#and of course that reminded me of my baby boy drew because i still refuse to believe he's a papillion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?”

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

154 notes · View notes

ivyprism · 3 years

Text

The Girl (Villains and Heroes AU)

Trigger Warnings: Abuse mentioned, physical abuse mentions, verbal abuse mentioned, being separated from family, being hidden and isolated.

My father used to punish me for being in my skeleton form in public when I was a little girl. He'd always say I couldn't be seen because I was hideous and would tarnish his reputation. It hurt at the time, and it still does.

-------

"What exactly are you doing outside?" My father demanded as he yanked on my arm. I yelped in agony as he yanked me away. His eyes were angry, and I was filled with fear and dread.

"N-Nothing!" I whimpered out, and I despised how frail I sounded. I feared him, but he was my father, so I had to love him, didn't I?

"Pay attention, you hideous monster. You understand that if you're outside in your skeleton form again, you'll ruin my reputation?!" My father yelled at me, and I nodded. I was trembling, and as he drew me back inside, his eyes softened. "Good."

----------

But one day, when I went outside, I discovered a skeleton! A girl who reminded me of myself! But she was more cheerful than I was, and she was attractive. She was with this incredible woman, and she had so many incredible siblings. I'm not going to lie, I was a little envious, but I reminded myself that it wasn't her fault! It was purely coincidental that we resembled each other.

-----------

"Mama!" One day, I overheard. I looked up and saw a small skeleton who resembled me. She was clutching the hands of both a human and a skeleton. The female skeleton approached her. "May we have some ice cream?"

"Of course, baby~." As she walked alongside her, the woman stated. Her human father picked her up and began talking to her. As I watched them walk by, I felt a pang of jealousy. Why didn't my father hold my hand in that manner? Why didn't he come and pick me up like that? Why didn't he just take me out for ice cream? I made a shaky motion with my head. It isn't her fault. My father is simply overworked.

--------

But then I discovered the truth. My father created a clone of me. They were my sisters! She made me an exact replica of her twin daughters! We were the same age and had everything in common. I won't lie, I was overjoyed. I'd finally gotten a bigger family! Aside from my mean father and his even meaner wife, I had a mother, sisters, and brothers. But he refused to let me see them. Whenever I tried, he would punish me.

He became enraged one day and broke my arm. That was the first time he showed genuine concern for me.

--------

"Ow!" I yelped in agony and clutched my arm. It hurt and I started crying. Why did it hurt? It hurt so much! My father had never previously harmed me in this way.

"Helena!" My father cried out as he quickly knelt down and took my arm in his hand. He started to heal and reset it. "I'm so sorry, baby girl. Will you ever be able to forgive me?" As he looked at me, my father inquired. I hugged him slowly and nodded. He returned my hug.

-------

My father eventually allowed me to attend school as I grew older. I met a lot of people and made a lot of friends, but they were all fake. I pretended to be someone I wasn't. I was a fictitious human being, and no one knew who I really was. I ran into her again when I started high school! Hydrangea, my twin sister, walked with a group of boys. I envied them because they were genuine friends. I was envious of her, but I kept it to myself. She's my sibling! I'd like to meet her.

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

"Oh! I apologize." Hydrangea apologized as she assisted me in getting up. When I saw her, I felt a surge of joy. She was my sister! She was also very nice.

"Oh! It's not a problem. Thank you very much..." I smiled at her, and she returned my smile. She waved and walked over to the three tall skeletons. I felt a pang of jealousy, but the joy of finally meeting my sister overcame it.

---------

That was something I desired. I wished to be her friend, her sister, and to be near her. I wanted to finally have a family, but I couldn't because my father would punish me. That made me envious. I wished I could share her joy. I was envious of her! But I learned that if I am envious of her, I can hurt her, and I will never let jealousy consume me. I'd never been envious of my twin sister.

When we went to college, I saw her and I envied her. I wanted to be her. My father was treating me worse and worse. I hated it and I hated him, but I couldn't hate him, could I? He was my father. He allowed me to live. My powers began to manifest into dark and dangerous beasts that would attack anyone I commanded them to.

I saw the heroes and the villains getting close to my sister. They could hurt her! I couldn't let that happen. I would protect my sister. I had to. It was the only choice I had. I would protect her. It's my job.

I would do it. I wouldn't kill them. I promised myself I wouldn't.

----------

@okay-kioko / @kiokodoodles @underfell-crystal

#villains and heroes au #shadow skelesona #skelesona #skelesona family #cw abuse #cw physical abuse #cw mental abuse #cw verbal abuse #cw isolation

29 notes · View notes

emospritelet · 3 years

Text

Twisted Fate - chapter 23

31: We have to let go

Last time, Belle and Gold made the final preparations for their baby, and Belle sought a reconciliation with her father. Here’s what happened next.

[AO3]

Gold pushed the jeweller’s glass into his eye socket, peering at the tiny cog on the square of black velvet. He reached for the pair of steel tweezers by its side, carefully picking up the cog and transferring it to the silver music box that lay open in front of him. He had been working on it whenever he had a spare moment whilst in Storybrooke, though in truth there had been little opportunity since he had effectively moved to Boston. Belle had not returned from visiting her father, and in order to distract himself from thoughts of marching over there to make sure she was alright, he had decided to concentrate on the music box. Over the past six weeks or so he had cleaned the mechanism, replaced the bent and broken pieces, and carefully and methodically put every piece in its place. This was among the last of them.

The sound of the shop doorbell made him glance up, and he shook his head, turning back to his work.

“A moment,” he called. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“It’s okay, it’s only me.”

Belle’s voice made him smile, and he put down the tweezers, removing the glass from his eye socket and turning on the stool to face her as she pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the back room. She looked a little strained around the eyes, but she was smiling.

“How did it go?” she asked, and he raised an eyebrow.

“That was going to be my question.”

“Oh…” Belle sighed, flopping down on the cot. “Okay, I guess. He apologised. Kind of. We talked. He’s not happy about you being in my life, but I told him he’ll have to get used to it.”

“Hmm.” Gold ran a hand through his hair. “Christmas will be fun.”

“Yeah, I’m trying not to think about that.”

Her tone was very dry, and it made him grin, even as he shuddered internally at the thought of having to spend the festive season with Moe French.

“The shop’s doing okay,” she went on. “I had a quick look through the accounts. He’s got a few weddings this month, which is always good for business. Keeps complaining about not having the time to do anything else, so I’ve tried to convince him to get some help in.”

“You think that’s likely?” he asked. “He always managed by himself before you helped him out. I presumed he’d do the same after you left.”

“Yeah, but I think he needs to,” she said. “Just a few hours. Maybe get one of the school seniors to help at weekends, or something. They could cover the shop while he does the wedding arrangements.”

“Well, perhaps he’ll take your advice,” said Gold, and Belle pulled a face.

“He doesn’t look too well,” she said then. “Says he’s been very tired recently. I told him to go to the doctor, but you know how he is.”

“You think it’s something serious?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“He’s overweight, diabetic, high blood pressure - I just worry his heart is gonna give out one day,” she said. “It’s not as though he looks after himself. The shop keeps him active, I suppose, but I bet he’s still drinking too much and avoiding veggies like they’re poison.”

“Well, you can only suggest a course of action,” he said. “It’s up to him to take it.”

“I know.”

She looked gloomy, and he tried to steer her away from talk of her father’s ill health.

“What did he say about the baby?” he asked.

“Asked when it was due, if I had everything I needed…” Belle put a hand to the small of her back. “He says he’ll visit when the baby’s born.”

“Great.”

It was said under his breath, and he winced at the reluctant tone of his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you wanted to make things up with him. I’m happy for you, really. Don’t listen to my complaining.”

“Can I have that in writing?” She looked amused, and he smiled.

“You know how I feel about formalising agreements.”

“Well, I’d hate to hold you to a promise you can’t keep,” she teased. “How about you buy me dinner tonight and we call it even?”

“That sounds like a deal I couldn’t possibly refuse,” he said. “Are you ready to head back?”

“I think so.” She peered at the bench behind him. “What are you working on?”

“Oh - it’s a music box,” he said. “I’ve been restoring it for some time now. Almost finished.”

“Oh.” She heaved a breath, letting her shoulders drop as she let out a sigh. “You can finish it, if you like. I don’t mind waiting.”

Gold hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the music box.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be here next week, after all. Gives me something to do in between dealing with business matters.”

She smiled, and he pushed to his feet, carefully putting the remaining pieces of the music box into a small pot and rolling up the square of black velvet. Belle was chewing her lip, staring off into the distance, and he folded his hands over the cane handle, looking at her.

“We can always stay another night, if you’re worried about him,” he said. “I could - uh - make dinner. You could invite him round. If you like.”

Belle glanced around at that, and the way her eyes lit up made him forget about any distaste he felt at the idea of spending an evening with Moe French.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, her tone warm. “But I think we’ll take things one step at a time. I still haven’t talked to him about all those ridiculous lies he told you about me and Gaston.”

“Ah.” Gold wanted to scowl at the memory, but he kept his face neutral.

“Not sure I will,” she added. “At least not right now. I don’t think I have the energy.”

“Fair enough.”

“How did things go with Dr Hopper?” she asked, and he blew out his cheeks, huffing air.

“We’re making progress,” he said. “Slow, but progress all the same.”

"Good."

"The fact that it's slow is my fault, not his," he added, and she gave him a patient look.

"It's no one's fault," she said gently. "It's just a process, and it takes as long as it takes."

"Yeah." He sighed the word, looking at the floor. "I suppose there are no quick fixes, are there?"

"Exactly," she said. "So no giving yourself a hard time because you're not magically fixed after a few sessions, okay?"

"Okay." He looked up again and smiled at her. "Dr Hopper says the same. And the sessions are going about as well as could be expected, in the circumstances. So that's something."

“Well, that’s good.” Belle stood, shouldering her bag and rolling her shoulders. “You want to tell me about it in the car? I think I want to get home.”

“Of course.”

Gold took off the apron he was wearing and went to the small bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned Belle was peering at the music box with a tiny smile on her face.

“It’s so pretty,” she said. “What tune does it play?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Is it for sale?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “We’ll see how it sounds. Maybe we can play it to the baby, get him to fall asleep.”

Belle straightened up, beaming at him.

“You think it’s a boy?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “That was a slip of the tongue. Honestly, I’d be happy with anything as long as it’s human.”

He grinned at her, and Belle bit her lip, looking amused.

“I think we can guarantee it’ll be human.”

“The rest of Storybrooke may question that, given that I’m the father,” he remarked dryly.

“Well, the rest of Storybrooke can kiss my arse, then,” she said, and Gold burst out laughing, reaching out to take her hand and pull her close.

“Oh, I’m not sharing that pleasure with anyone,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her.

Belle found that she grew nervous as April wore on and the time for the baby to be born drew nearer. She told herself it was fear of the unknown; no matter how many books she read or videos she watched on the birthing process, she felt that she knew nothing at all. Emma had been wonderful, patiently talking her through every minute of her labour with Henry, but Belle was well aware that Emma’s experience would not necessarily be her own. It didn't help that she was now extremely uncomfortable; the baby had moved, head down towards her pelvis, and she had been suffering from an ever-present backache and an overwhelming need to run to the bathroom. It reminded her that the baby would soon be outside of her, and that she would need to endure a lot of pain for that to happen. She told herself that women had been giving birth for thousands of years, and there was no reason she should find it any more difficult than they had, but she had made the mistake of reading about everything that could possibly go wrong in childbirth. It hadn't helped her nerves. At least her hospital bag was packed and ready to go. It sat in the hallway of the apartment and made her anxious every time she passed it.

She had expected Gold to be as nervous as she, given his past pain and the loss of his son, but he was surprisingly calm, and talked her down from a minor panic attack with soothing words and a bubble bath. He got in with her, sitting at the opposite end with his knees poking up through the fragrant bubbles, the hot water making his skin flush a little. Belle let him take her foot and start to massage it.

“Sorry I seem to be losing it,” she said, as she lay back. “How are you being so calm? We’re gonna be parents in like a fortnight!”

Gold grinned, his eyes soft, but still with that glint in them that she loved. His thumb worked magic circles on the ball of her foot, and she heaved a sigh, trying to relax.

“Yes, and I can’t wait,” he said. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Yes, but - mostly nervous,” she said. “I know it’ll hurt, but - but what if I can’t bear it?”

“You talked through your pain relief options,” he said. “You can speak to the doctor again, if you think it’ll put your mind at ease.”

“I guess.”

“I have every faith in you,” he added. “And in the medical staff. I know how independent you are, and how hard it can be to rely so completely on others, but in these circumstances, I think we both have to trust that they know better than we do. We have to let go.”

“Yeah.”

Belle chewed her lip, running a hand over the curve of her belly.

“I know you’re right,” she added.

“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous the first time,” he said soothingly. “I’m sure next time will be easier.”

“Next time?”

“Ah.” He squeezed his eyes shut, drawing his lower lip up over his teeth. “Forget I said that.”

“Hmm.” She was amused, and poked him with a foot. “Let’s get this one out before we think about the next, okay?”

“Agreed.”

He was grinning at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back, enjoying the easy banter. The fears were still there, whispering at the back of her mind, but she found that talking about them with him was helping.

“What if something goes wrong and they have to cut me open?” she said then.

“Then you’ll need to take things even easier after the birth and leave more to me, that’s what,” he said. “You’ll be in excellent hands. You have the best hospital staff in Boston caring for you and the baby, I promise.”

“I’d have a scar.”

Gold lifted her foot, kissing her toes.

“And it’ll be beautiful.”

“And - and even if I manage to give birth naturally, they’ll probably have to give me stitches,” she added. “That’s gotta hurt, right?”

Gold sighed.

“Look, I can’t pretend to understand your fears or to know what you’re going through,” he said gently. “But you are the bravest person I’ve ever known. I know you’re going to be just fine.”

He resumed the massage, thumb rubbing in slow circles, and Belle sighed, feeling the tension start to drain out of her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just - I’ve been pregnant all this time and it’s like I’ve just realised I actually have to get this person that’s inside me outside. Does that make sense?”

Gold shrugged, grinning.

“I’m not sure I can ever entirely empathise,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for being as helpful as I can.”

“Well, you’ve certainly made yourself useful since you moved in,” she said, poking him with her toes again, and his grin widened.

“Indispensable, I would hope.”

“Absolutely.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Belle giggled a little, and wriggled a little, slipping down in the hot water and letting out a long, heavy sigh as she felt her body soften under the rhythmic sweeps of his thumbs.

“That’s better,” he murmured, moving his hands up to massage her calf. “Just relax.”

“Mm.” Belle watched him through half-closed eyes. “Emma, Neal and Henry are coming over Friday, by the way. Do you think you could make something for dinner? Nothing fancy, just anything I can shove in the oven.”

“I don’t mind cooking while you talk to your friends,” he said absently, and looked up. “Oh, unless you want me to find somewhere else to be, of course.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “Of course you could be here. It’s just I thought you’d be in Storybrooke most of the day.”

Gold pulled a face.

“You sure you want me to go?” he asked. “It’s the week before the baby’s due.”

“What about your therapy session?” she asked, and he sighed.

“True,” he allowed. “I suppose I really should try to make that.”

“Do you not want to go?”

Gold hesitated a moment, then shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just - well, perhaps you’re not the only one who’s a little nervous. Maybe I’m just better at hiding it. I want to be here for you every step of the way, and I worry about leaving you alone for any length of time. Just in case.”

Belle smiled, reaching out to run a hand over his knee.

“It’s only a few hours away,” she pointed out. “And it’s only one day. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Besides, Emma and Neal will be here, it’s not like I’ll be alone.”

“Alright,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

He let go of her foot, and she slipped it back under the water as he reached for the other.

“You said your father was planning on coming to Boston,” he said. “Did he say when?”

“No, he said he’d let me settle in with the baby first,” she said. “He asked that I call him when it’s born, but I think he was planning on leaving the visit for a week or two.”

“Will he stay long?”

“I doubt it. He has the shop to run for a start, and unless he gets an assistant in like I suggested, there’s no one to cover. I imagine it’ll only be for a day or two.”

Gold nodded, and she gave him a wry look.

“I think he’s planning on making his own way here,” she added. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask you to go pick him up.”

He grunted at that.

“Good,” he remarked. “The idea of spending four hours in a confined space with Moe French doesn’t fill me with joy, I have to confess.”

“I expect the feeling’s mutual.”

A soft chuckle, and he glanced up at her.

“Don’t know how you put up with us.”

“Well, I’m an extremely patient person.”

“I noticed,” he said, with a wry twist to his mouth. “Far too good for the likes of me.”

Belle pressed her lips together.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t trash talk yourself anymore,” she said sternly, and he inclined his head.

“Work in progress,” he said.

“Hmm.”

“I’ve had years of practice, after all,” he added. “Old habits die hard.”

Belle sat forward, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek. Bubbles ran over her arm, dripping into the bath around them, and she held his eyes with her own.

“You’re a good man,” she said gently. “And you’re going to be a wonderful father. Okay?”

Gold smiled, leaning into her touch.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I promise you that.”

“That’s all anyone could ask.”

He kissed her fingertips, and she settled back in the warm water with a sigh as he continued his massage. Two weeks until the baby gets here. We’re going to be a family.

The clock on the wall ticked slowly. Gold was sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, studying the rug between the shining toes of his shoes. Dr Hopper was waiting patiently for him to speak, and he threaded his fingers together and pulled them apart, a whispery sound of skin against skin.

“So you said the baby was due on May fifth,” said Dr Hopper. “How are you feeling about that?”

“Belle’s nervous,” said Gold, fingers moving restlessly. “I’ve tried to reassure her, but she’s anxious about the birth.”

“Well, that’s understandable, given that this is her first child.”

“I know. I’ve tried to tell her that, but I’m not sure I’m helping.”

Dr Hopper scribbled briefly.

“And how do you feel about it?” he asked. Gold shrugged.

“She’s in good hands. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I don’t want to see her in pain, of course.”

“And the baby?”

“The baby will be fine too.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Dr Hopper calmly. “You said in our first meeting that you were excited to be a father again. Do you have any other feelings?”

Gold hesitated, ducking his head a little.

“I am excited,” he said eventually. “But there’s this underlying sense of - unease - I suppose.”

“About what?”

“About bringing this child into the world when I couldn’t hold onto the last,” he said, his voice soft. “About whether I’ll fail to protect it. Whether I’ll be - enough.”

“Do you worry that Belle will take it from you?”

“No,” he said, after a pause. “No, I don’t think she’d do that. Not really. Not now I’ve told her how much the thought of it scares me. Belle wouldn’t use my own fears against me like that. She isn’t cruel.”

“Of course not.”

Dr Hopper waited, and Gold ran a hand across the back of his neck, feeling awkward.

“It’s more a fear of what may happen in the future,” he said eventually. “That my child will leave and not come back. That I’ll drive him away; something that I say or do will be the last straw, and he’ll leave.”

“I see.” He could hear the sound of Dr Hopper’s pen scratching away. “Is there anything that sets off this train of thought?”

“Not really.” Gold thought for a moment. “Maybe. When I think about Bailey.”

“Your first son?” Dr Hopper nodded slowly. “You said he was two when his mother took him away.”

“Yes.”

“What was it that made her go?”

“I don’t know…” Gold sat back with a sigh. “She was seeing someone else. She was bored with me. I wanted financial and physical stability for our child, and she wanted excitement and - and drama for herself. The two were incompatible. We were incompatible.”

