a fact.

Once he had the flowers in his hand after a grueling wait, he stopped by the closest coffee shop to buy your favorite coffee- with two creams and three sugars if he remembered correctly. Despite the amount of time the florist had wasted, he made his way back to the hotel on foot so that he could properly practice what he was going to say to you. If he was going to make it right, he needed all the practice he could get.

Take off the mask. Don’t be a dick. Take off the mask. Don’t be a dick.

Jungkook let the incantations fill his head so that the haze of negativity didn’t have a chance to snap back into place over his single, delicate emotion. He was vulnerable and fighting the mental pressure with everything he had so that he could bare himself long enough to at least get back on good terms with you.

By the time he was back in front of your hotel building, it was a quarter to ten and he was left cursing the florist for taking so long. He stood awkwardly on the pavement, allowing himself a few breaths before he decided to enter the glass doors. Jungkook knew that he would be attracting attention by standing in front for so long, yet he couldn’t help but need a moment to send a prayer to whichever god was watching over him.

Closing his eyes, he craned his head up and took one last inhale whilst sending a silent plea for things to work out. To see you smiling and happy again. To hold you in his arms and hear you silence every one of his demons once and for all.

What he didn’t expect was one of his prayers to be promptly answered.

As he opened his eyes to look at the late morning sky, he caught sight of you immediately, sitting on the restaurant balcony- laughing and smiling. But you weren’t laughing and smiling to yourself.

You were giving your joy and happiness to Taehyung whose hand was covering yours above the table, grinning endearingly and adoringly back at you.

Jungkook’s hands grew numb, warranting the flowers and coffee to slip from his grasp onto the sidewalk, as he drowned in smog once again.

NOW.

You

“He never wanted you to leave.”

You sat, dumbfounded for a moment, as Taehyung said the words. You didn’t let the shock last for long, knowing that what he said must have been a lie.

“There’s no way.” You chuckled scornfully. “He told me himself, Taehyung. He didn’t want me anymore.”

“Y/N, take it from me. I loved you. I wanted to see you happy.” He grimaced briefly, most likely from the personal statement, while turning his eyes down to place his gaze on his empty plate in front of him. “But I knew that he made you happy even though he made you sad. He made you happy in a way that I never could. And he wanted to see you that way- happy.”

“I’m sorry, Tae. I- I should’ve-” Your heart ached for a moment as you tried to find the words to say, wishing for the first time that you had been in love with him instead.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. You can’t force feelings like that and I sure as hell was not going to force you into anything that you didn’t want.”

A question burned behind your eyes, tugging your heart to remember the past.

“Then why did you let me see?” Your eyes turned cold. The drop in your tone nor the change of your mood were directed at him, but they were caused by him nonetheless.

“Because I was young and thought you had a chance to find that happiness elsewhere.” He sighed, taking the opportunity to place his hand over yours on the table while his words distracted you. “And for that, I’m sincerely sorry. I know that friends are supposed to help each other out, but that was a situation that was out of my hands and not mine to handle or get involved in.”

“I’m not blaming you for my relationship issues. I never did and I never will. So don’t apologize.” You looked down at the way his hand covered yours. “I just wanted to know.”

Taehyung pat your hand in an attempt for you to look at him again. When you did, he continued his sentiment.

“Jungkook didn’t want you to leave at all. He has this… thing. It’s not really my place to say anything, but I’ve been friends with him for years and he’s had it a bit rough. I know that he’s a dick- believe me, I know-“ You quirked an eyebrow at his expression. “But he’s got something he keeps hidden behind that thick skull of his that you should probably know about.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” You asked, curious as to what he could be alluding to.

“Because you guys still need to talk. He was never good at talking to you about things.”

“I’m never fucking talking to him ever again.” You deadpanned.

“Please do it for me, Y/N.” His eyes begged with his plea, pulling you in.

“Oh? And why should I do it for you, hm?” You joked with him to steer the conversation away from the heavy subject, a small smile playing upon your lips. “I think you were the one apologizing to me.”

“Well, all I can say is that I’m sorry. I was supposed to be there for you- when you needed a shoulder to cry on and when you needed someone to binge watch TV shows with.” He smiled with his attempted joke that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“You’re the best TV show buddy.” You giggled and looked down at your joined hands again, rotating your own so that you could hold his. To be friends with him after all this time… is it possible?

“Oh, I know I am!” He laughed loudly again, prompting you to quickly look around the restaurant area and the street below you, mild panic setting in once more. You tilted your head in confusion and pity at the sight of a few white flowers lying on the pavement next to a splattered drink.

“Poor flowers.” You muttered to yourself. “They’re so pretty.”

You watched Taehyung turn to look where you were staring from the corner of your eye. “Oh yeah. Would you look at that? Such a waste.”

Instead of taking any more time, you stood and straightened your blazer to remove the wrinkles. “We should probably get out of here. I have a security meeting in a little while.”

“How long is a little while?” Taehyung asked as he stood and pressed his hands to his own coat. You made eye contact with Jay who was already stood and ready to go, nodding to him as you answered Taehyung’s question.

“About an hour and a half. Why?”

“Damn. That’s not enough time. Maybe tonight then?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, lips forming into a thin line.

“Enough time for what? What’s happening?” You grabbed his elbow when he began walking away without answering your question.

“What time are you going to be done for the day?” He asked.

“Taehyung,” You warned lowly. “What’s going on? I won’t tell you unless you give me something to work with here.”

“Oh, nothing.” He smiled and removed your grasp from his arm. “I’ll just ask Brian again. I’m sure he’ll be upset if you dodge your schedule.”

“Brian?” You watched as he walked away through the tables while hooking his mask back onto his ears. You wanted to get to the bottom of the situation fast- so you quickly followed him. “You’ve been speaking with him?”

“Of course I have! Isn’t that right, Jay?” Taehyung turned to the man in question.

“Of course, Mr. Kim. You’ve been very in touch with the staff.” Your bodyguard, once he joined you and Taehyung walking together, let a small, smug grin pull at the corners of his mouth. What a traitor. A slight sense of mock-betrayal filled you.

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

“For research purposes.” Taehyung deadpanned, grabbing your hand in the process. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“I have to go back to my room and get ready for my meetings.” You said quickly. Taehyung only chuckled lowly.

“Alright. Then let’s go!” He tugged you towards the exit. “I’ll take you to your door.”

You had no option but to stumble behind him while you stressfully surveyed the area, careful of onlookers.

~∞~

“YOU ALMOST LOST IT?” Kate’s voice was shrill and slightly distorted as it burst through the speakers of your phone at an ear-splitting volume.

“I’m sorry!” You briskly apologized. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear!”

“I spent weeks- weeks!- planning and making that jacket for you! I-” She bleated weakly before her tone leveled to nonchalance. “Wow. So this is what being chopped liver feels like.”

“Kate! You are not chopped liver, I swear.” You rushed the statement as you sat back in your office chair, glad to have a conversation that wasn’t work-related after a long and grueling day.

Your friend only grumbled in response. “It sure feels like it.”

“Well, you aren’t. I swear on my job.” You said.

“Oh wow. Holy shit. Okay, yeah that means a lot.” She stuttered playfully. “But something tells me you didn’t call me just to tell me you almost lost one of my most prized works of art- which, by the way, is my best seller. So, what is it?”

