#i’m not joking about warped bones by the way look it up it’s fucked up

[thetriggeredhappy]

thinking about how metal ballet is. hello this is our art form we are very pretty and very dexterous here, look at us spin. this is because we have done this from a young enough age that it melted our bones a little and permanently stunted our growth in certain ways. our entire bodies have been adapted to be extremely brittle and we require double the caloric intake of the average person, and our body acts as though we’re constantly in a state of near-death. body fat no longer functions correctly for us and if we get even one broken bone or torn muscle we may never be able to dance in a performance for the rest of our lives. pretty sparkly clothes :)

#shut up me #i could not give less of a fuck about any sports because that’s some pussy shit #hold up 150 pounds of weight on one big toe while spinning while looking pretty why don’t you #same with figure skating honestly #ballet dancers who dance en pointe represent the furthest possible push of human limits in my mind #i’m not joking about warped bones by the way look it up it’s fucked up

[danishmiilk]

when thunder splits the sky - na jaemin

au || royalty!au, soulmates!au

genre || angst, fluff, slight crack

warnings || swearing, death mentioned, almost deathly sickness, a lot of stress on jaemin and y/n’s part, throwing up.

summary || soulmates. the source of happiness, the source of sickness. you’re shocked that your best friend (and the second prince) is your soulmate, but it shouldn’t be too bad. after all, you’re best friends, right? you know each other better than anyone else in the world. but when jaemin refuses to realise his love, shit hits the fan.

word count || ~10k

note || this is a collaboration piece with @astroboy-lele​ for @k-dinernet​‘s dance off event!

you and jaemin were close, closer than a commoner and a prince should be. but since you were the main cook’s daughter, it wasn’t too uncommon to see the two of you running around with bright smiles lighting up your faces. then studies took over for jaemin. he was constantly studying to become a better king than his dad, which was slightly unfair since he wasn’t even the crown prince. but accidents could happen, so jaemin had to be prepared. so you were left to your own devices most of the time, fiddling with things in the kitchen, or helping clean the monstrous castle jaemin called home. 

“jaem!” you giggled happily when jaemin emerged from the library’s study. he looked tired. more tired than a 17 year old should be. dark circles contrasted his pale skin, and your hand automatically came up to rub at his slim cheeks. “you should get more rest.” you chided him.

“can’t.” jaemin responded curtly, removing your hands from his face. “i need to study.” 

"but you're always studying," you sighed. it shouldn't be this hard to spend time with your best friend, but you supposed it was one of the cons of befriending the second prince of your kingdom. 

"you don't understand, y/n! how could you? it's my duty to my family and my country to keep studying in case, heaven forbid, anything happens to doyoung hyung!" he snapped sharply at you, and though you knew he was clearly overstretched and stressed beyond anything you'd ever seen him (or didn't see him, he was always in the library nowadays anyway), you still took a step back and flinched away, hurt. jaemin stepped forward, mouth trying to form apologies. you shook your head, eyes glassy.

“don’t.” your voice was softer than expected. “i’ll.. i’ll leave you to it.” you ran off before jaemin could even react, wiping at your eyes. 

jaemin watched you go. he watched you leave, back retreating into the dark hallways. he felt bad, of course he did - jaemin would never snap at you for no good reason. the last time he actually wanted to hurt someone was when you came to him sobbing, one year ago. the memory was still fresh in jaemin’s mind. 

you supposed it could be you being too sensitive, but it was the toll the absence of jaemin took on you. sure, absence made the heart grow fonder, but it also did make cracks emerge in a friendship. you couldn’t see your cracks yet, but they’d emerge soon enough - it was the first time in so long you’d managed to talk to jaemin, and he’d just brushed you away brusquely. your hand raised to your eyes to wipe away the stray tears that had fallen. 

without looking where you were running, you’d bumped into something very solid. something very human. roughly, you placed your hands on said solid thing and pushed yourself away, speeding around the obstacle to the forest, tears still filling up your eyes. you didn’t blink them back - if you’d blinked, they were sure to have fallen out.

“y/n?” the very confused crown prince shouted out from somewhere behind you, “what’s going on?” and unbeknownst to you, his brother was soon to follow, brushing past him like he was invisible (last he checked, he wasn’t.) “jaemin?” the pair of you had left long before there was a chance to provide the prince with any of his requested answers, leaving a very confused doyoung standing in the middle of the hallway. sighing, doyoung brushed off his clothes. sometimes he didn’t know what he put up with you for. 

once you set foot into the forest, immediate regret almost washed over you. it started raining. not gently either, it came down in harsh droplets, hammering into your clothes, thoroughly soaking you to the bone. you shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, trying to bring warmth to yourself. it didn’t work, so you settled with standing under a tree in an attempt to stay out of the storm. you gazed up at the sky, wincing as thunder rumbled in the distance, reminding you of your fears. you wished with all your might that the storm would stop. it didn’t. of course it didn’t. why would it, it was nature, and nature didn’t listen to common people, only the gods above. “y/n? y/n! oh my god, y/n!” you heard a shout echo through the forest, and you shivered again. “there you are, do you know how long i’ve been looking for you?” jaemin accused, hands grabbing at your shoulders. you glared back, though it wasn’t threatening as you were shaking and shivering, teeth chattering. “you know it’s the rainy season and almost winter! what the fuck were you thinking?” jaemin huffed, but shrugged off his coat and draped it around your shoulders gently, concern making his eyebrows knit together.

“it was sunny before.” you protested, and jaemin exhaled, shaking his head with disappointment at your naive actions. 

“you should know the weather changes quickly,” jaemin retorted, and that shut you up. you knew the weather changed fast, but emotions took over you, just wanting to escape the castle jaemin called home. “we should find some shelter. i know there’s an old cottage somewhere, i just don’t know where.” jaemin sighed. 

you raised your eyebrows at him, “what, it wouldn’t be some strange warped hansel and gretel remix going on, would it? because we’re not smart enough to push witches into ovens.” jaemin smiled widely, chuckling at your small jab at yourself and him.

“no, it’s completely safe.” he assured you, grabbing your hand. jaemin nervously cleared his throat. “uh… i, i should apologize for earlier. it wasn’t right for me to snap at you.” you squeezed his hand gently.

“i know you’re stressed, it’s okay. i really should be more lenient.” you sighed, slightly disappointed in yourself for not understanding your best friend’s struggles. his hair was sticking to his forehead, yours similarly sticking you your arms and neck. 

“it’s just the expectations, you know. of my parents, of the people… of the country.” jaemin’s eyes widened in horror and fear, an expression that would be almost comical under different circumstances and whispered, “what if i have to rule the country one day?”

your friend blanched and you sighed, tightening your hold around him to anchor him to reality, “look, i’m not saying you’re incapable of doing it, but it’s really quite impossible that something were to happen to doyoung, so i don’t think you really have to worry about that too much. still, being royalty is probably way harder than i could imagine.”

his voice wistful, jaemin’s eyes shined with tears - or perhaps it was just the rain creating illusions. “sometimes i wish i were never born into royalty. but you know what, there’s pros and cons to everything, that’s just how life is. we get privileges, but we can’t have the best of both worlds. still,” he looked down at the wet ground, “every time i see children running about or playing with their friends in courtyards or in the streets, it makes me wish i had a childhood. makes me wish i had friends, and was allowed to play with them, to live a normal life. normal. what a beautiful word, really, and how ironic that millions of people would give anything to be a member of the royal family, while the second prince would do anything to get out of being one.”

there wasn’t very much to say, you thought, considering jaemin very rarely went into long, emotional speeches like this one. you’d never be able to understand, and you weren’t about to try. softly, so very softly, you whispered, “but you have me.” jaemin smiled softly, and slightly proudly at you. 

“yeah. yeah, i do.” and he did. he’s always had you, from the first day he sneaked into the kitchen for a taste of his birthday cake before he was supposed to, until- well, there isn’t an until if you’ll have his back forever, is there?

a cottage was beginning to come into view in the distance, a quaint little thing fit for no more than one person (or perhaps seven dwarves, no reference to snow white intended). the rain blurred your vision and wind whipped through your hair, but it was shelter, and so hand in hand, you ran towards it.

“to what honour do i owe the presence of the second prince at my humble abode?” a boy’s voice, sweet and melodic, came from behind you.

you jumped. “jaemin! i thought you said it was safe.” you hissed, clutching at jaemins arms. jaemin just shrugged. you sighed, keeping an eye on the strange boy. jaemin gripped your hand tighter, however.  

jaemin gestured vaguely around, staring at the auburn-haired boy with no small amount of skepticism, “i thought you’d be… older. like, an old lady.”

the boy scoffed. “who’s to say i’m not? witches don’t always have to be middle aged ladies with no fashion sense and even less hair. i’m donghyuck, by the way. come on in.” jaemin was still looking the boy up and down in curiosity, finally blurting out, “witches use umbrellas?”

“no, we’re waterproof,” donghyuck deadpanned, sarcasm filling his words.

“jaemin,” you frowned, “do you know him?” a quick shake of his head confirmed your suspicions. “then why,” you half-screeched into his ear, “do you assume he’s safe?”

“i’m not. i could turn you into a frog, if you want.” the boy suggested, waving a hand, making you flinch and jaemin move your smaller frame behind him. donghyuck moved a shoulder evenly up and down, “joking.” 

“that wasn’t funny!” you gasped. donghyuck moved his other shoulder up and down, doing a strange half-shrug again, “nobody gets my humour.” 

you followed him into the house, dripping water all over his doormat and the wooden planks of his floor, but not daring to move any further than that. donghyuck waved his hand, slamming the wooden door shut behind you and lighting the fire, “will the two of you stop looking so shocked? it’s not like i’m going to cook you for dinner, so why are you acting like you’ve never seen a witch before?”

“because we haven’t,” the note of childlike curiosity reappeared in jaemin’s voice, and you were glad his mind was taken off of his royal duties, “they were outlawed a long time ago.” “right,” donghyuck levitated a couple mugs of cocoa over to you, “i forgot, sorry.”

“so your existence is basically illegal, and yet you’re serving the prince of your kingdom hot chocolate in the middle of the thunderstorm like nothing’s wrong?” you sputtered in disbelief, though you didn’t actually splutter, of course; that was rather an expression authors liked using. “all in a day’s work,” donghyuck glanced at you again, “come in and stop dripping water on the mat. would you believe it, magically drying the mat is harder than magically drying the wood.” very honestly, you didn’t know what to make of that boy. 

you stood awkwardly, pressing yourself into jaemin’s side as you watched donghyuck bustle around his house, ironically not unlike an old lady. “so, ummm, could you show us some magic or something?”

“like drying our clothes,” jaemin added, motioning to the soaked fabric draped over his body.

“they’ll dry, just sit by the fireplace. in the meantime, i can show you a soulmate spell if you’d like to see it. it’s one of the easier and prettier spells, so i think you’d enjoy it, even if it’s highly unlikely it would work. soulmates are rare things, and even rarer are soulmates who discover each other and the fact that they are soulmates. so i’ll do it, but if you two don’t turn out to be soulmates, don’t be disappointed. if you do, there isn’t going to be a flash of golden light and a shower of sequins either, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“you’re saying like what would happen is one of us would die and suddenly come back to life.” you sarcastically commented, but eyes growing wide as the moon above when donghyuck looked around nervously. 

“well…” he started, but you held up a hand. 

