#i hit post instead of edit on this once and never felt terror like it

[hardoncaulfield]

I'm a few days late making this but bc of the mashdyssey posting I thought I'd post the uhh clothing theory that's been boiling my brain for some weeks now. These posts gave me the initial worms & then I got to thinking about the symbolism of the pink henley in terms of BJ/Odysseus parallels. Because clothing in the odyssey is so incredibly important, like one scholar says: "For Homeric society what a person wore represented in a real, not just a symbolic, sense what he was. A king without his proper raiment is not a king.."¹ Clothing is implicated at every level of Odysseus' journey —

[Both inserts²]

But Odysseus doesn't disguise himself, is the thing, Athena does it for him, or else his clothes are gifts from women:

[See this post.]

So, in the odyssey Clothing becomes representative of identity to such an extent that it even qualifies a person's status as a person — when Odysseus washes up naked on Phaeacia he covers himself in leaves, an inhuman covering that makes him less-than-human. So when Nausikaa offers him clothes she is reintroducing him into society and, specifically, offering him a role in that society as her potential spouse.

& this is where the red party comes in — Hawkeye becomes a sort of anti-nausikaa, he resents the clothes that tie him to the society/institution he is part of and make him complicit in the army's violence. And, quite different from the situation in the odyssey where the clothing-gift orginates with Nausikaa and brings Odysseus into society by offering him a role in that society, here BJ gifts Hawkeye clothes he himself wears (and continues to wear for the rest of their time together) & rather than the clothing-gift representing a role inside the established order, BJ continuing to wear red is him saying that he's with Hawkeye against the lot of them. He'll stand with Hawkeye outside society. & this is sort of the crux of him going from being an excellent Nobody [I sent this ask but was too chicken to ask off anon, look at me now 😔✌] to acknowledging that he's changing and that change might not be all bad. (Thanks @flintism for pointing this one out)

& I think it's interesting to overlay this with that moment from Odysseus' homecoming — the triumphant moment when he throws off his beggar's disguise and stands there completely naked and therefore completely himself — where we see that it is only because he can claim his identity that he is able to claim his nostos. & I don't have a conclusion for this but I think it's interesting to consider how BJ changes his clothes because of his love for Hawkeye in light of Odysseus' having to prove himself to be himself before he can go home and also that scene from book 19 where Penelope recognises Odysseus by the clothes he wore when he went away to war even while she fails to recognise that the man himself is sitting in front of her — much 2 consider

1. Studies in the Odyssey. B. Fenik

2. Clothing and Identity in the Odyssey: The Case of Penelope's Web. Naoko Yamagata

#i hit post instead of edit on this once and never felt terror like it #if you've seen this before no you didn't #posts for three people #mash #mashdyssey #🚬😔✌ #footnotes were entirely unnecessary but I'm attached to the academic format now #also if anyone wants readings about the odyssey that give you mash worms then hmu

[forbiddensoul562]

Contagion

I could have sworn I’d published this, but I found it in my draft folder this morning... So... I apologize that it hasn’t gone through a rigorous editing process, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Two years ago I sat on a train in Taiwan, headed from Taipei to a small, remote place called (I think) Wufeng. As I sat there, I thought about a post-apocalyptic zombie Meronia fic I’d read somewhere on here. It was very good, but I had no luck tracking it down again, and I thought that was a damn shame.

So, I pulled out my notebook and wrote a test first chapter of my own version during the whole two hour train ride. 

It’s not much, and might not have much substance to it. But I’d love to get anyone’s thoughts on it’s start.

Working Title: Contagion

The moment they appeared their existence made national news… The world screeched to a halt, all attention on these things. Humans… turned diseased, feral, or perhaps something else entirely. No one knew for sure where they came from. It was as though one moment the world continued spinning like normal, and in the next… these things began flooding the streets. The initial confusion of news analysts and reporters slowly began to turn to fear. It took only an hour before the first bite was reported... The victim turned, becoming one of the diseased. 

That was the moment public fear began to turn to panic, catching like wildfire.

As Near watched, from secluded inside his high tower, he was acutely aware that he was witnessing the turning point of human history.

By the second hour after the first report had hit the news, Near had decided that what he was witnessing was potentially the unravelling of human society. He was a detective… trained to solve the world’s mysteries. But this… There was no training for this, and even if he wanted to act, the pandemic was spreading far too fast.

By hour three Near found himself trying to name these things based on their condition – should he refer to them as the Sick, infected initially by some kind of widespread contagion? The news began to report them as simply ‘undead,’ and while Near understood that such a title effectively, and most simply communicated to the general populace what these things were doing, based on common knowledge from mass media, Near could only roll his eyes at how unoriginal and unfitting the term appeared to be.

At the tenth hour, local news agencies began going off the air as it was too dangerous to stay and try to report. It made sense, they had themselves and their own families to think about. It was in that moment that fear suddenly began to take the place of Near’s previously more pragmatic thoughts. A new, chilling terror of encroaching total isolation the outside world seeped into his bones.

It was then that he decided it best to make the one call of utmost importance in the dying world, before cell towers began to completely fall off the grid.

Rester handed Near the phone and the detective listened to the ringing tone as he pressed it to his ear, an unspoken panic brewing in his center and he couldn’t decide if it was premised in his worry for lines of communication, or something much more morbid. ‘Pick up,’ He mentally pleaded, desperately. ‘Come on, answer your phone…’ Of all the times to be ignored…

But then, as if by command, finally the other end of the phone ceased the repetitive tone, replaced instead with a simple, abrupt, “What?”

“Mello.” A heavy breath was released that Near hadn’t realized he was holding, momentary relief taking its place. “You’ve seen the news?”

[More beneath a ‘keep reading’, just in case Tumblr isn’t showing it...]

There was a brief pause from the other end, and Near felt his heartrate quicken in response. Time was just too precious for delays of any kind. Every second that crucial information wasn’t being conveyed was another second that Near felt his panic increase, worried that the call might drop and he might never get to say what he needed to.

“It’s starting to be chaos here, too.” Mello’s tone was somber, quieter as though speaking any louder would make the events all the more real.

“I see.” Near reached for a strand of hair, though the repetitive twirling sensation was proving to do little to calm his nerves, as it once had. This was just becoming too big of a catastrophe for his simple rituals to pacify his worry. “The world is ending, Mello.”

“Strangely dramatic of you.” The older successor muttered, but was quick to add, “You think I don’t know that?” There was an irritated edge to his tone, yet still Near couldn’t help cracking a small smile at Mello’s underhanded, and perhaps unconscious, implication that they both truly were not above dramatics. Though, perhaps he was reading too far into it, searching for a sliver of normality in a world that was quickly falling crumbling.

“No, of course you would already be aware.” After all, Mello was much more heavily involved in the world, or at least connected to it on a far more personal level than Near was. “No doubt the grid will be going down at some point. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe in a few hours, or days… So to that effect I wanted to contact you first over anyone else.” Near’s motions in his hair stopped, the white strand unravelling around his index finger. His vision and even his attention to the rest of the room seemed to blur as he focused entirely upon his connection to the only other person of importance Near had, in a world that was falling apart. “If things continue as they are, to the best of my ability I plan on attempting to create a safe zone within my tower. Right now it has the resources to survive here for at least a year, but I aim to build on those.”

When Mello said nothing in response, Near continued, rambling still, but this time more to the point, “What is happening right now is far greater than you or I, Mello, and on our own I do not think we will make it long. You lack the resources and I lack the physicality. But together, we-”

“Near, don’t, I’m not-”

“Mello, please.” He could hear the pleading in his words, “Just listen to me a moment.”

This time, the blonde remained quiet on the other end.

“If you can make it from your present location in California to here in New York… I would greatly benefit from whatever you have to offer to survival efforts. Neither of us will make it if we’re split up. This is not like anything else we have ever dealt with, and because of that I don’t think it makes sense to hold onto lingering animosity. Think of your survival.”

Near shook his head. Logic wouldn’t work with Mello… So he added quieter, “I need your help, Mello.”

There was a long silence between them, then, the words and residual antipathy culminating between them into that one moment of silence which seemed to hold all the necessary potential to be both of their ruin, not to mention all the others Near had every intention of trying to help. Everything hinged on this single moment… of being able to put aside disputes, and endless history for a greater good. It had never worked before. Yet this time, Near held his breath.

Finally, “I’ll do what I can.” The words were vague, but of course both successors understood the weight and challenge associated with attempting to travel from one side of the country to the direct opposite in the current collapsing state of things. But if Mello was as willing and able as his words alluded to, then Near was willing to hold his breath a little while longer.

Near nodded, “I look forward to your arrival, then.”

The detective was ready to end the call while he had Mello’s agreement and thus his own sense of hope, but of course Mello broke in before he could, “Yeah, you say that, but you’re not the one having to go out and deal with this shit. It’s a risk, Near. At this rate, who knows what the country will do in response...”

Near could read between the lines: Mello thought he might not make it.

But Near had to stay positive, even if he was feigning it for both of them, now. The thought of being alone to go going through what was shaping up to be the apocalypse was troublesome at best, and truly terrifying at worst. “Getting into and climbing the ranks of the Mafia was a risk, too.”

There was a short, curt chuckle from the other end of the line. “Yeah, well… we’ll see. I’ll try.” The younger successor didn’t like the tone latent in his voice. He didn’t like hearing Mello be anything other than his loud, over-the-top self that exuded confidence. But then, nothing was good about this situation or provided any reason for the blonde to hold onto his normal demeanor… Still, it was jarring and was almost worse than seeing the reports on the news.

But Near forced himself to nod, “Right, I’ll see you soon, then.”

Yet another pause on the other end, followed by a simple, “Yeah.”

In that moment Near found himself reluctant to cut their connection. There were so many things he wanted to say to the blonde successor… just in case this was their last time ever speaking. Years of harbored words flooded his mouth like bile, yet burning his throat with the knowledge that no matter how much he wanted to let it all spill out, Mello wouldn’t stand such talk. Not now. Maybe not ever. Though, perhaps it was better this way. He didn’t want to say anything that might prove a distraction to Mello’s journey across the country to get to him.

So he instead swallowed it all back down, promising himself that he would make time to pour out all of these words to Mello when the older successor made it to him.

He could only bring himself to whisper, “Good luck. Be safe. Please.” It was the closest thing to a prayer Near thought he could ever formulate. 

“You too, Near.” Mello said much quieter. “Don’t... let anything happen before I can make it there, alright?”

“I won’t.” He shook his head. “I’ll be here waiting.” With that, he pulled the phone away and hung up.

#fsfics #Death Note #Meronia #MelloxNear #MelloNear

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Bigger Than the Bad Guys

“Bumi, I am very disappointed in you.” “I know…” “You could have been killed. You deliberately disobeyed me. And what’s worse, you put Kya in danger.”

...Even Auntie Toph had told them to stay away from the bad-place in the city. And Auntie Toph never told them not to do something. Bumi just wanted to be brave like Daddy and make his Mama smile again…

********************************

A/N: This is exactly what you think it is because f*ck me if DadMufasa!Aang and ToddlerSimba!Bumi in post-atla/pre-tlok are not so wholesome that I damn well might perish.

(very lightly edited because I was in a mood but mehhhh)

Rating: G (W for wholesome)

Words: 4,572

ArchiveOfOurOwn

********************************

Kya was having second thoughts, and Bumi would be lying if he said he wasn’t, too. 

They’d been walking for forever in the almost pitch-black. It was really stinky, too, even by his standards, and the heavy air pressed against him like it was squishing him smaller and smaller as the tunnel got bigger and deeper. The damp stuck to his skin in a greasy film.

He couldn’t count how long they’d been walking—he couldn’t count a lot at all since he didn’t know all his numbers—but it was long enough to make him hungry. 

It was also long enough for Daddy’s concerned face and Mama’s teary shouts to become clearer and clearer in his memory. The mind-picture made his chest itch like something was stuck there, and he kept swallowing and itching it like he might be able to dig it out.

It didn’t work. But for Kya, he pretended it did. He tried to walk like Daddy.

He wasn’t second-guessing their mission, of course. That was the utmost priority. Mama and Daddy had been worrying over the bad guys from ‘the underground’ for so, so long…

It made Bumi almost as frustrated as it made him sad. 

He didn’t understand for the life of him why their parents didn’t go to ‘the underground’ with Auntie Toph and Uncle Sokka to beat the bad guys up and get it over with. 

They were the bravest heroes ever.

And it wasn’t like ‘the underground’ was hard to find. 

It was underground.

Duh. 

Granted, he and Kya had to go through the old bad-place that Daddy had been helping Auntie Toph ‘clear out’. 

Mama had told him—before his and Kya’s planning phase—that they weren't allowed to follow Daddy to his Avatar-work near that place.

Bumi didn’t understand why she was so serious. 

Her or Daddy.

Especially Daddy.

The even worse part was that their father had smiled while he made them promise not to go to the bad-place. Then he had taken them for ice-cream, and Mama let them jump in the deep end of the oasis to practice their swimming. 

Then Daddy paced throughout the night, and Bumi heard through his door (if he pressed his ear so hard it hurt) that Mama stayed up with him and talked with him in the gentle way she did when he or Kya had nightmares. 

It made Bumi’s heart hurt in the ache-y way his lungs did when Kya dunked him in the water for too long and got in trouble for it. 

He didn’t want Daddy and Mama to hide frowns with fake smiles anymore. 

They were being brave, though. They always were. 

‘The underground’ was a really, really big bad, after all.

But Bumi and Kya could be brave, too. 

And their mission would help their parents way more than the extra hugs and kisses they’ve been giving them. 

Maybe, after he and Kya return as brave heroes, Daddy and Mama will sleep instead of fidget and whisper when he and Kya curl in bed with them.

Bumi sighed. Kya held his arm a bit tighter. His sister didn’t care what people thought; if she was scared, she showed it. 

Bumi wouldn’t admit that he was, though. Mama and Daddy wouldn’t. Especially not to Kya. Especially especially when his Sissy held his arm with both hands as their torch burned to its wick. He was teetering on a razor’s edge between thrill and terror, and he made himself smile at her even when his stomach felt all float-y.

Because even Auntie Toph had told them to stay away from the bad-place. And Auntie Toph never told them not to do something.

But Bumi could be brave like her, too. And Uncle Sokka. 

He will be. 

He and Kya were brave just like Daddy and Mama.

Plus, Bumi had his new knife that Uncle Zuko gave him for his birthday, so he was prepared for anything. 

********************************

Bumi lost his knife and their torch as soon as he saw the first bad guy. His hands shook so much—the bad guy was so big—that he dropped them.

Kya could at least waterbend. He saw her (try to) push and pull the water with Mama the last time they swam in the deep end of the oasis.

If there was any water down here, then maybe she could have made them slip.

They ran. They hit a dead end. Bumi’s limbs were long enough. He could climb up into the next tunnel. 

His sister’s weren’t. Kya’s whimpered panting—her lungs weren’t as big as his, either—broke free her first sob as she clawed the wall and kept slipping down.

She looked at him like Mama had when she watched him fall off the roof without knowing until she raced to the bottom that Daddy was there to catch him.

It made his insides turn to slush, and Kya’s small cry put daggers in his lungs.

His Sissy was terrified.

Bumi was almost just as scared, but he jumped back to the enemy-laden ground and glared like he was about to beat their butts all at once, just like Mama did in the stories Auntie Toph told them when their parents weren’t watching. 

His Sissy’s tight grip on the bottom of his shirt—she had only ever held on to Daddy’s robes, and only if she was really, really scared—gave Bumi the strength to hold on to the last string holding his shaking limbs together. 

His sister was smaller than him. He would not leave her, and he would not let the bad guys hurt her. 

No matter how big the fourth bad guy was. 

Or the eighth. 

Or the twelfth.

Kya’s back hit the wall before Bumi’s did, and she slid to the ground. Bumi stood in front of her. The bad guys painted the wall with the inky cloaks of their shadows. Bumi was a broken leaf between his sister and a pack of devils who jeered new no-no words that, even though he didn’t know what they meant, by the way they said them to his Sissy gave him the feeling that even Auntie Toph wouldn’t use them. 

The bad guys stepped closer. Bumi tried to stand like Daddy did a year ago when the other bad man and broke a hole through Kya’s wall and hurt Mama.

Daddy had stood over all of them in the middle of a storm of stone and fire and arrows and didn’t move an inch. He broke apart boulder after fireball like they were nothing as they waited for Auntie Toph and Uncle Sokka to get there. 

Bumi’s legs shook, and he sucked in a breath and held it like maybe the air would keep him afloat and on his feet when his legs gave out. 

Auntie Toph and Uncle Sokka weren’t coming this time.

Or Daddy and Mama. 

Bumi and Kya were alone.

Bumi’s heart raced so fast that it felt like it was vibrating more than it was beating. He stopped breathing a while ago. His lungs were shriveling up and hiding in his throat like they were even scared-er than his Sissy. 

Kya was crying on her knees behind him. She was shaking, too—he felt it from where she grasped his calf.

One of the bad guys had grabbed her arm the first time they cornered them. Bumi had bitten him and ran as far as he could while he dragged Kya behind him.

Now the bad guy was earthbending a boulder the size of Bumi six-times-over, and they all glared at him and his Sissy with smiles that were hungry to kill them. 

They were big. So, so much bigger than him. Bumi barely reached his head to their mid-thigh on his tip-toes. 

He was small. 

Too small. 

Bumi wanted to cry. His eyes did, too. They were hot and sting-y, and tears made his picture of the bad guys all blurry. 

He couldn’t cry. He made a vow with Uncle Sokka not to cry unless he deserved it. 

Kya was crying because she was hurt. 

He had gotten them into this mess. He had no right to free himself of the sea-prune-sized sob choking him.

Bumi bared his teeth. His voice broke, but he didn’t let his tears fall.

“S-Stay away! I-I—‘M w-wa’rn’ yous!”

Kya held onto him tighter like she was deluded by his voice into some feeling of reassurance. 

“Or what? You gonna throw dirt at us?”

“Daddy’s not here to save you, brat.”

Bumi swallowed. He would have been sick if he had eaten lunch. 

One of the bad guys had his knife. He reached to grab one of them, and Bumi used the last of his strength to move in front of him and puff out his chest. 

He still didn’t cry. 

The wall adjacent exploded in a shower of earth. 

The howling boom and hiss of all elements clashing were terrifying enough to bring more tears to Bumi’s eyes yet familiar enough to keep him from crying. 

Bumi threw himself over his little sister. Kya held him so tight it hurt. Dirt and rocks hit his back, and heat threatened to blister his skin even through his clothes. His Sissy screamed, and it sounded like she was calling for Mama.

He held Kya tight. He closed his eyes even tighter.

He didn’t open them even when Daddy, out of breath and smelling of ash and earth, slid to his knees before them and herded his whimpering, shivering children into the protective circle of his arms with soft coos and gentle assurances. 

Bumi knew it was him; he heard the smile in his voice. 

Daddy’s shadow swallowed them both like a too-big cloak. He patted them down from head to toe, muttering to himself between kisses to their faces and dozens of jumbled concerns before relaxing, a mountain leaving his shoulders as he sagged over them. He smiled like he might cry—Bumi felt it from where Daddy pressed his trembling lips against his cheek. 

Daddy rubbed their backs and kissed their foreheads as he gently, but urgently, pressed between their shoulders to encourage them to his chest. Bumi and Kya were too filled with panicked goo to move on their own, otherwise. 

Daddy crouched closer, as unmoving and safe as an iron shield but inviting like his smile would blind anyone who would do them harm. He curled deeper on his knees and bent around so he had to look up at them. He made himself small, like them, and he was smiling that smile that drove instinct to herd themselves into his arms. 

Bumi still hadn’t opened his eyes, though. He heard the smile in Daddy’s voice. It was safe. 

Bumi clutched his father’s robes, and he breathed again. Daddy was safe. His scent and his voice and his touch wrapped them in a bubble that unwound their grip on each other and massaged away the primal fear that had them flinching wherever he had first touched them. Now they leaned into him like they were trapped in a frozen shell and his hands were torches. Even the air around Daddy bled comfort into them; it was as potent as the sleepy-shots Mama used to help people feel better. 

Bumi and Kya latched onto him like they were built to be there, and Daddy cradled them like he was made to hold them. 

Bumi melted against his chest like he was sinking into warm water. Daddy’s arms were stronger than the ones that had hurt his Sissy. 

Daddy was bigger than the bad guys.

He was stronger and braver, too. 

He was their hero. 

Bumi fisted Daddy’s robes so tightly that his hands shook and his fingers tingle. Beside him, Kya shook even harder and hiccuped little sounds that made his chest hurt and his arms itch to hug her. 

Bumi still hadn’t opened his eyes. He didn’t want to open them and be in front of the bad guys again. He didn’t want to open them and suddenly be out of Daddy’s arms. 

He held his father tight. Daddy held him even tighter. 

Bumi didn’t open his eyes even when he smelled fresh air and heard the sounds of outside again. He tasted metal, sharp and cold, before he heard Auntie Toph. She was yelling so many no-no words that it made him cringe, and metal clanked as dozens of police-people ran by and around them.

Uncle Sokka yelled his relief and then an alert, and Mama’s voice was far away and then in his ear before Bumi took his next breath.  

Her warmth hit his back and wrapped around him in a force heavier and tighter than an iron net. Mama hugged Daddy and pressed Bumi and Kya between them so snugly that all Bumi knew in that moment was his Mama, his Daddy, his Sissy, and the warm-fuzzy feeling that bubbled under his skin and felt like home. 

He and Sissy grabbed tight handfuls of her dress. Mama grabbed them even tighter. 

Her soft coos and million kisses lassoed his heart and broke it tame. Daddy rubbed his back and scratched his beard on his neck as he kissed his hair, Mama’s face, and Kya’s hair over and over again.

Daddy was big enough to hug them all. His voice was soft, even for him. It wound around Bumi like a warm breeze on a cold day. 

Bumi kept his eyes closed. He tried to focus on Mama’s heartbeat. It was fast and light like Momo’s. Her face was wet when it pressed to his, and he tasted salt when he kissed her cheek on instinct. 

Mama’s arms were comforting. Daddy’s arms were safe. Bumi wanted to have both of them again, like when Mama first appeared. 

Kya whimpered. He got his wish.

He wished he hadn’t.

His Sissy was hurt.

Daddy’s arms were shaking when they held him again. His lap was warm as they rode Appa home.

Bumi’s eyes were still closed.

He only opened them when he tripped.

Mama tried to help him up, but Daddy lifted him to his feet before she could. 

Bumi looked up and wished he hadn’t.

Mama was sad.

She looked hurt.

Sissy was in her arms—she looked a bit better, but she held her arm close to her chest and bit the inside of her cheek.

She was hurt, too.

Daddy’s hand was on his back and between his shoulders when Bumi could hear again.

“Katara, take Kya home.”

Bumi flinched. He’d never heard Daddy talk like that. His voice was hard and flat and forced like a piece of measured timber sawed out of the corpse of an ancient tree. 

“Aang, sweetie, maybe right now isn’t—”

“Katara.” The hand on his back urged his shoulders to turn away from Mama. “Please. Take Kya home.” His voice lowered to something even more foreign. “I need to teach our son a lesson.”

His tone struck Bumi like a whip. Mama didn’t say anything. It was quiet for a while. Bumi wished he could see her, but he couldn’t think enough to even move his eyes off of the grass and setting sun that framed the ocean opposite the city. 

The soft crunches as Mama walked away made the silence even heavier. The hand on his back didn’t move until she was far beyond the courtyard. 

Bumi wished it wasn’t so quiet. His Daddy stood behind him, and the awareness of where he stood increased gravity ten-fold. 

His father ground his teeth so hard that Bumi heard it, and he exhaled a breath that burned the air and poured smoke over the back of Bumi’s tongue. 

The hand left his back. Daddy walked ahead of him. His shoulders were raised like a bristling tigerdillo, and waves of heat leaking from him and rolled over and into Bumi like thick licks of lava.

Daddy clenched his jaw and didn’t look at him.

The Avatar was mad.

“Bumi.”

His spoken name wound around him and tugged him along like a leash. The sky was pinker now, bordering on purple. Daddy’s face was bordering on red.

Bumi swallowed, but his throat wouldn’t move. The wind whipped around them and bent the tall grasses in an amber-green wave. It was cold. He hugged himself, wishing for his parents’ arms again. 

The wind blew harder as they neared the cliff. Bumi slowed down. He had to lean into the wind. He had to fight it. 

Daddy was unmovable even when a violent gust hit them. He didn’t even break his stride. Bumi had to crouch to keep from being blown over.

He looked up. Daddy was so much bigger than he was. 

Bumi’s chest rang hollow, and something cold blossomed from his stomach and crawled into his chest like creeping fingers of ice. It curled around his heart in an unforgiving fist. 

His limbs ached, filled with frozen webs. Even his breath came out cold from his closing airway. 

His Daddy was a hero. 

Bumi couldn’t protect his own Sissy.

“Bumi.”

Bumi flinched. He hugged himself tighter and walked towards his father, who was sitting facing the ocean with his arms and legs crossed.

Bumi swallowed. His throat burned. He crept around Daddy, passing through his shadow, to curl up beside him. The few inches between them yawned like a few oceans. 

He hugged his knees and tried to think he was bigger than he was, but he had to tilt his head all the way vertical to see his father. 

Daddy was tense like a loaded bow and drawn to his full sitting-height like he was ready to jump up into a fight. His arms were still crossed, but his face wasn’t bordering on red anymore. The sky had settled on a navy velvet, and Daddy’s eyes looked up instead of at him. 

But then he looked down.

And Bumi wished he hadn’t.

He wished his father would have kept looking at the sky.

He wished his father would have stayed angry at him.

Because the laughter and warmth in Daddy’s eyes were muted by something sad and caged behind something upset. A frown had moved in where his smile should be—where it always was.

The hot coal in Bumi’s throat made his eyes wet, and it threatened to sear a hole in his neck. 

“Bumi, I am very disappointed in you.”

His words were arrows, and Bumi hugged his legs so hard that the bony bits of his knees hurt his chest. 

“I know…”

“You could have been killed.” Daddy got louder, and his words bellied something like he was choking on a hot coal, too. “You deliberately disobeyed me. And what’s worse, you put Kya in danger.”

Bumi’s tummy flipped. The night had swallowed up the day, and his father’s shadow blended into the inky night that covered Bumi and all that he saw and knew.

“I—I-I wa’...w-wa’ ju’t—” Bumi’s lip trembled, and he wiped his eyes in hurried swipes, rushing to speak his defense before Daddy yelled at him. 

Daddy had never yelled before. 

But Daddy had never been this angry before.

Bumi wanted to wake up already so he could sneak into Mama’s bed and fall asleep in his parents’ arms.

The Daddy beside him curled over, just a bit, making himself smaller. He waited for Bumi to catch his breath and his words; though the searing heat of his stare burned his head, his shoulders, and everywhere else he looked. 

Bumi’s voice was little more than a gasp, a leak of air from a broken pipe. 

“I-I was just trying to be brave like you.”

Daddy uncrossed his arms. He looked down at him in every sense and meaning of the words. He was so much bigger than Bumi. His eyes looked down at him as distant and as powerful as the stars beyond him.

“I’m only brave when I have to be. Bumi...” Daddy sighed, and he suddenly looked like he had been beaten to within an inch of his life and slapped into manacles heavier than mountains. Bumi looked away. Daddy’s eyes were still upset and sad, and the gentle bass that leaked into his voice—the deep sound that cooed him after bad dreams and whispered their inside jokes behind Mama’s back—as he said his name nearly made Bumi break his warrior-vow to Uncle Sokka to never to cry unless he deserved to. “...Bumi, being brave doesn’t mean you go looking for trouble.”

Bumi looked up and couldn’t look away. Daddy’s eyes had locked onto his own and held him like a too-tight hug. 

Bumi couldn’t curl up anymore, either. His knees were bruising his chest. 

He wished so badly to crawl into his father’s arms. 

“B-But you’re not scared of anything.”

Daddy hesitated. Bumi didn’t notice that the wind had long since died until his father’s voice became quiet. It was hardly above a whisper. 

“...I was today.”

Bumi hesitated, too. He looked at his father, who had curled over a bit more and made himself a bit smaller. Their eyes were almost on the same level. The tension in Daddy’s shoulders unwound into an almost relaxed position, and Bumi would have thought they were just sitting there and talking like they always did if not for the lack of smile on Daddy’s face. 

“You...You were?”

Bumi’s voice cracked, and the small break of his words shattered the cage holding Daddy’s eyes prisoner. They were clear grey and rippled with a thousand unspoken words.

Bumi almost cried for him.

“Yes.” His father bent down some more. The hand Bumi hadn’t realized had been wrapping behind him gently curled around his shoulders. His father kissed his hair. He held there for a few seconds while he rubbed his arm. 

Bumi unwound and leaned into the touch on instinct; his father lifted him into his lap. He was small, but Daddy was big, and Bumi grinned and hugged his father’s light-y-blue-arrowed arms as they pulled him close to his chest. Daddy curled over him like he was trying to mold himself into armor around him. 

His warm voice was soft and small, like Bumi, and rumbled like smooth stones against Bumi’s back when he spoke. “...I thought I might lose you.”

“Oh…I’m...’M sorry, Daddy...” 

Bumi dared to glance at his father. Sunshine curled across Daddy’s face in a small grin that called Bumi’s lopsided one out to greet it. His Daddy smiled wider. Grey eyes softened to a wordless ‘I love you’. He touched his brow to his and held him even tighter.

Bumi’s squirmed like he was tickled. He fiddled with one of his father’s hands like it was taking the place of his habit of twisting his shirt. Their grins fed off of each other until they were both smiling stupidly. A giggle bubbled into Bumi’s next breath and shyly bled into his words. “I guess even Daddys get scared, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Bumi sank dramatically into his father’s robes and hugged tighter the arms that were curled around him like shields. “But ya know what?” he whispered, glancing about like he was hiding behind enemy lines.

Daddy looked around just as dramatically, matching Bumi’s theatrics step-for-step like he always did. (No one else ever did, and no one else ever could.) “What?” he whispered back.

“I bet those bad guys were even scared-er.”

His father laughed, and color came back to Bumi’s world. The night felt less like a shadow and more like a blanket, especially when Daddy pulled him closer and smiled like playing with Bumi would be the only thing that would ever matter. 

“That’s because nobody messes with your dad.” He laughed evilly. “C’mere, you.”

Daddy roughed his already roughed hair, but Bumi wiggled away. They were both on their feet, and the chase was on. His father’s laughter was loud and airy like happy thunder, and Bumi’s choppy giggles raced after him like sheets of rain. 

The cold night became so bright with his Daddy’s smile and so warm with his father’s hugs that Bumi thought he might cry without breaking his warrior-vow to Uncle Sokka. 

“Gotcha!”

And even though his Daddy was bigger—much bigger—Bumi somehow managed to catch him. He rolled him over with his little arms and sat on his shoulders like a lionbear over its kill.

They laughed some more. They laughed until it hurt to breathe, and they kept laughing until it ached to move their faces into anything but a smile. 

Bumi hugged his father’s neck and smiled like accidents could never happen. He forgot why he was ever upset. There was no reason to be upset—to ever be upset.

He had his Daddy. 

Bumi was small, but his Daddy was big.

And when Daddy was with him, Bumi didn’t feel small.

He felt big.

He felt bigger than the bad guys.

And besides, he had won! He had captured the Avatar and winded an airbender! 

He couldn’t wait to tell Mama and Kya and everyone else this story.

“Hey, Daddy?”

Daddy caught his breath, and Bumi could hear his smile. “Mhm?”

Bumi plopped his head on his father’s and hugged around his chin. His beard scratched his hands in a familiar way. “We’re pals, right?”

Gentle thunder rumbled beneath him. “Right.”

“And we’ll always be together, right?”

His father hesitated again. 

Daddy pushed up on his arms, making Bumi slide down his back. A gentle hand reached around and found the scruff of his coat, and Bumi, all-to-familiar with this maneuver of theirs, climbed around his father’s torso while Daddy sat cross-legged again. He curled his arms around his neck and tried to wind his legs around him even though they were too short to reach across his chest, let alone meet up behind his back. He was too small.

But Daddy held him close and held him up, all with one arm. His free hand rubbed his back with a few swirling scratches before hugging him close.

Bumi hugged him even closer. He pressed his face into his father’s neck and smiled into the robes that smelled like home and felt safer than a steel wall. Bumi heard his heart just like he’d heard Mama’s heartbeat earlier. Daddy’s was slower and harder, though. Like Appa’s. 

“Bumi, let me tell you something that Gya—that my father once told me.” He nudged his head up. They both looked up at the sky. “Look at the stars. The bravest heroes of the past—like Mama’s mama and Uncle Zuko’s uncle—look down on us from those stars.”

“Really?” Bumi shifted his weight and held on tighter.

“Yes.” 

Bumi looked at the shiny brave people. He liked the stars before. They were pretty. 