“I- uh…” You didn’t know how to word it. You had spent the entire work day using security updates and board meetings as a distraction from the open debate in your head, so now that your day was over and you had nothing left to do, the thoughts came back. It’s why you called Kate; you needed a third opinion.

If what Taehyung said about Jungkook was actually true, then maybe you should talk to him so that you could hear his side of the story. The bad bitch part of you told you to fuck off and forget about him, but you couldn’t help the softer and more curious side of yourself that begged to hear him out.

Realizing you had gone silent for a moment too long, you blurted out something random. “I’d like for you to design a hat for me.” A hat? Really? That was the best you could come up with? At least ask for some pants or something.

“Bullshit,” She chuckled in response. “But I’ll take that until you’re ready to tell me what’s actually going on.”

You heard her rustling some paper in preparation to take down design ideas, triggering panic to rise within you. You didn’t want her to put in work for an imaginary hat that you really had no desire of having.

“Hypothetically!” You shouted before she could get into it.

“Okay…” You heard the hesitation in her voice, clearly weirded out by your outburst. “Hypothetically what?”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that you had an old flame who broke your heart and acted like a dick years ago, but you just recently learned that there were, maybe- I don’t know- some other things going on that made him act that way. Would you want to talk to him about it?”

“Hell no.” Kate laughed. “Just because you’re going through some stuff doesn’t mean you can act like a dick to other people. There’s no excuse for being a shitty person.”

“That’s what I thought.” You replied strongly. In your head, however, the war within you was brewing, weakening your composure.

“You’re not one to usually think about things like this.” Kate added. “What’s going on with you?”

“Just dealing with some stuff from the past. Nothing huge.” You didn’t want to overshare and Kate understood, knowing that she could never ask you to tell her about your past. She would wait until you were the one sharing it with her.

“Just let me know if you want me to come over there. I could definitely use some quality time with a quiet person for once. These idiots are so loud.”

You laughed in response. “I will. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. We can watch movies or something and eat pizza and drink wine.”

“Oh my. That sounds like the perfect date!” She squealed. Her giddiness was infectious, spreading a soft smile across your lips.

“Won’t Brian get jealous?” You jab at her playfully.

“Not at all. He’ll probably end up attached to his video games anyway.” Kate snorted. “Shit! Speaking of! I need to call him! I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. Talk to you later.” You sat up in your chair.

“Bye!” She chirped.

As you sat alone in your office, building lights dark and the lights from the city the only form of illumination in the room through the window, you let your friends’ words rifle through your head.

On one hand, Kate catered to your stone-cold side, encouraging you to forget all about Jungkook and move on. Despite not knowing the situation and understanding all of its facets, her opinion was unbiased.

Taehyung, on the other hand, encouraged you to speak with Jungkook. He was aware of both sides of the story and understood what you and Jungkook- whatever the hell it was- were going through. He supported the side of you that was eager to understand and desperate to love again.

The decision was, ultimately, yours to make. What were you going to do?

The thoughts in your mind weighed heavy on your heart while you prepared to leave. You stood, packed your brief case, and made your way out of your office and onto the sidewalk to hail your driver so that you could go back to your hotel.

You couldn’t worry about it for long, though, because your phone vibrated three separate times as three notifications lit up your screen on your way back. Taehyung texted you.

Kim Taehyung (BTS)

Wear thick socks.

And a coat.

With gloves.

You stared at your phone in confusion, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Just what in the world was this boy planning?

~#~

Sorry this took so long, everyone! Please remember to like/reblog and comment if you want. I’d like to know what you guys think!

Don’t forget to check out the Series Masterlist if you want to read the oneshots that I have published.

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

Text

Anything But Mine - The Get-To-Know-You Game

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

“Gosh...sorry it’s kind of a mess in here.”

“That’s okay.” Florence giggled, watching Daniel jump over to rush to tidy his desk a little the second they stepped inside the dorm room. She held one protective hand on her round stomach and the other quietly closed the door behind them. “Jack’s out?”

“Yeah he’s in class until 6.” Daniel answered, tossing his stack of music theory books into the corner of the desk.

“You don’t have to panic clean. I’m not the clean police, Daniel James.” Florence laughed lightly.

He blushed a little and dropped his backpack back onto the floor beside his desk, “Right.”

Florence smiled warmly at him, dropping her gaze to her belly when she felt a little flutter and she ran her hand over the spot where her baby kicked.

“Here. Come sit.” Daniel offered quickly, pulling out his desk chair for her.

Florence thanked him sweetly and sat down and he took Jack’s chair from across the small room for himself. She admired the cluttered dorm room from the clothes tossed in piles on the floor to Daniel’s guitar resting in the corner and Jack’s skateboards thrown around and posing a dangerous slipping hazard. It clearly was a boys’ room.

“Usually we’re really clean but midterms have us a bit...messy.” Daniel said with a sigh, rubbing his hands together between his knees as he scanned his shamefully chaotic dorm room that he was regretting bringing his new friend to see. A friend who was a girl at that.

“I’m not put off, Daniel James.” Florence assured him. “I have a messy room myself too.”

Daniel’s relieved little sigh had her smiling discreetly to herself.

“What do you want to do?” Daniel asked, trying to be a good host. “Can I...Do you want water? Or a...protein bar?”

“An honest selection but I’m okay for now, thanks.” Florence said sweetly.

Daniel nodded.

There was a momentary silence.

She smiled at him.

“Do you want to play a game?” Daniel offered.

“What are you proposing?” Florence asked.

“Well...we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well this last week...texting every day and had lunch at least twice...but we don’t really know a lot at the same time.”

“Truth or dare?” Florence peaked an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Alright.” she smiled and shifted comfortably in her chair. “You start.”

“Florence Margret...truth or dare?”

Florence giggled, “Hit me with a truth, Daniel James.”

Daniel thought for a moment, “When was the last time you cried?”

“This morning.” Florence answered easily.

Daniel’s face fell, “What? Why?!”

“I’m seven months pregnant.” Florence laughed, “I cry if the wind blows in the wrong direction.”

They shared light laughter and then it was her turn to ask. Daniel chose truth too.

“Who’s your favourite sibling?”

“Oh come on you can’t ask me that.” Daniel frowned in exasperation.

“Why not? My favourite brother is Callum.”

“He’s your twin. It’s in your DNA for him to be your favourite. I don’t have a twin.”

“So what? Not like I’m going to call up your family and say ‘omg guess what Daniel hates you except for one of you’.”

“Fine.” Daniel took a second to think through his answer. “Christian.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. He just is. My turn.”

“Okay, okay.” Florence giggled.

“Where is the farthest place you’ve travelled?”

“Florence, Italy. My name sake. Lived there for about a year.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. We moved with mother and father’s work a lot but mostly were in LA...but you knew that.”

“Do you miss LA?”

“Hey. It’s my turn. But no, I don’t. Not one bit.” Florence thought of her question for a second, “What’s your favourite thing about yourself?”

“I dunno.” Daniel mumbled, dropping his gaze to his lap. “My eyes I guess.”

“Your eyes are very nice.” Florence complimented.

Daniel glanced back over at her with a bashful smile, “Thanks.”

