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heniareth · 2 years

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ZevWarden Week 2022

Day 1 - Culture

Words: 3028 | Rating: Teen and up | Zevran x f!Tabris

Hi hello ^^ It’s my first time participating in the ZevWarden Week and I’m beyond excited XD XD XD Thank you very much for all the wonderful people who are putting this event together. I hereby submit my first entry. It’s rated Teen and up for an instance where one character takes undue interest in another character’s love life, and it gets mildly suggestive at the end as Zevran and Astala talk about their plans for the night before the scene fades to black. There is also some talk about poisons, but no poisonings happen. Enjoy and happy ZevWarden Week to all and sundry!

Astala Tabris visits Antiva City for the first time as part of a diplomatic delegation. She hasn't seen Zevran in three years and seven and a half months, the longest they have been separated since his failed assassination attempt. During her first meal on Antivan soil, a note appears next to her plate. Could it be from Zevran?

Read on AO3 or continue below the cut:

Astala was the first one on deck when the lookout announced the sighting of Antiva City. Soon afterwards, she could see it herself, white and red dotted against a background of green and ochre. As the city grew closer, Astala realized just how big it was: easily five times the size and twice as imposing as Denerim. It occupied several hills, and even at this distance it was easy to see which districts were richer and which more run-down. Large mansions with plenty of space and greenery around them rose over narrow buildings that were mashed together as if by a child’s hand. The city was divided by several arms of the Rialto river as it flowed into the sea. The water was a bright blue, the air was warm and heavy with humidity. And amidst the cry of seagulls, the smell of fish, drying seaweed and fouling water, the hustle and bustle of the large harbor, Astala disembarked and set foot on Antivan soil for the first time.

This, then, was Zevran’s home city. Although she could feel the sheer size of it and the myriad of sights, sounds, smells and sensations creeping up on her as if trying to drag her with them, she understood why he spoke with so much love of it.

Had he received her letter telling him of her visit?

Much as she would’ve liked, however, Astala wasn’t in Antiva to visit Zevran. Queen Anora wished to strengthen the ties between Ferelden and Antiva and did not have the advantage of so many other Thedosian nobles of having Antivan ancestors. So she had done the next best thing, namely sending a delegation consisting out of the few people among the Fereldan nobility with any ties to Antiva: Astala herself, and the teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland. How Fergus was related to the country she didn’t know; the man had been somewhat reluctant to broach the topic. Other than that, and the fact that he was a tad bit traditional however, he was a pleasant traveling companion. And right now, he was staring at the city just as much as she was.

“I never thought it’d be this big,” Astala ventured.

“I’d heard it was,” Fergus answered. “But to hear it and to see it are two different things entirely.”

That Astala could agree with, and then they were already ushered into a slim boat that took them up the longest canal of the city before they were transferred into a carriage en route to the royal palace. Astala practically drank in the sight of the lively city.

And Zevran had been right: there were flowers in bloom everywhere.

Introductions were made to the king of Antiva, who seemed more interested in the lunch he had invited them to than their arrival. They were immediately led to a richly appointed table in the shadows of the garden’s orange and lemon trees, and then the first course was served. Astala was inspecting the delicate arrangement of cheese slices and some kind of fruit preserve when she saw it.

On her plate lay a neatly folded piece of paper.

The king had launched into an explanation of Antivan customs around the frequent use of poison and the gloves they had been provided with to avoid direct contact of the skin to the cutlery. While he was busy presenting his food tester, a man with a thin smile who looked like he was in constant pain, Astala slipped her gloves on and unfolded the note.

“Welcome to Antiva, amore mio,” it said in a flowing script. “Has your journey been comfortable? Write your answer on the backside if you wish; the servants know what to do with it. Enjoy your meal! Always yours: Z.”

The author had scribbled an approximation of Zevran’s tattoo in a corner of the note.

Astala risked a glance around the garden. She did not see Zevran, of course, and she had to be open to the possibility that it wasn’t him at all. Someone could have imitated his handwriting. But oh, she would find out soon enough. Astala pulled a small graphite pen out of the pocket that held her notebook—which she had started to keep when her mind alone wasn’t enough to keep track of her duties at Amaranthine—and quickly scribbled down her answer.

“Remind me of the poem you recited to me the year we first met. Yours always (if it’s really you): A.”

A servant immediately took the note away when she laid it down on her plate. Astala watched her go, then turned back to her food, waited and ate—and noticed how small the portions were compared to a normal Fereldan meal. Was this standard practice in Antiva? She would have to make friends with the servants to get some more food in that case.

The next course consisted out of a cold tomato soup with strong notes of garlic and softer ones of cucumber. A new note was tucked under her plate. Astala opened it immediately.

“Brava,” it read. “Let me see if I recall.”

A small, lopsided heart separated this first line from the rest of the text, which was a perfect replica of the bit of Antivan poetry he had recited to her during the Blight. There was no way anybody but him would know those verses. He had even added some new ones, and the some heavily crossed out words told of his efforts.

“The symphony I see in thee,

It whispers songs to me:

Songs of hot breath upon my neck,

Songs of soft sighs by my head,

Songs of nails on muscled back.

Songs of thee come to my bed.

Amidst your sweet The sound of thy sweet melody

Drowns me, as does the sight of thee.

I’ve in my heart a lingering ache

And But now I feel it start to fade

Since you are finally here with me have come here to my home

And are at last so close to me.

Always yours: Z.”

Astala had to hide the wide smile spreading across her face behind a long sip of her drink. He really had gone above and beyond. With the king and Fergus still immersed in their conversation about poisons, assassinations, and the political machinations in the city, Astala had ample time to write down her answer.

“I love you,” was the first thing that came to her mind, and then she chewed on her pencil for a while until she had composed the rest of the message. “I missed you, Maker’s Breath I’ve missed you. You have such a way with words (I know I tell say that all the time but it’s true!). Any chance we might be even closer together? Don’t think we have anything planned for the afternoon. Yours always: A.”

It was terribly rambly and not half as artistic as Zevran’s poem. It would have to do. The servants had already removed the note alongside her plate, which had held another very tasty but disappointingly small portion of food.

The next dish arrived, an arrangement of small red peppers stuffed with rice, goat cheese and olives. This was the third course. Very, very suddenly, Astala remembered how Leliana had told her that meals in Orlais were usually composed out of three separate courses. In Ferelden, a banquet just went on until the kitchen ran out of food or nobody wanted to eat anymore (which was when the feast would get shoved off to the servants and everybody would have something to bring back home to their families), but Antiva evidently worked more like Orlais than like Ferelden. Was this the last dish? Was this her last chance to get a message to Zevran?

As soon as the plate and the note sat in front of her, Astala snatched it up and opened it.

“You should see, amore. The tongue that speaks these words has gotten even sweeter since I came to Antiva. I do so wish to be by your side again so that we may both enjoy it. You have a talent for drawing such sweetness out of me, my Warden.”

And there the note ended. Astala feared the worst and turned it around. Nothing. Only a blank page for her to respond.

Now that was a problem.

She wanted to meet him. She could, of course, have suggested a meeting place herself if only she knew what kind of meeting places there were in Antiva. Such as it was, she could just as well try to navigate the city blindfolded. She’d never be able to find him.

“What are you reading, arlessa?”

Astala covered the note with her hand. That was stupid. The king was now even more interested, leaning forward to try and see what she was hiding.

“It’s rather private, your Majesty,” Astala said.

“Oh!” The king’s eyebrows drew up. “Intimate, maybe?”

Astala narrowed her eyes. “Definitely not.”

“Ah, I was hoping you might want to share,” the king said with a smile.

“Your Majesty,” Astala said, “especially if it was something intimate, I would never share it publicly.”

“I see,” the king said, a smile that now looked terribly smug on his face. “And there is no way I might find out?”

Astala was about to give him a piece of her mind, but then an idea occurred to her.

“It depends, your Majesty,” she said. “How about you first satisfy my curiosity.”

“Only too gladly,” the king answered eagerly.

Astala’s smile widened. “Lovely! What are some good places to visit in Antiva?”

Judging from his expression, the king had probably expected another question. He did, however, give her some useful options after a bit of prodding in the right direction. Astala then pulled her notebook out of her pocket and hid Zevran’s note while she gave the king a detailed description of what she had been “reading”. It was good fortune that made her land on her writings on different customs in the villages of Amaranthine, and the king lost interest after the first half minute of her talking. Astala pretended not to notice and talked on as he tried to politely change the subject. She let him squirm for a while, then sat back down and waited until Fergus had once again engaged the king in conversation and then quickly pinned down her answer for Zevran.

“Listen, I’m not sure if this is the last course. I’m gonna try and head to the market at the Piazza della Fortuna afterwards. See you there? Yours always: A.”

And then she ate. When she had finished, her stomach wasn’t even starting to feel full. What was it about Antivans and small portions of food?

The plates were collected. The note had been gone for a while now, collected by a servant who had refilled her glass. Fergus and the king were still conversing, or, rather, the king was talking, and Fergus kept valiantly trying to get a word in. Astala was wholly prepared to leave the table and track somebody down who could give her directions to the Piazza della Fortuna when suddenly the servants appeared again with more plates. Astala looked on with probably very badly concealed surprise as they sat down a plate with grilled fish in front of her and retired once again. Fergus leaned over and quietly asked her if she was alright. Astala could only nod before her eyes fell on a neatly folded piece of paper resting against her glass.

With a side-glance towards the king, she made sure he was too busy with his fish to pay her any mind. Only then did she reach for the note.

“I am truly sorry, but I must disappoint you, amore. I have a meeting to attend to this afternoon. I assure you; it will be much less fun than exploring the city with you and only necessity keeps me from dropping it entirely. Please, forgive me.”

There was no helping the disappointment that spread through her, but Astala knew him well enough to be sure that he would absolutely toss the meeting aside if he could. But he was playing a dangerous game in Antiva. Above all, she wanted him to succeed, and she would happily step aside if that was what he needed of her. She would help him in any way possible, just as he had done when they were fighting the Blight.

The note continued: “But let me make it up to you. Tonight, set up a red lantern in your window. I shall know where to find you.”

A red lantern. Astala lowered the note, only to notice that there was still more written on it.

“And do not worry: meals like this are usually ten courses long and we are only on the fourth. We have six more messages we can send one another. I might even compose you another poem! Did you like what I wrote for the last one? Always yours: Z.”

The six following courses were more than enough food, and they even served plums with other fruits and yoghurt that had been chilled and sweetened as one of the desserts. Astala spent the afternoon finally stepping into the role of diplomat and trying to help Fergus get the king to focus on anything besides distractions and pastimes. It was a hopeless undertaking, and so for the evening she busied herself with finding a red lamp. It proved to be fairly easy. Only once she had acquired it did she realize that this could be the perfect set-up for a trap.

She lighted the lamp anyways and left it on the windowsill. She also tensed the one-handed crossbow she had brought along and fastened her quiver to her hip. It never hurt to be prepared.

The sun was setting—late as it was bound to do in the late spring but later still than in Ferelden—when a knock came from her door.

“Who is it?” Astala asked, loading a bolt into her crossbow.

“I come to fulfil a promise to the arlessa of Amaranthine,” came a voice from the hallway past the door.

The voice alone was enough to make Astala break out into a wide smile and rush to the door, swinging it wide open and pulling Zevran inside. Zevran lifted her up and spun her around while Astala squealed with laughter and slung her free arm around his neck. When he put her back on his feet she pulled him into a kiss. He answered readily, followed it up with more, until they finally broke apart and Astala got a good look at him. It had been three years and seven and a half months, the longest they had been separated in one go, since last she’d seen him. He looked good, even in the simple clothes he was wearing—she recognized the dress of the palace’s staff. His hair was bleached lighter by the sun and his skin was darker than she remembered, but his eyes were just the same. He looked at her and she felt her heart swell.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“More than air,” Zevran answered, dead serious.

He brushed along the scar on the right side of her face.

“I cannot believe you are in Antiva.”

“I can’t quite believe it myself,” Astala admitted and nuzzled into his hand. “It’s beautiful, Zev.”

A smile full of joyful surprise flashed across his face. “You like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Astala pointed around the room with its tall windows, the lattices that covered them whose bars created small, star-shaped spaces, the colorful murals and the spacious, comfortable bed. “This is incredible. I wish I had gardens like the king, as much as they look like a real piece of work-”

“How did you like the food?”

Astala laughed. “Y’know, I was scared it wouldn’t be enough at first. You do your meals very differently here.”

“That is true,” Zevran nodded.

“But it was delicious.”

Zevran grinned. “Especially the plums, I take it?”

“Of course, plums are always- Wait.” Sudden realization struck her. “You told them-?”

“Oh, no, no, I would never give information like that to anyone,” Zevran said and shooed the idea away with a wave of his hand. “But I may have made sure the royal kitchens have stocked up on plums. For entirely unrelated reasons, of course.”

A smile so wide it almost hurt broke out over Astala’s face. “Zev. You didn’t have to, love.”

Zevran shook his head sheepishly. “Ah, it is nothing. To see this smile, I would do anything.”

Astala gently pulled him in and kissed him.

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured.

Zevran hummed and snuck his arms around her waist. “It has been far too long.”

“Agreed,” Astala said.

“Well then.” Zevran tapped against the quiver at her hip. “Will you put the crossbow away, my Warden?”

“That would be a bad idea,” Astala grinned. “I’ve heard there are a lot of assassins in Antiva.”

“Do not worry,” Zevran deadpanned. “They are all going after the king.”

Astala laughed. “He did take the whole poisoning thing very seriously.”

“He has to,” Zevran answered cheerfully. “You, however, have nothing to fear.”

He leaned away from her and unfastened the quiver from her waist. Astala took it, dropped it and the crossbow unceremoniously on the desk and turned back to Zevran.

“So. And now?”

“Now,” Zevran said, his voice far less cheerful and noticeably lower than it had been a mere moment ago, “now I will show you, if you would like, how we celebrate a reunion in Antiva.”

That voice sent the blood rushing into Astala’s face and ears, and with it came a swooping feeling of excitement. Zevran looked at her with soft, golden eyes. Astala returned his gaze and tapped a finger against her lower lip like she had seen him do so often. It was fascinating to see how his eyes caught the movement, lingered, and then snapped back to hers as.

“I think I would like that very much.”

Zevran took her hand and kissed it. Then he closed the distance between them.

---

Aaaaand off I wander to have a look at the other entries. Have a lovely day! ^^

#zevwarden week 2022 #zevwarden week #zevwarden #fanfic #zevran x f!warden #zevran x tabris #fluff #zevwarden week 2022: culture #astala tabris #zevran #dao #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #my writings

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slbakershomosexualagenda · 1 year

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The thing about writing in the Lovecraft Universe is that not all the monsters and gods are public domain or fair use. You'd actually be surprised--- I know I was because I assumed everything I'd ever seen included in like, a TTRPG was fair game. Nope.

Part of me writing this series has been me checking every single thing I want to include for who wrote it, when, has their estate made a public comment somewhere, or for the still-living contributors, what does their website say.

Copyright law/license shit is kind of a minefield, and I'm not going to pretend like I know everything about it, but here's kind of how I've gone about it:

Because this project is using these characters as a form of "critique and commentary" (it's a black comedy, so, duh) I could insist it's all protected under parody law. Though a lot of the estate holders are American, I'm not. Parody law isn't as well protected in Canada, and regardless, this is supposed to be a low-stress little side project for me, I'm not only not interested on dying on that hill, I don't want to go near it if I don't have to.

Names of characters are not copywritable, but likenesses are. If a character doesn't show up, it'd be reasonably safe to mention they exist by name at least. Still, I've aired on the side of caution with some copywrited Lovecraft Universe characters depending on what context I'm mentioning them by not using their proper name, just alluding to them. Example: "Cthylla/The Hidden One" as "Daughter of the Hidden Deep", "Secret of Secrets." (Note: that's actually the funny thing about authors who convert their old fanfic into original lit. The often don't actually remove the content that makes it possibly copyright infringement, lol. 50 Shades was similar enough to Twilight Stephanie Meyer probably could have sued--- the only issue being that neither works were unique enough to have a super strong case . . . And E.L.James really exploited that with her cover art choices and stuff like that.)

Some characters are TECHNICALLY inventions of Lovecraft, so likely public domain (though even that's kind of jumbled), but it gets murky since a lot of the lore written about them was from different authors. There's not really a good answer when it comes to characters like this (Sidenote: did you know that in Oz The Great and Powerful they had to be careful as to what specific shade of green they made the wicked witch because she's not actually green in the original books? But, you know, people kind of expect the wicked witch to be green now even though MGM still holds the copyright on that version of the character. I dont know why that was never an issue for Wicked, but, whatever.)

It was Lovecraft's wish that writers keep adding and expanding to his universe and concepts even before any of his works entered the public domain (though IP law was a lot different back then) but that doesn't mean every creator that contributes feels the same way. I've hunted down every public statement on the matter I could find to see if they express any opinion on that matter. I've seen some sites state that certain creators are "very understanding" as a secondhand account but unless I could find a direct statement from the creator themselves, I've taken that as a no. So for some characters, out of respect for the author, I've tried avoiding using their creations all together unless I feel it's kneecapping the intent of my storyline (the premise of my novellas is kind of hinges on the metacommentary of living manifestations of fear) where I insert whole new creations that I hope evoke the spirit of the monster/God they're based on. My headcanon is that they're avatars or manifestations of the characters, but different enough that I'm not stepping on the authorial wishes of their creators.

I know personally in the extremely unlikely event someone wants to use a character or concept I've created as an addition to the Lovecraft Canon in their roleplay or story, movie, video game whatever, I'd be very excited. That's part of the fun of the Lovecraft property, I'm just happy to be included, but. Respecting artist IP is important.

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insipid-drivel · 1 year

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My Ex’s Conspiracy Theorist Jungle-Living Uncle

There are a lot of things I don’t miss about one of my exes. However, there’s one thing I do, and that happened to be hanging out with his uncle.

My ex’s uncle was a reedy, fuzzy, unwashed recluse that lived in the middle of the jungle north of Nambucca, Australia. I don’t know exactly what the place is called because it’s off the grid and has no real name, and I still have lingering trauma from the terrifying drive to and from his house.

This was a man who understood that chem trails were real, crystals could talk, music at certain frequencies could induce psychic visions, and that he didn’t mind living amongst giant carnivorous goanas with no indoor plumbing. I have no doubt that he may have been mildly schizophrenic, which only made hanging out with him that much more fun and interesting. I love hanging out with schizophrenics and have spent years as a supporter of an online support group for them. People with schizophrenia are not scary; they’re absolutely fascinating to talk to. I have never been more captivated or engaged in a conversation than I have with schizophrenic people. My dad was schizophrenic, and I’ve never loved anyone more. Even when the symptoms scared him, which happened sometimes, all I wanted to do was listen.

My ex’s uncle was probably the most fascinating and fun character of a man I’ve ever met and still struggle to believe the day I spent at his house wasn’t some kind of psychedelic trip I had back in my apartment in Sydney. It was the middle of November and the heat and humidity was something that even the most seasoned of Floridians would’ve balked at. The kicker? It was a 6 hour drive and my ex’s janky old car’s air conditioning was broken. It was at least 104F (40C) the entire ride, outside. I felt like I had a stamina bar from a survival video game and it was a race to get from rest stop to rest stop to find air conditioning before I got heat stroke.

To get to his house, we had to switch cars to a 4-wheeled SUV. It was the most harrowing 45 minutes in my life as we had to slowly drive along a rail-thin, dirt path cut into a ravine so steep it may as well have been a cliff. My ex was not helping by telling me about the sheer number of deaths that had occurred in his living memory alone from people rolling down the ravine, which was hundreds of feet deep. (Seriously Australians, I know hazing the Americans is fun, but please you live in a land of venom, death, and a simmering disregard for all temporal consequence. Be gentle with us when we’re already shitting ourselves.)

But the view was breathtaking. It was like walking into an episode of Planet Earth. There were vast, green fields that serves as pastures for small farmers with horses and sheep - lamb being a very popular export - between vast expanses of steaming rainforest. The sounds during the day were indescribable. After we got to the end of me Staring Death In The Face For 45 Minutes and I was able to get my shit together, I understood why his uncle wanted to live there.

His house is set on stilts on an almost 45 degree angle on a hill in a clearing in the forest. If you like cottagecore, you should’ve seen this place. He had his own little hydroelectric generator that pumped water and electricity to his house. He had wifi somehow. I don’t know how. The fact that he casually offered me weed growing in a pot on his front porch before my foot touched the ground already had me comfortable with not thinking too hard.

He lived off the land and occasional trips into a town so tiny that you could stand on the top of the decline where the “Welcome To” sign was and see straight down to the “Now Leaving” sign. It was a microscopic little town of hardened badasses that spat in the Grim Reaper’s face on a daily basis. In his house, there were quartz crystals wedged into every conceivable nook and cranny, and he had a boombox from the 90′s playing low, drowning music at a specific frequency he assured me would assist in opening my Third Eye.

I assured him that every eye I had was pretty fucking wide open at that point.

He explained to me his distaste for chem trails, and I nodded along. He made me a cup of tea from a tin kettle over an open-propane burner that fueled his stove and we sat together on a bench on his fenced porch watching the cockatoos and kookaburras flying over us. Inevitably, because I had already come perilously close to wetting myself just in getting there, I expressed a need to use the restroom.

“Oh, well, you’ve got two options. Ya can go around the corner or in the river, but there are more biting flies by the river.”

“Great.” Fortunately, the hill his house was set on was so remote that it was easy for me to find a hiding spot to squat in around the corner. I didn’t want to know where he got the fertilizer for his greenhouse from.

After doing my business, I came back and we resumed chatting. He was telling me about how the wooden tool shed across from the house had once been his house, because he’d built the house with his bare hands while living out of a shack no larger than 9′x6′.

As I’m marveling at the sheer incalculable mass of this delightful madman’s testicles, I hear a rustling from the bushes.

The biggest goana I have ever seen in my life (meaning the only goana) crept out from the underbrush directly from where I’d just taken a leak. It crawled up the stoop and stared at me, forked tongue flicking as it stared at me and considered me.

My ex’s uncle grinned from ear to fucking ear while I realized that I was sitting on the hill I was literally going to die on. I froze as this gigantic, toothy lizard looked me dead in the eye, and then noticed a kookaburra in a nearby tree and decided I wasn’t worth it.

Suddenly, I feel a metal cylinder in my lap.

This man has placed a 12 gauge shotgun in my lap. “Don’t be scared! They’re just looking for birds this time of year.”

“You... can have that here?” I may be American and I may live in a swamp, but I’ve never handled guns before. I’ve never needed to. And then there was the matter that I had been convinced that Australia had banned firearms to civilians.