“Was there something specific that you said or did that made her leave?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“So the leaving was her choice.”

“Yes.”

“And your son had no choice in the matter at all,” added Dr Hopper. “Being two.”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why do you think it makes you worry about this child leaving?”

Gold hesitated.

“I suppose when you say it like that, it’s ridiculous,” he admitted, and Dr Hopper smiled.

“Oh, I find there’s very little that’s completely ridiculous,” he said. “Sometimes the reasons behind someone’s thought patterns may be a little convoluted, but there’s usually some basis in reality. Unfortunately, sometimes our minds focus on the least likely and most painful scenarios that may come from that.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” grumbled Gold.

“So if you know that it wasn’t your son’s choice to leave,” said Dr Hopper. “Why do you fear your second child leaving you?”

“Because he never came back.”

Gold snapped his mouth shut, feeling tears prick his eyes, a heavy weight seeming to shift inside him. Dr Hopper was silent, waiting, and he forced himself to speak.

“He never came back,” he repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I tried to find him for - for years. I employed private detectives and followed up leads and took out advertisements....” He broke off with a bark of a laugh. “I even went on some of those stupid shows where they try to reunite you with lost loved ones. I thought - I thought even if he didn’t watch them himself, maybe someone who knew him would see, they’d tell him. And - and nothing. He doesn’t want to be found. He - he doesn’t want me to find him.”

“Do you think that’s because of something you did?” Dr Hopper’s tone was careful, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe it was what I didn’t do,” he said. “Milah always said I worked too much. I should have spent more time with him.”

“How much do you think he remembers?” asked Dr Hopper. “Given that he was two.”

“I don’t know…” Gold ran his hands over his face. “Why wouldn’t he look for his father? If she abandoned him, if she left him with Social Services, why wouldn’t he seek me out? All these years I’ve told myself that maybe he had no information to go on, that she told him nothing about me, but maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he chose not to look.”

“I understand how painful those thoughts must be,” said Dr Hopper gently. “Let’s consider your other child for a moment. You worry that you’ll do or say something to make this child leave and not come back.”

“Yes.”

“Some - confrontation, perhaps,” he went on. “I’m assuming you’re looking ahead to when the child is a teenager or a young adult.”

“Yes.”

“Conflict between a parent and child is the most natural thing in the world,” added Dr Hopper, his tone reassuring. “Especially when a child is maturing and starting to make its own choices.”

“I don’t want to be the reason my child leaves,” whispered Gold, and Dr Hopper smiled.

“Then how about you and I talk through some ways of communicating that should maximise your chances of avoiding something like that?” he suggested.

“Alright.” Gold nodded. “Yes. Good.”

“You’ll probably find these techniques useful in other relationships,” he added, and Gold gave him a wry smile.

“Good.”

“I’m going to give you some homework to do, as well,” said Dr Hopper. “Recording these unwanted thoughts. There are some worksheets I’d like you to complete. A kind of journal.”

“Alright.” Gold slumped a little in the chair, feeling drained. “It’ll give me something to do while we’re waiting for the baby to arrive.”

“So.” Emma slumped into one of the kitchen chairs, folding her arms across the back and eyeing Belle. “Not long now. You have your bag packed and ready?”

“It’s in the hall,” said Belle, sliding the casserole into the oven and closing the door. “You guys want a drink?”

“You sit down, me and Henry are on it,” said Neal. “I’m guessing some sort of tea?”

“Yeah, can I have fennel?” asked Belle, rubbing a hand over her belly. “This little guy’s been kicking so hard it gave me indigestion.”

“Wine for me,” said Emma, and grinned at Belle. “Hey, I can’t wait until the two of us can have a girls’ night. You can leave Gold changing diapers and come out and get wasted.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Belle sat down with a sigh of relief, still rubbing her belly. She had been having odd twinges all day, and it was getting on her nerves.

“I think he’d be in his element, anyway,” she said. “It’s gonna be a new thing for him, having a newborn to care for, but he’s been reading all the books. I think he’ll be great.”

“Wasn’t he around when his son was born?” asked Neal.

“I’m sure he would have been, had he known about it,” she said dryly, and Neal and Emma winced.

“Ouch,” said Emma. “Poor guy.”

“Yeah.” Belle slumped in her chair a little. “I get the feeling that’s not the only issue from his past that he needs to work through.”

“How’s the therapy going?” asked Emma, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“He seems - less anxious about it,” she said eventually. “I think it took him a while to open up, but that’s no surprise. He’s committed to it, though.”

“Is that where he is now?”

“That’s the reason he went to Storybrooke, but he’s had his session,” said Belle. “I spoke to him this afternoon. He said he had a tenancy issue to sort out and then he’d be on his way back.”

She flinched as another spasm went through her. That one had hurt more than the last. Neal set a cup of fennel tea in front of her and gave Henry his cocoa before pouring two glasses of wine and slipping into the chair next to Emma. He was watching her with a tiny frown on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You keep wincing.”

“Yeah, just twinges,” said Belle, and Emma looked thoughtful.

“What kind of twinges?”

“Just - I don’t know, I guess the baby’s head is pressing on something. It’s been going on most of the day.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Well, it does now,” sighed Belle. “Figured it was Braxton Hicks. They’ve been driving me nuts this past month, but this is hurting more.”

“You got any backache?”

“Yeah,” said Belle, pressing a hand to her back. “God, I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“You may get your wish sooner than you think,” said Emma. “Sounds like you could be in early labour.”

“What?” Belle shook her head. “But the baby’s not due until next week.”

“Yeah, but babies don’t always stick to the schedule, and everything you just described could be early labour pains,” said Emma. “How often are you getting the twinges?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe a few times an hour?”

“Hmm.” Emma reached for her glass of wine. “You might want to time them. Could be nothing. Could be something.”

“Is the baby coming?” asked Henry excitedly.

“Maybe, kid.” Emma took a sip of her wine. “Belle, what time’s Alex getting back?”

“I don’t know, he said he’d call when he left.” Belle rubbed at her back, trying to ease the dull ache. “You think I should call him?”

“Not until you need to go to hospital,” said Emma. “If it is early labour you’ve probably got a good few hours before then. The baby probably won’t come until tomorrow.”

“Right.” Belle turned her mug of tea with nervous fingers. “Wow. Is this really it?”

Emma reached over to grasp her hand.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said firmly. “We can time the contractions, and we’ll stay with you until Gold gets back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Belle tapped her fingers against the mug restlessly. The dull ache in her lower back was getting worse, and the pain wasn’t helped by her nerves.

“D’you want me to read you a story?” asked Henry. “I always feel better if I get a story.”

Belle smiled at him.

“Thanks Henry, that sounds great.”

“Cool! I’m gonna read you the one about Beauty and the Beast!”

He slipped from the table and ran through to the lounge to get the storybook he carried everywhere. Belle was feeling restless, fingers still tapping, and she pushed to her feet, almost toppling the chair over backwards.

“You okay?” asked Neal.

“Yeah, fine,” she muttered. “I’m just - excuse me a moment.”

She strode from the room, heading for the bathroom. There was wetness between her legs, a sudden rush of fluid. She had taken to wearing pads in the lead-up to her due date, as the literature suggested, and this felt like something that needed attention. A strong cramp went through her, and Belle stopped dead, pressing a hand to her belly with a groan, her heart thumping. How long since the last one? Ten minutes? Less?

“Belle?” Emma had put her head around the kitchen door and was eyeing her curiously. “You okay?”

Belle turned on her toes slowly, trying to steady her breathing as the cramping continued.

“Could you call Alex?” she asked. “I think my waters just broke.”

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

47 notes · View notes

k-llama-llama · 4 years

Text

FanCam-ed

Seventeen AU: 14th member

Rei x Seventeen

Rei during the Aju Nice promotions - the first time she had to deal with criticism.

Rei is not a permanent addition so if you have requests let me know…but she’s just an idea I had. She is NOT cannon with the rest of my AUs.

A/N: bonus post for you all today….ALSO CHECK OUT MY PATREON FOR ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE CONTENT AND EARLY ACCESS (patreon.com/kllamallama)

Requests are OPEN!!!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“Where are they going to put your mic pack?” Vernon asked.

“I think the stylist said they would put a belt around my waist.” Rei answered. “There isn’t really anywhere on my skirt.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Vernon looked over her outfit once.

They were promoting Aju Nice, and Rei was being reminded of how horrible it was to promote in skirts. It was just a standard little white skirt, and she did have safety shorts underneath, but it was a big change from how she normally dressed.

Though she’d recorded the music video in a skirt, she hadn’t actually considered what it would be like performing in a skirt. The dance moves were a little more...mature than she was used to, and there were lots of spinning and jumps.

But she had safety shorts on, so it would be fine.

----time jump----

“My face mask is sliding off!” Rei cried, tilting her head back to try and fight gravity.

“I’ve got it.” Jeonghan pulled it back on, inadvertently dragging the slime through her mouth. “You need to stop moving around.”

“I need to play Robot Unicorn.” Rei countered. “I worked hard today and I want to be able to relax without eating my own facemask.”

“Well that’s your own problem. The mask can’t work if you keep wiggling.”

“Urgh, fine.” Rei scooted away from him, moving to the other side of the bed. She still lifted her phone to her face, but opted for checking twitter instead of the aggressive gaming.

A lot of Carats were talking about their performance today, complimenting the choreography and the entire album.

Rei smiled, as much as she could with the mask on her face. She was so happy that fans were liking it. She’d worked so hard on learning the choreography and the vocal parts, and she’d been nervous that fans wouldn’t like it.

Out of curiosity, she typed in Seventeen Rei, just to see if people were liking her role.

The first few comments made her smile.

Baby Rei is so cute! Our pretty girl is all grown up!

But as she kept scrolling, other comments started to come to her attention.

Is anyone else uncomfortable with her outfit? Why do they have a minor dressed like that, dancing like that? Were they really okay with Rei pretending to a love interest? She’s a kid.

And then one in particular drew her eye.

This fancam is going viral! Check it out! Against her better judgement, she clicked the link. It took her right to a fancam on naver, and her heart sank as she watched it.

At first it just looked like a fancam of her coming out of a spin move, but then it played in slow motion, and then it zoomed in. Showing a clear, slow-motion view up her skirt. Sure, she was wearing safety shorts, but they were small, and they didn’t hide much.

Rei felt sick to her stomach, starting to read through the comments.

“What are you looking at?” Jeonghan sat up, pulling his mask off. “Is that from our....wait, what are you reading?”

He took the phone from her hand, scrolling quickly. When he reached the top, he saw the fancam and froze.

“Don’t look at it.” Rei pushed the phone down. “It’s just...”

“Cheol!” Jeonghan hopped up from the bed, taking the phone with her.

“Oppa! It’s nothing!” Rei hopped up, pulling the face mask off of her face. “You don’t need to.”

“Look at this.” Jeonghan shoved the phone in Seungcheol’s face.

“What is that-” Seungcheol looked away quickly, before realizing what it was. “Wait, is that....is that from today?”

“Yes! And it’s-”

“Hey guys, have you seen that-” Chan walked into the room, examining their faces. “I guess you have.”

“How did you know?” Rei cried.

Chan swallowed. “A guy from school sent it to me.”

“We need to call the company.” Seungcheol said, before looking at Rei. “Don’t worry, Rei, we’ll take care of this.”

“We don’t need to make a big deal.” Rei insisted. “I really don’t mind.”

Jeonghan patted her shoulder. “I know you’re lying. But we need to take care of it. And some of those comments are disgusting.”

“Some of them seem like legitimate threats.” Seungcheol said.

“We’ll see about changing your wardrobe for tomorrow too.” Jeonghan told her.

Rei clenched her jaw, and then snatched her phone from Seungcheol’s hand and stormed out of the room.

They heard the front door slam behind her.

Seungcheol moved to follow her.

“She’s probably just going to the fire escape.” Chan said quietly. “Maybe give her a minute.”

Rei sat outside on the fire escape, dangling her feet over the sides. She wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much, but she really didn’t want the boys to make a big deal of it. And watching Jeonghan and Cheol freak out about it just made everything worse.

“Rei?” Jihoon’s voice interrupted her moping.

Rei turned to look at him as he stepped out onto the fire escape. “Go away.”

“No.” He sat down beside her, and she looked down at the ground, refusing to meet his gaze. “You want to talk about it?”

Picking at her fingernails, she sighed. “Did they call the company?”

“Yeah.”

“And what are they going to do about it?”

“I’m not sure.” Jihoon scooted closer. “But why are you sitting out here?”

Rei crossed her arms, resting them on the railing. “I just wish they wouldn’t make a big fuss out of it.”

“It’s worth making a big fuss over, Rei. It’s wrong.”

“Isn’t that why female idols wear short skirts?” She asked.

“So they look cute, maybe. But not so creepy guys can take videos of them, spread them on line and say disgusting things.” Jihoon leaned his head on the railing so he could get a peek of her face. “You read some of the comments?”

“Yeah.” She frowned.

“What they said wasn’t okay, Rei. It’s important that when people say gross things like that, when they talk about doing things to you or coming to our house, we take things seriously.”

“I just don’t want it to be a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to us. You’re a minor. And besides,” He poked her stomach. “We love you. Of course we’re going to stand up for you.”

“But if the company says something, people are going to talk about that instead of the comeback.” She looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You worked so hard on this album. Everyone did. And now I’m ruining it.” She looked away, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Aw, Rei. No.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a side hug. “You aren’t ruining anything.”

“I am. All people are going to talk about is me and my stupid skirt and that stupid fancam. I ruin everything.”

“No, you don’t.” Jihoon said with certainty, stroking her hair. “Sometimes people just....focus on the wrong things. We really don’t mind. We’d rather this get dealt with properly than people keep saying stuff like that about you. Because we love you.”

“Even if I ruin the comeback?”

“Even if you ruin the comeback.” He confirmed, rubbing her arm. “So you’re okay? You’ll come back inside and we can all figure this out together?”

“I guess so.” She hugged his waist, before letting out a little giggle.

“What?” He looked down at her, happy that she was smiling.

“Nothing, it’s just,” She laughed again, looking up at him. “You used to put up a fight about hugging me.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well I got used to it. Come on, let’s go deal with our problems.”

He stood, reaching down and pulling her to her feet easily.

Looking down, he clicked his tongue. “No shoes?”

Rei shrugged. “I was being dramatic.”

“You’re good at that.” He nodded. “Let’s go. You need socks before your toes freeze off.”

“You know, I really don’t think I need all of my toes. My pinky toe is kind of wonky already so I could-”

“Rei!”

“Right, I’m going.”

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen reactions #seventeen ships #seventeen 14th member #female kpop #female!kpop #female member kpop #requests open #au #kpop #imagines #imagine #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine

377 notes · View notes

franniebanana · 3 years

Text

CQL Rewatch - Episode 7

Their first vow together. So nice! I actually do like the parallels here between Lan Yi and Wei Wuxian, and Baoshan Sanren and Lan Wangji: you have one set being reckless and untamed (I said it) and the other set trying to restore order. It’s kind of funny that the ancestors are switched, though. So here we have Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji vowing to bring all the Yin Iron pieces back to the cold spring pond to neutralize them, and of course Lan Wangji’s first reaction is, “None of your business.” It’s cute how Lan Yi takes Wei Wuxian’s side and has a sense of pride for her close friend’s disciple. I think he’s an honorary Lan in her eyes.

And then Lan Yi gives them a warning to not make the same mistakes she made. Wei Wuxian’s like, “Yep, got it, I promise.” But we all know from the beginning that this obviously doesn’t go well for him, since he dies in the first five minutes of the series. He will go on to make some questionable decisions, most of which are driven by his emotions, which are often not in check. Side note: I love this series, but I don’t like how they took a great grey character like Wei Wuxian and turned him into a character where many of the things that went wrong were caused by other people.

Another side note. That fucking Yin Iron fell on the guqin so many times, and it didn’t dent it at all. Is the guqin made out of iron too? I thought it was wood. If I did that to my violin, I guarantee you the violin would not fare very well.

Forever a favorite moment. It was great enough that they were tied together by Lan Wangji’s headband, but even better that Wei Wuxian fell on him. So great—such a tease to the audience. And this is as close as we get to the scene in the book when Lan Wangji uses the body binding spell to keep Wei Wuxian on top of him all night (ooh, my heart skipped a beat when I read that).

Also, taking the screenshot, I noticed you can see the impression of the little metal piece from Lan Wangji’s headband. Little things like that interest me for some reason. I wonder if it bothered Wang Yibo—did it press too hard on his forehead? I remember him saying he’d get tan lines from the headband.

I love this little smirk he does. A moment when Wei Wuxian’s gift to gab really pays off. Instead of letting Lan Wangji talk and explain the situation, Wei Wuxian keeps speaking, lying about what they were doing. I’d like to think he does it in part to protect Lan Wangji and to stop him from breaking any of his clan rules, but likely it’s another chance for him to prove himself as someone Lan Wangji can trust. And I take Lan Wangji’s little acknowledgement of him there as his silent “thank you.” It says a lot, I think, that Wei Wuxian is willing to lie to Jiang Cheng in order to protect the Lan Clan’s secrets.

I’m sorry, but every time I hear Nie Huaisang say, “You were gone a whole day and night,” my mind immediately goes to the gutter—like the implication is that they were doing something inappropriate during that time. I keep expecting a sex joke, only to remind myself that this was on Chinese television and that would, of course, not happen. Jiang Cheng says a similar thing (and my mind goes the same way that time too), but in that case, canon book Jiang Cheng does later accuse them of having a more-than-friendly relationship, and he does not say it in a nice way.

Also, throughout the scene that precedes this, where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are discussing what to do next with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, it really feels like wangxian just want to go on a buddy road trip together, and they are so disappointed when they are turned down. Oh, I didn’t screencap it, but Lan Wangji has the saddest sad face at the end.

I think Lan Wangji is a little impressed here but he doesn’t want to admit it. Wei Wuxian has a great gift to come up with ridiculous stories and lies at the drop of a hat. I love that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to come up with a scary snake story when he could have just told Nie Huaisang what he’d already told Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing, but he does anyway. Mad respect.

This also kind of amuses me because Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji can never really have a moment alone. They keep getting interrupted by other people when I think they just want to talk about what they experienced. Instead we just have all these shared glances. Nothing like a big fat secret to get close to each other, right?

Omfg Jiang Cheng is so jealous! I thought maybe I was imagining it or just projecting my own ideas onto him, but NO—he is jealous! He’s all like, “If you like Lan Wangji so much, why don’t you marry him?” I mean, that basically happened. I’ve gone on about this before, but I love the tension between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, and the fact that it continues even after Wei Wuxian dies makes it even better. Jiang Cheng is so stubborn and continues to hold a grudge against Lan Wangji, and it bothers the fuck out of him that there’s someone out there devoted to Wei Wuxian, by whom Jiang Cheng feels so betrayed.

And, I mean, by this point, it’s already started. As soon as they get to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian starts paying more attention to Lan Wangji than he does to either Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli. And Jiang Cheng likes to say, “You’re worrying my sister, you’re hurting my sister” when he really means, “You’re worrying me.” His stupid pride gets in the way of having a good relationship with Wei Wuxian. And I don’t think Wei Wuxian would ever put Lan Wangji above Jiang Cheng, who he considers his family—at least not at this point. It’s not until the second half that things switch, and really, even then, in the CQL-verse, the two are probably equal in Wei Wuxian’s mind. He backs off from Jiang Cheng due to Jiang Cheng’s attitude toward him.