“excuse me, what. come again?”

“let me just show you.” donghyuck sighed, and got up, grabbing a book from the large shelf pushed against the wall. he flipped through a few pages carefully, and let out a satisfied “ah,” when he found the correct page in the yellowing book. “the concept of soulmates hath been the strongest bond known to man since the beginnings of time. for the true blossoming of true love takes place when the eyes of soulmates transform into colours of the fall. time and time again, history older than anything thou or i could ever imagine hast proven that soulmates are rare, ones who know about them even more so. for thee, the pair who is reading this, thou art soulmates. it would be an insult to fate and everyone who cannot experience such a connection to not realise your feelings. thou hath one month to realize feelings or one half of the pair will be fated to a cruel ending. as mere mortals, we do not make the rules. nobody can help thee except the other, but fear not. you are soulmates. you have a bond. said bond shalt be enough, if thou realises it.” haechan read, rubbing the thin, old pages of the book between careful fingers. you glanced over at jaemin who was shifting his weight back and forth, not knowing where to put his feet. “so, basically,” donghyuck started, ignoring jaemin’s nervous state. “if your soulmate doesn’t acknowledge their feelings for you, or you don’t, one of you would basically die.” he shrugged. your mouth dropped open. how in the world was he so calm about it? “what the fuck? they could die?” jaemin seemed to share your sentiment.

“what is a fuck?” donghyuck furrowed his eyebrows together, evidently confused as to what this strange new word meant. jaemin faltered, taken aback, “wait, dude, you look like you’re, what, seventeen, and you have no idea what fuck means?” donghyuck looked at jaemin like he was an idiot, “never gotten the chance to interact with a lot of other seventeen year olds.” jaemin nodded solemnly, “can relate. only got this loser for a friend.” jaemin hooked a thumb in your direction. you rolled your eyes. 

“let us begin the spell! i feel like i’m conducting a child gender reveal party,” he exclaimed happily, rubbing his hands together with glee. you held up your hand.

“hold the fuck up, you’re not performing this spell! one of us could DIE!” you exclaimed.

“there’s the word fuck again. kinda catchy.” donghyuck tested it out under his breath. “any other new words?” he asked. jaemin opened his mouth, no doubt to actually teach donghyuck how to swear, and well, you weren’t exactly opposed to letting him, but not dying came higher than teaching people you just met how to swear on your priority list.

“don’t worry. there’s only a slight chance that you’re soulmates anyway, and it’s better to know than to remain in oblivion. i’m not kidding.” “ignorance is bliss?” you suggested, desperate to stop donghyuck. “no, y/n. i think… if we indeed are soulmates, we deserve to know. i want to at least know why i died if i do suddenly die.”

“i have heard of that saying, y/n, was it? say, can fuck be used as a noun, a verb or an adjective?” “any way you want,” jaemin grinned, “reality can be anything you wish it to be!” “sweet,” donghyuck plonked a cauldron of unknown origin onto the table, “i like that word already.”

pulling a ladle out of seemingly nowhere, donghyuck pointed said ladle at you, “what’s your favourite flower?” you stared at him blankly, “you need that for the spell? i don’t really have a preference.” donghyuck rolled his eyes, “no, i was just curious. if you’re interested, your aura says daisy and jaemin’s absolutely screams carnations. for the record, i have zero idea what those flowers mean, but who cares?” he waved an arm over the cauldron which then proceeded to bubble, pushing dandelions and carnations to the surface. white. all white. “pretty enough, i suppose. i don’t usually give my services discounted, so you can just teach me some new words and it’s a deal.”

as you thought back, you did have a small memory of making flower crowns with jaemin. you often made daisy crowns, while jaemin’s were, as far as you knew, carnations. they were always given to you, all his carnation-based flower accessories: crowns, necklaces, bracelets. 

you were jerked back to the present and away from distant memories as jaemin helpfully, or not so helpfully, instructed donghyuck on how to swear, “so, motherfucker is a noun. the verb equivalent is motherfucking, but that’s usually used as an adjective anyway. can also be shortened to mf. bitch is a more female-specific curse word since its original meaning was something along the lines of female dog.”

“i thought dogs were nice,” donghyuck pointed a finger aggressively at the bubbling liquid inside the cauldron, flowers obscuring most of its contents, “this always takes way too fucking long to boil so i can’t do anything. how perfectly bitchy of it.” jaemin’s face lit up with that mischievous smile you were so used to, “you’re a natural!” “why, thank you.” you had to be imagining things. either that, or your ears were waterlogged. shaking your head wildly, all you got was a headache, so no, your ears weren’t waterlogged. and so the two boys before you were complimenting each other casually on their ability to swear, even as one’s existence was against the law and the other was the prince of your kingdom. because that was not… strange. not strange at all.

“why don’t you teach him things like crap, hell and damn? why… fuck and bitch?” donghyuck had settled into an armchair by the fire, snapping his fingers every minute or so to keep the cauldron’s contents boiling, “you want to learn the interesting shit. like, you know, if i can learn shit and motherfucker then why am i learning crap and hell and damn? they sound lame compared to bitch, fuck and shit.” donghyuck shrugged, you sighed, and jaemin nodded like he’d birthed and raised donghyuck for seventeen years just for this moment. 

“i mean, my parents don’t let me curse, but it’s fun to see them mad sometimes.” jaemin shrugged. you shook your head at the boy next to you (we shall omit the fact that he learnt half his curse words from you, and the other half from the legendary crown prince’s speech in which he accidentally swore half a dozen times in front of the whole nation. doyoung got grounded, but it made jaemin, and by extension you, developed a heck of a lot more respect for him.) you watched quietly as the two boys exchanged details about their lives and excitedly swore together. unconsciously, you started shivering again, your clothes still not quite dry. jaemin noticed, and picked up the blanket laid across his lap, wrapping it around your shoulders, making sure the blanket was secure around you before turning back to donghyuck. you learnt he also liked to be called haechan or hyuck, lived out here all his life, and didn’t know much about the kingdom from having to stay hidden from the world. jaemin’s expression held a hint of guilt, knowing that he was a member of the family that had caused huyck's plight.

“ooh! the spell is done!” hyuck clapped, and scrambled to his feet, once again doing the weird shrug thing, skipping over to the cauldron. his hair bounced and jaemin snickered while you quieted him. you shrank back into the couch as the sounds from the caldron became louder and donghyuck’s eyes started to sparkle. jaemin grabbed your hand, palms slightly sweaty. donghyuck peered into the large metal bowl, and smiled. his smile made you a bit uneasy. 

“ready?” he asked the two of you, and jaemin nodded while you hesitated. 

“yes.” 

nothing happened for a moment and haechan waved his hands over the flower-filled water, mumbling some ancient words. you watched, eyes wide, as the water came out in a stream, winding around the circumference of the small cottage, and then around you and jaemin’s hands. you gasped, as the water was ice cold though it was boiling just moments ago. a daisy settled on jaemins wrist, wrapping around it tightly. a carnation wrapped around your finger, like it’s own special promise to you. jaemin frowned.

“is that supposed to mean something?” he asked, tugging at the flower. it didn’t move or tear. haechan eyes doubled in size as his eyes zeroed in on the flowers. 

“you’re… you’re soulmates.” 

jaemin stood there in shock, and shook his head. “no way. we’re best friends.” he protested. your heart was slightly crushed, as you liked him for a few months now. who wouldn’t? “we can’t be soulmates. no way.” he shook his head again, as if to clear away the water clogging his ears. you let go of jaemin’s hand. your heart was hammering, matching the raindrops that pelted to the ground.

“are.. are you sure?” you asked, voice wavering. haechan nodded. your hands were shaking now, and jaemin was ignoring you. “can i… may i lie down?” you asked, twirling a finger around your long strands of hair. donghyuck nodded, pointing you to what you assumed to be his room. as you slipped off, you heard jaemin and donghyuck whisper something together.

the next few days you didn’t see much of jaemin, only when he came out of the library to get food. even those days were rare, as he often ate in there, or brought his lunch in during the morning. and each day, jaemins face looked more and more pale. the flowers had vanished, though they left marks on where they rested just a week ago. you cast a glance down the empty hallway to the library, feet hesitating. you made up your mind, pushing open the large oak doors and… found jaemin passed out on the ground. 

you gasped, rushing over and checking his temperature. it was abnormally normal, though he was sweating. you called a maid over, and soon you found yourself in the hospital wing. how were you going to break it to his parents that their younger son was sick because you two were soulmates. the thought itself was ridiculous.

“is jaemin okay?” well, fuck you, he’s obviously not. an undertone of worry was detected from the trained calmness of doyoung’s voice. the king and queen had yet to arrive, and doyoung stood behind you, hand resting on your shoulder in a slightly failed attempt to calm you. quick breaths left you, panic filling your mind and cluttering your lungs. the crown prince patted at your shoulder awkwardly, turning to leave as he couldn’t really do much. besides, it was fairly obvious the two of you needed to be alone.

as the day faded into night, jaemin was still, not moving as you watched him, hands grasping at your hair. this was all your fault. no, it was that bitch of a witch named donghyuck. he cast the spell. you wanted to blame jaemin for not accepting that you were soulmates, and now he was going to die because of it. 

obviously, you hadn’t had a soulmate before. but you could sense it, you knew that no matter what jaemin had done, you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him. to love so hard you’re falling, but you know you’re flying. you’re not there yet, definitely not. there was an inkling of the possibility of that happening, though. you barely blamed jaemin for everything (which was mostly his fault anyway), and staring at the pale complexion of the boy in front of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay angry. you slipped your hand into his (see? can’t help it. this was all because you were soulmates, and totally not because you just wanted to.), and as storybook-esque as it was, it felt so right. a maid brought you dinner, but you couldn’t bring yourself to scoop the rice and noodles into your mouth. your stomach was protesting, but you didn’t care, resting your head on your arm, you clutched jaemin’s hand tightly. tears pricked at your eyes, and this time, you didn’t stop them. 

doyoung came by again in the morning and found you awake, dark blue and purple eyebags obnoxiously present. “have you been here the whole night?” you stretched, not letting go of jaemins limp hand, back aching from the uncomfortable position you were in for the whole night.

“is there a wrong answer?” you asked, yawning as you spoke. doyoung sighed, rubbing at his temples. 

“he’ll survive, y/n. it’s just sickness. we have the best doctor-”

“it’s not just a sickness!” you snapped, fire igniting in your stomach, the need to protect haechan slowly shrinking. you found yourself telling the oldest prince everything from getting caught in the rain, jaemin having a breakdown, the walk in the woods, to finding the cottage, and even the witch you encountered, though his existence was very much illegal. doyoung listened. he listened to every word, and nodded along, though his eyes were slowly going from panicked to angry.

“so, you found a witch, donghyuck, was it?” you nodded in confirmation, death gripping jaemin’'s hand. if he ever woke up he would for sure scold you for making his dominant hand ache. “he cast a soulmate spell, and jaemin didn’t accept. so now the gods are punishing him?” you nodded again. doyoung sighed, rubbing at his temples again. you watched anxiously, worried for donghyuck’s safety.

“could you get donghyuck to come here?” doyoung asked. that is not what you were expecting. blinking nervously, you nodded. you remembered the path jaemin took, right? if not, you could just shout. 