Now he loved them. They were safe.

And they were always there. 

They would always be there.

...But they were also so far away. 

“So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those brave heroes will always be there to guide you…” Daddy held him tighter and gently rocked them. 

Bumi’s eyes drooped. Daddy’s breaths were slow and strong and lifted him against his chest like the beats of large wings.

He smiled through his yawn.

Something sad moved into where the smile in Aang’s voice should be.

He kissed his son’s hair again.

“...and so will I.”

********************************

Hope you enjoyed!:D

~~~~~EL FIN~~~~~

#diabetes--diabetes everywhere #Protective!Aang #Protective!Katara #avatar the last airbender #Coolaunt!Toph #Protective!Toph #Protective!Sokka #atla #the legend of korra #tlok #Toph is ~the cool aunt everyone deserves~ #Sokka is ~the uncle everyone deserves~ #aang #katara #kataang #bumi #Dad!Aang #Mom!Katara #someone give Bumi a hug #someone give Aang a hug #someone give Kya a hug #someone give Katara a hug #Kya #bumi i #bumi ii #kya ii #Kataang kids #fluff #family fluff #family hurt/comfort

[sir-phineas-lost]

Yes, Ezran is a hypocrite

You ever browse through the TDP-tag and come across something that you take issue with, only to find out it is from someone who already blocked you and you think: “Great, this guy is back on his BS”. Well, situations like that are what the screendump is for.

So yeah, this post is going to be about Ezran and his decisions, and how some segments of the fandom defends said decisions.

Yeah, this much is accurate. Ezran does indeed remain consistent in his desire for peace with Xadia, but as we will see his idea of peace and what is required for it remains decidedly biased in Xadia’s favor.

So here we have the first spectacular example of hypocrisy. Acts of violence in self-defense should indeed be considered acceptable, but what this person neglects to bring up here is that this is something the show, and Ezran in particular, has outright condemned in the past.

Remember Pyrrha? That red dragon from season 2? What was she doing in Katollis in the first place? That's right, terrorizing a town and scouting for Xadia. Soren fires a bolt at her, but it misses and until this point, no actual violence has occurred. Then Pyrrha decides that she has all the excuse she needs to not only attack the watchtower but the entire town full of civilians. Claudia uses dark magic to shoot her down and if we go by this person’s logic, this must surely be an acceptable act of self-defense.

The show really doesn't see it that way though. Ezran doesn’t see it that way. At no point while watching this play out does he ever voice any concern for the people who were attacked or any condemnation of Pyrrha’s actions. And when it is over he does not run into town to make sure everyone there is all right, he runs to Pyrrha to make sure she is ok.

I will probably hear someone argue that at that point Pyrrha was the one who was down and needed the most immediate help in order to stop more death on both sides, but that just highlights my point. His desire to stop the violence on “both” sides conveniently only appears when one side needs it the most. It’s like watching a bully beat up a weaker kid for 5 minutes and then when the victim gets 1 good hit in you suddenly decide that it is time to call for a time-out. The show also goes the extra mile to lay all the blame for this horrible war-crime at Soren’s feet because he “made” Pyrrha attack.

The show clearly didn’t think acts of self-defense were all that different from other acts of violence before so why are we supposed to think it is different when Ezran immolates his own people for the sake of saving Xadia?

No, you don’t have to oppose violence in every circumstance to love peace, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a clear pattern in which situations Ezran decides it is finally time to “stand his ground”.

You can indeed make a great point about the need to fight a battle now and show your resolve in order to avoid greater suffering later, but this is once again a philosophy that both the show and this person has decided to twist in Xadia’s favor. See, this very same idea is at the core of Viren’s plan as well. That humanity must fight and take back their rights now in order to not fall back into a status-quo that leaves them suffering and dying in the long-term.

You cannot argue for this position and need to “fight for peace” without also examining the current relationship between the nations and what that “peace” will actually look like.

Yes, Ezran is very noble for accepting this deal for the sake of the soldiers, but it is once again something that only lasts until it affects someone he actually cares about, namely Zym and Rayla. And all that humanizing of the otherwise nameless and faceless soldiers will go straight out the window.

And here is where this person tries to make all of these contradictions into some kind of cohesive arc for Ezran. That his willingness to kill humans is somethng he has learned as part of his “positive” character growth, but it doesn’t work for one very simple reason. It is completely made up of wishful thinking. I see how someone could hear Soren say this and come to the conclusion that they have acted poorly in the past, but Ezran never has that moment of realization. There is never a scene where he admits fault or that he was naive to think he could stop the slaughter by burying his head in the sand. His decision to abdicate is never treated as anything other than a noble sacrifice and it ultimately turns out to save the day as the soldiers he negotiated to be let go come back as reinforcements along with Duren to kill off the soldiers who followed Viren.

More importantly, if the point was actually that Ezran has learned a valuable lesson about maybe having to do a horribly tragic thing now (like fighting a bloody battle) to prevent a larger tragedy later as this person suggests, then the narrative should still treat this choice to slaughter humans as a tragedy, and it just doesn’t. Instead of treating it as a somber affair they treat it as a clear battle of good vs evil and they make sure to literally dehumanize the soldiers as much as possible to make sure that we don’t feel bad for them. All that “empathy” Ezran felt for these same men and women before can conveniently be ignored in this case. They have once again been reduced to faceless puppets on a board.

But that’s just it, he doesn’t break the cycle, he perpetuates it. This is no longer a conflict that only his ancestors have killed in. There are people who would be alive today if not for decisions he made. Aanya killed Kasef, a boy of 19 with an injured dad and (supposedly) a younger sibling left at home. Should they take the murder of their family without complaint? Does anyone think they will not have a genuine grievance with the child queen who took his life? The same queen who swore to King Ahling that she would not send her troops to die in someone else’s war? Sounds to me like Ezran’s way of breaking the cycle is to kill when it is convenient for his friends and then expect the people he hurt to just let it go. No doubt the show will make Ahling out to be the bad guy for not being the bigger man and forcing Ezran to kill him too. It will always be “necessary” to break with pacifism when Ezran needs it to protect his magical friends.

Ezran will fight for his peace alright, but it is an uneven peace if ever there was one. He will not “stand up” to bullies, he will coddle them and shelter them from the consequences of their actions in the name of this “peace”. The next time Rayla says something bigoted about humans he will let it slide, or laugh at how funny it is. When Zubeia decides to get rid of some humans who practice dark magic in the name of “peace” he will certainly not fight for them half as hard as he fought for the dragon who committed a war-crime right in front of him. Not once has Ezran ever confronted the imbalance of power that started this war in the first place and he has given me no reason to think he will do so now that his “peace” is finally within reach. His new status quo will kill just as many humans as the previous one did, but things will be better for Xadia so why should he care?

That’s funny because it also mirrors every pretentious asshat who thinks they are deep because they can quote something in Latin.

Edit: I bolded the text because it was botheing me how it sometimes blended into the text from the other post.

#the dragon prince #tdp #tdp meta #tdp critical #meta

[darawonplease]

trauma. ch3 -  it could’ve been anyone.

The more Jiwon avoids getting involved, the more he’s captured by the woman he considered just a bubbly hoobae. 

characters. Eun Jiwon x Sandara Park

warnings. swearing 

a.n. I’ve been working on this chapter as soon as I finished posting the previous one and I seriously had too much going on so I heavily edited it to make it more manageable. 

Thanks to another poll on twitter I finally decided the title for this chapter!

“it could’ve been anyone” was the most popular choice.

chapter 3, it could’ve been anyone.

[dara pov]

The tent bar in the distance started blurring out, my vision started to spin before my very eyes. I tried hard to walk straight in front of me, in the attempt to reach Jiwon-oppa who was distanced himself to have a call with my phone.

“P-please don’t call Wonjun-ssi…”. I pleaded him, tugging the fabric on his sleeve to catch his attention.

“Wonjun-ssi? Who is he?”.

“M-mana-".

“Is he your manager?”.

“N-ne..my manager-nim… I’ll be in t-trouble and I don’t want to bother him, it’s late”.

He glanced at me, furrowing his brows. It felt as if he was debating whether to help me hide this unscheduled night outing or just call Wonjun-ssi and get over it.

Lately I started to avoid riding the company’s car, I had proof they monitored me 24/7 and it bothered me so much. I was already locked up in my flat and having them control my every movement just made me feel suffocated.  

“I’ll call a cab for you then, is that okay?”.  

My heart overflowed with gratitude; I couldn’t believe he’d accept to do that so readily, even going to the lengths of calling himself when I could’ve done that myself.  

oppa is so kind...

He probably felt pity for me, knowing how much my manager would scold me for bothering him at this hour because I was drunk.

i’m such a bad girl huhu~

sneaking out from wonjun-ssi kekeke~

chaerin-ah, look out for the new gizibe in town!

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on Jiwon-oppa’s figure.

“Yes, we’re in the street in front of the market”. He gave instructions on the phone.

why is everything moving in front of me?

I could swear I was standing perfectly still but, If I closed my eyes, I’d be almost sure to be the passenger on a rocky boat ride.

“A-ah!”. I tripped onto seemingly nothing and crashed against Jiwon-oppa, who immediately held onto me.  

My face slammed onto his chest; I couldn’t help but inhale the musky cologne he wore, as I buried my face in his hoodie.

♥ kung kung kung kung kung kung ♥

His heart beat incredibly fast, I could hear it pounding in my ears. Anything else muted as I focused on the sound hammering in his chest.

omo? what am I doing?

why am I being like this?

i shouldn’t fall for him

don't fall for him dara.

just don’t.

I swallowed up, the soju still intoxicating my body. I knew that the liquor gave me the courage I honestly didn’t want to possess.

I hated falling so hard for him when he didn’t even look at me.

I hated the fact that he gave me courage.

don't be a fool.

The guilt I felt for making him feel uncomfortable because of my stupid feelings. But then again, why did he invite me out if he wanted to avoid me so bad?

What if he was yet another man to play with my innocence?

Guilt, sadness, rage and soju mixed up inside my stomach, coming out of my mouth as incomprehensible murmurs as I tugged on his hoodie.

I’m so foolish, please forgive me.

I’m so foolish for falling for someone who doesn’t even look at me.

“I-I’m sorry Jiwon-oppa…”. The words I locked deep down came out as I thought of them.

“W-what do you mean?”. His husky voice lurked in my ears because of our bodies being so close together.

“I’m sorry for liking you this much”.

My entire being was invested in discomfort, dizzy and dazed, my mouth moved by itself.

“I-If you don’t like me back just say it!”. I tried screaming at the top of my lungs, but the dryness in my throat prevented me from doing so. A croaky whisper came out of my lips instead, as I buried my face in his clothes even deeper, to hide my tears.

“I…”.

I slammed my fist onto his chest, one time, two times, stronger after every attempt; he did not move an inch.

“D-DON’T PLAY ME, JUST BECAUSE I LIKE YOU!”.

My fist flew in the air once again, ready to hit him out of frustration, but he swiftly blocked my arm with his right hand, holding my wrist firmly.

“w-why’d you bother me if you don’t want me...?”. I muttered under my breath.  

“Stop it”.  

I looked up at him, trying to find his face in the blurry mess I saw through my eyes.

“y-you s-stop playing with me…”.

My pleading was blocked by the urge to cry, tears were already spilling from my eyes, not matter how hard I tried to keep them locked away.

“That’s not it”. He stated, still holding my arm.

“THEN WHY, S-STUPID EUN CHODING! WHY WOULD-“.

Jiwon-oppa suddenly let go of my hand, pulling me into a tight embrace instead.

I could hear it again, his heart pounding like crazy, even if he looked perfectly calm.

“m-mwo…?”.

He rested his chin onto my head, caressing my back slowly, like a father that is trying to calm down his own kid.

“I’m not”. He repeated.

I broke the embrace and stepped back, still uncertain of his sincerity.  

He stepped towards me, slowly, before looking away for a second and biting his lips.

what is he doing?

His hand gently cupped my cheek, his gaze slowly moving from my eyes to my scrubbed lips.

No matter how chilly that night was, his skin against mine felt feverish.

He bent down slightly, never diverting his gaze from me. His face became closer and closer towards me, I could feel his slow breathing.

.

.

-

.

.

[jiwon pov]

~ H O N K ~

The taxi driver honked, startling Sandara, who stepped back with her wobbly legs.

way to ruin the moment, huh?

It was fascinating how that girl made me lose control over my actions.

first, she makes me flee from the studio and then she brings me to kiss her when really, I wanted to reject her?

this girl is really something else.

I was debating myself whether it was the soju in my bloodstream moving my body or the hormones. Deep down I knew those were just petty excuses.  

No matter how lonely and drunk I was, I never managed to do those sorts of things, even when beautiful women tempted me. I just couldn’t.

All I could see was Sooyeon’s face. Even quickly peeking at other women made me feel unfaithful, even after years and years had passed from our divorce, the moment our love withered.

That was the first time the memory I had of her didn’t interrupt me from getting closer to another women.

no way.

i'm fucking tipsy.

It may have been for the best. It would’ve been wrong to do anything since she was so wasted, I didn’t want to take advantage of Dara in that way.

I shook my head and walked towards the car while the driver slowly rolled down his window. Dara closely followed me, stumbling on her feet.

“Ok so this is the address-…”.

I instructed the taxi driver to take care of her until she arrived home safely, he nodded after I handed him a decent amount of money for the ride, he really couldn’t hide the joy on his face as soon as he reached for the bills.

“T-thank you… -“. Dara mumbled, looking at me with watery eyes.

“I trust you to go back home safely, can you do that?”.

“N-ne oppa”.

“Take care”.

The driver got out of the taxi to help her get into the backseat as I waved them goodbye. It was for the best, separating prevented me from doing anything I could regret tomorrow morning.

was I really going to kiss her?

what's gotten into me?

i must be crazy.

With the task at hand handled I started walking the other direction, wondering what time I’d be home.

I knew I had another day of recording ahead of me and drinking and smoking weren’t exactly the best preparations for that, added to the fact I was still in the centre of Seoul, 30 minutes away from my apartment.

I sighed as I headed towards the main street; I could stop a taxi from the side of the road because calling one wasn’t a choice. My phone was dead, that’s why I lent dara’s to call her a cab.

~ parararing parararing ~

“What?”.

I reached inside the pocket of my coat, grabbing the phone that was vibrating in it.  

Manager-nim ~

7 missed calls.

this must be Dara’s phone.

sandara's phone.

ack- what a fool, I haven’t returned it yet.

“Aish- how could I forget that?!”. I panicked on the spot.

I was so focused calming her down that I totally forgot to give her back the phone.

I rushed back, hoping with all my being for the cab to still be there.

“AAAAAAAAH!”.

A terrorizing scream almost made me shit in my pants, stopping me in my tracks.

“What the hell is going on today?”. I thought to myself.

“STOP IT!”.

I quickly scanned the street for the source of noise, the sidewalk was deserted, all I could see were two figures in the distance.

oh no.

“DON’T TOUCH ME YOU PIG”.

It was Dara who was struggling, trying to take the driver’s disgusting hands off of her with all of her force.

I immediately bolted towards the piece of shit, my blood boiling with rage as I witnessed him wrapping his arms around her small figure.

“SON OF A BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?!”.

“I-I didn’t do a thing”. He excused himself, removing his claws from the poor girl after seeing me come back with such speed.

“PERVERT!”.

I was ready to make the fool spit his own blood, ignoring all of the consequences that would’ve come with that but Dara stepped back as soon as he released his grip on her body and slapped him so hard that the sound reverberated in all of the plaza, leaving a red mark on his cheek.

yeah.

i should remind myself not to make her angry.

The driver fell on his ass, his face badly distorted by the pain.

Shocked by the whole situation the coward crawled to his seat, starting the engine of his car and quickly leaving the scene, still holding his cheek in pain.

“GET LOST YOU BASTARD!”. I yelled like a crazy person, in the middle of the road, as the car drove away.

I turned my attention back to Dara, her body trembled as she hugged herself.

how could I leave her alone with that dirty ajhussi?

how could I do that?

I felt sorry for letting her go so easily, for letting her become a prey of the night. Had she been assaulted? Had she been molested? I wouldn’t had forgiven myself for being so reckless.

Dara dropped to the floor, crying her eyes out. Her sobbing only increased the guilt I felt.

“W-why do I always have to be men’s prey?...” she sniffled, uselessly trying to dry the tears that were cascading down her face.

She probably experienced that kind of harassment quite often. I could see why wolves would prey on such an innocent bunny. The fact she wasn’t great at drinking being another reason why she probably looked so appetizing to those animals.

had I payed attention…

had I been more careful.

i’ll become a lion and protect you.

no.

It’s not my business.

but it’s my fault…

I knelt to the ground to approach her, hesitating in patting her back. I sucked at comforting people.

I couldn’t believe I almost gave her away to a dirty bastard. I couldn’t forgive myself after seeing her break down like that.

“A-are you okay?!”.

She ignored my questions and rubbed her eyes only to get back up, wobbling towards the bus stop.

what is she trying to do?

“Hold up, I’ll call another taxi”.

“D-don’t, oppa”. Her voice was still so croaky for crying so much, both times being my fault.

“W-wait!”. I yelled, following her as she stumbled around.

She tripped on her feet, landing on her ass.

“I’ll go call another taxi, stay here, ok?”. I signaled her to stay where she was with my hand while I walked the opposite way.

She simply nodded.

I rushed to the main street, hoping that she’d be okay for the few seconds I felt her alone. A taxi approached me as I called one at the end of the sidewalk.

I instructed the cab driver to drive into the inner venue as he stopped his car near me to listen.

I then sprinted back to Dara, who was still sitting in the same spot I left her. I heaved a sigh of relief as she wasn’t kidnapped in that small window of time I didn’t check up on her.

“Come on up, grab my hand”. She extended her arm and grasped my palm, helping herself stand up again.

“What if it happens again?”, she whispered in my ear.

“That won’t happen”.  

“H-how can you be so sure?”.

She looked at me with her swollen eyes.

“Because I’ll be right here”.

.

.

[…]

.

.

I kept attentive all the way, I couldn’t let any other accident happen. I was focused on the road, making sure we were going in the right direction when her head dropped on my shoulder suddenly.

I turned to look at her who fell asleep peacefully. I couldn’t wrap my head around how pretty she looked in such a vulnerable state. People usually look their worst when sleeping. The night lights illuminated her small and delicate face.

I spent the entire way trying to stay perfectly still, not to interfere with her nap, no matter how incredibly uncomfortable I felt in that position. That was the least I could do for her after making her experience such a terrible night.

.

.

[…]

.

.

A couple of turns and I saw the arcade on my left; that was the sign we were near her flat.

I looked back at her, it was so hard to bring myself to interrupt her serene slumber.

“…hey…we��re here”, I gently whispered while tapping on her shoulder to help her wake up.

.

.

[…]

.

.

The condo she lived in was a tall building, certainly fit to a celebrity. I lived in a similar structure too.

I fished out the keys out of her bag and opened the gate to the building, she held my arm tightly, trying hard to walk at my speed.

A tall guard stood by the door. He glared at me as he recognized Dara by my side.

The lobby looked like the entrance of a hotel: it wasn’t pretentious or decorated with statues and gold chandeliers, however I could tell each and every piece of furniture was very expensive. How? Just trust me.

If I leave her here, she’d be capable to sleep in the hallway.

She barely stood up by herself, i just couldn’t shake the guilt out of my body. I needed to take her to her bed myself. I wasn’t going to leave her alone again.

“32th floor”. She mumbled as we got into the elevator.

She kept resting her head on the wall; I could tell how exhausted she was. It was a miracle she was still standing on her own two feet. Or kind of.

The floor we landed on had a long-ass beige carpet running all through the hallway. I looked around, not sure If we were in an actual hotel or something.

my condo doesn’t look as nice as this tho.

Dara pointed at the last door on the right. She was so tired she barely opened her mouth since we hopped on the taxi.

I opened the door to her flat with the keys still in my hands.

She crawled inside, only to flop onto the floor. Carefully removing my shoes,  I entered the apartment too, remembering to lock the door after me.

An herbal smell filled my nose, she probably had an aroma diffuser somewhere in the living room.

maybe I should get one too.

I turned on the lampstand beside her couch and helped her take off her sneakers, they were those kicks GD customized.

they sure are close, without a doubt.

I quietly looked around; somehow the interior of her flat perfectly suited dara’s bubbly personality. There were many cute displays and colorful frames all over the walls.

~ meeeow ~

A cat approached me, it looked more like a miniature tiger.

“You must be… what was your name again?”.

I paused, scratching my head and trying hard to remember her pet’s name.

“Dadoong-i? Was it Dadoong-i?”.

I knelt to the ground to scratch his head as he kept circling my leg, purring and meowing.

“I stole your owner for a couple of hours, aren’t you mad at me?”.

He kept purring, ignoring the conversation I was trying to have with him.

“You don’t understand me, right? It’s okay”. I chuckled by myself.  

I knew it was incredibly rude of me to explore her house without her consent, but I couldn’t restrain myself from giving in to the curiosity.

What struck me the most was the presence of multiple frames which contained old photos of 2NE1. I could recognize some of the live performances they were taken at. I remember bumping into them on music show back in the day, when I still used to do the MC.

she probably misses those days.

“S-so hot…”. I heard her whining and turned my attention towards her. She was removing her jacket; the warmth of the alcohol probably giving her a hard time.

“Let me help you”.

I grabbed her jacket and laid it onto the side of her couch.  

I looked back at her as she struggled to remove her sweater, the shirt underneath stuck to it revealed her fit belly and chest.

“W-WAIT!”. I stuttered, covering my eyes to give her privacy.

“I’m still here- don’t remove all of your clothes yet!”. I reminded her before she could actually strip.

She crawled towards me and started tugging on the sleeve of my coat. “… p-please bring me clothes”.

“E-eh? How am I supposed to find those?!”.

She slumped back onto the floor, ignoring my questions.

Resigned at my caretaker role I opened various doors in search for her bedroom or closet.  

bingo.

I quietly entered the bedroom and scanned it thoroughly to find her dresser. I couldn’t help but notice the rabbit plushie laid on her bed.  

“What was his name again?”.

I remembered from watching a couple 2NE1TV episodes on the tv back in the day, that bunny plushie was Dara’s favorite one.

I started opening every drawer one by one until I stumbled on some cute pink panties with a cartoon hippo on the front.

“Cute…”, I giggled.

I opened the next one only to find some red lace panties.

“U-urgh...”.

I felt my cheeks become red like tomatoes. I closed shut the drawer and brought my hands to my face to contain my embarrassment.

“W-what am I doing?”. I mumbled.

she’s a grown-ass woman, it shouldn’t be surprising if she wore stuff like this. right?!

does she wear this on a daily basis or for special occasions?

can it be that she-…?

I removed the coat and hoodie I wore as I felt sweat dribble from my forehead, my body was getting hot at those less than holy thoughts.

whoo.

what am I thinking?

I resumed my mission and opened the next drawer to find a bunch of t-shirts folded up neatly. I took a random one and immediately rushed back to the living room.

She extended her arm to grab the shirt.

“P-please turn around …".

I quickly faced the wall to give her the privacy to undress. I could hear her fumbling with her hoodie, her bracelets clinking as they touched the ground while she was removing her clothes sitting on the floor.

“Are you okay?”- I slowly turned around, still covering my face with my palms.

With the corner of my eyes I noticed the sexy line running down her slim back, as she was inserting her head in the large white tee I threw her a couple of seconds before.

I swallowed my saliva and shook my head to remove those thoughts from my head. It wasn’t right for me to have those kinds of thoughts. I was just tipsy. That was all.

“Are you good?”. I faced her again

She started shivering while staring at the slightly open window; the curtain was flowing because of the small breeze that the small gap let in.

I got up and calmly walked towards the window, closing it after checking the view of Seoul’s night that was hidden behind the white curtain.

so that’s what she admires every night before going to sleep…

“I shall go then-“. I hurriedly tried to get to the door.

“p-please…”.

She tugged on the leg on my pants, signaling to stay.

Taking care of others when they were drunk wasn’t my forte, it was usually the other way around. I was the heavy drinker of the bunch. I refused to take on the role of the sober friend who takes everyone home. It wasn’t my style at all.

what am I going to do?

The guilt for the taxi driver accident motivated me enough to stay and take care of her. I felt like it was all my fault: the sudden date, her getting too drunk, the disgusting pig driver. It was only right to check up on her for a while but part of me wanted to run out of the door as soon as possible.

i’m a wolf too.

this sudden urge to put my claws around you…

aren’t you scared?

can I really take care of you?

Dara kept shivering; her small figure trembled under the dim lampshade light.

I rushed to her room again, keeping my feet light not to disturb her, and grabbed the blanket at the end of her bed, kidnapping the bunny plushie in the process too.

Meanwhile, she climbed on the leather couch, struggling a bit. She curled up as I put the blanket over her. I decided to place the rabbit by her side, which she immediately hugged.

A slight smile appeared on her face as she snuggled up in her new sleeping spot. I sat at the end of the couch, right beside her. I couldn’t help but stare at the sleeping beauty, expecting her to come up with some ugly expression.

It was unreal, she was indeed too pretty to be sleeping so peacefully after drinking so many glasses of soju.

I peeked out of the window, wondering what I was going to do.

Was I supposed to spend the night there to look after her? Did I need to cook some hungover soup? We were barely friends, yet I entered her house. Wasn’t that so inappropriate?

I thought of Suwon, Jaeduck and Jaijin’s faces and immediately wanted to smash them for putting me in such a hard spot. They were the masterminds of that disastrous night.

fucking idiots.

It suddenly struck me.

“I don’t really like drinking”.

She mentioned it that day we ate tteobokki together on our YouTube date. I felt so dumb for remembering that statement a little too late.

she could’ve stopped me tho.

She never once refused a drink I poured her.

impossible.

can it be?

“Dara-yah, you didn’t have to do that…”.

I moved a rogue strand of hair that was dangling in front of her face out of the way, admiring how incredibly tranquil her expression was.  

It looked as if she had no problems in the world.

That’s what I used to think before that night. A bubbly and carefree girl.

Who knew that a couple of drops of soju were able to unlock her worries and unexplored thoughts? In a night I had discovered the same things others found out in a year. She was a reserved person, just like me.

That night she made me hop a rollercoaster of mixed emotions.

what is even this girl?

I thought I had figured her out already.  

She was just a talented hoobae, nothing more nothing less. I told myself not to get involved but there I was.

In her flat.

I brought both of my hand to my face, trying to make out the situation I was in.

“Ayt...”.

A deep sigh left my mouth, yet again.

i’m here just because she’s drunk.

what kind of man leaves a poor girl drunk on the streets?

It’s because she’s a girl, not because she’s dara.

of course. that’s why I’m here.

i’m not a heartless bastard.

It could’ve been anyone.

“Stop playing with me!”.

I could not remove her cries and pleading from my head. That’s why I wanted to avoid her in the first place. Not to disappoint her. I blamed those three pricks for trapping me in that situation.

She was begging me not to play with her feelings and yet I was so close to kissing her, even if I my purpose all night was to reject her.

really...what had gotten into me?

maybe i’m a bastard after all.

[...]

A ray of light shyly invaded the darkness of the living room, hitting my eyes.

I woke up, startled.

i must’ve passed out on the couch.

I rubbed my eyes, refusing to believe I had spent the entire night at my hoobae’s place.

fuck. what time is it?

I turned to my left; Dara was still sleeping peacefully.

I still had a hard time believing that the same girl who was yelling at me the night before was the same one sleeping so peacefully on the couch.

Ack-

The hangover was always the worst part of every drinking experience. My head felt a thousand pounds heavier just resting on my shoulder.

~ bzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzz ~

The loud buzzing of the doorbell ringed in my head like a tennis balls bouncing in an empty room.

I stood up and dragged my whole body to the entrance.

“DARA-SSI DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I’VE CALLED YOU? HOW COME YOU DIDN’T REPLY TO NONE OF MY CALLS-…”.

huh?

A man appeared right behind the door, his brows furrowed, creating a multitude of wrinkles on his forehead.

“And who the hell are you?!”. He shouted, expecting someone else to open the door.

I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, not wanting his yells to wake up the hungover girl still sleeping on the couch.

“Why the hell are you yelling at this hour of the day?”. I whined while checking if the hallway was empty, pretty annoyed by his sudden presence.

“I’m her manager. What are you doing in her apartment?!”.

I tilted my head at the man, who kept stomping his feet. Everything sounded muffled, as if a mine had just exploded right beside me. His words came out of my ears without being registered.

“W-what are you talking about all of a sudden?”. I blurted out.

He ignored me and proceeded to quietly opened the door; probably spying on the inside of the flat only to find Dara passed out on the couch.

“What have you done to her?”. He struck me again with a fulminating gaze but all I could do was raise my eyebrow, ignoring his banters.

He got closer to me, probably sniffing my stink of alcohol mixed with Dara’s scent, it was so strong I could smell it too.

“I KNEW IT! YOU DISGUSTING ANIMALS ALWAYS LURE HER LIKE THIS!”.

“What-“.  

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and slammed me against the door with full force.

“YOU’RE A DISGUSTING ANIMAL, LEAVE HER BE”.

“I BROUGHT HER HERE SAFELY, WHAT NON-SENSE ARE YOU SPOUTING?!”. – I defended myself.

“YOU BROUGHT HER HERE TO SATISFY YOUR DISGUSTING EGO”. The dude clenched his teeth, as the rage inside him boiled up to the limit.

“I BROUGHT HER HERE BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T WANT TO CALL YOU!”.

He slowly released his grip.

His eyes opening wide at the sudden revelation.

“W-what?”.

A look of disbelief appeared on his face as he stepped back from me.

“That’s right, why are you getting so worked up for?”.

He remained silent, still processing the information I gave him.

“Why do you care about her private life so much, anyway? Just focus on your work”.

I rolled my eyes at him, who felt betrayed by his own confidence.

“Tsk- Stay away from her”. 

He shoved me aside, with his hand, making me crash against the wall on the other side.

this bastard-

He didn’t lose a second and quickly got inside the flat, locking me out of it.

this did not just happen.

for fuck’s sake.

“MY JACKET YOU BASTARD!”. 

I smashed my fist onto the door repeatedly, the blood going to my head.

I dropped onto the ground as the door opened and smashed against my nose.

My coat and hoodie were thrown away out of the door.

“NOW GET LOST!”.

His annoying voice came out from behind the door before closing shut again. 

.

.

p.s. this chapter is so short compared to the other ones because of me being indecisive over the plot. because of uni i’m hella busy but i’ll try to update as much as I can. thank you for being so patient, kind and also interested in my work! It’s not much but it’s fun to create something that can be enjoyable for all of you dara/jiwon/darawon stans ~

feedback is always welcome!

thanks for tuning in! 

previous chapter.  ⋆  next chapter.  ⋆ masterlist.

#SECHSKIES #EUNJIWON #SANDARAPARK #2NE1 #FANFICTION #IMAGINE #DARAWON #YG #YGFAMILY

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 32 – Wings of Trouble

“Oof... I am so sorry... Sorry I’m such a pain in the... Ooof...!”

“Save your apologies. This is nothing for us. We are simply doing what we should – tending to the legitimate visitor of Lukedonia. After all, we are the proud Central Knights.”

A Central Knight with a slick pair of sunglasses replied, his stance tall and solemn.

He was carrying Yuhyung on his back, to deliver the grievously exhausted human to his bedroom.

Several Central Knights they ran into on their way would flicker their eyes at their behind, surely a strange sight in their homeland.

The moment an unknown error occurred upon activation of QuadraNet, Yuhyung had to fling his arms here and there, like a visual designer who received a request for editing with only 10 minutes left from deadline.

At the end of a marathon of toil came a knockout for the human researcher.

He was not really knocked out; he was both conscious and awake.

Nonetheless, he did not respond to name-calling and shakes the surrounding spectators offered, as if he were under a sleep paralysis.

And nobody posed a question or reprimand at the man.

Everyone knew that the virtual beast was not completely at peace; they have merely put it under a stun.

Which means Yuhyung would have to cross off from his calendar the day he is allowed to fly back home.

Not to mention nobody knew how much more work would be waiting for him for the duration of his prolonged stay.

To add to his burden, Lukedonia boasted not a single soul they could assign for Yuhyung to help him, so he was to be entrusted with the entire labor.

Perhaps that was why Yuhyung could not orient himself back to his usual self, which is why Lascrea had to call upon one of her Central Knights to take him back to his bed.

“You have done well.”

Said Rael, who had been tagging along from the communication chamber.

He volunteered for an escort that was not needed at all.

It was his duty to attend to Lukedonia’s official guest, as the ambassador of nobles.

At least that was the reason he gave.

When Yuhyung finally hit the comfy bed with his back, the Central Knight walked outside, as suggested by Rael when he said he can take care of the rest.

That was when the blonde noble pulled out what he really wanted with his guest.

“I have something to tell you.”

Instantly Yuhyung stopped whining upon the elegant blanket.

Rael had to add on to what he said, for the human’s eyes bloated and began rolling like crazy upon hearing that there was something Rael wanted from him.

“No, you’ve done nothing wrong. You said you did not see this trouble coming at all.”

However, that did nothing to pacify Yuhyung.

“Uh... Uhm... So... W-w-what can I d-do for you...?”

Now the researcher was shivering as if he were met by a pack of ravenous wolves.

Which is why Rael felt guilty as hell.

He knew what he was dumping on Yuhyung, since no one else was supposed to know what he was about to unleash.

However, he knew he could not undo this; his honor, dignity, and life as the head of the Kertias were at stake.

“This would sound outrageously sudden, but... Do you remember what happened the day we left KSA?”

“Uh... Oh, yes! Of course I do. I was trying to safekeep the gas KSA was once developing, but it crashed and... But why would you ask me about that?”

“Have you ever tried that gas on non-humans?”

“Non-humans? Uh... No, I haven’t. I mean, it was supposed to be a top secret, and it was targeted towards modified humans in the first place. So nobody ever thought of using it for non-human creatures.”

Yuhyung was rubbing Rael’s face with his eyes as he spoke, making it very conspicuous that he had no idea why the Kertia would pull out this topic at this moment.

Checking very carefully – perhaps too carefully – that there was not a soul around, Rael started to explain as calmly as possible.

He told Yuhyung that he cannot summon his soul weapon, and he has not the faintest idea why.

Since he has never brought up Grandia after he was exposed to Yuhyung’s creation, for now he decided to presume the gas is the cause of such phenomenon.

And Rael made extra-sure that his words were cautiously chosen, so that he would not offend the human.