He swallowed back his desire to gush about every gorgeous thing about her in return. He took his turn to ask a question instead.

“How many people have you kissed?”

“Oh my, spicy questions now, Daniel James?” Florence teased. “But just one person.”

“Really?” Daniel pressed.

“Yep. First kiss, first relationship, first baby.” Florence patted her swollen stomach.

Then it was her turn.

“Boxers or briefs?”

“What the- briefs.” Daniel blushed pink.

“Really? Does it not get squishy down there?”

“I mean- like- no! It’s- it’s fine! It’s underwear!” Daniel laughed nervously. “What underwear do you wear?”

“Nasty granny panties currently because of this little girl.” Florence tisked, rubbing two hands over her stomach.

Daniel smiled at her.

“What’s your biggest dream?”

Florence let a small sad smile play at her lips and she looked down at her swollen belly before answering, “To make a good life for my baby. To fall in love. To raise her around a family that’s loving and supportive. I dunno...that’s silly. I just want her to be safe and provided for I guess. That’s it.”

“That’s not silly.” Daniel said gently. “That’s a good dream.”

“I guess.” Florence shrugged. “What about you? What’s your biggest dream?”

Daniel spun around in the desk chair once in thought before answering, “Just want to do something with my life. Make an impact somehow. Maybe put out a song? I want kids one day...maybe raising them will be enough.”

“You want kids?”

“Yeah.” Daniel smiled softly, spinning around once more in the chair, “Three or four would be good...having siblings was always fun growing up. Family trips and move nights and stuff. I think that would be nice. Do you want more after darling Clementine?”

Florence shrugged, “I dunno. Never really saw myself as a mom in the first place. Never had a solid example of what a parent is supposed to look like growing up so I’m going into this blind and bound basically. Can only hope I don’t screw her up.”

“You’re not gonna screw her up. I already know you’re going to be a great mom. Whether it just be to baby Clementine or to a whole schoolyard of children.”

“Oh thanks.” Florence scoffed playfully.

“I mean it, Florence Margret. Clementine is a lucky baby to have you.”

Florence bit her lip for a moment before replying with a wavering voice, “Okay, stop it. Baby hormones are gonna make me cry if we keep this up.”

“Okay, new questions.” Daniel laughed. “Whose turn was it?”

“I dunno. You go.” Florence said.

“Alright, lemmy think.” Daniel hummed. “What was the craziest party you’ve been to?”

“Well this last one I was at...there was this super annoying guy named Daniel-“

“Hey!”

“Just kidding.” Florence giggled. “No, honestly, Callum and I threw a party back in the spring at our parents house - so many people showed up and someone almost broke into my father’s award cupboard. Thank God my brother stopped it before anything was broken.”

“Where were you?”

Florence cleared her throat nervously and let out a little nervous laugh, “Upstairs getting knocked up.”

“...Oh.” Daniel looked to the ground.

“Daniel James.” Florence called for her turn.

He looked up at her expectantly.

“Are you a virgin?”

Daniel’s cheeks flushed red and he quickly dropped his gaze again, “I-I...no I have...I have had lots of s-sex.”

Florence peaked a brow, “Oh really? How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many people?” Florence crossed her arms over her chest in amusement at watching her new best friend squirm.

Daniel sighed in defeat and slouched back in his chair, “None. I’m a pathetic virgin.”

“It’s not pathetic. If I wasn’t such a lightweight I would be in that club with you. It’s not something you should just throw around...save it for someone special, okay?”

“Yeah.” Daniel sighed. “Jack says get it over with but that doesn’t feel right.”

“Jack doesn’t know jack-shit.” Florence scoffed. “You are going to make some girl very lucky one night. When you’re ready.”

“I know.”

“And wear a condom.”

“Oh gosh...I know.”

“Good. This has been sex-ed with Florence.”

“Very informative. Like I said, mom-ready.” Daniel chuckled nervously.

The best friends shared light laughter.

“So you’re a virgin, but who was your first kiss?” Florence asked noisily.

Daniel opened his mouth to answer but then shut it and cleared his throat nervously with a nervous cock of his head.

“Oh wow, you’re a kiss virgin too?” Florence gaped.

“Yeah.” Daniel cringed. “Isn’t it embarrassing? I’m 18 for goodness sake.”

“Has it almost happened?”

“No. I don’t really know how to talk to girls yet alone make a move. I’m literally the most innocent guy in the whole country.”

Florence stared at him in thought.

“What is it?” Daniel pouted.

“Do you want your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

“So get over here.” Florence whispered cheekily.

Daniel’s eyes went wide, “Wait like...now? Here? With you?”

“We don’t have to if-“

But Daniel was already out of his chair and standing in front of her.

Florence smiled at his eagerness and sat up straighter, “Just to get it out of the way. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right.” Daniel nodded. He licked his lips.

Florence smiled and linked her finger in the collar of his shirt to pull him down towards her slowly. Their eyes closed habitually and were only centimetres apart when the door burst open and Jack came traipsing in. Daniel never moved faster in his life; nearly throwing himself away from Florence with saucer wide eyes and pink cheeks and she just giggled softly.

“Hey.” Jack said loudly as he dropped his skateboard down and took off his headphones.

“Hi.” Daniel replied as casually as he could muster.

“What were you guys doing?”

“Just...you know…” Daniel cleared his throat, “Chilling.”

Florence smiled gently at her frazzled friend. He wouldn’t have his first kiss until ten months later but at least it was with the girl who had promised it to him.

#im on mobile and can’t find where to insert the keep reading option so sorry for the huge post clogging your dash lol #but i was missing best friend era flora and dani #and this idea came to mind #anything but mine #daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey imagines #daniel seavey fanfic

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years

Text

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 1

A Throne of Glass x New Girl fanfic. Rowaelin. No warnings.

masterlist

AN: This first chapter is heavily inspired by the first episode of New Girl but this fic will diverge from the show in the future!

-----

Aelin looked up from her phone screen to the large brick building in front of her. Squinting in the sunlight, she took in the old warehouse with its rustic, evenly spaced square windows.

She looked back down to her phone, her text conversation with her cousin Aedion left open. Loft 4D, his message read. She tried the entrance to the building, but the rusty door wouldn’t budge.

Sighing, she tapped call on Aedion’s contact.

“Hello?” His voice came through the tinny speakers of her phone.

“Hey Aedion, it’s Aelin. I think I’m outside.” She peered through the glass of the door, looking for any sign of the golden haired man.

“Oh, right, one second,” The phone clicked as the call ended. She pulled her phone away from her ear, staring at it puzzledly.

“Aelin!”

As she reopened her phone to make the call again the shout rang out from above and she squinted back up at the building to a now open window a few floors up. Aedion peered out of the window waving enthusiastically at her.

“We’ll buzz you up now, fourth floor.”

She raised a thumb towards him and stepped inside when she heard the click of the door.

She hadn’t seen Aedion in a few months, the last time being at a family event hosted by one of the endless Ashryver relatives, but they were friendly enough for cousins. She hadn’t expected his message the day before, offering her the spare room in his loft, but she supposed her mother must have let slip the situation Aelin was in and Aedion was generous enough to extend the offer.

The situation Aelin was in was the result of her cheating, now ex-boyfriend Arobynn. He had been away travelling for a few months and Aelin had prepared for his return by slipping into something silky and small and setting herself up in their house to surprise him.