Okay, Jiang Cheng’s jealousy aside, I love how steadfast and supportive Wei Wuxian is of him. As soon as he catches on that Jiang Cheng is jealous, he immediately starts trash-talking the Cloud Recesses and talking up Lotus Pier. It’s very cute, very sweet. He’s a good brother to him, really.

Now who’s jealous? Just kidding. I love his wistful expression here, as he watches them go off. Anyone who’s read the book knows that Lan Wangji does get jealous at times and certainly frustrated with Wei Wuxian’s coquettish behavior. I would say he is more longing at this moment, maybe even wanting to get closer to Wei Wuxian, without really understanding why himself. There’s such an isolation to his world: even though he’s surrounded by other disciples, he doesn’t have any friends. He’s maybe regretting how quickly he refused to the invitation to Lotus Pier. I think, on the one hand, Lan Wangji has found one person in this world who not only shares a secret with him, but who has similar goals—on the other hand, his code of ethics are all over the place. His heart and mind are conflicted: he wants to get closer, but he doesn’t want to make the wrong decision. To his Gusu Lan Clan mind, Wei Wuxian is all wrong, but his heart says otherwise. And I’m not saying he loves him already—but he is already seeing a kindred spirit in Wei Wuxian, someone who he can rely on, someone he can trust, someone who has his back, even if it means bending a few rules. And in a relationship, you have nothing if you don’t have trust.

I never noticed that they were communicating telepathically here. Or something. I dunno. I guess it’s not that clear.

Also if it feels like I’m ignoring all these parts with the Wen Clan, it’s because I am. I mean, not really, but this is all the Yin Iron stuff that I don’t really care about. And I’m not in the Xue Yang fan club either, so I’m not going to spend time on him until he’s actually in it in Yueyang (possibly) and Yi City. Actually, confession: I’ve never watched the Yi City flashback episodes. I read it, so I know it, but I never watched it hahaha. I will this time around. I made that pact with myself.

AWWW, HE SMILED!!!

Ahem, excuse me. This is too fucking cute, though. The rabbit lantern that Wei Wuxian drew just for him, his cute baby smile, and the Wei Wuxian pointing it out with a grin. Cuteness overload—my heart can’t take it.

But I also had a sad thought that if Wei Wuxian hadn’t come over, Lan Wangji would be sitting here alone. He’d make his lantern all on his own, send it off into the sky, say his own prayer to himself, and never hear Wei Wuxian’s, which likely sends Lan Wangji over the edge with his feelings. Everything he thought about Wei Wuxian was true, and maybe it’s okay to like him, maybe it’s okay to consider him a friend, maybe it’s okay to trust him that way.

Just a shot that I liked. Enjoy.

I feel so bad for Jiang Yanli here. I also feel bad for Jin Zixuan, even though he’s a complete dick. I understand how they both feel here—to be tied to someone you don’t know, from the time you were small children is incredibly unfair in my eyes. That being said, I know this still happens in other parts of the world, and it’s implied that it’s common in our CQL/MDZS world (which would make sense, of course). I like the feeling of siding with Wei Wuxian, wanting to come to Jiang Yanli’s defense and protect her honor, while also still having an understanding of how Jin Zixuan must feel about the whole thing. His choice has been completely taken away. And he’s, what, 17 here? What 17-year-old boy wants to be reminded constantly about how he’s already engaged? It’s not typically a young man’s dream to settle down and get married—not that it can’t be! But the implication here, with all the girls tittering about it, is that they’re all excited about marriage, and he wants nothing to do with it. Of course, Jiang Yanli isn’t either. I think she really just wants to get to know him and spend time with him, before even thinking about marrying him.

Ah, a momentous occasion: the first time Lan Wangji tries to stop Wei Wuxian from getting himself into trouble (not counting the first time they met, when he was literally trying to police him while breaking Cloud Recesses rules). I like this shot, because you have Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji on either side of Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Yanli in the front, literally putting her body between him and Jin Zixuan (actually this parallels her final scene). It kind of shows the depths of their relationships (or at least what the director wants to show us). You have Lan Wangji, who grabs onto Wei Wuxian to try to stop him from further brawling; Jiang Cheng, who stands beside him, but isn’t really involved otherwise—standoffish, in a way; and then Jiang Yanli, who physically gets in the way. She’s the quintessential big sister. And I’m not saying Jiang Cheng doesn’t care—he does, but I think his first thought always has to do with the honor of the Jiang Clan and, while he’s standing beside Wei Wuxian, it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to show any involvement with this brawl, because that would look bad.

Ah, the old dudes meeting, while Jiang Cheng stands off to the side awkwardly, wondering if he should be there or not. At the outset, this meeting to decide their children’s future seemed kind of bad, but it actually turned out nice, with them agreeing to call off the engagement. Very progressive, I thought.

Two things I learned in this scene: Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to marry a woman and he doesn’t want to leave the Cloud Recesses yet (TL: he doesn’t want to leave Lan Wangji). He seriously looks so disappointed when she says they’re going home soon.

This feels like a mixture of “I’m worried about you” and “I don’t want to be left out.” We already know at this point that Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to leave the Cloud Recesses (more that he doesn’t want to leave Lan Wangji, because he doesn’t like all of the rules, obviously). He also is very interested in what’s happening with the Yin Iron, as he has also vowed to protect it with Lan Wangji. He is very perceptive—he knows something is happening, that Lan Wangji is going to go off on his own, and he wants to go with. It’s kind of hard to say if this is more out of duty or his adventurous spirit, but either way, he wants to help Lan Wangji.

“After his leave, things will be as quiet here as before.”

Look at how sad he is! The only person he considers a friend has just left, and at this point, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see him again. It’s possible, sure, but then only at clan gatherings, and that’s if Wei Wuxian and Lang Wangji even happen to attend the same one. I believe we know from the book that Lan Wangji doesn’t typically attend gatherings (when he’s older), he often skips them. And Wei Wuxian isn’t necessarily important enough to even be invited, so he would have to be a guest of Jiang Cheng. Obviously we all know that they do go to gatherings and see each other again, but this is what I’d be thinking if I were Lan Wangji, okay? Like, when am I going to see him again? Will I ever see him again?

I leave you with a wholesome picture of Wei Wuxian and a rabbit. Also adorable that he contemplates bringing the bunnies back to Lotus Pier, but doesn’t because Lan Wangji might get lonely. MY HEART!

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

#wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #jin zixuan #cql #the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wwx #lwj #cql rewatch

24 notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

BTS Reaction || Depressive Episodes

A/N: Warning here! Some of the following might be triggering to some people, but this was a request from a lovely anon, I hope this is okay for you. As someone who battles with depression just know if any of you need to talk I’m here. 💜💜💜 THAT BEING SAID I SUCK AT WRITING ABOUT DEPRESSION BECAUSE I TEND TO IGNORE ALL OF MY FEELINGS SO FAIR WARNING THIS SUCKS.

Seokjin:

Your phone buzzed from beside your bed but you continued to ignore it, rolling over under the covers and blocking out everything. Jin had been trying to call you for the last two days but you didn’t want to talk to him, or anybody else. You just wanted to be left alone with your thoughts. The phone stopped buzzing and you knew there was another missed call and voicemail to add to the collection, you felt terrible for ignoring him but even worse because your head was racing too much.

“It’s Jin…Of course, you know that you have caller ID…Just…Call me or text me, if you don’t respond within the next hour I’m coming round.” You looked at the photo you had of you and him set for his contact, you were cuddling together in a park somewhere, giant smiles on your faces as a picnic was laid out in front of you. He’d taken you out the first day he’d gotten back from one of their tours and it was the best day ever, you smiled at the memory and then the phone vibrated again.

“I’m outside. Let me in.” You cursed yourself for opening the message, you had on read receipts and you wanted to scream for being an idiot, now he knew you were awake and reading all of the messages and listening to voicemails he’d been leaving. The front door opened and you heard him greeting your roommate, you looked at the door as it rattled, you’d locked it when you first locked yourself away.

“Baby…You can’t lock yourself away, let me in.” You silently let a few tears go, you heard him keep trying the door. He wasn’t going to anywhere any time soon, you got up from the bed and opened the door, as soon as his eyes landed on you he dragged you into a hug, his big long arms wrapping around your waist and dragging you into his chest, as soon as you came into contact with him you let go of everything you were holding back, the tears came first and you never thought they would stop, you both collapsed onto the floor as you cried into his arms, he rubbed your back, kissing the top of your head as you ranted to him about everything you were feeling.

“It’s so hard Jin, it’s so, so hard.” You sobbed out to him, he held you tighter and you let out a shaky breath, you’d never really gone into depth with Jin about your depression, you’d told him about how you had ups and downs and when you were having your downs you just pushed everyone away and wanted to be left alone,

“I push everyone away because even when people are around I feel so alone in everything…I can’t keep-” He cut you off, shaking his head and kissing the top of yours.

“I brought along the perfect food, and movies for us to binge, or to sleep through. We can talk or not talk but you will never be alone during this okay.” You nodded and he lifted you, walking over to the bed and laying you down in it, covering you with the covers and going to set the TV up at the end of your bed.

“I love you.” You said to him as he got into the bed next to you, he wrapped one arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to him.

“I love you too.” He whispered back, leaning down and leaving a kiss on your lips. You leant your head against his shoulder and watched as the movie began playing in front of you. ‘You’ll never be alone’, you smiled at the thought of his words, he’d always told you he’d be there. No matter what.

Yoongi:

“I’m fine Yoongi.” You said over the phone to your boyfriend, he’d locked himself away at the studio for the last week and you stayed home, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to go to the studio and work you loved that he was so passionate about everything he did, but he began noticing your habits again, he knew your depressive episodes were coming before you even did, on the 6th day of him not being at home he called you. You’d been ignoring his text, the group chat and the boys’ texts, this was the first sign of one coming, you pushed everyone close to you away, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, or see anyone. The next step was locking yourself up in the bedroom and refusing to take the right medication or eat real meals, so Yoongi knew what to do. He called you on his way home, he knew you would answer his calls to put his mind at ease, you never wanted to worry him, or bother him while he was busy, he told you he was still in the studio so that you wouldn’t expect him home yet, but he would be coming down the driveway as you said goodbye. He came through the backdoor, silently going up the stairs and into the bedroom where he found you crying into a Shooky plush he’d gotten you, wearing nothing but one of his old T-Shirts, he’d say nothing to you. Just walking over and climbing into the bed next to you, pulling you over into his arms and letting you cry into him.

“What’s wrong baby?” You let out a shaky breath as you just laid in his arms, you never wanted him to leave you alone again.

“I don’t know.” You managed to stutter out, it was the truth. You had no idea what was wrong with you.

“I was doing fine, I was taking the meds, I was eating but…I just-” He nodded along as you tried to finish your sentence.

“I just feel hopeless, like nothing can help me. I feel like nothing I can do or say will help me Yoongi. I’m stuck in an awful mindset and I can’t get out of it. Everything just feels like too much, it’s all piling up on top of me and I can’t, I don’t think I have the strength to keep fighting-” You couldn’t even finish because you broke down into another sob, Yoongi just held you tighter as you cried out to him.

“It’s going to be okay, I know that’s the lame thing to say but I promise it is.” He rubbed your arms

“I’m here, I’m giving you all the strength I’ve got, we’re going to get through this together, everything we do, we do together.” He reminded you, he’d told you this before. When you first told him about your mental health struggles, he told you about his and how you would both help one another when the time came.

Hoseok:

“Hobi please just leave me alone.” You whispered as he banged on your bedroom door again, you locked yourself away in your apartment but your roommate let him inside and now he was stood outside your bedroom door waiting for you to unlock it,

“I’m not going away so you might as well open up the door.” You groaned getting off the bed and sliding the lock off, opening the door and letting him come inside, his bright smile on his face as he burst through, you shut the door and went back over to your bed. You’d never told Hoseok about your depression before, you’d mentioned it in passing but breezed over the whole conversation, you didn’t want him to look at you differently.

“What’s going on with you?” He questioned sitting down next to him, you tried to match his happy energy but it was taking everything in you right now not to cry in front of him.

“I can’t keep pretending Hobi it’s so hard.” You managed to stutter out before bursting into tears, you fell down into his lap, he was shocked at first but he wrapped his arms around you, and you let out sobs as he touched you.

“How do you do it? How are you always so upbeat and happy Hobi?” You whispered to him, he looked at you, he was playing with bits of your hair, twirling them between his fingers as you looked up at him. It pained him to see you this way, you were normally just as happy and upbeat at him, always meeting his mood and raising it little by little, never letting anyone else around you be sad.

“It’s so hard putting on a mask every day Hobi…I try to be happy for everyone around me…I try to push the dark thoughts out and focus on the good but it’s so God damn hard…How can I help other people be happy when I can’t even help myself?” You managed to say before breaking down into tears again, he sighed pulling you up from his lap to face him, he cupped your face in his hands wiping the tears away from your cheek and looking you deep in the eyes.

“I know it’s hard and I know right now you’re feeling as though there is no way out of this place that you’re in but I promise and assure you that there is a way out, there is always a way out. You just have to keep fighting, no matter how much it hurts you have to keep fighting. Promise me you’ll keep fighting.” You stayed silent, nothing but small sharp intakes of breath were coming from you and the occasional sob as he spoke to you, he moved some hair behind your ear and you leant into his hand, his touch making you feel a little better.

“I’ll be here, always. I’m going to help you keep fighting but you have to promise me you’ll keep fighting okay?” You nodded and he smiled softly, not his usual bright big smile but a normal smile, you took a deep breath and tried to focus on your breathing, he pulled you back down into his chest and drew small invisible patterns into the small of your back, softly humming some of their songs to you as you cried into him.

Namjoon:

You ignored Namjoon for a week…hoping that if you ignored him for long enough he would just go away and leave you alone but that wasn’t happening. He’d been busy with work lately and hadn’t noticed anything going on in the media but you had, all of the articles about him being better without you in his life, and how you were holding him back. It sent you into a spiral of overthinking and so you left him alone, you didn’t return his calls or texts, or anyone else’s texts. You were in a group chat with them all so you just left it, finding it easier than to just mute the conversation, you didn’t want the temptation of checking it to see how they were doing.

“If you don’t open this door right now Y/N!” Namjoon yelled from outside your apartment, you ignored him, going back into your living room. You’d closed the curtains so he didn’t know you were there and you laid down on the sofa, trying not to cry out too loudly in case he heard you,

“I know you’re in there! You can’t ignore me forever, I’ll stay here all night.” He said to the front door, you listened as the rain began to pour down, you felt bad but you knew this was for his good.

“Hoseok has the spare key I’ll just call him to come and let me in!” You groaned rolling off the sofa and going to the door, you opened it to see a dripping wet Namjoon dressed in nothing but blue jeans and a white t-shirt, he pushed himself inside the house, slamming the door and pulling you into a silent hug, you didn’t hug him back. You let your arms lay limp at your sides.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” You pushed yourself away from him, going inside the living room and handing him a blanket to warm him up but he pushed it down onto the floor, you bent down to pick it up and he stopped you.

“Talk to me.” He repeated, you didn’t want to look up into his eyes, they were your weakness, one look and you would spill your guts to him.

“I’m not good enough for you.” You whimpered out, dropping the blanket and staring at him, he was shocked at your sentence.

“I’m holding you back Joonie…All I ever do is hold you back…If you’re not busy with work you’re busy looking after me because I’m…I’m broken, I’m broken and I can’t fix myself.” You sobbed out dropping down onto your knees as you let the words fly out of your mouth, he dropped down next to you and pulled you into him, never wanting to let you go again.

“I saw the articles…They all say your music was better when you weren’t with me and it’s true, your music is good but it was great when you were without me…I’m holding you back.” You cried, he shook his head. He was angry but not with you, never with you.

“The articles are dumb, they’re…They’re nothing. You, you make me better.” He said pulling you to look into his eyes and running his thumb under your eyes as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“You make my music better, I have the inspiration to keep doing what I love doing, writing songs about our love, you’re my muse baby.” You looked at him, swallowing on the lump that was in your throat and wanting him to hold you again, you said nothing and just snuggled into his arms.

“Don’t you ever think like that again, you’re too good for me if anything.” He whispered to you as you laid in his arms.

Jimin:

Jimin had gotten into your apartment through the bathroom window that you left open and you were now arguing on the landing between your bedroom and the bathroom.

“Jimin I need space!” You screamed as he looked at you, he knew that’s not what you needed at all, he knew what was going on the moment you began to answer his texts with one-word replies and stopped going to the studio with him, at first he thought it was because you were busy with work but when he called and asked for you they told him you didn’t work there anymore.

“You’re lying Y/N, I’ve told you before you can talk to me.” He said trying to reach for you put you stepped away from him, you just needed to be alone, all you wanted was to be alone.

“Leave me alone Jimin!” You cried out, moving away from him again but hitting the wall next to your bedroom door, you sighed out as you realised you had nowhere else to go.

“Jimin please.” You whispered, your head leaning back against the wall as you let some tears fall your cheeks.

“I’m not leaving you Y/N.” He said looking at you, you fell onto your knees and you broke down into a sob, every emotion coming at you all at once, he knelt beside you and you put your head on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me about work?” He questioned as you leant on him, you shook your head, your eyes closed tightly.

“I didn’t want to tell you about it, I thought if I could figure it out on my own I would be fine, but I can’t do it Jimin. I’m hopeless, I have no job, no money. My rent is due and everything is coming up all at once, I can’t even afford to buy myself food, I’ve been living off of rice for the last two weeks.” You finally admitted to him, he pulled your face up to look at him but your eyes were still closed.

“Open your eyes.” You did as he said and he looked sad, you cried, even more, when you realised you were the one that made him feel like this.

“We will figure this out together okay, you know you can always come to me if you’re struggling.” You shook your head pushing him away from you again.

“No, Jimin, No. I don’t want to rely on you to help me, I’m an adult I’m supposed to help myself.” He pulled you back in, ignoring you as you pushed against his chest to try and get him away again.

“Adults need help sometimes too, now. We’re going to get some sleep because I know you, you’ve probably not slept right for a few days, then tomorrow we’re going to do a food shop and we’ll look for another job okay? In the meantime, I will help take care of the bills.” He ignored you as you tried to fight him on this, he rubbed your arms softly.

“You’re not going to win on this one, everyone needs help sometimes, it takes a real adult to accept the help.” He whispered to you, kissing your cheek and helping you up on your feet.

Taehyung:

Taehyung came round to your apartment and rang the doorbell but there was no answer, he frowned. He thought you would have been at home sleeping, you’d been ignoring his calls all day and sent him a text saying.

“Tired, going to sleep everything off. love you. x" He knew it was a weird message to come from you and once he finished work he wanted to spend the night with you, he brought take out and your favourite movies. He heard grunting coming from the back garden of your apartment and went round, opening the gate to see you standing in front of a fire pit, you were throwing different things into it, he smiled as you did so until he realised what you were throwing inside, he dropped the bag of food and rushed over to you, stopping you and looking at you properly, your eyes were swollen and red, your cheeks were stained with mascara and you were shaking violently.

"What’s going on, what’s wrong?!” He questioned making you put down one of the paintings you were carrying, you looked at him for a second before turning your attention back to the dying fire, you broke out of his grasp and grabbed some random bits of paper, throwing them up to build up the flames once again.

“Baby talk to me.” He pleaded, making you stop in your tracks you turned to face him and you could see he was upset, you let out a little sob as you looked at your artwork that was laid around the garden,

“I just- I give up.” You managed to say, sitting down in one of the deck chairs, he came over to you, kneeling down in front of you so you would look at him.