Nevertheless, he wished his speech were a little better, because Yuhyung’s body shriveled as he continued, to ultimately grovel at his feet.

“I-I-I am terribly sorry, sir! I... I did not expect you to go through such trouble because of me...!”

“Uh, we don’t know for sure if your gas is to really blame. No need to apologize already.”

“Already...? So you’re saying you expect to see me apologizing someday! So allow me to do that right now! Please, just go ahead and kill me, sir!”

Rael kneaded his forehead, holding quite a fabulous showcase of a bow and confession.

“Please don’t do this, I pray you. Right now I need your knowledge. Is there any possibility that gas could affect a noble like me...?”

“Uh... I don’t know. Right now the answers I can give you are limited. It’d be best for me to analyze the components of the gas to deduce the result, but...”

Rael knew that Yuhyung must stay at Lukedonia until the unidentified issue with QuadraNet is thoroughly mapped.

‘Does that mean I have to just sit and wait?’

Rael could feel terror and discomposure rushing through his veins.

He could not tell when his name will be taken off from the waiting list. And what if in the meantime, somebody sees through what has bound him?

At the same time, Rael could picture the patriarchs of Kertias, taking him apart with vicious speech as if they have waited for all their lives.

However, coercing Yuhyung to do something about this will not take him anywhere.

Knowing that made Rael’s chest clench harder, but there was nothing else he could do.

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

“Uh... I’ll try to see if I can come up with any possible reason why. No, I’d rather start my research at this...”

“No, please. No need to do that. QuadraNet is all that matters right now, so please concentrate on bringing it back to life. We can handle my soul weapon later.”

Stating the exact opposite of what lay in his heart, Rael told Yuhyung to get some rest before he left.

Yuhyung could not remove his eyes from the door for a while even after the noble ambassador’s departure. He managed to move only when his waist dispensed a sound.

Which made him scowl so hard he looked like a completely different person.

<You hear me? Don’t tell me you already fell asleep.>

Yuhyung’s face turned darker at the dreary voice from his walkie-talkie.

But he knew he should not waste his time in answering.

“N-no, sir. I’m here.”

<I just checked that the Kertia made it back to his mansion. And I know you were the last one he was with. What did you talk about?>

Yuhyung nipped at his lips, as if he could not believe what he was about to do.

He was, however, powerless against his party’s demand.

At the end of Yuhyung’s tale came a hoard of maniac laughter.

<Yes, this is it! At last, the Illiness clan will see the light!>

Yuhyung ground his lips together as Deneb cackled, seemingly oblivious of the human.

Yuhyung apparently was hating himself that he has actually done it.

*****

As invisible skirmish was whirring to life in Lukedonia, Frankenstein was in no better situation.

‘Just what is the problem...?’

He had been pondering ever since Tao relayed to him what had happened with the QuadraNet.

At first he landed on the same page as the three modified humans of RK: Union may be behind all this.

As for Frankenstein, he had a good reason to suspect the Union.

He could still see how the man in the iron mask stood in the werewolf realm.

And now that Tao sent a troubleshooting report that there might have been an attempt of hacking, his suspicion started to spread like wildfire on a field of reed.

He thus coordinated his train of thoughts the same way Tao did.

If there really was an attempt of hacking from within, and if the Union is to actually curse for it, the ones responsible would be the ones with history of contacting the Union.

‘Which would be the werewolves.’

He did not feel like he was being too dramatic, because of the new facts Tao shared during their briefing.

Frankenstein frowned and shook his head as he was thinking of the brown-haired werewolf doctor.

‘Fine. Dr. Adne walked under Maduke’s wings on his own feet to serve as lead researcher in several of his projects. However, that does not serve as a proof that he is in alliance with the Union.’

And even if Adne is still dreaming of being a scientist, that did not put him in alignment with the Union, Frankenstein thought.

‘It’d make more sense for him to side with us. I mean, from a scientist’s point of view, I doubt he can find any other project more mouthwatering than the QuadraNet project.’

Frankenstein was trying his best to soothe himself, and his effort was made to naught due to an ominous idea that decided to poke him out of blue.

‘Things would change if his interest lies in biotechnology instead of IT. That is one thing now no one among us can provide.’

And if Adne really is an affiliate of Union, that would mean they have exposed their most confidential project to their worst nemesis.

Frankenstein grit his teeth tight in order to stop his head from losing control.

He even had to mumble to himself to accomplish the feat.

“You’re rushing, Frankenstein. Yes, you are. Even if he was once pledged to serve Maduke, it’s too soon to make him the culprit for all this.”

Frankenstein repeated similar statements a few more times before he reached for a plate of sandwich to fill his stomach.

He did not cease his skimming of documents as he was eating, which was why he failed to realize how the monitor – which he definitely turned off after talking to Tao – was blinking with light.

How it was turned off by itself promptly afterwards, as he continued to make his eyes and mouth busy, exhibiting nothing more in particular that could be spied from him.

(next chapter)

Do you remember how in Chapter 17, Rael thinks to himself that Yuhyung’s bag felt lighter than he last held it? Now you know the reason why. This fic is still in the stage where small troubles slowly build up into a crisis. It’d be a headache for me coordinate all the microscopic plots once I reach the crisis part, but I’ll do my best. :)

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

[aroworlds]

The Vampire Conundrum, Part Two

When Rowan Ross is pressured into placing an aromantic pride mug on his desk, he doesn't know how to react when his co-workers don't notice it. Don't they realise he spent a weekend rehearsing answers for questions unasked? Then again, if nobody knows what aromanticism is, can't he display a growing collection of pride merch without a repeat of his coming out as trans? Be visible with impunity through their ignorance?

He can endure their thinking him a fan of archery, comic-book superheroes and glittery vampire movies. It's not like anyone in the office is an archer. (Are they?) But when a patch on his bag results in a massive misconception, correcting it means doing the one thing he most fears: making a scene.

After all, his name isn't Aro.

Contains: One trans, bisexual frayromantic alongside an office of well-meaning cis co-workers who think they're being supportive and inclusive.

Content Advisory: This story hinges on the way most cishet alloromantic people know nothing about aromanticism and the ways many trans-accepting cis people fail to best communicate their acceptance. In other words, expect a series of queer, trans and aro microaggressions. There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual", but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with romance.

Length: 3, 737 words (part two of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

Romance, too, feels like one of the mechanisms by which a dangerous trans body can be rendered more acceptable to cis folks.

“His name’s Aro,” Melanie says after lunch, showing a new volunteer around the office. She pats Rowan on the shoulder as she walks behind his chair, startling him enough that the clipping path he’s making around a photo of Damien’s head goes veering off to the side. “He does our website, our flyers and the information guides we send out. Aro like from the Twilight movies!”

Introductions once only encompassed Melanie’s habit of overly-stressing pronouns when referencing him—a dysphoria-triggering reminder that she doesn’t think him masculine enough for people to assume it. Isn’t that bad enough without her also getting his name wrong?

He sighs, frustrated. Complaining about this, when trans people are in desperate want of a working environment free of outright antagonism and discrimination, feels unreasonable. Hell, Rowan knows aromantics who’ll revel in being named “Aro”, so isn’t his hurt just pettiness? Isn’t this why he’s no longer welcome at home, a man too intolerant of his family’s mistakes? How many times did they tell him that his harping on about little things demonstrates a concerning lack of gratitude for their acceptance?

His co-workers do seem to believe in Rowan’s masculinity; he shouldn’t take that for granted.

Instead, he feels like he’s failing at being both transgender and aromantic.

After a fair amount of editing, he places Damien’s image in the brochure mock-up and exports to PDF. The office will make suggestions, some useful, some ignorant and some so absurd that Rowan will laugh with his friends later on, but that’s fine. He can’t expect otherwise in a workplace where everyone considers him possessed of unknowable ability with computers. They’re good people, in the main, and they care about their work.

It’s just complicated, and Rowan hates the feeling that complicated is the best cis people will let him get to a normalised acceptance.

“Aro? An Arrow fan called Aro? Really? Do you like comics or are you one of those people only into DC TV?”

Rowan looks up from attaching his PDF to an email to find the volunteer sitting on a creaking office chair and crab-walking it over to Rowan’s desk. “Comics?”

“Oh, good.” The volunteer sighs as if in relief. “I mean, the TV show? It isn’t terrible—better than most of DC’s movies, at least—but I’m so tired of people who call themselves fans but have never touched a comic book.”

Rowan glances at his journal cover, ponders its possible similarity to the show’s motif and nearly bursts out laughing. He’s never read a comic and doesn’t plan on doing so. He prefers indie podcasts and audiobooks on account of increased representation and greater ability to sew and cook while listening. “I’m not an Arrow fan. Sorry.”

Another show about cis people possessed of everyone-should-pair-up amatonormativity?

Hard pass.

“You’re not?” The volunteer gapes, waving his hand towards Rowan’s cluster of pride mugs. Three, now. Only one contains coffee, which feels like a terrible oversight. “Is this a joke, then? Are they getting you arrow stuff because of your name? Like some office thing?”

Aro.

His name is not Aro.

Rowan once thought the concept of snapping a mere storytelling device, something as ludicrous or impossible as “glittering eyes” or “romantic interest that lasts after getting to know someone”. At best an experience had by people without a brain that doesn’t devote most of its time to screaming alerts at the prospect of anything dangerous. Absurd, irrational, void of any real-life relevance.

Not even with his family has he felt this chilling, all-encompassing moment of enough.

He looks back at his computer, attaches a second PDF file to his email and, before he considers pesky things like consequences, clicks send. Then Rowan climbs up on his office chair, steps up onto the desk and whistles like a country boy who owned a border collie prone to sneaking off the property and rounding up the neighbour’s sheep.

Everyone in the office gapes up at him with a motley assortment of parted lips, unblinking eyes and, in Melanie’s case, the pointing of a long, vermillion-polished fingernail.

Up high, the room reeks of nesting rodents and the popcorn ceiling desperately wants refinishing.

Now Rowan’s brain tells his limbs to shake and his chest to heave; of course, he thinks as he shoves his hands behind his back, anxiety kicks in after he’s neck-deep in it! “My … my name is Rowan. I chose it.” He looks at the vent on the opposite wall, fighting to sound collected. Is that black mould? “Dad told me if I rejected my deadname, I was rejecting them. That I was being cruel and selfish. I earnt my name!” He stops, gasping for breath like a hooked fish—which, given his terror, feels far too appropriate a simile. “My identity is aro, short for aromantic, like being queer—one way of my being queer. So ... there’s a PDF booklet in your inbox about aromanticism. Read it! I’m proud of being aro, but you need to call me by the name I chose! It’s Rowan!”

He jumps down off the desk. The creaking laminate and the thud of his dress shoes, a little too large for Rowan’s feet, sound abominably loud in the sepulchrally-quiet room. Heading past giddy into faint, but pushed on by a heedlessness of the “this can’t possibly get worse because I’m going to be fired” variety, Rowan snatches up his satchel and reaches into the side pocket to pull out his handful of print leaflets. He drops one in the lap of the gaping volunteer, tosses the rest on an empty desk for luddites who prefer paper, and returns to his chair.

Seven sets of speechless eyes bore holes through his skull, shoulders and spine.

Rowan jams on his headphones, opens his no-romance metal playlist and turns his music up to a volume just short of deafening before queuing new posts to the project’s website.

When he invented the God of Trans Men as flippant rhetoric to cope with Melanie’s questions, is it right to pray to him?

***

Two hours later, doing his best to radiate an aura of do not disturb on pain of your bloody death, Rowan fights to pay attention to the last event write-up. Leaving early means asking permission and walking down the row of desks, risking stares and comments; he instead corrects Melanie’s idiosyncratic punctuation. Didn’t Melanie go to school at a time when they taught more than English comprehension? How doesn’t she know when not to use an apostrophe?

There’ll be consequences. Warnings? A formal discussion in the private office the supervisors only use for interviews? A request that he undergo counselling? A strong recommendation for psychiatric assessment? Firing? It isn’t like they can’t throw a rock and hit thousands of people under the age of forty with general computer skills and design ability who aren’t prone to standing on desks to make unwanted announcements.

No. Focus on the damn comma splices.

Should he ask his psychiatrist for the soonest possible appointment? New meds?

A tap on the shoulder makes Rowan’s head threaten to brush the probably-asbestos-riddled ceiling; he gasps and yanks off his headphones, trembling.

Melanie stands beside his chair, holding out her phone in its glossy pink case. “Those words that are underlined? Can I click on them to find out what they mean, like on a website? Like ... al-lo-sexual?”

“Hyperlinks in an interactive PDF—the file on your phone—work the same way as on a website,” Rowan says without thinking: in the last three months, he’s been asked this ten times. “If you click on those links, they’ll take you to a glossary at the end of the document with definitions.”

Damien sits facing his usual computer, his head tilted as if watching out the corner of his eye.

Melanie smiles the expression of a woman in an alternate dimension where Rowan doesn’t engage in embarrassing outbursts. “You’re so good at all this stuff, Rowan.” She stresses his name just enough that he can pretend she didn’t. “Where did you learn it all?”

He once tried to explain his philosophy of clicking on things only to realise that while the concept of generational divides requires excessive generalisation, a difference exists in terms of his willingness to fearless experimentation with electronic devices and programs. “School. Uni.”

“You’re so lucky. School was nothing like that when I was a girl. You have so many more opportunities now. And identities.” Melanie sighs and pushes a wisp of grey hair back from her eyebrows. “It’s good, it really is.”

Rowan blinks, startled into silence by a rare glimpse of validation stripped of performance and demonstration.

He hadn’t thought anyone here capable of it.

“It says that some people feel repulsed by romance? Are you like that? Should we do something? Do we need to not talk about romance in the office? Like, if I describe my daughter dating her boyfriend, not that I want to, is that bad? Do we need to hold a meeting? Damien—Damien—”

Damien turns, wearing the blinded look of a rabbit frozen in a spotlight. “Yes...?”

For how long has Damien worked with Melanie? For how long has the office rolled with Melanie’s interruptions and proclamations, her meetings called about the slightest of issues? For how long has the office accepted Shelby’s incessant reminding and Damien’s inability to surrender event photography to someone who knows how to modify their flash settings? Isn’t there a chance that they’ll tolerate Rowan’s occasional moments of desk-blathering?

A trans aro should be able to sew a patch on his bag reading “aro” without provoking cis weirdness. Since when does someone read a new word on his bag and assume that’s now his name? Isn’t that another over-the-top demonstration made by awkward cis people trying to prove their acceptance, something that’s never made Rowan feel safe?

Even when he’s aromantic, he never gets to avoid cissexism.

He slides his hands between the seat and his legs, aware of Melanie’s once again drawing the office’s unbroken attention. “I, personally, don’t care if people talk about their romances,” he says, certain that Damien needn’t answer Melanie about meetings, “but I do care when people assume I must want one. I do care when Sh … some of you just keep asking if I’m dating anyone.”

Rowan long set aside the need to bother with romance. He isn’t aromantic in the way most people first think of the word, as he does fall in love, but it describes his frayromanticism nonetheless. Why put himself through the inevitable messy, angry break-up when his partners don’t understand why what started as romance ends up to him as a friendship? When dating isn’t without trans-related challenges, why force himself into a type of relationship that he knows won’t last?

Romance, too, feels like one of the mechanisms by which a dangerous trans body can be rendered more acceptable to cis folks, in the same way it sanitises his equally-threatening bisexuality. If queers are holding hands and exchanging rings, just like cis and heterosexual couples, they’re safe.

He wants to be normal, but not that normal.

Melanie surprises him again by nodding. Opaque red only colours the corners of her lips; the worn centres reveal the brownish-pink beneath. “Like how we now don’t assume everyone’s—what’s the fancy word you use for not being you?”

“Cis. Yeah.”

“At my first job, I never dared yeah my elders. Can I ask what’s this a-sexual thing? Not-sexual? That’s a thing that can go with your a-ro-manti-cism? Am I saying it right? Is that something people can be?” Melanie grabs the volunteer’s vacated chair and wheels herself up to Rowan’s desk. “Tell me about this. Please.”

Damien gives a theatrically deep sigh, winks at Rowan and turns back to his keyboard.

Rowan’s tangle of feelings bewilders him too much to be simple relief, but he doesn’t appear to be at immediate risk of losing his job.

***

“We need to have a meeting!” Melanie announces ten days later, striding up to where Damien peers over Rowan’s shoulder to approve the touch-ups on a series of scanned photos. Rowan grasps the want to have a section on the website showcasing past events, but surely Damien’s film-camera predecessors weren’t all unable to take decent pictures? “Today. Perhaps before lunch?”

“Do we?” Damien doesn’t bother to turn his head. “What’s the number on the urgency scale, remembering that whiteboard markers aren’t a five?”

“I’m aro-ace.” Melanie stresses the words, beaming with the confidence of a child presenting a new finger-painted masterpiece. “I didn’t know, but I definitely am. I’m aromantic and asexual.”

“I’m glad for you.” Now Damien faces her, scratching his shock of unruly brown hair. “I don’t know why this needs a meeting? Do you want something addressed?”

Rowan leans back in his chair, too startled to do anything but watch. Melanie’s interrogation of him about all things a-spec over the last few days left him certain that she was questioning, but he didn’t expect this announcement—or Damien’s reaction to it.

“I’ve been reading, and I sent around a list of links everyone else should read, too. We must do something about our website. And, of course, everyone should know I’m aro-ace, and then let people ask any questions. Then we should consider changes to our submission forms, and then...”

Already, Melanie has done more to integrate her identity into the office and its projects than Rowan ever dared risk. Why, then, does he feel as though he’s being pressed inside a metal suit three sizes too small? Shouldn’t the end result be worth enduring a staff meeting in which she announces she’s aro-ace? Melanie being Melanie, she’ll gladly answer questions about aromanticism. Doesn’t that give Rowan everything he wanted—ability to be out as aromantic but someone else’s dealing with allo nonsense?

Matt’s right.

Rowan’s just a coward.

Damien nods at Rowan. “What do you think about that?”

“Uh...” Rowan draws a delaying breath, fighting against a brain too bewildered to be useful in forming comprehensible speech. “Uh … you’d have to run form changes past someone higher up, wouldn’t you? We have to ask about everything else? But...”

He doesn’t name Melanie a friend, but fellow aromantics aren’t common enough that Rowan will reject a companion—even if they’re cis and have subjected him to half a year’s discomfort, anxiety and alienation. He slides his restless hands under his legs, biting his lip against the sickening realisation. Melanie’s enthusiastic fearlessness may make this office and program better for him as an aro, but how can it answer all the attitudes that made Rowan fear coming out in the first place?

If he’s a coward, doesn’t he have reason?

“We do need a meeting,” he says slowly, his heart pounding in his chest like blast beats in death metal. “On better integrating marginalised people into our office. Because the way you emphasise my pronouns, Melanie, or the way Shelby reassures me five times that I can correct her … that doesn’t make me feel safe. It makes me feel reminded. Different. Too visible. And that’s why...”

“You ended up standing on a desk?” Damien asks with the gruffness of a middle-aged cis man trying to sound gentle.

“Yeah,” Rowan mutters. “That.”

Melanie clasps her fingers to her lips. “Oh! I didn’t mean anything by it! I just wanted people to get it right!”

How many times has he suffered through well-meaning people explaining that in response to his saying that they made him uncomfortable? How many times has he heard people justify their actions as though good intent always mitigates bad impact?

“You’re … you’re still making this about you! The only answer I want or need from you is thanks for telling me, Rowan, I won’t do it again! That’s all! Not your reasoning, not this effort to justify! I want to know that you hear me, that you’ll acknowledge that your intent however good still made me come home crying from dysphoria, and that you’ll stop because I don’t want to put up with it anymore! That’s all!”

For the second time in less than a fortnight, a chilling silence envelops the office.

“We need a meeting,” Rowan says breathlessly, reminding himself that at least this time he isn’t standing on his desk, “discussing how to include marginalised people in our office. Discussing all the microaggressions. Maybe you need to find … educators, trainers who come in and do this. I don’t know. I’m just so tired of never feeling safe or normal, never feeling like I can say anything because this isn’t hate and at least you’re not my parents! Like I don’t ever get to have anything better!”

He stands up, unsure what to do past fetching himself a distracting cup of coffee.

Maybe, then, he’ll be able to survive the way Melanie looks at him—as though he just ran over her puppy.

She just came out, and he did run right over it.

“I’m sorry.” Rowan sags onto his chair, leaning forwards to grab his satchel despite the unpleasant giddiness. “I’m sorry. It’s wonderful, Melanie, that you now know who you are and that you can come out. And it’s amazing that you’re doing things already, when I needed like six months just to get used to my knowing I’m aro. I just...” He reaches inside the satchel and pulls out a rough oblong shape wrapped in white tissue paper. “Here. I’m sorry.”

He, an allo-aro man, screwed up an aro-ace woman’s coming out. Shouldn’t he know better? He wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to curl up in a ball and hide under his desk. Even now, when he’s trying to get what he needs as a trans man, he’s being the worst kind of aromantic!

Her lips pinched, Melanie takes the present in her hands, worrying at the top piece of tape with her long, pink nails.

“We’ll have a meeting.” Damien runs his hand through his hair as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I’ll talk to the heads about … sensitivity training, I suppose this also is. Would you be willing to write me an email outlining some of these behaviours and any ways we can make this office safer for you? Is that an appropriate thing to ask of you?”

“I don’t mind,” Rowan says. As long as he doesn’t go ignored, he’ll send a few emails—and he already has a few blog posts on which to draw. “Thank you.”

“Do you … want anything, now? To talk privately to me or anyone else? Or to a senior supervisor? Or someone with the government body? Can I do or arrange anything else?”

“Coffee. Please. And … and then to go back to fixing photos as though absolutely nothing happened because I don’t … do this sort of thing.” Rowan heaves a shaking sigh, pushing aside the thought that nobody can have failed to observe this. “Thank—thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

He notices Damien gesturing at Melanie, notices that Rowan’s aro flag mug leaves with both and returns a few minutes later—now distracting from the office’s musty odour with its rich bitterness. He takes a few sips, but only by throwing himself into his work can he survive the gibbering, chattering thoughts building into a crushing tsunami of what the hell. Why did he do that? Why—no. Photos.

The soft clunk of crockery hitting laminate makes him look up.

Melanie leans against the edge of Rowan’s desk, her hand resting atop her new orange, yellow, white and blue aro-ace flag mug. “I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me.” She draws a deep breath, tapping her nails against the rim. “I didn’t know I could … that there’s an explanation, until I read your booklet. It described me. Things I didn’t realise about me! Things I’d been feeling! But … I’ve been learning about things like micro-aggressions. I didn’t know I’d been doing them myself. I’m sorry. I’ll keep learning. And thank you for my cup.”

“I know,” Rowan says softly, thinking back to the day when he realised the words “aromantic” and “frayromantic” describe him. A belated voicing of confusion and alienation; the naming of a constant sense of difference from the world. Revelation, understanding, explanation. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I don’t like … scenes. Or asking people things. I’m an anxious coward. So it just...”

He waves his hands, trying to mime an explosion.

Melanie, wide-eyed, jerks her head. “I couldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t done it first—and I wouldn’t have known to say anything if you hadn’t! And you’re asking us to do things knowing that we don’t understand, which must be frightening at least. You’re brave. And you shouldn’t be sorry.”

Rowan stares at her, unsure what to say in response. Never has anyone in his life freely offered such a sentiment. Never has anyone offered him something so generous without subsequent critique of Rowan’s intolerance for and impatience with their struggles to deal with him, praise softening the following reproval.

Brave.

His throat tightens and his eyes blur.

“Would you work with me on a proposal to put together for the submission forms? Damien insisted that I work with you, if you want to.”

“Uh … yeah?”

Melanie grabs a stack of papers from her desk and a chair. “I’ve gone through the old forms and highlighted passages. Do you want to read through and see if there’s anything I’ve missed or anything that should be left?”

He nods and takes the papers. Is this an alternate universe, the world flung upside down? Or, if people possess a minimum of decency, can he make needed change by addressing his problems instead of letting everyone talk over him? Can he build a world where he doesn’t endure cis or allo microaggressions by believing that their inconveniences aren’t worth more than his discomfort?

If his co-workers doesn’t object to correction, if they’re willing to make changes and investigate training, is the problem one of Rowan’s overreaction?

Does that mean he can talk to Matt the way he spoke to Melanie and Damien?

“Is something wrong?” Melanie asks, frowning.

Rowan shakes his head and plucks a pen from his frayro mug. “No.”

For the first time in a long time, that’s mostly true.

#aggressivelyarospectacular #aggressivelyarospec #aromantic #aro writing #alloaro #aroace #arospec creations #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #contemporary #amatonormativity #cissexism #queer antagonism #romance mention #aromantic and bisexual #aromantic and transgender #k. a. cook #long post #very long post #extremely long post #physical intimacy #frayromantic #love mention

[thecursedhellblazer]

{ @imthebatman​​ }

(( Look at me actually managing to respect a deadline outside university ones...well, more or less ^^” In my defence, this turned out to be much more than I had planned for it to be, but well, it’s done xD Good thing you told me about the bday thing in advance, otherwise I would have never been able to put this together and I would have gone for something easier and less time consuming >.> ))

(( So, first of all have a shitty edit of a Beebo ready to party: ))

(( But the real present is under the cut. I was kind of tempted to post it elsewhere, like on Ao3, because it came out much longer than I thought and Tumblr posts kinda sucks, but I decided to shove it down here anyway. And yep, I did write you a song fic u.u ))

(( Happy b-day, Palps! ))

“Everyone of us hides a story made of scars and sometimes shelters in a corner„

Thick grey clouds cover the sky, heavy with a rainstorm they might never truly deliver, not a single crack of blue in sight. Then again, the sun has never been a common presence in the sky of Gotham. It would feel out of place in the gloomy atmosphere that surrounds the city and among its many, dark moods. There’s little space for light when the air is so heavy, even in the moments of apparent peace. They are, after all, nothing but an illusion, yet another calm before the tempest comes back raging again, just as the silence of that slowly dying afternoon is.

John Constantine lights up a cigarette, letting the flame linger on its as he inhales the first mouthful of smoke. In the descending darkness, his mind finds it easy to overlap the hostile skyline that stretches before his eyes with his memories of London. Another city known for her gloomy weather, for the fog that so often lingers over her buildings, soaking the people she shelters in her bosom with humidity and cold. If he closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can still feel it, that wet sensation that dives deeper and deeper, until it settles in your bones with the silent promise of never leaving you, no matter how far from it life will take you.

He lets his head fall back slightly, slowly blowing out the smoke towards the sky, watching as it fades, confusing itself with the clouds. He misses London, hell, he misses England in general. The country was never been kind with him and most of his worst memories belongs there, together with all the unsatisfied and sometimes vengeful ghosts he has left behind, but whether he likes it or not, it still is and will always be home. Assuming that there is a single place, in this world and all the others, that he can call such. He can’t deny that it’s fitting, though. A land that has brought him mostly pain and regrets, just as the physical house he has grown up in has been his personal hell ever since he can remember.

The magician grits his teeth, mouth curling in a frown. That is a whole other set of memories that haunts him and he doesn’t even need to make an effort to recall them. Every sleepless night spent in terror. Every hit, every bruise, every insult. Every time those hands touched him, brutal, merciless, unrelenting. The images and the sensations can get vivid enough to make his stomach turn and his hands shake, even after so many years. That’s the reason why he doesn’t dwell on them, the reason why he never talks about it. Repressing is easier. It’s almost like forgetting, with the different that the phantom burden never goes away. However, the heaviness Is something he is almost used to, by now, since he is constantly carrying on his shoulders the weight if not of the world, at least of all his mistakes and bad choices. And damn, most of the times he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two.

“So vulnerable, human heart’s an animal that doesn’t want to break cover„

It makes him wonder why he is still there. He has closed his case, the umpteenth clusterfuck that has brought him back to that city and to its lurking shadows. He has no reason to linger, especially not when that darkness calls his personal one out, causing it to resonate in tune with it. And yet there he is, perched on the railing of that balcony, skin and clothes stained with mud and blood. Not his own, for the most. It almost never is and, even when that’s the case, he always finds a way to be the last man standing, at the end of the day. The price for his life? Everything that can be taken from him and, especially, from the people who are unlucky enough to be around him, and then some more.

Constantine’s eyes slide close as he brings the cigarette back to his lips. The truth is that, despite what he tells himself, despite all the horrors and the losses he has faced, despite every lesson he has sworn to learn, he is weak. Selfishly so. He is so quick to deny others, and he is so harsh and unmovable in doing it, but with himself, oh, he has always been far too lenient. How that fits with his constant self-hatred, he isn’t completely sure. Perhaps it’s because he inevitably ends up losing everything he allows himself to have and keep, one way or the other. They have a cost, those indulgences, one that he cannot pay because he doesn’t have the means to do it. So Fate or Chance or whoever for them comes and snatches them away, sudden and violent, leaving yet another tear in his already far too broken core.

He bites back a scoff. The approaching night he’s watching now is nothing but yet another of indulgences. He knows where he wants it to lead him and he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. He should climb down the way he has climbed up, like the thief he is, and leave Gotham without looking back. He should and he would if he was enough of a decent person, but it’s been years since he has had any real shred of decency left in him. So, instead, he’ll stay and wait, as he always does. He’ll stay and take everything he can get his hands on, enjoying comforts and pleasures he has done nothing to earn. He’ll take and take and take, until the day when the tiny breach he has been using to crawl inside that small world where he doesn’t belong will be closed and he will find himself in the dark once again, alone and with yet another deep crack in his soul.

Blue eyes lock on the grey, threatening sky. It will happen, eventually, but not tonight. So, for now, he sits and soaks himself in the advancing shadows, his back to the lights that start to colour the windows of the manor. The symbolism isn’t lost to him, it never is, even if most of the times he pretends not to notice it, just to end up mulling over it later on. It’s a taste of what’s waiting ahead for him, once his time would have run out. It won’t be this quiet, though, and it won’t be this painless. The torment that fills his chest, however, that will be there, his eternal companion in death as it has been in life.

“If you want to back down I’ll try to understand but I just can’t help it I would, if I could give you a new innocence so, please don’t fear my caress„

The hand that descends on his shoulder is expected and by now very familiar, just as is the figure that presses up against his side. He has heard, or rather felt, the other man approaching him, even while lost in his thoughts, but he hasn’t turned around. He hasn’t needed to, not when he can easily imagine the whole scene in his mind without having to see it taking place in reality. Oh, his bloody imagination is just that good, but it’s a double-edged sword. His nightmares and lucid dreams are proof enough of what it can do, just as it is of how much it can wreck him when it chooses to.

Strong fingers travel down along the magician’s spine, taking in the tension that lingers in his muscles and the new tears that have been ripped in the worn material of his trench coat. However, in particular, they don’t miss how the exorcist initially reacts, stiffening even more under the touch, struggling until he manages to make himself accept it. It’s been months since they have agreed to let that thing between them officially exist, but the doubts and the reluctance are still almost as palpable as the bumps of his vertebrae.

Bruce bits back a sigh, deciding to pay no mind to it. He has almost resigned himself to the fact that there will always be a part of Constantine that will never accept his most gentle touches. The magician seems to instinctively recoil from them, as if they somehow hurt or as if he expected to get pain out of them. He has tried to bring the subject up, but John can be as stubborn as Batman himself when he chooses to and that has never led them anywhere, if not into an ugly fight. He is tempted to try again, but by now he knows the older man well enough and he can tell that, whatever he has faced that day, has been hard on him. A fact that inevitably destroys the already limited fertile ground there usually is for discussion. So, instead, the vigilante just keeps caressing, until the body under his palm has become as pliant as it’s capable of being.

“You’re a mess, Constantine,” he comments at that point, one eyebrow slightly raised and the lightest hint of amusement in his voice. What he doesn’t say is that he knows. He knows about the missing pieces and the darkness, about the stains and the scars. And he is fine with them, whether John likes to believe it or not, because he himself is far from being unblemished. He will be fine with them as long as the magician is aware that there’s no reason why he should fear Bruce and what he is willing to offer. He isn’t going to press, not even if he wishes he could, not even when he has all the rights to. And he isn’t going to ask for things that Constantine cannot give in exchange. What he demands, however, is to not be shut out and that’s something that it’s not up for discussion.

The exorcist finally turns to face the vigilante, an unimpressed look on his face. It’s a mask, a façade to hide all the thoughts that have been storming inside his mind, and they both know it. However, from Bruce’s indulgent expression, John can tell that, at least for that night, he will be allowed to keep his act up without having to try hard. It makes him feel both relieved and pained, because he has once again wrapped his hands around something he hasn’t earned and he will shamelessly drain that privilege until there will be nothing left to get out of it. Story of his life, really.