“do you promise not to kill him? or like, arrest him? he’s an annoying motherfucker, but i think jaemin would be sad if you did,” you inhaled. doyoung nodded with a perfectly straight face. “he could turn you into a frog.” you added, deciding to trust him. doyoung looked a bit shocked, but you reluctantly stood up. “i’ll be back.” you whispered to jaemin, leaving doyoung to look after his brother. 

setting off in the woods alone was scarier than you thought. shivering, you really wished you had jaemin in that moment. really wished. the sooner you got to donghyuck, the sooner he would be better, right? wrong.

“what do you mean you can’t remove the spell?” you shrieked, panic filling you once again. donghyuck looked sorrowful, and doyoung was standing with his arms crossed off in the corner. 

“i can’t, i’m sorry, y/n. jaemin has to realize he loves you for the sickness to go away. and either way, all my spell did was prove that the two of you were soulmates. the sickness stems from the heavens” 

“i have to what?” jaemin’s voice cracked slightly from not using it for the past few days. “jaemin!” you practically sobbed, hand clenching around his fingers from where you’d reached for them unknowingly. he squeezed back weakly, coughing. “what do i have to do?” 

“realize you love y/n.” haechan said simply. 

“i don’t think it works like that!” your voice came out slightly higher than usual, laughing nervously to stop jaemin from feeling uncomfortable. he had to, love didn’t work as such. you just didn’t decide to go, ‘okay today i have decided i love y/n!’ jaemin looked at donghyuck with visible confusion. all haechan offered was a half shrug in return. 

“what happens if i don’t?” jaemin whispered. haechan glanced at doyoung, nervous that someone so high and regal was standing in the same room as him - jaemin didn’t count, seeing as he’d spent the first hour of knowing hyuck teaching him to swear, and he wasn’t the crown prince anyway - if he did or said the wrong thing, he would definitely get executed. 

“we’ll get there when we get there. how long does he have?” doyoung asked. you gripped jaemin’s hand tighter, nervous of the answer. “it… depends?” donghyuck offered. doyoung scowled. “very helpful.” “i’m sorry, i’ve never had to deal with this kind of fuckery before,” donghyuck waved his hands around, “okay, swear i’m not doing magic, but i really didn’t cause any of this. okay. maybe a bit. but it would have happened anyways.” your eyebrow lifted. 

“what do you mean, anyways?” jaemin asked, frowning.

“the soulmate spell only helps the soulmates find each other. and gets the show on quicker, but a year from now, the same thing would’ve happened.” haechan explained, still waving a hand. doyoung’s eyebrows knitted together. “so, jaemin and y/n should spend as much time together as they can.” hyuck concluded. 

“and die faster?” jaemin snarled. haechan shook his head quickly, eyes straying to the other royal member in the room.

“no, if you spend more time together, then it’ll slow down until you realise you’re in love. usually, you get only a week, but if you spend every day together, it’s up to… a month?” haechan shrugged, letting the slightest hint of resentment slip into his voice, “maybe i’d know better if i actually could come out of hiding to be taught by more experienced witches. my work here seems to be done anyway, adios!” it was like donghyuck was born to be a showman. he ripped the curtains off and disappeared under them with a flash, letting the rich fabric settle slowly to the ground. doyoung sighed. 

“well, you guys heard what he said. spend as much time together as you can.” doyoung shrugged. “and jaemin, try not to die.” doyoung added, a small smile playing at his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. jaemin nodded, head thrown back onto the plush pillows. you frowned, jaemin usually loved to hang out with you. something definitely changed over the last few weeks.

try not to die, he said. well, you were definitely dying inside. and jaemin wasn’t getting any better, coughing, occasional throwing up, and sneezing. he barely could keep his food down, let alone sit up without any help. it worried you. it worried you a lot more than you let on. to say things were awkward was putting it lightly. everyone avoided the two of you, seeing the tension held over your and jaemin’s heads. you started to get fed up after a few days. 

“what happened? aren’t you supposed to be with jaemin?” doyoung asked as you stormed downstairs. 

“he’s not talking to me. what’s the harm in taking a small break?” you exhaled, running a hand through your now messy hair. doyoung frowned, the worry lines creasing his forehead. “don’t worry, i’m going back to the ward in half an hour. it’s just so… infuriating.” you ranted to the crown prince, resting your head on the stairwell railing. doyoung had stopped you half way down the stairs. “we’re soulmates for god's sake! can’t he just… talk to me? when did he start to see me as a bother? when did he… start to hate me? it’s like we never were friends. i miss him, doyoung. i miss my best friend. i miss his smile, his laugh, his weird antics, i miss my jaemin.” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes for the third time today. jaemin being sick and ignoring you while, quite literally, on his deathbed did not help. especially since you two were soulmates. 

“when did you start to fall in love with him?” doyoung questioned softly. you thought for a moment. when did you truely start to love jaemin? not in the rain. not when you had your first fight when you saw him. no, it started a while ago. when jaemin started to grow up. when you stopped making flower jewelry and when he started to give you real gems. when? you weren’t exactly sure. maybe you always loved him. maybe he always loved you. but when would he figure that out? doyoung just nodded, understanding your confused gaze, unfocused and misty-eyed. he stood up, brushing his black slacks and deep red shirt. “give him a bit. jaemin is a bit slow with these kinds of things.” you only nodded in response, mindlessly walking back to the ward jaemin was residing in. 

jaemin still was not getting any better the next few days. he still refused to talk to you, only nodding or rolling his eyes as a response to you trying to start to converse. you were starting to lose hope. 

you were surprised to see him lying on the cold tiled ground. 

“jaemin, why are you on the ground? you should be in bed. it’s cold out.” you scolded, moving towards him. jaemin held up a hand, draping his hands over his stomach.

“the floor is nice and cold,” he uttered, sighing with relief as the tile cooled his sweaty body down. you frowned, huffing. jaemin, once again, did not listen.

“the ground is dirty. i can turn down the heat-” jaemin cut you off. 

“shut up! i’m dying, i don’t care if the ground is dirty!” jaemin hissed, and you backed up, saddened by his tone. jaemin didn’t notice, too busy coughing into his elbow to notice your state.

“you’re not going to die,” you whispered, and jaemin moved his elbow away. “you’re not. i refuse to let you. i don’t care if you don’t love me right now, but you’re my soulmate, jaemin. soulmate. do you know how many people wish to have soulmates? jaemin, i’ve been by your side since we were in diapers. we played in the mud together. we got in trouble together. we did everything together,  jaemin. i watched you grow up. i watched you become more responsible. i watched, and i waited for you to confess. but you never did, so now you’re sick, and it’s all your fault. don’t push the blame on me, on donghyuck, or on anyone. this is on you. if you want to sit here and wallow in your self-pity, go ahead. i’m tired, jaemin. i tried to give you time, but you only have three weeks left. i don’t…” you choked on your words. “i don’t know what i’ll do if you ever die suddenly.” you whispered, backing out of the door. jaemin struggled to his feet, but you were already gone, ends of your hair and dress flowing behind you. 

he stared at the empty spot where you’d been just moments before, feeling the same emptiness in his heart. bitterness welled up from within him. he wasn’t that dumb either, but love just didn’t work that way. just because some spell told you that you were soulmates didn’t necessarily mean that with a magical click of your fingers you’d stare into each others eyes and sappily declare your everlasting love.

doyoung stepped out from nowhere, looking around with a confused expression, “where’s y/n? i swear i saw her here just a few minutes ago.”

“hey, hyung.” doyoung hummed in response. jaemin sat up with some difficulty, holding a hand up to stop doyoung from trying to help him, “what if this sickness has got nothing to do with the soulmate fuckery? what if i just, uh, have the plague or something?”

“have the plague or something,” doyoung drawled sarcastically, “the last time the plague was going around was, like, a hundred years ago.” jaemin winced.

“or maybe i have cancer.”

“or maybe,” doyoung narrowed his eyes at his brother, “you’re just being a fatheaded dick who can’t come to terms with the fact that you’re soulmates with your best friend, and have to realise your love for each other so you don’t suddenly stop breathing!” doyoung stalked out of the room without a single word, pausing to seemingly contemplate whether slamming the (very heavy) oak door would help prove his point. he very intelligently settled on just stamping his foot. it made him look like a child, but jaemin hadn’t seen doyoung this upset in a while. and frankly, it got him thinking a bit. 

you walked into the hospital wing as usual without greeting jaemin. it wasn’t like you got a reply anyway. “hey,” the prince offered as you took up your usual spot by his bed with a book, a clear indication that you didn’t want conversation. 

your eyebrows twitched a little. granted, you weren’t expecting him to say anything, but it must be a testament to your friendship if your little blow up had at least gotten jaemin to think a little. you stared pointedly down at the book you didn’t even know the title of.

“y/n.” still no response. “you’re holding the book upside down,” jaemin sighed.

furious with yourself, you flipped the book the right side up again, “you don’t want to talk to me. stop forcing yourself to.”

“i do want to talk to you, okay? i don’t particularly want to die either, the soulmates idea is just hard to stomach.”

“what, does loving me sound so bad? am i so unlovable?” you slammed your book closed, trying not to choke on the shower of dust that came with it. logically, you shouldn’t be getting mad. jaemin was just trying to make things better, but he sounded so forced. “you sound so forced to do this, jaemin.”

“oh, are you getting mad at me now? you were sad because i wasn’t talking to you, and now you’re mad because i am! what the fuck am i supposed to do?” jaemin glared at you from underneath the covers, “i’m trying, okay? i thought you said you didn’t want me to die!”

“i don’t want you to die!” you hissed back at him, tears springing to your eyes again.

“are you crying again? if every time we talk you get that sad, then maybe you should just let me die!”

you dusted yourself off and ran out of the room, not even bothering to give jaemin an answer. why didn’t he get it? it’s not that hard to understand! (when else but) on your way out, you bumped into (who else but) doyoung, crying (what else but) angry tears. again. you really had to stop doing that.

to nobody in particular, doyoung whispered, “why are they so angsty?”

“we need to talk,” doyoung declared the moment he walked into the room in one of the pockets of time that you weren’t in it. jaemin looked up from the extremely interesting loose thread on his blanket and nodded, “what about?”

“y/n.”

jaemin’s expression darkened in a nanosecond. “no,” he practically growled, “not her again. i can figure this out myself, doyoung hyung! you don’t have to help me.”

“if you can figure this out yourself, the two of you wouldn’t be the embodiment of every sad angsty book ever written.”

“it’s our way of coping with things.” the words sounded fake even to jaemin’s own ears.

“no,” doyoung deadpanned, “don’t fuck around with me.” he hissed, “you know she cries every time you give her unwanted insults. let’s count how many times i ran into her, sometimes quite literally, in the hallway with her crying. one, the day you two got lost in the woods. two, when you were passed out and unresponsive, three, a few days after you woke up and weren’t talking to her, four, literally yesterday after you basically told her she was unlovable.” doyoung held up his fingers mockingly and it felt like jaemin had just been slapped in the face. “four times, na jaemin. four times you fucked up, four times y/n felt worthless, four times more than needed. four times. thats more than anything that happened in the last 16 years of your friendship. four times in less than a month. get your shit together, jaemin.” doyoung snapped, and spun around on his heel. jaemin felt like everyone was against him at this point. 

a week passes and hey, what did you know? some improvement was showing. you and jaemin could hold, an (albeit very awkward, but still) a conversation. it was a relief to you, but you were slightly suspicious of him. jaemin still couldn’t look you in the eyes, glancing away or inspecting his nails. but you couldn’t ask anymore of him, he went from straight out ignoring you, to asking how your day went. jaemin sent you a small smile, fiddling in his seat. 