“Talk to me, tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” He said running his hand along your cheek, you were freezing even though you were in front of a fire.

“Everything is too much Tae…I just, my brain won’t shut off and I can’t keep doing this anymore, why should I keep working at something that’s stupid.” You stated, referring to the artwork you’d been burning. He lifted you from the chair and sat in your place, pulling you onto his lap and laying your head against his chest, he’d wished he’d noticed the warning signs sooner. He noticed you weren’t interested in art a few weeks ago but he didn’t think you were this bad.

“Everything I love…I just don’t see the point in it anymore Tae.” You whispered to him, he held you tighter and kissed your temple.

“I know baby I know, but listen to me.” He whispered you looked up at him.

“We’re going to get through this alright, burning is not an option, your artwork is insanely good and I’m not about to let you throw it all away, we can pack it all up and put it away in the attic for now but I’m not letting you do this. We’ll find you something else to enjoy, for now, we can have a fire and burn anything else but your talent.” You nodded along with him, you knew deep down that burning everything you ever created wasn’t the answer but it felt good to do so.

“Now I did bring food but it’s ruined so, let’s get all of your stuff back inside, order some food in and get a movie on, we can talk or not talk through it…But I’m here baby, next time you’re feeling like this tell me."

Jungkook:

Jungkook didn’t know about your depression, you didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want anyone to know about it. You wanted to deal with it on your own, but it was hard to hide it from him, especially when you were having a down day, or rather a down week. You knew the episode was coming when you lost interest in everything, you didn’t want to be around Jungkook anymore, you wanted to be alone in your room, you didn’t want to write, listen to music or watch movies, nothing made you feel joy anymore, so you locked yourself away. Turning off your phone and ignoring everything around you. Jungkook began to worry when you first didn’t show up to practice dancing with Hoseok and him, you would normally come along to the dance studio to learn some new moves when he called it went straight to voicemail, at first he thought maybe you were just at work but when it did it for the second day in a row he began to get nervous, he questioned Namjoon and Jin on what he should do but they told him to give you space. He began to panic thinking he’d done something wrong and tried to call again but it kept going right to the answering machine.

He used the spare key which you kept under the rug and came into the apartment, he found your shoes and coat, meaning you were at home. He walked up the stairs and heard voices coming from your room, a woman and a male, he frowned listening in when he heard you sob out.

"Fucking bullshit!” He heard you scream and then the talking stopped, he walked through the door to find you laid in bed, wearing his hoodie and surrounded by tissues.

“Shitting hell.” You croaked out, jumping off the bed and running into the ensuite, you slammed and locked the door before he got to you and he sighed, knocking on the door.

“Did I do something wrong?” You wept a little at him thinking he’d been the one to cause this.

“Kookie no.” You whispered back, but you heard him let out a cry and you opened the door, he dragged you into his arms and you finally let out the tears you’d been holding back, he squeezed you tighter and you broke down into his arms.

“I didn’t want to tell you about my depression.” You admitted as he sat you both down on the bed, you were straddling his lap as he looked up into your eyes,

“I figured I could lock myself away for a while like I normally would and then I would be fine…I didn’t want you to look at me the way I look at myself.” He frowned at you, questioning you by what you meant silently, you knew his looks down to a science now.

“I didn’t want you to look at me like I was broken like I was something you had to repair because I can’t be repaired Kookie…I just have these days where I can’t get on with things.”

“Baby I would never look at you like that, you’re my girlfriend, you know you can tell me anything, on your down days we can figure it out together, I don’t want you to feel alone in this because you’re never alone, you have me. Always and forever.” You leant your forehead against his and kissed his nose.

“Always and forever.”

607 notes · View notes

lilacmoon83 · 3 years

Text

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 18: Miner Complications, Pt 1

"So...what's the point of this thing again?" Emma asked, as she walked along the sidewalk with her son. He shrugged.

"I don't know really...just curse stuff I guess. It's to celebrate the town's founding by the miners, but that didn't really happen," Henry replied.

"You know, there are mines under the town. You fell into one," Emma reminded him.

"Those are dwarf mines," he countered.

"Dwarf mines...right," Emma said stiffly.

"You know it's true now," he said.

"Henry," she started to protest.

"But you're still in denial," he added. She huffed.

"Okay fine...then if I'm supposed to break the curse, how do I do that?" Emma asked. He shrugged.

"I don't know...it just says that you do. Even Mr. Gold can't see how," Henry replied.

"Which makes no sense...and why me?" Emma asked. He sighed.

"Because you're the product of true love and true love can break any curse, just like Gramps broke the sleeping curse on Grams," he explained.

"Well...then why can't they break it? Sounds like they've done it before," Emma said. He shook his head.

"It doesn't work that way. That was a sleeping curse and this curse was designed so only the Savior can break it," Gold interjected, as he approached with Neal. She sighed.

"Yeah and besides, Grams and Gramps kiss all the time so it would have broken already if they were the ones that could do it," Henry added.

"He definitely has a point," David said, chuckling, as he and Snow approached as well. Emma refused to meet eyes with Mary Margaret and instead focused on her son.

"Well...then I'm about to be a huge disappointment to everyone, because I don't know how to break the curse and I'm not sure I even want to," she said, as she stalked off, but not before almost colliding with Tamara.

"Sorry," he said, as she blew past her.

"Is she okay?" Tamara asked, as she sided up to Neal.

"Uh yeah...we just disagree about some things, but she'll come around," Neal replied.

"Is this about custody arrangements?" Tamara asked.

"Uh no...we're on the same page when it comes to custody," Neal replied.

"Then Emma is going to move to New York?" Tamara asked.

"Move to New York?" Mary Margaret interjected.

"Uh no...Emma's not moving to New York," Neal assured her.

"But baby...this is a nice town, but we're going to eventually have to go home," Tamara said.

"Yeah...can we talk for a minute?" he asked, as he prodded her off to the side, leaving Snow, David, and Gold with Henry.

"She's trouble," Snow muttered.

"Agreed," Gold said.

"We don't know that yet...I mean, it's natural for her to not get why Neal might want to stay here now," David reasoned.

"Trust me dearie...she knows more than she's letting on. I know people and that one needs to find her way out of town as soon as possible," Gold said.

"I agree...but she is engaged to your son. This could be messy," Snow replied.

"Probably...but Neal's not leaving. He won't do that to Henry. He knows that they both belong here," David assured her.

"I hope you're right," Gold said.

~*~

Regina seethed, as she watched her son with them. She couldn't believe that she had no choice but to let them have visitation. Henry had always spent Miner's Day with her, but things had drastically changed. There were now outsiders in her town, Mary Margaret was no longer alone and miserable, and her son's biological family now surrounded him. And it had to be them...the two idiots and her former mentor. His grandparents. It made her sick thinking about it.

"Regina…" Kathryn said, as she approached.

"Hello Kathryn...this must be hard for you, seeing them here together," Regina replied.

"Actually...it's not that bad," Kathryn said. Regina's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

"Well…I've had a lot of time to think and I mean, look at them. Even in our best days, David never looked at me the way he does her. And I deserve to be looked at like that," Kathryn said.

"Of course you do...that's why we have to fix this. They don't belong together. He belongs with you," Regina insisted.

"No...he doesn't. Look at them," Kathryn said again, as they saw the pair with wide smiles for each other. They were practically dancing in the middle of the street in their own little world. It made her want to vomit.

"I'd rather not," she seethed.

"If you knew about David being in a coma at the hospital...why didn't you tell me sooner than you did?" Kathryn asked. Regina's brows furrowed again.

"What? I did...I called you as soon as I found out," she insisted.

"But you were his emergency contact. You would have known the moment he was brought in and yet he was labeled a John Doe. He was there for years," Kathryn said. Her eyes narrowed.

"Who told you this?" Regina asked.

"David and Mary Margaret pointed it out," Kathryn replied. She clenched her teeth.

"Of course they did...they are putting lies in your head," Regina said.

"Or maybe you are. I'm letting David go...why can't you let it go too? They're happy and I'm going to find happiness now too. David and I aren't right for each other," Kathryn replied.

"But you are," Regina insisted.

"No...the whole reason he was in the accident is that he was leaving me after a huge fight! Why are you insisting that we should be together when he wants her. They're happy," Kathryn said.

"Well, she shouldn't be!" Regina snapped and Kathryn recoiled.

"She's a monster…" she hissed, as she glared at her step-daughter.

"She's the tramp that stole your husband and gave my little boy that book that filled his head with delusions. She needs to pay and you're going to help me make her," Regina insisted. But Kathryn shook her head.

"No…I'm not," the blonde said, as she walked away.

"Kathryn…" Regina called, but her call wasn't yielded. She had lost complete control now. Her plan to frame Mary Margaret for Kathryn's murder was now no longer a viable or believable plan. But this wouldn't stand and she would come up with another way to destroy her. She had not come this far, only to have everything unravel. She turned and nearly bumped into a blonde woman. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Who the hell are you?" Regina asked. She couldn't believe it...this woman was not a part of her curse either. Another outsider and she was at a loss as to explain it. The woman smirked.

"Someone who hates that little retch as much as you," the woman cooed, as she walked away. Regina watched her go, reeling from her answer. She had no idea what to make of this, but if this mysterious woman hated Snow too...then she was an ally.

~*~

"What did you want to talk about?" Tamara asked, as they found a quiet place.

"Listen…I know that all of this is really new and out of the blue…" he started to say. Tamara smiled and squeezed his hand.

"It's okay Neal, I get that you have to hang around this town until the trial is over and if you're worried about not getting custody, don't be. I think your chances are very good," she replied.

"Thanks...but that's not everything," he said, as he took a deep breath.

"The thing is...I need to move here. For good," he said. She blanched.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I know this is sudden...but this is Henry's home and he doesn't want to leave it," Neal replied.

"Neal...I get that it will be a difficult transition for Henry, but we have a life in New York! And I'm sure once he gets adjusted, it will be fine, you'll see that," she insisted.

"It's a lot more complicated than that. My Dad is here...and Emma has family here too," he said.

"You told me that Emma was an orphan; that she had been abandoned as a baby," Tamara recalled. He stared at her with wide eyes. Crap...he had told her that.

"Yeah...but Mary Margaret is like family to her and I know she doesn't want to leave her," Neal explained.

"Emma can barely look at Mary Margaret lately. She doesn't approve of her torrid relationship with a married man," Tamara pointed out.

"It's not torrid and David is divorced now. Believe me, Emma will mend her relationship with her...Mary Margaret and Henry adores them too. They're family to him as well," he said. She shook her head.

"I don't understand any of this," she refuted.

"I know...it's hard, but staying here in Storybrooke is absolutely what's best for my son," he said.

"And...things are slowly mending between my father and me," he added.

"You told me that you hated your father! Tamara said.

"Things change!" he exclaimed. She huffed.

"Well...then I guess you have a choice to make, because I'm not moving here, Neal. We can have a good life in New York...with your son. Emma can either come or not, I don't care. But if you win custody...then you need to move back to New York with me, because I'll be going with or without you," she said, as she stormed off. He sighed and put on a brave face, as Henry waved him over excitedly. He joined his son and didn't let on that anything was amiss.

~*~

Many Years Ago

Queen Narcissa wrinkled her nose in disgust, as her carriage rode through one of the poor villages in her Kingdom. The royal coffers were nearly empty, yet she continued her lavish spending on frivolity. Her court was urging her to marry so there could be a merger, but none of the suitors appealed to her. They were either handsome and vain like her, which meant they would be focused on themselves instead of her. And the ones willing to shower her with everything were usually old and or ugly.

Add to that, her sister's due date grew closer and the more it did, the more unhinged she became. The moment her niece drew breath, she would become the fairest in the land and it was driving Narcissa insane. Everyday since she had found out, she asked her mirror the same question, now sometimes two or three times a day, hoping for a different answer. But the mirror's answer remained unchanged. She was the fairest in all the lands, but her niece would soon usurp her. So today, she had set out to do something about it.

Her carriage arrived at its destination and she emerged, causing gasps among the peasants. Queen Narcissa rarely left the comforts and safety of her castle, so it was a rare occurrence when she did.

"Where is she, footman? Where is this witch you promised could help me?" she demanded of him.

"Her message assured me she would be here, My Queen. As long as we provided the gold for her trip. She is coming from Dunbroch, after all," he said.

"She'll have her gold," Narcissa snapped, as there was a cackle from one of the traveling stands at the edge of the marketplace.

"I'd rather have some of those baubles you're wearing," the witch said.

"My diamonds?" the Queen asked.

"You do want a solution to your problem, do you not?" the witch questioned. Narcissa reluctantly parted with two of her large diamond rings.

"My magic mirror insists that once my niece is born...that I will no longer be the fairest in all the land," Narcissa confessed.

"How troubling…" the witch said, though by her tone, it was easy to tell that she meant that snidely.

"She must never be born!" Narcissa exclaimed.

"My, my...such hatred for a child and all because she might be prettier than you?" the witch asked.

"I am the fairest of all!" Narcissa shouted.

"No one can take that from me...can you help me or not?" she asked. The witch took a long pause and then produced a vial of sickly green liquid.

"See that this makes it into your sister's tea on her next visit...and it will cause her to miscarry," the witch said. Narcissa smirked deviously and looked at the vial.

"But be warned...killing a child will darken your heart beyond repair," the witch warned.

"I'm not killing a child...I'm killing a little mongrel," Narcissa insisted, as she got back into her carriage and was off again with a satisfied smirk. Once her sister drank her tea laced with this potion...her place as fairest in the land would be secure once again...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #Henry Mills #Mr. Gold #Regina Mills #OC #A 7x15 am AU #romance #adventure #family #drama #clarity #AU

5 notes · View notes

jaideite · 4 years

Note

Hey!How about bakugo and denki (maybe overhaul???) With an s/o that draws on themselfs all the time? thanks ❤❤

OVERHAUL I SCREAM YES

look at my non creative ass making this using the same excuse 😐 oh well

My first time writing for overhaul and I went a little overboard 00pS probably didn’t write him right but send me feedback if I did 😔👊

lmao I’m probably not doing any of this right pffft— 💀

anyways this is coming out on Christmas so I wanted to let you all know...MERRY CHRISTMAS and for those who don’t celebrate it HAPPY HOLIDAYS :D I love you all and thank you for helping this account grow!! ☺️🥰

BAKUGOU, KAMINARI AND OVERHAUL WITH A S/O WHO DRAWS ON THEMSELVES ALL THE TIME

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

— “Stop drawing on yourself idiot.”

— “Oh my god let me write that on my arm so I won’t forget.”

— he watches while you out of pettiness pull out your crayola markers and start doing some calligraphy on your arm in big warm letters saying “STOP DRAWING ON YOURSELF”

— you decorate it putting them dots all over it and add your hero symbol and smiled at him with “Thank you for the reminder, this is why I like you.” and keep it going

— he always tries to hide your pens and markers

— he would blow them up but he did that once and the ink spilled all over him

— you laughed at him after beating the mess out of him for touching your markers

— “My jiji bought those for me, baka!”

— “Y/N...get off me...your crushing my balls...and let go of my fucking leg—OW!”

— “You crushed my markers you mother—“

— he buys you new markers after patching himself up

— you inspect them with a glare “they aren’t my jiji’s limited edition watercolor markers but they’ll do.”

— he just twitches an eye but keeps it going

— jokes on you she bought them cause your jiji bought them from staples lmaoo

— “When you get sick no one is taking care of your bitch ass.”

— “Oh please my quirk isn’t going to make me sick.”

— “Your what—“

— You explain to him that when you draw on your skin it actually start to move and this is how you can plan out battle moves and he’s just

— “Hah. Lame ass quirk like it’s owner.”

— you know he got his shit rocked for that lmfaoo his stupid ass💀

— he can’t even get irked at you whenever you draw on yourself cause it’s your quirk damnit

— sometimes he likes to draw on you lol

— “Hypocrite.”

— “Shut, the fuck up.”

— you made sure to get your soft bakugou pictures in without him not

— it’s very therapeutic yknow you just sit in a t-shirt while he doodles on you and watches them come to life

— hes actually pretty good at it

— “Yeah shitty lady I’m good at everything.”

— “Apparently not cause if you were you’d be good at shutting the fuck up.”

— “OOP—“

— one time while you were getting ready to hop in the shower you happened to glance down at your calf and see an ‘I love you’ written inside a heart

— of course you took a picture of it

— of course you sent it to him

— of course he denies writing it but you know better

— “That’s not my fucking handwriting.”

DENKI KAMINARI

— look at bakagou i fell in love again UGH

— you guys are so bad omg

— like it’s terrible

— “Babe lets draw dicks on your arm.”

— “Absolutely.”

— “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

— honestly should have been the first warning

— he doesn’t really care about you doing it cause he sticks things into sockets

— you draw on your arm

— potato potato oh well not much y’all can do

— till one day he just gets curious as to why you draw on your arms so much and your just like

— “Kami do you not pay attention?”

— “Huh?”

— “Babe...it’s a part of my quirk.”

— poor pikachu is just 🥴??¿ but you just stare at him and put your quirk into motion

— you think it’s kind of lame but basically your skin is like paper and whatever you draw on it if you wish becomes reality

— he’s still confused until you just draw a detailed apple on your arm in record time and pick it up

— and he watches as it just peels off and becomes real

— and poor boy is shook

— “Here, eat it.”

— and he bites into it and just screams and drops it

— your just like poor apple

— “THATS REAL!”

— “Yep.”

— “Y/N THATS REAL!”

— “I know.”

— “ITS GOOD!”

— “Should have finished it.”

— “Y/N H-HOW—“

— “Kaminari wait—“

— “Y/N I’M WKDKWK—“

— “How the hell did you say that out loud—oh wait shit Kaminari don’t go stupid—“

— after this poor boy is so amazed at you

— “Draw me!”

— “Kaminari I can’t draw living things.”

— he gets so excited over it

— constantly shows off your drawing skills too

— “Look at what Y/N can draw! Isnt it so cool?”

— “Kaminari I love you but please baby stop showing me off.”

— he likes doodling on you lmaoo

— sometimes he draws the weirdest things while other times it’s cheesy pick up lines that you find yourself reading during a lecture

— he tried to make himself AirPods and they came out looking exactly like the drawing he drew

— he cried in the corner like an idiot while you sighed and Yayorozu patted you on the back and handed you a pair

— damn rich kids wksksk

— it isn’t until days later he comes up to you and asks whatever happened to the dicks he drew on your arm

— you just 🥴, pat his head and send him on his way lmfaooo

OVERHAUL

— ugh his name just gives me the shivers I love it

— also this is my first time writing for beak boy so don’t come after me oOP

— y/n are you out of your goddamn mind

— “Absolutely not.”

— “hUh?”

— the first time he catches you he just takes the markers

— he thinks drawing on your skin is a way of you dirtying it and that’s a big no no

— “You are making your skin dirty, and you know how I feel about dirty things.”

— “That’s not what I get when we’re behind the bedroom doors.” you mumble annoyed

— he just shoots you a look but hides them anyways

— you have to be cleaner than Mr. Clean himself you understand?

— and Mr. Clean is very clean there’s a reason why his head is so shiny and his clothes are so white

— so some time passed and you just continue on

— till you’re playing with Eri one day and she has markers and your just like 😶 cause those are your markers

— meaning one of his henchmen gave it to her due to her either being good or not being able to calm her down

— but either way it doesn’t matter because she’s happy and when she sees you her eyes red eyes just shine like rubies

— “Y/N, come draw with me!”