She hadn’t prepared for the short, curvy woman he had returned with.

Not thirty minutes later Aelin had been in a cab, cursing Arobynn to hell. Most of her belongings were shoved in two duffel bags on the seat next to her as she made her way to her best friend Lysandra’s apartment, ultimately homeless.

As the elevator pulled to the fourth floor, Aelin took in her reflection of the elevator door. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, then untucked it again. It was only Aedion and his roommates, and she just needed a room.

She’d known a couple of Aedion’s roommates from previous birthday events of his own, but not greatly. She scowled briefly at the thought of Lorcan, the grumpy, giant of a man, who her previous interactions with had all ended with snarled insults, but it was harmless. At least to her, she couldn’t begin to understand what went through the raven-haired man’s mind.

She stepped out of the elevator to the hallway just as the door to loft 4D was pulled open. The first thing she spotted were the swirling lines of an elegant tattoo, creeping up the arm holding the door handle.

Rowan Whitethorn, Aedion’s college roommate who she had met maybe once or twice, held the door open, smiling at her slightly. Her eyes tracked up his muscular arms to the broad planes of his chest and shoulders stretching the plaid shirt he wore tightly. His tanned skin peeked out from the collar of the shirt setting off his silver hair nicely. She swallowed before opened her mouth.

“Hey,” She started. “Thanks for having me.”

“Not a problem,” His voice was low and gravelly, but he cleared his throat as he lifted his arm, stretching behind himself into the loft beyond. “Come in, the others are in the living room.”

She smiled and ducked past him through the doorway into the short hallway of the apartment. She heard Rowan shut the door but was spotted by Aedion who grinned as he bounded over from the open living area, a mug of coffee gripped tightly in his hand.

“Aelin! Glad you’re here, how you doing?” He swept her into a tight hug but drew back as he seemed to realise his mistake. His face twisted awkwardly as he leaned back. “Apart from, you know…” He trailed off releasing her fully.

“Don’t,” She groaned but laughed it off shaking her head and turned to smile at the others in the room.

Lorcan was sat on the end of the brown leather couch, his dark hair hanging over his shoulders, arms crossed, and legs stretched out in front of him. He offered her a brief nod as Aedion reintroduced them.

“Lorcan, you know, and of course Rowan.”

The two men acknowledged their introductions, but her attention was drawn to the only male she hadn’t already met.

In the space next to Lorcan, a blonde man with golden skin dressed in grey sweatpants and a loose t-shirt reclined into the sofa, both arms draped along the back. He offered her a wide smile and a hand to shake in greeting.

“I don’t think you’ve met Fenrys.” Aedion smiled widely, taking his seat next to the new introduction, followed by Rowan.

“Great to meet you,” Fenrys offered taking her hand in his own.

She shook Fenrys’ hand with a smile and crossed the room to the remaining seat, a single chair facing the couch. She smoothed her skirt down as she sat, readying herself for the inquisition.

-----

When Vaughan moved out of the loft to move cross-country with his girlfriend, Rowan assumed they would use the spare room as maybe a home office for Aedion, or a work-out space for Fenrys. His recent obsession with training them all to practice his coaching for his job at the nearby high school wasn’t going down well so far in the oddly shaped space remaining in the living area. But, Rowan hadn’t objected when Aedion asked them if he could offer it to his cousin who was in need of a room.

Rowan had been friends with Aedion since their first year of college and had lived with him for most of the eight years since then. Their friendship was easy, despite a rocky start, since the collision of Aedion’s bubbly personality and Rowan’s quiet demeanour had initially resulted in a stiff acquaintanceship until an incident in their freshman year had led Rowan to view the other male as more of a brother. Not that he would ever admit it.

The first time he had met Aedion’s cousin, Aelin, he was a shy, nineteen-year-old and Aedion had introduced them at his own nineteenth birthday party thrown at his parents’ home in Terrasen. He remembered stammering his hello to eighteen-year-old Aelin, stunned by her bright blue eyes and golden hair that matched Aedion’s.

He hadn’t spoken much to her that first time, he’d been nervous and intimidated by the confident, beautiful young woman, but he had met her a few more times since and they had been cordial each time in their brief exchanges.

He didn’t mind a new roommate, especially when it would mean his own rent wouldn’t increase. Not that he would struggle to cover the increase, with the extra shifts he had been picking up at the bar since the break-up with Lyria six months ago.

Lyria. His on-again-off-again girlfriend of three years. They had finally called it off-again for good recently and he considered himself to be doing well in not texting her again for the first time. This break-up felt different to the previous ones.

As he took his seat next to Aedion he observed the girl sitting opposite them all. She had definitely matured in the years since he had last seen her, more a woman than a girl now. Her golden hair fell in soft waves to her middle, and her body had settled into its gentle curves from the slimness of her teens when they had first met. The loose dress she wore fit the muggy Adarlan summer air, as well as bringing out the gold ring in her blue eyes.

“So,” Aedion began, “We know you need a room. Do you have any, uh, questions for us?”

Rowan smoothed his hands down his jeans, waiting for the list of questions he was sure Aelin would have.

“Um,” She started, unsure, “The bathroom. Is there only one? What’s the deal on that?”

Rowan heard Lorcan snort and felt the shaking of Fenrys’ laugh beside him. The bathroom rota, devised by Aedion, sick of being late for work when one of the others took too long, had been a point of contention in the loft since its introduction a year ago. It was mostly followed now, with only minor complaints.

They each had twenty minutes allocated from six-thirty in the morning, but Rowan’s were often up for grabs. He didn’t need them that early when most days he got back from the bar past midnight and didn’t wake up until the others had all left for work.

He knew Aelin was a teacher, like Fenrys, so maybe she could take his allocation. It seemed Aedion was on the same wavelength.

“There’s a schedule,” He said with an almost imperceptible level of embarrassment, but Aelin seemed to hear it too as the corner of her mouth drew up in a teasing smile. Rowan didn’t let himself stare too intensely at her mouth.

“Okay great,” She drawled mockingly. “I’m used to the rush getting ready for work from living with Arobynn.” She looked down at that but waved a hand as if she could beat the thought away.

“Aww Ae,” Aedion said. “Don’t be sad over that asshole. You can just get drunk and forget about him, it’s what Rowan’s been doing over Lyria.”

Rowan’s head shot up at that, glaring at Aedion who was barely even trying to hide his grin.

He sighed, it wasn’t that he had been drinking to get over Lyria, he just worked in a bar. Where there was alcohol that he could drink and at the same time he has been getting over Lyria. Two completely separate things.

Aelin seemed to look at him in understanding and then shrugged.

“I’m down for that,” she said. “It will make a change from crying over Dirty Dancing.”

All four of them groaned at that.

“There won’t be any of that in this living room.” Lorcan stated, in a tone that Rowan wouldn’t even try and debate with. Lorcan probably wouldn’t fight over Dirty Dancing but he couldn’t be sure.

“Dirty Dancing is a sure fire way to get over a break-up,” Aelin said defensively.

Rowan laughed shaking his head at the dynamics already building for the loft, this would surely be fun.

-----

Aelin knew she didn’t have to defend herself to Lorcan, especially not over a film that she was confident in her enjoyment of, but she couldn’t resist winding him up.