“how… how are you?” jaemin asked, glancing at your features shyly. you smiled, though it felt more forced than genuine. 

“i’m good. have you been getting better?”

“well, you know. not really,” jaemin shrugged, not looking at you, “it hasn’t been getting worse either, though.”

you ignored the way jaemin was pointedly avoiding your gaze and offered a half smile you didn't really mean, “the weather isn’t very good today, is it?” the weather hadn’t been really good for the past week or so. even if you weren’t spending every waking (and sleeping) moment by jaemin’s side, you wouldn’t have been able to go out of the castle. the relentless rain pouring down on the windows made sure of that.

“y/n, i still think we have to talk.” jaemin’s expression turned serious, “i know i’ve been a dick these few weeks, and i’m not even going to try excusing myself for that. but i want you to know that no matter what, i still treasure you a lot as my best friend. i think i just need time - okay, admittedly we haven’t got very much of that left, about a week and a half or so, but i struggle with feelings. i really struggle a lot and it’s overwhelming and i miss you so much, i miss talking to you not-awkwardly and i want our old relationship back.”

you promised yourself you weren’t going to cry again, because god knows you’ve cried too much. “okay then,” you laughed lightly, “if you’re going to make this a deep sentimental talk, just know that i’m willing to wait for you for as long as you need. sadly this isn’t up to me.”

jaemin remained silent for a bit, taking in what you just said. when he spoke again, you were shocked. “do you think i love you?”

you cocked your head, “what i think doesn’t matter. the question is what do you think?”

“i want to know what you think.”

knowing he wasn’t going to let you go until you told him so, you sighed, “i think you do.”

“platonically or romantically?”

“my father wants my help in the kitchens, your highness. i’ll see you later.”

it was raining again, and you didn’t show up in his room like normal. jaemin was worried, and he got out of his bed clumsily, grabbing a cane, which he winced at. he looked like an old man with it. drawing back the heavy velvet curtains, the glass of his widow was covered in water droplets, all racing to the window sill. jaemin spotted you running around the courtyard, mouth open with a muted laugh and eyes sparkling even though you were soaked to the skin. jaemin found himself smiling, watching you with fond eyes. his senses kicked in, and he realized. he was truly, and utterly, with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body, in love with you. with his best friend. with the person who stuck by him all these years. who loved all his flaws and imperfections. he, na jaemin, second prince in line, never to sit on the throne (he didn’t mind that part), was in love with you. a cook's daughter, a commoner, but most importantly, his soulmate. 

when you came inside, your teeth were chattering and you were shivering all over, but it was the happiest you’d felt in a while. nothing was better than dancing in the rain, really, except dancing in the rain with jaemin. that now… that was a hundred times better, but na jaemin was sick, so you’d have to forgo that. practically waltzing into jaemin’s room, you grinned at him, your good mood making you forget all the awkwardness. he was just your best friend, your best friend of so many years. awkwardness who?

“jaems!” it might have been the prior realization of love making jaemin completely disregard any tension that might have been between the two of you earlier, but he grinned back at you just as happily as you’d greeted him, “y/n!” he frowned, pretending he hadn’t been watching you from his window just a few minutes prior because that was borderline creepy, “why are you all wet?”

“i danced in the rain. oh god, jaemin, do you remember that time when we were dancing together in the rain and then decided to use a banana leaf as an umbrella but we got wet anyway? and then-” 

“and then,” jaemin picked up seamlessly from where you left off, the grin not disappearing, “doyoung hyung came to check on us because he was scared we’d catch colds from running around in the rain all day. then we slipped and fell into the mud, splashing him all over.”

you laughed, a light tinkling sound that reminded jaemin again of why he loved you, “i swear the mud mask made his skin better.”

jaemin practically screeched with laughter, “you mean you’ve been looking at my brother’s skin?”

the overwhelming love and affection you felt for your best friend in that moment, both platonically and romantically, made you throw your arms around him, instantly soaking him through with your wet clothes. somehow, the two of you ended up sprawled on his bed. 

“you know what? i love you.” jaemin sighed, snuggling into your embrace. your ears burned red. 

“you.. you what?” you asked timidly. you really hoped jaemin said what you thought he said. jaemin smiled, leaning back more, adjusting the position the two of you were in. you now were snuggled into his chest, sighing as you felt your eyelids droop. jaemin chuckled lowly, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“i’ll be here when you wake up.” he whispered softly. you fell asleep, mind calm for once. 

“jaemin- okay, you can explain why y/n’s soaking your bedsheets through and the both of you are completely drenched in rainwater first,” doyoung arched an eyebrow, “have y’all finally gotten your shit together?”

“i think i love her, hyung,” jaemin’s arm curled protectively around you, “really.”

doyoung clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval, “you think? be sure of it, jaems. i’ve practically raised the two of you and watched you grow up, and now you say you only think you love her?”

“i love her.” jaemin struggled to hold back the laugh that was threatening to spill out of his chest. “i love her!” he repeated again, louder this time. seeing the finger doyoung had to his lips, he quietened down to prevent waking you up, “thank you, hyung. for knocking some sense into me.”

doyoung smiled, “anytime. it’s my job, after all. now, i think you two need some alone time. see you at dinner, i truly doubt you’ll still be sick.”

you were awakened by the sound of the door closing. rubbing your eyes tiredly, you looked around, disoriented, “did someone come in?”

“it’s nothing, y/n. just a servant. sleep, i love you.”

you yawned, “i love you too.” and you snuggled back under the covers with him, acting like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

“hey,” jaemin whispered in your ear, waking you up gently, “i hate to have to wake you up, but dinner’s in a few. my parents want to see you too, apparently.”

you blinked the sleep away from your eyes, looking at his smiling face. waking up to jaemin’s smile was something you could get used to, you thought. “what?”

“i said, we have to go get ready for dinner. you too, yes, main banquet hall, my parents want to see you.”

your mouth dropped open, all thoughts of sleep gone, “i don’t have clothes suitable for a fancy dinner!”

“oh yes you do. wear that yellow dress with the sunflowers.”

“is that formal enough?”

“y/n, like, you’ve literally talked to my parents so many times. they watched you grow up. they’re not so different from doyoung and i.”

“but this is the first time meeting them as your girlfriend!” oh god, did you really just say that? you cringed inwardly. you hadn’t even put a label on the relationship yet. rushing to make amends, you stuttered out, “soulmate. i mean soulmate.”

“you’ve always been my soulmate. as for girlfriend, well, you can be if you want to, but we have explaining to do. now move! the entire bed is wet!”

with strength a sick person shouldn’t possess, jaemin threw you out of his bed playfully. you looked up in shock and happiness, “you’re well again! you’re not sick anymore!”

jaemin grinned down at you from his bed, “we realised our love. see you in twenty, adios, au revoir, zaijian, sayonara!” yelling at the top of his lungs, he pushed you out of his room and slammed the door, and you honestly couldn’t care less. you were flying (figuratively, of course), drunk on the sentiments of finally realising your feelings for your best friend and soulmate.

growing up in the castle had taught you some things about manners, especially when the queen insisted you attend some etiquette lessons together with jaemin (to keep him in check, she’d said). dropping into a deep curtsey in front of the royal family, you rose again when the king placed a warm hand on your shoulder, “get up, y/n. we’re all family here, there’s not need for such formalities. you never really did those before either.”

“i was eight and didn’t know much about manners,” you protested lightly as he steered you into your seat beside jaemin, then taking his own at the head of the table - the king’s seat.

you ate in silence and as fast as you could without being rude. nobody made a move to break the silence, so you sat and waited until the last of the plates had been cleared away by the servants, then leaned forward, “if it isn’t rude to ask, may i know why i’ve suddenly been called here for dinner?”

the queen smiled kindly at you, “of course not, dear. well, today we have two announcements to make, one of which concerns you.” she glanced at the king, who inclined his head at her with a smile as if to say “the floor is all yours, dear.” the queen turned back to you, and seeing the dying rays of last light hit her face, you were again reminded of how beautiful the queen was. “firstly, about doyoung. now, we all know that my dear son here is turning twenty one in a month’s time and has finished his education. and so, doyoung, my son, your father has decided to pass on the kingdom to you. the announcement to the people will happen in a few days’ time, if you agree, and the coronation shall be held on your birthday. you are a much beloved crown prince, and i am sure the news of your coronation will delight the kingdom. i do hope you accept. so,” she practically glowed with pride, staring at the shell-shocked prince, “do you?”

“it would be an honor, mother. but didn’t father say he enjoyed being king?” doyoung, the rightful heir to the throne and the one who’d been trained for this his entire life, looked shocked, to say the least. you couldn’t blame him; it must’ve felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“your mother and i have long been dreaming of a proper honeymoon in the carribean. away from the eyes of the public,” his father’s voice boomed encouragingly.

“then yes, i accept,” doyoung’s eyes were shining with tears and you really hoped he wasn’t about to cry. knowing him, once he started crying, he wouldn’t stop and that would really… kill the mood. 

“cheers to king doyoung,” jaemin raised his glass of juice (seventeen is not of a legal age to consume alcohol) to the sky, looking elated for his brother, “and for heaven’s sake, king doyoung, don’t cry!”

doyoung sniffled a little, holding his own goblet of wine to his brother’s, “i won’t cry! thank you so much!”

“congratulations,” you grinned at doyoung, who’d been just as much your elder brother all these years as he’d been jaemin’s. just in the past month, he’d slapped the two of you so hard to get your shit together, and he should honestly be crowned fairy godmother of the year. except that he wasn’t old, didn’t have white hair pulled up into a bun, and (sadly) didn’t own wings.

“now for our second announcement. doyoung’s explained everything to us already, i hope you don’t mind.” doyoung grinned guiltily at you over the table - honestly! like he’d done anything wrong! “you’re obviously too young for marriage, but y/n, your parents, whom i’ve just talked to, and us - we give you all our blessings. let this relationship prosper!”

jaemin squeezed your hand in his assuringly with a victorious smile like he’d known all along that this would’ve happened. you choked back a sob of your own, “thank you! thank you so much.”

“we’ve never known that soulmates existed, but now that we do know, there isn’t a truer pair than you and y/n,” she addressed jaemin, “treat her well.”

“i swear, mother, you love her more than you love me,” jaemin half-groaned, ignoring his mother’s angelic smile and reply (“i do not! i merely prefer to be around her.”)

“to the new king and couple!” jaemin’s father raised his goblet for another cheer, and you downed your drink in one gulp. tilting your head to grin at jaemin, you thought there really couldn’t be any happier moment in the world.

©danishmiilk, 2020. ©astroboy-lele, 2020.

#kdinerdanceoff20 #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x reader #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream #nct #na jaemin #jaemin

[izukult]

及川 - oikawa toru | well, this is getting out of hand

my second post in my collab with @chubbybunny111 called ‘well, this is getting out of hand’!! find the masterlist for our lil valentine event here ! can be read in the series or separate! it’s just about hands & makeup baby

warnings: swearing like once, toru is toru, my writing choices🤨

you often think oikawa toru is too loud. he’s brash, aggressive and annoying and childish. you sometimes wonder if he thinks the same things about himself. a huff leaves his lips, and no matter how much you know it’s coming you can never prepare yourself for the tinge of a whine in his voice.