— so happily you give in and you guys are drawing

— until you uncap a marker and smirk

— “Wanna see something cool?”

— and Eri who doesn’t get to see much is absolutely happy with this and agrees immediately

— so you pull off your jacket and start doodling on yourself and as soon as your hand moves away the drawing on your skin practically comes to life

— it runs up your arm and jumps around and dances almost as if it were an animation

— and Eri is just mind blown lmfaooo she’s so curious to how you did it

— and your explain to her that your quirk allows you to animate the drawings on your skin but only on your skin

— it doesn’t matter because she thinks it’s the coolest thing in the world

— so you happily roll your pants up and let her doodle all over your exposed skin and your both having fun watching the animations move

— till Kai walks in on you both and it’s like tires screeching to stop

— at first he sees the markers and then his eyes go from the box to the paper to you laying on the floor with your clothes rolled up and Eri drawing on you

— poor girl is trembling on your leg

— and he’s about to say something when he just stops and watches the deer you drew run across your arm and hop underneath your sleeve

— your just like “oops 😬”

— but he just stares at you with an unreadable expression and just walks out the room and your just 😐 cause your just like “am I in trouble??”

— later when you guys are alone he just pulls up your sleeve and stares at the deer

— and it’s silent as he watches the deer jump and move around like it’s a normal animal

— your scared of what happens next but he just takes his glove off and gently touches where the deer is

— “Kai—“

— “It’s so real...”

— “Uh...yeah...”

— your just silent as his cold fingers brush against the deer until his eyes just move up to you

— “It’s...incredible. Just like you.”

— you turn scarlet at his words and move to pull away but he refuses to let you go, simply admiring the deer in the shadows of your bedroom

— and his touch is absolutely soothing

— so soothing you end up falling asleep looking into his eyes

— later on in the day your doing some cleaning when your sleeve goes up and you see a soft black heart on your shoulder and you smile softly at it

— “I love you too, Kai.”

453 notes · View notes

starrybethany · 4 years

Text

Clayton Keller: Part 9

Word count: 2057

He pokes me in the shoulder for what seems like the millionth time.

“Just let me finish this page, Clayton,” I repeat what I’ve been saying.

“You’ve been on that page for like ten years,” he whines. “It’s time to start paying attention to me.”

I finally move my eyes from the words to the brunette’s face and he claps sarcastically, causing me to bite back a smile.

“It’s about damn time that you’ve looked at me with those pretty eyes,” he compliments.

I roll my eyes, swatting him in the shoulder. “Okay, now I’m paying attention to you. What do you want?”

“Cuddles!” He cheers, tackling me before I can react and pulling me down onto the couch with him. He wedges me in between his legs, my torso pressed against his and my cheek resting on his chest. His arms wind around me, pulling me somehow even closer to him and he rests his chin on the top of my head.

“Get a little closer, will you?” I ask sarcastically, holding back the joy I feel in this position and in his arms.

“I don’t think that’s possible but I could try-”He’s about to move when I reach my hand up and set it on his bicep, stopping him from moving. He grabs the remote, opening Hulu and turning on some random HGTV show.

“Clayton, we’ve talked about this,” I groan.

“Hilary and David are so much better than Jonathan and Drew,” he continues the argument that we’ve started a few days ago. I turned on the TV after we had sex and Property Brothers on. I was enthusiastic to watch but Clayton refused, claiming that Love It or List It was a much better show.

He’s wrong.

“Hilary’s too pushy and David just chooses random houses, they’re not anything close to what the couple wants-””Are you guys really arguing about this again?” Christian peaks his head out of his room, raising his eyebrows with an unimpressed expression.

Christian had to break up this argument last time, too.

When he leaves, the boy holding me pokes my arm to get my attention again. “How many swimsuits do you have?”

“I don’t know, like two or three. Why?” I crane my neck to look at him, giving him a confused expression.

“You’re going to have to get more.”

“Why?” I repeat.

“Because you’re coming to Florida.” A grin begins to spread across his face but I stare at him blankly.

“What do you mean?”

His grin starts to fade when he realizes I’m not as ecstatic about this as he is. “Well, bye week is coming up. A few of the guys and their partners and I were planning to head down to Orlando for a vacation and I think that you should come with me.”

“Clayton, I have school,” I start slowly. “I can’t just drop everything at your beck and call. I thought we talked about this.”

“It’s a vacation, Y/N, I thought you would love to go on a vacation with me.” His tone shows that he’s not understanding me and what I’m saying.

I sit up, no longer wanting to be held in his arms. I turn my body so that I’m facing him and cross my hands in my lap.

“It’s not that I don’t want to go on a vacation with you. I can’t just leave school for a week, especially after winter break and with a new semester beginning,” I explain.

“Your teachers won’t even care that much,” he brushes it off.

“Professors, Clayton, and yes they will. First impressions matter, especially when it comes to professors because they decide my grades and I might ask them to write me recommendation letters or something one day,” I ramble on, then clear my throat once I realize that I’m doing it. “Besides, why do you care so much? I’m just your sugar baby.”

His eyes narrow at my words and I watch his jaw clench. It’s clear that what I just said struck a nerve with him. Pushing all of the cuddling and sweet words to the side, that’s what we are at the end of the day. We’re in this arrangement so I can receive money and gifts and he gets sexual intimacy with me.

“Do you really think that’s all this is by now?” He inquires sternly.

I sigh, redirecting my gaze to my hands. We were having such a wonderful morning but of course it had to end. It always does.

“Clayton-””Fine, if we’re doing it that way, then you need to come on the trip with me as my sugar baby.”

“You can’t do that,” I protest.

“I’ll put it in the contract,” he states smugly.

“We both have to agree to changes in the contract and what goes in it,” I remind him. His face drops and he watches as I stand up, closing my textbook and notebook.

He’s silent as I put them in my backpack, zipping it up and lugging it over my shoulder.

“Look, Clayton, it’s just not possible. And I really don’t appreciate you threatening me with the contract every time something doesn’t go your way,” I admit. “I’m going to go home and let you cool off.”

He still hasn’t said a word by the time I slip on my shoes and close the door behind me. I see green eyes watching me through the windows as the Uber pulls away.

“Ms. Y/L/N, come here, please,” my professor calls out as class ends. I nod nervously, unsure of why he wants to meet with me.

I finish packing up my materials and say goodbye to the friend who sits next to me, approaching the professor and wringing my hands together.

“You wanted to see me, professor,” I state, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. “Oh god, nobody plagiarized my essay, right? I wrote it myself, I swear, I can show you the Word document-””It’s not about your essay, Y/N, although that was very interesting to read,” he smiles at me. “I just wanted to let you know that I will mark you down as absent for the two classes you’ll be missing next week so you won’t have any absences left for the semester without damaging your grade. Have fun on your vacation, though, and check the syllabus for any work you’ll miss.”

I stare at him, perplexed. “What are you talking about, professor?”

“The email that you sent me last night, of course. I’m not a big fan of email, so I didn’t respond but wanted to tell you in person, instead,” he informs me. I didn’t notice him packing up his stuff while talking to me but soon he’s out the door, shooting a, “See you on Wednesday, Y/N.”

I quickly pull out my phone, opening my email app to see what he’s talking about. Sure enough, an email was sent from my email address to all of my professors informing them that I’ll be on a vacation next week and unable to attend class.

My blood boils due to all of the rage I feel inside. I feel like I’m about to physically shake, or explode, or punch a wall or something I am so angry. How dare Clayton do this to me? I feel so betrayed, so disrespected, so unheard.

He doesn’t answer any of my calls on my drive over to his house, fueling my fury even more. I feel like I’m about to put a hole in the door because I pound on it so hard. Christian yanks open the door, a fearful expression on his face once he sees me and I storm past him without another thought towards Clayton’s room.

“You emailed my professors and told them that I’m going on vacation?” I shout as soon as I see him. My anger is diminishing once I see him buried under his sheets, shirtless torso peaking out. He looks up at me with adorable, sleepy eyes. He emailed your professors without your consent, Y/N. He didn’t respect your wishes to not go on the vacation.

“Yeah,” he rubs his eyes, “Why did you wake me up?”

“Because you completely disrespected me, Clayton,” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “You invaded my privacy by using my email without me giving you permission, then you disregarded what I said because it’s what you wanted. That’s not okay.”

He sits up, pushing his hair back. “But you said you wanted to come with. I just figured you didn’t want to pull the trigger.”

“Yes, you’re right, I didn’t want to pull the trigger,” I agree, “Because I have commitments that are bigger than whatever this is. And you just showed me that’s a great decision.”

“You don’t mean that,” his jaw clenches.

The rage quickly dissipates and sadness replaces it instead. Sadness that Clayton just couldn’t listen or respect me. Sadness that he went behind my back to pull such a selfish act- even though he may say it’s for me to go on a vacation, at the end of the day it’s what he wanted to start with.

“I really wanted to go on that vacation with you,” I admit, “But it just wasn’t possible. And by you doing this without telling me, intentionally, to force me to go with you, it makes me not really want to go. Why would I want to spend time with someone who doesn’t respect me?”

I exit the room before he can respond, wiping the tears that start streaming down my face. I hear Clayton call after me as I travel throughout the house and I ignore the concerned look that Christian sends me.

I hop back into the Uber before the hockey player can follow me. I don’t want to hear what he has to say right now.

“That’s really fucked up,” Betsy agrees after I explain the whole situation to her, second drink in her hand and fourth drink in mine.

“I just can’t believe he would do that,” I shake my head in disbelief, tipsy and not controlling what leaves my mouth. “I mean, he has to learn to respect me before we enter a relationship with one another, right?”

“You guys are thinking about dating?” She smirks at me.

I stare at her, caught off guard. I can’t believe I said that out loud. I sigh, realizing I’m going to have to start explaining myself. “Yes, we were close to getting out of contract territory and into dating territory. Then, of course, he had to invade my privacy and fuck it all up.”

I play with the label on my bottle of beer and Betsy watches silently.

“Maybe what he’s saying is the truth,” she responds.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe he really thought that it was just hesitation on your part. I mean, you haven’t been very upfront for the few months you’ve been with him so maybe he just thought you were overreacting,” she explains.

“I understand what you’re saying.”

“And he must really want you to go on this trip to use your email like that,” she continues, “He had to know that you would find out and confront him. And since he knows you so well, he would know how bad your reaction would be. So he probably predicted that while sending out the email but sent it anyway since he wanted to spend time with you so bad.”

“That’s really a messed up way to show that he wants to spend more time with me,” I point out.

“I know. I didn’t say it was logical. But it could be an explanation.”

I sit back in my seat, taking a sip from the bottle. Knowing Clayton, it’s a probable explanation. The man doesn’t think too deeply into things and although he does act selfishly sometimes, this would benefit us both if I went on the trip.

I’m sure he didn’t mean to cause as much damage as he did when he put his plan into action. I don’t think that he thought of invading my privacy while using my email or how my classes would actually be affected.

But that doesn’t take back the fact that he did it in the first place.

#NHL imagines #Clayton keller imagine #NHL player one shot #NHL player imagines #Clayton keller imagines

15 notes · View notes

dawniebb · 4 years

Text

Breakfast Time

This is like….the second TLC fanfic that I upload here. And honestly it’s not that good because I only wrote it to have a good time lmao.

Here you have 1191 words about Kaider my dear otp dealing with pregnancy cravings like the dorks they are

I hope you like it XD

To Kai, the temperature and other factors in the bedroom were just fine, but he could tell Cinder was uncomfortable. She never moved this much, not even at night.

Her acting like this right now really took him by surprise, because it had been a long day and as hours passed by he figured Cinder would be exhausted by the time they could make it to the bedroom. After all, she was pregnant.

But, surprisingly, she didn’t seem exhausted at all. Not that she was full of energy, but she was awake enough to be moving like a blender next to him.

Kai heard her groan. It was a cute sound, but it made him feel like he was in danger.

“Kai…Hey, Kai.”

Kai took a deep breath and rolled his body towards her.

“Yes?”

Cinder was staring at the ceiling, absently. She had her hands interlocked on top of her belly.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Naw. I wasn’t sleeping.” Answered Kai. And, well, he wasn’t lying. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Totally fine.”

Kai giggled.

“Then what is it?”

Cinder frowned, as if she had eaten a really sour candy.

“I suppose you haven’t tried the sticky buns they sell at the market.”

“…err. I haven’t had the pleasure, I believe. “

“What a coincidence.” Cinder drew her attention to him, smiling. “Me neither.”

Kai laughed as his eyebrow raised.

“How come?” He asked, genuinely confused.

Cinder turned her head towards him, but her body didn’t move.

“Did you know that those people don’t serve to cyborgs? “ She clicked her tongue. “Rude much?

Kai sighed. Actually, he did know people at the market were reluctant to serve to cyborgs, which made him very angry. The situation had gotten better after Cinder had reclaimed her place as Selene Blackburn, but they still had a long way to go as a country and as a unified world. Sometimes, people still stared at Cinder’s hand instead of her eyes, which was not only impolite, but also discriminatory.

Fortunately, over time Cinder had learned to ask for respect in calm and patient ways. She barely paid any attention to the glares directed towards her anymore, but at those times when she was so stressed she would get extra sensitive, Kai would intentionally hold her hand and even place a tender kiss on it to let her know she mattered, and that they were the ones who were wrong.

So, yeah, he pretty much had a clear idea about how cyborgs were treated amongst society even when their Empress was one of them and New Beijing was supposed to be a cyborg-friendly place.

After the pregnancy was announced, they started getting all types of nonsense questions about whether or not Cinder’s circumstances would affect the baby, and they refused to answer the majority of them because…

Well.

Rude.

“You did mention something about it.” He limited to answer. “They knew, right?”

“Oh, boy. They knew.” Cinder groaned. “And it was Hell. Blame it on the cyborg. The cyborg this. The cyborg that. But anyways, that’s not my point.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to talk about…?”

“No, not today.” Cinder shook her hand to brush the topic away. “The thing is….you’ve been to that market, rig…Ugh. Of course you have. “

“Yep.”

“So, you must know there’s booths and there’s street vendors. And they sell a lot of street food. Sometimes I would send Iko to buy some for me because, you know, they wouldn’t sell anything to me.” She complained. “Until one day a guy asked her who did she belong to and we both got really offended and never came back. But somehow, he knew she belonged to me…and Iko’s pretty recognizable because she speaks a lot, so soon they all knew that hey! That’s Linh Cinder’s cursed android.”

Kai waited. She barely spoke about her days at the market, so it was always really interesting to hear her.

However, he did ask:

“Cursed?”

“Yep. Cursed. Because Iko has more personality than half of the people I knew back then and they just couldn’t take it.” Cinder rolled her eyes. “…Can you remind me why I was telling you this?”

“Uhm…”

“Oh, yeah. Street food.”

Out of all the answers there were, Kai certainly didn’t expect that one.

Weren’t they talking about social inequality?

“There was a lot of street food. And there was this booth next to mine. Chang Sacha’s store. She was a baker.”

A chill ran down Kai’s spine.

“Chang Sunto’s mother.”

Cinder sighed.

“That’s her.”

Then, they stayed in silence for a couple of seconds…minutes, perhaps, before Cinder dared to speak again.

“Kai, I want sticky buns.”

He couldn’t help but snort.

He should’ve seen it coming.

She was pregnant. This was supposed to happen, wasn’t it?

Kai had never taken care of a pregnant wife before, but he had heard Wolf telling jokes about how demanding Scarlet could get when she was going around with a bloated belly with moving babies inside.

“Don’t laugh. I really, really want sticky buns.”

“I’m not laughing.”

He was.

“How can you say that? Kai, I’m right next to you! Geez. So cynical.”

Kai burst out laughing. And even if she pretended to be mad at him, he could hear her laughing too.

“You want them right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“Right now? At this very moment?”

“Yes, Kai. Right now. At this very moment.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“Excellent! Breakfast time!”

Kai groaned jokingly, as he started getting up from the bed. He felt a ball full of laziness dropping on his back to the mere thought of leaving the warm blankets and having to walk all the way to the kitchen to check if there was any already made sticky buns. If there wasn’t, he would have to go through more trouble and ask an android to wake the baker.

“…Wait, no. But I want Chang Sacha’s sticky buns.”

“What the…?” Kai passed his hands through his face. “Darling, Chang Sacha is…deceased. Didn’t they burn her bakery? She got infected with letumosis the day I met you.”

“But I didn’t get to taste her sticky buns and they smelled nice!”

“I know, they must’ve smelled nice, but…” Kai scratched his temple. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

Cinder blinked and shifted herself into a sitting position. Kai helped her, trying not to hit her belly (not that that could do much harm, but still).

“…I have no idea.” She concluded.

Then, she snapped her fingers.

“Maybe we could talk to her husband and ask him for the recipe and…”

“Oh.My.Stars” Kai laughed as he tenderly pulled her against his chest and kissed her forehead. “You really want those sticky buns, huh?”

“I told you I really wanted sticky buns and I meant it, Kai.”

“Yeah, I can notice that.” Kai smiled at her.

She looked pretty when she pretended to be annoyed.

“We’ll look for Chang Sacha’s recipe when the sun rises.” He promised. “In the meantime, I’ll ask someone to bake you sticky buns. It’s still breakfast time after all, and we shouldn’t keep our daughter waiting.��

66 notes · View notes

nightmaretyrantvantas · 4 years

Text

Ok so guys i finally got part of it done(like three or four days later buuuut

I drew two sets of the families for my anxceit au!

Please meet virgil's family the Ravenwoods!

And as curtesy some info about them

Daneil Ravenwood

Hes been raising Virgil and Andy on his own since virge was about 8 and a half and andy was 6 months old

Hes a english and literature professor at the local college(that logan's parents also work at)

Hes in his late 50s early 60s current time( where virgil is 21 and andy is 13)

Hes also a published and well established fiction writer, but he writes under an alias

Hes a super supportive dad and teacher, even if he doesnt understand it he'll 100% support the decisions his kids make (ex: "oh your wiccan now? Cool virgy! Im glad you found a religion that makes you happy, though...can you explain it to me again?" "Oh andy you want to be switched to the art program? No problem! I'll call your counsellors tomorrow ok?" "Oh boyfriend huh? Thats great buddy, when do i get to meet him??")

Hes got a deep hearty laugh that makes you smile

Dad jokes to virgils mortification

Hes a skeptic but loves listening to and talking to virgil about his beliefs

had the philosophy of "the punishment should fit the crime, but you should be allowed to stumble and learn with it" raising the boys and wasnt too strict with them. Also never threatened punishments, only threatened playful embarrassment

The boys got their sass from somewhere, but he does remind them to mind their manners and watch their timing

Gentle giant as he is 6'3

Black hair peppered with grey and white and usually forgets tonshave his stubble

Passionate about his jobs, can get lost in his work

Andy Ravenwood

Virgil's baby brother, and he fucking adores his brother( even sometimes babbles about him to his friends at school and proudly talks about his "youtuber big brother"

This does not stop him from poking fun at virgil of course

Art boi!! Hes the top of his art classes!!