“I use it to protect the cockatoo chicks! They’re rare out here!” he explained, constantly chipper about the entire thing as he took the gun away and set it aside. He explained to me that a flock of a rare, endangered species of cockatoo lived in the trees around where we were sitting, and he had a permit for a shotgun in order to protect himself from exactly what just happened 2 minutes before.

Meanwhile, my ex is casually slapping my arms and legs to keep biting flies the size of quarters from making me cry for my mother, stunning them, tying a strand of hair around them, and then flinging them around like they were tiny dogs on leashes, and explaining that that’s what kids out there did for fun.

I prayed to Steve Irwin for strength. That explained Crocodile Hunter.

His uncle decides it’s time for us to have some fun and leads us away from the relative safety of his house and down to the shallows of the river we’d driven over to get there. He proceeded to teach me to catch frogs until dusk.

He brought us back to his house, and when I explained to him that I was a Bandrui and that magpies were a major spirit animal in my work in my faith, he told me to wait where I was standing and disappeared into the upstairs of his house I never got to see. He returned with a bundle of feathers. Including a tailfeather from the black-and-yellow, endangered cockatoos he had collected.

“Take them,” he said, practically shoving them into my arms while I had to take my jaw off the floor.

“What?! They’re rare! I can’t pay you!” I was shocked.

But he insisted. “No. You have important work to do. Take them.” He was so confident that I had to wonder if he knew something more than I did, and so I thanked him gratuitously. I still have his bundle of feathers to this day.

“Time for you to get back!” he abruptly pronounced as the sky started to turn pink.

“Huh?” I had no idea why he was insisting on it, but he sounded like he was confident of something.

“You’ll see!” he replied with another grin, and waved as we drove off with the sun going down.

The drive back meant another 45 minutes on the Death Road. In the dark.

That was how I discovered that, in the jungle when the sun goes down, millions of tree frogs migrate down the Death Slope. One jumped down my boobs. Getting back to where we were staying, I almost walked face-first into a Golden Orbweaver Spider, and decided I missed Bigfoot and the innocuous red eyes in the dark. At least they kept their distance.

#storytime #this is 100% true i am not making a single thing up #australia is wild #australia #i don't know if he was even real #but he was awesome #schizophrenia #schizophrenia positivity #long post

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holeynightsky · 1 year

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overthinking albums: midnights pt. 1

welcome back, lovelies! today's Long Rant is brought to you by all the beautiful RWBY art i've been seeing as we get hyped about vol9.

today, we'll be thinking way too hard about the lyrics and general vibe checks of taylor swift's midnights album, and how each song was specifically written with a RWBY character/relationship/arc in mind. this is going to be split into two parts, because i, ahem, hit the character limit for a text block post on tumblr.

(what's that? sorry, i can't hear you, but if you're suggesting the album was not in fact written about a niche animated show, i'm replying with shhhhhhhhh.)

the album can be found here on spotify, if you're interested in listening along.

lavender haze - okay guys we gotta start with a bumbleby song. and this one--whoo boy. are you kidding? hell yeah! you don't really read into / my melancholia.... i just wanna stay in that / lavender haze. i mean come on. can't you just see blake singing about yang? staring into her eyes? the epitome of sapphic love??? also, obsessed with the way adam didn't scare yang off in conjunction with the line they're bringing up my history / but you weren't even listening. i know it's not a one-for-one match but i'm gonna die on that hill.

maroon - bear with me for this pain, but: a jaune-grieving-pyrrha song. the visual of the two of them over time, all those shades of red... the tension just before and during the vytal festival arc (how the hell did we lose sight of us again? / sobbing with your head in your hands / ain't that the way shit always ends).... jaune in the forest during vol4 (and i wake with your memory over me / that's a real fuckin' legacy)... him standing in front of her statue, finally putting his ghosts to rest (the rust that grew between telephones / the lips i used to call home / so scarlet it was maroon)

anti-hero - a hot take, but i feel like this is a song for oz/oscar/ozma. i have this thing where i get older but just never wiser is him struggling under the weight of everything he knows and all the ways he's fucking it up anyway. not to mention this whole thing: i end up in crises / tale as old as time / i wake up screaming from dreaming / one day i'll watch as you're leaving / 'cause you got tired of my scheming / for the last time. i--i don't even think i need to explain this one? are we good to move on?

snow on the beach - a qrow/clover song. you might think this is qrow thinking about clover, because of lines like you wanting me / tonight feels impossible--but ohoho, slow down there my friend. i will die on my headcanon hill that clover was just as traumatized as qrow, just with different coping mechanisms, and that he was absolutely whipped within hours of meeting him. plus, qrow just deserves at least one (1) nice thing--and don't you want to see him getting all flustered and happy when someone else looks at him and thinks of the lines i searched 'aurora borealis green' / i've never seen / someone lit from within / blurring out my periphery? akjsdbfkasjfh and the pause after can this be a real thing, can it? with their hands gently brushing.... hello? my heart?

you're on your own, kid - yang. yang alllllll the way. am i maybe projecting the oldest-female-child-syndrome? yep. but i mean--oh my god how could it not be??? i didn't choose this town / i dream of getting out / there's just one who could make me stay doesn't have to be romantic. that can be her thinking of ruby. my friends from home don't know what to say / i looked around in a blood-soaked gown / and i saw something they can't take away is living at the dorms in vale and leading up to the fall of beacon, 'cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned / everything you lose is a step you take is her recovering her confidence in vols 4 & 5. you're on your own, kid / yeah, you can face this / you're on your own, kid / you always have been is that moment where she steps past raven and ventures into the spring portal alone...... i'm simply not okay.

midnight rain - raven and ty. we were all thinking it, right? i mean. i mean. how could it be anything else? my town was a wasteland / ... / my boy was a montage / a slow-motion, love potion / ... / i broke his heart 'cause he was nice. the way she left but didn't feel guilt that we really see at any point in the show? he wanted it comfortable / i wanted that pain / he wanted a bride / i was making my own name pretty much sums up that dynamic. ty is a himbo and i love him but as soon as we met raven i was like "oh, obviously that wasn't gonna work." also, i peered through a window / a deep portal, time travel / all the love we unravel / and the life i gave away is so perfectly on the nose it's not even funny.

question...? - blake and ilia!! blake! and! ilia! specifically, ilia being bitter as she watches blake move through various relationships with various levels of health, and never once look at her. good girl, sad boy / big city, wrong choices / we had one thing going on / i swear that it was something / 'cause i don't remember who i was before you. or, or!! she was on your mind / with some dickhead guy / ... / it was one drink after a another / fucking politics and gender roles / and you're not sure and i don't know / got swept away in the gray. i simply cannot. i shall pass away before i ever make my peace with this level of pining.

stay tuned for part two, coming soon! <3

#taylor swift #midnights #taylor swift midnights #rwby bumbleby #rwby #yang xiao long #lyric musings #lyric analysis #overthinking albums

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Speak Your Mind

Pairing: GeorgeNotFound / George x f!reader

Summary: Usually, you left George feeling tongue-tied, but apparently not today.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: requested by an anon who wanted a cute, clumsy george story! another anon wanted something similar, so i hope you both and all enjoy <3 this was inspired by this quote by lemony snicket :)

George slipped into his chair with a slight groan, nudging his mouse with his elbow as he took a sip of water. He watched as his screen came to life, glancing over at the time. It was still kind of early, and he had a few hours to himself before his scheduled stream.

I could probably just play by myself for a while, he thought to himself, setting his glass down to his left as he opened up Minecraft. He reached across his desk, grabbing his headphones and settling them over his head. It’s been a while since I’ve played in a hardcore survival world.

But then his gaze flickered down to a particular server, and he found his cursor automatically clicking on it, almost like clockwork. In an instant, his avatar was standing on the Prime Path, the blocky world rendering into view around him. Shifting his mouse a few times, George smiled and opened up his inventory.

He spent a few moments sorting everything out, quietly humming to himself. A few seconds later, something popped up on the bottom left of his screen, his gaze darting over to catch it.

[y/n]: hi george!

[y/n]: how are you doing?

George’s heart almost immediately stuttered in his chest, and he spent a moment or two simply staring at the two lines of text.

He couldn’t believe just how much power you had over him.

The two of you had been friends for a long time now—nearly as long as he had been friends with Dream, even. The two of you had met almost entirely by accident, having simply been jokingly trapped together on a random server by one of the admins for a few hours. Under any other circumstances, George probably would have felt awkward to hell and back, but the two of you had just instantly hit it off together.

You were kind and cheerful, while he was practical and goofy. He loved your optimistic innocence, and you lived for his sarcastic quips. While the two of you had never met in person, both of you had most definitely seen each other’s faces before, and George would never forget the first thing he said when he saw your face.

“Woah. You’re really pretty.”

He had blurted it without warning, surprising even himself at his own words. Your face had flushed while you immediately turned off your face cam, letting out a quiet whine. “George, you can’t just say that!”

He remembered sputtering in his chair, then sending an earnest smile at his monitor. “But it’s true!”

“George!”

The image of your cheeks plastered with an embarrassed, sheepish grin and your wide, shining eyes would forever be ingrained in his mind.

Years later, that picture hadn’t changed a bit, still as clear as ever in his head, but the feelings he held for you had transformed. It didn’t happen quickly, nor did he ever want to admit it, but he was incredibly aware of it—almost too aware of it.

You made his cheeks hurt from how much he smiled around him. You filled his stomach with butterflies just with a single giggle. You made his ears turn bright red whenever you made a sly joke.

The three little words sat at the back of his head at nearly every hour of the day, and he just knew that one of these days, he was going to tell you what they were.

Hopefully.

With a smile on his face and a million thoughts swirling around his head, all of them beginning and ending with you, he closed his inventory and began to type back a response.

GeorgeNotFound: i’m doing good haha

[y/n]: i’m happy to hear that! <3

His breath caught in his throat. A heart—you had sent back a heart. He could feel his own heart seize in his chest at the sight of two simple symbols on his monitor screen.

Oh god, he was so screwed.

He walked forward a bit, his head still spinning with thoughts of you and that stupid heart as he contemplated what he should do next. An idea popped up just then, a small wave of anxiety creating over his head. With shaky hands, he began to type.

GeorgeNotFound: wanna join vc 2?

A moment ticked by, and George chewed on the side of his cheek. Then, your username appeared in the corner of his screen.

[y/n]: okay! i’ll be there in a sec :)

A smiley face. His own lips curled upwards to match the smile emoticon as he entered the voice channel, patiently waiting. A few moments later, something caught his attention from the corner of his monitor. Turning, he flinched as your avatar jumped down and landed in front of him, briefly turning red from the fall damage. A split second later, he heard a familiar ping.

“Boo!” you chirped, your voice echoing in his ear as bright as day. He felt warmth blossom in his chest just at the sound of a single syllable spoken in your voice.

“What a grand entrance,” he said teasingly, unable to hide the fact that he was grinning while he spoke.

“You know me,” you said, giggling, “I always have to make a big show of things.”

“I sure do,” he said, secretly thinking to himself.

But I wish I knew you better.

“Woah,” you suddenly breathed, something like awe seeping in your voice as your character stepped forward. “I feel like we haven’t talked in, like... forever.”

He blinked, shifting his mouse slightly toward you. “We talked yesterday.”

“No,” you said quickly, your pitch raising, “I mean like, talk talked. You know, over call or something?” Your voice grew quiet. “I missed hearing your voice.”

George wanted to throw a pillow across his room. Cute. “Well, I’m here now,” he said softly, chuckling, “so you get to hear it all you want.”

He heard you cough, but it was slightly muffled. He wondered what you looked like right now, and he half-wished that you two had your face-cams on. “Now that you’re on the sever,” you prompted a second later, suddenly sounding normal again. “what do you wanna do?”

He thought for a moment, the wheels in his head turning. “Well, I kind of wanted to work a bit more on my house.”

“Oh, you mean your new house? The one you were building during the, uh—” You paused, searching for the right words. “—big battle?”

He could imagine you making fake air quotes with your fingers, and he laughed, thinking of your scrunched up face. “Pfft, yeah. That’s the one.”

“I haven’t seen it yet,” you admitted, some rustling coming through his headphones. “Do... do you mind showing me it?”

He smiled sheepishly. “No, not at all. But I’m not a very good builder, I hope you know.”

You let out a brief shout, and he jumped in his chair. “Nope! Illegal!”

His eyebrows knit together. “‘Illegal’?” he parroted.

“Illegal,” you said in an affirmative tone. “It’s illegal to be mean to GeorgeNotFound. Even by GeorgeNotFound himself. Sorry I don’t make the rules.” Before he could even think of a response, your character began jumping up and down on his screen. “Now, show me the goods! I’m sure it looks great.”

He was pretty sure he was just a puddle in his chair, now. You were just far too much for his poor heart. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take of this before he lost his mind.

Shaking his head free of thoughts of you, he pressed the W key and watched as he moved forward down the Prime Path and over a hill. “Here, follow me. It’s a bit far from the rest of the server’s homes, but I kind of like it.”

You hummed, thoughtful and soft as the two of you jumped your way over a few hills. “I get you. I mean, we all need our space. I think having your home being more far away is just cozy. Quaint. Probably not going to get robbed by Tommy. It’s a win-win situation!”

He snorted at your words. Probably not going to get robbed by Tommy was a positive he would never pass up. “I’m glad it’s not just me who thinks that.”

It was then that a splash of red among a horizon full of browns and greens came into view. You let out a soft gasp as his hobbit-hole house came into view. “Sooo,” he began, clicking his mouse, “ta-da! Here it is! I know it’s not much, but it’s pretty okay, I think?”

A cry of awe flew from your lips. “Are you kidding me? Your house is so pretty!” You ran forward, your eyes wide as you gazed at the hobbit-style home. “It’s so round and cozy and—oh, the mushrooms!” Your avatar jumped up and down, punching at the air towards his house. “You even added a little moat with a bridge!”

A certain sincerity flooded your voice as you added, “George, don’t lie to me and tell me you suck at building. I love your house.”

He felt his heart melt at your eager tone. Just how endearing could one person be?

“Can we go inside, can we go inside?” you asked, your voice growing bolder as you turned to look at him expectantly.

A bashful smile shot across his face, even though he knew you couldn’t see him. “I—ah, I haven’t actually built the inside yet,” he admitted shyly.

You let out a soft squeal, your avatar running around the screen with a hop. “If you want, we can build it together!” you offered. “I know you’re not super confident in your building skills, but I’m more than happy to help out!”

His heart melted. You were so kind. Too kind, really. How could he say no?

“I would love that,” he said. He moved inside the house, revealing the hollowed out, blank space that would serve as the interior of his house. “So, as you can see, it’s still a work in progress.” He glanced back at you. “Where should we start?

There was a slight pause. “Hmmm.” He could imagine the way you scrunched your nose as you thought, your fingers tapping against the nearest flat surface as you did so. “We could make most of the inside out of birch planks,” you began, “and have some dark oak details. You know, so there’s some really neat contrast between the light and dark parts of your house.”

He could hear you growing giddier and giddier with each passing second. “And we can also add some red and white carpet to match the mushroom aesthetic! Oh, that would look so good! “Your character turned to look at him, a block of birch wood already in hand. “What do you think?”

His heart beat a little faster. I like you, he thought, clear as a bell. I really, really like you, that’s what I think.

“You what?”

He froze.

Oh my god. Did I just say that out loud?

Your voice filled his ears, quiet and shaky. “Um. Yeah.”

A second passed in awkward silence. Then another.

If a Minecraft skin could blush, George’s face would be a tomato.

“I, um,” he stammered, his eyes darting every which way in search of an excuse to leave the call. Just then, his gaze caught on the glass of water he had set to his left. He barely gave himself even a second to think about what to say before he started rambling, speaking in a single, blurted breath.

“I just um spilled water all over myself and wow it’s about to get all over my set-up and that would be really bad so I’m just uh gonna go now okay great bye—”

Before he could embarrass himself anymore, he found himself pressing the ‘end call’ button and closing the window, hanging his head in his hands as he let out a long groan of despair.

Why did he do that? How did he do that?

Groaning again, he slammed his head into his desk, turning to press his cheek into the wood as he stared at his keyboard.

He was an idiot—a big, fat idiot.

In the corner of his eye, he watched as his phone screen lit up. It‘s probably a message from [Y/N], his brain helpfully supplied. She’s probably confused as hell.

“Not helping,” he muttered to himself, sitting up once more.

Well, there was really only one thing he could do now, and that was to get help. Fortunately for him, he knew two people he could definitely ask for advice. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he knew how this conversation was going to go.

Sighing, he opened up Discord again on his monitor.

He was sure things could only go downhill from here.

“You what?!”

George grimaced. He was right. This was a terrible idea. “You don’t have to rub it in my face,” he grumbled.

“I’m—” Wheeze. “I’m not rubbing it in,” Dream explained between gasps for air, “it’s... it’s just that it’s funny.”

George pursed his lips. “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like you’re rubbing it in.”

Sapnap’s voice cut through Dream’s laughter. “Okay, okay, Dream, you’re not helping. Gogy here is having, as Tommy would put it, ‘women problems’, and he needs some help.”

All of a sudden, Dream’s laughter stopped. “If I’m being totally honest,” he said, “I’m not really seeing the problem here.”

There was a beat of silence. “How are you not seeing the problem?” Sapnap said. You could hear the frown in his voice. “George just prematurely confessed his feelings to [Y/N].”

“Yeah, and?”

Another beat of silence.

“What the heck do you mean, ‘and’? That’s the problem!”

George sighed, sinking down in his desk chair. “Dream,” he muttered into his headset, rubbing at his temples, “just spit it out.”

“Look,” he began, “I’m just saying that here’s no advice we could possibly give you, because there’s only one solution.”

“Which is?” Sapnap prompted.

“You just have to tell her outright how you feel.”

George’s jaw dropped and he scrambled to sit up. “No way I’m doing that. Nuh-uh, no thanks.”

Sapnap made a noise of approval. “No, wait—Dream does have a point.”

George felt a stone of uneasiness drop into his stomach. “You’re just saying that because you want to see me make a fool of myself.”

“No, no, nonono, I’m telling the truth!” Dream cried. “Seriously, what other options do you really have? Pretend that you never said anything and just act like nothing happened to confuse her and hope that she forgets?”

“Pretty sure that’s called gaslighting,” Sapnap mumbled.

George glared at his monitor, knowing full well no one could see him. “Not helping.”

“Ignore her for the rest of eternity?” Dream continued. “You’ve already declined six of her calls!” There was a pause, then he carried on. “George, seriously. I want the best for you, and I’m not kidding when I say this is the only viable option, really.”

He stared down at his lap, his hands shaking where they lay. “What if,” he began, “she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, tough luck then, Gogy,” Sapnap said bluntly, “You’re just gonna have to suck it up and move on like the rest of us.”

George pressed his lips into a thin line. While it wasn’t exactly the nicest way to put it, he supposed Sapnap was right. “What if...” He swallowed. “What if I’m not ready?”

A soft sigh came from the other end. “George,” Dream said, his voice sincere, “believe it or not, but no one’s ever ready, really. But if we all waited until we were ready, then we’d be waiting for the rest of our lives.”

George fell quiet. A strange sense of comfort fell over him as he let Dream’s words soak in. Mustering up a deep breath, he smiled.

“Okay. I’ll call her back tonight, alright?”

Sapnap let out a hoot, the sound of clapping filling his headphones. “Let’s go! Get ‘em, Gogy!”

“You really need to stop calling me that.”

“Nah. It’s funny.”

Before George could retort, Dream stepped in. “Remember buddy, no matter what happens, we’ll be here for you, okay? Don’t let your fear hold you back. Hell, you know what? Don’t let your—” Dream suddenly cackled, his voice wheezing into his mic as he sputtered, “Don’t let your dreams be dreams, George!”

George let out a groan, barely able to hear himself over the deafening sound of Dream’s wheezing. “Oh my god, I’m hanging up.”

“Good luck, Gog—”

It was at that moment that he clicked the ‘end call’ button, the sweet sound of silence washing over him. Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the ceiling, the tiniest of smiles gracing his lips.

Maybe calling his friends wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

George stared at his monitor, the dark screen reflecting a mirrored image of himself. His hand opened and closed on his lap, itching to hold onto the mouse.

It had been two days since he’d blurted the words he’d been procrastinating saying for the last god knows how long.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could only see fluttering shots of you. You, with your mouth agape, staring at your screen with your headphones sliding down your neck. You, frantically texting on your phone about everything that had just slipped out of his mouth. You, with your face inevitably twisting in disgust at the thought of someone like him liking someone like you.

I’m not ready, he thought, his reflection blinking back at him.

That’s exactly why you’re going to do this, his reflection said back as his hand moved to his mouse, hovering over it.

You suck, he thought.

The monitor smiled back at him as he moved his cursor. I know.

His screen burst to life, Discord already open and waiting for him. George moved his cursor to hover over your username, his palm starting to sweat. Clicking, he reached over to his keyboard and began to type.

GeorgeNotFound: hey! did you wanna video call?

The moment he hit enter, he ripped his hands away from the keyboard like it was made of hot coals, wiping his hands on his pants. With bated breath, he waited, staring at the green circle accompanying your profile picture. Suddenly, his screen moved.

[y/n] is typing...

His heart leapt into his throat.

[y/n]: okay!

He exhaled a sigh of relief through his nose, his mouse moving to press the hit ‘video call’ button. A few seconds passed with the ringtone echoing through his headphones. A moment later, the ringing stopped and your face filled his screen, the familiar set-up of your room fading in at the corners. His heart swelled at the sight—both with affection and anxiety.

“Um, hi!” you said with a shy smile, your gaze darting away from the screen as you waved at the camera. Despite your bright demeanour and cheery tone, he could practically feel the tension in your shoulders the moment he laid eyes on you.

“H-Hi,” he said back, swallowing as he mustered up a shaky smile. Your gaze flickered to his for a brief second, and in that moment, it almost felt like you two were actually looking at each other in real life. Then you looked away again and something in his chest cracked.

“How are you doing?” he asked slowly, trying to prompt a conversation. “It feels like we haven’t talked in forever.”

Your lips quirked as you tilted your head at him. “We talked, um, two days ago.”

He ignored the embarrassment flaring up on his cheeks. “I mean like, see-each-other-talk talked.” He paused, then adding in a near-whisper. “I missed seeing your face.”

Your rosy lips parted in awe, and he was almost certain that he was never, ever going to forget that expression of yours.

“And, um, h-how—how are you, George?” you stammered out with a shaky voice, curling up a little in your chair. “Are you doing okay?”