“c’mon y/n-chan! please? who would make a better model than me?”

“anyone.” he was quick to shoot you a glare, eyes narrowing at you.

“oh, i understand.” you also think oikawa is too confident, sometimes especially where confidence isn’t due. “you think i’m pretty enough already and i don’t need makeup. well, i’m flattered, really.”

“uh huh.” he groaned, and you think you reached a personal achievement by not staring when he tilted his head back in annoyance.

“who would’ve thought my own partner- my other half- could be so cruel.” you cracked a grin at that, eyes rolling as a noise of disgust left your lips.

“other half? call me that again and you’re single, toru.” it was almost always easy to tell what he would do next. the way he presents himself is transparent to anyone who looked hard enough, predictable and repeatable. but, you still laughed at his gasp.

sometimes, you think oikawa is simple. a textbook ‘love and be loved, give and get given’ case. he’s routine in the way he exhibits himself.

“i’ll do your makeup, you big crybaby.” it could be argued that you’re simple, too. it was an unspoken rule between you two, not to call what the other was really thinking unless it was necessary. the same way you knew his face would light up, he knew you would say yes. “go lay down.”

you hate how pretty he looks when he sits down; but it’s even worse when he lays flat on his back and sprawls his arms out by his sides.

and you can’t help but think how unfair it is that you’re in this position, as you move to gingerly sit on top of him. your knees support you on either sides of his torso, and your breath gets caught in your throat at his smile.

oikawa toru is too smug, exasperatingly theatric in everything he does— and it drags everything to him and with him and from him.

you’re ashamed at how quickly your eyes move to his face; you’re not surprised that his eyes are already on yours.

you lifted a hand to brush hair briefly from his eyes, while his own moved to settle on your hip. you can’t tell who will break first, split the silence between you two with another false display of self.

he was quiet as you brought out your brushes, but his touch was so loud. you glanced down (a mistake if you’ve ever made one), eyes briefly zeroing in on the veins in his arms, prominent and pretty, guiding down to your skin.

you couldn’t help but guess how long it would take for you to both stop being so afraid. you figured it wouldn’t be soon at how fast your heart started racing when he hummed, his eyes closing as you lightly moved your brush up, painting his cheekbones with blush.

“you’re right, you should’ve been doing this the whole time,” your body was slanted, any and all core strength you had working at keeping yourself in a moderately upright position.

it was hard to be around toru, none the less when his thumb was circling your hip bone. your eyes moved from his cheeks to his arms (like always), down to his hand.

his fingers were worn, exhausted and strong from years of volleyball. his skin was rough, but he always touched you so soft. he often let out little glimpses of himself in his fists, displayed bits and pieces of his personality in the way he moved them.

your eyes traced the veins, effortlessly following every line to its starting point. his fingers bent as he carefully gripped your side, the action a quiet declaration of love.

you sighed quietly, reaching back into your bag to grab a small tube. you leaned back down over him, chest adjacent with his as you focused your attention back to his face. you squinted, opening the cap and bringing the soft lip tint to his mouth.

“stay still,” the order was delayed, pointless after you’d already started applying it.

maybe this is why you hadn’t wanted to do this. your heart ached as you pulled back, overwhelmed with how ethereal he felt.

“wow,” you barely uttered it, accidental and quiet and untouched by insecurity.

“that good, huh?” toru had a warped sense of humor, you judged at the joking in his tone, because it was that fucking good. your nod was short and sweet, cherishing him the best it could. maybe you weren’t simple. maybe you couldn’t wrap your head around your feelings for toru because they were the only simple thing in your life.

your hip felt heavy when he moved his hand from it to take the lip tint from you. his free one found its place on your cheek, his palm opening perfectly to fit the curvature of your jaw. his silence was melodic as he copied your actions from earlier, staining your own lips with the color.

“now we match.” you turned your head, pressing a delicate kiss to the pad of his hand— or maybe his hand was the delicate one.

“now we match.” you repeated him, smile evident in your voice. oikawa toru was complex, you decided. a paradox between flamboyant and restrained, and you wondered when the presentation stopped and he started. you had to assume he was scared, too, with the way he held you in such fragile contempt.

your hand traced what your eyes had earlier until you found his, lightly pushing the lipstick from his fingers, replacing it with your smaller ones. your gaze fixated on how nice they looked together— matching. and you couldn’t help but think maybe that’s how you two looked, as you sat in the quiet of oikawa toru.

taglist: @nachotrash @itsmeaudrieee @snoozless

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa #oikawa toru #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #well this is getting out of hand #ramsey and bunny work #oikawa fluff #oikawa imagines #oikawa drabble #oikawa hcs #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles

[freeseafirefly]

Ob[li]vious (RinHaru fanfic)

Since I'm back to the fandom after a 7-years-hiatus (not that i ever stopped loving these idiots) and have just learned some exiting things like a new movie coming out on the date Harurinralia episode aired, RinHaru advertizing Tokyo Olympics merch etc, you can imagine what an emotional mess I am rn. Also, i've rewatched the anime and read some things i haven't yet read (like Season 1 novel), and all the feels are so fresh as if i'm back to 2014 T_T Thank you, Free!, for being my time machine. Thank you, RinHaru fandom, for being strong over the years, I love you all sfm T_T

Anyway, there's probably tons of RinHaru Olympics fanfiction (gonna catch up on it), but I couldn't help it once my head started imagining this. It's nothing much, no plot and non-native engrish, but i want to contribute something to this fandom, too. Also, it's probably a parallel universe cause it's Sydney Olympics. Idk. I just wanted it all in one :)

Read on AO3 or under the cut

“Haru…!” Rin chokes out as he claps his hand against the wall and watches the familiar slender shape cleave the air over his head, all in one heartbeat that seems like eternity.

It’s the same as in elementary school. The same as in the second grade of high school. As in a number of dreams Rin had over the years. The same, yet much, much louder.

...The crowds on the stadium lose their minds as Haru slices his way through to the end of the pool, a ferocious underwater lightning that seems to warp space and time themselves, and the moment he touches the wall the world goes white with noise.

Shining.

It’s the shining of the Olympic Gold.

Rin drifts back to reality, at least some limited version of it, to the feeling of Haru's body crushing against his in a stormy hug, and they're both screaming, God knows what, just as the rest of their relay team and the Olympic Sydney and probably the whole freaking world right now.

And Rin can almost process it, flashing before his eyes in an almost coherent sequence of images: years of ups and downs—Haru—their best team—his father’s proud shadow—Haru’s laughter—Japanese flags everywhere— But for an endless moment, the spinning world freezes, and it’s only him and Haru. Alone. They’re together in this place of dreams, right on the spot where Haru broke out of his shell and found his passion, eyes shining and wings unfurled; and Rin can barely breathe as he squeezes him in return, something irrepressible exploding in his chest. And Haru laughs , all tears and sweat and dripping water that leave a salty taste on Rin’s lips because at this moment, it seems only natural to press a kiss to the side of Haru’s neck and then breathe out: “We did it, Haru! We fucking did it...!”

He doesn't think about how gay it must look, and he doesn't have the time to, actually, because the next moment the world picks up full speed, and it's not just him and Haru but their whole team in a jumbled heap of dorks going nuts on the poolside because they have the fucking right.

~

The locker room is a mess, too. They sing and shout something jolly and off-key and victorious, kiss their gold medals, drink non-alcoholic beer because some of the guys still have races tomorrow, but Rin is still drunk and he can’t quite feel the ground under his feet. They have to sober up a bit for some government officials to congratulate them on the phone with high words about the honor of Japan and the historical achievement; then for the press to ask them some obligatory, obvious things. What do you mean what I’m feeling right now? I am HAPPY! What? Me kissing Haru? Of course I would kiss him all over again because WE FUCKING DID IT! Hey, Haru! But Haruka is not by his side as he’s probably answering some stupid questions, too, and Rin just laughs, blows kisses into the camera I LOVE YOU ALL! and rushes back to hook himself into the jumping circle of his precious teammates, coaches and staff, and sing the hymn once again.

~

The emotional burnout afterward is real. They walk down the street in deafening silence, he and Haru, just two ordinary guys in their everyday clothes as if they weren't THE BEST IN THE WORLD mere minutes ago. Hell, they still are. Rin can barely keep in the giggles that are bubbling in his chest. He feels like they’re some galactic heroes in disguise. It’s freaking awesome.

Haru is silent, though, probably still not quite back to it, or maybe he’s just being Haru again. Rin leaves him be.

Sydney fusses around them, colorful and bright, all dressed in olympic yet still the same familiar Sydney that once broke his bones and watched him drown with these bright cold eyes. Yet Rin loves Sydney. Look at me now, he thinks proudly. Look at me.

But Sydney doesn’t care to look, too busy in its daily routine, too large. They could’ve just taken a taxi to the station, but somehow, without sparing a word, they both decided it’s a walk. Sometimes Rin wonders if they’ve already reached that level of synchrony where they just don’t need words. It’s been years, after all. Mostly spent apart, but still. It’s not so hard to read Haru when you know him through. Not hard at all.

Yet now, he keeps dead-silent, and keeps not looking at Rin, and Rin begins to feel uncomfortable.

Is it that kiss, after all…?

Rin tries to think back, through his most recent memories which are a mashup of the wildest moments of his life, back to that moment. And his body immediately flushes with heat from the vividness of it.

...Haru’s skin is silky and smooth, and his wet hair are soft between Rin's fingers. Haru’s hands are squeezing Rin so tight there must be bruises on his back. Haru’s taste is… Haru-like. Rin can still sense it on his lips. He sucked it in too hungrily, absolutely in a non platonic way. At the mere thought, a sweet wave washes through his body from head to toe, making his every nerve buzz. Rin chokes on a breath and stumbles.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

Haru flinches slightly but still doesn’t look his way.

The reality begins to sink in. Rin is an idiot.

~

It does look gay. Totally.

Rin sees the photos on their train ride—mostly the screenshots various people mailed him—when he jams a cap over his hair and fishes his phone out of his pocket, absently going through his inbox. All the messages are a crazy mess of emoji and caps YOU DID IT WERE SO PROUD OF YOU and they all end up mentioning that kiss. Rin curses under his breath and switches his phone off.

Shit.

And of course, of course where they have to be heading now is that exact same room in that same freaking hotel because Haru called Rin on the night before their flight and said he must book it.

That was a joke, moron! Rin palmed his feverish face, for once relieved they're talking on the phone, no video.

Yeah, I figured, Haruka said, and Rin registered—or imagined?—notes of sadness in his voice. But I thought it's a nice idea for a good luck tradition…

How is it a good luck tradition if we can't stay there before the tournament? Rin moaned, because obviously, they would be living and training with the national team in the Olympic village, what is this airhead even thinking?

Then we'll stay there afterward, Haru said matter-of-factly. It's the intention that matters. Book it.

It won't be available anyway, Rin sighed with exasperation.

Do it, Rin.

And just like that, Rin succumbed and went on to book the damn room, his face hot and his heart jumping and missing beats. Because it’s one thing when it's a mistake, and it’s a whole other freaking thing to do that on purpose, clicking all the OK buttons under the "1 double bed" "ensuite bathroom" shit and the pictures of the said bed and the said bathroom behind the glass.