She continued. “I need the boost especially considering now basically all of my friends are models.”

Years of being friends with Lysandra had almost numbed Aelin to her beauty, her flowing dark hair and piercing eyes captivated many, not to mention her sizeable breasts. It was what Aelin supposed, made her so successful in her career. Though she knew her best friend was attractive it didn’t normally make her feel insecure but the recent break-up had been a knock to her confidence, but she knew it wouldn’t last long.

Fenrys coughed, leaning forwards, suddenly very interested. “All of your friends are models?”

Aelin nodded and watched Fenrys. His fingertips formed a triangle as his elbows rested on his knees.

“Excuse us, I need to have a word with my boys.” He gestured for the others to follow him to the kitchen.

Rowan and Aedion shifted. Rowan dug Fenrys lightly in the side, narrowing his eyes, but Fenrys just wiggled his eyebrows at Rowan in return.

“My boys.” Lorcan muttered “That is not a thing.” But uncrossed his arms and stood to lead the way to the kitchen.

Aelin couldn’t hear what followed, but it seemed to involve some pleading from Fenrys with Rowan and Lorcan looking varying degrees of uncomfortable. She definitely caught Fenrys mouth the word models, as his arms jerked out, hands splayed wide, but she looked away and took in the rest of the loft.

The open plan living room was surprisingly homely for a group of men in their mid-twenties, with a worn-looking brown-leather sofa with a number of patterned pillows and throws draped along. The wooden dining table behind looked worn but sturdy, with a few odd items left haphazardly on the top.

It was also surprisingly clean. She supposed that’s probably Aedion’s influence, not that the others were slobs, but Aedion had always been a meticulous cleaner, and hideously organised.

After some more hushed whispers the men turned and slotted back into the living room. Each took up the spot they had occupied before.

“We,” Rowan waved a hand between the members of the group “just have a few questions we need to ask. Logistics.” He directed a pointed look in Fenrys’ direction.

“You don’t have pets do you?” Lorcan asked.

“Nope.” She shook her head.

“You don’t keep weird hours like Rowan do you?” Fenrys chimed in with a scowl at Rowan who raised his hands.

“No,” She replied with a laugh, “The youth of Adarlan test my patience regularly enough for me not to risk going to work without enough sleep.”

They all nodded along.

“And you can move in right away?”

“Yes, as soon as possible. I don’t think Lysandra’s roommate likes me.”

Manon Blackbeak had lived with Lysandra for years, and had always seemed the quiet type to Aelin, seeming to keep to herself. She was stunningly beautiful, as all of Lysandra’s model friends were, but her personality didn’t seem to match. Moving in with them, Aelin had seen a new side to the golden-eyed woman. A side that was particularly unhappy that Aelin and most of her belongings were covering the small space of Lysandra and Manon’s living room. It was why she needed a new place. Fast.

“Okay, great.” Aedion said, smiling at her “We’d love for you to move in as soon as you’re ready.”

She couldn’t hold back her own grin, relieved at how easy it had been with this group of males.

Hello, Loft 4D.

-----

This is the first fanfic I’ve posted for Throne of Glass! I hope you enjoy I’m very excited for this!

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aedion ashryver #lysandra #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #manon blackbeak #aelin x rowan #aedion x lysandra #rowaelin fic #agkol #a groovy kind of love

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miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Text

YJ College au: Zatara

Zachary Zatara is both a myth and their housemate.

In which Bart has a cryptic-buddy, Tim is stressed because cute boy insists on being annoying, and everyone else just rolls with it.

Tagging @animemangasoul and @marudny-robot cause I know you guys like this au

--.--.--.--

As usual after pulling an all-week-er (he had left the ‘nighters well behind at this point), Tim was up late that saturday. The window had been left open last night, so a soft streak of sunlight wamed his bed, waking him up slowly and peacefully. Yeah, he would have liked a few more hours, but sunbathing in his sheets for a while wasn’t all that bad either. What would make this half-awake-half-dreaming experience would be some chill music.

Muddled mind made, he rolled in his bed, hand patting the mattress for his phone, squinting his eyes open when he hit something different instead.

He found himself to be almost nose to nose with a dark haired, grey eyed boy.

Tim started that fine morning screaming himself hoarse.

-.-.-.-.-

Sitting at the kitchen’s table, getting everything ready for a late sunday breakfast, Kon raised his head when he heard the strong sound of a scream, followed by… yeah, that was a body hitting the ground. It was unmistakable, in this house.

“Oh, hey guys”, he called to the attention of the rest of his housemates, all in equals states of zombie-ness, with not as good hearing as his. “Zachary is here.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“The fuck, Zach? My bed? Did you HAVE to crash on my bed? Why are you even here?”

Tim, four coffee cups after his pseudo heart attack half an hour ago, was ready to face the day and their intruder.

“Dude I live here as well, you know. Also your bed is literally the softest thing I ever slept on, you rich bastard. Learn to share.”

“I’ll buy you your own fucking mattress if you swear to never crawl on my bed uninvited again.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose, suggestively. “What was that about an invitation?”

Distressed and not feeling awake enough (he was still two cups away from that) to deal with bi thoughts this early in the morning, he turned his most helpless look to Conner.

Because he was the best friend ever, he threw a pillow to Zachary. And because he was a suck up to anyone who brought him food, Bart intercepted the hit and gratefully accepted the candy bag he got in thanks.

“But actually, Zat, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Berlin?” interjected Cassie, her own tea (the heathen) cup warming her hands as she cuddled with Cissie and Greta on the couch, legs in each other’s laps and generally being the cutest shit ever.

Anita, not very keen on that kind of sweet love, had been wrestling with Slobo for control over the remote for the last fifteen minutes. Miguel was keeping count on their hits for them, though it was mostly assured he would rig the whole thing up to whoever had bribed him better before the fight.

Tim just wanted to go back to sleep in his sun-warmed bed.

“C’mon guys, keep up”, moaned Bart, candy bag half empty already, “he was there two weeks ago. He had an exam yesterday so he came back last monday.”

“...come again?”

“I’ve been room-hopping ever since, though none of you seemed to mind. Until I disturbed sleeping beauty over here, at least.”

Miguel’s eyes left the fight to squint suspiciously at them. “We weren’t aware you were doing that. Where did you sleep? How didn’t we notice?”

“I'ma mystery. I also move around a lot when sleeping so I probably ended up under someone’s bed after crashing from studying. Oh, Anita, if you were wondering, your purple bra is under Cissie’s bed.”

Anita slowly let go of the grip she had on Slobo’s neck. Her eyes shone something dangerous. Cissie, the one who was apparently hosting the boy all along, also stood up and frowned.

“How do you even know that bra is mine!!”

“What the fuck were you doing under my bed, you bastard!”

Tim sipped his coffee, bitterly. “At least he was under it, and not sharing it.”

Kon patted his back.

-.-.-.-.-..-

“I swear, Jay, he thrives on making me lose my shit. He just… comes and goes whenever, leaving no proof he was ever there, or acting like he was always around. Drives me nuts. I’m not sure he even attends classes, and I only know he actually has a right to enter our house because his rent money always appears on the kitchen table a day before its due. He doesn’t even have a room, why does he even pay? To have an excuse to scare the shit out of the rest of us. Except Bart. The little shit lives for our suffering.”