George opened his mouth, then shut it. Whenever people asked him if he was okay, his mouth always defaulted to “fine” or “good” or “okay”. Rarely did he ever find himself telling the truth. But now, as he looked at your shy, bashful face, he knew what he had to do. Straightening up, he looked his webcam dead in the eyes.

“I,” he said, “am really, really nervous right now. Like, nervous out of my mind.”

You blinked, finally turning to face him directly at last. “Really?”

He nodded, his anxiety slowly falling away. “Yeah. Do you know why?”

Recognition flickered through your eyes, and your cheeks grew hot once more. “Why, George?”

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and smiled.

It’s now or never.

“I like you, [Y/N]. A lot. What I said earlier was true. It wasn’t some bit, and it wasn’t just some spur of the moment thing. I really do like you a lot, and I would like it if you would be my g—”

He almost choked on his own words, oh-so very aware of just how hot his face was. “And I,” he began again, squeezing his eyes shut, “would love it if you would be my girlfriend.”

He couldn’t look—he couldn’t. He missed seeing your face, he really did, but he knew that if he looked now, he would only be met with disappointment. You, with a frown on your face, only deepening with each passing second. You, with guilt in your eyes for not reciprocating his feelings. You, with your soft lips mouthing four words he wish he didn’t have to hear.

I’m so sorry, George. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—

“I like you, too.”

His eyes flew open, his mouth agape.

Those were not the four words he was expecting to hear.

He lifted his head, his gaze taking in every inch of his screen. A bright, glowing smile was plastered across your face, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“For real?” he breathed, disbelief wracking every inch of his being.

You nodded, a laugh tumbling from your lips and lighting up his insides. “Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

George felt a smile of his own creep across his face as he ran a hand through his hand, something happier than joy rushing through his veins.

Oh god, he thought, wanting to scream it from the top of the nearest building. I like you, I like you, I like you. I like you a lot lot.

“I like you a lot lot, too.”

He froze. Did I say that out loud, again?

Your grin widened. “Yes.”

For a second, he almost shriveled up in shame. But then he shook his head and laughed, basking in the warmth of your smile.

A few days ago, he might have been embarrassed. But now?

Well, if it was with you, he supposed he wouldn’t mind speaking his mind more often.

1K notes · View notes

andreafmn · 3 years

Text

I'm Not Afraid - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,325

Characters: Female Reader Argent Character, Original Male Argent Character, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Chris Argent, Jackson Whittemore

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father's sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin's, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Teen Wolf, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and MTV Network. The only thing I own is Argent Reader insert, her immediate family, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others' storyline.

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Description: (Y/N) finally arrives at Beacon Hills for the funeral of her aunt and meets a certain wolf to which she feels a special connection.

A/N: Second fandom I'm writing for. I love Teen Wolf so much and the trope of hard Derek but only soft for you makes my heart sing. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Next ->

Chapter 1

I hugged the black coat to my body as hard as I could whilst pushing through the sea of press. Our family's last name became quite known after the reports about my aunt, whose burial we were attending. She had allegedly burned down a house with people in it. She killed them in cold blood. I hugged my grieving uncle and his less grieving wife, then my cousin who had a painful look on her face. I hugged her the longest. She let herself crumble on my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Even though she was a horrible person she was still our aunt, family.

I took my seat behind Allison when my father, my mother, uncle Chris, and aunt Victoria stood up. Allison didn't lift her head and neither did I. I just tried to comfort her.

"It's been such a long time I don't expect you to call me grandpa." We both looked up to see a white-haired man who resembled the Argent features. "Don't worry about it, just call me Gerard." He hugged both of us, an overpowering aura emanating from his being. When we were engulfed, I looked to the side and saw two boys squatting behind a gravestone. If they were hiding, they were doing a horrible job at it.

"But I prefer Grandpa," Gerard said walking to his seat. I sat back down and drifted off during the whole ceremony. Once it was over, I joined my parents and we drove to our new house. I have a feeling that life here will be very interesting.

That weekend I decided that I had been putting working out off for too long. I changed into comfortable workout clothes and gave food to my dog, Brody. I headed out the door, put my earbuds on, and started to jog. I really didn't know where I was going since it was a new place for me, all I know is that I kept running until I reached the woods. The bad thing about this, I had no idea how to get back home. Even though I knew of this sidetrack and I knew I would be late to get back home, I kept running, needing a release from the mundane feeling of being new in town and having to reunite from our estranged family in a funeral.

I had gained a lot of momentum. God knows how fast I was running at this point that is until I hit something, it almost felt like a wall. When I looked up, I saw a very handsome guy. Spiked hair, green eyes, and slight stubble. If it weren't for the fact that I was already sweaty I would have started to sweat showers of how nervous I was. That is until he opened his mouth.

"Watch where you're going." He growled at me.

"How about you fucking move and not be a prick?" He looked at me with big eyes, probably in surprise, but quickly changed to his menacing look. Who was he trying to fool?

"Well, this is private property, which means that you're trespassing, meaning you should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I'm sorry but a burnt-down house with almost no walls or roof is barely a property. So, how about you stop being an idiot and I can be on my way." I started to jog once again but he gained my attention once more.

"You're new here, aren't you?" I turned around to face him.

"What's it to you?" He raised his eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes." The cockiness oozed out of his pores.

"And why the hell should that matter?"

"Because no one would dare talk to me that way."

"Who would be afraid of a little sour wolf?" He tensed up. "Dude, chill. I'm just kidding. But I doubt anyone would be afraid of Mr...."

"Hale. Derek Hale." He said extending his hand to me. Gee, after screaming at me he wants us to be acquaintances. I thought about not shaking his hand, but I didn't want to be rude. Well, more than I have been already.

"(Y/N). Argent." I shook his hand. Strong grip. Suddenly I felt a rush of déjà vu; I had met him the day before. "Wait, aren't you that guy I accidentally hit with my grocery cart yesterday?"

"Yeah, that really hurt. You hit my ankle. You could've had me limping."

"But you're not, so be grateful I didn't break your ankle." He laughed. "Damn, if I had known how cocky you really were, I would've hit you harder."

"So, you admit that you hit me?"

"Oh yeah, of course, I hit you. Accidentally that is."

"Yeah, yeah."

I looked around trying to find where the hell I had come from but there wasn't even the slightest trail as to where I was to go.

"So, miss (Y/N). Do you even know your way home?"

"No, but I'm sure I can find my way back." Then, he took keys out of his pocket and pointed to his car.

"Come on, I'll drive you around and you just tell me when something seems familiar."

"And why should I go with the guy that almost ripped out my throat for bumping into him? For all I know you could be driving me to my death." I crossed my arms over my chest, and he let out a loud sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry for snapping. But I'm trying to be nice. That doesn't happen very often."

"Alright, Mr. Hale. I'll let you take me home just because you are being nice now, after being a prick, and I'm exhausted."

"See, no one can resist me." I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. Seriously does he buy cans of it on eBay?

"Don't get cocky with me. I can punch the living daylights out of you." He chuckled and started to drive.

We drove for about 20 minutes until I finally recognized the curb that led to my house. Upon arriving at my driveway, I got out of the car and walked to the driver’s side.

"Give me your hand” For some reason, I felt compelled to do so. He took a pen and wrote down a number. "Call me if you ever need a tour of the town."

Three weeks later, I walked inside the school to meet up with Allison. I moved here with my family since dad had some business taking float. Being the new kid in town is never fun. I would know. I switch schools almost every year. The pro and con about this would be not being attached to anyone. Usually, I'm the one who doesn't talk to anyone and is called a freak. A derogatory term given to people who are way too different from others, but a title I wore proudly.

"Oh my gosh, (Y/N)! How have you been?" Allison wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. It was as if she hadn't seen me just three weeks ago.

"Hi, Allison. I've been good, getting acclimated to the new town. You?" You would think that because we were cousins, I would be more affectionate towards her but honestly, I wouldn't see her again for like three more years, so what's the point?

"I'm good. A little rocky at the start of coming here but good." Then, a boy with a buzz cut and one with great brown hair walked by and smiled at Alli. "Ooh, you should come meet my friends. Stiles, Scott!! Come here." The boys turned around with goofy grins on their faces.

"Hey, Allison. Who's this?" Buzzcut kid said.

"This is my cousin, (Y/N). She just moved here from Virginia."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Scott." The one with the great hair said.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Stiles." I shook their hands and smiled.

"Nice to meet you, too, buzzcut." Allison and Scott laughed but Stiles only ran his hand through his hair, suddenly becoming hyperaware of his lack of locks.

"Allison. Who might this sexy lady be?" I rolled my eyes. The last thing I need is a narcissist with a god-complex trying to get close.

"Oh, Jackson, this is my cousin, (Y/N)."

"Hi." He extended his hand and looked me up and down.

"Hi." I smiled sarcastically, and when I didn't extend my hand, he dropped his.

Finally, after standing awkwardly behind Allison whilst her friends talked, the bell rang. Talk about saved by the bell.

"Hey, (Y/N), what's your first class?" I checked my schedule.

"Um, chemistry."

"Oh, good, then you're coming with us to Mr. Harris' class," Scott said pointing towards him and Stiles. I smiled and walked behind them.

Once we got to the classroom everyone turned to me, the ever-present sign of being new in the class evident in the stare of my classmates.

"Um, hi, my name is (Y/N) Argent and I'm new." The teacher, whom I guess is Mr. Harris, turned around to face me.

"Oh, yes, Miss Argent. Welcome. You will be sitting next to Isaac Lahey. Lahey, raise your hand." Once Isaac raised his hand, I noticed he was sat near Stiles and Scott. Two people I was trying to avoid. As I walked past, I accidentally pushed Stiles' book on his lap, startling him, resulting in an awkward descent from his lab stool onto the floor.

"Hi, again. I guess we are gonna see a lot of each other for the rest of the school year." I nodded and he scratched the back of his neck. "So, um, what school did you come from?"

"Lancaster High," I responded whilst writing down what Mr. Harris was writing on the board. Stiles kept trying to talk to me, but I would only give him short, cold answers or just ignore him. That is until Mr. Harris called our attention, that's when he finally got the memo to shut up.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to introduce myself since we're gonna be seated next to each other all year. I'm Isaac."

"I figured." I tried giving him my best smile. The vibe he was giving off seemed like he needed it. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Well, nice to meet you, (Y/N). Now I'll leave you to the class because if I don't I know I'll be failing even more than I am."

"Oh, well, maybe I can tutor you some time. I'm actually really good at science. My mom was a chemist professor once upon a time so I'm bound to understand all this."

"Really?!" His puppy eyes seemed to light up and I nodded. "That would actually be amazing."

"Sure thing. Now let's get back to class."

After Chemistry finished, I put everything in my bag as quickly as possible and sped to my next class, Math. Thankfully, none of Allison's friends shared this class with me but I did share it with Isaac. I didn't consider him much a friend but more an acquaintance in desperate need of help.

As the day progressed, I noticed the rest of my classes were shared with one or more of Allison's friends. They all tried to strike up a conversation but were quickly discouraged when met with my one-worded or vague answers. Especially, Stiles. He tried especially hard to get answers out of me, only being met with the occasional laugh or stare at his comical occurrences. He seemed like the kind of person you could just open up to. The same could be said about Scott. His shy nature was alluring, and he portrayed himself as a very trustworthy and loyal being.

But I would not allow myself to let them in. My whole being yearned for a real friendship, someone to share nothing and everything; never again.

At lunch, I sat outside and ate my food quietly, a book in front of my face to shield my eyes from the sun the prevalent stares of my peers. After some minutes of appreciated loneliness, the empty table was filled with conversating teenage bodies. I smiled politely but, in my mind, I was cursing them out.

"So, (Y/N), how's your day been?" Allison asked whilst munching on an apple. I swallowed what was left of my bite and answered.

"Fine, thank you." This time no one pressed on after my short answers, finally getting the hint of my disinterest. In the corner of my eye, I saw Isaac sitting under a tree munching on half a sandwich. I excused myself and went to join him, heavily enjoying his tranquil aura.

"Oh, hi, (Y/N)." He smiled sheepishly.

"Hey, Isaac. Is that all you're eating?"

"Yeah. I'm not very hungry." He looked down as if he were ashamed.

"Nonsense! Here," I gave him the other half of my burger and another bag of chips I had in my bag. "You can't tell me you're not hungry. You're a boy in peak development."

"Thanks." He smiled as he continued munching on his food. I put on some music and we continued eating in silence. No conversation required.

The day went on smoother than it started. Classes flew by fairly quickly and the incessant chit-chat seemed to diminish. During last period I was like every other student, anxiously waiting for the bell to signal the end of the school day. When my pleads were answered, I packed the necessary book into my bag and left the rest in my locker, expertly avoiding any more social encounters. Quickly, I made my way to the waiting open car door of my father's car, ignoring Allison's beckoning me t.wards the small group of friends.

"How was your first day, darling?" My father spoke up breaking my attention from the scenery.

"Like any other first day I've had." I smiled. "The towns might change but school is always the same."

Finally at home, we were greeted with the sight of my mother cooking; people were coming over.

"(Y/N), honey, Chris, Victoria, and Allison are coming over tonight. So, go do a quick workout and come back to get ready." I nodded and ran to my room to change into workout clothes.

My routine would normally consist of waking up, working out, go to school for a dreading eight hours, come back home, workout again, do my homework, eat, and go to sleep. I lead a very monotonous life and it had been this way since I could remember. One of my earliest memories was of my father teaching me archery alongside Allison, a great distraction to our always disrupted home life. As I got older, my father started training me in boxing and knife maneuvering. How would these skills help me in life were still a mystery but I felt safe knowing them.

I got changed and decided to take Brody out with me on a quick jog through the woods. "Hey, boy, ready to go?"

He jumped on me which I took as a yes and started for the woods. We ran down the same trail I had been going on for the past three weeks. Mostly, I went down this track in hopes that Derek would make an appearance, and today was not the exception. As the ruins of his house came to view so did his tall figure.

"Trespassing again?"

"It doesn't count if I know the owner." During our greeting, Brody's leash slipped out of my hand and he ran to jump on Derek, leaving slobbering licks on his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He chuckled and helped me bring him down.

"I guess he likes you, even though he doesn't like anyone but me. Guess you're special."

"Maybe." He grinned.

Out of nowhere, I hit him in the shoulder. "What was that for?!"

"For trying to run me over with your shopping cart two days ago. It was uncalled for."

"No, it was revenge. You hit ME first. In the ankle."

"You're still on with that. Come on, sour wolf. That happened three weeks ago, and it was an accident."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll give you a ride home. It's getting kind of dark." This had also become part of my routine. After "bumping" into Derek he would offer to drop me off at my house, claiming it was for security.

"Okay, we're here. By the way, the offer to show you around town is still up. Just call me whenever." He said as he stopped the car in front of my house.

"Alright, will do, and thanks for the ride, Derek. I'd invite you in, but my family is coming over."

"No worries, maybe another time."

"It's a date. Anyways, thanks again. See you when I see you."

"Okay, goodnight."

"Night." He waited until I entered the house and drove away.

"Munchkin, is that you?" My father screamed from the kitchen.

"Yeah!" I screamed back.

"Okay, well, go take a shower and get ready your uncle will get here soon."

I hurried up the stairs and hopped in the shower letting the hot water stream down my body calming any aching muscle that was palpitating. In my room, I searched through my closet for an acceptable family dinner outfit, deciding a grey sweater and black jeans would be enough. I braided my hair out of my face and went downstairs to help my mother set the table.

After we put the last plate the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" I ran to the door and was greeted by my uncle. "Uncle Chris!" I jumped and he hugged me. There was no doubt that he was my favorite family member, his presence was always welcoming. His wife on the other hand was as cold as the winters we spent in New York. She was nice but absolutely scary. "Hi, Aunt Victoria."

"Hello, (Y/N)." I hugged her and said hi to Allison.

"Come in, guys." They walked in and I closed the door behind them.

"So, (Y/N), how have you been?" Uncle Chris asked while stuffing his mouth with mom's famous lasagna.

"I've been good. I mean, moving all the time takes a toll on you at first, but I got used to it. It's easy now to pack it all up once the school year ends."

"Oh, honey, that must be so hard on you," Victoria said. I could not read her tone, her words spoke in sympathetic notes with an underlying melody of sarcasm. Not knowing what to answer, I bit my lip and nodded.

The whole evening was spent on us catching up and eating, laughing, playing games, but the good times came to an end when the clock hit 9:00 pm. It was stupid to set a curfew, but my mom usually had everyone in bed at this time, 10:30 as of late.

"You better come around the house more often." Uncle Chris demanded and hugged me.

"Yes, sir." I raised my hand to my eyebrow and saluted, as did he.

"Let's go, Chris. And thank you for the lovely dinner, Rebecca," Victoria said linking arms with my uncle and smiling at mom.

"No problem. Come by any time." They talked for a bit more and after they left, I went upstairs to change for bed.

"Momma, I'm gonna go to sleep."

"Okay, honey. Goodnight." I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and put my hair in a ponytail.

Before bed, I made sure everything I would need for the next day was packed into my bag and made sure my alarm was set. I pulled all the throw pillows from my bed and set them aside, then making my way to the window to draw the curtains. Something caught my attention in the backyard, though. My eyes squinted trying to make out the figure in front of me. Blinking the confusion away, I made a double-take and looked back at an empty yard. I laughed to myself as I crept into bed. Why would Derek be in my backyard?

Next ->

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Remember that Beast!Reader fic with the yandere prince? I loved that one! Can I please request ‘Tears’ from your prompt list for this please?

I was thinking that maybe a few years pass by while the reader is still stuck in beast form, but during that time the person appointed as an alternative caretaker for the reader (obviously the prince can’t be around ALL the time if he has to maintain his kingdom and keep up his image) slowly starts forming a friendly relationship and with even something as small as a forehead kiss to the beast, it is enough to break the curse. But the two don’t get enough time to celebrate before the prince barges in👀

I’m uncomfortable with nsfw and anything too sexual but I enjoy the creepiness and horror that follows a yandere character so I hope you can write it like that please😭🥺 Oh! And please let there be some hope that the reader will either be saved or she saves herself. Even better if the reader decides that she wants to save herself and the boy who broke her curse🤩

Thank you! So sorry if I’m requesting a lot😭🙏

Oh, my sweet little anons, when was the last time I gave you a happy end, huh? But thanks for requesting a continuation, I am glad you all enjoyed it so much ^-^ What a good idea you had there!

Tears - “Sweetie, don’t cry.. they didn’t love you as much as I did.. I’ll help you over the heart break.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Panting, you urged your legs forward, always one step further than you made at a time. The chilly night air burnt in your lungs, and your bare feet were icy and wet from the forest ground, but neither you nor the person holding your hand so gently in his thought about stopping. Only wrapped in a big rag, you should have been cold, but when he squeezed your hand encouragingly, you believed you could manage it all.

It hadn’t been too long since you started your way on foot down the hill the old castle sat upon. Sooner or later, the prince would find out you escaped, and surely, they would also notice your Beloved having fled the scene. There had been no reason for him to stay. Losing you was enough to get sentenced to death, his lifeless body thrown into a bog rather than buried. So why wouldn’t he leave with you? There certainly was no reason for him to stay in the wretched service of the king.

But sooner or later, they would come for you, that much was sure.

So, you two had to hurry, but even so, you couldn’t keep from smiling, especially when he looked back over his shoulder, his warm, green eyes shining without any regrets. You two had known each other far too little, but he never once hesitated to show you his affection for you, even when you still were the hideous atrocity that you had turned into to escape the prince for the first time.

Perhaps, everything that happened was fate. Even if it had been harsh and awful, it happened so that you two could meet and start a better life together somewhere new. Even if you wished now that you two could have met under different circumstances, now, you didn’t regret your life from before anymore. Now, you could simply look ahead to the future that waited for you.

Or so you thought; you should have known better.

The soaring of arrows pierced through the silence of the night. One hit the bark of the tree before you, fire spreading from its alcohol-soaked peak. Your eye widened, as did you’re companions, and you soon found yourself ducking as another one flew over your heads.

You couldn’t spare a second to look back over your shoulder as you two urged onwards, picking up the pace. Your legs were tired and shaking, but you knew that you had to go faster and faster, or else you or he would get hit. It were moments like these in which you wished you were still a beast. One which could run faster than any arrow. One that could fight and protect what was important to you. But that was no longer, true love’s kiss having sealed that specific fate already.

It was too late when you realized that the arrows so far had not been to stop you two from getting away. Instead, as they began to light up tree after tree, you realized they were there to banish the secrecy of the forest and make the dark disappear. At the same time, they made you two run into the directions your followers wanted you to go. If you looked back now, you knew who you’d see, no robbers smart enough to roam the forest around the prince’s castle, so there really was no reason for any other armed party to hunt you down.

And yet, you did, too afraid that if you didn’t, things would go way worse.

The moment you looked over your shoulder, another arrow flew past you, grazing your cheek. You knew where it would hit way before your companion cried out in pain, his hand letting go of yours as a reflex. He sank to his knee for a moment, cursing under his breath as you hurried to his side, seeing the arrow lodged in his shoulder. “Oh god,” you stammered as you sank next to him, hands hovering over the wound. “W-We can fix it, I’m sure, we just have to--!”

“There’s no time!” he interrupted you firmly as if he hadn’t just been shot with an arrow. Without wasting even another second, he got up again, grabbed you by the wrist, and moved forward. You caught a glimpse at his face, determination brimming from his features, but pearls of sweat collected at his forehead. He was clearly in pain, showing it in the way he held his own shoulder with his free hand, but he hadn’t given up yet. He would move on until you two were safe, and though you sympathized with his pain, you were so thankful he didn’t give up yet.

You two ran as fast as you could, but soon you couldn’t ignore the sound of armor behind you anymore, hooves trotting closer while torches lit up the forest more and more. It was almost spooky that no words were muttered, and you expected someone to call orders every now and then, but you had seen the clothes of your followers briefly; you knew who they were. The prince’s guards, clad in the finest silver and trained to the point of being nothing more than human dogs. They ceased speaking if not absolutely necessary, their eyes were soulless, and their hearts without a hint of benevolence. Them being after you could only mean one thing.

The prince wanted you back.

Another arrow getting stuck in the tree you just passed. You knew everything they did wasn’t fun but coldly calculated tactics. They wouldn’t hurt you. They couldn’t. Your cheek bleeding would probably cause one of them to get degraded to a chair for three months at least, so they really couldn’t afford to hurt you more seriously. But they did know who they could hurt you with. Someone whose pain would hurt you more than your own.