And of course, of course it just ought to be available for that exact date. Holy fuck.

~

There would be times when Rin would seriously consider confessing. He would even go through the most romantic places in his head and compose the most perfect, totally non cliched lines. In his imagination, it would all be sakura petals and city lightscapes, breathtaking views, fancy restaurants with the best mackerel dishes and—if he let his imagination wander off further—private pools and night beaches. He knew it obviously wasn’t a good idea, but he also knew he would jump into it someday. Probably. When they’ve achieved their dream and he’s desperate enough and—

And what? Haru—suddenly—likes him back?

Rin knew Haru liked him, probably even loved him, but not in that way. Obviously not in that way.

...But now, just like that, everything is out in the open, and there’s no meaning in confessions anymore. Rin clenches his sweaty hands as panic begins to engulf him, slowly like a tide.

They walk the last stretch past the quay, and somehow it feels so nostalgic as though they used to live here, not spent a couple of nights some years ago. The city skyline across the water is drowning in the purplish haze of the evening as the night draws closer. So does their destination. Rin feels nausea tugging at his insides.

His voice is a crack as he finally braces himself and says, “There on the poolside... Sorry. I lost it.”

It does not rip through the thick silence between them. Somehow, makes it even heavier.

...This is not how Rin pictured their post-victory evening. In his thoughts, it would be a blur of merry partying involving blissful laughter and bright sparkles in Haru’s eyes, as well as touching words of eternal friendship, team spirit and camaraderie; and the most intimate feeling of love finally intertwined with the joy of the achieved dream would be only for Rin to bask in, drown in, his deepest secret. It was never supposed to confuse and burden Haru. It was never supposed to come out for the whole world to behold.

Now, it must be all over the news. A spur-of-the-moment Olympic coming out... The Japanese Team lets passion speak after the dramatic victory... The Pride Flag rises high in the Olympic Sydney... Rin hisses under his breath.

He's fucking ruined it.

“It won't happen again. Ever,” he finds it important to add. Like it somehow can turn back the tide, fix things and make Haru—along with the rest of the world—just forget.

“Eh?” Haru's voice comes barely audible through the thick beats of pulse in Rin's ears, and the sound of his steps halts.

Haru...halts.

Rin flinches and turns around.

“Ever... Again...” Haruka's lips move without producing a sound. He still doesn’t look at Rin. The bangs fall over his eyes like a shadow.

Rin is confused.

...until something rings alert in his memory. It was one of Rei's talks while Rin was teaching him swimming on the evenings. “...He had been out of it ever since that loss to you. And in the Regionals, it's like he finally collapsed. ‘Will I never swim with Rin again...?’ He seemed devastated.”

Rin was... shaken once again by Rei's revelation. "I won. It means I don't have to swim with you ever again. Ever." He never knew his words had affected Haru that much back then.

It was another grain of hope, another detail Rin attached to his imaginary “signs puzzle”, too eager and incautious. He knew it was a bad idea, he fucking knew it right from the start, and today it finally overflowed, breaking through the barrier of his self-control.

“Ever. Again.” Haru repeats in a firmer voice, his lips twitching in a scoff. And when he raises his head at last, his eyes are a flash of blue blazing Rin’s heart: “Are you chickening out now?”

Rin gulps. Heat flushes the back of his neck. “I’m not...! It’s my fault, ok. You don’t have to comment on it to the press. Just tell them they can go to hell. I’ll do the explaining.” It’s my fault. You shouldn’t be dragged through that shit. You can’t let it affect you, Haru…

“Rin.” He still can’t read through the calmness of Haru’s voice, and maybe even Makoto wouldn’t. “It is you who cares about these things. I never did.”

...and Rin feels all the air being squeezed out of his lungs. He’s back to that horrible, devastating moment in the dark changing room when Haru yelled at him almost the exact same words, “What future? What dreams? It’s you who cares about these things! I’m not like you...!”

Rin forces air back into his lungs. Now, Haru seems rather steady. It is Rin’s voice that trembles as he says, “Like hell you don’t care… wasn’t it you who stopped in the middle of the pool once because of all the pressure?”

“It wasn’t because of the pressure,” Haru denies right away. "It was because I couldn’t understand why I must feel pressured. I just wanted to swim. Not to please the public.”

“You mean… This thing now doesn’t bother you either?”

“Why must it?”

Rin chuckles as he exhales, “Right. You’re the guy who would undress in the middle of a shop to dive into an aquarium, after all…”

Rin's knees almost give out with relief. He’s been an idiot to fear that Haru may leave this path—the path he’d once chosen and never wavered since then—just because of some stupid public scrutiny. And no, Haru's also wrong, because this shit doesn't really bother Rin on itself—but only as far as it affects Haru.

Haruka just nods seriously, his eyes—deadly focused blue lasers—never leaving Rin’s. “If this issue is settled, let’s talk about the important stuff. You kissed me, Rin.”

“I-I thought we’ve just been talking about it,” Rin says in a small voice, panic returning and hitting him like a wave. Right. Publicity is one thing; but what happened between them still stands, and it can't be brushed away just like that. “Haru… I’m sorry. I was carried away by all the feels. It's nothing. It’s not like I… want anything, you know…” he trails off.

Breathe, Rin. Just breathe.

“So, you are chickening out. Even with the gold medal on your chest.”

“I’ve said that I’m not!” Rin clenches his fists in desperation. "God, what do you want me to say now? The obvious? Wanna laugh at my misery...?” No, Haru wouldn’t laugh, he would feel guilty and sad, like that winter when they were 13, and it’s even worse. “Want it to ruin everything we’ve achieved together...?”

“Ruin?” Haru closes the distance between them in a few firm steps like he means it, and halts only when they’re inches apart. Are they being too loud...? Right, they’re still on the quay… Rin backs off until his ass bumps against the railing. But Haru probably wants to push him into the water because he closes those last inches, too, and presses their foreheads together. “Ruin...like this?” his breath soughs across Rin’s parted lips, “—or maybe like this?” And then it’s not just air, but a touch, too. Hot, angry, gentle, wet, greedy— short. Too short. “You’re such a drama queen, Rin.”

...Passers-by continue walking past them as if the world hasn’t just shaken and ground to a halt. Nobody even looks their way. Ok, this is Sydney, not Iwatobi, not like it’s too big of a deal here, two guys standing like this on the quay and— wait, what…?!

“Haru… Do you… too…”

“Obviously. I do.”

“Since when…?”

“Since forever. I thought you knew.”

“Me? Knew…?” Rin barely recovers enough to peel his hands off the metal and clasp them on Haru’s forearms lest he disappears, and everything is another dream, and Rin is the biggest idiot again. “How on earth? Why couldn’t you just say anything?”

“...wasn’t sure you feel the same,” Haru grumbles.

“Oh? Wasn’t it obvious ?” Rin asks in a mocking voice.

“It kinda was.” Haru is still agonizingly close, just enough a distance to look into each other’s eyes, yet he keeps glancing down at Rin’s lips, and each of these glances releases a jar of butterflies in Rin’s stomach. “You’ve been staring at me with these lovestruck eyes since elementary. But it also could have been that you’re just an idiot, so.”

Rin digs his nails into his skin, outraged but too messed up to come up with a witty response in a second, since another second Haru adds, his voice soft and suddenly not so confident anymore: “Anyway... I was afraid to screw up everything, and before the Olympics, too.”

“Now who is the drama queen?” Rin whispers, tentatively sliding his hands up Haru’s arms, sensing goosebumps popping up under his fingertips.

“It’s still you,” Haru smiles and kisses the tear off Rin’s eyelashes.

~

I want to add the hotel part, of course, once i finish it. So, let me know what you think about it so far! Love you all <3

#rinharu #harurin #rin matsuoka #nanase haruka #sharkbait #free! #free! fanfiction #my fic

[wickedsingularity]

Can’t Sleep Without You [One-shot]

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x reader (but not really), Leonard McCoy, mention of Spock Words: 2359 Warnings: Use of medication, use of possible addictive medication, insomnia, nightmares, almost graphic description of a disturbing dream

Note: A somewhat self-indulgent story that I posted a little while ago, but had panic about after a few hours and then deleted. It felt too personal, too self-indulgent, amongst other things. I planned on giving it some time, and then rewrite it so it was less personal. I did give it time, but I haven't rewritten it, just edited. And now I'm giving it another go, hoping that I don't panic this time around and telling myself so fucking what if it's self-indulgent. And hopefully people enjoy it because I do like this story.

Summary: Having suffered from insomnia for a long time, Jim is the only thing that manages to calm me enough to function when it gets bad. But Jim is off on a mission...

"You look like something the cat dragged in, Commander."

"Thanks a lot, Doctor." I glared up at Leonard McCoy as he towered over me. Even if I couldn't stand the stuff, I was now on my third cup of coffee of the day. But I was also on my fourth day of barely any sleep, and I was desperate for something to keep me alert.

"Have you had trouble sleeping again?"

I downed the last of the coffee, cringing as the bitter liquid made its way down and sat the cup down on my empty lunch tray. I closed my eyes for a moment and grit my teeth, trying not to snap at the obvious question. "Looks that way."

The doctor sat down at the other side of the table and looked at me with worry, not even phased by my annoyance. "I've seen you getting worse the last few days, Commander. Why haven't you come to see me?"

"What you gave me three days ago made me wake up after four hours with a nightmare from hell. I'm still seeing ghosts in broad daylight."

He pursed his lips. "Please stop by the medbay at 2200 hours. We'll try something else."

I sighed, knowing that there was only one thing that would help, and it was not something our Chief Medical Officer could provide no matter how good he was. But I nodded. "Yes, doc." Then I pulled myself to my feet, grabbed the tray and went to put it back in the replicator for recycling.

For as long as I could remember, I'd had some form of insomnia. It hadn't been a problem when I was younger, I had been more energetic, more durable, not to mention more careless. But as I got older it got worse. Most of the time I managed to keep it under control, but sometimes it took on a life of its own. And when it did that, there was no medication, meditation or treatment that worked better than the captain of the ship, my boyfriend.

There was just something about Jim that calmed my mind like nothing else.

Funnily enough, insomnia was what brought us together. I had been wandering around the ship one night, after several nights of little sleep. Finding myself in the briefing room, I had sat down in the chair reserved for the captain, put my feet up on the table and gazed out at the streaking stars. After a few minutes of silence, the door had slid open and Captain Kirk had walked in. We were already on friendly terms, so I hadn't bothered taking my feet off the table or giving him the chair, even when he made a joke about it being his.

He'd been having trouble sleeping too, claiming his mind was running at warp 5 after an exhausting meeting in that very briefing room earlier in the day. He'd chosen to go back there in the hopes that it would clear his head.

We sat next to each other, him in the First Officer's chair and I kept occupying his, and chatted for a while. All the while we both seemed to gravitate more and more towards each other and I got sleepier at the same time, until I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. He had gathered me up in his arms and ordered a site to site transport, dropped me off on my bed and pulled a blanket over me, before going back to his quarters, falling asleep as well. After that, our friendship had shifted and things escalated quickly from there.

Now though, he and Spock and several admirals were trying to work out a peace treaty between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. We had dropped them off on a colony near the Neutral Zone and had then gone off to survey a newborn nebula a couple of systems over. We weren't scheduled to go back for them for another two or three days, the trip itself took a whole day. And my body was kind enough to refuse to sleep properly without Jim now, no matter how much in control of the insomnia I was.