Jason arches an eyebrow, sipping his beer as he carefully examines his brother. Tim looked less tired than the last time they saw each other, and the modifications done by his psychiatrist had done wonders to the shadows in his eyes. But he seemed somehow… frazzled.

“And he was just there when you woke up?”

“His nose was touching mine.”

“I bet your little bi heart couldn't take that, huh? Is he cute? Maybe you invited him to share your bed the night before and just don’t remember. You know how you get after a week of disregarding your general wellbeing.”

“Oh, shush you. I take care of myself. When was the last time you went to your check in with Patricia?”

Jason scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I missed one session, because I have exams too you know? But I’m up to date with Silvio, and we are working on slowly easing me off the medication.” He noticed the way Tim looked at his drink, expression screaming bullshit, and he scowled in response. “Fuck off, it’s alcohol-free. Kori and Artemis would have my head if they caught me mixing my dosage with anything stronger than tea, and I can’t deal with Biz and Roy’s disappointed eyes.”

Tim thought of the last time he refused to see his therapist, and the look in everyone’s (specially Kon’s) eyes, and had to agree. Having friends sucked when one wanted to wallow in self destructive conducts.

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, he’s not cute enough for me to forgive his weirdness. You know the people I roll with, so this is saying a lot. And I would remember inviting him to my bed, if anything for the mortification of it. I’m also…”

The ring of the doorbell distracted them both of whatever Tim was gonna say next. Waving his brother off, Jason got up to pay for their pizza.

When he returned to his living room, Tim was no longer alone.

“Who the fuck are you?” He exclaimed, eyes going back to the hallway at his back, then again at the black haired, grey eyed kid sitting next to Tim. “And how did you get in? We are on the sixth floor and I was just at the only door I have.”

Tim raised his eyes at him, and he seemed equal parts resigned and frazzled. ‘Told ya’, he seemed to say.

“Yo, the food’s finally here. I’m starving. The name’s Zachary Zatarra, by the way. Tim’s friend and housemate.”

“Allegedly” mumbled the other under his breath, earning himself a smile and pat on the back. “Don’t question it, Jay. He’ll be gone after a while when none of us are paying attention. Just let it be.”

“But while I’m here”, the other boy continued, grinning devilishly as he looked at Tim and then Jason, “instead of questioning how did I get in, what about I tell you all about your lil bro’s crush? It 's adorable.”

Tim raised an eyebrow “I don’t have a crush on anyone.”

“Like I said, adorable. He’s so oblivious, it’s precious.”

Decision made, Jason left the pizzas at the coffee table and went to fetch a soda for their guest. Gossip, especially about his siblings, was the best way to gain his immediate cooperation. And he could always force the answers about Zatara out of Bart; the brat was terrified of him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey, who has to cook tonight? Because I’m craving chicken nuggets.”

Cassie raised her eyes from her magazine, tapping a finger against her chin.

“Uhm… Zach, I think?”

Miguel nodded. “Okay, thanks, where can I find him to suggest my dinner idea?”

Cissie, legs on Cassie’s lap, dropped her head over the couch’s armrest. “Ask Tim? Wasn’t he crashing with him this week?”

That same moment, said boy entered the room, shaking his head. “No, he was sharing with Anita and Cassie.”

“No, he wasn’t… Slobo?”

“Not with us either”, denied Miguel, sharing a look with his roommate to confirm just in case.

“Conner?”

“Didn’t Bart say yesterday he was driving him to the airport?”

“Wait, he left the country again?”

“More importantly, can Bart drive?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When Tim came back home from class, Damian was in his living room. Using a laptop. Sitting side by side with Zatarra.

This couldn't be good.

“Hey, Timbo, welcome back.”

“Drake.”

Not uttering a single word, Tim turned around and walked out of there. Sleeping on a park bench seemed like a preferable choice, compared to finding out exactly why the two banes of his life were sitting together. It was healthier, good for his peace of mind.

Something something self care? His therapist would be so proud.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey dude.”

“Zatara. Your presence here disrupts my room’s feng shui. Please remove yourself from the premises.”

“This disaster zone is the farthest thing from armonious. If anything, I’m improving it.”

Tim raised his eyes from the computer screen. He could always kick the other man out, but that would require leaving the nest he made out of blankets and snacks on his bed. Perhaps a more civilized option would be better. Besides, as boundary-less as the dude was, he didn’t step into the room, just remaining on the doorstep, so whatever he was here for, he most likely needed Tim’s willful compliance.

“If I listen to what you have to say, will you leave?”

Zatara smiled angelically, like butter wouldn’t melt on his mouth, but the look behind his eyes was nothing short of devious. “That’s actually what I came to speak with you about. I have a show…”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A magic show. Dude, you do know I’m a magician, right?”

Tim didn’t, in fact, know that, besides baseless suppositions about his disappearing-and-appearing abilities. But he had an all knowing facade to maintain, so he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Right, so, I have a show scheduled for tomorrow, but I took Bart out to dinner yesterday so I’m all dried up, and I need to buy a plane ticket asap.”

“Are you asking me for a loan?” he inquired, incredulous. As a general rule, all their housemates refrained from that. Something about not wanting to take advantage of their billionaire friend…

“No, no. I’m offering you a…. service.”

“Look, Zach, no offense? But you ain’t cute enough for me to stoop that low and pay for the… pleasure of your company. I can just give you the money and you pay me back whenever, dude.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! You wish I was offering something of the sort” he laughed, arms crossed and side leaning against the doorframe, chest and arm muscles perfectly visible. Tim kept his eyes carefully above neck-level. No need to give any weakness away.

“Then?”

“I know you love me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t make you miserable, right?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“Are you familiar with the ‘Buy my silence, $8.000 a month’ meme? Then get ready for a ‘pay for my absence’, my good bitch. I thought maybe you’d like...”

“Sold. I buy it. Take my credit card and go, be free, roam the world. Just get out of my room and fucking text once in a while so I know you’re alive.”

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mostlymovieswithmax · 3 years

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Movies I watched in June

Now I think I’m comfortably in a rhythm to get these posts out. For one, I’m writing up short reviews either straight after watching a movie or sometimes it might take a few days. But June was a fairly good month in terms of the amount of films I watched. I got to go to the cinema quite a bit which is always fun. Anyway, let’s get on with it! If you’re looking for something good to watch (or maybe even something bad), I hope this list can help in some way to introduce you to new and different movies that maybe you’ve never heard of, or were thinking of checking out. Here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of June 2021.

Bo Burnham: Inside (2021) - 10/10 Everyone was going off about how great this film is. An hour and a half of Bo Burnham in lockdown, singing songs and being upset is definitely a powerful hook and I have to agree with the general consensus because Inside blew me away. More thoughts on this in my podcast: The Sunday Movie Marathon episode 34.

Bo Burnham: Make Happy (2016) - 7/10 After watching Inside, I figured I’d rewatch some of Burnham’s older stand-up shows on Netflix. Make Happy is a lot of fun, injected with a lot of introspection from Burnham that really makes the special stand out, despite a lot of gags that just didn’t land for me.