He is the one art kid that always has like three sketchbooks on him at all times

Loves the color purple

Look ok he knows he KNOWS his hair looks like his brothers it wasnt supposed to ok the original plan baCKFIRED AND HE COULDNT TURN BACK

Unlike virgil he doesnt cover his freckles

He has the same color eyes as their dad(grey-blue)

Andy loves animals! Especially raccoons!! Those are his favorite.( he happily took on the responsiblility of taking care of virgils cat when he moved out)

Hes a pretty cheerful kid if hes comfortable around you, but shy if he doesnt know you

Hes got an anxiety disorder but hes still living his best life

Virgil Ravenwood

Our main Cryptid goth( he dialed it down for the family photo)

Hes twenty one and lives on his own in an apartment complex close to downtown, which is a good 15 to 20 minutes from his childhood home so he visits regularly( like three times every other week)

Boi loves his family to bits, and has so SOOOO many good stories he’ll happily talk about

Has both his own paranormal youtube channel and a joint youtube channel with his boyfriend Ethen where they explore and investigate haunted places(both well known and stumbled across)

He has the same eye color as their mother, blue violet, which stands out a little more than his dad’s or brother’s

He covers his freckles with foundation because hes insecure about them

Did a year of junior college before deciding school wasnt exactly for him anymore, but still goes to events for his best friend Logan

Works at a cafe downtown that stays open pretty late( they do dinner its almost a diner but not) part time, and the other half does youtube for a living

Has a cat that had to stay in his childhood home named Sally that Andy takes care of for him

Has been considering getting another cat for his apartment

Big firm believer in the unknown and the paranormal/supernatural

Hes wiccan and has an alter in his bedroom thats apart of his facecam background

He has a tarot deck but doesnt really do readings other than little ones for himself, as divination isnt his strong suit

Has a big crystal collection hes been adding to since high school

He can sing but doesnt have alot of confidence in his voice so he just doesnt

And also introducing~

The picani-sanders family! Aka ethen's big ol family

From left to right

Patton Picani

Ethen's older brother(by two years)

Him and ethen are emile's foster kids, but he adopted him when they were like nine and seven.

Patton is 23 and happily works at the library downtown as a librarian and a reader to the kids

He loves music and musicals and all things disney (partially thanks to his boyfriend roman)

He and Ethen come off as complete opposites and they have a very playful relationship, always teasing each other

He loves his family alot and loves babysitting his little brother Thomas whenever his schedule allows it, especially during times of year Emile and Remy get swamped with work

He loves to knit and sew and make things!!! He makes sweaters and jackets and dresses and customizes clothes!! He could make a living on it if he really wanted!! (but he just does it for friends and loved ones instead- Andy has a hoodie that Patton sew wool on the inside to keep him warm and Andy adores it)

Hes really outgoing and friendly and seems to make friends wherever he goes!

He’s known Roman since they were kids and was crushing on him all through school until they got together senior year

He loves to bake and cook and help his dad make dinner whenever hes at home

Hes a sappy romantic and loves cliches

He has a huge collection of stuffed animals that hes been slowly transferring to his and roman’s apartment since he moved out(theres ALOT)

Emile Picani

The dad!! Hes in his mid 50s

He works as a singular and couples therapist and can have a bit of a wacky schedule

Hes been raising Patton and Ethen since they were little and loves his kids so damn much

So goddamn supportive of what they do, sometimes to the point its embarrassing(for Ethen)

Hes engaged to Remy Sanders and once their married their just going to combine their last names

He loves cartoons and gardening! And has his own collection of stuffed animals and toys(which hes been sharing with Thomas)

He loves making dad jokes and him and Patton make them all the time at Ethen

Hes a damn great cook and has been teaching his boys to cook for years now, and loves making big meals

Not really a strict parent, more of a sit down and talk it out kinda parent

Is part of the PTA of Thomas’s school

Actually used to be a punk in school

Thomas Sanders-Picani

The youngest! Hes 8 years old!

Our boy loves to read and write! He writes tons and tons of stories!

Hes got a huge imagination and likes to daydream

Hes bubbly even though he isnt the most social he still has a good group of friends!

Our lil boi is an actor of course! He loves getting parts in the school plays and in class assignments.

Hes in his schools choir and gets vocal lessons from Roman’s mama

His room is filled with toys and books and notebooks and pencils, and even though he tries his best to keep it clean it gets messy every week.(cleaning it is his weekly chore)

He has two best friends named Joan and Talyn that hes been friends with now since kindergarden and theyve been nearly inseperable ever since, its not uncommon for one of both of them to be at each others house on any given weekend

Hes Remy’s kid but has started calling himself by Emile’s last name too since they moved in with the Picani’s

Doesnt have too many memories of his mother but the ones he does have are all happy and pleasant(thankfully)

Calls Emile baba and Remy dada to distinguish them better

Loves his older brothers especially when they play with him, He also loves watching the old videos of Ethen’s theater performances and sometimes pesters him to reenact scenes from them( his favorite is the middle school production of ‘Alice in Wonderland’)

Ethen Picani

Our other main boy, hes also twenty one

He lives with his best and childhood friend Remus Prince in two bedroom apartment across town near the college

Does youtube full time for a living

the “black sheep” of the family as he and Remus call him

He majored in theater in his two years of college

Loves reptiles but doesnt have any because their apartment complex doesnt allow pets and he doesnt want to get him and remus kicked out since their apartment is close to Remus’s work

Has a car he loving refers to as his “hand me down junk heap” Because he got Patton’s first car when patton got a new one

He loves the old thing though

Has a good relationship with his parents. He loves his dad Emile and he likes Remy well enough

Him and remy have a very casual, relaxed relationship.( Ex: “ Dad you need to stop letting sleepless bums into the house” “ He’ll stop doing that when he stops letting punk wannabes into his kitchen, now get over here kid.” )

Loves his boyfriend Virgil to death and likes to spoil him when he can(even though virgil tells him to save his money for rent)

Hes more of a open skeptic but he’ll happily debate things with Virgil, and enjoys making videos for their joint youtube channel and being proven otherwise

He also has his own solo youtube channel where he does abandon urban exploration( sometimes with Remus tagging along for the thrill)

Remus has been calling him by the nickname “Dee” since middle school when they played Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Remus called him Dee so often he made it stick as a nickname years and years later. He refuses to let it die and Ethen has just accepted his fate

Remy Sanders

Hes around Emile’s age( mid 50′s) and looks the tallest in the family at 6′3

He came into the family later, when the boys were about 20 and 18( when thomas was about 5 or so)

Hes pretty laid back but surprising good at being strict, so he balances out Emile’s parenting style

Hes a divorcee and got guardianship of Thomas, though hes on a friendly and civil relationship with thomas’s mother and takes him to visit her three times a month( theyre currently working out more visitations and possibly thomas staying with his mother a couple weeks every months but thats still in the works)

Hes an insomiac and (usually) works night shifts as a security guard for a security renting business so his working hours can be a little unpredicitble, but he almost always works at least two night shifts and graveyard shifts a week. Hes paid both a salary plus an additional commissions by employers so its well worth it

He spends as much time with his kid and the boys as he can regardless of his wonky sleep schedule

Hes a bit of a tough love kinda person, and hes snarky and mouthy and doesnt hesitate to speak his mind

Loves Emile soooo goddamn much he talks about him alot at work to his fellow security guards. Theyre the ones who helped him pick a ring when he proposed actually

Oh yeah the two are engaged did I mention that?

He fuels Emile’s plushie collecting, even if he knows he probably shouldnt( But oh well, it makes him smile and thats all he wants to see)

Looks punk now but he was the biggest straight laced prep in highschool that comparing him now to him in highschool gives you whiplash

Would fucking die for his family. No one messes with his fiance or his kids, he doesnt care if two of them are fully capable adults

And its done!! Two of the four main families is finished!

And watch out because im also coloring these digitally(its just taking awhile :/) but those will be getting posted soon...I hope...Im trying

But here you go Virgil’s and Ethen’s families in two cute family photos!

Let me just add im so fucking proud of The Picani-Sanders photo because it was a struggle to fit them all in the picture and get the heights right and the entire side of my arm was grey with pencil lead by the time I was done but it turned out great!

Up next is Roman and Remus’s family the Princes and Logan’s family the Daniels!!

Art references are credited to @the-pastel-peach @aimasup and @underdog-arts , especially @aimasup and @underdog-arts for getting 8 year old thomas to look like a kid because im not normally good at drawing little kids but after practicing with some of their art as my reference and inspiration he turned out really well!!

I hope you guys enjoy!!

Taglist

@phantommoonpeople

@sweetsweetemo

@leesacrakon

@amazable01

@starbucks-remy

@jemthebookworm

@max-is-tired

@seriously-a-dragon

@sar-kasstic

@soupspam

@aimasup

@sugarglider9603

@underdog-arts

@strawberryjellystuff

76 notes · View notes

yoon-kooks · 5 years

Text

Blossom🌸- pt.2

Pairing: Stripper!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Stripper!AU, College!AU

Summary: You decide to give the strip club another chance when your stripper neighbor promises to give you a special treat afterwards.

Warnings: lap dances, stripping, dry humping, blindfolds, thigh riding

Word Count: 4.9k

⤐ Story 2 in the Blossom!Universe; Read Blossom-pt.1 on my masterlist!

A/N: i cant believe i actual wrote d** h****** but it be like that sometime 😔

You’re not one to believe in love so easily, but your latest art assignment calls for something with “pure love”, and what you’re witnessing comes pretty close. So you casually pull out your sketchbook and begin outlining a rough sketch of the scene in front of you.

Your subjects wrestle around, unaware of your gaze, drowning each other in kisses and affection. She sits on top of him as she nips at his skin. He chuckles as he blocks her little bites until he can no longer resist, succumbing to her demands for more attention.

The giggles only stop several minutes later when one of your subjects finally takes notice of you with your pencil in hand.

“Drawing me again, huh?” Jimin sits up on his bed and glances over at you while his white puppy continues to lick his chin. “What’s the assignment this time?”

“To draw something that symbolizes pure love,” you wave the boy over to come take a look at your sketchbook. Intrigued by the topic, Jimin hops off the bed.

“Oh? Am I what comes to mind when you think of pure lo-” He meant to tease you about your potential crush on him, but he can only laugh when he sees your idea of pure love. Him playing with his puppy.

“So pure, right?” You point out a couple of things you’re especially proud of, like the details on the puppy’s paw pads and the feathering of its wagging tail.

“Right…” His lips slowly fall into the shape of a pout as he examines your sketch further. “But why did you draw her so much better than you drew me?”

You know he’s just messing with you, but the dedicated artist in you takes Jimin’s criticism to heart. Looking back at your sketch, it’s true that his body came out looking a lot more underdeveloped like a stick person next to a very realistic puppy with individual strokes of fur. And as funny as it is to look at, it’s a technical issue with your art that you’ve been trying to fix.

“I already told you I have a lot more experience drawing animals than I do with humans,” you explain. It’s not that you’re necessarily terrible at drawing humans, but your lack of comfort with them really shows in comparison to animals. That’s why you’ve recruited your stripper neighbor as your muse to help you find that comfort.

“I guess you just need more experience with humans then,” Jimin cocks his head to the side, not-so-subtly taking your hand into his. He attempts to interlace his fingers with yours, but you can’t take a hint so he settles for a very friendzoned handshake. “Think about it: you started with drawing only animals, then you drew me a couple of times, and then you moved up to animal-to-human interactions. Shouldn’t the next step be human-to-human interactions?”

“You have a point,” you nod, rather enjoying the pleasant feeling of holding his hand. “But I only have one human model, aka you.”

The boy stares your hands still clasped together and laughs, “Are you not a human?”

“I can’t be my own model and draw at the same time…” You do a messy scribbling gesture with your free hand.

“You don't have to draw at the same time,” Jimin captures your free hand and pulls you down onto the bed with him. You’d think laying on a bed with a stripper would be overwhelming for someone as wholesome as yourself, but you do get a sense of ease with him. Maybe it’s his eyesmile, or the clumps of dog fur on his dark shirt that remind you he’s still your dorky boy next door. Either way, you feel comfortable because it’s him you’re with. “Just experience it with me.”

“Experience what?” You feel his warmth radiating towards your body. Another pleasant feeling. “Handholding? Hugs? Kisses? Cuddling? Sleeping together? Se-”

“A lot of things if you’d like,” Jimin shushes you with an alluring stare. “Do you want to do all those things?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” you nod eagerly. If it means your art will feel more authentic and sentimental, you’d gladly engage in these interactions with Jimin. “For science, of course.”

“Right… for science…” He gives you a thumbs-up, although the corners of his lips seem to curve downward.

The frown doesn’t sit well with you, so you wiggle your hands out of his grasp and simply mirror them against his palms. Slowly you interlace each of your fingers between his, one-by-one until there’s no finger left behind. You pay special attention to the boy’s expression when you do this, but it softens less than you had hoped.

“Actually…” Jimin say, breaking the handhold. He runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times before rolling off the bed. “I forgot about work.”

“Oh right…” It’s your turn to frown. You forgot about it too. Not just the fact that the boy has work in an hour, but also that his job requires him to satisfy the naughty needs of other people besides yourself. You’re not the only one who wants a taste of Park Jimin. “I should let you go then.”

Jimin watches as you gather your art supplies off his desk and crouch down to say farewell to the white puppy. He doesn’t say anything until your hand is on the doorknob. “You can tag along if you’d like, Y/N.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I really shouldn’t g-” Your eyes and mind drift away as the boy strips his shirt off with his back to you. You never knew back muscles could look like that—good to know for future reference. After he throws on a clean shirt free of dog fur, however, you push the boy’s toned body out of mind to finish your sentence. “I shouldn’t go since strip clubs aren’t really my thing, remember? Besides, I need to work on this art assignment some more. It’s due in a week.”

“A week is more than enough time,” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you and your sketchbook. “And do I need to remind you that the strip club is where you found art inspiration in me? So it couldn’t hurt to go again, right?”

You don’t answer him because you feel like it could hurt to go again. Not in regards to your art, but to something else.

“If you come, I’ll treat you to something really special afterwards. How about that?” He holds out his hand, giving you one last chance to change your mind. The special treat is tempting, especially if it’s your favorite sweet dessert. Besides, you’ve been working diligently with your art, so you know you’ve earned yourself a treat of some sort. And if Jimin is thoughtful enough to offer you that treat, who are you to refuse?

After a back and forth debate in your head, you finally take his hand and allow yourself to be pulled back to the place where you and the boy first met.

“What’s this special treat you’re talking about?”

“Oh you’ll see,” the boy snickers in a rather sinister tone.

Something about the strip club has changed since your first visit. There are still attractive strippers, there are still generous tippers, and there’s still your favorite spot in the secluded corner of the room. But it’s the whole vibe that’s changed. You don’t feel as intimidated by the sweaty bare bodies of the strippers or the thirsty screams of the audience. It could be because, unlike before, you know you’re not alone this time.

Jimin sits you down at your favorite spot and waits for you to get all situated with your sketchbook. “Can I buy you a drink before I have to go get ready for the show?”

“Just some water, please,” you say. The boy only laughs at your innocent response before disappearing into the crowd to fetch your requested beverage from the bar. After a short minute, your eye catches him striding back with a fancy glass of ice water in hand. He isn’t doing anything special, but he still manages to look stunning amongst everyone else. You even notice he’s turning quite a few heads, despite all the on-duty strippers vying for their attention. It’s as if the spotlight’s on him.

“Y/N, you’re already drooling and I haven’t even performed yet,” he teases as he hands you your water. You chug it down, hoping to relieve your thirst, but it’s not enough.

“Then go,” you give him a light shove with a hmph to send him off. “I’ll be waiting for my special treat afterwards.”

“Anticipate it, Kitten.” He has the audacity to not only call you Kitten, but also give you the cockiest smirk you have ever witnessed before heading backstage. You suppose that’s just his flirty stripper switch turning on.

Once you finally have some time to yourself, you sip on your water, casually people-watching from your quiet corner. The rest of the room is flooded with excitement, flashing with sparking lights, a mixure of moving color. If you had to pick a color palette for a strip club, what would it be? That depends on whether a certain boy is in the room or not.

You glance over to a familiar mint-haired stripper getting intimate with a gorgeous female in a nearby booth. She bites her ruby red lips, snaking her arms around his waist and pulling him closer to slip a generous handful of cash into his ass pocket. As thanks, the stripper hovers over her lap with swaying hips to the beat of the stereo as he lets her hands explore his bare upper half. Their eyes are locked, exchanging looks of… lust? Satisfaction? Greed? As a mere bystander, you’re unsure of the mood, so your color palette would be a rainbow muddled with a lot of grey area.

“Oh I remember you, Baby Picasso.” The mint stripper somehow made his way over to your corner while you were busy swatching your palette. The nearly blank page in your sketchbook catches his eye. “Here to draw our Jiminie again?” Yes.

“Not necessarily,” you say. “But he was the one who brought me back here.”

“Ah, customer loyalty at its finest,” he nods. “That kid attracts most of our regulars.”

“Is he really that popular?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the aura’s different when he’s on stage.” He leans over your table and points at your grey-toned swatches in the corner of the sketch page. “Doesn’t it feel like the club becomes more… vibrant when Jiminie’s around?”

“It does, doesn’t it,” you press a finger to your lips as the wheels start turning in your head.

“But don’t let yourself get too caught in The Jiminie Effect. Otherwise you might end up getting hurt.” The mint stripper shrugs at you before the arm of a bold customer swipes him away. “Let me know if you ever want a taste of The Suga Rush, Baby Picasso~”

You wanted to ask what he meant by “getting hurt” from Jimin, but you’re pretty sure you already know. Jimin is an incredibly charming boy with a way of captivating an entire room, and you’re happy he’s found success as a popular stripper. That being said, you can’t help but also feel a little disheartened that there are so many others who share the same feelings for him.

Regardless, you’re at the strip club to support Jimin and collect the special treat that he promised you. Surely your relationship with the boy holds a bit more weight than the others. So you decide to get out of your own head.

Scarlet red. That’s the color you see when Jimin comes out onto the main stage with a silky red blindfold covering his eyes. The first thing you think is: wow, how the fuck is this guy not tripping or falling off the stage when he can’t even see in front of him? The second thing you think is: tiddies.

His open blazer flashes his nipples (and the rest of his gorgeous chest) as he graces the stage. It honestly looks more like a sensual take on contemporary dance rather than stripping at first. Even his hip thrusts have a flare of elegance to them. After all, Jimin’s a contemporary dance student, but the way he incorporates such a graceful genre of dance into his stripping performance shows how much of an artist he truly is.

But once the blindfold comes off, so does everything else. Jimin’s killer gaze, in addition to his taunting tongue, earns him a shower of bills on the floor of the stage as his performance comes to a close. Unlike the other strippers at the club, he does not interact as closely with the audience or make his rounds through the room. Instead, he makes a proposal.

“Tonight, I’m doing something a little different.” He picks his blindfold up off the floor and strokes it as he speaks to the audience. “I’ll be giving one lucky person a private lap dance and-”

An eruption of screams fills the room along with a surge of money being waved around before Jimin can even finish his sentence. He waits for everyone to quiet down, but the aroused crowd does the opposite. The rowdiness persists because everyone’s trying to be louder than the person next to them in order to catch their favorite stripper’s attention. That must be The Jiminie Effect.

And although the boy never got to finish his explanation, you assume the private lap dance has something to do with the red blindfold in his hand and will most likely be given to the highest tipper. Lucky them, you suppose.