I made it through the day somehow, with at least two more disgusting cups of coffee. Thankfully, there was more than enough to do in Engineering that I decided to not leave once my shift was over, it was better to keep working than sitting in my quarters and feeling like I had been in the middle of a warp core breach. As soon as Jim and Spock came back, Starfleet wanted us to check out an uninhabited planet that a passing cargo ship had detected held large deposits of deuterium and our long-range sensors had detected too much atmospheric disturbance for transporting, so we had to adjust the shielding on several shuttlepods. I was barely conscious when I stumbled into the medbay at 2200 hours.

"Not looking any better, I see." Bones appeared out of nowhere and would have scared the daylights out of me if I hadn't been so sluggish.

"Your bedside manners are always so lovely."

He ushered me over to a biobed and pulled a tricorder from one of his pockets.

"There's no need to scan me. We both know what's wrong. Just give me what you think I need and I'll be off." I looked at the tricorder with annoyance.

He didn't answer but started scanning me anyway, so I sat there patiently, closing my tired eyes and listening to the whirring of the device. "It's a wonder they haven't found a cure for this yet, after 200 years of research," he muttered to himself.

I looked up at him and saw him analysing the results. "You've found a cure for some pretty serious viruses on your career, why don't you find the cure for this?" I argued.

"This isn't a virus, sweetheart."

"Still, I'm sure you're brilliant enough to find a solution." Bones always said that flattery would get you nowhere with him, but I found that more often than not, he enjoyed having his ego stroked. He was that good too.

He just huffed and went over to a cabinet. I saw him pull out a vial and fill up a hypospray. "I know you have tried this before and it didn't work so well. But that was a few years ago, it might work better for you now." I nodded and obediently bared my neck to him. One touch of the cold metal to my skin and it was done. "I want you to go straight to bed now. It should work quickly and you have to be in bed when it does."

"Yes, sir."

It did not work. Or, I did sleep through the night, but the dreams had me waking up more exhausted than if I hadn't slept at all. It had been worse than last time, the irrational, weird and disgusting dreams had just come at me, one after the other. I would honestly prefer good old-fashioned nightmares over this. I called Bones as soon as I had showered away the night and he was at my door by the time I had dressed.

"Sit down," he barked, the tricorder out and a deep furrow between his brows. "What happened?"

I told him all about the night, even gave him some snippets of the nasty dreams for emphasis, each one of them still crystal clear and disturbing in my mind. The way he cringed at some of it, told me just how disturbing they had been. It wasn't normal to dream that you're pooping out severed arms, after all. *

"This is very strange," he said after he was done scanning. "Barely any light or deep sleep at all. Dream sleep almost all night. I've heard about a few phenomena that cause a person to not have any dream sleep at all, but not nothing but dream sleep. You're not getting any more of this medication, and I'm making a note in your medical file."

I sighed, trying to think about what I could do to help myself that night. But Bones had suddenly gone very quiet. I looked up at him and there was a deep furrow between his brows, his eyes gazing down at the tricorder, but it looked like he was mentally lightyears away. "What's wrong, doc?"

He didn't react right away, but then he blinked and looked down at me. "There is something we can try, but it can be highly addictive if the dosage is off by even a fraction. Call Scotty and tell him you'll be a bit late. I need to take some blood for analysing."

All through that day, I felt a bit apprehensive about what Bones was planning on giving me later. And I missed Jim so much it ached. This was the worst it had been without him and it was also the longest we had gone without each other since we got together. I missed him because of his absence, of course. But in my sleep-deprived state, it felt a million times worse. It felt like there was a gaping, bleeding hole inside me where he should be. I needed him to calm my mind, to kiss me and tell me it's okay if I can't sleep, that I'll sleep when I'm ready and he would be there with me all the while. I needed him to breathe with me. I needed to feel him. He was able to relax me enough that I could function.

After working well past my shift again and forcing down too many cups of coffee, I forced back tears of exhaustion and desperation and went to the medbay, got the mysterious hypospray and went straight to bed.

Apart from the fact that I woke up every ten to fifteen minutes, this one worked a lot better. In the morning, I felt less like I had been hit with a meteor shower and more like I had just tumbled through a thick atmosphere without a spacesuit. Bones came to check up on me in engineering after lunch and I asked if I could get a higher dosage, hoping that maybe that would finally be what helped me sleep through the night. But he refused, he had given me as much as my body could handle without becoming addicted or suffering other nasty side effects. In defeat, I told him if I couldn't have a higher dosage, I didn't want it at all. Then I started counting the hours until Jim came home, and drank all the coffee I could stomach so I wouldn't feel like a zombie.

I was just starting to doze off. It was probably just an hour or so until my alarm, but I let sleep take me. I would take anything I could get. What felt like just a minute later though, the computer spoke to me.

"The time is 0630 hours. The time is 0630 hours."

"No no no," I moaned in annoyance, screwing my eyes shut to the illumination in the room becoming stronger. But then a pair of lips landed on my cheek.

"Forgot to turn that off," someone said.

I didn't process this right away, but in the back of my head I knew that voice and knew it was important, so I forced myself to open my eyes to the way too bright room. Jim was there next to me and judging by his one barely open eye, he had just woken up too. "Hi..."

My heart was beating wildly in my chest, the room seemed to be spinning a little, my vision getting blurry, but then he smiled with his eyes closed and started to clumsily kiss my cheek and jaw and everything cleared up.

"When did you come home?" I whispered.

Jim didn't answer but kept trying to kiss me, but he was struggling, he too seemed exhausted, not able to aim. "A while. Laid down minutes ago. Tired. Want lips."

I made a happy sound and rolled around to face him. He opened his eyes a fraction, revealing the brilliant blue I loved so much. His lips landed on my nose, then my cheek before finally finding my lips. The gaping aching hole inside me seemed to vanish. I moved closer, pressing my lips and my body to his and everything inside me seemed to settle down, mind was quiet, all tension washed away. When I needed air, I pulled back just enough so I could stare into his eyes and see every little shade of blue in them. "You're home."

"The time is 0635 hours. The time is 0635 hours."

"Home and tired." His breath washed over me when he spoke and I wanted to breathe nothing but him for the rest of my life.

"Ditto. Haven't slept since you left."

"I know, Bones told me. I'm so sorry, Supernova."

"'s okay. Just missed you." My voice broke, and all the frustrations from the past week made a few tears fall. Jim snuck one of his arms around my waist and I moved even closer, burying my face into his neck, breathing in the smell of stars and nebulas and galaxies. "How were the peace talks?" I asked between lazy kisses to the soft skin on the side of his neck.

Jim didn't reply right away. Instead, he kissed my hair, breathing it in for a moment. "Exhausting. I'll tell you all about it later."

"The time is 0640 hours. The time is 0640 hours."

"Have to get up," I mumbled against his skin, but my entire body felt like lead in Jim's arms.

"Computer, turn off the alarm." A gentle beep confirmed it was now turned off. Then Jim pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. "Bones told me to tell you that he has declared you not fit for duty today and that he has ordered bed rest, and if you disobey his orders, he will not hesitate to have you strapped to a biobed with a force field."

I blinked. "But..."

"And your Captain concurs. He recommends you spend the day with him in bed and sleep." He was grinning at me. "He's been flying fancy admirals in a shuttle all night and is in need of some tender loving care from the love of his life."

I knew there were things I had to do in Engineering. It would take time and almost all the Engineering staff to get the shuttlepods ready in time for exploring the deuterium planet. But as I looked into Jim's eyes, I felt exhaustion all the way to my bone marrow, and there was no point arguing with that, or the Captain and the Chief Medical Officer. I teared up with relief and buried my face in Jim's neck again.

Jim settled down on his back and pulled me halfway on top of him. I swallowed down my emotions and rested my head on his shoulder, tangled my legs with his, and laid my arm across his stomach. Peace filled me and I barely had time to mumble love you before I was fast asleep.

Note: * Yes, I have actually dreamed that as a side effect of taking melatonin.

#jim kirk x reader #chris pine x reader #jim kirk imagine #chris pine imagine #star trek imagine #jim kirk #jim kirk x oc #jim kirk x you #jim kirk fanfiction #jim kirk angst #jim kirk fluff #chris pine #chris pine x oc #chris pine x you #chris pine fanfiction #chris pine angst #chris pine fluff #star trek fanfiction

[lavendermenaceart]

Violence in the Capital(HeroxVillain whump)

Violence in the Capital

Pairing: HeroxVillain

Genres: Fantasy, Whump

CW: Burning, brainwashing, guns, injury.

Word count: 2,121.

The capitol was quiet at night. The sky the darkest shade of purple imaginable, little lights shining despite the light the capital produced. The hero was a shadow against the walls of tall cement and glass buildings that looked like the fingers of the world reaching up to the starry sky. 

The hero couldn’t help pondering why the streets were so empty this night, but they weren’t complaining. It almost eliminated the need to sneak around the way they were now, but only almost. The hero was in this forsaken city for only one reason. A bloody reason, but a reason nonetheless. 

The hero had been tracking the villain for months at this point. Every Saturday night they could be found in a party of sex, dancing, and drugs at a local club known for its debauchery amongst the rich. 

The villain was the villain for all the normal reasons. A greedy CEO tyrant who had all his money speaking for him, calling in favors with the government, local and federal. They had gotten a disgusting bill passed during a tumultuous time that allowed the government access to all of its citizen’s data, making it very difficult for the hero’s group to function silently as they usually did. 

The hero had snuck out from their safe house while everyone slept, tired from a day full of arguing over what to do next. It was extremely frustrating for the hero, no one seemingly knowing what to do, but the hero knew. They knew it deep in their bones and it stuck in their brain like a dagger. The villain had to be killed. This wasn’t the villain’s first offense. They’d gotten a litany of awful bills passed with their money and favors. This was just the last straw. 

Sure, the hero wasn’t the strongest but the hero didn’t care what happened to them as long as they got their target. If the villain was dead, it was one less person to make the lives of the majority of the population miserable. Even if the hero became a villain themselves, at least they had convictions in their beliefs and they knew they could find others with the same values as them eventually. 

The hero heard the club before they saw it, the vibrations of the music clear through the concrete ground. Thrumming and dumping under the hero’s feet like a heartbeat, deep in the earth. As they grew closer, they saw the squat building with a red rope and 2 guards out front. Important people are there tonight, and many important people will get a clear, blood spattered message on this night. 

While the guards were busy checking in a group of women, the hero slipped past, into the dark side of the building, an alleyway littered with trash, bottles and bags mostly. The hero could see the door, it was just a few feet away. Sweat started to gather on their forehead, their hands shaking. Were they really ready to do something like this? Would the hero’s group forgive them for this transgression or will they be turned away like they've been so many times before in their life?

Suddenly, a loud creak filled the alleyway as the hero ducked behind a smelly dumpster. The guard at the door was now going inside to trade shifts. It was the perfect time for the hero to sneak in, and so they did. After going through the side door, a wall of music and laughter hit them, enveloping them and making them giddy even through the anxiety. 

Taking in a few deep breaths, the hero had to remind themselves that they weren’t there to party and take part in the luxuries. They were here to kill someone, and while maybe later they could think about throwing a celebration, now was the time for action and the hero couldn’t get distracted by the pretty lights and loud music going on around them. 