“Are we playin’ again that bloody game where we state the obvious? I know ‘m a mess, Wayne. But now, when am I not, hn?” He shoots back with an exaggerate eyeroll. He is hyperaware of the skilful hand that’s still working on the length of his spine. Bruce’s touch is always so warm and welcoming, despite the fact that he is always abusing the younger man’s time, his patience, his presence. That awareness is yet another torture for him, but at the same time he can’t help being greedy for it. “How did you know I was up ‘ere? Didn’t come in through the main door.”

The vigilante rolls his eyes, clearly making an effort to mimic exactly the gesture that has just been addressed to him. “Oh, you know. Alfred mentioned that he has seen someone in a dirty trench coat climbing along the front of the mansion,” he replies and his fingers dig in the magician’s side. It’s a playful gesture and he is pleased to see the obviously exaggerated reaction his lover offers, to play along with him. “I guessed that it had to be you.”

“Bullocks.” Constantine scoffs and turns his eyes back towards Gotham’s skyline, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “The ol’ codger ‘s always in my bloody way. Damn him.”

“Everyone of us has to face more than once that feelings are just a delusion„

Bruce’s lips curl in the shadow of a rare grin at the comeback, but when the silence threatens to fall upon them, he doesn’t stop it. Instead, he removes his hand from the older man’s back in favour of leaning against the railing with his elbows, eyes locked on the slowly darkening horizon before them. He makes sure to keep touching, his side still pressed up against the magician’s, close enough to feel him twitching and shifting. Movements so subtle that would have been lost to him if he hadn’t made sure that they shared the same space.

He bows his head slightly, to be able to run a hand through his dark hair. It’s odd to be there, willing and somewhat content, with someone who’s so radically different from. John Constantine is a continuous, often rabid flood of energy, always moving, always changing, and he has, more often than not, felt like a rock in the middle of a turbulent river. Unmovable in its stillness, because that’s what he is compared to the other man, firm and steady where the exorcist is constantly shifting and fluctuating. However, even the sturdiest rock is fated to be affected by the constant, abrasive touch of the water and, to an extent, he has known it since the very first time their paths have crossed, among the smoke and the loud music of a London night not so different from many others. Of course, he didn’t realise it, back then, but it has taken him to meet John again, several years later, and be faced with a much darker version of him to understand how deeply under his skin the other had already crawled.

His mind flies back in time, to the years that have preceded that fateful meeting and to the ones that have followed it. He remembers the people who have touched his life, the women he has courted, mostly for fun and to keep his reputation up. Their names are mostly lost to him, aside from the two he’ll never forget, because, despite the bitter end those relationships have met, they have played an essential part in making him into whom he has become.

Selina was everything his younger self has never been allowed to have before her abrupt arrival in his life. Freedom and mischief, broken rules and total disregard for the conventions of the society he has grown up in. She was the adventure, the thrill of the forbidden. Her kisses used to taste like fresh air and carelessness. Her touches were sweet oblivion from the responsibilities. Taking her hand was stepping into new, unexplored worlds. In the end, she had slipped from his fingers while he was distracted by Gotham’s call, going where he couldn’t follow, just as the wild animal she has always been.

Rachel, on the other hand, was sweetness and stability. She was a bright light against Gotham’s endless gloominess, a gentle warmth capable of heating up the coldest night. Kissing her brought back, for the illusion of a moment, the innocence he lost at a far too young age. The way her hands moved on his body whispered promises of a home where he could have, if not forgotten, at least finally moved on from the pain and the losses. Holding her hands used to bring him comfort as nothing else in his life ever has. In the end, she had been a painful but necessary sacrifice, because the world she was promising him, as desirable and tempting, would have implied abandoning his cape and his duty to the city.

“So much wasted time making a fool of our pride just to come to the bitter conclusion„

Bruce slowly licks his lips. Now, both women are gone from his life. They linger, though, as ghosts from his past, reminding him of how fleeting feelings can be and what delusions they charm you with. Leaving them behind has been hard, it has taken a long time and, in the aftermath, it has pushed him to come to the conclusion that the only one he would always be faithful to, the only one he would never be able to resist would be Gotham.

Thinking about it now, he can tell that it has been easier than expected, to choose to wear the mask and the cape and to dedicate all of himself to the Night. She has always welcome him with open arms, with her secrets, her dangers, her battles. It has always felt right, like nothing else ever has. And so he has been fighting the madness that sprouts from her shadows ever since. Or, perhaps, the truth is that he has started his fight much before choosing to become Batman. Perhaps he has been sworn to the city and to its darkness since that night in that alley, when he has been left on his knees, between the lifeless bodies of his parents, screaming at the sky in agony for what had been so brutally stolen from him. Maybe it has been then that he signed his destiny, without even realising it.

A bitter, pained smile touches his lips at those thoughts. Even nowadays, despite everything he has gone through, he can tell without a doubt that he has found his calling and that the prices he has paid to follow it have been worth what he has got. It doesn’t make the sacrifices less painful, it doesn’t make the solitude less heavy to bear, but he is aware that, at the end of the day, the regrets won’t be burdening him enough to cause him to fall in the abyss he can see under his feet.

“I know, it hurts to mend all the shattered hopes but would you truly tell me that it isn’t worth pricking yourself with its thorns if it’s done to pick a rose?„

Bruce’s eyes leave the now dark sky and land on John once again. The man sitting next to him is the one variable he could have never predicted. He materialised on his path like a bolt from the blue, and definitely as dangerous as one. A walking bunch of cigarettes and arrogance, dressed in a trench coat that has seen much better days, incomprehensible but powerful words between his lips and nothing less than real magic on his fingertips. A ticking bomb shaped like a man, dragging the chains of a mysterious and yet obviously wrecked past and of his literally damned future. And yet, there he stood, still managing not to give a flying fuck about everything and everyone.

He remembers very clearly his own reaction, the first time they met after so many years. Batman was utterly annoyed by his flamboyant, caustic attitude and Bruce, from behind the mask, wondered where the messed up but still somehow hopeful young man he had found himself entangled with in London ended up. Constantine is not what he used to be, not even close, not even behind the parts of his act that are just for show. The sharpness and the cynicism in his eyes immediately made it clear, more than any rude word or flare of anger could ever have.

Peeling off all those crusted layers of smugnesss and exaggerated self-confidence hasn’t been easy, especially since the magician has fought him back at every step, but, all considered, it hasn’t taken too long for the self-loathing, the scars and the endless pit of regrets to emerge. John hasn’t lied, with his earlier answer. He always is a mess, a bunch of shattered pieces held together by a lot of bravado and willpower, and none of them is where it should be. He has seen the never healed wounds and the blood on the magician’s fingers, the only results of his vain attempts to get the shards back into a semblance of wholeness. And, before he could realise it, he was being overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and take his hands, mend the cuts, stop him from giving up on himself over and over again.

The truth is that he is still trying. Trying to make himself respect the limitations he has been given, trying to make it be enough, despite wanting so much more. However, Constantine has been adamant and he knows what it would mean breaking the rules he has willingly accepted. For all the contingency plans Batman has, Bruce himself tends to be defenceless, when his feelings are on the line. And he has seen how vengeful John can be, never above playing dirty, never above stomping over every single boundary, if it means achieving his goal. He would have found a way to get back at him, of course, eventually, but the irreparable damage would have been done anyway.

On good days, he tells himself that seeing the shock on the older man’s face that day, when he has chosen to put his heart in his callous hands, when he has chosen that “nasty piece of work” over everything else the world has to offer, has, on its own, almost made it worth the fights, the pain, the struggling. Then, there are the rare times when he has been allowed to see John blooming, with power, wits and a determination as bright as the light of his spells. In those moments, watching his shattered soul soaring, even if just through the hellish sky it is trapped in, aside from making him fall a bit more in love each time, vanishes every lingering doubt.

“I can’t promise you eternity but bare your soul for me Whatever it takes, you won’t regret having yourself let go once again„

“I’ll never bleedin’ get what you find so enticin’ ‘bout this soddin’ place.”

The exorcist’s voice breaks the silence and he turns to find Bruce staring at him. Oh, he has been aware of those eyes locked on him for some time now and that’s the reason why he has decided to speak up. There is something, in the younger man’s expression, that’s making him uneasy. He knows that look far too well by now and that’s the problem. His lover gets it every time he is thinking about something deep, something that involves him, or, rather, them. It doesn’t always lead to an attempt of conversation, thankfully, but it always gets too close to his sore spots for comfort.

His words gain him a raised eyebrow and he shakes his head because, despite what he has chosen to say, he doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation. Also because, among the other things, it would have forced him to admit that his statement is, for the most, a lie. He does understand the dark charm of Gotham far too well, not because he experiences it himself, hell no. As much in tune as that place can be with his own darkness, he is more than content to fuck off somewhere else whenever he has a chance to. No, the reason why he understands the strength of Bruce’s sense of duty, the reason why he knows exactly why the city will be, always and anyway, the younger man’s first priority is what John himself feels about magic. It’s not the same, and in his eyes Batman’s mission would always be, in spite of everything, much purer, less selfish, less corrupted. However, it’s the closest thing to a reflection of his own twisted existence that he has ever found in someone else’s life. And it’s why, perhaps, he shouldn’t be so surprised to see how willing the vigilante is to keep him around, to cherish him, despite all the deadly warning signs. They can be together while still prioritising their respective calling over everything else.

He chews the butt of his cigarette for a moment, and his eyes are looking lost once again. What they have couldn’t be further away from perfect, but, then again, it couldn’t be otherwise when people like them, all bruised and broken in different ways, are involved. It’s part of the reason why it works, even if all the odds are against it. And yet, he still feels bitter, now that he knows the stories behind Bruce’s past relationships. The way life has forced the younger man to choose or put a limit to the time he had to enjoy the bright sides of those bonds. John might have given up, at least for the most, on trying to push his lover to not choose him, but he cannot do the same with the time limit. There’s a clock ticking above his head, eating up, one by one, the seconds that separate him from that spot in Hell that has had his name for a long time now. And he will get himself damned again and again and again, endlessly, before he takes Bruce down with him. Denying the so often sung shared eternity of love is a gift, in their case.

He sucks in the last mouthful of smoke, hard enough that he can feel the burning down his throat and against his fingers, where his skin meets the burning hand of the now finished cigarette. There is no space for wistful poetry in what they share. Everything is harsh and desperate, ruled by the awareness of its limits, even in their quieter, warmer moments. Their shared passion always tastes like stolen time, and each kiss might as well be the last. It’s all just another story damned to end in tragedy, in flames, swallowed by the darkness. And yet, despite what he keeps saying, despite what he believes, there is still a part of him who wants to make it worth. For Bruce, mainly, but for himself too. He ascribes it to a streak of his selfishness, because that’s all it is…isn’t it?

But can it really be just selfishness, when you are fighting to make things better, even knowing that you won’t get to get an advantage for yourself out of it?

“Take me and make me as you want I’ll feed your dreams with my love„

Bruce feels the change in the mood even before John moves. There’s a sudden spike in the buzzing energy that constantly surrounds the magician and it usually indicates that he is about to do something either reckless or stupid. Or both, since when Constantine is involved the two things are, in most cases, the same. He isn’t sure what to expect, because his lover has the bad habit of being too hard to predict, and that’s one of the many things that Batman hates about him, because it makes the exorcist an incredibly volatile, untrustworthy ally. However, there is no cape or spell standing between them in that moment, and so, when the older man climbs off the railing, sets his feet down on the balcony and then lunges at him, he lets him, without a split moment of hesitation.

The kiss is bruising, hard, merciless. All teeth and tongue, no finesse, no patience, no softness. But it’s filled with scorching heat and the vigilante can’t stop himself from going weak, even if he would never admit it, because, when he can’t hold back the intensity that characterises all he is, John Constantine kisses both like a drowning man, lacing to the last gulp of oxygen he is being allowed, and like a starved demon, hellbent of devouring his soul.

Despite the force of the contact, though, he can feel the magician’s hands shaking, from where they are wrapped in the front of his jumper, pinning him against the railing. If it wasn’t so tragic, he could have appreciated the irony in seeing someone so arrogant and bold, a man who has gone as far as conning the Devil himself and mostly got away with it, so terrified of something as natural as love should be. If Bruce didn’t know exactly how it feels like, he would have been fascinated by how something human as emotional closeness can rip apart every barrier Constantine has so carefully built around himself, revealing the vulnerabilities, the fragility and the open wounds that are hidden under it.

He knows all of that, just as John is aware of it as well. It’s a struggle for the magician to keep himself there in those moments, because there is nothing he dreads more than feeling so exposed. It makes him want to fight and, if he can’t fight, then it makes him want to run. And he has, at first, denying the feelings he felt coming from Bruce, denying the ones that have been growing inside his own chest. Now, trying not to is part of the terms of their deal he has to respect, even when the instinct screams so loud inside his mind that he can’t hear his own thoughts.

And yet, here he is. And yet here he stays. It might be a selfish choice, it might be stealing what he doesn’t deserve, but there is more to it, for them both. There is a something new budding in the time and in the space they shared, stubborn as just the two of them can be. It’s a feeling, it’s a reality, it’s a dream. Its nature is hard to tell, so foreign and yet so familiar. One thing, though, seems certain: it might be doomed to meet a tragic ending, but that doesn’t stop it from fighting to survive everything that’s coming in its way.

“You’re trembling and I can see what you feel inside you a shy bud’s already blooming„

#(( true seeing stone ::ooc:: )) #theprinceof-gothamcity #* Let's fall in love for the Night and forget in the Morning * ::John&Bruce:: {theprinceofgothamcity} #(( let's say this is from John's part too )) #(( even if the wanker did nothing aside from )) #(( breathing over my neck and judging )) #(( please ignore whatever damn typo might be in it )) #(( I swear I check it but )) #(( can never find them all x.x ))

[writing-with-chaos]

[Your OCs Backstory] Week 4 - Mentors

(edit by me!!!!)

@yourocsbackstory​

Sorry I keep posting these late! Deadlines are not my forte ^^; I hope you still like this one cause I definitely do!

Ariana Salem

---------

Ariana was never sure how to feel about Kendra and Andrea. At first, it was easy to hate them. Especially Kendra. She was the only one she was attached to, after all. Ariana was always very talented at deflecting her anger at the world, and the alien was an easy target. Every punch landed on her in training, every bruise, every smirk like she found every minute of her failure amusing. Even if she had to feel it, it healed right away anyway. It was all a big joke, with Ariana's fragility as the punchline. It only fueled her fury. Of all the humans in the world, why did she have to be Kendra's host? Why did everything always have to be her fault? Her life was hard enough as it is, and now her being born brought back the apocalypse? What the fuck was she supposed to do with that? Why did it always have to be her?

Kendra became some kind of a symbol in her head. Learning to control her powers, and finally landing just one hit on her, would be like taking back her fate. She wasn't the disaster everyone believed her to be. She wasn't Death and Destruction. Once she finally had this under control, it'd be proof to everyone that she was worth something. She wasn't an extra burden. But the longer she stayed attached to Kendra, the more the lines blurred. She certainly didn't get any nicer, and Ariana was only making slow process with her powers. But she found herself having small moments with the alien. Calm, quiet moments, where she painted in her room and Kendra read books on the bed, the only non-destructive hobby that seemed to hold her attention. During school, when they recounted the death toll and terror the two were solely responsible for, instead of listening and reinforcing her distrust, she would snort at Kendra's telepathic commenting. She'd point at inaccuracies, scoff, groan at the boring lectures, and every time the teacher called them "Khaodosians", her energy would coil underneath Ariana's skin, like a rolling wave of thorns. Why does that bother you so much? It's just the name of your species, right? she asked internally. "As far as your masses need to be concerned, I suppose." Kendra growled. Should I call you something different? There was a beat of silence. "Chaos Powers." Ariana didn't understand why she bothered. Why did she care if it was offensive? This woman--creature--wanted her and every other human dead, and almost succeeded. She refused to use her name 90% of the time, instead only calling her "human girl". Just because she understood what it felt like to have history written wrong, and wrong names and translations thrown around like they were fact, didn't mean she owed her the same decency she gave other people. And yet, she never used the other name again. Having Andrea around made things even more confusing. Apparently, she was the friendlier of the two. It made sense. According to history, she was the one who struck deals with people. Took identities and created illusions. She'd seen the latter two with her own eyes. Her friendliness was another illusion, she'd tell herself. All part of some plan of theirs she wasn't savvy to yet. But Andrea would be encouraging and fun, she'd help her find the right makeup and kept her favorite snacks in her house for when training was over. Most importantly, she'd tell Kendra to cool it when she was being extra rough or mean, like she was on her side instead. Ariana didn't have many people left in her life that would stand up for her, especially someone casual. Despite herself, she started feeling comfortable until she'd catch herself casually asking for help; with homework, outfit choices, boys, her family. Everything became easier when she was around. Eventually, the jolt of excitement she felt from Kendra whenever the other called became her own, to the point where she couldn't always tell whose emotions were whose. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn't figure out where she stood. People who knew about her powers--her mom, her siblings, Sabin--would say off-color things about them and she'd get upset. They'd start asking questions. What did she care? She didn't know how to answer. Her mom would be the worst, immediately jumping to the most disastrous conclusion. She was being corrupted, her daughter was being lost to monsters. It would stoke her anxieties so much she'd have to rush to her room, gasping for air and chanting, "I'm a good person, I'm a good person, I'm a good person...". What was wrong with her? Some monsters give her a little validation and suddenly she's ready to sell out her entire species? Is that who she was? Her frustrations only fueled her training spirit. She pushed herself farther and farther every day. If she could do this one thing right, maybe everyone would shut up. Including her anxiety. She wasn't destined for ruin. Her worth was more than that and she would prove it. "You know you'll never get control of my powers that way." Kendra's harsh, low voice snapped Ariana from her thoughts. She was watching her from behind, sitting against a tree in their training grove in the middle of nowhere. The shade darkened her golden brown skin, making her blood-red eyes glow against the shadows. The image sent an intimidated shiver up Ariana's spine, which only made her frustrations at her own weakness worse. "What way?" she snapped. "In your head, you keep insisting this will prove something." Much to Ariana's chagrin, she could hear her footsteps approaching. "What does one have to prove when they control death and destruction?" "I don't want to control that." "Why not?" "Because! It's awful!" Ariana exclaimed. "I don't wanna hurt people." "Yes, that's the whole reason we're training. So you don't end up killing someone during one of your tantrums." "I don't--!" Purple sparks darted from her clenched hands at the flare of anger, proving the point. Ariana exhaled and turned back toward the horizon. "Whatever. Are you gonna help me or keep being annoying?" "The reason why my powers aren't working for you is because you keep equating them with someone else's approval," she explained. "You're so wrapped up in how other people will think of you that your only goal is to get permission to be what you already are. You want someone else to gift you power despite the fact that you already have what you seek." "I don't want power. I'm not like you." "Well, that's obvious, but it isn't the point," Kendra sneered. "It isn't that you don't want power. It's that you don't trust what you'll do with it. That's why they keep ricocheting on you." She walked back to her spot under the tree, shrugging. Ariana watched for a minute, before turning to her shadow engulfed hand. Was it a bad sign if a murderer was starting to make sense? "My powers aren't going to win you popularity. Nobody likes death," Kendra said. She sat down, and once again her red eyes demanded her to show respect. For her or herself, she wasn’t sure anymore. 

"Figure out how to trust yourself, or you're only wasting our time."

#writeblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #writblr #writers #my ocs #writeblr ocs #yourocsbackstory #The Writing #Cynical Chaos #Ariana #Kendra #Andrea

[mell-bell]

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do- Part 4

Yon-Rogg x Reader

Words: 3091                      

Series Summary: You and Yon-Rogg were friends. You trained together. You fought together. But what happens when you realize you’re on the wrong side of the war? When everything you thought you knew was a lie. When the day you had been dreading finally arrives….when Yon-Rogg has to choose, you or the war?

Author’s notes: (posted April 1, 2019) I wanted to have this up when I got home from work but as I was rereading it I realized I didn’t edit it AT ALL. So please for the love of Thor ignore any spelling errors and I might change some things tomorrow. I also had some issues on this part because I didn’t know where I was gonna take this story but I think I have the next two parts planned out now. I love you guys so much and I hope you enjoy! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your first mission.

Technically, you shouldn’t have been allowed to go. You hadn’t completed the required yearlong training; you were barely even six months along. But because of your personal lessons with Yon-Rogg, you were waves above the other trainees. So, when word got around that the Supreme Intelligence was looking for an unfamiliar face for a new mission, Yon-Rogg put in a good word for you.

To say that this put you out of favor with the other trainees would be an understatement. They respected you, yet hated you at the same time. You were living their lifelong dream.

You had already been finding it difficult to befriend the others. After Yon-Rogg had singled you out the first day, the others had kept their distance from you. And when you did manage to get close, you heard talk of how you were Yon-Rogg’s “favorite”, how you got special treatment. So, when you were chosen as the agent for this mission, you worried that they would think that you had slept your way to the top.

But even they knew you were miles ahead of them in terms of training.

When you would spar, you were able to take down anyone within a few seconds. You could outshoot them, easily doubling their scores. It even went so far as your group trainer telling you to hold back when fighting the others. However, when Yon-Rogg had caught wind of that, he had reprimanded the trainer and pulled you aside, informing you that holding back is what gets people killed.

And you never held back ever again.

Which is how you found yourself here. Your first mission. It would be easy, they said.

The Supreme Intelligence hadn’t been too keen on sending somebody new, but after hearing how highly her star warrior was praising you, she agreed to give you a trial run.

But something went wrong.

The mission was easy on paper. Find the target and get the intel. Simple. Easy. Nothing too difficult.

Until you landed on the planet. And everything around you exploded.

You dodged fire left and right, quickly sending a distress message to Yon-Rogg. Not a second later, his hologram appearing on your arm, a smirk on his face.

“Miss me already?”

An explosion sounded nearby and you threw yourself down onto the ground as fire rained down around you.

“Y/N! Y/N, are you okay? Answer me!”

You quickly brought your arm up, Yon-Rogg’s face full of worry as he caught sight of your soot-covered face.

“I got ambushed the second I landed. Yon please, I need help.”

“Just wait for back-“, he replied, but before he could finish responding, the communication fizzled out as your comm exploded on your wrist.

“Fuck.” You mumbled. You sat still for a second, before taking a deep breath. You had trained for this. Yon-Rogg had prepared you for this. And with a smile, you dove back into the thick of things. You had a target to find.

When you woke up, you were in the med bay. The bright lights burned against your eyes and the steady beeping of your heart, hurt your pounding head. As you tried to lift your arm, you felt something holding it down. Looking down, you saw Yon-Rogg asleep in the chair next to you, his hand resting on your arm. He was slouched over the chair uncomfortably, still dressed in his Kree suit, covered in dust and blood. An open book in his lap.

Trying not to jostle him, you tried to push yourself into a seated position, but when you put pressure on your arm, a sharp pain shot through you and you let out a gasp, waking Yon-Rogg from his sleep. Without hesitation, he helped readjust you so that your weight wasn’t on your arm. And then he just looked at you.

His face was blank and you knew before he even said one word that he was mad.

“Before you say it, I know it was stupid, but I made a choice and I stand by it.”

Yon-Rogg remained quiet, his face expressionless, but then his eyes narrowed, “I told you to wait for backup.”

“It was my mission.”

“A mission you could’ve died on.”

You rolled over, ignoring the pain shooting through your body as you reached over to the side table. Digging through your bag on the table, you finally found what you were looking for, and pulled it out chucking it at Yon-Rogg.

“I got the intel. I completed the mission.”

“Don’t you realize how valuable you are?” He said.

Your brows furrowed, “To the mission?”

“To m-“ he stopped abruptly and stood up.

Your heart was beating fast, the sound echoing loudly through the room as your face reddened.

Yon-Rogg stood facing the wall, his back tense. Clearing your throat, he turned, peering at you over his shoulder. You held out a hand and waited silently until he walked over grabbing onto it, threading his fingers through yours.

You nodded down the book that had fallen off his lap and onto the floor.

“Read to me? I am sick.” You faked coughed, hiding a smirk behind your hand.

He scoffed but you could see the relief in his eyes when reached down picking up the book As he began to read, you closed your eyes, letting yourself drown in the sound of his voice, your hand still tight in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About six years later, two weeks after you and Yon-Rogg were reunited:

“Ouch!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing Yon-Rogg’s head to the side once again, as you looked down at the chip embedded in his neck, “Oh, shush.”

“Well, it hurts.” He growled.

You had spent every single day these past two weeks trying to remove that goddamn chip from his neck.

Initially, it had taken some prodding to figure out why he had even been chipped in the first place. After a few days, of questioning, or annoying as he called it, you had finally managed to bother him enough into blurting out that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. When you asked him to elaborate he explained how they would shock him into oblivion whenever his mind even drifted to a memory of you.

But it wasn’t the shocking that worried the two of you. If the Kree had implanted a tracker within it, they would be on your tail in no time. Which impacted your plans of assisting the Skrulls.

You had tried everything to get it off. Sometimes you would hit it the wrong way it would shock him, sometimes even knocking him unconscious for a few hours. At first, you felt bad, but with him unconscious, and quiet, it was easier to work out how to get it off. But you hadn’t had luck and you were running out of time.

“I’m sorry the big bad Kree warrior can’t handle a little pain, but we can’t do anything until we get it off. And we’ve already been off the grid for too long. Anyways, I think I’ve finally figured it out.”

“You couldn’t have started with that, instead of prodding at me like an animal?” He muttered.

You fake gasped, “Is that? Is that a sense of humor I hear?”

“No, you must be mistaken.” He said dryly.

You hummed knowingly as you discretely pulled something out of your pocket. Bracing your hand against his head, you cleared your throat, “Now, don’t worry if there’s a little shock, it won’t hurt. Well, maybe a little.”

“Shock, what-“

But before he could finish his question, you shoved the taser into the chip in his neck. His body seized as he let out an involuntary squeak.

Gritting your teeth, you held it for a second longer than necessary before finally releasing it. Peering down with squinted eyes, you looked to see if it had made a difference to the chip.

But it was still embedded deep into his skin, still blinking faintly.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, falling silent when Yon-Rogg shot you a dirty look. But you just smiled back shyly in apology.  

Yon-Rogg lifted a shaking hand to his neck, his fingers coming away wet with blood. You quickly slapped them away before beginning to disinfect the wound.

You hummed quietly, as he sat there silently. Out of nowhere, he whispered, “I almost shot you.”

You froze. Neither of you had so much as mentioned your fight. But you knew he had nightmares about it. A few days ago, he had woken in a terror, pressing down hard on your stomach yelling that he had to stop the blood. He kept apologizing over and over again. It had taken hours to get him to calm down. And the next morning, neither of you mentioned it. Pretending it had never happened. Instead, you just handed him his coffee as he cooked breakfast.

“But you didn’t.” You stated.

“But I could have. I would have.” He whispered horrified. His eyes glazed over in a way that made your heart beat painfully.

You grabbed his chin and forced him to meet your gaze, “But you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You said.

He turned away, pulling his head from your hand, “If we can’t get this chip off, I need to get far away from you. They can’t find you.”

“I’m not letting you leave. You’ll die.” You argued back.

“And if I don’t, you’ll die. All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe.”

You brushed a hand across his face, tracing over his forehead cheekbones before leaning down gently pressing your lips to his, “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yon-Rogg stood in front of you, a smile on his face. You began to call out to him, but as his eyes turned to you, they were black. His arm raised and your heart jumped to your throat as you caught sight of the blaster in his hands.

You could hear someone pleading to him, begging him not to shoot. It wasn’t until he took a step forward that you realized that someone was you.

His finger moved to the trigger and this time he didn’t stop. He pulled the trigger and the blaster exploded.

You shot up, your heart racing, your body sticky with sweat. You all but threw yourself out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. Turning on the sink, you splashed yourself, the cold water striking your face as you welcomed the icy blast with a sigh. Your heart settled and you looked up meeting your eyes in the mirror. The bags under your eyes continued to grow day after day. You longed for the day when you could look at yourself and not feel like a stranger in your skin.

Another nightmare.

Though you and Yon-Rogg had been together for two weeks, you were still learning how to be normal again. You were both just surviving at the moment, but you were trying to figure out how to truly live again.

As you made your way back to the bedroom, your brows furrowed at the empty bed, the covers thrown back on Yon-Rogg’s side. Grabbing his robe off the end of the bed, you wrapped it around you before walking out into the hall, following the loud sounds down the hall, finding Yon-Rogg standing before a heavy bag, his back bare and covered in sweat. You weren’t sure how long he had been here.

“Yon.”

His arms faltered for a second before punching the bag once more harder, the rafters shaking. You watched as his shoulder’s dropped as he turned.

“Bed?”

Just one shake of his head was all the answer you needed.

Nodding, you held out your hand, waiting until he took it before leading him back into your bedroom. Pushing him down gently on the couch, you grabbed the book off his nightstand before sitting down next to him. Turning to the page that was marked, you began reading.

He was asleep within minutes.

You didn’t stop until your voice grew hoarse.

You knew that the two of you wouldn’t be able to run from your demons for much longer. But neither of you were ready to talk about it yet. And for the time being, that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I need you to train me.”

You stood in Yon-Rogg’s doorway, his back to you as he stood in front of his mirror drying his hair with a towel. Meeting your gaze in the mirror, he gestured to his sparsely dressed body.

“Do you mind?”

“No.” You smirked, crossing your arms as you looked him up and down.

He rolled his eyes before turning to face you, staying silent, but his eyes said everything.

You nodded, looking away refusing to meet his eyes, “I wasn’t able to keep up this past year what with...” You waved your hand, swallowing hard at the memories.

He nodded, “Get dressed and let’s go.”

Five minutes later, you hit the ground with a thud and groaned. Yon-Rogg kicked your side gently prompting you to get up.

You felt like you were back at the academy. You didn’t realize how far out of practice you were. Though you had been forced to do manual labor every day under your master’s rule, your body had built up strength and muscles that you weren’t used to. You were bulkier than you had been and slower in your reflexes. You were relearning how to use your body.

As Yon-Rogg put you through the motions he had done so many years ago, he did so slowly. You expected your muscles to remember what they had so many years ago, but as you tripped, and fell, and missed, you grew frustrated. You slammed to the ground again and again. Your body was screaming and when Yon-Rogg asked if you wanted to stop, you ignored him, getting to your feet, wiping the blood from your nose, and raising your arms again.

His jaw tightened every time you fell, but he continued to attack you knocking you down over and over.

After completing the first few exercises, Yon-Rogg chucked you a baton as he held out his own.

You started slowly as you felt your muscles begin to remember the exercises that had been drilled into your head. But you could feel Yon-Rogg holding back. He wasn’t hitting you hard. And you purposefully gave him opportunities to take you down. But he didn’t.

You pushed him, “Come on, hit me. I can take it.”

“Y/N.” He warned as you swung out at him wildly.

“I can take it.” You growled.

He shook his head, taking a step back as he dodged your aggressive attacks, “You just started training today. You need to take it easy.”

You let out a grunt of annoyance as he easily ducked your baton again.

“You never had problems attacking me before. Don’t go easy on me now, I’m not gonna break.”

He shook his head as he slammed the baton down at you again. Your arm screamed under the pressure but you pushed back at him.

“Come on.” You shouted, reaching out and shoving him back.

His eyes flashed and he swung out and soon you were going faster and hitting harder. Right. Left. Right. Duck. Jump.

You smiled as you landed a blow. And then another. But you had been cocky. Without warning, he kicked out your legs from beneath you.

You slammed to the ground and looked up just in time to see the baton coming down at your head.  

But you didn’t see the baton. You saw a whip. Your eyes slammed shut and you flinched back as you tried to sink into the ground. When nothing hit you, you relaxed minutely.