Rather than throw some of your nonexistent money at the boy, you instead take the opportunity to do some quick sketches of Jimin’s contemporary performance while it’s still fresh in your memory. You want to capture his fluid motions and his undying passion for performing. With all of this and the blindfold in mind, you decide on a color palette. Scarlet red, a color of burning passion and sensuality, is an obvious pick. However, there’s another color you wish to incorporate-

When you take a peek back up at the stage for that other color, you’re surprised to see Jimin staring right at you, despite a huge sum of money being waved right in front of him by an expensive-looking woman. He mouths something for you to interpret.

“You,” his lips read.

“Me?” You don’t exactly know how to feel about the situation, but it doesn’t sit well with you. “Not me.”

He nods at you, still wanting it to be you.

You shake your head to end the conversation, but when people start turning around in your direction to see who has Jimin’s attention, you get up from your seat. Not to take Jimin up on his offer, but to excuse yourself from the club. You dislike strip clubs after all.

Back at your dorm, you sit at your desk, fleshing out some of your sketches of the blindfolded Jimin. You sculpt out his toned body and shade in a vibrant red flare to emphasize his illuminating aura on stage. Even then, your sketch is missing something. You’re missing something.

Knock. You check the time on your clock. It’s just past midnight, right around the time you’d assume strip clubs close for the night.

“Hi-” Jimin tries to say, but you close the door as soon as you open it.

Knock. You don’t open the door this time, so the boy starts talking from the other side.

“Y/N, I know you’re mad at me, but I-”

“Of course I’m mad at you,” you make a tsk sound. “I can’t believe you were going to choose me over all that money in front of you. Didn’t you see that Gucci lady at the front waving the wad of cash with your name on it? You almost gave up all that money for me. Fool.”

There’s a pause of silence before Jimin tries another attempt at getting you to open the door. Knock.

You open the door this time. The boy has a puzzled expression on his face.

“Wait, you’re not mad that your special treat went to someone else?” He blinks at you.

“A lap dance was the special treat you were talking about earlier?” You give him a duck face because you’ve made a grave mistake. “I thought we were getting ice cream or something.”

“Uhh well… we could get ice cream if you really want to? But my intention was for you to take that lap dance. It was meant for you, you know,” he chuckles over his failed plan.

“I really didn’t realize it was meant for me… I guess I’m really that dense, aren’t I?” Now you feel bad for thinking you’d be getting ice cream over a lap dance. Jimin was only trying to show that you were special to him, and you rejected him like an oblivious idiot. “I’m sorry, Jimin. If I had known, I’d-”

“We can still do it if you’d like.” He pulls out a silky red cloth from his pocket. “Perks of having a stripper neighbor, right?” You nod.

Waiting on your bed, you watch as the boy tries to hype himself up with the blindfold in his fists.

“I can help you tie it behind your head if you want.” You hop up from the bed to help him, but you’re wrong again. He backs you up until the back of your knees hit your bedframe and your ass falls onto the mattress. Suddenly his thighs surround your lap and his abs are in your face. Thankfully he decided to keep his shirt on for this one.

“Can I put the blindfold on you?” He dangles the red cloth before your eyes. It was for you, not him. And as intimidating as it is to make yourself so vulnerable, you’re intrigued.

“Sure… but you don’t want me to watch you?” You take one last look at his seductive gaze and voluptuous lips before your eyes are covered by the soft yet very kinky fabric.

“It’s something new that I wanted to try,” Jimin speaks in his normal voice before switching over to a lower, more suggestive tone. “As an artist, you rely a lot on your sight, right? Well I’m curious to see which senses will come alive when we take away your sight.”

Right away, you sniff out an alluring aroma of warm spices with naughty undertones. The blindfold must be drenched in cologne, but why are you only noticing it now? Or perhaps it’s the boy’s own intoxicating scent that you’re being enticed by. Either way, you must really like the scent because your nose is twitching like a bunny to get a better whiff.

The aroma continues to grow stronger as you feel finger tips graze ever so slightly against the back of your hand. The chilling sensation tickles more than anything, but then the boy lifts your hands and places them right at his waist.

“Tug if you want me closer, Kitten,” he whispers into your ear to give you a taste of the closeness before leaning back. Naturally, your eager little fingers curl into the threads of his shirt and tug as suggested. There’s a smooth shift in the boy’s body hovering over you. The soft sounds of his clothes rustling give you an indication of how close he must be.

To put it in perspective, you decide it’s a good idea to paint a picture of the scene in your head. A gorgeous boy is performing a lap dance on top of you as you sit blindfolded on the bed. His hands are pressed into the mattress on either side of you, his hips roll in a fluid motion, and his body grinds against an invisible wall that separates his crotch from yours. The mere thought of being under him is making it difficult for you to sit still.

You tug again and recline your back for Jimin to follow. The seams of his jeans drag gently along your outer thighs. His hot breaths tickle the exposed skin down your neck. “Do you want to feel me like this?” No, you want more.

Your fingers stray away from the boy’s hips, following the paths defined by his toned abdominals. Even through his shirt, you can easily map out the structure of his muscles, so you flesh out the details of the visual in your mind. This is much more engaging and “hands-on” than an anatomy textbook, you nod to yourself. But there seems to be a missed opportunity if the shirt stays on.

“Can you take off your shirt? For scientific purposes only.” You surprise yourself with the bold request, but the blindfold has made you feel some type of way. Shameless.

“Are you sure all of this is purely for science? Because I see you’ve already spread your legs out for me.” You hear a shirt being tossed aside before the mattress suddenly dips with something solid between your thighs. You assume it’s his knee when he nudges it into your crotch. Whatever it is, it’s making your body squirm for more contact.

“Maybe it’s a little more than just, uh, science.” You attempt to maintain a sturdy voice, but it’s hard not to pant when you’re overwhelmed with a heat you’ve never felt before.

“A little?” He questions you as his knee digs further into that spot between your legs. Oddly enough, you’re quite satisfied with the hot sensation created by all that friction, and you hope it doesn’t stop. “I think you’re more than a little wet down there, Kitten.”

“Oh,” you try to say, but it comes out more like a weak moan.

And of course, as soon as you show any sort of evidence of pleasure, Jimin decides to stop moving without saying a word. He stands there silently, probably smirking at how turned on he’s made you. He has to be teasing you, and you have to admit it’s working.

With his knee still wedged at your crotch, you situate yourself more towards his thigh and squeezes your own thighs around him. Your hips start moving on their own by instinct to find any sort of stimulation. It’s starts off as modest rocking back and forth against his body. You try to be subtle about it, as if the boy isn’t aware of your intentions. Surely riding his thigh whilst rubbing your wet lewd scents all over him won’t give it away.

“Oh, that’s your kink?” He sounds rather impressed. Once you finally find a good method and pace fore stimulating yourself on him, however, he pulls his knee back. “Let’s switch places.”

Next thing you know, your ass is sitting on top of Jimin’s lap with your legs wrapped around his waist for support. Without even thinking, your body continues to pleasure itself against boy, grinding and yearning for the wonders of sex.

You’d paint yourself a visual of the scene at hand to make everything more vivid, but you don’t really want to know what you must look like in such a helpless state. In times like this, you’re thankful for the blindfold-

“I wish you could see yourself, blindly humping and panting like a horny little puppy.”

You freeze at Jimin’s vivid narration of scene, regretfully imagining it as told. “Can I take the blindfold off?”

Unsure of whether you want to continue or end the stripper shenanigans once the blindfold comes off, the boy swiftly removes the cloth from your eyes and blinks at you. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright lights of your room, but when they’re back to normal, you remain seated in his lap and blink back at the shirtless boy.

For as intimate and steamy as it was a moment ago, neither of you know what to do or say. It’s a comfortable silence, although you do feel a bit embarrassed for showing the horny little puppy side of yourself to your neighbor. Besides that, you’re content. Your body finally relaxes, loosening its hold around the boy’s waist.

When Jimin comes to the conclusion that the stripper shenanigans are over, he lets out a chuckle to break the silence.

“What?” you pout.

“Nothing!” He throws his shirt back on, but not before you catch one last look of his tiddies and blossom tattoo. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get ice cream?”

“What were you laughing about earlier?” is the first thing you ask after taking a lick of your ice cream.

“You’re not gonna let that go, huh,” Jimin sighs into his strawberry sundae. “I was just laughing at you. Is that a crime, Officer?”

“But why?” You’d think you were holding an interrogation at your local late-night ice cream parlor. The boy in question rolls his eyes.

“You know how chemistry students always have to wear goggles during labs?”

“Yeah and when they take them off, they have this funny red imprint around their eyes,” you recall your old days in chem class. “Wait, are you trying to say I had funny red marks around my eyes after taking the blindfold off?”

Jimin shrugs.

“And that was funny to you?” You want to be annoyed by his childish humor, but you’re more so relieved that he wasn’t laughing about anything that happened while the blindfold was still on.

“It reminded me of how you always say it’s all for science,” he says, carving out a spoonful of strawberry syrup off the top of his ice cream with such precision. You know what he’s talking about—it’s your infamous excuse for wanting to get closer to the boy.

“Is it a crime for me to indulge in my scientific research, Officer Park?” You lick the ice cream off your lips with a playful tongue.

“Only if you abuse it,” he points at you as if to evoke fear before softening his expression. “But in your case, no.”

“Good.” You swipe a scoop of the boy’s sundae right in front of his face. “I don’t want you to think I’m just using you for your body so I can pass my art class...”

“I know that’s not the case, Y/N. Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered with the whole blindfolded lap dance thing.” Jimin points to your ice cream cone, so naturally, you let him have a taste of it. “Because what’s the point of a handsome stripper giving you a lap dance if you can’t see what’s going on?”

“To feel things that you wouldn’t otherwise notice if you were too distracted by a naked body dancing over you?” you start munching on the waffle cone. “And by ‘feel things’, I mean emotions, not sexual pleasure. Just FYI.”

“Right, because you totally didn’t feel any sort of sexual pleasure while riding my thigh,” he nods.

“Right,” you nod along with a pretty good poker face. He’s on to you, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing what effect he has on your body. “Thank you, though, for not one, but two special treats.”

“There could’ve been a third if we’d just kept going-”

“Anyway,” you say, pulling out your sketchbook to change the subject. “That lap dance did give me some new art inspo.”

“It was quite the experience for a human-to-human interaction, huh.” Jimin scrapes the last bit of strawberry ice cream, watching as you flip through your sketches of him until you reach the ones from earlier that evening. You have a new color to add to the palette.

“Mhm,” you say, shading in the same color of the boy’s ice cream, the same color that his blossom tattoo represents. “But what do you think about this human-to-human interaction?” You wiggle your index finger back and forth between you and him.

“You mean us chatting over ice cream?” he asks and pauses for a second to think. “I like it. It’s a lot less, uh, intense than some of the other things you and I have done. But I like that.”

“Same. I think regardless of whether you’re a half-naked stripper or just a college kid eating ice cream, the world becomes more vibrant with you in it.” You flip your sketchbook around for Jimin to see.

“You drew me as a Super Saiyan?” He’s referring to his wicked blonde hair and the reddish-pink flare that surrounds his buff body. “Super Saiyans do make the world a better place, huh?”

“My human anatomy could still use some work, but you get the gist.” You don’t know whether to laugh or be offended by his weeb reference. Either way, he has a smug look on his face, as if being drawn as a Dragon Ball character is something to take pride in.

“Somehow the abs look super realistic though…” He strokes his nonexistent beard. “I wonder how that happened.”

You have flashbacks to when your fingers outlined a whole ass map of each individual muscle hiding beneath his shirt. You suppose your mental map translated well onto paper. “Yeah, that’s weird.”

“Let me know if you’re ever in need of another anatomy lesson,” he hums. “For science, right?”

“For science.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #bts imagines #jimin #bts #bangtan #blossom

596 notes · View notes

the-rebel-archivist · 4 years

Text

Breaking the Cycle

Have a little Dad!Anders this morning!

Prompt: Legacy: The LI’s thoughts as they watch Hawke discover and learn about their father wishing their child would not be a mage.

“Look, Varric, he’s so clever already!” Hawke said excitedly as she magicked a small tongue of flame just out of reach of her son, who was trying to reach it with his tiny, chubby fingers.

“He’s got your self-preservation instincts, I’ll give you that.” The dwarf grimaced as he gingerly handed the baby to her as though it was a ticking bomb, then wiped his hands discreetly on his pants. Hawke didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just didn’t care; she generally refused to hold any babies who weren’t Liam as well. Varric hadn’t had much of a choice when she had thrust him into his arms and looked glad to be rid of him.

She smiled at the infant, who smiled back with a wide, toothless grin. “You’re a charmer just like your daddy, aren’t you?” she said with a laugh and a tilt of her head towards Anders. “Who’s the best little tainted fade baby in the whole wide world? You are!”

He hated when she called him that. It was a reminder that Liam should by rights never have existed, between his Grey Warden taint and her inadvertently carrying him physically through the Fade. The descriptor also brought to mind memories of the Wardens at Weisshaupt trying to ‘convince’ them to stay so that they could study the miracle child. It was not fair, not to him, not to Hawke, and especially not to Liam. And so they had run, perhaps unwisely, straight to Kirkwall and entered Varric’s new viscount residence under cover of darkness.

“Hello, Thedas to Blondie? She’s asking you if you can take the fledgling for a bit. I could use her help down at the docks to clean up some of the mess you made.” Varric’s words roused him from his thoughts and he locked eyes with his partner, who stared back with more seriousness and concern than she usually did.

“You can, can’t you, Anders?” There was hesitation, maybe even some fear in her voice. He didn’t like that he had put it there.

“Of course he can, Hawke, it’s his kid too,” Varric said as he moved to collect his crossbow, already presuming his answer.

Anders understood Hawke’s reticence. It had been two months and he still hadn’t bonded with the baby. Sure, he held him and took his fair share of turns caring for him so that she could sleep, even changed diapers, but he didn’t play with him the way she did. In truth, he was afraid to.

He nodded and told her to be careful.

“Haven’t found a scrape I couldn’t get out of yet,” she said with a wink as she placed their son in the crook of his arm. The child began to cry as soon as she wasn’t holding him; her mouth turned down briefly and she looked as though she wanted to snatch him back.

“We’re going to be fine, love,” he told her. Kissing the boy’s forehead, she told him to be good - whether she meant him or the baby was anyone’s guess - and then walked out with Varric quickly before she could lose her resolve.

The sitting room was small and richly furnished, albeit for someone with exceedingly poor taste; either Varric had done it as a joke or had retained the gaudy furnishings from the estate’s previous owners and never bothered to redecorate. Without Hawke in the room, confined as it was, it seemed somehow massive and empty. He sat down on a couch covered in a pattern with colours that he thought clashed horribly, but someone must have imagined looked nice. Liam began to cry again and Anders held out his hand to try to distract him. When the boy took his finger in his surprisingly strong little hand, he turned his head down to him and studied the boy.

“He looks so much like you,” Hawke had said when he was born. He could see it now; Liam had fine, downy blond hair and a nose that, while currently tiny and straight, looked as though it might curve like his with time. They had wondered if he would have magic. It seemed likely, but the Maker so often laughed at the plans of mortals that there could be no certainty. It was such an odd turn of events - both of them hoped that he would be a mage. Hoped. He could never have imagined such a thing when he had been in the Circle. But if they were to live as two apostates on the run, why not make it three?

The words of Malcolm Hawke to Hawke’s mother in the Grey Warden prison in the Vimmark Mountains rang in his ears. “I hope it takes after you, love. I would wish this magic on no one.” She hadn’t. He remembered the way her face had fallen when she heard his hope for her. There had always been some reverence in the way that she referred to her father before that, a degree of hero worship, even. He had kept her and her sister hidden and had taught them all he could about how to master their abilities. But he hadn’t wanted any of it. When her father came up in conversation after that her words about him were always carefully neutral, skirting around anything that could remind her of how she now knew he had felt. She had refused to speak of that part of the adventure for weeks until one evening when they had lain down to sleep and everything was quiet. He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard her voice.

“Do you think he even wanted me at all, Anders?” she asked him. “Having me forced them to run. And then I was the opposite of what he wanted.”

“Your father? Don’t be ridiculous, of course he did.” He had pulled her against him, breathing in the slight scent of lilacs that seemed to follow her and running his fingers down the softness of her bare back as he let her tell him what she had bottled up for so long.

“He wanted me to be normal. Not like I am. Not like him. I didn’t piece it together until now. We realized I was a mage when I boiled some water without a fire because I was impatient and it took too long. He left on a weeklong trip for the city the day after and made it seem like it had been planned. I don’t think it was anymore.

“My magic… it’s wonderful. It’s who I am. It’s woven into the fabric of my existence. I can’t imagine wishing to deprive me of it. I know Bethy didn’t always like it, but I wonder sometimes if she would have been happy with it if it hadn’t needed to be so secret, if it was more accepted.

“I’m glad that we won’t have children. But if by some miracle we did, I would want it to have what I have. What we have. Maybe it’s selfish. But hang consequences.”

He hadn’t agreed then. The concept was nice, a family sharing magic, understanding each other, but in practice was it right to hope for someone to live in constant fear? There seemed to be no certainty for anyone, mage or not, now though. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time anyway.

Liam was falling asleep, his blinks growing longer and longer. He still gripped Anders’ finger tightly. They hoped that he would be a mage, but what if he weren’t? Some feeling deep within him told him that setting an expectation of what he would be in order for them to be happy was unjust. Whatever he was, whether he was magical or not, it would be enough. They would love him just the same. He would love him.

He paused in his thoughts and stared unseeingly at the wall. He loved him. But he had done such a poor job of showing it. When Hawke had been upset by her father’s words, he had felt only envy for her. At least she hadn’t lost Malcolm’s love. She hadn’t been turned in by her own father, shackled by Templars in front of her mother and hauled away, because of an unchangeable, innate part of her being.

The way he didn’t seem able to talk to or play with his son - it was how his father had treated him. It was unjust. It was wrong. He was only a child, he hadn’t chosen to be born with magic. Liam was just as innocent.

He held the baby closer and quietly sang a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was small. He would do better. Justice demanded it. As long as he drew breath Liam would never feel as alone as he and Hawke had.

#anders #dragon age fanfiction #anders x hawke #dad anders #da2 #i'll get back to writing cullen again soon i promise #dragon age anders

34 notes · View notes

llaevateinn · 5 years

Text

Lan Xichen sees someting in Jin Rusong that is very familiar to him. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

The birth of Jin Guangyao's son not even a year after his marriage to Qin Su was celebrated, as much as it caused whispered discussions. Some said that he only took her as wife because she was already pregnant before their betrothal. Some lauded that he took responsibility. Most didn't care and simply showed up for the baby's one-month feast. An excuse to drink too much and eat at the expense of LanlingJin sect.

"What is his name?" Lan Xichen asked, carefully bending over the sleeping child nestled in Qin Su's arms. The mother looked radiant, beaming with love and happiness. Next to her, Lan Xichen's sworn brother also shone with pride.

"Rusong," answered Qin Su.

"A good, strong name."

"Do you wish to hold him?" asked Jin Guangyao.

Lan Xichen could see Qin Su bristle a little, so he was about to refuse. After all, the child was still so young and clearly his mother loved him so very much. But then, to his surprise, Qin Su offered him up anyway. Touched by this show of trust, he held the sleeping baby in the crook of his arm, feeling its weight and warmth.

"You are good with children," said Qin Su.

"A-Su is right. Er-ge, you should also marry and have children soon, it suits you."

Lan Xichen only chuckled and shook his head, gazing at Rusong in his arms instead of replying. In his sleep, the boy drooled a little. Wiping some of it with his sleeve despite Qin Su's protests, he reached into his robes to take out a small piece of jade.