Bo Burnham: What. (2013) - 6/10 It’s plain to see just how much Bo Burnham has grown over the years and how he has honed his comedy and music. ‘What.’ is a good stepping stone in the comedian’s career, showcasing loads of promise in him from a young age. There are some jokes that haven’t aged as well and some that straight up dragged, but overall the show is still enjoyable.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It (2021) - 3/10 Packed theatre for this one, obviously. People love a Conjuring movie, and I’d also say people love a good scare… but this movie isn’t scary, or good for that matter. More thoughts on episode 35 of the podcast.

The Conjuring (2013) - 6/10 After the horrendously disappointing debacle that was the third Conjuring movie, I decided to watch James Wan’s original movie and man, if this wasn’t better in literally every way. I don’t tend to love James Wan movies but I can’t deny he’s got so much talent in how he makes movies and it makes The Conjuring a lot more fun to see competent filmmaking in the horror genre in a way that actually creates an eerie atmosphere with creative uses of camera-work and editing.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10 Normally I’m not big into the old slasher movies. I appreciate that for the time, perhaps they hit differently, but now I just don’t tend to connect with them. Wes Craven’s ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ is a bit of an exception. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not particularly scary, though it does employ a lot of interesting techniques and designs. Undeniably, the design for Fred Krueger is a staple in cinema, with the striped jumper, hat, scarred face and knives for fingers not leaving the mind of the general public any time soon. Elm Street doesn’t have too many kills but when it does, it is so effective and fun to watch. Craven was one of the greats, truly.

One Cut of the Dead (2017) - 8/10 This has to be one of the most engaging zombie movies I’ve seen in a long time. There’s a lot to spoil with One Cut of The Dead but I won’t go into that here. It is clever and funny, subverting expectations in ways I really didn’t expect. I really cannot recommend it enough.

Dave Chappelle: Sticks & Stones (2019) - 8/10 Since we’re watching Chappelle's Show for episode 45 of the podcast, I wanted to get an idea for what I was in for, so I watched Dave Chappelle’s stand-up show from a couple of years ago. Yeah, really funny, which I suppose is what you want from a stand-up special, but what makes it better is Chappelle’s commentary on the world at large and how he’s able to combine humour with intelligent criticism.

Fear(s) of the Dark (2008) - 4/10 A few years ago I think I watched this animated black and white anthology film on a New Year's Day when I had foolishly decided to pull an all-nighter and then go out with mates for ice cream. Never again. But I’d forgotten what I thought of this movie and decided to get the DVD for cheap on eBay. Perhaps I am doomed to watch Fear(s) of the Dark only when I am tired because I popped this on when it was nearing midnight. I was lucid enough to understand what I was watching though… and it was quite boring. These short films emulate the filmmakers’ nightmares - an interesting premise in theory, but pretty weak on execution.

The Bourne Identity (2002) - 3/10 We marathoned the first three Bourne movies for The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast, episode 36 so check that out for my expanded thoughts on this, the best Bourne of the three.

The Bourne Supremacy (2004) - 2/10 Immediately after, we did the deep dive into Supremacy, the second Bourne and the worst of the three (albeit by a very slim margin). Check out episode 36 for more.

The Bourne Ultimatum (2007) - 2/10 I really couldn’t care less about these terrible movies. It was a horrible chore to sit through them. Ultimatum was also rubbish. More gripes and discussion in episode 36 of the podcast.

The Father (2021) - 10/10 Another trip to the cinema for this masterpiece. I tried very hard not to sob loudly in the theatre where aside from myself, the audience totalled three people. More discussion of The Father in episode 36 the podcast.

Drag Me To Hell (2009) - 2/10 I’m pretty shocked that Sam Raimi directed this. Usually when I watch one of his films, I can see his staple of fun gore, practical effects, crazy camera movements… but there was none of that here. It just felt like a really bad horror, indistinguishable from the regular affair, with no personality or passion. Drag Me To Hell might even have been one of those movies I’d avoided in the past when I was younger because it seemed too scary but no, it was just boring and bad and I feel like there’s something I’m not getting out of this that other people seem to be.

Moonrise Kingdom (2012) - 8/10 At this point, I feel I have to admit Wes Anderson as perhaps my second favourite director. His movies are just so nice and beautiful to watch. Moonrise Kingdom is a quirky love story between two kids and honestly, with any other director, could have been handled poorly because the story is quite simple. But Anderson injects so much of his signature style and personality into the film. A powerhouse of actors with the likes of Frances McDormand, Bill Murray, Bruce Willis and Tilda Swinton, among a few of Anderson’s regulars, make Moonrise Kingdom a breeze. Good for a dark day to lift the spirits.

Nobody (2021) - 8/10 I needed something to fill an otherwise uneventful day, so I hopped on a bus and booked a ticket for Ilya Naishuller’s new action movie, Nobody. The film started and to my annoyance, the lights in the theatre were still on. When I go to the cinema I don’t really want to see the other people sitting around me, so I got up from my seat, abandoning the first two minutes of the film to find a member of staff to turn the lights off. After showing them that the lights were in fact still on, I took to my seat and watched the movie for what felt like a little while before the lights went off. Nobody is a really fun action movie. Perhaps similar in a lot of ways to John Wick, but with more personality to the main character. More thoughts on episode 37 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) - 8/10 After procuring the Criterion blu-ray from my local hmv, I delved into all the supplements it had to offer, including a making-of documentary, chats with the director, and a gallery of polaroid pictures from when they were shooting the film in India. The Darjeeling Limited is perhaps not peak Wes Anderson, but I do kind of love it. It makes me want to go on a journey to another country with my brother and sister, perhaps in ten to fifteen years. Here, the main characters are three brothers who travel to India seeking some kind of spiritual experience. Things don’t seem to work out that way, however, because I’m not sure how spiritual an experience you can have when you plan out an itinerary to schedule it. Fantastic performances all round and of course, beautiful direction and cinematography.

Face/Off (1997) - 3/10 Was I supposed to laugh? Maybe I was just too tired but I really couldn’t stand Face/Off. It didn’t feel particularly special and despite a couple of fun ideas, it was mostly quite boring.

Luca (2021) - 5/10 The new Pixar movie leaves a lot to be desired. The animation is really second to none and I can’t fault how beautiful the movie looks, more so when it’s set in this little Italian town than under the sea. The story is so uninspired though, with the basic premise being that the protagonists want a Vespa so they enter a competition to win the money to buy one. Also they’re fish that turn into people on dry land. Maybe that’s enough for some people, but I couldn’t shake the familiarity of Luca. It never went in any interesting directions and basically did exactly what I figured it would do. I don’t believe it’s out here to subvert expectations but I would like some creativity when it comes to the writing. Perhaps if I watched it again, I might like it less. It was pretty dull.

Punch-Drunk Love (2002) - 10/10 I’m a little disappointed with the Criterion blu-ray for Punch-Drunk love. It’s supplements host a couple of low-quality deleted scenes that were clearly deleted for a reason, and some weird artsy music videos that incorporated footage from the movie. I was quite shocked at how low-effort it all seemed. The movie itself is fantastic though and I do believe it to be Adam Sandler’s best performance (and I really liked Uncut Gems). He portrays a man who is constantly put down by his family, clearly has some kind of social disability, and on top of it all he’s getting scammed by a sex line. Amongst all this, he’s trying to navigate a new relationship and it’s so sweet to watch all the interactions between Sandler and Emily Watson. It’s a perfect melding of romance, comedy and anxiety, beautifully directed by Paul Thomas Anderson.