A gentle hand touched your back and you shot to your feet, quickly backing away from Yon-Rogg. His eyes were worried as he looked at you with sadness.

“I don’t need your pity.” You spit out.

He took a step forward and reached out, but you pulled away and took off down the hall.

It wasn’t until a few hours later when you were lying on the roof of the ship, looking at the stars, that he came to you.

He laid silently next to you, giving you the choice to start the conversation for yourself.

“I thought I was ready.” You whispered so quietly that when he didn’t respond you thought he hadn’t heard you.

“It’s going to take time.”

You sat up abruptly, “We don’t have time. I need to be strong, not weak.”

Yon-Rogg reached out, his hand cupping your face, forcing you to look at him, “No, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

You smiled, “Stronger than you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled.

You turned into him, curling up against him, his hands ran gently up and down your back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N, you need to sleep.”

You nodded, not really paying attention as you poured over the documents in front of you. You had taken over his ship’s workroom, papers thrown everywhere, your notes taped all over the walls.

“Y/N.” He called louder.

You hummed in response, as you stood, pinning another paper onto the wall.

“We’re gonna need help.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled absentmindedly.

“I think we should contact Lora.” He said bluntly.

You continued working for a few minutes, before his words sunk in and your head shot up, “Are you out fucking your mind? She tortured me. She tortured you.”

“If we have any chance to get this chip off, it’s with her help.”

You scoffed, “What makes you think she’ll even help us? She could easily turn us over to the Supreme Intelligence.”

“She was there for me when you were dead. When I thought you were dead. She helped me when the guards were reporting on me back to the Supreme Intelligence. She’s the reason I wasn’t publicly executed.”

You knew he was speaking sense. There was no other way you would be able to get this chip off of him. Only Kree technology would be able to remove it.

“Fine. Set up a meeting. But if I kill her. It’s not my fault.”

Yon-Rogg set up a meeting with her the next day. You sat quietly for the rest of the day refusing to speak to him. You knew something was going to go wrong.  

You stood silently in the alleyway watching as the woman of your nightmares approached you.  

“Y/N. Long time no see.” Lora said.

Without hesitating, you punched her across the face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author’s notes: Anyways.....hoping to have the next chapter up next weekend! Really hope you guys like this part I’m still like ahhhhhh still having issues tagging some people so hopefully you guys see this!

Tagged: @blind-daydream @overlydramatichuman @damnittjim @thebookandmoviefangirl @bentacles-bestboi @topsyturvy-dream @nanoquin @furiouscomicsmcufan  @carolinesbookworld @farihafangirls @gaygottago @captain-almighty @looking-for-a-shootingstar @arantxaglz @spycii @lilp2018 @help-i-am-obssessed @gespirida @winchesterandpie @wehatepeopletheyhateus @smallsadjellyfish @fookingmuffins @fancy-chansey @iraniq @rattle-thestar-s @lacontroller1991 @wittywallflowersworld @whovianwriter @cllaraoswallds @woeisbutwoe @markusstraya @theroyalbrownbarbie @lycan-magic @newtslatte @araceli911103 @coloursunlimited @izzy10718

#yon-rogg x reader #yon rogg x reader #yon rogg #yon-rogg #captain marvel #jude law #yon rogg fanfiction #my fanfic

[wilhelmjfink]

“was” pt. 9

my fucking master list post isn’t working and idk wtf it’s issue is but here’s part 9 of i believe 11 or 12 enjoy~

also remember that i am far too lazy to edit these old stories that i am too lazy to post frequently i am sorry

Both Y/N’s and Negan’s mouths fell open in shock — there was a fraction of a second, she noticed, that Negan let his regular arrogance and confidence waver, just long enough for her to notice before the familiar sneer returned to his face.

Apparently, he was just as shocked to see him as she was.

“Holy shit, everybody! It’s fuckin’ Daryl!” Negan was beaming, though it was obvious through his eyes how furious he was, how stupid he must’ve felt being played a fool throughout Daryl’s absence at the Sanctuary, quickly realizing he was indeed losing control of the little empire he’d built up around him. He strutted toward Daryl who didn’t flinch, even when Negan shifted Lucille exaggeratedly from one shoulder to the other or when he bent down and just hovered inches away from his face. “Look at you,” he leered, eyeing Daryl up and down, unable to prevent his smirk as it quickly melted into a scowl as he did so. She knew he was referring again to Daryl’s fearlessness as it was always something Negan admired in him — it was why he’d taken her away from him in the first place.

And she knew that Daryl was scared… but couldn’t help the way her heart flipped inside her chest with joy and relief at the sight of him standing up for her. All she wanted to do was run to him and have him assure her that everything would be just fine.

Daryl was glaring back up at him pointedly, not blinking his eyes that hid behind his shaggy locks of brown, messy hair. He was dirty, he was exhausted, he was beaten and cut up and bruised; but he was the most beautiful thing that Y/N had ever seen.

“You and I have a lot of catching up to do,” Negan growled just low enough for Daryl to hear. He stood strong, though; even as the sole fact that Y/N was sitting in the corner of the room, alive and bright nonetheless terrified, had his brain screaming at him to go to her. Fuck, she had actually woken up. His fucking girl had come back to him. She had come back to him, and he was supposed to be basking in the relief that had shaken his body to the core. He could’ve wept with joy at the sight of her, living and breathing. But he refused to let Negan sense it.

Negan had a way of punishing people who wronged him by hurting what they loved instead of hurting the one who really deserved it.

“Stay away from 'er,” Daryl snarled, inching forward just closely enough to him to reinforce his words.

Negan’s white-knuckled grip twisted Lucille around irately, his head tilted in interest, features unwavering as he glowered down at Daryl. Footsteps approached behind them and slowed to a halt, Rick, Carol, Jesus and Michonne appearing behind them, with several other Hilltop residents forming an audience in the background being shoved aside by Saviors as they made their way toward the altercation.

Rick, of course, was the first to step forward, hands up in calming surrender, trying to diffuse the situation before it inevitably got out of control. “Hey… alright, let’s talk…”

Negan wasn’t hearing any of it and flung Lucille over from where she rested on his shoulder to pointed forward inches from Rick’s face threateningly without breaking eye contact with Daryl. “Hold it, Prick,” he warned. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, too, but I can’t help but feel like Daryl here is fucking asking for it.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ askin’,” Daryl snarled. At that, Negan’s smile returned as Daryl closed the last of the tension between them threateningly as one final forewarning before he begun to feel himself teetering over the edge of self-control. His voice dropped dangerously low. “I’m telling’ ya. One more time. Leave her alone."

“Daryl, Daryl, Daryl…” Negan taunted him, separating them slightly as he stood taller over top of him in an obvious effort to intimidate him. It almost had Y/N smiling because she knew that it meant Negan was beginning to get apprehensive.  “I don’t think you understand. I care about Y/N. A whole lot, actually."

Stepping back forward to close the space Negan’d just created, Daryl strode forward aggressively, growling before cutting him right off. “Ya better fuckin’ choose your next words real carefully.”

“I want her to work for me.”

Daryl stiffened furiously, the flames in his eyes so harsh Negan could almost feel the heat radiating from them, but Y/N interrupted first, pushing herself upright from her wheelchair that she’d remained in for so long. “I would never work for you!"

“Alright, alright, calm yourself down,” Negan immediately disregarded her, holding his hand behind him to belittle her but calm her down nonetheless. “I’m just a little worried about how she’s healing is all, you know? I mean, can you blame me?” He was being dramatic as usual, not fooling anybody — still, none of the bystanders moved a muscle or made a sound, all too afraid to draw attention to themselves. Negan took notice and looked at all of the wide eyes on the faces that stared at him. “What? Oh — I’m sorry, let me clarify. I don’t mean work work,” he chided, relaxing back on his heels slightly as his sneer returned in full form. “I meant work, like, ya know…” He waggled his eyebrows, gleaming past Daryl as if he was clarifying to the others watching. “Freaky deaky."

And in the blink of an eye, Daryl fucking snapped.

He pounced like a tiger on Negan who, despite having a physique that towered over him, was taken by surprise at the archer’s audacity and was tackled to the ground. But he was just as strong as Daryl, and it wasn’t long before it had turned into a full on brawl between the two men.

Y/N shouted at them, pleaded for them to stop, begged Negan not to hurt Daryl as they fought like cats and dogs, snarls and growls and all, while his friends helplessly watched on.

Rick was fighting some sort of internal conflict on whether or not to interfere: every time he considered stepping in, Daryl seemed to have it under control. And when he didn’t, he wasn’t so sure Negan wouldn’t just kill him for doing so.

When they managed back to their feet, Negan hoisting Daryl up, they spun around once again in a whirlwind of punches and curses, grunting as they threw themselves at each other, Daryl slamming Negan up against the wall forcefully and getting a few solid blows in before Negan gathered his bearings and twisted them back around.

Y/N was horrified, mouth agape, mind reeling for a plan or an answer or anything to help her figure out what the fuck to do at that moment. God, she just wanted Daryl to be okay. That was all she fucking wanted. And she didn’t think it was too much to ask.

Negan charged him into the table, tumbling on top of him and landing several punches before Daryl brought his legs up and, fueled by fury and adrenaline, managed to kick him off though Negan had enough of a hold on him to drag him along as he stumbled backwards and through the bay window.

Daryl heard nothing but rain and shattering glass all around him and underneath it somewhere was Y/N screaming his name, but he could’t dwell on it for long because reality settled back in when Negan rolled over with a pained groan beside him but still managed to push himself up and dove back at Daryl to finish the fight.

It was a blur of colors and pain and Daryl was already weakened from the past week of the emotional torture he endured and lack of sleep and sustenance and normality. Negan was ruthless, his fighting capabilities matching his usual bad-boy demeanor, and Daryl was taking the brunt of his anger and knew that it was long overdue for them both.

But he had crossed the fucking line.

Daryl wasn’t even sure who he was in those moments: he couldn’t remember a time where he’d been so unfathomably angry, so blinded with rage that all he wanted to do was kill the man opposite of him. He wanted to watch Negan’s eyes as the life drained from him, as the realization of it all came crashing down on him and he got to linger in the last moments of his life terrified and bitter and miserable. His girl was in his peripheral, screaming as she was held upright by Michonne. He didn’t need any more fuel for the fire raging inside of him, but the sight of her could have driven him right to the gates of the Sanctuary to kill every single Savior with his bare hands if that was what she wants him to do.

With a newly found rage Daryl rose to the top once again as they rolled around on the damp ground, the collar of Negan’s jacket bunched in his left hand as he clocked him again with his right, the knuckles that collided with bones already scorching even through the knowledge that there was still no end in sight.

At least, not until the familiar chorus of cocking guns rang out, and once again he could hear Y/N call out for him, and it was clear as day.

Distracted by it all for just a split second Negan got one final hit in, knocking Daryl square across the jaw and sending him sprawled onto his back on the ground, laying still to catch his breath and basking in the relief the cool rain brought to the fire that was still surging through every nerve in his body as it poured down on to him.

In a second, Y/N was at his side, hovering over him and shielding him from the rain as she was quickly drenched in her own tears of terror and devastation. He groaned softly as she whispered comfortingly to him, shushing him, telling him to lay still and beg him to just do what Negan said.

God, he had never been so fucking angry in his life.

He reached for her pathetically, slowly losing his grip on reality as the headache throbbed with each beat of his heart and had him swimming around in the dark spots that plagued his vision. Searching for her, listening to her gentle whispers, the feeling of her soft hands caressing the sides of his face, that was all that kept him hanging on by that narrow thread. The fact that this was all he’d fucking wanted anymore, all that he’d asked for the last excruciatingly long week, was enough to keep him going on forever if it meant that she would be there by his side.

“Oh, God, Daryl,” she sniffled, leaning forward and pressing several delicate kisses to his forehead and swollen eyes and bruised jaw. “Why? Why did you do this?"

None of the dozens of Saviors that surrounded the scene fired at Y/N while she’d pathetically hobbled to Daryl, while Negan’s men helped him straighten back up on the other side. But when Rick or Carol or Jesus tried to move over to their injured friend, there was quickly several barrels aiming at them and halting them in their tracks.

And Negan was in pretty bad condition, too — his nose was spouting blood, drenching the front of him down to his white t-shirt that was now stained a deep red. A nasty cut above his eye brow had split open and he held it stiffly, obviously trying to stifle the pain, swearing to himself before he pushed himself completely upright.

“Line ‘em up,” he growled the simple direction to his men who immediately obeyed. One by one they forced the citizens of Hilltop to their knees and Y/N instantly went off, babbling hysterically to Negan as he observed the assembly before him.

“No, please, Negan! Please! I’ll do anything!” The look on Rick’s face as he was pushed down had her spiraling out of control, all too familiar, flashbacks of the last time they’d had to do this debilitating and shaking her to the core.  "Please don’t hurt them! Please don’t hurt him!”

“It’s too late for sorry’s now, doll,” he growled in response, wiping some blood on the leather sleeve of his jacket. He was furious, and Y/N was quickly plunging into a full-blown panic attack, her hands latched on to the lapels of Daryl’s vest as she was yanked away by a burly Savior and forced to her knees.

Her hand clutched her stomach painfully where her wounds were. Daryl noticed and whether her cries were from pain or fear he had to try and help her and had to make it okay — but when he reached out to her he fell forward himself, weak and exhausted and beaten, using one hand braced down in the mud in an attempt to keep himself relatively upright while he tried still to catch his breath. Y/N sobbed helplessly at the sight.

It was pouring. Negan was mad. Y/N trembled in her spot, still quietly begging Negan to stop while he eyed the crew before them as they kneel motionless and silent.

“Wow, deja vu, am I right?”

He scowled every more so when nobody laughed at his poor attempt at his sick, twisted humor.

“I have tried so fucking hard to work with you people. I have given you so many chances, and you have beautifully blown every single fucking one of them like they were gigantic, thick fucking cocksuckers!” He seethed, his voice raising with every word despite being slightly skewed from the swelling in his face. “And now… oh, you fucking mother fuckers, now you are going to fucking pay.”

The smile returned and Y/N doubled over in some mixture of pain and hysteria, gasping as she tried to breathe. Again, Daryl forced himself to reach to her, yearning to feel her in his hands by offering her solace the only way he could think of, only to be torn away the second his bloody fingers brushed against her hair.

She screamed as it happened, instinctively reaching out for him as the Saviors yanked him away and forced him back to his feet, having to drag him like a rag doll since he was still recovering from the fight.

Lucille was shoved harshly into his chest and he grunted. “Congratulations, Daryl. You’re the lucky winner of the night.” There was no longer any hint of humor in Negan’s words as he motioned dramatically to the crew of Daryl’s family before him. "Pick your mother fucking prize.”

@crossbowking @jodiereedus22 @apossiblegentleman @mtngirlforever@sourwolf-sterek32 @winchester-angel @cococruzzmayanns@qrangr @cole-winchester @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @twdeadfanfic@crazyaboutnorman @deliciousassafrasssandwich @bunnymother93@96ssi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes  @ima-mther-fckn-starboy@thatsoragan @lonewolf471

#The Walking Dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl x reader #reader insert

[coffeeandbookchick]

Espresso

A/N: Before reading I would like you to keep a few things in mind: 1. This is my first attempt of writing a fic. Like ever. 2. The idea jumped on me at 1 a. m. I’m currently running on like 3 hours of sleep and caffeine. 3. English is not my mother tongue. 

I'd like to thank @twentysomethingloser92 for inspiring me to write this. Please check her stuff out she's a treasure. (Does this count as tagging you? I hope it does)

Characters: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

You jerked awake, a cry forcing its way out of your mouth. You managed to quickly muffle it with your hand. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure that it could be heard through the wall to your neighbour’s apartment. The figure under the sheets next to you moved slightly. „Shhhh" a sleepy voice cooed. You rubbed your face. Night terrors.

They didn’t jump at you every night. But it was often enough that your neighbours started to complain. Not a surprise considering… you thought to yourself. There was no trauma you had to process. There was no one on the mission to get you. But still…

You started as an intern at the famous BAU. It was part of your training. You got along with the people, you were fascinated by their work. You didn't flinch once while you were writing up reports, looked at pictures of decomposed bodies, sometime tapes capturing the torture victims had to go through. Those people were dead. There was no point in burdening yourself with their fate. Longingly you thought about those times. Your internship ended. You finished your training. Worked your way up. Considering that you already knew the team and understood how things were done in this unit combined with your psych degree it had been just a matter of time until you were back. And when you got the chance, you grabbed it. Then came the bodies and with them the nightmares. You stood over the body of a child. Partly decomposed, brutally disfigured. It was different, you realised. No tapes, no pictures, no reports could capture this bestiality. Often enough you managed to push those pictures away. But sometimes you just couldn’t. 

„C'me here" the figure mumbled. He lifted his sheet slightly, ready to embrace you. You laid down on your right side, his lanky arms wrapping themselves around you. You took a deep breath and tried to steady your heart rate. From behind you, calming notices could be heard. Soft fingertips started to treat your scalp. You calmed down. Your eyes closed. All was well.

You got woken by the light. The sun dripped through the windows of your bedroom, giving anything a slightly yellow appearance. Your eyes started to wander to your bedside table where your alarm clock slumbered. But instead of the time your eyes caught something much more interesting: a hand. Not just any hand (and thank God it was still attached to an arm) – long slender fingers, slightly curled in relaxation. The belonging arm, you quickly realised, rested between your neck and the futon. You frowned. That was new. Suddenly you were very aware of the body behind you, radiating sleepy heat to your back. Usually when he comforted you at night and when you finally found some rest, your body would detach you from his, wandering over the mattress to the edge of your side.

You wouldn't complain though. It was nice being the little spoon and you felt very much at home. You blinked sleepily. You didn't want to get up. You didn't want to wake him. So you stayed, enjoying the rare feeling of security and warmth. You knew it wouldn’t last long, though. His body started to betray him. You felt him shift behind you, heard him mumble incoherently. The hardness you felt on your thigh indicating that he would awake soon. It didn’t bother you. It was an utmost natural reaction of his body and he wasn’t the first guy you shared your bed with. You had never been a blushing virgin.

Suddenly his left hand came to rest on your hip bone. You raised an eyebrow, quietly studying it. Fascinated you watched as his fingers curled, gripped you tighter. A little moan fell from his lips. It sounded a little sleepy but definitely turned on. It was quietly but loud enough to make him awake himself up. Panting he nearly jumped from the futon. The sudden movement of his arm beneath you caused you to roll over on your stomach.

„(Y/N) ..I-I'm so..I'm so sorry“ he nearly screamed from the side of your bed. You had a split second to decide what to do. You knew he was uncomfortable. Shocked, even. You predicted that he would be embarrassed for the next six months. At least. And the tiny selfish voice in your head told you, that he would never return, because he was scared, leaving you alone with your thoughts and dreams at night. So you did the first thing that came to your mind: you pretended that you hadn’t heard or felt anything and that he just woke you up. You pressed your face to the mattress. „Hmm? Why'd ya be sorry?“ you murmured, making sure to slur your words a little. You heard him let out a little sigh. „N-nothing. I'll just go and hop under your shower" he stated seemingly a lot more at ease. „Mhh.“ you grumbled into your mattress. You heard his footsteps leave your bedroom, the door of your bathroom closing and slowly you lifted your head. He was nowhere to be seen. Good. You got out if bed and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a newspaper from a desk next to your couch.

The coffee maker gurgled and scents of coffee filled the room. Your personal mobile phone in hand you leaned on the kitchen counter, checking your social media and waiting for the coffee to fill up your cup. It was your guilty pleasure. And a bit foolish, considering your job. But you were cautious. You never posted your location. There were no pictures of your face. Just plants and books (most of them lend to you by your best friend because he knew you enjoyed a good read) and mugs of coffee from shops and police stations all over the country.

You always managed to steal some moments. Posting updates, scrolling through your feed. It made you feel at ease. You heard Spencer turn off the shower while you placed both of your cups on the counter next to the newspaper and to the sugar cup you had just because of him. You didn’t use sugar. Not in your tea, not in your coffee. But he did. So you always kept some around. The lightning in your kitchen was soft, filtered through the long white curtains in your living room. You were a bit ashamed to admit, but this was one of the reasons of you picked this place. Choosing your apartment based on the lighting in pictures. What times… You snipped a picture of both cups just as Spencer emerged from your bathroom. He was now dressed in jeans and a cardigan, his messy hair still damp. The tense state of his shoulders told you that he was still uncomfortable. He made his way to the counter where you handed him the news paper. It was days old but you always kept some at hand so he could do the crossword puzzle in the morning. That would keep his mind occupied and would spare you from making conversation before you had your coffee. „Thanks" he whispered. You didn’t hand him a pen or pencil. He never needed one. He opened the paper and started to absently pour an incredibly unhealthy amount of sugar in his coffee. The lighting was right, his hands so delicate handling the sugar spoon. You snipped another picture without him noticing it.

Both of you took sips from your mugs. You lightly edited the photo of both your mugs and hit the upload button.

“You’re pretty awake for your terms...” he quietly stated. You looked up from your phone. Spencer was almost sunken on his bar stool. He didn’t make eye contact. “Yeah well.. I already had a cup of espresso. Probably just the caffeine hitting in..” you trailed off. You never drank espresso. The little machine on your counter wasn’t able to brew espresso. And he knew that. You closed your eyes in defeat, waiting for the awkward response he probably had in mind. Instead you were met by silence. Cautiously you opened one eye. He still looked at his newspaper. The only indicator that he heard you was a slight frown on his face.

Your phone vibrated. 2 Minutes, Penelope, you thought.  Not bad. Penelope was one of your most devoted followers. Of course she had tracked your account down within five minutes of you entering the BAUs doors. You unlocked your screen.

Who needs the second mug? ||

          || Maybe I just need two today?

Nah, girl. GIVE ME ALL THE DETAILS! ||

You snickered.

          || I can’t. & besides: there are no details to talk about!

So he’s still at yours? ||

          || Yeah..

Lunch Date! You, me, JJ. No room for negotiations. ALL THE DETAILS! ||

You sighed. You loved Penelope to bits. You knew that she was just concerned. But sometimes you wished, you had a little more privacy.

          || Alright. Name place and time, I’ll be there.

Is he nice???? ||

          || What? Of course he is!

Bring him! ||

          || No!!!!!

Pretty please? ||

          || NO!

Pic?? ||

You chewed on your lower lip and considered your options. If you didn’t respond, she would try to track down whose phone was in your apartment or something similarly stupid and probably illegal. But in no way could you send a picture of your guest. She would tell Morgan. Morgan would tell everyone. And they would never let it die down.

WAITING! ||

You sighed again. Cautiously you edited the picture of Spencer’s hands on the mug. You tried to edit out the cuffs of his cardigan, but without professional software there was only so little you could do. You hit SEND, your heart pounding. Praying to every entity you could think of that Penelope wouldn’t recognise those hands. Your hopes were not high. You would recognise those hands of his everywhere.

Uhhh! He’s got nice hands! ||

Yeah, you thought to yourself. Very nice hands indeed. Your heart felt lighter. Penelope had no clue. That was good. You placed your phone on the counter and started to watch Spencer reading. “Anything interesting?” you tried to start a conversation. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up. “Well, news from three days ago” – “But you already know about those” – “Yeah but I finished the crossword and I forgot to bring my book, so I have to do something!” he explained. “Oh. Well... you could talk to me?” you suggested. He finally raised his stare from the paper, his eyes wide. “You? Want to talk? Now?” he asked with surprise. “Yeah well ... better than boring you with weeks old –“ – “days old..” – “news.” you finished your sentence. He squint his eyes.

“Alright, what is wrong?” he finally asked while putting away the paper. You could slap yourself. Of course he noticed. He was a goddamn profiler and you were no actress. “I don’t know what you mean by that...” you hurried to murmur, turning your back at him, absently unlocking your phone. You had received a text from Morgan. Of course you had.

Hey, (Y/N)! So Baby Girl told me, you got a visitor over? ;) ||

          || Nothing can be secret with the two of you can it?

No chance. Penelope told me, he got “nice hands” whatever that means. ||

Of course she did. You groaned internally and already regretted having sent that picture to her. 

“(Y/N)?” Spencer brought you back from your thoughts. “Hm?” – “I asked you, what was wrong...” – “Yeah and I told you that I don’t know what you mean by that.” – “Okay. So you drank an espresso. You want to talk before finishing your first –“ “second!” – “yeah... cup of coffee. Something’s clearly not well.”

You managed to look him straight in the eye. His cheeks were burning red. He knew. And he knew that you knew. And he knew that you knew that he knew. Your own face started to burn. You swallowed. Once. Twice. Then you spoke.

“Spence, there is nothing wrong. Everything is alright.” You pronounced every word very carefully, hoping that he would get the hint. Of course he did. He was the genius after all. Then he nodded. The movement of his head was so little that it was almost not noticeable. You both let out a surge of held breath. All was well.

You returned to Morgan’s text. If Penelope hadn’t noticed, you told yourself, Morgan won’t. You sent him the same picture you previously sent to Garcia. It took him 20 seconds to respond.

I know those hands. What’s pretty boy doing with your sugar cup? ||

Fuck.

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #reid x reader

[ravens-rambling]

“Prove it”

A/N: I’ve actually had this written up a while ago but kept forgetting to edit it out but I finally got some spare time today and decided to get this done! You have no idea how much fun this au is to write its ridiculous. BUT in any case here’s our adorable pappy and lo-lo meeting our slightly ambitious but adorable all the same princey!! 

I’m thinking of writing how they met Virgil and then Thomas after that? And I already know how Deceit’s gonna play into all of this and I really want to write their backstories cause yes I thought that far ahead this Au isn’t destroying my life nah what are you talking about!!!!!!

Here you go anon!! I hope you like it! And I’m having a good night thank you! Love you too sweetie!! Hope you're having a good day/night as well!! 

Prompt 33- “Prove it” from dialogue prompts which is still open!!! 

Based off of this post from @yourhappypappypatton

summary: All Logan wants to be is loved, for all his life he’s experienced hatred and fear for what he is. Luckily fate has changed for him as he met a certain vampire a few years back. But during one winters night, he met a unexpected and rather loud creature that sent certain feelings through him. Does this boy harbor same feelings towards him or does he run away like all previous humans before him? Only time will tell...

WC: 4,352

ships: Romantic Logince, Platonic Logicality 

warnings: Blood, Body horror, mentions of bone, feelings of fear, pinned down, uuhhhh i think thats it??

Tag List: @punsterterry @frostedlover (Since you two wanted to be tagged in this au!) @fandydandyfanders  @221b-quote

It was a late winters night when the two monster family members became three.

The wind was howling against the tall leafless trees beating against the walls surrounding him. The snow was piling as he tried to walk through it with some luck. His cape battered and thrashed against the wind and snow but still, he continued on. He might have had a major breakthrough in his current experiment and he wasn't going to let any snow stop him, it wasn't like it could affect him or anything anyways.

Though at the thought of a certain vampire being upset with him made him gulp.

When Patton gets angry it's not pretty that's for sure. And he always hated it when Logan leaves in the middle of the night without telling him.

But he couldn't wait for him to come home! He had to get to his library now! Course he could..whats the word.. 'call' him on his...'phone'? Was he right on that? He wasn't sure. The curses thing won't start up for him. He wasn't sure what buttons to hit or even what to do. Patton had shown him how to turn it on and how to work it but it was awkward and honestly, he had more important things to concentrate and remember then how to work the blasted thing. He's busy with more pressing matters then that at the moment. So instead he left it at home and would face with the consequences later on.

Maybe he could even get back home, (when did he start calling it that?) more like Patton's place, in time before Patton gets back? And nobody would be the wiser.

A prick of irritation was in his mind as he recalled how overprotective Patton can be. It was strange to him having somebody around after over 200 years of solitude.

But at the same time..nice?

Sure Patton can be overbearing and overwhelming at times in his niceness and cheeriness but..he was the only person who didn't run away at seeing him those few years ago. Every single human he came across, even the supernatural ones, always ran away from him with terror in their eyes shouting at him on how much he's a freak and should be burned. Course he learned, later on, thanks to Patton, that he appeared more scary and frightening cause of his rotting flesh. With help from Patton he learned that he could replace those limbs and according to the vampire he looked less scary, more like a human, which made Logan smile at the time. But back then he didn't know that, he didn't even think about that, and the words of those horrified strangers hurt him so much so that he locked himself away to his books and experiments for centuries. 

But Patton? He didn't even flinch at his sight. He only smiled when he first saw him. Even gave him a hug! The first physical contact he's ever had if he had to be honest. It was..nice.

It was nice having him he soon came to realize.

It was nice having somebody to talk to.

Now he came to realize why some of his books on the mental state of mind said to interact with people cause now he seemed happier, or at least Patton says that he acts happier even if he himself can't really tell the difference since he's never really been happy.

But putting all that aside he took a deep breath as he arrived at his library feeling the certain familiarness draft over him causing his small smile to grow wider. Being in his library sent a certain peace to him that no other place has. Though at the same time a dread.

In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think if maybe Patton was some dream that his brain played on him. Maybe when he gets back to his place he won't know who he was. He would scream and throw things at him, just like those people. And he would be forced to go back to his lonely life once again. That this place would be his prison once again.

No.. He can't give in to his negative thoughts. He's just being illogical now and there is no time for that, the back of his mind told him. No Patton would be there as always to greet him with a hug or at the very least a smile. He won't be alone again.

As he walked through the large door though he stopped in his tracks there was something in the shadows, he could feel it. And as he lowered his breath to the bare minimum he could hear something breathing. It was a heavy almost gasping for breath. At first, he thought it was a bear, he's come across those from time to time around or even in his place, it won't be the first time.

But as he listened closely he could hear that it sounded almost..human like but at the same time wolf-like? He stalked forward keeping close to the walls and making as little to no noise as possible to not spook the creature.

As he got closer to the breathing he could make out a solid form in the darkness. It wasn't a wolf that's for sure.

It stood on two legs and it looked almost human-like. But there was something about the way that it was breathing that really did make it seem wolf-like. Whatever the case he had to get it out of his library his books and experiments is at risk if he lets it run rabit.

If it was a human maybe he could scare it off like all the other humans he met. With that in mind, he got closer to it before stopping.

He smelled...was that blood? He hasn't smelled a lot of blood over the years so he must have forgotten what it smelled like but he was certain of that irony tang that it was blood. Maybe the human was hurt? Whatever that didn't concern him.

"Whoever you are leave before I make you." His voice was rugged, even after befriending Patton after years upon years of not using his voice he knew his voice would always sound like that.

The creature harshly turned around his beady eyes glowing through the darkness. Logan gulped, this wasn't any normal human that was for sure. Those eyes were..animalistic.

A sudden feeling spiked through him, a feeling he didn't understand before suddenly he felt his back hit the solid ground harshly. His breath got knocked out of his new lungs as he tried to pull the creature away from him. Now that it was closer he could see its large fangs, could see the fur covering its body, and could see that its face was wolf-like even to the pointy ears. And finally, it's large claws was holding him down and digging into his flesh.

Thankfully he couldn't feel it for if he did he knew he would be crying out in pain by now.

Normally he won't have any emotions, or it would be a prick of emotion here and there, but right here and now he felt..fear. That's what it was. True fear for the first time of his life. Not just normal fear either, fear that he was going to die.

He wasn't scared of death. How could he? Being an immortal being that was created by body parts with really only one weakness, his heart, he didn't think much about death.

But underneath this creature, he truly thought he was going to die. He was terrified that the last thing he was going to see was the fangs of this creature as it rips his chest open and digs into his beating heart.

No, he had something to live for. He had Patton and though it had recently occurred to him, he truly did care for him even if he doesn't show it. He thought of him as a great friend, one that he would put his life in the line for.

With a burst of strength, he didn't know he processed he pushed the large creature off of him and before the furry creature could stand up he started to run to his experiments. He knew he had something that could work against it right? He had to.

But just as he was about to run down the hallway he heard a creak of a door opening and a voice, a very familiar voice.

"Lo! I told you to tell me when you come to your library! You gave me a heart attack when I came home and you weren't there! And you must have come out here in the snow my gosh what-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as the creature lunged at Patton.

As Logan turned around he saw claws and fangs digging into Patton's precious flesh. He heard Patton's screams as he tried to wiggle away, as he tried to fight back. Something in him snapped as he saw Patton's precious blood go flying through the air.

But before he could even move his body the vampire let out a loud, rumbling, scream that seemed to shake the very ground beneath him that caused Logan to freeze in place and he could have sworn the creature as well.