The next arrow missed completely, lost in the leaves on the ground. You two were running out of all the adrenaline you had, slowly and surely having exhaustion catch up to you. No! Please no! You begged the entities above that this wouldn’t be the end! There was so much more to live for, so much to see and experience! You wanted to be with your former caretaker, the only one who ever took you and your feelings seriously enough. You two could build a house and keep far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, farming and taking care of livestock until the end of time. So please! Don’t let this be the end of it!

However, against your expectations, the one to collapse first was him. This time, the arrows didn’t miss, one hitting him in the lower back, one scarily close to his spine. Teardrops pearled from your cheeks as you fell into to mud with him, your hands scrapping along the roots and stones of the ground as you crawled back to where he laid, softly whimpering. Reaching for an arrow, you wanted to pull it out in desperation, but he began to cry out in pain before you could even start pulling.

“LEAVE!” he screamed. “LEAVE AND RUN!”

You couldn’t hold back the sobs hearing these words. “Please...” his hand reached for yours as he tried his best to look up to you. “Go, find a safe place to hide! Leave for another country and never come back!”

“No...” you sobbed, bringing one hand covered in mud and blood to your face. “I don’t want to leave you...”

“They are after you, not me,” he tried to reassure you, but you knew better. The sounds of their heavy footsteps drew closer and closer, and finding him, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill this ‘traitor’. If you went, then he’d die. But if you stayed and got caught, he’d die as well. No choice you could make would end happily for the both of you. “Please, go. I want you to-- ARGH!” Interrupted by his own scream, you began to panic, calling his name and shaking his arm, only to look up as a shadow was cast over you.

“[Name],” the prince sighed, relief showing in his face. He had this small, exhausted smile on his lips, happiness in his features as he looked at you. However, the moment he looked down at your companion, his face began to contort into a hateful grimace, his leg lifting once more to give your Beloved’s back a not-so-gentle kick. “No! Stop!” you cried, latching onto his leg as the kicks came down, your partner’s screams echoing through the forest.

“Don’t worry, I will get rid of the scoundrel who kidnapped you. I will save you! Just like I always do!”

“No! You’re hurting him! Stop it! Please... Please stop!”

Never had you imagined that you’d ever find yourself so low again that you’d beg the prince for something. Before, it had been for your life, but now, it was for the life of the only person that really mattered to you. “Oh, Sweetheart,” the prince cooed, his fingers finding their way under your chin, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t cry... he didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak once we’re done here.”

The prince let go roughly as he pulled his sword from his sheath as you fell to the ground next to your partner. For a moment, time seemed to stop as you stood up in a matter of seconds. Panicked, you decided to throw yourself in front of the sword instead, but a hand grabbed yours before you could. Looking down at your Beloved, smiling warmly and encouraging as he muttered the final words you’d hear from him.

“Go.”

It was like he set you free, even if your definition of free originally included him. “Eh, Darling?!” you heard as you took off in a second spurt of adrenaline, the prince screaming your name after you. But your mind completely shut off the moment you passed the last lit-up arrow, sinking back into the darkness. Everything was blurry, your vision stained with your tears that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you rubbed your eyes with your dirty hands.

Your feet must have started bleeding as you kept running faster and faster, but you gave them no mind, not even feeling the pain. All you felt was the wound in your throbbing heart, something that the prince couldn’t heal no matter how much he believed he could. You wanted to understand your former caretaker’s action, telling you to go rather than defend him. If you had been in his place, surely, you had done the same. But it was as if you were the one who got betrayed by yourself by running away. By giving up on something hopeless, you felt like you were betraying everything you had ever stand for. How pathetic you were, running, trying to get the better future you had hoped to build with him.

Next thing you knew, you stumbled as the ground gave away to a slope before you, your body tumbling down the wet leaves and sturdy roots, your skim getting scratched by the branches of bushes all around you. It was pure luck that your fingers closed around one big tree root the moment they did; otherwise, you surely would have fallen from the cliff that opened up beneath you, instead of just hanging on to it now.

Only now your ears regained their function, the rushing of waves sounding far too deep and far too rough beneath you as to simply be a river. Had you run all the way to the shore? Was it the big sea beneath you? Either it had been closer than you thought, or you did develop some superhuman abilities after changing into a beast.

Groaning, you tried to pull yourself back over the edge, the slightly forward-leaning stone not being any help in rescuing yourself. Even more so, you had to realize the light of torches drawing closer and closer by the second, while you still struggled to escape the death by falling into the unruly water from a great height.

“[Name]!” you heard the screech of your name, genuine worry resounding from it. The prince’s face was the last thing you wanted to see, especially as he looked so damn horrified at the sight of you barely holding on to the cliff. “Don’t move! I’ll pull you up!” he called as he slit down the slope as best as he could without falling himself until he reached you. It was strange. You should have been happy that you wouldn’t be dying. That someone would save you from this horrific fate.

But all you felt was pure despair.

If he pulled you up, then that would be it. He’d take you back, lock you up again and do as he pleased with you. Who knew if you’d ever get a chance on escaping again, especially if he made an example out of your previous companion about what would happen if anyone ever helped you. You’d have nothing left but to live your life as a mere plaything, captured by the prince that was so beloved by everyone, and you didn’t want to think about all the things he’d do to you now that you were human again.

His hands reached out, and you noticed them faintly in your vision. Your decision fell only seconds before he could grab you by the arms. It was too dark to see, too dark to even speculate how deep it was, but you decided it was better than becoming an empty shell of a person if you stayed with the prince.

No matter what would await you in the depths down below, it couldn’t be worse than being a subject to his twisted, self-righteous love, you decide. Letting go was easier than you thought, making you realize your body must understand this situation very well even if it might cost it its life. The face of the prince as you slipped from his grasp was a priceless last sight to see before you closed your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

Until your back hit the water, engulfing you wholly like the hungry, desperate maw of an animal. Deeper and deeper until it was everywhere, and only then you opened your eyes again for one last glimpse of the blurred light above.

#prince #yandere prince #yandere!prince #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #lovelove prompts #Anonymous

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lordoftherazzles · 3 years

Note

Maybe a fic prompt (if you wanna do it)? I was looking at one of your gifs (they're stunning btw) and I was thinking of something like Bilbo admiring the view and saying "This is stunning" and Thorin agreeing but while gazing at the hobbit? This is kinda cliché but I feel it would be very cute. Also your writing is superior, I love it ( ꈍᴗꈍ)ﾉ✿

Ahhh!!! I love this prompt so much @nerdymeatball13 , and I'm sorry it took me a hot second to finish, lots of things piled on me at once but here we are!!

prompt "This is stunning"

word count 1789

relationship(s) thorin oakenshield/bilbo baggins

character(s) thorin oakenshield, bilbo baggins

warnings none

additional notes they're so schmoopy and I love them

-----

The worst was over. The Battle of the Five Armies had been something to both mourn and celebrate. Many lives had been lost, but the good that came from that outweighed the bad. A close scare came with the Line of Durin, but by some miracle or nothing short of divine intervention by Mahal himself, Thorin, Fili, and Kili all managed to pull through. It was a blessing that no one took for granted, especially the victims themselves.

Thankfully, that was several weeks ago. It was still tough for Thorin to be on his feet, but with enough stubborn resistance, he had managed to ward off most of those constantly fussing over his bandaging and stitches. Oin never let him out of bed for more than an hour at a time, but it was more freedom than Thorin had felt ever since he’d been carted back into the mountain with nearly half of his insides trying to spill outside.

This was one of those particular hours that he was allowed to be up and wandering around. He’d set aside all paperwork and kingly duties for the sake of a simple walk in hopes that it might clear his mind. Between recovery and trying to do as much as possible to help in Erebor’s reconstruction both literally and as a power, Thorin felt bogged down. There was little time for much else, and his mind had been growing more and more muddled as the weeks went on. A mind that was constantly in worry of what the spring months might bring as they were growing nearer and nearer.

Bilbo had opted to stay considering the winter months had settled in, which was a smart move versus trying to brave any snowstorm, but it was still up in the air if the hobbit had truly planned to head back west towards his cozy little smial, or if...by chance maybe he wanted to make Erebor his new home. It wasn’t something Thorin brought up. Yes, they had made amends, even more than that, with sweet somethings having been uttered occasionally back and forth, but it wasn’t the picture perfect romance that Thorin had been dreaming about lately.

Love was nice and all, and even better when it wasn’t one-sided, but to remain unknowing as to where it might lead? That was a nightmare in itself. It was a lot for Thorin to think about, and while he didn’t want to pressure Bilbo and flat out ask if he intended to stay or go, it was starting to eat away at the dwarf little by little. It’s what this walk was to help him with. To clear his head and hopefully return to his sickbed with a mind for papers and numbers.

What had led him towards one of the worst places in all of Erebor during this calm walk of his? The ramparts were a miserable place, but it gave you a good view of the stretch of land between Erebor and Dale, and not even Thorin could ignore what a sight it was. Snow covered and untouched, it was hard to imagine the brown and red blood stains that laid beneath it from a war not too long ago.

What he hadn’t expected was for someone else to already be out here and staring just as he wanted to. A head of dark golden curls that Thorin had been trying to clear from his own headspace.

“Bilbo,” The dwarf greeted casually, gaining a small glance from the hobbit as they stood side by side with at least a small gap between them.

“Good morning, Thorin. How are you feeling?” Bilbo was polite as ever as if nothing had changed, and while they were on good terms, didn’t this place...bother the hobbit? At all?

“I’m feeling alright,” No one wanted to listen to Thorin complain about how sore he might be or if he had a bad sleep last night, so he left it at that. Besides, the less whining he did, the sooner Oin would get off his back.

“That’s good. Every day is a little bit better, it seems.”

“Indeed,” It was an awkward conversation all over again. Thorin folded his arms behind his back and just let his eyes drift towards the snow covered land before them. A bit of that snow had collected on the ledges of Erebor’s structure, he could only imagine how lovely it might look from a different angle. “You looked to be deep in thought, is something on your mind?”

Bilbo finally pulled all of his attention away from the scenery and offered Thorin a small wave of his hand. “Oh, just thinking about the Shire. We get snow there too and it’s nice, but...there’s just something about this that’s different.”

Thorin’s heart could have sunk right into the ground right then and there. Bilbo was longing for home, wasn’t he? Those rolling green hills, even in the middle of winter, had to be far better than an ice cold mountain that was barely able to be called a kingdom. Finally deciding to toe the line of truths regarding Bilbo’s intentions, Thorin kept his eyes forward. “I’m sure you’ll be ready for the snow to clear sooner rather than later. It makes for bad travel weather…”

“Hm, it does, but I’m not exactly eager to go anywhere so quickly. You’re just getting back on your feet. Oin can’t handle barking at you to sit still all on his own now, can he?” Bilbo teased, seeming to be in higher spirits than Thorin ever would be on these ramparts, and with the idea of Bilbo’s departure looming in his head.

A small breath of amusement did escape Thorin though, finally removing his hands from behind his back and placing it on the stone before him. “I think I can manage to sit still, but your constant reminders have helped these past few weeks.” His fingers twitched, tapping against the stone in anxiousness that wasn’t overly normal. Considering everything that Thorin had been through though, he supposed he was allowed a little bit of shaky behavior and anxiousness.

“Something’s troubling you,” Bilbo observed. It wasn’t a question, but a fact that was being pointed out far too easily. “What is it?” Placing both hands around one of Thorin’s arms, Bilbo honestly couldn’t get enough of these small gestures of physical contact, even if he was a tad anxious himself when it came to initiating them.

Regardless of the comforting touch around his elbow, Thorin wasn’t sure it did anything to soothe his poor frayed nerves. Those nerves were exposed as soon as Bilbo was able to peg that something was bothering him and the words just started tumbling out. “How can you stand to be here?” Specifically, right in this very spot. “After what happened, how can you stand here and…”

Throw him from the ramparts!

How could Bilbo be here? How could he have forgiven Thorin for the wrongs he had done and a life that had been threatened? How could Bilbo not be whining and clawing at the first opportunity to head back to the safety of the Shire? These were the things that had been bothering Thorin, and being in this exact spot did not help.

“Thorin, you need to stop letting one small incident eat away at you. I’ve forgiven you for all of that, you weren’t yourself…”

“That’s no excuse. I laid a hand on you. You might be able to forgive me by some miracle, but I can’t forgive myself for that day...and now, knowing that you’ll be leaving-”

“Leaving? Who said anything about leaving?” Bilbo huffed, still clutching at Thorin’s elbow with both hands and giving his head a firm shake of annoyance as if he were dealing with a child. “You truly are a dolt sometimes. Handsome, brave and foolhardy to boot, but downright stupid when it counts.”

Thorin wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed at the backhanded compliments flying his way.

“You’re going to have to learn to forgive yourself because honestly, I’m not going to come up here and have you mope every single time all because you got a little angry and said some things and...that was it. That’s all you did,” When Bilbo put it that way, it sounded far less severe than Thorin thought it was. “And as for leaving? That was...something I wanted to ask you. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but I do want to stay. Sure, I’ll miss my garden and some other aspects of the Shire but...home isn’t a place, Thorin.” Bilbo slid his hands away from Thorin’s elbow, his fingers lacing with a hand of the dwarf’s and giving it a small squeeze. “You’re my home, and that’s where I want to be if you’ll allow it.”

Thorin stood dumbly, looking towards their linked hands before letting his fingers flex tightly to grip back at Bilbo’s. “Of course…” Having Bilbo stay was all he ever wanted.

“Good, and don’t you worry, we’ll make some better memories here, I’m sure.” Leaning against Thorin’s side with hands still tightly wound together, Bilbo just exhaled a deep sigh as if a great weight had been lifted off of his chest. The same could be said for Thorin.

A ray of light seemed to break through the thick of the gray clouds overhead, illuminating a bit of that freshly fallen snow that laid across the stretch of land as far as the eye could see. It sparkled like a sea of diamonds, and Bilbo couldn’t help the small gasp of wonder that crossed his face. He had seen snow in the sunlight before, but seeing it from way up here? To see so far and wide covered in little glistening crystals? “This is stunning,” He breathed, not paying Thorin much mind who had just been staring at Bilbo since that small gasp escaped his lips.

“Very stunning, indeed.” That look of wonder that Bilbo wore was bright and appealing. More desirable than a treasure hall of gold or a vein of mithril.

Bilbo’s gaze flickered once quickly to start, if only because he wanted to follow Thorin’s gaze to see what the dwarf was looking at as well to deem as stunning, but after a quick double take, Bilbo was blushing fiercely. “You truly are a sappy old thing, you know that?”

“I do.” Pressing a kiss to those dark golden curls, Thorin truly had to believe in what Bilbo had said before. They would make better memories atop these ramparts, and already that seemed to be a reality in the making, but most importantly, he was here to stay.

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #bagginshield #thilbo #hobbit fanfic #hobbit fic #bagginshield fic #razzywrites #razquests #thank you for the request!

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: chapter threeeee here it is!!! hehe thank you all for being patient for this update and thank you as always for giving this fic your love!! i start out the first part of this chapter in 3rd person which is a lil different, but i wanted to try it out! hehe i love hearing what ya thought of the chapter too! 😊

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, skz side characters, 3rd person for the first section, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, mentions of food, brief talk of gaining weight while travelling, there’s a few spoilers hidden in this one...can ya find them? ;)

CWs: blood and other wounds, shooting at a convenience store, thoughts about death and dying when in peril

Word count: 5.6k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

Two years of pocket change and Seungmin had finally saved up enough money to afford to study abroad. It had nearly taken him life and limb, and he might’ve suffered (1) concussion from a bowl of soup being thrown at his head, but, he had done it.

With grease stains on his sneakers Seungmin traversed the long and stretching corridor of the airport terminal with his backpack strapped onto him tightly. The air smelled different here. It was fresher than he was used to--coming from a large city center--everything here felt more pristine. Outside of the tall glass windows, airplanes lifted off into the sky like massive metal giants. He couldn’t remember properly, but the last time that he must’ve been on a plane, it likely had been when his mother...

Seungmin shook the dusty and cobwebbed ideas out from his head.

No more sad thoughts.

I’m gonna like it here. He thought to himself, then clipped the little buckle to his backpack straps over his chest with a determined huff.

I’m really going to like it here.

With his phone in hand, he tried his best to decipher what the signs said above him. Mostly, they looked like a jumbled mess of symbols, but luckily he had spent some time trying to learn the language between shifts and sneaking peeks at his little dictionary under the diner counter. The whole terminal buzzed with a lovely kind of energy, and he was thrilled to get to know it better. The first wonderful thing about travelling abroad was that no one knew who he was, and he could be whoever he wanted. In this new land, no one knew him or anything about the dingy little apartment that he had lived in. No one knew about his less than honorable roommates or the debt that he had put himself under to go to college in the first place.

I could be a prince for all they know.

Seungmin liked that idea a lot.

His stomach grumbled as he passed by food stands, however he hadn’t had the chance yet to change his currency, so he knew that he would have to wait just a minute longer. Seungmin had been assigned a host family by his college, and he hoped like crazy that they would be the kind to cook for him. Seungmin had heard somewhere that kids who go on study abroad gain a ton of weight at first...but he didn’t mind. Where else would he get the chance?

There had been a host father that had sent him an email a couple weeks ago--that he promptly had to run through Google Translate--who told him that he would meet him outside the main luggage claim area after his flight landed. Seungmin had tried to look up and see if his host family were on social media, but he could find no such profile of theirs. He decided it probably was better that it was a surprise.

Seungmin lugged his two large suitcases out to the summer air of the new and strange land, and it finally hit him. Standing on the solid ground of another land thousands of miles away from his home, it was really all happening.

The landscape outside was like that of a movie scene: rolling hills and jagged mountains capped with snow, adorable little homes built into the countryside and tiny cars with horizonal license plates. The sun was warm in the cerulean sky that puffed with perfectly white clouds. On the air, the scent of flowers wafted, and he was certain that there was a lake nearby too--he had researched it. There were old men in their caps with a crook in their back, and ladies with long floral skirts and dresses with Mary Janes. Each of them had smile lines on their faces and under their eyes as if they had all lived lives well lived. There were pretty girls too with slender legs and delicate arms swaddled in light scarves.

Seungmin wouldn’t have minded getting a girlfriend on this trip. While he kept the fact to himself, Seungmin had never really done anything with a girl before outside of some awkwardly handsy kissing in middle school. Maybe this time around, he would finally get his chance: he had read somewhere that girls often like foreigners.

“Seung Min! Seung Min?” A man’s voice called.

The young college student whipped his head around in the direction of the sound, finally finding a middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair with whiskers of the same color. He had red cheeks and a large nose, and looked a bit like a character from a comic. Seungmin waved back, greeting his new father. When they met, the older man threw him into a large hug with a chuckle. He smelled a bit like Tabaco and old leather. He had a couple missing teeth, but that didn’t lessen his bright smile.

“English?” Seungmin’s host father asked.

“Yeah! I can speak English.” He returned with a welcoming grin.

“I thought it would be good for us to speak English since I don’t know your tongue and you don’t know mine...meet in the middle?”

“Thank you for coming to get me!” He said, handing the man his suitcases which were just a bit too big for the tiny trunk of the car that looked as if it had come from the 80′s. In the end, they decided to put his bags in the backseat.

The man beamed with smiling eyes. “Of course...son!”

Seungmin gave him a little bow, “Heh, thank you.”

“Get in the car! You must be hungry right? Long flight?”

“Oh yes, it was really long.”

“You will eat well here! Mother knows how to feed well. She will put meat on your bones. She did with me!” He guffawed out with hearty laughter, and Seungmin already knew that he would really like this man.

“We have a room ready for you back at home, and I will show you tomorrow how to use the buses. Okay?”

Seungmin nodded with a bit of rose to his cheeks. He found his hand wandering down to his arm which he pinched at lightly--cliché as it was. His host father coughed and the engine sputtered, then they took off away from the sounds of jet engines to the countryside which was scattered with churches with protruding steeples and all kinds of homes with red-orange roofs and perfectly symmetrical windows. Seungmin couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the window as they drove on to take in the whole scene. Never had he seen a place so beautiful or magical looking. They drove on past a crystal clear lake that stretched on and on to the base of a mountain appearing to claw at the heavens, and adorned in emerald green pines and other deciduous trees. If it was even possible, he had never seen greener grass in all his life.

“Beautiful, eh?” His host father said while tuning the radio.

“It’s amazing.” The young student said in his amazement. “Oh, do you know if there is somewhere I can change my money? I don’t have any of your money yet.”

“Ah!” The older man said with a wink. “I know of a place. I can take you there first.”

The radio hummed with a static fuzz as Seungmin’s host father messed with it, skipping over the channels, blurring the music and the talk radio all together.

Seungmin tried out the best he could to make out the words he knew, but even then he didn’t focus too hard, not when he had all this to take in.

Mad....crime....joke...violence in the South...drugs...unknown...information...hiding...red...

“Ah!” His host father called out after changing the channel once more, “I love this song!” He held his chest with an affectionate grasp. “The song of my homeland!”

Seungmin whipped his attention back, trying to listen to the song that sounded anthem-like, and was sung by what sounded like several men harmonizing. Seungmin tried to focus on the melody--it was nothing like he head heard before. It sounded very...honorable.

The small car whipped up to what looked to be a gas station on the edge of the town with one single pump and a little convenience store attached to it. In the window he read the yellow and black sign saying Currency Exchange.

“This is what you need?”

Seungmin nodded in his thanks then stretched his legs out once he exited, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Are you coming too?”

The older man shook his head and took out a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll gas the car, you go in.”

The young man gave his host father one more nod, then set fourth inhaling the immaculate summer air into his lungs. It was as if the very oxygen there held the vitality of life; he almost felt bad wasting it on himself.

The door swung open with the tiny tinkling of bells and he entered to the smell of cured meats hanging on hooks along side the dry scent of the refrigerators holding their display of soft drinks with labels that he had never seen before. He chuckled a little seeing the giant slab of meat with twine hanging from the ceiling as such.

“Free sample?” The attendant said while he picked his teeth with a toothpick. “Foreigner?” He added after looking Seungmin up and down.

“Yes, and no thank you. But, can I exchange my currency here?”

The unamused man nodded in the direction of the little kiosk in the corner of the shop. He went back to reading his tabloid where he slumped in a stool surrounded by an assortment of candy and cookies.

Seungmin picked his mother tongue first on the little screen, robotic and green, thankful to see Korean for the first time in this new place. He navigated to the options screen. Behind him, the little bells tinkled to the shop door again, followed by the sound of the attendant scrambling out of his stool, metal legs scraping the floor.

The student turned his head around in the commotion, taking in four very strange looking customers. Firstly, they were all covered in blood in one way or another, and each of them wore clothes--pajamas from the looks of it--which were shredded, torn, and blackened by something that might’ve been soot. Three men and one woman, and they all had a bit of a crazed look to their eyes. Clearly, none of them cared that they had walked into the store looking as such.