Fargo (1996) - 9/10 Another movie you wouldn’t expect to be so funny, especially since it’s based on this horrific true story about murder, deceit and money. But the Coen brothers know how to handle it. Excellent performances, beautiful colour palette, and a story that just gets more and more insane as it goes.

House (1977) - 7/10 House (or, Hausu) was a recommendation for episode 37 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast so check that out for more discussion. Generally speaking, this Japanese horror/comedy was bonkers. Insanely creative and abstract (which at points can detriment the film) with an almost Balamory-esque presentation. I was happy to find that the comedy was not lost on me at all; this is a hilarious film, albeit maybe not all the time.

The Princess Bride (1987) - 10/10 I reviewed this in my May wrap-up but this time around, I had recommended The Princess Bride for the podcast, the discussion for which you can listen to in episode 37. It all clicked this time around. It is such a fun, warm movie with a lot of laughs and superb production.

This Is Spinal Tap (1984) - 8/10 Another Rob Reiner joint, a few years before The Princess Bride. This Is Spinal Tap is lauded as a masterpiece in comedic cinema and I might agree; this movie is hilarious. Shot in mockumentary fashion, it follows a band playing shows and trying to get gigs, coupled with the inevitable screw-ups of live performance and creative disagreements. It lost me every now and again but it’s still a must-watch.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) - 6/10 A decent Disney flick but certainly not their best. One highlight includes the villain singing a lament about wanting to have sex with Esmerelda and calling her a witch for giving him a boner.

Ponyo (2008) - 4/10 Not sure if I’ve ever disliked a Miyazaki movie before but I did not vibe with Ponyo. It came across as very baby and as such, there really wasn’t much to read into. The animation is fantastic as always but so much of it felt specifically tailored to a younger crowd.

Roman Holiday (1953) - 9/10 Classic romance at its best. I had heard on a podcast that this was the sexiest movie the guest had ever seen and while maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, I do get where they’re coming from. I was tearing up with just how lovely it all was, following a princess who runs away and spends the day with a man she meets in Rome (where it was shot on location), doing all the things she’s wanted to do but never could because of royal responsibilities. Fantastic performances from Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck who sell the chemistry of the characters so well.

F9 (2021) - 2/10 I’ve never seen any of the Fast & Furious movies and after watching the ninth in the series, I don’t want to. This is basically the Vin Diesel show; we watch him drive cars fast and punch people a lot. Wow! I don’t really understand what it (and forgive the pun) driving people to see these movies if they’re all in this same vein. As far as I can tell, F9 is the goofiest of the series so far and I’ll admit I had a chuckle or two at some of the truly implausible moments, such as a part where one of the team gets shot by about ten men with machine guns, yet manages to kill them all without being affected by the bullets… but overall, in this two-and-a-half-hour experience, I was largely bored.

Shaolin Soccer (2001) - 7/10 I love this movie! Shaolin Soccer is so much fun; it is goofy and out there and completely crazy, all by design. Steven Chow knew what he was making when he set out to craft this insane story of a group of guys using Kung-Fu to play football. The basic story itself is nothing new but it’s elevated by the infectious comedy and implausibility of what’s happening. Balls are kicked into space and across fields so fast the very ground is torn asunder. A man eats an egg off a dirty shoe. This is cinema.

Casino Royale (2006) - 7/10 I had seen a trailer at the cinema for the new Bond movie and I have to say, I’ve never really given 007 the time of day, aside from a few of the very first movies I’d tried watching a while ago. But the new trailer kind of got me hyped, so I wanted to watch all of the Craig era Bond movies, starting with Casino Royale. I had a great time! Even though there’s not loads of fighting or weapons or fast cars, the meat of the movie actually comes from this poker game Bond is playing against the villain, played brilliantly by Mads Mikkelsen. I was surprised to witness a bit of cock-and-ball torture in this 12-rated movie but I would be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me.

Quantum of Solace (2008) - 5/10 Immediately after Casino Royale, I jumped into the second of Daniel Craig’s Bond movies, Quantum of Solace. Sadly it’s quite weak, with not much going on aside from the general Bond fare. Mathieu Amalric’s villain lacked a lot of menace or motivation and generally, I’m not super worried about a brilliant story in a Bond movie, but even the action felt weak in this. Quantum of Solace didn’t exactly upset me but it failed to wow me in any way either. The saving grace of the movie is certainly Daniel Craig as the hero, capturing Bond and what he’s supposed to be.

Skyfall (2012) - 6/10 A marked improvement from its predecessor, Sam Mendes helms Skyfall, Craig’s third outing as Bond. Skyfall delves into Bond’s past as he seems to be slipping a bit, not as much the expert operative he once was. It would have been nice to see more of his fall from grace, as they don’t really show us how he’s become less efficient as much as they give other characters expository dialogue telling us how he drinks and does drugs and is haunted by childhood trauma. For me, that’s where the meat of the story lies and I would have preferred more of a character piece if indeed they were delving into that side of the character anyway. That being said, the fights are still better choreographed than the last instalment and the colour grading and scenery is often very visually interesting. Everything in Skyfall is better than its predecessor and it’s surely thanks to Sam Mendes who does a great job at directing.

Howl's Moving Castle (2004) - 8/10 Another go round for Howl's Moving Castle, as this was a recommendation for my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon. My opinion, I feel, is unchanged. It's a fantastic film, and you can listen to more of what I have to say in episode 37. The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 2 - 3/10 A pretty poor end to a poor series of movies. I'm surprised I've watched the Twilight movies as many times as I have but I also know I'll watch them again. Part 2 I watched with the YMS commentary track on YouTube which, again made the experience a lot better. But otherwise the series seemed to get better as it went along… until the last movie. Ultimately my biggest problem with it is that nothing actually happens and the plot feels like a late addition rather than a natural progression of the story. It’s basically a whole movie of set-up to a payoff that doesn’t even canonically happen. A big thing with YA adaptations in this era was making a final book into two movies, regardless as to whether it needed that much time or not. Breaking Dawn does not need to be two movies at two hours each. About ten new characters are introduced here and the film is afraid of killing even one of them off. It's the last movie! We're not going to see these characters again! Kill some of them! There's just no emotional weight to any of it and I hate to say I was disappointed with the ending because I have such low expectations for these films but man, this was so unsatisfying.

Frances Ha (2012) - 8/10 Life is hard. And I hate this movie because it shows me so much of what terrifies me about being alive. And I love this movie because it shows me so much of what I’m alive for. Noah Baumbach’s brutally honest depiction of growing up and fending for yourself struck me in a way I wasn’t expecting and I think it’s because I’m at a point in my life where I’m worrying a lot about how it’s all going to turn out. The titular character is burdened with the stress of working low-paid jobs and paying rent while juggling school and making time for her passion of dancing as she tries to connect with people she’s lost, as temporary friends and housemates come and go. She feels like a lonely character despite often being around a lot of people. Frances Ha is fantastic and heartbreaking and uplifting… but it made me feel bad so I hate it.

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