Before either one of them could react Patton gripped the creature so tightly that his knuckles were white and with one throw he threw the creature against the far wall right next to Logan. He expected the creature to stand back up but as he glanced over his eyes wide with horror and fear he saw that the creature didn't stand up again. Rather he hit the wall so hard that there was a large crack going towards the ceiling.

And Logan had only a moment's warning before the ceiling collapsed on the creature, luckily getting out of the way just in time. There was no way the creature could have survived that..right?

His wide eyes whipped towards Patton who was now breathing heavily and getting to his feet. There was blood dripping from his arms and torso but that didn't cause Logan alarm. What did was the fact that Patton's eyes were glowing red. Something he's never seen before and he could have sworn that even in pure darkness he could see that red piercing through. And what made Logan even more scared was the pure murderous glare that was nestled in those red eyes.

He was honestly scared now of Patton.

Gulping he mumbled quietly, "P-Pat?" He winced as his fearful voice echoed through the large room.

Patton turned towards him still breathing heavily though at seeing Logan's terrified gaze his own eyes went wide.

Realization dawned on the vampire as he slowly calmed down taking deep breaths. Those red eyes went back to his normal blue ones with the more breaths he took. That murderous gaze quickly went away replaced by his normal cheeriness. Soon he looked like his normal happy Patton giving him a wide smile as he hopped towards him as if nothing happened.

"Well, now that was certainly something Huh! I am bone tired now I don't know about you!"

Logan was...dumbfounded. Patton had that much strength hiding in the happy facade he always had up. Were vampires normally this powerful? He never got to know.

He still was scared of Patton if he had to be honest and took a step away from him as he came to his side which earned a heartbreaking look from the other.

"Lo? You're okay?"

"I...um..y-yeah... I just um..let me go check on my experiments...Make sure it doesn't wake up alright?"

Patton gave a slow nod as he tried to not run away. He had to scramble away some of the rocks in his path but luckily it didn't take long before he was in his room. Luckily nothing happened in this room, he didn't care about the entrance anyways. As soon as he saw that he drew a shaky breath and collapsed to his chair.

That was...terrifying. That was the most emotions he has felt in..ever actually.

And in those emotions was now fear of his only friend. He didn't know Patton could do that. But why was he scared? It was Patton for Pete sake! Patton who was always cheerful and was never scared of him so why should he be scared of him. There was no reason to be. Sure he posses some..scary qualities but he does as well. They were supernatural beings there is going to be scary parts to them but that doesn't rule them out as automatically terrifying and scary as he should know out of anyone.

Those thoughts rattled around in his brain as he tried to take shaky breaths to calm down.

Finally, he stood up bottling up all those pesky emotions one by one and started heading back. The creature should be dealt with properly before it wakes up. This is no time for emotions he could go through them later if he has to.

But as he entered the large room once again he did a double take. The large rocks were now pulled away from the creature exposing that the creature was..now a human? He didn't have any fur or well clothes for that matter now.

He turned towards Patton who had a mix of uncharastically disgust and relief.

Logan hesitantly unclipped his cloak and slowly went over to drape it over the unconscious boy's body noticing the now bloodied leg the wound looked weird he had to say. It looked almost like a pitchfork went through it but it was just a singular wound. He wondered what happened to this stranger. But he didn't want to touch it in fear of him waking up. Instead, he went over to Patton's side who was sitting down on the floor still glaring at the boy.

"Do you know this creature?" He noticed even his voice is a bit too stiff.

Patton glanced over to him his expression softening for a moment before breathing out a heavy sigh, "Yeah... He's a werewolf."

"A werewolf? I've read of those before but I thought it was folklore something to scare innocence."

Patton smile a bit, "Well most would say that about vampires and Frankestines monster right?"

"I..suppose so."

Silence engulfed the two Logan wasn't sure what to say now to bring back the normal Patton as he was uncharastically silent and still glaring at the boy. Questions were zooming through his mind but he wasn't sure if he should ask them in fear of upsetting Patton even further. He maybe should ask him them later once he fully calms down. But he knew he had to do something, this was becoming unbearable, to break the said silence he leaned forward and pointed at his wounds.

"Your bleeding. Are you going to be okay?"

Patton breathed out a small part of his normal smile returning, "Oh yeah I will be I'll just need more blood soon..unfortunately..." He glanced over to Logan finally before gasping and drawing closer, "Lo! Your bleeding too! And you just got a new torso... Will you be alright?" It was like he just noticed it...

"Oh yes, I don't need blood to function remember? I will need to get a new torso soon though losing this much blood won't be good for it. And new arms... It'll start to stink soon."

Patton giggled slightly, "We don't want that now. I'm glad your alright though Lo. I was scared that it hurt you."

The edge of Logan's mouth twitched upwards, "I'm glad your alright too. I've come to realize, as it was holding you down, that um... I do like your company, Patton. It is rather nice and I would be...sad if you were to disappear. Or sorry..die?"

"Aaawwww!" Patton had stars in his eyes as he looked up at him drawing his hands close to his chin. "Lo! That's the nicest thing you've said to me! Your my hero you know that?"

Before Logan could even open his mouth Patton surged forward and gave him a hug sucking the breath from him. Always, every single time Patton gives him a hug, he always freezes unsure how to handle it or how hugs worked.

As he was still processing it a cough came from the shattered wall. Instantly a low growl came from Patton as he drew forward he seemed ready to attack the creature again. But as the boy lifted his head another cough came from him as he turned around so he wasn't on his stomach. He brought a hand to his must be sore head as he blinked around him.

A beat of silence before another cough as he looked down on himself to see the cloak draped over him and sighed. When he looked up to Patton and Logan he looked...frightened, almost like a little kid lost from his parents. It sent a certain sadness through him to see that expression on the young boy's face. And when he saw the blood that was coming from both of them his eyes instantly went wide with terror.

"Oh, gods I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean... Shit... I thought nobody would be out here... Are..are you two okay?" He honestly sounded terrified, not because of them two but because..of himself. He recognized that look, that feeling of being scared of himself, of being unsure what he is capable of. And it sounded out of character from him, even Logan could tell.

But as those eyes looked to him he could have sworn his heart missed a beat. Even though his hair was everywhere and with bits of rocks and rubble in them and dirt and even some bits of blood stuck to his bare body. Every bit of him shouldn't have been appealing but to Logan...he wasn't sure how to put it. He even felt a slight heat rush to his cheeks and ears. But he shook his head, he wasn't sure what these emotions or whatever they are, this was no time for that.

Instead, he stood up and placed a gentle hand on Patton who looked conflicted at the moment. "What's your name?"

"R-Roman..."

"Roman... What a strange name. Well, in any case, this is Patton, who's a vampire. And I'm Logan, I guess you could say I'm similarly to Frankestines monster. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Though well I hoped we would have met under different circumstances but here we are. And yes we are fine you didn't damage us so we can't function if that's what you mean. And I suppose most people think my home is abandoned or at least haunted so I've heard so that wasn't your fault. Are you okay? I saw you were bleeding from a strange wound there."

That seemed to shake Patton out of his trace he was in as he smiled brightly going forward to help Roman up and to tie the cloak around him and to help his bleeding leg setting him up on some rocks and dressing it quickly. Though Logan noticed there was something off about his smile, and even his movements were jerky. And he didn't think it was the fact that he lost a lot of blood.

As Roman stood up leaning on one of the boulders he looked to both of them again before tilting his head, almost like a dog. "Wait... Repeat that?"

Logan couldn't stop himself from taking a sigh of irritation. Thankfully Patton repeated what he said which seemed to click in Roman's head.

Though he didn't expect Roman to suddenly laugh so loudly it echoed through his library. He pointed to Logan, "Wait you mean to tell me your Frankestines monster! You must be joking! A vampire I get, I've heard of you guys before and to be wary of you. But Frankestines monster? Are you sure your not this vampires plaything and he just twisted your mind to think your that weird monster?"

Logan simply blinked for a few seconds at this weird reaction. He seemed completely out of his mind. Do vampires normally do that?

When he looked to Patton he seemed to be holding in anger just barely but he shook his head, "No, kiddo most vampires don't have...play things I can assure you. No, he really is Frankestines monster, well very similarly at least."

Roman laughed again shaking his head, "I highly doubt that!"

This flamboyant boy was getting on his nerves, for the second time today he couldn't control his emotions. This boy hurt both of them and he thinks he will just stand around and take this? Sure he was almost happy that he didn't run away but he obviously couldn't tell what he was, his limbs was new after all and he was okay at stitching them together so he properly did look like a normal human. Though his job was poorly as he just recently discovered he could do that but that's beside the point, and in any case, Patton told him he looked human enough so that was enough for him.

But still, now he was upsetting Patton again and he won't let that stand. So he took a deep breath and crossed his arms, "I am Frankestines monster or well kinda! You're a werewolf it's not that hard to believe!"

Roman smirked and raised up an eyebrow, "Alright smart guy. Prove it."

That made Logan chuckle as he gripped one of his arms. He was going to regret this later when he has to redo the precious stitching that caused him hours to do but to prove to this boy that he was right? He'll do that any day. He already had to replace them anyways soon or later might as well put them to good use.

Patton moved towards him with slight concern, "No Lo don't it's fine if he doesn't believe you. Don't worry about it."

But Logan didn't respond. Gripping his arm tighter he pulled roughly and he heard a snap of his stitches and a moment later he was holding his arm with his other hand. There was lots of dried blood dripping from that arm as well as a bone sticking out but he didn't feel a thing.

The color drained from Roman's face as he looked on in horror. For once Logan smirked at the sight drawing closer to the frozen boy, "Don't be so snarky next time. And this-"

He smacked Roman across the face harshly with his detached arm, "Was for hurting Patton."

Romans eyes were still on him, on his arm, as he was knocked backward stumbling over his injured leg.

Patton rushed forward to catch him, "Lo! You didn't have to do that! I don't think he knew what he was doing when he was like that!"

Logan blinked at him then shrugged, "Well then that's for being snarky. You're happy now? Now if you excuse me I have to reattach my arm and get this stitched up and look for new body parts. I don't know what you want to do with him Pat but it doesn't concern me much."

As he turned towards the hallway once again he heard the boy finally speak up and it was a whisper as if he was afraid to speak loudly, or that he couldn't.

"W-What...is that...? It's...a freak.."

That word... Freak...he was fine with being called an 'it'. That didn't concern him. But freak... That sent a wave of hurt crashing through his heart and body. His grip on his arm tightened so hard he knew his nails were digging into it by this point as he drew in a shaky breath. He could feel eyes on him, he wasn't sure who it belonged to but he didn't care. He had to get away now before his emotions ran wild even more then it has already or he would start crying.

Sure that word hurt him but it never sent him like this before. Maybe it was that it came from that boy that sent his heart beating faster? He wasn't sure but now he felt...heartbroken he think is the term.

"No, he isn't. He's just like you and me. Now here let's go to my place to fix you up how does that sound?"

A hint of fear went through him as he thought about the boy changing back to that creature and attack Patton but if he was correct they only changed at the full moon correct? Logan could see the faint traces of the sun through his windows and the damaged ceiling so at least he won't have to worry about that.

Even so, Logan wasn't sure that was such a great idea since he seemed to not like this werewolf but he knew it was his best option. After all, it wasn't safe for humans around his place and he couldn't go free now knowing about him and Patton now.

He thought of all things that maybe a werewolf would understand him... He thought wrong he supposes.

As he turned the hallway he sneaked one last glance over his shoulder to see with a heartbreaking glance towards Roman and Patton. His vision grew blurry as he thought none of them saw him.

But he was wrong in thinking that as Patton stole a glance over his shoulder as he closed the huge door seeing that tearful gaze and sighed deeply.

He hoped he could comfort his friend but he had to keep this werewolf busy for as long as he can.

And with that, he shut the door behind him with a loud bang. As he turned around he plastered on a smile to his face as he tried to keep up with Roman's questions as best he could trying to ignore his heavy heart and the sense of dread and fear that crept up his spine at remembering what those all familiar claws has done to him in the past.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan #roman #patton #romantic logince #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #my fics #and yes there is a reason why patton is very...wary of roman #ive even thought that far into this au #*hint hint at that last sentence* #I LOVE THIS AU ALRIGHT??????????? #sanders sides au #monster au

[scriptura-adrepticius]

Ride or Die - Lin Yanjun

Posting a few days early because I finished editing! I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing this :D

Pairing: Lin Yanjun x OC/reader

Series: Types of People

hailstorm boy and church girl

credits to @95fahrenheit and @la-petitefille 

Genre: fluff, angst, gang!au

Triggers: mentions of death, murder and drinking, but nothing graphic

Word Count: 4.2k

Yanjun doesn’t know why he let himself get so close to you. All he knows is that he doesn’t think he regrets it.

Masterlist | Types of People

lin yanjun could step on me and i’d thank him

The church girl at school isn’t exactly a church girl. You aren’t religious. But Yanjun thinks of you as a church girl because you always seem so at peace, the feeling that churches give him when he walks past.

You are a quiet beauty, a calm smile, the fresh smell that comes up from the ground after it rains. You are the smell of freshly-mown grass, the sound of tinkling bells, the wonder of the early morning sun.

You are a contrast to Yanjun, and perhaps that is why he is so drawn to you.

The first time he sees you is in the rain. The sky is dark, the clouds are gray, and it’s pouring. He himself is seeking shelter, huddled under an umbrella, trying to get home as soon as possible.

He almost misses you across the street, walking on the other side. In fact, if you’d been huddled over just like him, Yanjun probably wouldn’t have taken notice.

It’s your posture that first catches his attention. You don’t have an umbrella but you’re walking like you would on a clear day, not hunched over and running like everyone else. Yanjun looks up, surprised and more than a little intrigued.

And then he sees your face. You’re vaguely familiar, and he thinks he may have seen you somewhere, but your familiarity isn’t what makes him continue to stare.

It’s the fact that it’s dark, it’s raining, it’s dreary, and yet… you’re smiling.

Smiling.

It’s not a dopey smile, like that of someone in love. It’s not a smile that indicates your thoughts are elsewhere. No, your eyes are very much open and you’re very much aware of the pouring rain. Yet you’re smiling at the sky as though it’s given you a gift.

Yanjun slows a little, trying to watch you as he walks. He’s a straightforward person- when he’s interested, he watches. He won’t hide it.

As though in slow motion, you look around, rain running down your face and soaking your clothes and hair, and for a moment, you catch his eye.

For a moment, one blessed moment, you stare at him, smiling that beautiful smile. Yanjun feels himself trapped in place by your smile and the peace and joy you exude, even across the street.

For once, Yanjun feels at peace as he stares into your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The spell is broken when you turn away, still soaking, to continue down the sidewalk. Yanjun only has a minute to choose a course of action.

To his surprise, he finds himself crossing the street, heading over to you and putting his umbrella over your head.

You look up, startled at the boy next to you. Yanjun wants to keep that face frozen in time, because it’s so cute and wonderfully innocent, such a stark contrast to the life he lives.

“You’re going to catch cold if you continue without an umbrella, love,” he says, giving you a half smile.

You laugh, a soft, cheerful sound that is so out of place on this dreary day, and Yanjun almost melts.

“Perhaps,” you shrug, “but I don’t mind.”

Yanjun likes the way you speak. Simple, casual, yet with a refined air that makes you seem… otherworldly. Like you don’t belong on this planet.

And when you smile up at him, the calmness and joy you radiate only confirms that thought.

. . . . .

The hailstorm boy at school is flirty, confident, smooth with his words, and has a resounding laugh. He wears mostly black, dyes his hair strange colors, and has piercings in each ear. He is beautiful, in a dangerous and thrilling way. He is very much the opposite of you.

You knew who he was, that first day he spoke to you. The campus bad boy, the guy with supposed secret tattoos and gang affiliations, the guy who doesn’t seem to pay attention in class and yet attains high grades.

It wouldn’t have surprised you if he didn’t know you existed before that rainy day. You keep a low profile at university. You prefer to quietly take notes, quietly give people comfort, quietly smile, and quietly blow everyone out of the water.

Of course, people do know you. They know you as the girl who always has a smile on her face. The girl who always aces the tests. The girl who always provides care no matter what. The girl who always emanates a sort of calm whenever people are around her. The girl who always likes strange things, but that just adds to her… charm.

It’s a good reputation, and you like it, so you take care not to destroy it.

One strange thing you like is rain. You don’t enjoy having to change out of soaked clothing and running the risk of getting a cold, but for you, the rain is beautiful. You like to watch the way it slides down the leaves, how it dots the grass blades, and you like the feeling of it running down your face.

That day, you just forgot to bring an umbrella, despite having known before that it was going to rain. But you don’t mind much. It’s refreshing to just feel the rain on your face.

So you’re pretty surprised when the feeling stops, and you hear the thud of rain hitting an umbrella instead.

As far as most everyone else is concerned, you and Yanjun are pretty much polar opposites. Yet when he comes over to you with the umbrella and you look up to see him shielding you from the downpour, you can’t help but think that perhaps you two aren’t as different as everyone thinks.

“You’re going to catch cold if you continue without an umbrella, love,” he says, eyes flickering to your soaked hair and clothes.

You shrug, doing your best not to blush at his name for you. “Perhaps,” you reply, “but I don’t mind.” You smile at him and he smiles back, keeping the umbrella over both of your heads. “But thank you. I forgot my umbrella today.”

“You’re welcome, uh…”

You snicker slightly. He doesn’t know your name.

“Yu Qiuyue.”

“Qiuyue.” He says your name hesitantly, like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. “I’m Lin Yanjun.”

“I know,” you say. Yanjun’s expression turns confused, then embarrassed, and you have to hide a laugh.

“How-”

“Same school,” you interrupt, carefully leaving out the part about how everyone knows the name of the campus bad boy.

Yanjun gets even more embarrassed and you laugh, patting his shoulder. You barely reach his neck, so it’s a little difficult, but you manage anyway. “I’m not offended, Yanjun.” It’s funny to see the the flirt so flustered, but to put the poor boy’s mind at rest, you change the subject. “So is this even the way you get back?” you ask. “You were on the opposite side of the street.”

He shrugs. “No, but you don’t have an umbrella and I can easily walk home again.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyebrows crinkled and worried. “I can walk to the dorms on my own. I don’t mind the rain.”

“I didn’t think so from your beautiful smile,” Yanjun replies, making you cover your mouth, blushing, “but like I said, you could catch a cold.” Then he flashes you that crooked grin he’s so famous for. “Unless you don’t mind me warming you up.”

You choke on air while Yanjun watches on in amusement. But even though you know he’s flirting, you can’t bring yourself to mind much at all.

. . . . .

It’s been months since that first encounter, and now after your first date, Yanjun wonders how he never noticed you at school before that day in the rain. Surely he’d seen you at some point, he thinks, but how did he not remember you?

It’s not that you’re particularly beautiful in any way. Pretty, perhaps, but not gorgeous. You have a sort of quiet delicateness that Yanjun likes, but it isn’t that notable, no offense to you. No, you don’t stand out with your physical appearance. Rather, what makes you memorable is your unique aura, your unique peacefulness, your tranquility.

You give off a calming presence that Yanjun hasn’t felt since his mother died, since his father died, since his sister moved away to attend a different university. With you, he feels safe. Which is a stupid feeling, because he knows that he’ll never be safe, not with his past, but…

He sighs, placing his head in his arms.

Yanjun knows he shouldn’t continue to see you. He knows he shouldn’t continue speaking to you. He knows that if this keeps happening, if you stay in his life, he’ll endanger you too.

But Yanjun’s selfish. He knows he is. Everyone is, to some extent. And Yanjun has given up so much for others that he can’t help but yearn to keep you close.

You’re good, you’re pure, you’re calm, you’re beautiful. You shouldn’t be tainted by someone like him.

Yanjun can’t help but think it’s too late to pull away, though. You’ve already ensnared him with your golden net, and there’s no way for him to untangle himself. And he’s not even sure he wants to.

He can’t continue this. He just can’t. He can’t bear to bring pain upon one of the few people who’ve accepted him for who he is, wholeheartedly and with love. Considering he could count that number of people on his hands, and two of them are dead… well, Yanjun doesn’t want you dead. The thought itself fills him with cold terror.

But then… what else can he do?

A sinking feeling fills his heart.

He should’ve cut things off sooner. After that day in the rain, he should’ve left you alone. Never spoken to you again. But he’s already asked you out, you’ve already accepted, and you’ve already been on your first date. He can’t break things off without causing you even more pain.

Thunder claps, and rain begins to pelt the dingy window. Yanjun looks miserably up at the dark sky.

“It’s too late,” he whispers.

. . . . .

Your hailstorm boy is amusing, flirty, teasing. He’s dashing, handsome, beautiful. He’s strong, funny, and absolutely breathtaking. There are so many reasons to fall in love with him.

But what makes you fall for him isn’t his flirty smile, his loud laugh, his tousled hair that so many girls want to comb their fingers through.

Rather, what makes you fall for him are his eyes.

Lin Yanjun’s eyes are turbulent, intense, and full of so many emotions that you could spend years, decades, even centuries trying to decipher them all. He smiles with his eyes, laughs with his eyes. They are fierce, passionate, and as you continue to admire him, you can never quite figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Lin Yanjun is breathtaking. He is fearless. But above all, he is deadly dangerous. He hasn’t said anything, but you know he has his secrets. You’re not too eager to find out what they are, but if that one tattoo on his collarbone means anything…

You were warned from the beginning not to get close to him, not to fall for him. To this day, you’re not quite sure how you began falling for the hailstorm boy. He just spoke to you that one day in the rain, and then you spoke with him at school, and slowly, gradually, your thoughts became consumed by him.

By now, it’s too late for you to pull away. You talk to him, you laugh with him, you listen to him, you see the hailstorm boy in so many ways other than the façade he presents to the rest of your peers. When he asked you out, you didn’t hesitate to accept.

Lin Yanjun has caught you in a storm, and you’re whirling right into it. Yet for some reason, you don’t want to break away.

You’ve fallen for the hailstorm boy.

. . . . .

Yanjun is pretty sure something is going to go wrong. Nothing’s happened yet in the six months you’ve been dating, which is exactly what’s freaking him out.

“Yanjun?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Yanjun realizes he’s been spacing out for about a minute or so. “Nothing.” The smile he gives you is supposed to relieve you of any concerns, but if anything you look even more worried.

“Lies,” you state.

Despite his worries, Yanjun can’t help but stifle a grin when you look at him like that. Your face is so different from your usual serene expression, and it’s funny to him.

“I’m serious, Yanjun.” You lean forward over the small table, eyes dark with concern. “You look like something’s bothering you. You’ve been like this for the past month.”

Why do you have to be so perceptive all the time? So observant, so contemplative, so intelligent? It just makes things harder for him to hide.

“Like what?” he stalls.

You tangle your fingers in his, scowling a little. “Like... this! Absentminded, moody... you’re always zoning out, like something’s on your mind.”

“No, I’m not,” Yanjun argues, knowing full well that you’re right but refusing to back down.

All you do is raise an eyebrow. It’s as though you’re asking him, “Do you think I’m stupid?” And Yanjun knows you’re not.

But he also knows that he doesn’t want to tell you. Not now. Not yet.

“Nothing’s bothering me, Qiu.” He hopes that by calling you by your nickname, you’ll be placated.

It sort of works. You do quit questioning him, but he does catch you eyeing him worriedly as the day wears on.

To his surprise, nothing really happens. At least, not on the date. You part ways with Yanjun a street away from campus. Nothing’s strange. Nothing’s happened.

Yet.

It’s late and Yanjun’s tired, so he’s not very able to defend himself when Zhangjing falls into step with him a few blocks from home.

“So who’s this girl?” Zhangjing asks casually, as though they were talking about the weather.

Yanjun’s blood turns to ice, but he forces himself to breathe normally. “Someone’s seen us, haven’t they.”

Zhangjing looks at Yanjun like the tall boy is dumb, which he really is, considering just how far he’s gone with you. “Yes. What were you thinking, going on outdoor dates like that? Come to think of it, what were you thinking when you asked her out first?!”

Yanjun flinches slightly. Zhangjing raises his voice a lot, but it’s usually in jest. When he’s berating Yanjun, well, it’s not as fun.

“I don’t know.” Yanjun’s apartment comes into view and he pulls open the door, climbing up the metal stairs. They clang under his feet and smell of rust. He wrinkles his nose.

He can feel Zhangjing’s resentment and sympathy radiating off him. It just makes Yanjun feel worse.

“How could you have brought her into your life, Jun?” Zhangjing asks quietly. “You just endangered her and yourself. Not to mention Ruiyan, too.”

Yanjun is tired enough that he doesn’t even bother to hold his tears back. Instead, they just roll down his face, one drop after another. “You don’t need to remind me,” he says harshly.

“If you want to keep her,” Zhangjing says, easily keeping pace with the taller boy, “you have to tell her.” He fishes in his pockets for the spare keys Yanjun gave him and unlocks the door to the apartment.

“I know.” Yanjun sighs, wiping away the tears. “I will. Promise. Just… keep them away until I have, okay?”

Zhangjing nods.

“And if she chooses to leave…” Yanjun swallows. “Make sure it’s clear that she knows nothing. Please.”

His heart twists, but Yanjun knows that if you choose to stay away, he will respect your decision. He will not follow you, no matter how much it hurts.

. . . . .

“So are you going to tell me why you were acting so weird on our last date? And the date before? And the one before?” You raise an eyebrow at Yanjun, who looks… nervous. It makes you nervous as well, having mostly seen him in his confident or sweet state.

He nods silently. You follow suit and shut up, waiting for him to talk first.

Yanjun finally sighs, looks down, then looks up at you again. You feel bad for questioning him when he looks so tired, but he was the one that asked you to come over here.

You realize it’s your first time in his house. It’s a small place, clean but bare. There’s not much stuff anywhere. At first glance, it’s not very Yanjun-esque, but after a little thinking, you realize the scene fits him more than you originally thought.

“I…” Yanjun sighs again, bringing your attention from a small desk back to him. “I shouldn’t have let us get this far.”

You frown, unsure if you’re hearing correctly.

“Let me finish.” Yanjun holds your hand across the table, playing absentmindedly with your fingers. “Qiu, love, you’re a great person. And I really love you.” A small smile plays on his lips, but it disappears when he looks back up at you. “But for some time… I’ve been wishing we never met.”

“Why?” Your voice is barely audible, but in the quiet room it seems like you’re shouting.

In response, Yanjun pulls his shirt down slightly, revealing the small tattoo on his collarbone that you’ve always wondered about. It’s a small nine with his name underneath. “Not all of the rumors on campus are false.”

“You’re part of a gang.” It’s a statement, not a question. His silence confirms it.

“Yes.” He stops, then takes a sip of whatever’s in his mug. It smells like alcohol, and you have to resist the urge to remove the mug from his hands “I had to join to protect my sister. She’s the only member of my family I have left.”

You remain quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I guess it’s better if I start from the beginning.” Yanjun’s thumb traces small circles on the back of your hand. “I was born in a… really shady place. Gangs pretty much ruled the place. My dad… he was a doctor for the small clinic there. He treated everybody, so my family got along without having to choose sides. The clinic and our home were neutral territory.”

You watch Yanjun’s mouth twist, his eyes darken, his teeth clench. You feel his hands squeeze yours just a bit tighter.

“But then another gang came in.” His voice is filled with bitterness and pain, and you squeeze his hand as a weak sort of comfort. “Clearly they didn’t get how things worked. They asked my dad for drugs, figuring as a doctor, he’d give them up. He didn’t. Hell, he…” Yanjun chokes up. “He didn’t even have what they were asking for. So they killed him. And my mom.”

It takes Yanjun a couple minutes to compose himself, and then he continues relentlessly, as though he’s determined to get everything out. “My sister, Ruiyan, and I, we didn’t have my dad’s medical skills. Rui was able to do some of the small stuff, like cleaning and stitching wounds, but I couldn’t do much. So we took the savings we had, and I got sent off to university first. I was pretty good in school, so it was easy for me to get a scholarship, and working for gangs pays... a pretty good amount. So I tried to make some money too while Rui was finishing high school. Then I got a message saying I had to go back, because Rui was being attacked.” He takes another sip from his cup.

“We didn’t have protection anymore after our parents died,” he continues. “I’d stupidly believed that they’d leave us alone, at least until we could get out. But anyway, Rui still had three years left of high school, and I was barely able to stay afloat as it was. I couldn’t move back either. So I met Zhangjing, another member of Nine Percent. He proposed that I join. Thus Rui would get protection from the gang.”

“Nine Percent?” you echo.

“They had nine members before,” Yanjun explains. “One got killed and one made a new life for himself, no one knows where he is. So now, including me, there are eight members. They’re looking for a ninth.”

You nod.

“I was desperate.” Yanjun looks at you, and the pain in his makes you believe him. “So I joined. I won’t tell you about the initiation, so don’t ask. But long story short… I have enemies now. Which is why I wish I’d never met you.”

You nod slowly.

“I didn’t - I don’t want you to get hurt,” Yanjun says hopelessly. “But I was selfish. I let myself go with you. I let myself fall in love with you. I’m terrified of something happening, but…” He trails off, then continues. “I couldn’t find any easy way to break this to you. So I didn’t say anything. But Zhangjing knocked some sense into me after our last date. People know about us.”

You nod again. “So last time you were worried about something happening, which is why you acted so weirdly.”

Yanjun smiles slightly, but it’s so different from his usual flirty grins and sweet smiles. “So now you have to make a choice. You can break things off with me right now. I promise, I swear that I will not try to find you again. You’ll be safe, since you know nothing.”

“And the other choice?” you prompt.

He swallows. “Your other choice would be to stay with me. You’d be putting yourself in a lot of danger. I would do my best to protect you, but I can’t guarantee your absolute safety. I don’t know why you’d choose that, but there it is.”

Yanjun’s smile is bitter and painful. It hurts your heart to see it. It’s clear that he already expects you to choose the safe option.

Instead, you hold Yanjun’s hand even tighter. “I’ve never told you about my past much either, have I?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“My parents were killed a couple years back in a car crash.” You smile sadly, allowing the memories to wash over you again. “I’m an only child. I have no close relatives.”

Yanjun looks up slightly.

“How dangerous do you say it’ll be?” You squeeze his limp hand with both of your own.

“We could be killed any minute, if anyone found out the location of this apartment or your dorm.” Yanjun’s mouth thins into a line. “You’d have to learn to use a gun, maybe a knife. You’d need to be able to defend yourself.”

“Would I have to kill?”

Yanjun swallows hard. “I would do my best to keep that from happening. But yes, it’s possible.”

You nod. “Thank you for telling the truth.” A small smile forms on your lips. “I suppose I’ll have to move out of the dorm, then?”

“Wait.” Yanjun’s eyebrows furrow, and he stands. So do you. “So you want to stay with me?”

“I thought that was obvious.” You look at him blankly. “Do you not want that?”

Yanjun runs a hand through his messy hair, looking hopeful yet frustrated. “I do,” he says, his voice strained, “but I don’t think you realize just how dangerous this will be.”

“Will I have to go through initiation?” you ask. “Into Nine Percent, I mean.”

“No,” Yanjun replies. “You’ll have protection as my significant other, but that doesn’t mean other gangs won’t target you.”

You nod. “Fine.”

There’s a short silence, and then Yanjun explodes.

“Why are you taking this so calmly?!” he half-yells, startling you. You jump slightly, then force yourself to remain still. “I…” His eyes fill with tears, and he sinks back down into the chair, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Yanjun,” you say softly, walking over to him. He doesn’t look up. “Yanjun, look at me.” You brush his unresisting hand away from his face.

“I have no one left to live for except you,” you say slowly. “Only you. Everyone else is gone.”

“But-”

“Let me finish.” You cut him off. “I love you, Lin Yanjun.” You look steadily into his eyes, red from tears. “And I’m not going to let you shake me off so easily.”

“Do you know why I love you so much?” You don’t wait for an answer. “Because you’re honest. You’re kind. You’re funny. You’re awkward. You’re beautiful. You’re cute. You’re genuine. I love your stupid smirk, I love your stupid crooked smile, I love that you care so much for everything, even if you pretend you don’t. I love your loyalty, how you always strive to protect the ones close to you. Hell, you joined a gang to protect your sister. I love you too much to let you go.” You grip his hands tight in yours. “And I can take care of myself. I know that you’ll try to protect me, but if you can’t…” You swallow. “I can defend myself. Or, I will be able to defend myself.”

Yanjun gazes deep into your eyes. “Are you dead set on this?” he whispers. “You can still turn back now.”

“Lin Yanjun, have you ever known me to back out of a decision?” You raise an eyebrow.

He laughs a little, wiping his eyes. “No.”

“Exactly.” You wipe away a stray tear with your thumb, smiling. “What makes this time any different?”

“Wow, I love you,” Yanjun murmurs so softly you can barely hear him. Then he crushes your body against his, burying his face in your hair. You stay that way for a few minutes, not wanting to move and disturb the embrace.

Finally, Yanjun breaks away and stands. He helps pull you up and you face him, eyes serious and determined.

“Love…” Yanjun takes a deep breath, hands on your hips. “Qiuyue.”

You shiver slightly when he says your name.

“With me, it’s ride or die.” He looks you dead in the eye, his eyes intense and full of millions of emotions. “Are you absolutely sure?”

You stare at his eyes. The emotions swirl around in his dark irises, and you think to yourself that you wouldn’t mind taking a few years, decades, centuries to decipher them all.

“You think I can’t keep up?” you challenge, a slight smile on your lips. “Are you doubting me, Jun?”

He doesn’t answer, still staring at you. The faintest trace of a smile quirks his lips.

“Yes, Yanjun,” you breathe. You nod once, then twice. “I am absolutely sure.”

#ninepercentnet #nine percent #idol producer #nine percent scenarios #nine percent lin yanjun #lin yanjun #fluff #angst #gang!au #triggers #death #murder #drinking #series #lin yanjun scenarios #banana culture entertainment #types of people #ride or die #scriptura-adrepticius