Seungmin pressed his body to the corner of the shop, as if this could make him invisible. The attendant cowered behind the counter with a series of scared sounding whimpers.

“Wh-what do you want?” He asked in his native tongue with quaking breaths.

One of the men in the group wearing a flannel with chocolate brown hair threw open one of the fridges, took out a water bottle, cracked it open, then greedily slugged the liquid down his throat.

“Pay the man, Fox.” He said to a man with pure white hair and shattered glasses.

The man with white hair and glasses nodded, digging through his pockets. The man with the flannel then proceeded to revenge the place, opening up snacks and shoving the cheesy dust into his mouth with gluttonous moans and crunching loudly with an open mouth. Had he not been doing something as unsavory as such, Seungmin thought that he was pretty handsome, and somewhat familiar. The other three simply stood and watched as he did so calmly, and surveyed the shelves themselves after a moment.

The attendant clocked Seungmin with fearful and confused eyes and Seungmin truly didn’t know what to do besides melt into the corner with the currency exchange kiosk.

A man in running clothes ran a hand through his deep brown hair, then turned to grab several first-aid supplies in his hand. Seungmin noticed that he had a horrible gash over his eye that crusted and bled into the white of his sclera. The woman approached the attendant with arms crossed over her thin camisole that was stained a number of different colors which Seungmin didn’t want to identify. He noticed that she was only wearing white socks that were nearly stained green.

“You do currency exchange right?” She said with a bold kind of confidence. “EGP?”

The attendant shook in his boots, then pointed a trembling finger at Seungmin. The young man nearly felt his heart stop. The woman had stern eyes that were bagged with exhaustion, but that didn’t make her any less intimating. While she too looked a wreck, there was something about her so cold and threatening that Seungmin felt like crumpling up into a ball. Over it all, she was startlingly beautiful too.

“Are you done?” She asked him kindly, and Seungmin struggled to get out a feeble “yes.” Of course, he hadn’t actually drawn any money out yet, but this seemed to be the best answer.

The man in running clothes dumped a large arrangement of goods on the counter with an emotionless expression: coffee drinks, shooters of alcohol, gauze and tape, Band-Aids, anti-bacterial ointment, gum, a couple lighters and toothpaste with four tooth brushes, combs, several bottles of water, sour candy, and, oddly, condoms.

The man with white hair came behind him to provide the cash to pay, and the attendant rang the odd group up with nervous glances to the man in the flannel who destroyed the store further. That man laughed maniacally as he popped open the plastic packaging to a pastry, then shoved in as of much of it as he could, smearing white cream over his lips.

“Bee!! You have to try this!! A day driving through the woods and this is fucking fantastic!” He jumped up and down like an ecstatic toddler--but this was a strange juxtaposition to all the blood staining his arms and the fabric of his flannel.

“Have some decency, Your Highness.” The woman chided, then held out her hand as the bills dispensed from the little machine.

“Your Highness?” Seungmin muttered, not really understanding why he was still in there in the first place.

“Fucking scam.” She muttered. “Is this all that you have??” She growled at the attendant.

“It’s a little thing!! What do you expect??” He stammered with hands thrown in the air as if she had pointed a gun at his head.

“F, tell Carroll to wire us when we get to Egypt. This’ll barely get us a place to stay.”

“When I get internet access, sure, I’ll try my best.” The man with white hair said with an edge to his voice, sarcasm clearly giving it a type of bite. He then took to shoving all of their goods into plastic bags since the attendant had been too fearful to do so. He slid a few spare bills onto the countertop. “This is for everything that he ate.”

“Do you have a bathroom?” The woman demanded, and the shopkeeper nodded, giving one more fearful glance to the college student.

“Is there somewhere around here to get clothes?” The man with running clothes asked.

“I-In town, a couple minutes in--”

Outside of the little store, the sound of tires screeching on cement screamed, and all four of the strangers whipped their heads in the direction. Seungmin jumped too at the sound, and held his backpack to his chest tightly as if it were some kind of safety vest.

The four strangers gravely exchanged terrified glances before throwing their bodies to the floor without a word.

“GET DOWN!” The woman screamed, and in milliseconds, the rapid-fire crack of machine gun bullets came shattering the glass of the convenience store.

Seungmin too threw all of his weight to land on his stomach on the cold linoleum floors and pressed his cheek against it while his ears rang. Tiny shards of glass pricked at his hands, but this adrenaline didn’t even let him feel the pain. He was certain that he must’ve been hyperventilating, because the room had started to spin among the relentless sounds of metal shells hitting the ground and metal shelves being upended from the force. The room filled with the smell of dozen different kinds of foods as packaging was ripped open and food and drink came spilling to the ground. The shopkeeper whimpered out loud prayers in his native tongue while he hid behind the counter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as three of the strangers whipped out hand guns from their waistbands and knelt down behind the remaining shelves to shoot back at the black van outside.

Seungmin pinched his arm with eyes shut.

He wished he hadn’t.

oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He bit the words into his lip.

“Hey kid!” The man with white hair growled at him. “You okay?”

While the two of them looked nearly to be the same age, this other man with snow white hair seemed to know what he was doing, so Seungmin decided to take the smallest bit of solace in that over the deafening sound of bullets.

“I-I think so?!”

“Keep your head down!” He said with gritted teeth, then angled his gun with a squinted eye.

“Bee??? Bee?” The fourth man with the flannel cried.

“Head. Down.” She said while firing more shots.

The room filled with a thin haze, and Seungmin covered his ears with bloody fingers.

The strangers fired their guns until there was nothing left, then escaped hiding behind the shelves with heaving chests. The young man had curled up into the fetal position, mouth feeling deathly dry with hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Seungmin didn’t know that he had gone on this trip for his life to end.

How fucking cruel fate was.

His body shook, and he clung to his bag for dear life, waiting for it all to end, and for his time to come. Seungmin would’ve thought that in the moments before he had died, he wanted to think of all the good things that had happened in his life, but, he was disappointed to find that all he could come up with was fear.

“Did you get a look at him?” One of the strangers yelled on the other side of Seungmin’s muffled ears.

“NO!” One of them barked back.

“He was wearing the crest!! The red!!” The woman called out.

The world was black behind his eyelids, but anything was better than the scene that was actually unfolding before the terrified college student. Soon, the sounds faded, and Seungmin was then really convinced that it had finally happened. This was it. He was even still scared to open his eyes.

A grip at his arm pulled him up.

“You okay? They’re gone. You kinda blacked out there for a second.” It was the woman had pulled him up to his feet.

His head spun seeing the carnage of the destroyed store, and the student became dizzier by the second.

“I-I think I’m about to black out again--” His knees felt week and his vision blurred.

“Hey! Hey!” One of the other strangers, the one with the running clothes scooped him back up and gave a light pat to his face. “You’re alright! See?”

Miraculously, Seungmin really was unscathed.

“Who-who are you? Who...who the hell were they? What the FUCK was that?”

The four of them exchanged glances once more, communicating some kind of silent understanding between all of them.

“What’s your name kid?” The white-haired one said as he put his gun back into his waistband.

“S-Seungmin?”

“Ok Seungmin, there’s a lot going on here that you really shouldn’t be aware of, and there's a lot of answers that I can’t give you, I just need to to trust me, alright?”

“O-okay?”

Now that the shop was devoid of windows, the summer breeze came blowing into the store--an odd contrast to the mess that was made all over the glass shards and food.

“You’re safe now. They’ve gone. No one can hurt you.”

“A-are you sure about that?”

“We need to get going. I don’t know why the hell they leaved when they had us cornered, but we can’t be here for long.” The man in running clothes said with a tentative bite to his lip.

The woman nodded. “You’re right Two.”

“What do we do with him though?” The man supposedly named Two said, motioning to Seungmin.

“D-do?” His eyes widened to frightful full moons. “D-do????”

“We take him with?” The man in the flannel suggested and shrugged.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You don’t call the shots on stuff like this, Your Highness.”

“H-Highness? What??” Seungmin blabbered.

The man with white hair snatched the young student’s bag from his hands. “You got a laptop in that bag of yours?”

“--H-HEY!”

He man pulled out Seungmin’s dismal Chromebook that he had also saved several months for.

“Hm. This will do.”

“I guess we don’t have any other choice...” The woman rolled her eyes. “Introductions later. They could be coming back.”

“Hey, HEY!” The shopkeeper yelled, then rose from his hiding place to look in despair at his destroyed shop, and his aging cured meat slab stuck with bullet holes on the floor.

“We’ll take care of it all. We apologize.” The man in the flannel bowed deeply.

Sunlight stung Seungmin’s strained eyes, and he realized that he had completely forgotten about his host father in his little car from the 80′s. To his surprise, the little car was nowhere to be seen.

“M-my dad??” He said under his breath, also realizing that all of his belongings had gone with the man too. All he now had left to his name was his passport, a spare set of clothes, his laptop, and a couple school journals.

“Get in.” The man named Two said while throwing open the door, but then gave him squinted wink. “Been to Egypt before?”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“This mission is fucked.” Jeongin muttered to you, voice echoing slightly in the cobblestone alley.

“Yeah, it certainly seems like it.”

You fiddled with you new blouse. It was two times as itchy as you had expected and two times as expensive, but you had been desperate. With all of the spare supplies destroyed in the bombing, you and your partner had found yourselves hopelessly empty handed.

“Carroll is gonna have our asses. Fuck...” Jeongin slicked a hand through his hair with a bandaged arm. “We can’t take that kid to Egypt with us!! We already have to be on high alert for the prince...and now this??”

Your partner threw his head back incredulously against the brick wall, then stopped to watch the rest of the group sitting outside of the café and garnering odd glances from passerby's.

“Well what the hell else to do we do??”

Jeongin shrugged, then looking to the side shamefully. “You...know what the protocol is. We can’t stay here to watch over him until someone from the agency comes...and, we’re running out of time...White Rabbit is waiting for our correspondence..”

“Absolutely not.”

The poor young kid, naïve as he was, you couldn’t but help but feel bad for him. Not only was he all alone out there as he had explained, it appeared as if his host father had made off with all of his things too. It was hard to not pity the kid.

“Y/n, you know that he’ll only drag us down. If we take him with, his life becomes our problem. If he dies, we’ll have to answer to whoever his family is and we both know that could get messy. We already have a mission: get the intel, then get the prince home. Not take that kid along with us for the joyride.”

“You’re forgetting that they’ve seen him with us now. He’s associated with us. If we leave him in the dust, there’s gonna be an innocent kid dead in a foreign land, and it’ll be our fault for letting that happen. Do you want that to happen?”

Your partner sucked at his teeth in thought for a moment, then groaned out.

“I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.”

“It’s the three of us and the two of them. The odds are still pretty much in our favor.”

“It’s still dangerous odds.” Jeongin threw his hands onto his hips, then paced the length of the alley for a small stretch. “As of now, you’re assigned to the prince. Forget about the kid, Two and I will worry about him. The prince is the priority. If shit hits the fan, don’t even think twice, take the prince and get out. Okay? You should never leave his side.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sneaky sense of pride. After all of the chaos and the uncertainty, Jeongin was really coming into his own.

From the little patio where the others were, it looked as if Chan and Seungmin were getting a long swimmingly. You assumed that it had something to do with shared trauma. Weirdly, Chan had taken to the young man like a bit of a pet. Knowing all that the prince was going through, it made sense...perhaps this also could’ve explained why he had kissed you more than once. Anyone in his position would’ve acted as frantic as such--at least, this was what you had convinced yourself.

Two sat with the two men wearing thick black sunglasses to hide his gnarly eye wound, sipping espresso. Jeongin started walking back towards the group when you grabbed at his arm.

“--Wait, I need to talk to you about one more thing?”

Your partner’s rather gaudy Hawaiian-themed shirt flapped in the breeze. “What’s that?”

You drew him in closer. “What do you make of Two? He doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“Suspicious? Why?”

“I-I don’t know...it’s just a feeling that I’m getting. We know next to nothing about him--”

“--But isn’t that how this goes? We’re not supposed to know things about each other? That’s the point? He’s stuck with us this far...and...”

A couple passed by the two of you with linked arms, and Jeongin stopped his thought out of distrust of the two of them listening in.

His voice lowered even further, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.” The young man nodded, then patted your scratched shoulder. You winced, and he quickly apologized. “It’s...fine that you’re suspicious. Its best for us to be, you know?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

Your partner dished out a little eyeroll, “Yeah. Something like that.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It was as if His Royal Highness Prince Chan had never seen the inside of a public airport before. Everything was just so novel to him, and he gasped out at all the little trinkets and tchotchkes.

As excited as he was, he still tried his best to keep a solid composure under his disguise: a cap, a hoodie, and thick framed sunglasses. The royal didn’t look the most non-descript, but you figured that it was better than nothing.

The young kid sulked seeing the inside of the airport once more, as he had claimed that he had just left from there. You still didn’t know what to make of him all the way, but at least you could tell that he had a good heart. While in the car he told you and your companions how he had saved up all this money to travel, studied the language and arranged to go to school here too. While all of his plans had been thwarted, at least the kid was still getting to travel...with a price on his head...but still...he was getting to travel.

Now that Jeongin had been able to contact HQ thanks to the kid’s computer, everything was arranged. Flight tickets, sleeping arrangements, supplies and Bun even knew that you were on your way. You had little desire to see that man considering how you had heard that he was one to live up to his eccentric reputation, but there was little other choice. Jeongin’s words ran through and through your head, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.”

Over it all, it was the prince who had worried you most. He was out in the open, and undoubtedly whoever those bastards were with the red crests would be close on your tail. Your neck strained with a pain that only seemed to grow stronger with every corner that you turned to ensure that no one was there. While the handsome prince liked to joke about how his life was on your hands, it was much more serious than that.

You had seen the fear in his eyes that night--it was so tangible that you could practically hold in your hands. He was a man terrified of death, and he knew that he had little control over it. You had control over it, but you knew that you could only stretch yourself so far.

Your group of five neared your gate in the international terminal lined with several dozen different kinds of multi-colored flags. You situated yourself between Two and the Prince on one of the thin teal chairs with flattened cushions. Chan tapped his hands on this knees impatiently as he inspected the place.

“Kind of exciting isn’t it?” He said with a tiny grin.

“What?” You moved to look at him with his obscured features. “Exciting?”

“Yeah, you know, travelling together. It kind of feels like an adventure. I mean, they’ve got a gun to our heads, but at least we’re together right?”

You scoffed, simply amused at how he had taken the severity out of the situation. It was clear that this prince knew little about the concept of perspective.

“I’m not following.”

“I get that...we need to be careful, but who said that we can’t, say, enjoy the journey?”

“You’re saying that you want us to have fun while we’re running for our lives?”

The prince smiled. “You know that I like having fun. That and...I’m just trying to be optimistic.” Under his cap, he slicked his brown strands back. “The three of you seem to be so tense all the time. Obviously, that can’t be good for your health--”

You cracked out with laughter. “You’re being ludicrous, Your Highness. We have to be on high alert at all times--”

“I said, that you could call me Chan, remember?” He rather languidly spread out his legs in his seat, removing his glasses for moment. “How about, when we go to Egypt, I take you out somewhere nice to eat? We can relax, talk, get to know eachother more--”

You raised your hand up to silence him. “--If this is just a ploy to get me alone, I politely rescind the offer. Here I was thinking that you were concerned about all three of us...”

“--I am!” Chan quickly piped, “I-I’ll take you all out for dinner! But...but...you’ll have to allow me to take you out for drink then. Just the two of us. I still hold to my word of wanting to get to know you.”

The prince’s face was puffed and bloated, and scraped with little pink and red cuts, but nothing stopped him from pulling out his signature charming and persuasive grin.

“Try to kiss me again, and I won’t hesitate. You might be royalty but I don’t ca--”

“--Hmmm no promises.” Chan then cut in, his grin turned even more indulgent while you watched him inspect your frame in that god-awful scratchy blouse.

Next to you, Two let out a particularly amused sounding scoff of a laugh.

“Forward as ever, Your Highness.” Jeongin deadpanned, then buried his nose in his coffee and newspaper once again. He hadn’t gotten to finish doing so earlier.

Seungmin, the young student stifled his own laughter which then gradually got louder and louder. “I can’t fucking believe this. Me. Kim Seungmin, the most normal-ass person in the whole world with you four: a fucking prince, secret agents...and now we’re going to Egypt??? Egypt???”

“Why does that sound like the set up to a shitty joke?” Two popped a bubble he had blown with the gum from the convenience store. Turns out he actually had a bit of a “gum habit” as he called it.

“Settle down kid.” Jeongin said without his eyes leaving his paper. “You’ll make a scene.”

The prince yawned, sliding his sunglasses back on.

“I never really did end up getting as much sleep as I would’ve liked.” If you could’ve seen his eyes, you would’ve then seen him eye your shoulder. “May I?” he politely asked.

Rather than giving him an answer, you rolled your head around as if to say do I need to?

Chan let out a happy little hum after resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling in slightly.

You met your partner’s side eye, and he repeated for you, I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.

“Thank you Bee.” Chan softly muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “I really do owe you everything.” He was careful at first, but he reached out his hand to rest it atop of yours. While the action made you twitch at first, you remembered how the same action had calmed him in the van when you had escaped the gala.

You told yourself that you were just being nice.

The young kid pulled out a journal from his backpack and started scribbling something, Two popped a bubble, snapping it on his unnaturally white teeth, and Jeongin sipped at his coffee.

This really was the set up to a shitty joke.

A woman cleared her throat over the intercom and announced, Flight C1180 to Cairo will be boarding in one hour. Thank you for flying with us today.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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yoonia · 3 years

Text

About Time // Part 20.5

➬ Character | Jungkook x reader / Jimin x reader (feat. BTS)

↳ Type/Genre/words | Angst, Fluff, Alternate Universe (Time Travel!au/Time Leap!au, Soulmate!au), Eventual Smut / 9,2k words

↳ Prompts | “What if you find your soulmate… at the wrong time?” - Lauren Kate, Passion

↳ Summary | Be careful for what you wish for, because you may never know how to deal with them once it comes true. What would you do when your wish for a second chance actually came true? But was it really a fulfilled wish? Too many questions lie when it actually happened. Were they real memories? Or perhaps a part of a past life? Was it only a dream all along? Will everything be different this time?

↳ Ratings | Mature/+18 and up

↳ Warnings | LGBT+ conversations, mentions of fighting and alcohol consumption

↳ ⤎ Previous Chapter | Series Index: About Time | Next Chapter ⇢

(Taehyung’s POV)

Song Companion: Teflon Sega - No Turning Back

—First life, year 2005—

My parents loved to take me on car rides ever since I was a little boy.

They had always said it was one of the easiest ways they had found that could calm me down from what they called as ‘one of my moods’—whatever that meant.

In a way, car rides had always felt comforting. It was better to be stuck in a car instead of staying at home, where it felt stuffy and lonely, even if my parents would only drive around the neighbourhood instead of taking me anywhere far. It was still better because looking out the car window allowed me to see everything—the trees we passed by, the land around us and the mountains in the distance—and they were all still better to look at compared to the sight that I could see out my bedroom window. Nothing but the neighbours’ rusty walls and the empty lot behind our house that neighbourhood kids would use to hangout at. Sometimes, my parents would even drive all the way to the next town. Or even further to the next, in which we would stay a bit longer at instead of heading back to where we had taken off from earlier that same morning.

It wasn’t until when I was a bit older when I finally understood what it had truly meant to be driving so far and why my parents would pack up various boxes when we were off to travel somewhere. That sometimes when my father said, “Let’s go for a drive,” it would not always mean that he was talking about driving around the neighbourhood to go sightseeing.

Sometimes, I would pay enough attention to notice when we were not going to return to the same home once the drive ended. Just like how this car ride had felt different compared to the last times I sat there in the backseat of my Dad’s car.

Looking out the window, I immediately knew that this was not one of those rides where my father would be driving me around the block or down to the rice fields and farmlands around where we lived at the time. I already knew which kind of drive this was when it had included my Mom packing most of our things into the car and when I could see the moving truck following us close behind when I looked over the rear window.

It had been a while since we had gotten on a long trip that I thought we would never be taking off again. We had left before the sunrise, and hours had passed but we were still going, passing the villages and small towns, then the long highway. We only stopped a few times to eat and to use the bathroom. Sometimes I would fall asleep and wake up at a new place, but it seemed like we would be on the road for a long time.

I kept my eyes out on the road with my head pressed against the car window, watching the trees flashing by, the old houses and the stores turning into hills before we were passing through more buildings. Then I must have dozed off a bit longer at some point because it was almost dark when we finally stopped.

Really stopped.

I jumped on my seat when the sound of the car doors opening and closing woke me up, then I looked around to see that my Dad had parked the car in front of a house.

“We’re here!” I heard my Mom said, opening the backseat’s door to get me. “Come on, Tae. Let’s take a look at the new house.”

I was still feeling sleepy when I finally stepped out of the car. My legs were heavy and my back was hurting, but I followed my Mom as she walked around the car, rubbing my eyes all the way down from the car. I stopped before we could step onto the porch, looking at the house that looked old, but a lot bigger than the one we used to live in. The walls were made of red bricks, and we had a front yard too with green grass on it, unlike the dry patches we had at the old house.

“Taehyung, come in. Let me show you your new room,” I heard my Mom calling me from the front door. I took one last look at the house before I ran to her, excited and scared at the same time as I walked up the porch and followed her into the house.

Our new home.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going on a playdate.”

We had been in this new town for a week. My Dad had been busy with his new job, but both me and my Mom had been staying home, unpacking all the boxes and cleaning up the new house. The only times I had seen my Mom not doing anything at the house was when a few neighbours came to visit or when she went out to do some groceries. This was the first time she finally took me out. Her hand was holding mine as we walked side by side on the sidewalk, heading somewhere at the end of the street.

“A what?”

“A playdate.”

“What’s that?”

My Mom reached out to brush my hair with her fingers while she kept the other hand still holding mine. Both of us knew that whatever she did on my hair wouldn’t help much and I would probably get them all messy again in a minute, but maybe she needed to keep herself busy because she seemed more nervous than I was and maybe she figured she could try to keep my hair look tidy and decent before we got to where she wanted us to go to.

“It means you get to play with a new friend while I get to know our new neighbours,” she said, looking almost distractedly when she spoke. I looked up and that was when I confirmed how nervous she was. Back at our old home, we rarely became friends with the neighbours living close by. Most of the people we knew were older people, and some of my Mom’s friends lived a bit far from home, making it hard for her to see them regularly. “You’re going to start school in a week, and yesterday, Mrs Jung from down the street told me that her children are going to the same school as you are. She invited us to visit so that you can get to know them and make friends with them so you can have someone to play with.”