"This is my gift to you, little Rusong," he whispered to the child. "For luck and protection."

He tucked the carved jade into the soft cloth that Rusong was wrapped in, near his body where it could absorb some of his body's warmth.

"Thank you, on his behalf. It is a lovely gift."

Rusong slept on, unaware of the world around him or the troubles ahead. Around him, the adults kept talking, laughing, feeling the warmth of new life and new hope. War was behind them. Now was the time for children to be born and love to bloom.

Three years later, their hopes and dreams had not all come to fruition. More loss and grief had caused them to lose families and loved ones, including Jin Zixuan. Due to this, it was now Jin Guangyao who stood to inherit the LanlingJin sect upon their father's passing. Not all were happy with this development, but such were things.

In order to show his support, Lan Xichen often visited Koi Tower to see his sworn brother and his young family. He and Qin Su became very close as well, and he loved to watch as Rusong grew up.

After all that happened, Rusong had also gained a new playmate, though often his cousin Rulan stayed at Lotus Pier with his uncle instead of here. Still, the two boys clearly held affection for each other. Whenever Rulan came to visit Koi Tower, Rusong would wait on the stairs to be the first to spot him coming.

However, on this day, there was a great storm. Surely, Sect Leader Jiang would keep little Rulan with him for one more day instead of sending him out like this. But Rusong insisted to wait on top of the stairs no matter what. When prompted to leave and wait inside, he threw such a tantrum that he was unable to speak anymore.

"Please, A-Song," Qin Su tried to coax him, holding the shaking and screaming boy around the waist so he would not fall. "It is far too cold and wet outside – you will get sick if you stay much longer."

But Rusong could not be reasoned with.

"A-Ling," he cried, breathless and red in the face. "A-Ling!"

Lan Xichen happened upon this scene, feeling his heart break a little for the sweet boy. He was reminded of a similar incident, long ago. In Rusong's place he saw a little boy his age, but in white robes and a white forehead ribbon that fluttered in the cold winter wind as he knelt on the stairs of a house that would forever remain empty.

"Madam Jin," he said softly, approaching the distraught mother and son. "May I?"

Tired, Qin Su shifted to the side, letting Lan Xichen kneel behind Rusong. He replaced her hands around the boy's waist, pulling him gently into his lap.

"A-Song," he muttered quietly. "Would you like it if I waited with you for A-Ling? I will keep you warm, so you don't get sick. And I'll shelter you, in case the rain reaches us. Then your mother can go rest, and your parents won't have to worry about you."

Rusong whined and struggled a little, but when he felt the soft warmth of three layers of white cloth close around him in a cocoon of safety, he settled down. Then, he nodded.

"Thank you." Turning his head to look at Qin Su, Lan Xichen smiled. "Do not worry about Rusong now. I will take care of him."

"This- …" Qin Su bit her lip. "I cannot ask this of you, Zewu-Jun. I'm afraid he will insist on waiting all night."

"I will wait until he falls asleep. Then I will have him brought to you."

"Oh." Qin Su looked at her son. Only his head peeked out from Lan Xichen's robes. He was already visibly exhausted from his earlier crying and kicking. Now that he was wrapped up warmly, his eyes were drooping.

Seeing this, Qin Su thanked him quietly, wiping away her own desperate tears. She excused herself, to rest a little herself, leaving Lan Xichen and Rusong alone, sitting on the stairs.

He thought it was very peaceful, with the boy's familiar warmth nestled to his chest as they listened to the rain and thunder overhead. It did not take long for a little head to lean heavily against his sternum. Lan Xichen huffed affectionately, shifting the boy's weight in his arms so he could carry him more easily.

As he helped his mother tuck him into bed, Lan Xichen thought with a full heart how much Wangji might love to meet this little boy, who was so much like he was. He could even bring along his own son to play with Rusong, and they could all become friends.

Qin Su and Jin Guangyao both loved their son very much. It was evident in every interaction they had with the sweet boy, who was growing up fast. Almost five years old, he would be starting training soon to become a cultivator. In a few years he might develop his golden core.

But when Lan Xichen mentioned this to his sworn brother, Jin Guangyao hesitated visibly.

"I don't know if he is ready for it," he said vaguely, smiling all the while.

"You are only worried, as his parent," Lan Xichen waved his words away. "The pressure is higher for you than it is for him. As long as you let him learn at his own pace, everything will be fine."

But he could see that his sworn brother was not yet convinced.

The next time Lan Xichen visited, he brought a guest with him. He introduced him to Rusong, who was sitting on the ground and tugging at the grass in the gardens. Qin Su knelt next to him, clearly desperately trying to get him to stop, yet unable to do so. There were already lines of frustration evident both in the lines of her shoulders and on Rusong's brow.

"Rusong," Lan Xichen said. "I want you to meet someone very special to me. This is my little brother, Lan Wangji."

Rusong only stared. Wangji stared right back, until Rusong squirmed and looked away, starting to tear out more grass. Nobody said anything, watching in strange apprehension – except for Lan Xichen, who smiled – as Lan Wangji sat next to Rusong in the grass, gesturing for Qin Su to let him continue. Clearly put-upon, Qin Su rose to her feet and brushed off her skirts. She joined everyone else in watching, her arms crossed.

After a while, Rusong stopped tearing out more grass. He snuck a quick glance at Lan Wangji before gathering all the harvested grass in his arms and taking it to a nearby pond. On the water, there were a couple of ducks. As soon as he approached, they started quacking loudly, swimming closer.

"He is feeding the ducks?" Qin Su said loudly, watching with wide eyes as Rusong threw the grass in the water for the ducks to snap up. "But I asked him why he was doing that, and he wouldn't answer. I thought he was sulking."

Now they all watched as Lan Wangji drew a pouch of seeds from his sleeve to join Rusong in feeding the ducks. Neither of them ever said a word, but to everyone it was evident that they both enjoyed each other's company.

Later, Lan Xichen drew his sworn brother aside to speak to him about Rusong's education.

"There are different ways how a child like Rusong may express the ways in which he is special," he explained. "It requires a different sort of schooling than what most teachers are experienced with. But he is not the only one. In fact, behavior like his quite frequently emerges in members of the Lan family. If you wish, he could be educated in the Cloud Recesses, where he can be given the proper care and time he needs."

Jin Guangyao looked thoughtful at this, if not a little apprehensive. Of course, any father would be unwilling to part with his son at such a young age. Lan Xichen could see that he was reluctant – clearly, an expression of his great love for Rusong. Though he smiled and said he was going to think about it, Lan Xichen sadly thought that he wasn't going to take the offer.

On their way back home, Wangji said: "Will we take the boy?"

"His parents love him very much. I don't know if they are willing to have him stay with us to be educated, even though it might be best. I don't know if Rusong would be willing to leave his home, either."

"I would take him," said Wangji.

Lan Xichen smiled.

"I know you would. You like him, don't you? He is a sweet boy. He might get along well with Sizhui, too. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Mm."

"This is just temporary," Jin Guangyao said, looking haggard and torn. This was as nervous as Lan Xichen had ever seen him, so he poured them some more tea.

"I understand."

"Just to see how he would fit in. If he might like it here. I apologize for the inconvenience, er-ge."

"It is no trouble at all."

With a sigh, Jin Guangyao smiled again, inhaling the vapor rising from the tea.

Outside, Lan Xichen knew, were Rusong and Sizhui, getting acquainted for the first time. The two were not too far apart in age, though Sizhui was a little older. This was very suitable, as they intended for Sizhui to help them guide Rusong and introduce him to the Cloud Recesses and the classes he would be attending here. Lan Xichen was very confident that the two boys would soon become fast friends. Already, there was laughter to be heard, and he could see that Jin Guangyao also relaxed at this.

Apparently, Rusong had not taken well to classes in Koi Tower. He and the teachers had clashed often, and the teachers had declared him unteachable. There were even worse, less honorable words thrown around that Lan Xichen did not care for.

He made his offer again, asking whether Rusong might want to stay in the Cloud Recesses. This time, Jin Guangyao said yes immediately.

"We will take very good care of him," he promised. "Just you see, we will carefully polish and nurture his talents."

"But they said- …" Jin Guangyao hesitated. There was pain his eyes, staining his unsmiling mouth.

"It doesn't matter what they said. Your boy is kind and strong. He is going to be able to help a lot of people in the future."

"Thank you. Er-ge, thank you, so much. You don't know how- …" He paused, dabbing at his eyes. "If it weren't for you, I don't know what I would have done."

"I am sure you would have found a way," Lan Xichen said consolingly, patting his sworn brother's arm. "I know how much you love your son."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

They finished drinking their tea, listening to Sizhui's giggling outside as he played with Rusong. Just as predicted, they had taken an immediate liking to each other. Lan Xichen smiled, content with his work well done.

#aka SAVE JIN RUSONG'S LIFE #aka does this make jgy less of an unforgivable asshole? maybe #my fic #don't mind my ranting lol #mo dao zu shi #jin rusong #lan xichen #lwj be like #i'm going to adopt this child brother help me

43 notes · View notes

irondadgroupie · 5 years

Text

Peter never gets over Tony’s death

A/N: Spoilers for Avengers Endgame. Heavy subject material ahead

When Tony dies, he becomes an angel.

Everyone has access to heaven but also world. Higher beings were very understanding. Dying is a shock, were you prepared or not. Things are very often left unfinished.

Tony know how to use the gift. He watches over his family.

Pepper is strong but grieving. She sleeps on his side of the bed, fights against sobs while clutching his pillow.

Morgan doesn’t really understand the concept of death. She still expects him to come back. Tony guards her sleep, makes sure she has only happy thoughts, brushes her hair though his hand goes through every time.

Peter- his kiddo- is not fairing well. The boy is a mess, the world had forgotten him for five years. May had given up their apartment, he was marked as deceased and had to start everything over.

The boy sleeps on the couch in the new apartment and screams.

Tony tries to be close but he is selfish. He can’t handle grief he has caused.

Had they only been smarter and quicker-

Tony sees over his funeral and is pleasantly shocked how many people attend. His family and comrades in one group, supporting each other.

Morgan looks confused the entire time.

Peter gets sick after the ceremony and rests in the guest room. Tony sits by him and does not like what he sees. The boy’s eyes are vacant, red, he has lost weight. He wants to tell him everything will be fine, wants to tell Peter to be strong.

Useless words.

Life begins a new. Morgan goes to kindergarten and makes lots of friends. Pepper focuses on charity work, having billions of people suddenly reappear is a huge toll on the economy. It causes famine in poor countries.

When Tony hears the news, he wonders if they ever did the right thing undoing the snap.

Peter starts school again but without the light in his eyes. The boy had always been eager to learn but now he just goes through the motions. He stares out the window, ignoring all the questions and calls.

Tony knows something is not right.

He starts spending more time at the Parkers’ apartment. One day, May gets a phone call and it leads to an argument. Peter is failing at school, not returning homework and skipping classes.

“Why should I even go to school,” Peter mutters and kicks the wall. “I died! I come back to a world that has not given a shit about me!”

Peter starts crying. Tony knows the warning signs when he sees them.

“This is about Stark, isn’t it?”

Of course, Tony realizes.

“He left me,” Peter whimpers and May hugs him. Tony leaves the world with Peter’s sobs echoing in his ears.

Tony has now become third father-figure Peter Parker has lost. He had known his death would be tough on Peter but this makes it worse.

That night, Tony finds to his surprise he can still cry.

He starts watching over Peter’s sleep. He tries to clear the boy’s thoughts, put happy memories to the front but nothing much helps. The boy wakes up screaming. Sometimes he even throws up from night terrors.

After a week, May calls Pepper and the women discuss the situation. Strange recommends a psychiatrist and follows Peter to the first session.

It leads to nothing. Peter refuses to answer questions.

“I don’t deserve help,” The boy mutters and bites his fingers. Tony remembers how Peter used to bite his nails when he was nervous: a nasty habit that Peter had never managed to break.

The boy’s fingers leave red marks on pale, dehydrated skin.

“I couldn’t stop Thanos. I didn’t get the stones to the van.”

No, Tony shakes his head. He wants to tell the boy it was team effort, they all succeeded and failed. Nobody blamed Peter.

“I can see it in Pepper’s eyes. I saw it in Tony’s eyes.”

No! He had not blamed the boy. He had watched at Peter with nothing but admiration and love.

But Peter’s mind was sick. It twisted reality according to what it needed to hear.

Psychiatrist describes Peter strong antidepressants and recommends therapy alongside it.

“If it doesn’t work out, we can try to get Peter a place at an institute but I must warn you, lines are incredibly long. Your nephew is not the only one suffering.”

Tony doubts even money could get Peter the help he deserves.

The meds cause awful side-effects: the boy sleeps through the day, can’t hold down food and gets electric shocks in his brain. Tony remembers those all too well.

Peter withers away in his eyes. May takes time off from work to take care of him, she tries to force him to eat, go outside, lead a normal life.

Peter tells he doesn’t see a reason to.

Pepper reads Tony’s prayers and invites Peter over to play with Morgan. The boy declines but May forces him to go.

Pepper makes them pizza and Peter is reminded of internship days when Tony would either order in or alternatively they would make a pizza of their own, putting everything they found in the fridge on top of it. The boy starts crying uncontrollably. Morgan, little angel, pats his hair but Peter ignores her.

At night, when Tony is guarding Morgan’s sleep, he has been ignoring her because of his worry for Peter, he hears the door open. He frowns, it’s three in the morning. He looks out the window and sees a figure walking towards the lake.

Dread settles in his stomach, the figure is too short to be Pepper.

He jumps from the window and runs after Peter.

“Peter!” He screams as the boy trudges forward, his pajamas soaking through in the cold autumn water. He has on sneakers, bringing in extra weight. “Kiddo, go back! Please! Go back to the shore! Peter, you don’t want to do this!”

Peter is not crying. He looks more alive than he has since Tony drew his last breath. Peter’s eyes are fixated on the moon.

“Shit,” Peter gasps as the water reaches his chest. The boy’s lips are turning blue. “Help.”

“We’ll help you, Peter,” Tony tries to grab Peter’s arm but his form goes through. “You just have to go to the shore. We will help you.”

But Peter had made his mind.

Tony screams as the boy goes under the water.

“No!” He grasps his hair and turns to the house. Lights are not on. “Pepper! Pepper! Wake up! Pep!”

But nobody is in the same state of being as him.

Peter was convulsing under water, cold paralyzing his muscles. Tony felt sick watching it but he knew that if this was to be Peter’s last moments, he had to be there.

He dives.

“It’s okay,” He prays somebody will notice Peter missing and come looking for him. But if not, his boy was not going to die alone. “It doesn’t hurt. I swear it doesn’t hurt.”

He wants to hold Peters’ hand.

The boy gasps and coughs out air.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Peter stops moving, his eyes blink tiredly in the sweet water. Tony is still there, looking straight at him, with a soft smile.

Peter blinks.

“Tony?” He mouths and for a moment, they are on the same level. Peter extends his hand and their fingers meet.

Then Peter is grasped away from him.

Tony is glad, it was not too late, Peter could still be saved.

Pepper’s voice is distorted. Tony stays in the water, looks at his fingers.

For a second, he had not been so lonely.

He rises up and walks to the shore where Pepper is pumping Peter’s chest frantically and blowing air into his mouth.

“You can’t do this,” Pepper sobs. “We can’t lose you too.”

As Pepper does a compression, Peter chokes and spits up a large mouthful of water. Tony watches as Pepper helps the boy to his side, thumps his back and grasps his hand. Peter curls up while water drips from his mouth and nose.

Tony is relieved, the boy got a second chance.

If only he could appreciate it.

Peter lies.

Tony hears him tell Pepper, May, everyone that he sleepwalked.

Nobody fully believes him but who would dare to be the first person to call him a liar?

Besides, Peter seems to have gotten some of his fight back. He goes back to school, takes his meds and at least tries to eat. It doesn’t often work, nausea trips to the bathroom are still too common.

Psychiatrist calls it minimal improvement but it was still something they could work on.

Not even once does Tony notice a smile on Peter’s face. Not when watching funny videos or looking at old pictures.

To him, there is nothing to work on.

Looking back, he knew the boy was already lost.

That night he is with Pepper and Morgan and listens to a bedtime story. He miss telling those.

Pepper gets a phone call and frowns at the number. She tells Morgan to read for a moment by herself and leaves the room. Tony debates whether to follow but he is having too much fun watching Morgan try to spell out words. He corrects her mistakes.

Pepper comes back ten minutes later, her eyes red and tear tracks on her face.

“Morgan, honey,” The woman sniffles and takes the book gently. “You remember Peter?”

No, Tony’s eyes snap open.

Morgan nods.

“He-” Pepper tries to find the words. “Peter won��t be coming over anymore”

Where was Peter? Where would Peter go?

“He is dead, baby.”

“Dead like Daddy?”

Tony panics. Peter was not supposed to be dead.

“Yes. He is with Daddy in Heaven.”

“Will Daddy take care of him?”

Pepper nods with a sad smile.

“Yes, sweetie. Daddy will make sure Peter is alright.”

“Will he read him bedtime stories?”

Tony leaves before he hears the answer. He has to find Peter.

He goes up to Heaven and seeks out the Higher Lords.

“Where are the ones who have just died?”

They appear here, Tony doesn’t know if the words are spoken aloud or if he understands it through a bond.

“I need to find my kind”

Seek in the hall

He does and finds countless new faces. He calls for Peter but finds nobody. But he finds too many people he had seen on the vanished list, mostly old people. Their health had declined after multiple shocks about how their lives had changed.

“I couldn’t not find him. He is not here.”

Everyone who dies comes here

“But Peter is not here! Where is my kid?”

If he died a natural death, he appears here

Tony blinks. “What do you mean natural?”

“Sickness, old age or accident.”

Tony feels sick

“What if- what if Peter- what if someone does it themselves?”

Silence

They go to limbo

“Limbo?”

They are there for undeemed time

“Why?”

Giving away your life is a sin

“He was suffering!”

Nevertheless, if he killed himself-

“You punish him! You punish a hurting child! What kind of sick fucks are you?!”

Tony rubs his face, tries to force down panic.

“How long is he there?”

It is not certain- time loses meaning here

“Are we talking about a week?”

Silence

“Month? Year?”

Never an answer

Next few weeks Tony spends sitting on the ground at the undertaker’s. He guards Peter’s body. He sees people come and see the kid. He witnesses the long gashes on Peter’s wrists. No autopsy is needed, the boy died of blood loss.

During the funeral, he sits beside the casket. He doesn’t look inside after the lid is closed. Peter had on makeup to hide the paleness of his skin and lips.

“I- I had hope he would be the next hero of this world,” Rhodey whispers as the Avengers look down on their youngest member lying on velvet pillows, hands crossed and a bouquet of white roses over his chest.

Pepper doesn’t let Morgan see Peter’s body and Tony agrees with the decision.

Peter is laid down to rest in a cemetery in Queens, besides his parents.

There is still no sign of him in heaven.

Tony doesn’t know when he will arrive there, how long it will take. Maybe Peter will only get to rest once everyone on their team is dead.

He sits down beside the grave, looks as snowflakes start covering the small hill under which Peter’s body resides.

“Oh, kiddo,” He cries and touches the ground. “You’re alright.”

Those were the last words he ever said to Peter.

Maybe they would once be Peter’s welcoming to Heaven.

#trigger warning: suicide attempt #trigger warning: suicide #irondad #fanfic #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers

220 notes · View notes