[loyolafilmcircle]

“There was an idea...”

by Renzo Guevara

edited by Anna Cayco

Avengers: Infinity War (2018) is the 19th film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), a franchise that has been relatively consistent in terms of quality and vision for the last 10 years. It’s the massive culminating event that has constantly been set up with the three phases of movies with each of the individual heroes’ adventures leading up to this film.

But Marvel’s massive reputation and cultural impact was not as prominent as it is today. They sold some of their most recognizable characters’ movie rights to other companies such as the X-men and the Fantastic Four to 20th Century Fox and Spiderman to Sony. Their first movie, Iron Man (2008) was a risk to say the least. The concept of an Avengers movie was merely just a thought but never an actual legitimate vision. A fun little innocent scene was placed at the end of the credits, showcasing Samuel L. Jackson’s now iconic character Nick Fury showing up to talk to Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark about the Avengers initiative. Conversations about this scene grew until Marvel Studios revealed its plan to produce more superhero movies to lead up to an Avengers film. Thus, the MCU was born.

The first real culminating event was 2012’s Avengers directed by Joss Whedon. To say that the film was a success is an understatement compared to how exactly fans and critics responded to it. It featured breathtaking action sequences, entertaining interactions between the characters and a carefully crafted three-act structure that successfully combined all the elements that were set-up during the standalone movies. Included in Phase 2 was its sequel, Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015), which featured new characters such as Scarlett Witch, Quicksilver and Vision. Unlike its predecessor, it was met with mixed reactions between the audience and critics. Some commended it for the sheer spectacle on display and seeing our heroes assemble again but in time people soon accepted the fact that the film had a disjointed narrative, a disappointing villain and a few unlikeable characters.

Regardless, these first two Avengers films successfully assembled the heroes and characters we’ve all come to love. It’s not wrong to say that some of us may have garnered some sort of attachment to them that naturally makes us care for what happens throughout the series, especially in Infinity War where stakes are at an all-time high with talks of possible permanent deaths and ending of contracts of certain actors.

What could possibly have created this attachment to this universe is how these movies always tried to set themselves apart not just in their tonality also in the production behind it. The directors the studio hired were not your typical action filmmakers but were more story, character and comedy focused. And it’s also not uncommon to see the MCU go with the recent trend of giving blockbuster projects to directors who mostly made a name for themselves in the indie scene or in television. Filmmakers Anthony and Joe Russo, who were mostly known for the TV series Community (2009-2015), were hired for Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) and then for Civil War (2016). Both films were met with commercial and critical praise. With engaging plots that were grounded in reality setting it apart from the rest of the MCU, it was a clear choice for Feige to call upon the Russo brothers again to work their magic. And boy did they deliver with Infinity War.

The 3rd Avengers film features an incredible roster of every hero that has been established alongside the Guardians of the Galaxy. This feat has been so monumental in scale and scope that it has often been regarded as the most ambitious crossover event in cinematic history and if I’m being completely honest, it definitely earns that title.

Immediately, the film starts off incredibly strong with the chilling rightful introduction of the main event, Thanos. Gone are the days of post credit setups or small cameos, here we are placed face to face with him alongside his team who are not to be messed with. Thanos as a villain is truly an achievement for the film. You would think that him being a purely CGI creation would make him feel weightless and absent but that’s far from the case. Josh Brolin gives a hauntingly calculated performance that was beautifully motion captured as real emotions were seen, and true terror was felt whenever he was on screen. The MCU has always faced criticism about its villains but recently they have been nailing it in that department especially with Thanos. When people say that Infinity War is a Thanos movie instead of an Avengers one, it’s a valid statement to say. This is ultimately Thanos’ story and the Avengers are simply background characters. Some could even look at them as the real antagonists of the story as Thanos’ actions may be grim but once you deconstruct his motivations, they actually present a proper argument to a certain extent.

A massive cast is something that’s unavoidable with this being a culmination of 10 years’ worth of movies. At times, the film, struggles with the weight it has to carry as it tries to give each character their own individual adventures that all come down to stopping Thanos. Despite this, it doesn’t feel overly bloated. Each of the heroes get a decent amount of screen time. Some may shine more than others, but this can easily be forgiven given that this is technically a two-part storyline and the film was already nearly three hours long.

Considering the run time, the film is still a rollercoaster ride that rarely lets you take a breather. Just from the very first shot all the way to the last you will be left speechless and in pure state of either awe or shock. If in previous MCU movies, the stakes were rarely felt and a sense of danger was minimal, Infinity War turns this over your head and whacks you with it continuously. I wouldn’t say that there were certain throwaway scenes that could’ve been left on the cutting room floor but there were definitely some moments where I was more invested in than others. This can mainly be due to personal attachments to certain characters or just a simple desire to get back to the action. Character moments between our heroes are highly entertaining with the filmmakers and writers taking advantage of each of their quirks and antics that play off of each other. But what’s more impressive is that in its core, the identity of its characters remains intact. When the Guardians are on screen, it feels like a Guardians movie and so on.

But it’s also worth noting that some characters may not act the way we were accustomed to them in their solo movies. This should be expected given the difference of directors and writers and visions towards what and who they are. None were too different to the point where it’s a complete 180 of a character trait but just subtle enough to be noticed a bit or can be argued as part of their arc.

The action sequences in Infinity War are spectacle in its purest form. The Russo brother’s first two films in the MCU, The Winter Soldier and Civil War both contained amazing action scenes but most of them would regularly use quick jump cuts and an overly reliance on shaky and handheld camera work. Infinity War is arguably their first “fantastical” movie as their previous projects in the Captain America franchise were mostly grounded in reality. Thankfully they improved their craft in this one utilizing mostly wide shots and steady cams. The fight choreography and the breathtaking visual effects that supplement them invoke an epic feeling that is so much more emphasized with the familiar iconic score of the Avengers theme. One moment in particular near the climax had all these elements come together to create one bombastic moment that had the entire theater screaming in delight.

On the topic of the Avengers theme, Alan Silvestri’s score for this film also deserves much praise for what it accomplished. Although it should be expected given that the Avengers score is one of the most recognizable themes today, Silvestri’s new pieces in this film are as memorable and impactful as the scene themselves. The action sequences are injected with auditory adrenaline rush coupled with the masterful sound design and mixing but even the slower, more emotionally driven moments in the film contain some of the best scores to come out of the MCU.

All in all, it really was incredible to witness the development of the MCU franchise from its humble beginnings with Iron Man all the way down to Infinity War. All the stories the directors have told and all the elements they had to set up all coming into fruition in this one epic cinematic event. The Russo brothers deserve all the praise they could get for accomplishing this monumental task. Many have tried and failed to launch a cinematic universe such as the DCEU or Universal Studio’s Dark Universe, but it’s with the MCU that truly believes in its own vision and in the stories they tell.

All the beats in Infinity War hit when they need to. Wonder and spectacle alongside tension and emotion jell together for one massive sweep that generally satisfies majority of the hype that developed over the years. A global cinematic event that deserves to be seen and a proper payoff to all those years of excellence. Infinity War is definitely up there with the best of the MCU and it cements itself as one we would be talking about years down the line. The future of the franchise looks bright and with the continuation of the storyline scheduled to release next year, it’s only a matter of time till we see our favorite heroes assemble once again.

Photo sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6

#infinity war #avengers #avengers infinity war #film review #renzo guevara #anna cayco

[singingpeople]

For the love of Jai, a very, very serious crack-fic (seriously, it´ serious)

A little treat for Halloween! Inspired by a post you can find here and here,  inspired, emotionally supported and edited by my one and only muse @beautifulramblingbrains , whose name is just coincidently sounds almost like our protagonist here. (A coincidence, nothing more. You hear me?) Have a spooky Halloween and fun with this 25 page-long monster. (Yeah, I´m that insane.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own, depraved brain that came up with this shit. And Janie. Janie´s mine. 

I´m tagging all of you guy´s who I think might be interested, if not, ignore it :D

@pathybo, @iammarylastar, @b-j-d, @vitaevandal, @murmelinchen, @spiteandalice, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @captstefanbrandt, @tigpooh67

Now I´m off to do another Nanowrimo... yay.. :D 

Our protagonist, Janie, wished for a man. He should be strong enough to chop the firewood and brave enough to kill all the spiders, precise enough to hit his target even though it was over five meters away which would make him the king at playing darts in the local bar. He should also be fun, someone you can steal horses with, who wasn't afraid of the law but sensible nonetheless. After all, she wanted someone she could spend a nice evening on the sofa when the snow was falling outside, the crackling fire warming the room while they drank wine from sophisticated glasses.

Yes, Janie wished upon a star that she would be graced with such a man. But little did she know that instead of the one she desired, she’d get four, the epitomes of her wish. Didn’t they always say: be careful what you wish for….

It had been raining all day long in a faraway province in the middle of England, puddles forming on the walkway between the rural farmhouse and the barn that once upon a time housed livestock but had been converted into a mere wood storage. Like most houses in the area, it was made from withered brown brick stones that had withstood the element for decades without giving way, the walls covered by Ivy slowly winding itself into the crevices. Without a doubt, it made the small farm appear as something out of a fairytale but every few years the damage it caused had to be fixed, which wasn’t cheap, especially for a young woman living all on her own, if you didn’t count her three cats and the dog, her loyal companions.

The young woman in question, whose name was Janie, a poor variation of the name Jenny (god knows what her parents were up to when they decided to name her that), was sprinting through the rain towards the front door, having retrieved a stack of firewood from the wooden barn to get the chimney started. Being the start of autumn, temperatures had dropped significantly and she was freezing all alone in her bed. She had prepared herself to get wet and she made a mad dash towards the house, the wellies on her feet splashing water from the puddles up and onto her pants, staining them with mud.

Bursting through the door she cursed out a low ‘merde’  - because it sounded better, as a cold drop of water ran down her spine and let the full basket drop, not taking into account that her foot was right beneath it. A string of curses left her potty mouth like a sailor, and she hobbled around on one leg, the other one clutched in hands. Jumping around, her shoulder met the wall and Janie let herself sink down, her foot pulsing painfully. It wasn’t the first time she wished that she had a strong companion that would have no problems chopping wood, stacking it in the barn or carry it into the house where he´d start a cozy fire, while for her it was always a matter of luck if the damn thing would even start and a matter of time until the chimney was clogged again. Brushing the wet strand of hair from her face, she let out a loud sigh before getting up and going to work, shooing her mongrel dog gently away as she tried to smother her face with love.

It took her thirty minutes and four tries to get it going so when she was finally cozy on her couch, a nice cup of tea by her side and her favorite book in hand (like for any brit that thought they were the cat´s whiskers, it, of course, was Pride and Prejudice, just like her favorite movie, the one from 2005 with the handflex™, not the one with Collin Firth) it was not long before she fell asleep. Just seconds from drifting off, mind foggy, she sent a wish upon the heavens – that they´d grant her a partner, one of those fictional men she adored that much.

Unbeknownst to her, just as she finished that thought, that heartfelt desire, the hand of the clock clicked into place at ten past ten on the tenth October, putting a process in motion that would completely and undoubtedly turn her whole life upside down.

The faraway tolling of the church bells in the village announcing the arrival of midnight stayed unheard to Janie but the deafening thunder, followed by a burst of lightning that made night day for a few long seconds, leaving an after-image burned into one's cornea. Tumbling from her position, heart beating fast, Janie looked around wildly before holding a hand against her chest, trying to calm herself down.

But the dulled thumping, followed by the dog barking had the anxiety spiking in her veins. It sounded like something in the barn had fallen over and she feared that the lightning had struck it, maybe even igniting a fire.

There was no one around but her and no chance for her to avoid going out by herself to take a look.

Cell phone clutched in hand, the dog by her side, she shrugged on her jacket and the wellies, pushing open the door of her utility room.

It had stopped raining, puddles building on the walkway that Janie tried to avoid on her way to the barn that was veiled by large pines, separating different parts of the old homestead. The barn was a little to the side and she was almost there when she heard a crash from inside as if something had kicked a stack of wood loose, sending it tumbling to the ground. Janie froze while the dog started barking violently, fur standing up.

She listened closely, on alert for a few moments but when nothing was heard she continued, slowly inching closer to the wooden door. Ear pressed to the rough surface, Janie hesitated but ultimately decided to go in there. Most likely it was just another rat, or maybe a cat that was searching for a secure place to give birth in.

The light on her phone turned on, she pushed the door open and slowly made her way inside, the small circle of light swaying over piles of wood, over to the section where she had stored the outdoor furniture for the winter. From the corner of her eye she thought to see a shadow whizzing by but when she turned around nothing was there. Walking further into the barn, she shone the light into the cracks, searching for the unfortunate animal when suddenly the door slammed shut.

Straightening up, she swayed the light around widely, searching for the trigger – the reason why it fell shut. Maybe it was the wind? Yes, of course. What else?

Heart beating out of her chest, Janie felt a shiver running down her back and suddenly she knew – she just knew that someone was watching her.

With long steps, she made her way out the door, to where her dog was, where she could call the police, or maybe that one man that always bothered her for a date. He'd be more than happy to come here and take a look.

And if there was something hiding in the barn… Well, it wouldn't be her that would get murdered... Just saying.

She heard a twig snapping right behind her but before she could react, the phone was knocked from her hand and she was grabbed from behind, pulled into a sturdy chest. Her scream of terror was muted by the hand laying over her mouth and pinching her nose shut, making it impossible for her to breathe. Struggling in earnest, she kicked behind her, hoping to get free from her attacker, but it was to no avail.

He was too strong. Too fast and cunning for her to get out of his choke-hold. But she couldn´t give up, not like that. Not now.

She couldn't die as a twenty-six-year-old who´s biggest accomplishment in life had been the graduation of college. Janie wanted to fall in love, to marry and have a child. Or three.

Then, when her life would turn mediocre in her mid-thirties, after her third mid-life crisis (since she had no idea which part of her life was the middle, she decided to have an ongoing crisis) she would get a divorce, bid that no-good-cheating-son-of-a-bitch goodbye and live off child support somewhere in the Caribbean Sea. So much the theory.

But all that and more was impossible if she died by the hands of a guy that thought shushing someone while simultaneously choking them was a good idea.

What an asshole.

Through the haze of her oxygen-deprived brain, Janie registered another movement right before the man was ripped off of her and she fell to her knees, heaving violently for air. In the same moment, someone turned on the light, like Janie should have done even before setting foot into the barn.

How silly.

Attempted murders are a lot harder in bright light. All those horror movies and she was cast as the first kill after swearing oath she never would be.

She was still crawling away from whoever it was, hoping to get to the door but she stopped short when a sturdy pair of black boots came into her line of vision. Raising her gaze slowly, she took in the military boots, over the padded black pants and the vest, to the crossed, heavily tattooed arms. From there, she studied up to the neck that was adorned by thick black bars until she finally reached his face. Her savior was definitely handsome, in a dark dangerous way. The eye-brow piercing screamed rebel, the studs in his ears though - wannabe drug dealer – or maybe one of those gangsta rappers you would find all over town nowadays.

Still, Janie couldn't help but drool a little. It was a sweet sight to die to.

He was just how she liked her guys to be; a little buff, a little hairy, but still neat, his hair styled in a way that just told her he used up at least one tube of hair gel every month. He was devilishly handsome – and the sly smile tugging up the corner of his lips told her he knew it to. Or knew that she knew. Did he know she knew that he knew?

Who knows.

Before she could admire him longer, she was flipped onto her back and came to face her assailant for the first time – and almost fainted. He looked just the same as the other guy, minus the military clothing and the tatts and piercings, but there was no doubt those two must be twins.

Shaved hair, a murderous glint in his eyes that promised pain to anyone and everyone that dared cross him - or just basically anything that crossed his path, Janie didn’t know who she should be more afraid of. But when his hand came closer, the intention clear, she knew. It was this one. He was absolutely, murderously insane.

She felt her stomach drop when he squatted down beside her, his mouth opening wide in a teeth-displaying grin. Her eyes went wide.

“Stop that!” The heavily tattooed man stepped in and shoved his doppelganger away just to push some sort of device into her face that he had just pulled from his pocket. “We can´t kill her without testing her first. Gotta make sure she's not one of them.”

“Kill me?” Janie squeaked, shuffling away from them until her back was pressed up against an old beam. “Hell no! You can't kill me! I still have cake in the fridge that I didn't eat earlier because of my calorie count! You can't kill me before I had my slice of cake!”

The tatted one only rolled his eyes, coming closer with his device until he was right in front of her. With finality, he pushed a button. It started buzzing, three metal arms appearing along with something akin to a hologram. But before it could emerge it was knocked out of his hand from what looked like a giant flying stick that flew in a wide curve and back to where it came from. Standing on top of a six foot four high pile of wood, a man plucked it right from the air and Janie started to think she must be going insane because he looked like the homeless version of the other two. His clothes tattered, a beard that didn't really deflect one´s attention from his black eye, in his hand a fucking boomerang.

What the bloody hell?

"Fuck! That was our only prototype!" The tattooed man snarled, picking up the shattered piece of metal. Another crack was heard when his hand tightened around the handle, eyes narrowing dangerously in on the culprit. "Now I have no way of knowing if she's Divergent! Jeanine´s going to kill me, you incompetent fool!"

“Keep ya socks on.” Janie shrunk back, willing herself to wake up from his absurd dream when the heavily bearded one wearing a… trench coat, scrunched up his face and scratched his head a little lost. “I thought that was one of these things that make ma head explode, ya know? ...My bad.”

“My socks? My socks are on my fucking feet but my fucking screener is broken, you… what the fuck even are you anyway?!” Throwing his arm back, he hurled it towards the homeless version of himself who just barely managed to dodge it. They would have bickered on if not for a movement capturing their attention.

“What is this?” Another shadow emerged and Jeanie almost lost it, before she resigned with a heavy sigh when he stepped into the light. It´s was another one with the same features, the only difference that he was dressed in scrubs and his hair a little longer than the guy who had tried to kill her. His face was serious, almost fearful when he grabbed the phone from the ground, turning it in his hand.

“Skynet… Skynet…”

Jeez, he had a real case of the jitterbugs.

Suddenly, without warning, he threw his arm back and slammed it against the wall where it shattered into pieces. Janie jumped, eyes growing wide when she realized what he just did. Everyone stopped to stare at him.

“That was my phone!”

“Really, bud? Are you bonkers?” The scruffy one that was perched on a pile of wood like a predator ready to jump, shook his head.

 The Skynet looney didn't listen, an almost crazed expression taking over his face. He raked his hands through his hair, tugging harshly. Walking up and down, he mumbled to himself while everyone´s eyes were trained on him. Leaning forwards, Janie tried to catch it.

“It's here… It's seen me… How do I… What about Sar- OH, SARAH!” He stopped, eyes wide looking right at her.

“My name´is Janie…” Pointing at herself, she started to ask herself if her drink earlier had really just been tea. Maybe she had swallowed hallucinogens… or maybe she was going off the rails, bonkers like the scruffy one had so fittingly pointed out.

Stopping to stare at her, he stuttered.

“I… I don´t… SKYNET!”

“Alright.” Crossing his arms, Mr. tattoo shook his head in exasperation. “This one's clearly broken. But I could have told you that judging from the haircut alone… Seriously, man. Ever heard of hair gel? Even bush-boy over there is ahead of your rank.”

Scrunching up his eyebrows, the two of them stared at each other. “Skynet has taken over the whole world. How on earth am I supposed to get hair gel? I need mechanical parts... to build my time machine!”

"Well, that proves it, an absolute nutjob." Tatt's crossed his arms, scoffing to the others around him. "I'm supposed to be searching for Divergents and kicking Four´s ass, but you don't hear me whimpering over some time machine, do you?"

“Four? How are ya supposed ta kick a number?” The scruffy one questioned from his alleviated place.

“It´s his name.” He grumbled, flexing his jaw.

“Really?” Piped in the other one that had been awfully quiet if you didn’t count the attempted murder. His smirk was shiver-inducing. “What happened? One through three were taken?”

Slowly, the corners of the tattooed one's lips were rising until he wore an identical smirk. There was no doubt that these two must be brother´s; clones, or something like that. Janie was frighteningly overwhelmed, all she could do was stare from one to the other.

Before they could continue to talk about Skynet's, numbers, or for god´s sake, boomerangs, she stepped forward. With no real difference between the four of them, she would first have to know how to address them before kindly asking them to leave her barn.

“So,” She stepped in when the tattooed one opened his mouth. “It is really nice here, in the barn... after midnight... in October... but don't you think we should… wrap this up, yes?” When she got affirmative nods, she gave them a tense smile that was more of a grimace. “Great… so we have a Skynet, a boomerang, a mass-murderer and…” She turned to the tattooed one and stared at him expectantly. He looked like a biker, or one of those strange guy´s that were in gangs, tattoos and all.

 “A Leader,” he called himself.

"And a leader. Great. Fantastic" Walking backward, she inconspicuously made her way towards the door, gripping the handle. "Well, it was nice meeting y´all but I really have to –"

Turning, she came to face a sturdy chest and stumbled backward, away from those murderous eyes. The guy had already tried to kill her and once was enough for the day.

“Charlie,” he spoke, voice dark. “My name´s Charlie and I´m a construction worker for a German company. That´s what I do. All that I do.”

“That´s… nice,” Janie squeaked, feeling more than slightly threatened.

Walking backward, she stumbled into another sturdy chest. Whirling around, she came to face the leader guy cocking his head at her. “You were going somewhere?”

"Yeah…" she spluttered. "I have work in the morning, so… you know, the early bird catches the worm!" She swung her arm enthusiastically with the saying, trying to keep it cheerful.

“Early bird?...Great. Whatever. Since we are here with no way of getting back to the city… or wherever the hell they came from, it would be nice of you to show us our sleeping accommodations.”

Janie´s eyes widened. “Sleep – you want to sleep here?!”

"´ course, sweetheart." The boomerang guy grinned, jumping off the pile. He landed with a grace she wouldn't have expected from him. "I spent the last three years in a shithol´ before they shipped ma to Arkham. I would kill for a burger.”

Not liking his punctuation of the word killing, Janie gave him another one of her grimace-like smiles. “A burger… at one am in the morning…”

“I´m hungry, too,” piped up the one in the blue scrubs before awkwardly scratching his head.

“Yeah… Didn't she say something about cake earlier?” A voice coming directly from behind her had Janie jump which only made the tattooed one smirk, Charlie rolling his eyes.

“My cake – ” Janie protested but was cut off by the emo-version.

“Cake sounds fantastic. I hope it´s chocolate.” With an elaborate gesture of his arms, he stepped away from the door, clearing the path. “Lead the way.”

Shell-shocked by the happenings, Janie did not even think about protesting this time and pushed the door open, inhaling deeply the cold autumn air. Sadly, trying to make her hallucinations disappear did not work. Trudging after her, boots loud on the leaves, she led the four identical but so entirely different men to her house. After all, if they wanted to kill her, they could have done that in the barn, so why not let them into the house too?

She just hoped her cake would survive.

Turns out, Janie did not get her piece of cake. To be honest, after the four grown men were finished with her fridge, the only thing left was an old package of blue cheese that was well over three months old. They didn’t even leave her her peanut butter, those bastards.

At least she found out their names.

Charlie she already knew, after all, he had tried to choke her. She wouldn't forget him that soon.

The one clad in black; who had saved her life, was Eric. The other, Kyle, who still appeared rather disturbed. He was cowered away in the farthest corner of her kitchen, eyeing all of her electronic devices as if they would come to life at any second. She had to roll her eyes at that. They weren't in Transformers after all.

But if you asked Janie, a self-cooking oven was what she dreamed of at night.

 For Kyle, she had gone through her father´s old shirt, not being able to stand the pitiful sight of him in hospital scrubs. Now he was wearing old jogging pants and a tattered shirt that stretched too tight over his arms. Despite his anxious appearance, she had to admit he did have muscles.

Lastly, there was Boomer, or Captain Boomerang, or George ‘Digger’ Harkness, or daddy; like he had asked her to call him followed by a raaawr and a low purred ‘Kitten’.

If Janie hadn´t been doubtful of his - how should we say it - mental state, that would have had her almost convinced that something wasn´t quite right with the fellow. But what happened after letting her know he belonged nowhere else but in an asylum. Where he most likely came from. Perhaps grown up and raised, like in one of those bad horror movies.

 There was an old unicorn hidden away in her storage room where she had kept the mattresses for them to sleep on, and as soon as he saw the pink, fluffy unicorn, he lunged for it, shoving Charlie into an old closet. He hasn´t laid it down ever since; even took it with him into the bathtub, something Janie practically had to force onto him. But with Eric´s help, who blatantly refused to sleep beside him for a whole night while he was smelling like rotten fruit, it was manageable.

Janie felt more than a little insane for even entertaining the idea of letting all four of them live with her, but surprisingly, it worked out quite well and in the meantime, she learned a lot about her new subtenants.

Boomer, unsurprisingly came from the country down under which she had already guessed from his accent, not to mention the strange phrases he used. Busted after knocking his partner in crime out in the middle of the bank they had robbed by a guy in a red, leather body suit, he had been shipped to the US to play hero. But after watching his friend's head getting blown away; which he described with the most gruesome details, he suddenly found himself in the barn with no knowledge of how he had gotten there.

 The same with Eric.

Just like the Captain, he was a lot more full of himself than Janie liked a man to be, boasting and gloating like a parading cock. From what she understood, he was a leader of some sorts in a city that had been cut off from the outside for hundreds of years and was divided into groups, based on their genetic information. Whoever came up with that shit had no idea how genes really work, just saying.

All in all, he was a cocky arrogant bastard, but Janie couldn't help but find him attractive either way. There was just something about bad boys. But this one also had a brain.

From the other two, she had neither heard nor seen very much after that first evening. Kyle had been suspiciously silent, even while shoveling food into his mouth, the other´s starting to bring out the big guns. Not the muscles on their arms, no they were pretty similar, but their real ones.

Charlie, a company worker from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and the only one that seemed to be from this century, as well as not an alternate timeline, prided himself into fabricating all his bullets by himself, as well as being a sniper. In fact, he had found his rifle and a full case of bullets in the barn where he had appeared. Janie had wanted to forbid him to bring it into the house, but Oh, well… Arguing with a psychotic gunman that had the rifle in hand wasn't that high on her life-goals list. In the end, they banned it into the attic to where he disappeared at once and did not come out for two days straight.

Eric´s gun, on the other hand, was a small one; almost like a child's toy but its deadly firing power was not to be questioned. Especially not when he started describing the initiation process –  and how much he hated one of his co-workers.

Janie could relate, she too wished to eliminate tattletale of the office, a woman named Patrice that was annoyingly persistent in wanting to be her friend.  

It got problematic however when Boomer started to display his weapons, a wide range of boomerangs hidden in the depths of his trench coat that he never took off. Not sure if it was an accident or a spontaneous burst of insanity but he pressed the button on one of the explosives. He had to haul his ass out the kitchen and into the garden, only just managing to hurl it away before it exploded against her favorite tree, smashing the old oak into pieces. The only reason the thing didn’t catch fire was the storm the night before, a sheen layer of wetness coating the bark and preventing a disaster.

Either way, the police came to investigate, alarmed by a frightened neighbor that had heard the bang even though he lived the quarter of an hour away. While Janie was busy placating them, because no, no one here blew anything up, three of the anarchists hid in the potato cellar while the other one just... vanished.

Later, and after being creeped out by the strange noises coming from under her stairs she would find him, curled up in a nest of blankets in the cupboard under the stairs, where he hid cables and machine parts. As soon as Janie poked her head through the door, cautious because she still hadn´t forgotten what happening in Conjuring, Kyle threw one of the blankets over his stuff, hiding it from her before screaming at her to get out.

Janie had only once witnessed such an outburst when her mother walked in on her brother with his inflatable girlfriend, an event that was never talked but always snickered about on family reunions, even long after he managed to score himself a real one.

So in all, the only time she heard or saw anything from Kyle was when he sneaked out to the fridge at eleven in the evening and really early in the morning. She was pretty sure he had not showered once yet and that the suspiciously yellow looking bottle beside him wasn´t filled with soda.

The thought alone made Janie shudder.

She was currently taking a long, hot shower to calm her nerves. Living with four full-grown men that either behaved like teenagers or sociopaths was too much even for her. When she had moved out from home with eighteen to attend college, she thought she never had to share her bath with an ape again (with ape she meant her three brothers that were equally loud and hairy as the former speciesism), still, here she was. Again.

Not only had Charlie come in unannounced and used the toilet before her very own eyes but not even ten minutes in, an ear-shattering scream had her flying out the bathroom, only covered with a towel.

Worried that someone had been seriously hurt, she sprinted to where she thought the scream to have come from and already expected to see a young woman pierced with one of Charlie's bullets, after all, which man had such a high-pitched voice?

Following the shouting, all she found was the Captain shouting profanities and Eric releasing a knife with a calculating smirk pulling up his lip.

The blade whizzed past Janie´s head, only centimeters away and landed with a dull thud that was followed by another outcry from his doppelganger.

“C’mon, man! Ya can´t do that! What has pinky eva done to ya?”

Eric rolled his eyes, flicking around yet another blade in his hand. “It´s pink.”

“Mate, It´s a unicor- NO!”

Flinching a second time, Janie clutched her towel to her chest, her voice coming out as a whizz. “What are you doing?”

“Target practice.” Eric´s wandering eyes were not lost on her and Janie felt herself blush a little, realizing that the skimpy towel just barely covered her ass. This fact was not lost on him, his smirk broadening.

“Thank fuck ya´re here!” Boomer threw his hands in the air before grabbing her, giving a few good shakes. “He´s killin’ ma unicorn! You gotta help me!”

“Alright, alright!” Freeing herself from his grasp, Janie made sure all her lady-parts were covered before turning to Eric, giving him her sternest gaze. “Give him pinky back.”

“You´re not serious, are you?” When his long hard stare was met by her long hard stare, he shook his head, chuckling sarcastically.

“Eric.” Cocking her hips to the side, she tried to not think about the fact that she was almost naked and he a very, very attractive man. Instead, she channeled her inner Oprah, despite the fact that she was dripping on the carpet. "How about you give him pinky back and instead use a… a ham or something like that! I don´t know…" When he raised one eyebrow at her, Janie threw her hands in the air.

Hand.

Janie threw her hand in the air, the other one clutching the towel tightly. She wouldn´t give the two of them a peep show. Even if Boomer was just interested in the wounded unicorn that was pinned to the wall with a knife in his abdomen.

“Just give him back the damn stuffy!”

“Fine.” His change in attitude was so fast, it gave Janie whiplash. Boomer sprinted towards the wall to free the wounded unicorn. Crocodile tears gathered in his eyes as he took in the damage left behind by three sharp blades, the stuffing starting to spill out. Reacting immediately before those two could start WW 3 in her living room, Janie promised to sew it up if he waited in the kitchen.

When he was gone, Janie turned to Eric. “You are really mean, you know?”

“I guess.” Scrunching up his face, he shrugged his shoulders. “But that´s usually how the girls like me.”

“Well, certainly not me.” Janie declared, staring at him challenging. Eric took a step closer, intense eyes almost scorching her.

“We´ll see.” His eyes raking over her semi-naked form, Eric could no longer suppress a smirk.

“Nice packaging for your fanny you got there. You should think about investing in some panties.”

With one last chuckle, he was gone, leaving a shell-shocked Janie that was scrambling to cover herself and her bald fanny behind. Finally alone, she sunk down on the couch and covered her eyes with her hands.

Only a week living with those anarchists and she was already well on the way to the looney bin. This level of stress definitely called for a night in her favorite PJ’s, a sweater mess of fluff and comfort that always made her feel like a fluffy bunny. Well, rather a fluffy bunny than a bald fa- you know what I mean.

At least she didn’t have to worry about Boomer anymore.