“I had friends,” I said, scrunching my nose. It made my Mom stop, and she kneeled down next to me with a rueful smile.

“I know, honey,” she said, sighing, once again reaching up to brush my hair back again after a breeze made a few strands fall over my face. “I know that it sucks to move away again, but I promise you, you can have many new friends and a lot of fun. Just like how we used to.”

Mom gave me another smile before she stood back up, already continuing the walk. I said nothing as I walked with her, not even to explain that it wasn’t just about making new friends that I was worried about. “Why did we move here?”

“We told you. Your Dad got a new job here,” she said to me while glancing sideways at me.

“What’s wrong with the old one?”

This time, my Mom laughed a little. “Nothing wrong with that one,” she sneered, sighing the same way she would when she was trying not to get angry. I remembered how she kept telling my Dad how much she hated his old job. Because he went away a lot and he was always tired and cranky whenever he came home from work. “Your Dad got himself a better job in this town and there was no way we could have stayed in that old town we lived in. He won’t be away too much now like he did when he was working in that factory since he’s going to be sitting behind the desk more. Our house is also bigger, isn’t it? And the school is going to be better.”

My Mom was getting more excited the more she spoke, and all I did was give her a nod. “Okay.”

Soon, we were standing on the front porch of a house that looked a bit similar to our new house. Except that the front yard had more bushes and flowers and the grass was trimmed and looked fresh, unlike the ones we had in ours, and the walls were painted white. The door was opened only a few minutes after my Mom rang the bell and a woman appeared to welcome us. She looked about the same age as Mom, with a wide smile that looked friendly and it made me feel less nervous about being here. They chatted for a moment before the woman turned to me.

“And this must be Taehyung. Oh, it looks like you’re about the same age as my kids. I heard that you’re going to be at the same school with them, so I hope you kids can be good friends. My son is a bit older, but I think you can get along with him just fine. I know that boys can have a hard time getting along with girls, though I have no doubt that you can get along with my daughter. She’s always good at adjusting to new friends, even if she’s a bit younger. She skipped a year and got into school early because she got bored in kindergarten.”

We walked in with my Mom still holding my hand. I was not completely sure if she was doing that to stop me from running or if she was still nervous about being here. Meanwhile, Mrs Jung continued to talk about her children as she led us all the way to the back of the house.

“Here we are,” Mrs Jung said as we entered the dining room. There was a girl who looked a bit younger than me sitting at the dining table while drawing with crayons, and Mrs Jung immediately called for her attention. “Honey, come here. We have a new friend. Maybe you want to say hi and play with him for a while while I have a chat with Mrs Kim?”

The girl looked up to us and jumped out of her chair. She didn’t even seem nervous when she was walking over to us. I couldn’t remember having any girl as a friend in my old school. Most of them had always stayed away from the boys at school and I had no trouble doing the same. But when she came to me, she showed no sign of turning away or looking at me funny just like other girls did.

All she did was look at me with wide curious eyes, and it really felt like we had known each other already when she raised her hand to me. “Hi, my name is _________. What’s yours?”

School started a few months ago. Overall, I thought it was okay.

Everything was different compared to my old school. Just like everything else in this town compared to the small town we moved out from, the school was much bigger than the one I went to. Most of the students in my class had already formed their groups—another thing that the old school certainly did not have, because, with smaller classes, nobody had any problem getting close to each other. I still made a few friends, though. Not a lot, but it wasn’t like I really needed a lot of friends either.

It was lunchtime when I sat at the edge of the playground, eating the sandwich and handmade kimbab that my Mom made for me. I was glad not to be sitting alone, as I had my new friend sitting beside me. The playdate that my Mom took me to after we moved here had turned out to be a lot of fun. ________ was fun to play with and we would have continued playing on that first day we met if only my Mom didn’t come to call me in for dinner.

After that day, we had gone into a couple more playdates before school started. I was also introduced to her brother, Hoseok, and the three of us would play and hang out together whenever my Mom would take me to visit their house on the weekends. At school, _____ and I shared the same class, and although we didn’t sit together in class, we would always eat together at lunchtime.

“Why aren’t you playing with them?” she asked me while we were watching the boys from our class playing dodge ball in the playground.

I only shrugged after looking over to the field, watching them throwing the ball at each other. “I don’t play ball.”

She snickered. “Yeah, you do. You played ball with Hoseok last week,” she argued, her brows were pinched the same way she would when she grew curious or annoyed.

I scrunched my nose at her. “That’s different. That was football,” I told her, and she shrugged at me in return.

“Still a ball,” she sassed while rolling her eyes at me.

“Whatever,” I said. “Besides, I don’t really get along with the boys from our class.”

“So you’re more okay sitting with a girl,” she said, more like making a statement instead of questioning me.

“What’s wrong with that?”

She looked away for a moment. “I don’t know. The other boys seem to make it a big deal.”

“That’s silly,” I scoffed at her. I didn’t really care about what people think. It never mattered to me anyway because I didn’t even care about what they did around me either. And I never liked forcing myself to get along with people that didn’t like me. “Besides, I like you better.”

She suddenly laughed when she heard me. It was the kind of laugh that made her head fall back, which was actually pretty adorable. “I thought you like my brother a lot more.”

Grinning at her, I just shrugged and bit my sandwich. “So I like both you and Hoseok. Playing with you and your brother is more fun.”

“Right. Of course, it is,” she said, giggling while nudging at my side. “You’re okay if people think you’re weird for hanging out with me instead of the boys?”

“I don’t care,” I told her, shaking my head. “How about you?”

______ looked around before smiling at me and said, “Me neither.”

We continued to eat for a moment before I thought of something. “What if you’re my girlfriend?”

“What?”

I shrugged, but kept my eyes away from her. “Maybe if we become boyfriend and girlfriend it won’t look weird for us to sit together like this.”

She had her nose scrunched when I took a glance at her. “Kids don’t become boyfriends and girlfriends.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, they do. You just don’t know about it yet.”

She pinched her brows again, thinking seriously about it. “Is it because you’re older than everyone else in class?”

“What do you mean?”

“My Mom said that you were supposed to be one grade above me, not share the same class,” she said. Despite what she just told me, she just didn’t realise that she always sounded like an older girl when she spoke like that. “Is that why everyone looks at you weird sometimes?”

I didn’t say a thing. She was not wrong, though. With my parents moving so much and having to change schools each time it happened, it was hard for me to catch up with classes. After constantly going to new places, making new friends, new adjustments, then the last school I went to insisted that I stayed a year behind to catch up on what I had missed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t really care,” I said. And I really didn’t. After a while, I had stopped caring about all the moving and what it did. But some kids always made it a big deal when this older kid joined their class in the middle of the term. Not at the previous school I went to, though. They seemed to think I was cool because I knew a lot more than they did.

“Do you care if I’m older?” I asked her.

I had expected her to at least consider her answer for a moment, but all she said was, “No, I like having older friends.” Then she scrunched her nose as if she had just realised something. “But not too old. Hoseok’s friends are weird.”

A bite of the sandwich almost got caught in my throat when I laughed. After swallowing it down with the cold juice I brought with me from home, I turned to her and grinned. “Fine, if you don’t want to be my girlfriend, then—” I cleared my throat and offered her my pinky finger. That was one of the things I learned from her since we became friends, and I figured it would be the best option to gain her approval when I made the offer, “How about best friends?”

Her smile grew. She seemed confused at first, but she managed to realise that I was serious and gave me her pinky to link it to mine. “The bestest friends!”

I snickered. “That’s not even a word!”

“It is now!”

—First life, year 2017—

There was something about being in the library that I enjoyed most.

The calm and serene air. The scent of books. Then there was some kind of warmth that I couldn’t find anywhere else whenever I was there.

It was fall, and the library had been pretty much packed with students that were trying to catch up with readings and assignments as the midterm was coming closer. Sitting among the students, I had chosen a reading booth on the far corner of the library, and I had my best friend, _______, sitting with me. She wasn’t too big on libraries. She never even truly cared about studying either. But after wasting her freshman year partying and enjoying life on campus, and then getting too focused on her relationship with the prick from one of the campus’ frat house all through sophomore year, she needed to catch up a lot on her studying and I was the one responsible in making sure that she did.

But that day, our agenda was not only about getting her to finish reading her textbooks or finding the materials needed for our midterms.

That day, we were scouting.

“That’s him,” I pointed out across the room just as he passed by, and _____ perked up, her gaze following the direction where I was pointing at until she saw him. I only knew she did when her eyes grow wide with a hint of amusement and appreciation. He really did have that kind of effect on people, whether it was male or female. “His name is Kim Namjoon. A senior of mine on my social study class,” I explained to her, mentioning the class I had taken last semester for my minor.

“Wow—you do have a taste there. He’s hot,” she said as she leaned closer, whispering to me while giving him another look. “—and a bit too handsome as someone who is going to be cutting through people’s brains,” she also added.

I snickered. “Yeah, right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I thought you like pretty boys better.” I said that because compared to the guy she was dating, Namjoon was the complete opposite. Jungkook was good looking, hence the popularity he had gained all through college. With the kind of smile that girls found cute and a pair of doe eyes that would always make it hard for my best friend to say no to. But Namjoon was tall, with broad shoulders and nice-looking hair. His sharp gaze showed just how smart he was and there was this confidence that he had that could make people look up to him in awe.

The same way I did ever since the first day I met him.

He didn’t seem to work out a lot, but his arms still looked like a tight fit beneath the sleeves of his sweater. And then there were those dimples, that would always show up each time he smiled, making people swoon for him without him trying too much.

“I still have eyes and I can still admit it when I see a handsome man,” I heard her say, before she turned to me. Sure enough, she caught me just as I was looking at Namjoon, again, more appreciatively.

“What?” I looked at her with a frown when she seemed to be looking at me too closely. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whispered at her, but then I noticed the funny looking gleam in her eyes, as if she was seeing something intriguing while looking at me. And whatever she saw seemed to please her. “As a matter of fact, why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t know, I just—” She shrugged. “I’m happy whenever you are happy, Taehyung.”

Narrowing my eyes on her, I studied her face, trying to understand just where this was leading to. My suspicion was answered when I saw a hint of guilt in her eyes in place of the curiosity and mischief that she had earlier. “You’re still thinking about my stupid confession, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not stupid. It never was and it never is.”

“It was childish.”

“There is nothing childish with love.”

I scoffed. “It would be when I was a 10-year-old thinking that I was falling in love with my best friend,” I told her, lowering my voice and making a sneer as I said this.

Many years ago, when I was only a 10-year-old boy trying to adjust to a new life in the big town and getting into a new school, I had jokingly asked her to be my girlfriend and she had told me no. But then we got even closer after we decided to be best friends and spent more time together, and I started to feel things. All fuzzy feelings that I had seen in the movies or TV shows as something that was called a crush, or perhaps love, where I would feel all tingly inside whenever she was near. So I asked her to be my girlfriend. Again. And then again. Having my request rejected each time because she only wanted to be my friend and she hated to think that she could lose her best friend if she should ever say yes.

That, and also because we were both kids who knew nothing about crushes and love and heartbreaks.

“Taehyung—”

Sighing dramatically, I placed a hand over my chest and acted like I was hurting and I told her, “It wasn’t your fault either that I got my heart broken so early in life. But I’ll never break my promise about staying with you as a friend and take care of you.”

My theatrics had her giggling, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I just hate that she would overthink things sometimes, even when she remembered that period in life. As if she was responsible for how I had turned out to be. It had taken her a little while to be able to cope with it. Not because she couldn’t accept me for who I was, but only because she had been terribly concerned about me after I had told her the truth.

“I know you won’t, and I promise to be in your life as your best friend for as long as you need me,” she told me, giving me a small smile which I returned with my own when I knew how true her words were. How she had proven it many times before, especially during the period of time I had needed her support the most.

I could easily recall how she had been by my side when I came out about my—’preferences’.

It all happened not too long before we graduated high school, and I was outed by force by someone who I had once grown close to, who I had trusted enough to confide in and let them know about my secrets. But then things fell south when it was clear that my ‘friend’ couldn’t stomach the idea that I was interested in both male and female, and that I had dated both all through high school. My best friend, ______, was the one who stood by me, to accept me for everything that I was and had fought together with me tooth and nail. She had opposed to the idea of me telling people about it openly, preferring that I would just stay silent until the rumours would fade so that the spotlight would not fall on me. But I could no longer hide who I was, and I had gained even more courage when Hoseok and his friends came to me with a promise to defend me if anyone would start messing with me the minute I came forward about it.

Both siblings had been my rocks, all solid and true, loyal to the core even when my own family had come close to disown me after I came to them with the truth.

Reaching over the table, she held my hands and gripped them tightly in hers. “And I’m glad you’re still here. And that you are willing enough to be so honest with me about you being—well, you. And that you are falling in love with Kim Namjoon.”

Pulling my hand from her, I rolled my eyes. “I’m not ’in love’ with him, it’s just—” I frowned, trying to figure out what I really felt. Aside from sharing a class, there was no secret that Namjoon had been terribly kind to me. He would come to talk to me after classes, and he had invited me for coffee a few times, though he had never made his intentions clear except that he wanted to get to know me better. I did feel something fuzzy in my belly when he talked to me, but I wasn’t sure if there was anything deep in what I felt for him aside from my admiration for an upperclassman and the fact that I enjoyed the attention he was giving me.

“—a crush, maybe. That’s all. And he’s nice to me.”

She raised her brows and gave me a knowing smile. “Oh, he’s ’nice’, hmm? Yeah, that’s always how it starts.”

I scoffed at her, knowing that it was also how her boyfriend managed to get under her skin. And, apparently, in a whole lot more as well, judging how crazy she was over him. But I was not about to talk about that prick. “Whatever, weirdo.”

After catching the sight of Namjoon walking out of the library with a wink at my way, we both fell into a long talk about things. We had been out of the loop with the party scene on campus, being all caught up in studying and all, but it didn’t stop us from hearing things through our classmates. Instead of comparing notes about our study session, we started comparing notes on the rumours that had been spreading around us. We were talking about her former flatmate who had begun dating a pre-med student, someone who was completely the opposite of the frat boys she had normally hung out and sometimes hooked up with, when I was reminded of something that I heard from one of her ex-flings.

“Oh, speaking about—” I lowered my voice and leaned closer, making sure that nobody would be able to listen in on us. “Have you heard the rumours that came from your boyfriend’s circle of friends?”

“What rumour?”

“A frat boy was caught kissing another dude. Nobody ever got to find out who he was or who the other boy was, since the witness only saw shadows kissing at the back of the frat house without seeing their faces. It happened in the middle of a party which they held so it could be anyone, and nobody has come clean about it yet.”

Judging by the way her lips were twitching downward, it was clear that she was not happy. And it was no doubt that she was pissed for the same reason that I was—that people were trying to prod into things that weren’t really their business. “But does it really matter who they were? They can’t exactly force someone to come out, right?”

I shrugged. “I guess not, but some people are curious, and you know about people on this campus, they all love to gossip.” Once again, her face pinched. Despite living in the flats off campus, she knew all too well about those lousy gossips. “I’m just thinking that if you or Jungkook ever find out—you guys won’t say a thing, right?”

She frowned at my request at first, but then her eyes softened. “Why would you be so worried about someone you barely know?” she asked me with the concerned tone that she always had when it came to me. “Besides, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Haven’t we both been keeping your secrets from everyone?”

“Well, yeah—that’s actually the only reason why I had to get along with him, remember?”

This time, my sneer drew a smile from her. “If he can understand your situation, wouldn’t he be more understanding when it comes to his friend?” she questioned me, though neither of us really had an answer to that question. Then, suddenly, as if she was seeing something on my face, she tilted her head and whispered, “You’re actually worried about them.”

Giving her a resigned sigh, I answered her with a nod. “I’ve been there, you know? Getting weird looks from people, girls having doubts about me actually being interested in them just because I’m also attracted to guys. I hate to imagine someone else going through something like I did. Especially if it’s someone from one of those houses, since most of them are famous for being around girls.” Looking down at my hands, I wasn’t sure if I should tell her about the things that I had been hearing. But I just couldn’t keep it to myself. “It’s just—some rumours said it was Min Yoongi with some junior TA in Music. He denied it, of course, so nobody knows.”

When I looked at her again, there was a concerned look in her eyes, something that was becoming more familiar in the years I had known her. “Do you know why I always get so worried about you?”

I had a feeling that I might know the answer to that. But I asked her anyway. “Why?”

“Because you have always had such a big heart. It might take a while for you to open up to other people, but the moment you let someone into your life, you always care for them a lot. Maybe too much. Hell, look at you worrying about some frat boy you barely know.” There was a fond smile on her face that I had no choice but to return with mine. I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying a thing and let her continue, and she took my hands in hers again. “I’m worried that someone might one day be using that kindness of yours and get you hurt. I’d really hate to see that.”

Little did she knew then, that I had been worried about the same thing for her. She had always been so fragile, so naive, and there was only one reason why I had never been able to get close to that boyfriend of hers. There was something about him that made it hard for me to trust him. Not with her heart. But I had kept it to myself, having no reason to actually point fingers. Yet. So I said nothing, and tried my best to reassure her that everything would be alright.

“I won’t worry about it, especially when I know you’ll have my back.”

She grinned. “You know I will.”

As we exchanged knowing gazes, I felt so sure that I would still have her by my side no matter what. Nothing could easily set us apart. Nothing could beat the years of friendship and trust that we had built.

At least, that was what I had truly believed.

But life had always been such a bitch. And nothing could stop it from derailing everything we had known and all that we had built together, leaving nothing behind but crumbles of dust.

—First life, year 2018—

My head was spinning. Worse yet, it felt like it was splitting in two.

Where was I? What the hell happened?”

I was pretty sure I blacked out. Or maybe I was in shock. It took a moment before everything began to clear up, though it didn’t actually make it okay when the pounding in my head stopped only to allow me to hear all the noises around me.

“Hey, buddy. Are you okay?” I felt someone gripping at my shoulder while I was stumbling out of the crowded room. I felt people’s eyes on me, but I ignored them all and turned to the person who was leading me out to a hallway right outside the room. That was when I turned and looked around, and everything sort of came back to me.

It was a frat party. I had heard that Sigma Phi was having this rave at their house and some people from my class had spotted Jungkook and his friends here. They had been sending me intel after I had spent the whole day searching for him after leaving ________’s flat.

After hearing how that bastard of a coward ran out of her place after finding out that she was pregnant.

And just like what my intel had informed me, he was hiding here with a fucking groupie who had been hanging out on Sigma to get lucky. Apparently, she lucked out to find that coward needing some distraction. But he wasn’t as lucky, as I found him easily, completely unguarded, and I managed to get a few hits to ruin his pretty face before he retaliated and knocked me on the head.

I flinched the moment I recalled the hit he gave me. It wasn’t hard, as he was pretty much drunk and my punches had probably left him disoriented, but he did put the blow at the right exact spot. And that spot was still pounding.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I grunted at my saviour. My fuzzy memory remembered his voice as the one who had stopped our fight and kicked Jungkook out of the house, and he had probably saved me from further humiliation by pulling me out of the dance floor.

“You need some ice on that. Come on, let me get you some,” he said, pulling my attention back to him just as all the party crowd went back to what they were doing before the interruption. Back to partying like drunken monkeys.

I was going to say no to his offer and leave. But it was obvious that he was not taking any kind of refusal for an answer when he simply turned away from me, already leading me towards the kitchen area at the back.

“Hey, Yoongi. Good to see you back. How was your trip?” Some guy greeted him as we passed a group of people coming down from upstairs. The man turned to me once Yoongi greeted him back with a low grunt, obviously not a man of many words. Just like what the rumours had said about him. The man who greeted Yoongi turned to me and frowned. “Damn, what happened to you?”

I winced when I reached up to touch my face, no doubt already bruising badly if everyone could already see it. “It’s nothing,” I said, and I thought I could see a bit of pity mixing with concern on Yoongi’s face when he turned to look at me.

“One of the bastards from Kappa Sigma hit him,” Yoongi explained, answering him for me. There was no doubt that he had witnessed everything that happened as he was the one who pulled us apart right after that bastard had put his fist on me, but I was glad that he wasn’t about to bring it up. Though knowing Jungkook’s reputation, pretty sure the rumours would start spreading in the morning. And I was quite sure that Jungkook must have been on his way back to her already, probably spitting out lies to protect himself. I really hoped that he would be grovelling on the ground she was standing on before she would take him back in her arms. Just the thought of them reconciling made me feel like there was a cold fist closing in around my heart. I hated knowing why he was here, hated that I had seen him and caught him red-handed. I wished I had beaten him up even worse, enough to stop him from running back to her, just like how he deserved it.

Just like how cowards like him deserved it.

“Don’t worry, man. I’m taking him back so I could put some ice on it,” I heard Yoongi’s voice talking to the other guy, snapping me back to present, and it was clear that I had missed out half of their conversation about my lousy fate. Only then did I realise that one of the girls from the group he was with was standing next to me, looking at the bruise curiously.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said, holding back from touching my bruise and started rubbing her hand up and down my arm instead.

I forced a smile and held back another wince when the small gesture was enough to hurt. “Nothing a piece of ice couldn't fix. Though I’m sure that my pride took a lot more bruises from that,” I tried to joke, raising my hand that was clutching at my glasses, which had been broken no thanks to Jungkook’s fist. “And my glasses, apparently.”

I heard a few of the people from the group chuckling at my joke, while the girl began shaking her head while giving me a smile. I had heard things about the boys from Sigma Phi and nothing about them had ever been bad. Words spread around campus kept telling me that these boys were more decent than the boys from Jungkook’s house. Damn, even their groupies were decent girls. Just like the girl who was by my side, as I recognised her easily as someone who had frequented the library to study just as often as I usually would.

Unlike all those players in Kappa Sigma house who would rotate the girls they hooked up with according to months, sometimes weeks. Not to mention their fan club, the girls who spent nearly all their college years doing nothing but partying and hooking up with the popular kids on campus.

Why couldn’t she find someone from this house to fall for and date instead?

“Fuck, that’s messed up. Alright then, I’ll leave you to Yoongi’s capable hands. Hey, if you need a ride to the hospital or something to have some fixing, give me a holler, alright?” the guy whose name I couldn’t even remember offered me just when I was about to follow Yoongi, and all I could do was nod.

“Thanks, man,” I muttered, not sure if he could hear me through the loud music, but the girl did give me another smile and a peck on my cheek before she followed him out the back.