As soon as she patched the unicorn up, he was back to his old, rambunctious self – not the whinny little girl she had got to meet. When he started to rip the door to the closet under the stairs open just to scream ‘Karry Rotter in the cupboard under the stairs!' (so it really had been slutty Hermione) and run away, cackling like the maniac he is, Janie was almost tempted to behead the unicorn and leave it on his pillow. But she had heard to many horror stories about what kinds of animals were at home in Australia.

And she much rather have a unicorn called pinky in the house than a boa constrictor called choker.

Later that week, Janie had a date. Neither did she want to call it a date, nor did she like the guy, but Jean-Luke was an unpleasantly persistent guy. Countless times he had asked her out, seemingly taking every rejection in stride and still, his wounded puppy-dog eyes haunted. No longer able to ignore him – or his advances – she had accepted, unwillingly but he didn't care.

If one bad date would be enough to keep him from ‘accidentally meeting’ her at the theater and following her home, even though she knew he had in the past, then so be it.

If it should not be enough, there still was a psychopath sitting in her attic right now, thirsting for murder. She had no doubt in mind he knew how to make it look like an accident.

As six o’clock approached, Janie was just done applying one last coat of mascara, grabbed her clutch and made her way downstairs, careful to not trip over her heels as she descended the stairs, the clicking of her shoes heard through the whole house.

It drew Eric from the kitchen where he, face contorted in his usual scowl, tried to get the popcorn machine to work. There was another one of those secret agent movies and he was determined to watch them all.

But when he arrived in the hallway, bowl in hand and ready to snap at her, the sight in front of him was enough to shut him up.

The woman, who he usually only knew to be clad in amity jeans and those insanely strange fluffy pajamas that made him want to throw up, stood a few stairs above him, a small black number hugging every delicious curve of her body, her usually straight blonde hair pinned up in an intricate up-do, accentuating her simple but elegant make-up. When she looked up, blue eyes meeting grey ones, the only thing being heard was the bowl falling, shattering into a thousand pieces.

While they both stared at each other, Eric transfixed, Janie startled, everything around them exploded in chaos.

“Burglars! Hide yo’ loot!” The Captain came crashing into the hallway from his hide-out in the utility room, one of his explosive boomerangs raised high above his head while the red spot appearing on Eric´s chest announced Charlie´s arrival with the silence of a skilled killer. How he made his way down from the attic where he had laid low on the floor, scouting the grounds around the old farm through the lens of his semi-automatic weapon, his finger always on the trigger, was a mystery to them all.

Realizing there was no danger around, Charlie rolled his eyes and put the gun down while the Captain furrowed his brow, after wildly looking around but finding no one that tried to steal his treasures.

“Oi! What was that for, you wonker? I almost blew us all to shit, ya –”

He trailed off as he noticed the woman in front of him. Trying to cover up his freak out, he propped one hand against the wall, with the other trying to tame his unruly beard.

“Yo, doll, ya going somewhere?”

Before Janie could answer him, Eric had already pushed him away with an inauspicious but painful shove to the ribs, trying to get her attention back. But by now, all four of them were vying for her attention. Yes, I said four.

Even Kyle stuck out his head from the cupboard, the thought of having to destroy an evil A.I. forgotten at his first sight of creamy white thighs.

It made her a little uncomfortable having all of these strange men staring at her intensely so the knock on the door came just at the right time.

The only problem, that Eric was the first to answer, the Captain lurking around in the background, scaring the poor lad that was standing there with exactly four daisies in hand. If we were in a comic, the sight of the bulky, tattooed, as well as the hairy burglar-like men towering over his form, would have the flowers wilt on the spot but as it is, he only swallowed heavily, glad the exit behind him was clear.

Well, until the Captain stepped forward and clasped his back almost painfully. Still, it was the tattooed one that addressed him.

“You must be Janie's friend. We've all been waiting for you.”

“You… you were?” he stuttered, thinking that maybe he was at the wrong house. After all, Janie did not live with guys that looked like

a)   An underground fighter

b)   Some wannabe rapper that made his money with burglaries and drugs just to spend it on prostitutes after

And c) a creepy guy staring down the stairs while inauspiciously shoving something away from his line of sight.

And was this… did that guy really just come from the cupboard under the stairs?! What was this, freaking Harry Potter and the mob?!

“Of course.” Eric shoved Boomer out of the way, pulling Jean-Luke inside where he led him through the hallway into the kitchen. Janie only managed an awkward smile before he was gone again. When Charlie pushed past, she unfroze, hurrying after them as fast as her heels allowed it.

The sight that greeted her when she came into the kitchen was vying for the spot of the strangest encounter of her life, competing with the night she found the four anarchists in the barn of course.

Eric had politely forced Jean-Luke into a chair on the dinner table, taking a seat opposite of him while Kyle, being the only one that had mechanic experience battled with the coffee-machine, because that's what you do when you want to appear friendly. You invite people for a coffee.

Janie´s date looked utterly lost, eyes frantically flitting between the four men that all looked strangely similar. Did Janie have secret quadruple brothers?

He was convinced, avoiding the stare of the tattooed man, just to catch the eyes of another that was staring at him with what he could only describe as bloodlust. When the third started cackling to himself while picking his fingernails, he thought to himself that the one operating the coffee maker must be the normal one of the lot. That was until he placed a cup of brown water in front of his face with a satisfied smile.

All the poor man was able to do was smile back awkwardly. Whatever the hell their problem was. Every single one of them looked as if they lifted steel beams in the morning and whole cars in the evening.

“So…” Eric drawled, sending Kyle with a move of his hand to stand in the opposite corner of the room. “You wanna take Jan out, right?”

“Yes, that was the plan.” Trying to come over as the honest and hard-working man he is, Jean-Luke mirrored Eric´s stance, hands folded on the table and leaning forwards. But all he got in return was a disdainful glance from the man in front of him and a snicker from the Captain that had made himself at home on the old bench, busy inspecting what seemed to be his toenails.

“And where do you want to take her?” Hand closed around the cup in front of him, Eric´s tone was almost bored but like always the glint in his eyes gave him away. He was more than just interested.

Behind him at the other side of the room, Kyle took a sip from his cup and immediately spit it out again, all over Charlie´s shoes who retaliated with a muffled curse and a hit over the head.

“Ehh, there's this…” Ripping his gaze away from the strange scene before him, Jean-Luke’s focus switched over to the block tattoos that adorned his neck, asking himself how the man could have lived through so much pain. He only had one tattoo of his own, a little fairy on his right butt cheek, a reminder to never bet on anything while drunk – especially not on ducks.

...Don´t even ask.

“There's this new restaurant that just opened in town. We got reservations in like, thirty minutes, so we have to leave soon…”

“Yeah, right. And you will have her back before midnight?” Recoiling in surprise, Jean-Luke furrowed his brows.

“No offense, but are you her brother´s or something like that?” He laughed awkwardly, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt in their presence but trailed off quickly when no one joined him.

“Something like that.” Eric tilted his head and Jean-Luke suddenly got the feeling that he just failed an important interview. He stayed basically iced onto the chair while the other men started trickling out of the room one after another, Eric stopping in the threshold to fix him with one last stare.

“Midnight, yeah?”

“Yes, of course!” He jumped at the opportunity to reassure him. “She´ll be back way before then… Not way, no, but in time. Yes, just in time.”

Alone in the kitchen, Jean-Luke rambled on and on while Janie stood in the other room, earning herself a wink from the Captain and the rare sight of Eric wearing a self-satisfied smirk. Those were usually kept for himself.

“Good luck with that one.” Bending over, Eric´s mouth was right beside her ear, breath washing over her face. “You'll definitely need it.”

With another chuckle, that was worthy of a real villain, he followed his three doppelgangers into the depths of the house while Janie stayed back, already exhausted before the night had even started.

Closing her eyes in horror, she rubbed her forehead as she relived every single word that had been spoken in her once tranquil kitchen that was slowly being taken over by a bunch of wildlings.

She was in for a long night.

The date went to hell, or should she say to the doppelgangers. Not that Janie had wanted to go out in the first place, but spending the whole night being badgered with questions like ‘Who were they?’ or ‘Where did they come from’ made it even worse. But when Jean-Luke asked if they were here for a porn production she had just had enough. Cutting their date short may have just been the best thing she experienced the whole week.

Well, except, of course, the day before. She and the three (Kyle was hiding in the closet under the stairs again; all she heard from under there were mechanical clunks and a few groans and Janie hoped it was because he had hit his head, not something else) guys went grocery shopping. She had had enough, having to carry around heavy bags when she had three guys of which not one skipped leg day, and it was obvious.

Not just to her but also to the other women from the village who were out for their weekly errands. Janie had never gotten so many scandalous stares, but at least every one of them was envious.

Envious that she had three guys at home, men that helped with the shopping while theirs were wasting away on their couches, beer in one hand, the remote in the other. She would bet that at least half of them would trade their husbands (and bag-sized dogs) in for one night with one of her men.

 Little did they know, that Eric got up every morning at six am, made scrambled eggs and coffee, only for himself, before training until his shirt was soaked through, stinking up her whole garage.

That Charlie, ever since he found his sniper, spent most of his days lying in the attic with his gun, scouting out the area.

That Kyle had created something akin to a lair beneath her stairs, stealing blankets and disassembling her electronic devices because he was searching for parts to build a time machine with.

That the Captain liked to strip down naked and walk through the house. Or that she was convinced he had used her laptop to watch porn. OR, that she discovered it really was a slutty version of Hermione, giving head to the headmaster.

Yeah, living with them wasn't as great as one would have thought.

After three weeks of Boomer lounging around in front of the TV with his hand in his sweatpants (yuck), Charlie building a fort in her attic, Eric having a mental breakdown because he had nothing or no one to beat up and Kyle being holed up in the cupboard that started to emit a strange smell, not even mentioned the clanks and cluttering at night, Janie had enough. She needed a whole day just to herself, with no suggestive glances, no bitching about pointless stuff and especially no guns.

Just this morning, Charlie´s gun went off in the middle of breakfast. He almost shot Kyle in the ass and managed to destroy her favorite vase, so they had to go. All of them. Just for a few short hours of uninterrupted me-time.

Janie asked herself if that´s what motherhood felt like and she seriously hoped not.

To send them out, exploring the wilderness around the cottage was just one of the best things she could have done.

A long, relaxing bath, a good book and several chocolate bars later she felt as if she could deal with the whole bunch again. She even had the time to clean the cupboard, exchange a few of the blankets, leftover food from two weeks ago and the full bottle that most certainly was not lemonade (double-yuck). The other thing she found was mechanical parts, lots of them, that have been assembled to a one-foot-high round device, that seemed to be a work in progress. Shifting through the parts, Janie could have sworn that at least one of them belonged into her washing machine that suspiciously stopped working a few day´s ago. As well as her clock, her cell phone, and the remote control.

That bastard.

The only reason he must have left the TV alone was, that Boomer would have skinned him alive. His new-found love for soccer instead of cricket made him a little more violent than usual. Well, as long as it made Kyle happy and prevent him from going off the rails, she was okay with it. The washing machine needed replacement either way.

However much she loved the solitude, after dust was setting in, Janie began to worry. What if they got lost on their way home. Or worse, got arrested for trying to rob the local bank? God knows they have the skills for it. Kyle would be the one to keep watch, Charlie would take out the security as stealthy as a snake, Boomer would break open the bank vault and Eric would help carry the loot.

The longer Janie thought about it, the more vivid her imagination became and she was just about to jump up and go search for them, maybe on the police station, when the front door opened.

Face red from the chilly autumn air, Kyle was the first to come in, closely followed by Eric and the other two. Janie breathed a sigh of relief because neither of them looked bruised or battered in any way. Them killing each other would have been the second point on her very long list.

But the relief was short-lived because Boomer opened his coat to expose a cat nestled into his warmth. As if on cue, the other three stretched out their arms, presenting Janie three mini-me´s of the big one. Kittens.

Where the hell did they get kittens?

“Where the hell did you get kittens?” Janie asked quite loudly, already fearing the worst.

“Found them on the street. Don´t worry, we didn’t steal them.” Eric rolled his eyes, putting his kitten back into his pocket.

“This little mama was screamin’ for meh to get her. Look at that fluff!” The Captain raked his finger´s through her fur and was promptly rewarded by a loud purring. “She´s purrin’ louder for me than most of me kittens.”

A resonating groan echoed through the room and Janie scrunched up her face. She had always hated when someone called her that. But she had no doubt that most of the women Boomer associated with liked to do strange things in the bedroom. The tales she heard could never be forgotten. They were burned into her memory so deep, not even bleach would help.

“Can we keep them?”

“No – what? No!” Janie heaved a frustrated sigh, raking a hand over her face. “We can´t keep them.” Four heads snapped up, varying between shock and anger.

“Why not?” Charlie questioned, his unnerving gaze trailed onto her.

“Just… because!” Janie stuttered, trying to come up with a valid reason. “Because… the dog doesn´t like cats! That´s it. And we all don´t want kitten kebab, right?”

The looks being thrown her way almost made her feel as if she was the kitten murder. It didn´t help that in the same moment the dog came in, trotted over to where Boomer held the mother and gave her a lick before laying down on his bed.

Janie felt her resolve crack under their accusing stares. She threw her hands in the air.

“Fine! Keep them.” Pointing with her finger at them, she narrowed her eyes. “But you will be cleaning the litter tray!”

It turned out, that keeping those smoll fluff balls of love may have just been the best that´s happened to Janie in the last month. Boomer finally had an occupation of his time, instead of just watching TV and drinking beer he spent most of the time in the laundry room where the kittens could toll around freely. The mother-cat, with the new-found name Miss Dixy, was in love with him.

If she didn´t look after her babies, she slept curled in his lap, or on his chest, wherever she could. Eric was enamored with the complete black little tomcat, claiming that he matched his clothes while Charlie always carried around the orange-striped one that he´d named Sandy, after a long-lost love.

Even Kyle came crawling out of the cupboard for an hour a day to watch them roll around and play. Not once had Janie heard Boomer call him Karry Rotter after that.

They all seemed to get along.

One afternoon, just a week shy of Halloween, Janie was sitting in her kitchen, reading through the daily paper when Eric joined her. Looking up, she raised her eyebrows.

“Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledum? I thought you were a package deal?”

"Not today." He suppressed a snicker. "Miss Dixie peed on his coat, right onto pinky."

“Oh no!” Janie groaned. “And Kyle dissembled the washing machine…”

“Yeah, he´s been scrubbing and whining the past twenty minutes.” No matter how much he tried to hide it, Janie saw the satisfaction ghosting over Eric´s face. Stepping closer to the cabinets, he pulled out a pan. “You already ate?”

“Nope. Just wanted to start cooking.” Getting up with a sigh, Janie was not prepared to be pushed back into her chair. When she whirled around, Eric´s face was unreadable.

“We all know I´m a better cook anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Janie raised her eyebrow and sat back. “Then let´s see.”

And see she did.

With a grace that was reserved only for dancer´s and the masters of material arts, Eric made his way through the kitchen, pulling out herbs and other ingredients as he went. Within minutes the mouthwatering smell of well-prepared food floated the kitchen. Janie´s eyes not once left his body.

With her chin leaned on the backrest, she spoke what she had thought countless times these past few weeks.

“You know, you always insist that you´re so scary. But honestly, you´re not half bad.”

Eric let out a loud, carefree laugh. Grabbing a pinch of salt, he poured it over the dish, turning off the stove

“That´s what she said.” With a wink, he shoveled the omelet onto the plate and placed it in front of her. “Bon Appétit.”

While she stared at the plate flabbergasted, he was already gone, vanished in the depths of the old cottage. Janie felt a strange tweak in her chest. She had never had a man cook for her, nonetheless in such a casual way. As if they did this every day.

A nice, kinda warmish feeling.

Curious, if the omelet would taste as good as it looked, Janie picked up the fork and took a bite. When the flavors exploded on her tongue, she had to suppress a moan. It was even better.

“Jan, ya there?”

She looked up from her book, furrowing her brow at the Captain's strange behavior; acting like a little boy surely did not suit him.

“Yes, what can I help you with?” Closing the book, she cocked her head at him when he started rubbing his neck.

"Ya see… there´s a…" He scrunched up his nose, bowing forward towards her ear. The last thing he wanted was the other buggers to hear him talk about his tallywhacker. He didn't discriminate between men and women but this would go a little far, even for him. Making sure one last time no one was around, he whispered at her. "There´s a bushfire going on, you know, down there…”

Blinking incredibly, Janie´s stare wandered from his face to the bulge right in front of her face that he covered with one of his hands, obviously scratching his itch right in front of her face. Before she could regain her countenance, Eric strode into the room, a book of his own in hand. Barely sparing the two of them a glance, he went over to the cabinet and poured himself a drink while the Captain squirmed uncomfortably in his spot, trying to be inconspicuous. But with years of experience around crabby teens - no pun intended - Eric knew exactly what was going on.

Turning around, he leaned against the wooden shelf, taking a sip of his drink, keeping a straight face despite the burn in his throat he asked casually.

“You shagged a sheep?”

Sputtering, the Captain straightened up, looking at the other man in horror. " ‘course not! Whatcha talkin ‘bout?! My willy´s going nowhere near a jumbuck! I´m not that toey!"

“Really?” Eric raised one eyebrow, hiding his smirk behind the rim of the tumbler. “Never looked at one thinking it was a good root?” Eric taunted him further, enjoying easy prey in the bastard way.

“No!” Boomer called out again, his face immediately falling as he stumbled over his words, shooting the woman in front of him a quick glance. Every chance of getting her for a good shag just flew outta the window. “But… There was this orange…” he surrendered, trailing off.

Janie stilled in her seat, suddenly realizing why she had found at least three different oranges with only holes in them laying around in her utility room. She shuddered violently, thinking about how she touched them. Of course, it hadn't been the dog!

“So…” Eric trailed off before coming straight to the point. “You decided to fuck an orange?”

“The computer told meh to!” the Captain cried out, glancing at the shocked woman to his side. “I was searching fer vids when SheepShagger69 told me to just make a hole and put it intah the microwave!”

“I know. I found your browser history.” Eric rolled his eyes, shaking his head. But when he fixed the Captain with another stare, he could no longer suppress a smirk. “You know, Janie really has a nice collection of rosehips. Luckily, she freed them from all of their seeds because they itch like hell…”

Both Janie and the Captain understood the underlying message in the same moment and she watched Boomer's face slowly turning red as he realized what exactly Eric had done, a malevolent glint sparkling in his eyes that promised manslaughter.

“YA FUCKING PUT ITCHING POWDER INTO MA ORANGE?!”

Not a second after the words had left his mouth, Boomer lunged for him, knocking him straight into the old oak wood wardrobe and both went down. All Janie could do was watch first in horror, then slowly resignation took over while both men were swinging at each other, rolling around and bumping into the furniture.

Without another word, she got up and left with a new resolve. Never again would she buy anything fragile and never, ever in her life would she touch something she didn’t know where it came from.

Or where it had been.

Clad with the laundry basket under her arm, Janie was on her way to her bedroom. Because the washing machine was out of order, she had to use the antique laundry tub in the second, older barn. Not only did her hands burn from the hard, unusual work but her whole appearance was in disarray, being splashed with water for so often. That was, why when Kyle called her name she was reluctant to go see him. A shower sounded so much better.

But because she was such a great person and he never really bothered her, Janie turned around and gave him a smile.

“What can I help you with?”

Scratching his head, Kyle seemed to have no idea where to start. “I want you to know that I appreciate it, everything you´ve done for us. I mean, the cooking, the cleaning up after us, washing our clothes by hand… By the way, sorry for that.” Scrunching up his nose, he gestured towards the basket that she had cocked up on her hips.  “I just… I think it´s time for me to go home.”

“Go home?” Janie questioned a little confused, setting the basket on the floor so she could focus on Kyle. “How would you do that?”

“You see, I´ve been working on the solution for the past few weeks now and I finally got it right.”

“So you´re leaving?” Janie asked, only realizing how upset she sounded when she had already spoken. Kyle gave her a sad smile.

“Yes.”

"Oh, okay…" Lost, Janie had no idea what she should do until she was suddenly enveloped by a pair of sturdy arms. Reciprocating his hug, she realized that even though he was a lot skinnier than Boomer, for example, he could most likely still crush a small vehicle with that muscles of his.

“I´m going to miss you.”

And she spoke the truth. Over those four weeks, she had known those four anarchists, she somehow got to like every single one of them, even Charlie, though he still scared her sometimes. She had got accustomed to the metallic clattering in the dead hours of the night, as well as bursts of steam wafting through the slits. If Janie wouldn´t have known a mechanic was working in the cupboard under the stars, she could have mistaken it for a wizard.

Pressing her against his chest one last time, Kyle released her.

„You´re really nice, and I would love to stay for a little bit longer but...“

"Sarah." Janie nodded, giving him a warm smile. In the few hours, he had spent with her in the living room while the others were out wreaking havoc she had gotten to hear quite a bit of her. And even though he didn´t know her all that much, Janie knew he was head over heels."

A smile tugged up the corners of his mouth, a strange spark behind his eyes.

“Yeah, she´s waiting for me to come home. Well, to Los Angeles in 1987 but that´s just figures…” He stared at Janie for a long time before shrugging his shoulders. “I guess this is goodbye?”

"Yes." Giving him a sad smile, Janie took a step back. "I´m going to miss you, Kyle. You strange guy."

“I´m going to miss you too. I will think of you when I defeat Skynet.”

“You do that!” Janie laughed and picked up the basket, a small sliver of melancholia tugging in her chest. “I hope everything turns out well for you.”

“For you too. Goodbye Janie.” With one last wave, he disappeared back into the cupboard. When the door closed behind him, Janie knew she would never see him again.

The other´s found her sitting in the hallway with the basket on her lap two hours later. Veiled by white fog that came from the cupboard forty minutes ago, Eric almost stumbled over Janie´s feet, just to stop short in his path and be run over by Boomer. Shooting him a glare, he perched down in front of Janie, scrutinizing her face closely.

“Everything´s alright?”

“He´s gone.” Was all she answered, cocking her head.

“Who´s gone?” Charlie inquired before shoving Boomer out of his way and the door to the cupboard open. A new surge of smoke wafted into his face, making him cough. But when it cleaned up enough for him to see, he turned around with furrowed brows. “He´s gone.”

“I know.” Janie sighed, getting up from the floor. She had heard the exact moment he left, the buzzing and whirling coming to a new high that had the house shake in its foundation. Then, all had become still. Kyle was gone. “I’ll need a new washing machine, but at least he´s home now.”

“You think so?” Eric asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, I hope so. No idea where he´d end up at if not in LA 1987." With one last look at the circular machine in the middle of the cupboard, she walked into the kitchen, all three trailing behind her like lost kittens.

“Now,” She threw open the door of the fridge. “who wants cake?”

The 31st of October, one of Jamie´s favorite holidays: Halloween.

Dressing up had always been one of her favorite past times, if it was dresses from the 18th century England, her mother´s favorite lingerie or those huge yellow blobs they called minions – it didn´t matter. As long as she was disguised so heavily not even her mom recognized her, everything was well. Or not, if you counted that time she called the police because the Babadook was haunting her house. It was an uncomfortable night and many uncomfortable days of being grounded afterward.

Still, she just loved it.

Spending the day carving a pumpkin with the three as well as trying to hide the candy from Boomer (not that many ever came out this far, but still) the hours flew by and before she knew, dusk was settling in, an eerie feeling adding to the spooky atmosphere. Having put the men in charge of installing the pumpkin light chains, an effortless try to tire Boomer out for the night, Janie was busy finishing up the pumpkin-spice soup when she heard the tell-tale slamming shut of the front door.

Raised voices alerted her that something was wrong. Pulling off the apron, she hurried into the foyer.

Squaring up to each other, Boomer and Charlie were facing off, the gunmen’s skin flushing a dangerous shade of red. “You stabbed me!”

Holding up his bleeding hand for all to see, Janie´s eyes widened in disbelieving.

“T’was an accident!” Boomer shouted back, no feelings of guilt marring his conscious.

Gritting his jaw, Charlie took a step closer, pointing his finger into Boomer´s face. “Twice!”

Diverting his stare at the ceiling, Boomer scrunched up his face in concentration. After a short moment, he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, two accident´s.”

“You little…!” Charlie´s advances at Boomer were intercepted by Eric stepping in between, doing nothing but stare at him. Seizing him up, for a moment it seemed as if Charlie would try to take him on too but ultimately, he knew it was a bad idea and stepped back. Even a serial-killer training couldn’t match up to Eric´s routine.

When it came to exercising, Eric was like a mad-man possessed.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Jamie stepped in between them pushing Charlie back with her palms on his chest when tried getting to Boomer, who did nothing but grin at him.

“What the hell is going on?” Janie demanded to know, making her voice as stern as she could. When both men started yelling simultaneously, she turned to Eric.

He could barely suppress a grin.

“Captain here thought the knife from the box wasn´t a real one so he tested it out… twice.”

“RIGHT INTO MY FUCKIN’ HAND!” Charlie shouted, lashing out. The sound of porcelain breaking against the wall had Janie jerk, the men were unfazed.

Until a voice resonated in the room that belonged to none of the four.

"Nah, nah. Why so violent? There is nothing to be upset about." Whirling around, Janie came to face an elderly man in a full-blown Halloween costume. A beard going well over his chest, his hair almost the same length was covered by a large hat with a pointed end. His walking stick was frighteningly huge and sturdy enough to knock someone on their arse with. But his clothing was the most bizarre because it was -

“Is that a cloak?” Eric asked incredibly, eyebrows pulled up into his hairline. Boomer grunted out a disagreeing sound.

“Nah, I think it´s one of those maxi-dresses the more corpulent women like to wear. You know, to hide their titties…”

“Silence!” The man bellowed, throwing Boomer a glare that surprisingly did shut him up. “We are not here to converse about my choice of attire, which is, if I may say so, the hottest shit in Mordor –“

“What´s a Mordor?” Boomer whisper-asked Eric who just shrugged his shoulders, the corners of his mouth slowly pulling down. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke up, suspicion laced in his voice. “Who are you?”

“It is, in fact, a kingdom.” The hooded man answered with a sigh. “And my name is Gandolf, the grey.”

For a moment everything was silent, then:

“Your name is Gandolf, the grey?” Boomer exploded into a fit of giggles that grew worse with each passing second. Choking on his own voice he wheezed out: “An’ ya´re from Mordor?  Where´s tha’? Right nex’ to Hogwarts?” Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Boomer brushed away a stray tear. “ For meh ya lookin’ like an idiot in a cloak. Better get back to you´re nursin’ home, old man.”

"Enough!" Eye´s blazing, Gandolf, the grey, slammed the end of his walking stick into the ground, making not only Boomer but also the other two freeze on their spots. Wide-eyed, Janie gaze flew from the petrified men towards the wizard, taking a cautious step back.

“Now that those big-mouthed idiots are quiet, we shall have our talk.”

“O-our talk?” Janie squeaked out, wishing that the knife Boomer abused was somewhere near. If she should go from this world it would not be with twenty-six. No, she´d be at least forty-seven, unmarried with 12 cats. When they would finally find her corpse, three weeks later there would not be much left of her. After all, her darlings had to eat.

“Of course, our talk. I am sincerely sorry for sending you those four idiots, there was a slight mix-up in our wish-granting factory.” Gandolf sighed.

“A… a mix-up.” Janie asked unbelievingly, staring at him. She consciously chose to disregard the wish-granting thing.

"Yes, you see," He started, gesturing for her to take a seat on the bench right beside the shoe rack. With shaky legs, she sunk down. "Right at the moment, you wished for your perfect man, a woman in an alternative reality that was in a bit of trouble wished upon the gods for them to save her. You see, her husband had to sell himself into slavery and she wished for someone to bring him back to her. Your two wishes were confused.

I would have liked to right this wrong, but by the time we realized what went wrong, the four meant for you had already, sadly, found their end in an arena by the hand of a very vicious lion.

I am sincerely sorry for that.”

Nodding along to everything he said, Janie felt just the same, if not even crazier than the night she found the four anarchists in her barn. “So… my perfect men are… dead?”

"I fear so." Gandolf sighed. "And they were the last one of their kinds we produced. Semi-hard working, slightly homophobic men, just a tiny, weeny bit. They would have been perfect in the beginning, charming you off your pants until you said yes, then impregnated you in your wedding night before forcing you to quit your job. Three kids later, two too much for their liking, but they had insisted after you worked day and night to keep the house clean and your body in shape, they would have to work longer and longer. Then weekends, whole trips with the firm.

After a talk with one of his colleagues, you would finally find out that he has had an affair for as long as his new secretary worked for him. First you´d ignore it, try to keep the appearances up but when they got bolder, even doing it on your kitchen counter, you know because you found her thong in the cupboard beside your kid´s lunch boxes you would have enough.

Following a divorce, a few one-night stands with bikers from the freeway that frequent the local pub and a steamy affair with your twenty-year younger gardener, a son that hates you and a daughter with an attention deficit, because all she´s interested in are boys and makeup.

For the next ten years you lived comfortably off of life-support, draining his sorry-ass dry and while you live your self-centered life, your husband's girlfriend would leave him for someone more successful, he gets bald and a beer-pouch until he ultimately looks like the slimebag he is. How does that sound?"

“Just like I always imagined it to be.” Janie sighed almost dreamily. It sounded like a dream come true.

“Too bad.” Gandolf shrugged his shoulders. “Either way, I hope you found your match under those four. The other ones were insanely… bland. Well, the lion didn´t think so but still. No matter how insane, I´m sure their body fat percentage is just as low as the number of premature ejaculations in life.” He took a long look at Boomer. “Maybe not him… looks as if he´d shot like a rocket after a little hanky-panky in the backseat.

Sooo… which one of the four do you want?”

Turning around, Gandolf stared at her expectantly.

“Three…” Janie stuttered. “There are just three left. Kyle went home just last morning.”

“Oh right.” He scrunched up his face before rolling his eyes. “Home? Pfft! Transported himself into the Italy of the 17th century that bullock, naked as the day he was born. Had to get him back from there.” Nodding his head as a wide-eyed Janie, he continued.

“Kyle was trapped in an atelier with no way of getting out without being burned at a stake. Indecent exposure plus strange language… they would have totally branded him as a witch. Luckily the guy owning the house understood a bit of mechanics, he was alright. Even made us a tea.

But I think we left quite the expression on him.” Turning his stick in hand, Gandolf sighed.

“Now somewhere in this world, a painting of an old, bearded man in a cloak and a naked idiot dramatically stretching his hand in the air are branded onto a ceiling. Thanks very much for that.”

"I´m sorry?" Jamie spoke hesitantly, just willing him to stop speaking in riddles. All that was not comprehensible for her poor brain.

“It´s alright, dear.” Gandolf fixed her with a long stare, her state of mind obvious to him. He decided to have mercy on her. “I´m going to take them with me now. Well, two of them at least. The one your heart solely most desires. I hope it chose wisely.”

Janie wanted to ask him what he meant by that but before she could even move a finger, a darkness slowly settled over her and she could feel her consciousness slipping away. She could just hope it wouldn´t be Boomer.

Even a life in an asylum sounded better than being forced to live with a maniac like him.

Janie awoke to the smell of breakfast wafting up into her little bedroom. A small smile on her lips, she got out of bed, slipped into her dressing gown and the fluffy slippers before making her way downstairs into the kitchen. There he was, her man, making scrambled eggs without his shirt on, a sight she could very well get used to.

Walking up to him, she slung her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on her back. Turning his head, she could just barely see his lips pulling up into a lazy smile while he flipped around the eggs without missing a beat

“Smells great.” Janie muttered, rubbing her face on him before pressing a kiss to his bare skin.

“I know.” All she got in return was a cocky grin. “Sit down, I’ll bring you your coffee.”

"Alright." Only half following his orders, she perched herself up on the kitchen counter, a sly smile on her lips. Just until he bent forward and bit her bottom lip in warning.

“Careful kitten.”

“Raaawr.” Pretending to extract her claws, Janie only earned herself a heated glare, that was warning and promise at once. With one sweep, he grabbed her hip and pulled her from the counter, ignoring her loud squeal. Instead of taking her up into the bedroom again, like yesterday night, he set her down onto the bench much to her chagrin.

But she wasn´t grouchy for long, the food he placed in front of her simply too delicious to pout over.

Shoveling eggs in her mouth while simultaneously trying to look sexy, Janie thought about what her life had become in just a few short weeks. What difficulties she had to face with the four of them and how she came to find the one she had desperately wishing for. Not one that would cheat on her as soon as she got her first wrinkle but someone she could spend the rest of her life with, even when she was old and fat.

Someone that wouldn´t leave her even when she was on her period and cranky, or bloated and pregnant. Not a hanger-on in a stage of her life but someone to walk along the whole way, no matter how far it would be.

Yes, Janie wished upon a star. She wished for a man she thought should be the one but instead, she got a maniac. A glitch of the universe, maybe it was fate. She was starting to feel it, a certainty deep inside her chest that she hoped to be able to tell about when she was old, a grandmother.

He was the love of her life.

Her leader.

(Kyle... what did you do?!) 

#crack fic #fanfiction #Eric Coulter #Divergent #Captain Boomerang #Charlie #Jack Reacher #Kyle Reese #Karry Rotter #Halloween #Gandalf