“Here you go,” Yoongi said to me as we sat around the kitchen counter, handing me a bag of ice that he pulled out of a beer cooler.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bag from him and pressed it on my templed, immediately wincing at the pain. “Ow, fuck.”

He snorted at my reaction, though it didn’t exactly erase the concerned look in his eyes. “Take it easy.”

Sighing, I nodded my head stiffly and kept the ice pressed onto my face. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He nodded and pursed his lips, looking thoughtful for a second before speaking, “You’re her friend, aren’t you? Jungkook’s girl?”

My jaw twitched. “Yeah. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

He began shaking his head. “You know, even if I don’t know her that well. I wouldn’t have to be her childhood friend to lay one on Jungkook. I fucking hate cheaters,” he said, looking disgusted.

“Doesn’t seem like the others think the same way as you do.”

Yoongi looked down, releasing a sigh. “I really don’t understand these people. They’d rather cover up some fucker cheating behind their girls and do nothing to those who really need some real help.”

I wanted to say something about it, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t even his friend, anyway. So we only sat there in silence with the music from the party still banging in the background. He turned to grab a bottle of beer from the cooler, offering one to me, then we continued to sit there while drinking our beers in silence. The rumours that I had heard about him over the past year came back to me just as I looked at his resigned face, and the words were hanging right at the tip of my tongue. Though I wasn’t completely sure what I was going to say if I wanted to bring it up in our conversation.

Would it be proper for me to ask if those rumours were true? Only minutes after he helped me?

Just when I opened my mouth to try and speak, to talk about anything, just to break this awkwardness between us, he looked up over my shoulders and out the windows overlooking the front yard as something coming in front of the house caught his attention.

“Hey, you need a ride back or something? I’m heading out, so—”

I began considering it, not exactly sure if I was ready to part ways yet. But again, we were not friends. Just because he had saved me from being humiliated in the middle of a party and by giving me some ice, didn’t mean we became instant best friends either. “Uh, no. But thanks. I’ll find my own ride somehow.”

He nodded. “Right. Take care then.”

“You too.”

I watched him leave the room. My eyes couldn’t look away from his retreating back as he ran out of the house and off to the sidewalk, riding a black SUV that didn’t exactly fit the scene on campus. There was something inside me that kept nagging me about letting him go without saying a thing or asking for his number, but I was too tired, too sore, and completely pissed at how this night had turned out to care about making friends.

Tossing the bag of ice into the sink, I walked out of the house through the side porch where he had exited the house from earlier and pulled out my phone. My heart was beating like crazy when I dialled his number, but that immediately passed when I heard his voice from the other side of the phone call.

“Hello?”

I bit my lips. Something inside my gut was telling me that I might be doing something stupid. But right now, I really had nobody else to turn to. “Namjoon, hi. It’s me, Taehyung. I’m sorry for bothering you so late, but I think I’m going to need a ride home.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologise for. You know that I’m always here for you. I’ll be there in ten. Wait for me.”

—First life, year 2020—

How did it come to this?

Standing at the back of the seated guests while wearing a tight monkey suit, I looked around with a mixed feeling in my chest. I had thought that I wouldn’t feel much about being here, but there was a feeling of disdain as I stood there, taking in all these guests. For a wedding ceremony, there were not a lot of people who came in. Just close relatives and friends, perhaps. But even as I looked over to see her parents sitting close to my mine, reminding me how our lives had been connected for as long as we knew each other, I still felt like a complete stranger.

I had no idea how she managed to find me. After I left college early to join Namjoon’s charity mission, I never had any contact with her. The only people I had kept in touch with had been my parents, sometimes Hoseok, but I had convinced them not to tell her where I was as I moved around with Namjoon and his crew.

So when I came home to the lodge where Namjoon and I had been staying in during our trip to find him handing me the invitation, needless to say, I was completely floored. There was no reason for me to be here. I guess the only reason why I had flown across the world was only to make sure that this was really happening and not her playing a sick joke on me.

Everything around me had shown me that this was real. That she was actually getting married. And right there, standing at the end of the aisle was the man himself.

Jeon fucking Jungkook.

He was talking with his brother when I looked over at him. As if he could feel my gaze on him, he suddenly turned to see me. His eyes hardened when he recognised me, but he only nodded at me instead of looking at me with hostility before returning to his chat.

I looked away just as my Dad left his seat and walked towards me. Giving me a pat on my shoulder, he whispered to me, “Glad to see you make it here, Son.”

We chatted for a bit with him telling me that he was finally able to convince _______’s Dad to walk her down the aisle, and he left just as both her parents and mine moved towards the bride side of the seats in the front. While they were moving, stealing everyone’s attention, I slipped away towards the rooms hidden on the other side of the Wedding Hall to find the bride’s room.

It didn’t take much convincing on the bridesmaids standing guard at her door to let me in so I could see her, though it was clear to me that she had not been expecting to see me dropping by right before she was about to exchange vows.

“You came,” she said, completely stunned to see me standing there. Neither of us made a move to come closer or hug each other the way we used to, as I stood closer to the door with my hands tucked inside my pockets and her trembling hands clutching on her flower bouquet. I noticed her favourite flowers, white roses and daisies, looking just as bright and glorious as her white wedding dress looked.

When I looked at her again, there was sadness in her gaze, and a bit of hope. But I knew I crushed the latter when I said, “I only came because I had too many questions. And I suppose I needed to be here just to see that this is actually going down.”

She gave me a grim smile. “As you can see, this is happening. I’m getting married,” she said, and her voice cracked for a second before she cleared her throat to hide it. “So—what questions do you have?”

She looked up at me expectantly and all the questions that had been circling inside my head since the moment I held the invitation she sent me in my hands became all jumbled together. The only thing that came right out of my mouth was—

“Why?”

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. So I simply continued, “Why, after everything that he had put you through, would you still marry him?”

Her eyes softened, though there was a hint of doubt in them when she spoke. “He’s been with me the entire time. He has helped me heal and helped me with the grief of losing our—” She stopped before she could even try to say the word ’baby,’ obvious that she had yet to get over the grief of losing her pregnancy. The fact that she had not only forgiven him for causing the event but also for getting back together with him had been the reason why I left a couple of years ago.

I had no idea that she was still having trouble with it and that she was still grieving, all because I was not here for her. And apparently, he had been the one to fill that empty spot that I left behind on my departure.

“Why so soon? You still have yet to finish college, have you?” From the little communication I had kept with Hoseok since the day I left, I had known that she had been having trouble catching up with classes. The accident and the treatments that she had to go through made her fall back almost a year, and catching up must have been hard when most of her friends had excelled and when she was still haunted with everything that had happened, all the things she had lost, and the fact that she had to face all the people who knew about it.

Shaking her head, she began to admit the troubles she had been facing on campus, before letting me know that Jungkook had been going through the opposite. In his effort to show her that he was able to change, Jungkook had spent the past few years throwing himself into his study, making it possible for him to finish college early and for him to take a position in a company that belonged to one of his father’s business partner before he would take his place in his own family business like his brother did.

“He promised to take care of me,” she said after while smiling softly.

“And you still believe in him?”

She looked straight into my eyes and said, “I do. And he hasn’t failed me since to give me a reason not to believe in him.” I still had my doubts despite the way she seemed so sure about it, yet I said nothing, knowing that she would never listen to me anyway. Even if she would, it would only be much too late. Releasing a deep sigh, she repeated the same words she had given me then, “It’s not like it was an easy decision to make either, but—everyone deserves a second chance, Taehyung.”

’Not everyone,’ I wanted so badly to tell her, but I kept them to myself. Only because there was nothing good that could come out of it if I had said something to stop her. And judging by the looks of it, nothing could stop this from going on.

“And your parents? What did they have to say about this?”

“Obviously, neither my Dad nor Hoseok was happy about it,” she said dryly, and I remembered seeing her Dad fuming in his seat as he waited for the ceremony to begin, before my Dad seemed to be able to somehow change his mind. “But Mom had given me a chance to make the choice. Though I doubt that we’ll be invited home for the holidays as long as my Dad still refuses to give us his blessings. She could barely convince them to come. I think they only came today initially because she hasn’t been feeling well lately and both my Dad and my brother had been worried about letting her go out of the house on her own.”

I looked down and resisted the urge to shake my head. Now I understood why her parents had been sitting close to the exit, no doubt all because her Dad was so ready to walk out of the ceremony instead of staying to support her. And honestly, being away from her had yet to change what I had thought about Jungkook.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

The words that I gave her the last time we met came back to me. I still had no regrets ever voicing my thoughts and opinions about Jungkook, but I regretted that she was too stubborn to even consider taking her time before she would give him another chance and open her arms to welcome him back. And now, she was marrying him, completely tying the knot to make it last even longer. Perhaps forever.

“Taehyung?”

As I looked at her again, there was an expectation in her gaze that pulled at my heart. It was then when I realised that sending me the invitation was her act of lending me an olive branch. To give us another chance in friendship and have me back in her life again.

The same way she gave a chance to Jungkook.

But it was too late. Looking at things now, it was obvious that we were no longer walking on the same path. We had parted ways on a crossroad years ago, choosing different directions which had led us to who we were today.

Before she could say anything, I took a few steps closer to her and kissed her on the forehead. The move must have surprised her because she stiffened at my touch for a moment before relaxing against me, though I gave her no chance to dwell on it when I whispered,

“Be happy.”

Without looking back at her, I quickly left the room, leaving her behind with her own thoughts. Less than fifteen minutes later, I was right back where I was standing earlier, right at the far back in the Wedding Hall, witnessing her moody father walking her down the aisle to where Jungkook was waiting for her. Both of them shared big smiles on their faces as they were joined together at the altar, though her eyes showed sadness when she glanced back at the guests to find me, knowing that it would be the last time she would ever see me.

I stood there in silence as the ceremony continued. As they held hands, staring into each other’s eyes as they exchanged vows to be together until death would do them part. It was like adding salt to my wounds, but it was enough to make me see the reality of our relationship, that I had been replaced.

“He promised to take care of me.”

And there was really no need for me to stay, whether to prove myself wrong and watch him actually make her happy or to witness her regretting her decisions when he would hurt her again one day the way he had the last time she gave him her trust.

The moment I heard her say, “I do,” I didn’t stay long enough to wait for the ceremony to end and turned away, making my way out of the Wedding Hall and out of her life, where I was no longer needed.

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canyousonicme · 3 years

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“Certain actors have a reputation for being difficult. I don’t want to be one of those people”. - Alex Kingston

 INTERVIEW: The Sunday Post

 It comes as no surprise to Alex Kingston that her daughter has decided to follow in her footsteps, despite her best efforts to temper her acting ambitions.

The actress fell pregnant with Salome, now 19, when she was playing surgeon Elizabeth Corday on the long-running US medical drama ER in the ’90s.

Alex’s pregnancy was written into the script and Salome, whose father is German writer Florian Haertel, was just weeks old when she joined the cast as Elizabeth and Dr Mark Greene’s baby girl.

Now, two decades on, mother and daughter are working together again, this time in a Doctor Who spin-off audio drama, The Diary Of River Song. Now in its eighth series, it focuses on the Time Lord’s brilliant wife, the poetically named River Song, whom Alex has played on the TV show since 2008. Salome, meanwhile, plays the part of her synthetic humanoid companion, Rachel.

Alex said: “My daughter was in my belly on ER then played the role of our baby girl Ella Greene. She’s secretly always had the desire to act, but I was always adamant that she finished her education first.

“Salome plays a character who River Song meets up with occasionally and they have adventures together. Working with my daughter has been terrific fun. I am super-impressed with her. She is incredibly professional.”

Alex with daughter Salome

For the past year Alex and Salome have been isolating together at her London home, alongside Alex’s third husband, television producer Jonathan Stamp. The pair married in an intimate Italian ceremony in 2015, and Salome was a bridesmaid.

They are joined by Alex’s German-born mother, Margarethe, who sadly suffers from dementia. It sounds like a potentially stressful set-up but Alex has cherished the unexpected extra family time lockdown gifted her.

Alex, who celebrated her 57th birthday a few days after the first lockdown was announced last March, said: “My daughter had arrived from New York and decided she wanted to live with us. Then my mother, who has dementia, suffered two strokes early on in lockdown and she moved in as well. So I was her carer.

“It was an amazingly special time. And I cherish it. Particularly with my mother, because I wouldn’t have had that opportunity otherwise.”

Like the rest of us, Alex has relied heavily on streaming services to keep her entertained during the long days spent at home. She even broke her self-imposed rule of not watching her own stuff on screen.

She said: “We did all the usual things, massive clear-outs, and of course binge-watched TV. I loved Schitt’s Creek, Call My Agent, Bridgerton and Luther. I can’t bear to watch myself on the television. However, I started watching ER, because it was streaming on Channel 4. I look at myself and it’s like I am watching someone else. It’s such a good show, and it’s really held up!”

She added: “As much as everyone is saying this is the year that they want to forget, I actually feel it’s a year one can never forget. It certainly wasn’t an easy time. However, I have much stronger memories of the year, and of the patterns of the year than I have ever had pre-pandemic, when there was always so much rushing around.”

Alex in 1994 with fellow ER cast members (l-r) Anthony Edwards, Eriq La Salle, Goran Visnjic, Noah Wyle

Alex began her career at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, where she met her first husband, Skyfall actor Ralph Fiennes. They were together for 10 years before marrying in 1993. Two years later, Alex was left bereft when Fiennes left her after an alleged affair with a co-star. The London-born actress has barely stopped working since she first appeared on UK screens in 1980, as Jill Harcourt on the iconic children’s series Grange Hill. She continued to find success in UK dramas including Upstairs Downstairs, and The Fortunes And Misfortunes of Moll Flanders.

She first appeared in the fourth series of Doctor Who alongside David Tennant in 2008. Alex thought it was a one-off but has reprised the role in 15 episodes between 2008 and 2015.

It’s thanks to her Doctor Who appearances and, more recently, Sky’s hit supernatural drama, A Discovery Of Witches, that she has become known to a new generation of fans.

During her long and successful career, Alex has never been afraid to call out sexism in the industry. When she was dropped from ER aged 41, after seven seasons, she accused producers of ageism. saying “Apparently, I, according to the producers and the writers, am part of the old fogies who are no longer interesting.”

Then, when she auditioned for the role of Lynette Scavo on Desperate Housewives which eventually went to Felicity Huffman, she says she was turned away for being too curvy.

Although vocal about the challenges that face women, she admits she has seen positive changes in attitudes towards female talent in recent years.

She says: “When I was working on ER, I thought that I wasn’t allowed to get pregnant, I didn’t want to offend the producers as that is not what they had intended. I thought that I would have to ask permission. It was Anthony Edwards, who played my on-screen husband, who said ‘Don’t be ridiculous, don’t wait for them to allow you, you are not that important. If you want to have a child, go and have a child, and they will find a way to work round you.’ So I took his advice.

“I grew up with this notion that one had to be polite and always ask for permission. Whereas this generation don’t. They just get up and do it. The lovely and talented Teresa Palmer, whom I work with on A Discovery of Witches, is constantly popping out babies. Production just work around her. And it’s great, I admire her very much for that.”

Alex in ER

Alex puts her staying power down to being in the right place at the right time – and being nice to people, though she says theatre will provide her with a safety net should the TV work dry up one day.

She said: “Being as versatile as possible helps. I’m up for anything as long it is written well.

“I had a formal training. My first love is theatre. Having that as a backbone will always support me. In an industry that will favour youth more, theatre is always there. In order to succeed on the stage you have to have had good solid training and know how to handle your voice.

“Also, being a nice person counts for a lot. If you were difficult you would get a reputation. Of course there are actors who are extremely difficult and tiresome to work with, and there will come a point at which you think is it worth it? I don’t want to be one of those people.”

Despite her time-travelling credentials Alex has no idea what the future holds but still harbours a dream of being a Bond Girl (though obviously not one who falls for the smooth-talking spy).

She laughs: “I would love to be a villain in a James Bond movie, the real villain, the main one. Because they’ve never had a female villain. And I want to be a villain who does not find James Bond sexy at all. And doesn’t succumb to his charms, I want to be his real nemesis.”

Time for a return to Tardis?

Alex alongside Peter Capaldi in Doctor Who

From ER to the Tardis, Alex’s career to date has been distinguished by roles opposite fictional doctors, whether medical or time-travelling.

The smash-hit hospital drama which made her a star in the ’90s famously launched the Hollywood career of a certain George Clooney. Then in 2008, Alex won a new generation of fans as the wife of Doctor Who.

Because the Doctor transmutates over time Alex, as River Song, gets several leading men for the price of one. Alex said: “Essentially my character is the same, so there’s continuity there, and the fun is interacting with someone who is essentially the same man, but in a different skin and with a different energy.”

Perhaps the least lucky man in the role was Matt Smith.

Alex explained: “One of the most memorable parts of filming was when I flew through the universe, got caught in the Tardis and kneed Matt Smith, who was playing the Doctor at the time, in a sore place by mistake. There were a few tears of laughter from me and cries of pain from him.”

Speculation is rife among fans that Alex will return to the Whoniverse, if the incumbent Time Lord Jodie Whittaker steps down. All Alex will say is: “My Tardis door is always open…” [x]

#Alex Kingston #Salome Haertel #River Song #Doctor Who #Kingston Edit #ER #NEW #Interview #2021 #The Sunday Post #New

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

Note

For DADWC: from the Florence + The Machine Prompt List list > "And the heart is hard to translate, it speaks a language of its own". You're my favorite fenders writer 💙, so fenders fic, pretty please!

Aaaaaaaah so I got this twice and I love it SO much so thank you both! @contreparry - I really hope you enjoy it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: canon-typical graphic depictions of violence, Anders was right, anti-chantry, fluff

Rating: Mature

“And the heart is hard to translate It has a language of it's own It talks in tongues and quiet sighs And prayers and proclamations in the grand days Of great men and the smallest of gestures In short shallow gasps”

- All This and Heaven Too, Florence + The Machine

It started on a beach in 9:30 Dragon. It was raining, and Fenris, Hawke and the rest of their companions were hot and sticky with blood when the clouds had burst. They’d left a litter of broken slaver bodies in the sand dunes behind them, stumbling down to the grey waves of the Waking Sea beneath a cloudy sky.

And then it had begun to rain, and the mage: a foolish, willful man utterly ignorant of his own privilege, had yelped and begun to take his clothes off. Fenris can still remember the way the sand had felt between his toes, and hear the buzz of insects in his ears as he’d stared at the tall, blonde man, and the sand between them had grown dark with water.

Anders had stripped down to his smalls, blood streaked up his forearms in long vivid slashes, and dropped his staff carelessly into the long, stiff silver reeds. Admittedly, it was a cheap thing: clearly scavenged or stolen, and nothing that any self-respecting magister would have been seen dead with. Still. Fenris had never seen a mage just drop their staff like that before. Just to the right of Anders’ chest, half hidden by thick red-blonde hair, was a deep and jagged scar directly above his heart. His belly was almost concave, hip bones jutting in a way that could only be unhealthy. There were more scars, but Fenris barely had a chance to see them before Anders was running at the freezing sea.

From behind, Fenris saw that his long back was latticed with more scars than he had previously imagined. The mage yelped as he got into the waves, feet hopping as if the water were burning hot, not freezing cold. And then he got past the shallows, and dove in beneath the cresting waves. Behind him, somewhere between the beach and the horizon, seabirds leapt squawking into the grey sky. Anders had burst up out of the blue water, laughing, tossing his hair back from his face in a whip of antique gold, tipping his long, crooked nose back and shutting his eyes as he raised his face to the watery grey sunlight.

And then Isabela and Hawke, laughing, had pulled each other’s clothes off and followed him, and Fenris had been left standing uncertainly on the beach, watching them, unable to decipher the ache in his chest as he waited for them to rejoin him on the shore.

It started in the Alienage in 9:30 on Wintersend. Anders had just delivered triplets, which was a labour that was exactly as harrowing and arduous as he had worried it would be. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours, and for weeks after he’d ascribed the events of that night to a waking dream. The elvhen women whose children he’d delivered had attempted to press what silver they had into his hands, and Anders had pressed it back into the mother’s wife’s hands, dizzy with the expenditure of his magic and the sheer weight of fatigue. Then he’d taken his staff, more as a cane than anything, and slowly left the narrow confines of their home.

His knee had been blistering with pain: and he’d known before the first kiss of snow that the weather had changed. His worst scars always warned him before the sky broke. Still, the coat he’d armoured over the years with reinforced leather and what other supplies he could scavenge provided little warmth against the night, so Anders was shivering as his breath fell in white clouds into the dark. Around the Vhenadahl, candles flickered against the wind in a way that only magical fire could, and Anders sent a silent half-hearted prayer to the Maker that the templars would stay inside their barracks tonight, and not make any midnight excursions into Lowtown.

The last person he had expected to see leaving Merrill’s home was Fenris, and he certainly hadn’t expected to see the elf wrapped in a mossy green, knitted woolen scarf. For a second the pair of them stared at each other, caught like apprentices out of bed past curfew. Then Fenris had flushed, ruddy against his dark skin, and marched past him. Anders had expected it to end there, but when Fenris got to the foot of the steps to the alienage he stopped, greatsword strapped like steel lightning to his back.

He turned on the steps, and frowned at Anders. “Are you coming?”

Anders had followed. Fenris said nothing for the whole journey, but he walked Anders to the door of his clinic, and when Anders swayed as he tried to heave open the heavy doors, Fenris had caught his elbow. Anders had stared at him, more startled by the unexpected gesture than he would have been by the Darktown floor, and Fenris jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. In one of the undercity taverns, a chorus of festival goers were singing. Fenris gave him a short, sharp nod. “Good night, mage.”

Anders nodded back, speechless. Through the broken walls of Darktown, snow drifted in silent clouds and disappeared into the blue ink of the Waking Sea. Anders was convinced for years that he imagined it when Fenris stopped again, on the staircase outside the clinic, and spoke in a murmur. “Happy Wintersend.”

It started on Sundermount in 9:33 Dragon. Fenris had fallen, feet slipping in the mud, right calf failing him thanks to a slice to his leg that felt like it had split a ligament. His leg was a screaming burn and the rest of him was little better. The fog on the mountain was thick and white as dragon’s breath, and much colder, seeping through his armour and into his skin, and making the lyrium sewn into his flesh numb the veins around it in a bruising ache. Fenris couldn’t see Hawke, or Isabela, and he did not trust the mage to be anywhere than at Hawke’s side, for all that she had clearly long since promised her heart to Isabela. It was with a grim certainty that Fenris had looked up into the bloody, snarling face of his would-be killer, even as his mind ran through every formal strategy and dirty tricky he could think of. His fingers scrabbled in the dirt for mud to throw into his eyes, but his fingers were weak and stiff with the cold. The slaver’s sword fell.

Which was when six feet two of mage tackled him. Fenris stared as Anders charged at the slaver who would have killed him, throwing him down into the dirt. The mage’s staff was nowhere to be seen, and his hair was almost brown with the rain. His pale face was streaked with blood, and his coat and shirt were torn and scorched in places, exposing his bare, newly healed skin. Fenris stared as Anders tackled the slaver down into the mud and then reared back and punched him, hard, breaking his nose before punching him again, and again, and then taking a dagger from his belt and slitting his throat with brutal efficiency.

When the act was done, Anders dropped the knife into the dirt and scrambled to his feet, long legs skidding in the wet mud like a newborn colt. Fenris almost laughed, but in the absence of mortal peril his injuries were attempting to set his nerve endings on fire. His efforts to sit ended in him collapsing back onto the hill and praying to a Maker he struggled to believe in that Hawke and Isabela had dealt with the rest. And then Anders was there, face covered in blood and mud, hair clinging like kelp to his newly freckled and faintly sunburned cheeks. “Oh no you don’t.”

Magic fell over Fenris’ ruined leg like holy fire, and Fenris’ pain evaporated, washing away from one heartbeat to the next until it was merely a distant, terrible memory. Slowly, stiffly, Fenris managed to sit up, and for the first time in three years, Anders gave him a warm, honest smile. “There you are.”

Then he’d stood, and Fenris had been dizzily reminded exactly how tall he was. And then there was a long, calloused hand, red with blood, fingers crooked with breaking, thrust into the foggy air between them. Despite himself, Fenris took it.

It started on the Wounded Coast in 9:33 Dragon. Aveline was attempting to woo her soon to be husband, Donnic, and Anders was struggling to understand exactly why that required Hawke and her friends to put their lives on the line. But the summer was late and hot, and the days were long, and Marian’s eyes were very blue. So he’d found himself in the shifting, midge-ridden dunes of the Coast, killing slavers and Tal-Vashoth, and only occasionally cringing with second hand embarrassment at Aveline’s attempts at flirtation.

They’d dispatched most the ne’er-do-wells stupid enough to show their faces between the sand dunes, and were waiting for Aveline and Donnic to catch up in an appropriately concealed spot beneath the hissing reeds. Soon enough, their voices came down the path, not quite smothered by the close crash of the ocean and the whistle of the wind.

“So I think it’s always best to start with a quick downward slash, and then follow up with a parry. It’s predictable, sure, but I think it’s good to get recruits started on what’s tried and trusted.”

Fenris had laughed, and for a second Anders thought the wind dropped. The elf’s voice was rough and low, and his laugh was too. He’d curled his lyrium-twined fingers at Isabela, and Isabela had rolled her eyes and presses a silver into his waiting palm. Fenris had pocketed it. Then he’d caught Anders staring, and cleared his throat, colour rising to his high cheekbones. Isabela had leaned across him, and Fenris’ flush had risen up the back of his neck and into the tips of his ears. Anders had tried very hard not to stare at it.

“Do you want in? Fenris thinks it won’t be until the third path.”

Anders had spoken, as he so often did, without stopping to think. “I wouldn’t have figured you for the romantic type.”

Fenris had met his eyes, then, and the elf’s were deep and green and beautiful. “There is a great deal that you do not know about me, mage.”

Anders had not been able to think of anything else for the rest of the night.

It started in 9:37 Dragon. They were in The Hanged Man, and Fenris was staring at the monster that wore the face of his nightmares. Corff was nowhere to be seen, nor were Maraas or any of the tavern’s other regulars. Fenris was trying to beat back the tide of cynicism in his mind telling him that he should have known they would betray him, all of them. That he should never have trusted anyone but himself.

His sister stepped back, and his blood roared so loudly in his ears that he barely heard what Hawke said. But he heard his domi - Danarius - talking about his affection and his skills. It took everything Fenris had not to vomit on the tavern floor, and his mind revolted in a dizzy kind of horror as the impulse conflicted with memories of merrier disasters on these same stained floorboards. Then there were demons, and his mouth was thick with sulphur, and Fenris was fighting for his life.

It was like being back in the Provings again. Danarius had found his way onto the wooden staircase of The Hanged Man: the staircase that led up to Varric’s rooms, the staircase on which Fenris had once kissed Isabela and been pleasantly surprised by her response, the staircase where he’d found her kissing Hawke and told them it didn’t matter. Danarius had desecrated this place that despite the best efforts of Fenris’ anxieties had become like a home to him. Danarius had stood there, and watched, and Fenris had heard his friends’ screams as his master’s demons had ripped into their flesh.

Fenris had lost track of time, arms burning with the searing remnants of dismembered spirits, hands slippery with sweat and blood. But at some point the familiar relief of healing had disappeared, and he had belatedly looked up through sweat-stinging eyes to see Anders’ body arched in a translucent prison of blue light. Danarius had been watching the mage with an expression of terrible curiosity that Fenris knew well and feared more. His expression had been almost impassive as the mage shuddered and spasmed, blood oozing from his ears and flowing from his nose and down over his chin.

Isabela was clutching a gash in her side that was turning her white canvas tunic cherry red, and Hawke was dragging a mangled leg through the broken furniture as she made her way towards her. Fenris stood frozen in the smouldering wreckage, trapped like the butterflies his master liked to collect on pinned boards in his study. Anders had collapsed in a heap at Danarius’ feet, and Danarius had stepped forward. Fenris’ heart lurched.

But then Anders had surged abruptly to his feet and punched Danarius in the balls.

Fenris laughed, a shocked bark that was too loud in the tavern following the battle, and Danarius had wheezed, and blood had spun about his fingers, and Anders had grabbed the back of his head with one hand and slammed his knee into Danarius’ nose with a jarring crunch, chest heaving as he panted.

Then he’d picked up Danarius with all the strength promised by his tall, muscular frame, his training as a Grey Warden and the hearty meals Varric had spent nine years coaxing him into. Anders hurled Danarius down the stairs, where he landed in a heap at Fenris’ feet. Anders had looked at him, beard red with blood, body trembling with fury or pain or both.

“He’s all yours.”

And just like that, Fenris was free.

It started in 9:37 Dragon. Hawke and Isabela had fled across the sea, and Anders didn’t blame them. The Chantry was gone, and he was still getting used to the idea that he was meant to survive this. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he should, and Justice had been all too silent on the subject. So he spent his days in a waking dream, trekking for days and then weeks into the Vimmark mountains in the vague direction of Nevarra.

He hadn’t seen another living person for three weeks when an elf emerged from the fog, wreathed in white light like a ghost. Anders had stopped. His body and mind had long since become stretched too thin with hunger, horror and grief. Fenris’ countenance, for all its grim finality, came as an abrupt relief. At least he could stop running, now.

He’d dropped his staff, slowly, and held up his hands. “If you’re here to kill me, I won’t stop you.”

Fenris had not drawn his sword, but he hadn’t let the light die in his lyrium, either. When he stepped closer, he didn’t make sound, and for a moment Anders thought perhaps he really was a ghost, summoned by his imagination and too many nights in a decade spent longing for a man he couldn’t have.

Around them, birds had sung in the early morning, and not far off a stream made its laughing way down the cliffs. “Why did you run?”

Fenris asked the question as if it held the secret to the restoration of the Golden City itself. Anders laughed, stepping forward and stumbling over his own feet and the thick mass of pain that was his long since ruined knee. Fenris moved toward him through the long, dew-soaked grass, but didn’t quite breach the space between them. Anders swayed into a mostly intentional sitting position on a moss-covered boulder. “Does it matter?”

Fenris had met his eyes, and his own were dark and green and beautiful. “It does.”

Anders shrugged, and shut his eyes, leaning his head back and up into the fog. Water kissed his cheeks, and he thought: it would have been worth it, for this. It would have been worth it, to feel the weather again.

Something skittered in the bushes, and Anders opened his eyes and watched Fenris turn, bristling, to scan the trees. After a moment Fenris’ shoulders lowered, fractionally, and he turned back to Anders. He’d asked the question again, patiently, persistently. “Why did you run?”

Anders shook his head. “Because I didn’t want to bring you down with me.” Fenris’ eyes had widened a little, and Anders hurried on. “Any of you. I knew what I was doing, but the consequences were mine alone. I wasn’t going to subject you to them.”

Fenris had tilted his head, and the lyrium in his skin had sent shimmering refractions of light dancing iridescently through the fog. “I did not think you bore me so much good will.”

“More like I didn’t bear you so much ill.” Anders had corrected, before sitting forwards, feeling abruptly the weight of too many decades of exhaustion lying heavy on his aching shoulders. “It’s alright. I think killing me is the best decision, too.”

The glass had rustled, then, and Anders thought it must have been deliberate. But then Fenris’ feet were in front of him, stained green with the grass, and the light of his lyrium faded, leaving them both wreathed only in the sunlit fog. Anders looked up at Fenris, and he looked like some ancient king, backlit by the bright sky, skin dark and olive against the shimmering silver of his lyrium. “I’m not going to kill you, mage.”

And then there was a dark, calloused hand, silver with lyrium, fingers slender and elegant, thrust into the misty air between them. Anders stared at Fenris, and Fenris’ poker face cracked as he gave him a small, crooked smile. Despite himself, Anders took his hand, letting Fenris pull him easily to his feet.

“I’m going to help.”

It started in 9:40 Dragon, when the Circle of Dairsmuid was annulled, and over five hundred mages between the ages of six and seventy were murdered because they were allowed to see their families. It started in 9:40 Dragon, with the rebellion of the White Spire. It started in 9:40 Dragon, when Lord Seeker Lambert declared an end to the Circle of Magi.

It started in a tavern in Nevarra, at a meeting of former slaves and runaway mages. It started with elves, and second-hand weapons, and an apostate with a Fereldan accent who looked like an Ander. It started with an elf from Tevinter with white tattoos that looked like Vallaslin.

It started with rebellion. But that isn’t where it ended.

“No, words are a language It doesn't deserve such treatment And all my stumbling phrases Never amounted to anything worth this feeling All this heaven never could describe Such a feeling as I'm healing, words were never so useful So I was screaming out a language That I never knew existed before.”

- All This and Heaven Too, Florence + The Machine

#dadwc #fenders #da2 #fenris #anders #my fic #barbex #contreparry

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tristintea · 3 years

Text

Endersleep

AU that’s basically a bunch of headcanons about endermen ft. Edward the Enderman and Lethe (Ranboo) :D

Endermen do not give birth, like piglins, humans, and other mammals do. Endermen do not lay eggs, like sirens, avians, reptiles, birds, dragons, and fish do. In fact, their method of reproduction is more akin to that of spores. Everywhere an enderman goes, particles are left behind, little bits of ender that fade but never quite dissolve. Those little particles are replaceable, insignificant, until they find enough of themselves that they can remember what it feels like to be ender.

It is nigh impossible to find infant or adolescent enderman anywhere, even in the End, where they are the only creatures other than the nearly extinct enderdragons (see: The Enderdragon, A Summary) and face no natural predators. At first, it was assumed that endermen were at risk of extinction, but studies showed no significant changes in population. One dedicated researcher by the name of Rhianna James, however, spent her life with these cryptic creatures, eventually learning the answer to this perplexing question.

As James discovered, most endermen spawn fully grown. It is only very rarely that there are enough particles to spawn an enderman but not enough to make an adult mind. That is why, when an enderman finds an enderling, it will adopt it into its haunting, and all members of the haunting take on the role of a caretaker. You will never find a more protected child than that of an enderman.

Edward’s haunting is gone. Edward has been wandering for many years now, and as the grief that accompanied the loss turned to nostalgia, they’ve regained their old vigor for life. Now they see sights worth seeing, places worth being, people worth meeting; now they search for others to spend their nights with.

It has been far too long since they’ve sung the Old Songs properly.

Travel is dangerous, Edward has come to know very well. Others, non-endermen, often meet Edward with a sword in hand, either in defense or in greed. Edward themself has learned that connecting gazes is not a threat to non-endermen, but they have yet to be able to control their instinct to retaliate in anger.

The weather is also dangerous. Being caught in the rain is painful, and the only escape is to teleport to one of the other dimensions. Snow is beautiful, but when it melts it hurts just as bad.

It has just stopped raining when Edward hears a call that is painfully familiar but distinctly off. It’s the cry of a wounded enderman, but the sounds are higher-pitched and slurred. They don’t register that, though; they are far too preoccupied with searching for its origin, ears flared outward as they listen intently for the next call.

They find a small, precious thing, under the dripping leaves of the forest. They have to ignore the sharp sound of the sizzling of their own skin with every drop that hits them, and it is worth it, because of all the endermen to be blessed with an enderling, Edward never thought that they would be one of them.

Their enderling is a little strange. They are split down the middle, one half of them the proper coloring, with the bright green eyes that they have been told all enderlings have for many years, while the other half is white and its eye red. But Edward does not care. They are theirs, and they will protect them with their life.

As we know, endermen, when stressed, become aggravated; however, what James discovered is that they go into a catatonic state once the perceived threat is gone. This state is called endersleep, a term coined by James herself, and it can last from anywhere between a few minutes to decades. In fact, an enderman might never wake up from endersleep, and yet it can still live out its entire expected lifespan. Its haunting will feed it, nourish it, and carry it with them either until its death or its awakening.

James wrote that she had only twice seen an enderman in endersleep. “It was sudden[....] One moment [the enderman] was screaming, and the next, [it] had collapsed. I thought [it] had passed out,” she wrote in one of her earlier entries. In a later entry, she said, “The haunting showed me their fourth member, that they had been carrying with them for some time now. I had wondered about this, with no hypothesis in my thoughts and only bafflement[....] [To] my surprise, I found that [it] was not actually dead, but breathing very slowly as though in a deep slumber.” Then, much later, “[The enderman] woke from endersleep today. I had assumed that [it] would never wake up again[...] now I realize that this is a common occurrence.”

While their enderling rests, Edward carries them away from the forest and the remnants of rain. They are badly injured, splotches of burning skin still sizzling even now, and the humming of their pearl is weak and broken. Edward hurries, a line of particles left to fade in their wake. They cannot let their enderling die yet.

They trill comforts to their enderling, who has grown too weak to do anything but chirp when the pain grows too much. Even with a dying star pressed to their chest, Edward cannot feel upset. The fact that they held one at all will be enough for them, if Lady Death takes them into her own arms.

They move past trees and stones and hills, ignoring the hiss of a creeper and the whistle of an arrow, because such things do not touch them. They keep moving even as the sky begins to lighten and the hills grow taller and the air grows clearer. Their pearl aches, but Edward does not falter. Their enderling has stopped chirping, has stopped moving entirely; so they must move for them, must sing part of a song they don’t know if they’ll ever truly hear again.

They are cold.

Endersleep could be compared to hibernation, if it weren’t for the fact that for endermen, cold is nothing to be worried about. When an enderman is too warm, it grows drowsy and confused, but when an enderman is cold, its pearl is free, and the colder it gets the more energy it has, until of course it is too cold to move. This is one reason why endermen are nocturnal: to avoid the heat of the sun.

Edward does not slow when they see high stone walls towering over them. They teleport to the other side of them, into the quiet of a city, and they do not quiet their song to match.

They are looking for one of the non-endermen, someone who has a potion of healing.

Of course, another reason why endermen are nocturnal is the End, their original habitat. The End is a dimension filled with clusters of endstone islands, floating in the ever-black void. There is not much natural light there.

The city is filled with lights, flames flickering in iron cages hung over every door and at every street corner. It starts to meld together in Edward’s eyes, blurs of orange and yellow smudged with shades of grey and blue.

There. They come to a halt, shaking the fuzziness out of their vision, and only take one look at the potion bottles in the overworld building before they enter in a silent explosion of purple.

They can still hear the humming of their enderling’s pearl, soft and weak next to their own loud humming, and it makes them slowly walk around the shop. They regret that they do not know how to read Overscript very well. It takes precious time to make out the characters, and longer to stitch them together to form something understandable.

Harm. Stre. Fir. They don’t look past the first few letters, knowing enough to remember that Healing starts with none of them. Rej. Po.

Heal.

Edward knocks the bottle from the shelf with one sweep of their tail, and it shatters on the floor with a sound that seems to cut into their skull. They do not flinch. They find a scrap of cloth, and they drape it over the puddle of potion and glass, so that the liquid seeps in and the glass stays behind.

They leave, rubbing the dripping cloth on their enderling’s shoulders, and behind them a livid alchemist bursts into the room with curses on his tongue and a gleaming sword in his hand.

It’s hard to say whether James’ research is reliable, though. She dealt with delusions for many years before the end of her life, and there are journals filled cover to cover in nothing but nonsensical scribbling and occasional letters, evidence of one of her more questionable projects. She thought that endermen had their own language, going so far as to claim that they had books and even enchantments, and for the rest of her life she tried to convince everyone she met that endermen were players, not mobs.

#it's not mentioned but ranboo's name is Lethe in this AU #enderman #ranboo #c!ranboo #edward the enderman #headcanon #short fic #my writing #dsmp #dsmp writing #dsmp fanfic #ranboo fanfic

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renaerys · 3 years

Note

I think I like the idea of 31 for the greens 💚

31. “You can bite me. I like it.”

Okay I admit this one toes the line with the innuendos, but I'm completely fine with that.

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

Buttercup had always known she had merch. As one-third of a former Superhero team, she was bound to accumulate fans over the years. Even now, with her crime-fighting days long behind her and her focus on making a living like any other normal adult, she occasionally encountered echoes of the past: a Girl Power! T-shirt tie-dyed in pink, blue, and green; a set of refrigerator magnets that spelled out her and her sisters’ names; even an old coloring book series full of cartoonish monsters and Superpowered little girls. It was all a little weird, a little cringe, but totally harmless.

Until Butch found out.

“Oh my god, I found your horcrux.”

The popsicle had melted and warped in freezer storage. The face belonged in an acid trip or a Silent Hill movie. Buttercup was sure some demon must have siphoned the ass-end of her soul to make this abomination. “That is the scariest thing I have ever seen.”

“Dude, this thing is amazing.” He licked Buttercup’s frozen popsicle likeness. “Oh my god, it’s cherry flavored.”

“Wow, what are you, fourteen?” Buttercup tried to leave, but Butch chased after her.

“Hey, hey Buttercup.”

“What?”

“Can you feel this?” He gave the popsicle a long lick up the length of its face.

“You are a crime against humanity, you know that?”

“C’mon, just try her!”

“Her? We’re not gendering the ice cream, Butch.”

“She didn’t mean that,” Butch soothed the melting treat.

Buttercup cut through the park on the way back to her office. Butch followed her.

“Okay, okay, but seriously, just try it. It’s kinda sweet, but it’s pretty decent.”

Buttercup eyed the popsicle. Perhaps it had once resembled her, if she were a cartoon, but now it was a mess of green and black and lumpy, bubble gum eyes. A bit of the face dribbled onto the grass.

This was a decision. Someone of sound mind woke up one day and the best idea they had was to make a popsicle inspired by her face. Someone said to themselves hey, I could sell this to some dumb kids or horny dudes and make a killing.

“You know, I should be getting royalties for that.”

Butch chewed on the chunk of hair-shaped popsicle he’d bitten off and his eyes went wide. “Oh shit, you’re totally right! We should sue the manufacturer!”

Or at least get them to discontinue the line so I never have to see this again.

Her phone buzzed. “It’s Ty. I have to get back to work.”

“I’m texting Blossom. I bet there’s someone we can sue.” The remainder of Butch’s popsicle melted into the grass as he typed out a message on his phone.

“Okay, whatever. See you later.”

Buttercup forgot all about her bizarre popsicle likeness as she buried herself in a case for work. Later that evening at the apartment she shared with Butch, she sank into the living room sofa ready to kick back. Butch came at her from behind and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Hey, you wanna Netflix and chill?”

Buttercup grinned. “Yeah. Grab me a beer?” She scrolled through her Netflix queue until Butch returned.

“Got you something special,” he said.

“What?”

It was another demented popsicle. This one’s eyes were completely uneven, and the mouth was too wide, and the hair line had run down into the face due to melting or demonic infestation. Buttercup stared at the face of her frosty doppelgänger and wondered what Dorian Gray had thought when he saw his painting, grotesque from years of absorbing his hedonism: bitch, I lived.

“Wanna try it? Blossom said she can file for an injunction against the manufacturer, so this might be your only chance before they discontinue the line.” Butch wagged the popsicle like a cat’s toy.

“You’re so weird, you know that?”

“Dude, you’re the one not freaking out about how you’re so famous and beloved that they made your face into candy! How cool is that? You’re like the Mona Lisa.”

“If a five-year-old drew her.”

“Hey, don’t go shitting on five-year-olds. I knew a few who punched major dick back in the day.”

Buttercup laughed. “This has to be in the top ten dumbest conversations we’ve ever had.”

“So you want some of this? What’s it gonna be? Please eat me, Buttercup!”

“Oh, come on. Don’t make that voice.”

“I’m so creamy going down.”

She wheezed. “Butch, Jesus Christ.”

“You can bite me. I like it.”

“I’m going to bite you if you don’t knock it off.”

“Bite down on my juicy, cherry center—”

Buttercup shoved a cushion at his face, and he fell onto the floor laughing.

“Noooo, Popsicle-Buttercup! She could’ve been worth millions one day!” he lamented the popsicle now on the floor and collecting rug fibers.

“Popsicle-Buttercup isn’t going to Netflix and chill with you, moron. Clean that up and I’ll get the beers.”

She went to the kitchen to get their drinks while Butch saw to the rug. When she tossed the bottle caps in the trash, however, she saw a bright, blue box crumpled at the top and grew suspicious. Setting the beers aside, she opened the freezer and found eleven more Powerpuff Pops chilling with the frozen french fries and ice cube trays. Misshapen versions of her sisters and herself stared back at her, their runny mouths smiling wide and black.

Buttercup closed the freezer door. “Goddamnit, Butch!”

He cackled like a lunatic when she tackled him on the sofa.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfic #butchercup #ppg greens #ppg buttercup #ppg butch #september fic prompts

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superman86to99 · 3 years

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Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late. An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible. While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour. It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling. We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places. A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail. Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines. I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation. Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers. Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois. The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are well-done and tensely paced. While sometimes I think the pupil-less flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking. Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me. I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas. The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me. The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing in these pages. The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either. So, another rare misstep from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion. STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline. A lesser book might not have acknowledged any time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to. Huh? How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman. If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib? Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer. She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

#superman #dan jurgens #joe rubinstein #cat grant #adam morgan #toyman #dan turpin #joke guns that only exist in comics #cat grant the dark retributor #coming soon to image comics

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