The hero waded through the crowd of people, the smell of sweat and perfume overpowering every sense the hero had. The hero could see the villain, up in a clear box above the DJ booth. As far as the hero knew, it wasn’t bullet proof. So in the middle of the throng of bodies, always in movement against one another, the hero pulled out a desert eagle and aimed. There was a cry to the hero’s right but they ignored it, aiming down the sights before pulling the trigger. It ricochet off the glass, a huge crack appearing. The club was chaos now. A scream of pain, and then bodies all rushing together like a wave towards any exit. The hero breathed, deep and satisfying. The villain was on the move but the hero was sure they could still get them.

Everything that happened next happened fast and deadly. A trigger pull, a gunshot right as a guard collided with the hero. A woman’s gurgling scream as the bullet ripped through her throat, 3 feet away from the villain. Adrenaline pumped through the hero’s veins as they struggled against the guard, who had hit the hero’s wrist causing them to drop the gun. It scattered under the trampling of a herd of humans. The music still played, even though the DJ had abandoned the station. It was a cheerful tune, playing over all the violence and chaos in a weird paradox of emotion. The hero got in a few good punches, but was soon subdued by multiple guards. 

“No!! No!!” The hero cried, struggling under the immense weight they were now under on the dirty floor of the now mostly empty club. The last thing they remember is a bloom of pain, of blood and spit as they were punched in the face. Hands bruised their neck, cutting off airflow and blood flow until the hero passed out, drifting slowly into oblivion. 

“Wake the fuck up!” The villain snarled, throwing a bucket of ice water on the bruised, beaten, and tied bodied of the hero. They were ripped so hastily from the warm darkness behind their eyes, water soaking them and mingling with their sweat and blood as it spilled over their head and body and then the cold concrete floor. 

This room was sterile, white, and cold. Bright fluorescent lights lit the room to a painful degree. The hero’s head swam and burned and wanted so badly to go back to the warm darkness. 

How could they mess up so bad? Maybe they should have planned better, studied harder, but it was too late to regret. They had to focus on somehow getting out of the sterile room they found themselves in. 

The hero let out a single groan, a broken and wispy sound coming from their parted lips. 

“Good, good!” the villain raised their hands, their posture that of a victor. “You’re awake. Now, I’ve had a large number of attempts on my life but none so brazen as yours. I congratulate you on your bravery, your boldness. I really do.”

The hero could barely keep up. The villain was praising them for trying to take their life? Or maybe just the conviction it took to do something so brazen? The hero wiggled their hands, which were bound tightly behind their back. The position was so uncomfortable, the hero’s back hunched at an angle that made their spine protest. They righted themselves, meeting the dark gaze of the villain.

“I didn’t do it to get praise from you.” The hero spit, literally and figuratively

“Oh, I know, I know. I would suggest you start behaving, though, or things will be much worse than they need to be.” The villain acquired brown leather gloves from their pockets before putting them on, carefully dipping their fingers into the leather until it covered their hand. Their next movement was a quick slap across the face of the hero before fisting their hair in their hands. “Now, tell me. Who do you work for? Or are you a lone wolf?”

Red bloomed across the hero’s face, tears stinging their eyes. The hero blinked the tears away, trying to take deep breaths so they weren’t drowned in the undertow of their anxiety.  

“I work for no one, I’m just tired of you and your dirty money.” The hero responded after getting their anxiety mostly in check. Freaking out wasn’t going to change the situation. They were stuck in this spot until they weren't. The hero didn’t know when that would be, seeing as how they told absolutely no one where they were going or what they were planning to do. 

“Well, then, I have something exciting to show you!” The villain chuckled, a full hearty chuckle. It was grating on the hero’s ears and unsettling. The hero shifted in their chair, wiggling their hands in their bondage, trying to get comfortable, trying to right themselves for what was to come. All the hero’s muscles tensed and shook until they were shivering in fear. 

The villain took a few slow steps towards the hero, bright lights shining behind them like a halo. With much force, they pushed the palm of their hand onto the hero’s forehead. A sharp pain lanced through the hero’s brain and nausea threatened to overflow into vomiting as all the bright lights in the room sharpened and danced in the hero’s vision. 

They didn’t know if they were screaming, the didn’t know how much was passing or if it even existed anymore. All there was was pain and light and pain. The hero’s body convulsed until the chair fell over and their head knocked on the cold, sterile concrete floor. 

“You see, you are mine now. You tried to take my life, I lobotomize you. Or, I guess its most like brainwashing.” The villain got down on one knee in front of the prone hero, running a finger nail gently down the side of the tear stained hero’s face. 

So that’s what the feeling was. What all that pain and light was. It was the feeling of their brain warping and stretching and expanding and shrinking all at once. The hero could still think, could still move their hands of their own will. Was this all a sick joke? The question wouldn’t form on their lips, it was stuck in their throat. The hero’s eyes widened as they realized they couldn’t talk, because they had not been ordered to. 

“There you go, You’re getting it.” The villain watched the hero’s face carefully, a small smile playing in the curves of their lips. The villain reached down and was slowly, ever so slowly, or maybe it just seemed slow, untied the hero’s hands and feet. 

The hero wanted to flee, wanted to run and scream and cry and above all else, kill. They thought of all the ways in that very moment they could bring harm to the villain. The smug, strange villain. The hero’s fingers twitched and it sent a jolt of pain down their arm, electrifying all of their nerves until they finally stopped trying to punch. The only thing they could do voluntarily anymore was cry, and cry, and cry. 

One stupid mistake led to all this. If only they could have landed that shot, if only. So many “if only”s. 

“Now, I bet you’re wondering how I just did this to you?” The villain grabbed a finger of the hero’s and wiggled it around. The hero tensed, ready for the shooting, electric pain, but none came. “You see, you get powerful enough in this world, and lots of things come to light.” A flicker of light to the villains left. They had lifted their hand, pointing one finger up to the veiling and just an inch above it, a lively and dancing flame. 

Magic? Magic is real? The hero’s mind warped once again, trying to figure out of their senses were to be trusted. Suddenly there was a searing hot pain tearing through the hero’s right cheek. The villain was burning their face, some letter, maybe the first letter of the villain’s name. The villain leaned in close, whispering softly into the hero’s ear as their lungs burned with the need to scream but the inability to do so. 

“Magic is very real, for people like me. You’re not my first zombie, and you wont be my last. I’ll make sure no one tries to look for you, so you don’t have to worry about things like friends or family.” The villain chuckled, a hand on their chest. 

The hero was no longer the hero, but the loser. The zombie. For the rest of their life they would be trapped watching themselves be puppeteered by the villain, the victor.

#hero x villain #whump #whump writing #original writing #writblr #writeblr #my writing #my fics #fic #fanfic #whump x whumpee #hero #villain #heroes and villains

[popatochisssp]

Heya Poppy! I’m loving the new gem headcanons and was wondering if you have a diamond au too? Or any other stuff about the new gems? I love this au so much

Ohoho, of course I do! I do have the new gems’ Backstories, but since you asked about the Diamond AU specifically... UwU

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Cubic Zirconia (Undergloom Sans) emerges alone, in an abandoned Kindergarten galaxies upon galaxies away from Homeworld’s (known) reaches. He doesn’t stay alone for very long, and not too much later, Moissanite (Undergloom Papyrus) emerges too--another gem.

...Not that they...know too much beyond the fact that they’re both gems. They certainly have no idea that they’re both products of diamond replication experiments at this outpost, commissioned by the (recently ceased) Void Diamond and forgotten when The War began and other priorities became more important.

But! They have each other, so even if their origin is shrouded in mystery and there’s nobody else here on this dusty, deserted rock of a planet, they both decide things could be worse.

They go about their lives for awhile, poking around in things, bonding with each other, making guesses about their species and civilization from their bare-bones programming and the artifacts of the Kindergarten.

It passes the time.

And then, one day, the seismic activity starts.

The two of them have no idea what’s happening or what to do about it; if there’s anything to do about it, and it’s a stressful few cycles before they get any solid answers.

Raw Diamond (Horrorfell Sans), clawing himself up through the ground from the deepest, darkest caverns of the planet, is about as ‘solid’ as an answer gets.

Cubic and Moissanite shouldn’t know the newcomer at all, yet they find themselves automatically saluting, calling him ‘My Diamond,’ and Raw...

Raw is just as confused as they are.

He doesn’t know what’s going on either, where they are, what he is, who he is… he simply is.

He couldn’t know that he’s a forgotten project of Void Diamond’s, too, a new diamond meant to join the ranks with him and Brown and Gray as their empire expanded and needed more leadership. He was simply left in the ground to incubate without being refined or even cut.

(He's monstrous, huge even for a Diamond, and oddly formed with a crooked jaw that won’t open and a hole in his skull…but Cubic and Moissanite hardly know any better than he does what he’s supposed to look like, so no one makes any mention of it.)

Freshly emerged and very lost, it goes without saying that Raw wants answers. The Imitation brothers have a few, but nowhere near as many as he’s after, and he stubbornly demands to be shown around the Kindergarten and the outpost, to see it for himself.

And it all lights up for him in a way it never did for the two that came first, doors and sensors and screens coming to life, responding to the signature of a true diamond. There’s brand new access to everything, reports, records, files and procedures… they learn a lot about what they are, what they’re supposed to be and what they’re not.

They also learn how true diamonds are made, in full and not just halfway.

Raw is certain this is the answer. Cubic and Moissanite are the first of their kind, they barely have any programming, but a diamond…a diamond done right and not left unfinished like he was, surely they would know more and be able to make sense of…whatever it is they’re not getting.

The brothers aren’t totally convinced... but admittedly, they don’t have any better ideas and well…rough he may be, but Raw is a diamond…

Champagne Diamond (Horrorfell Papyrus) unfolds himself gracefully from a craggy cliffside on the abandoned planet, massive in size but otherwise perfect—and he does have some answers.

Champagne knows he is a Diamond and he knows of gemkind. He knows of their society and of their directive to expand their empire.

…What he doesn’t know is the answer to Cubic’s well-meaning query of ‘...what empire?’

Champagne has no clue where the hell all the other gems are, where this little rock is in relation to the Empire, if the Empire even still exists if this place has been abandoned as long as all the charts and data logs say it has been.

He wants answers as much as Raw does, possibly even moreso…but to even start looking for them, they have to get the hell off this planet.

As it turns out, what he lacks in inherent knowledge of their status and origin and social structures, Raw has a real knack for gem-tech, understanding the principles and functions of even the old and mostly broken down devices they have access to, enough to design a passable space-faring craft that they all pitch in to build.

The first world the quartet comes across is empty now, but was once uniquely occupied by both gems and by organics. There’s a handful of gem structures, Kindergartens, bases, et cetera--long abandoned and in disarray of course, but hiding lots of new data and potential clues to mine about what happened to gemkind, and more importantly, where the fuck Homeworld is...

(Like the lost city of Punt, it seems that nobody ever thought to store something as obvious as Homeworld’s coordinates anywhere in the days before warp pads--why bother? Everyone knew where it was.)

There’s a lot to repair and sift through, a whole planet’s worth of it, and there’s only four of them, so it’s probably going to take awhile…

So when Raw finds some old notes that this planet would be a good candidate to incubate a diamond if not for all the useful organic life on it, he nudges Champagne and jokes that all the organic life is gone now, maybe they should…?

To Raw’s surprise, however, Champagne is intrigued.

It could be something worth thinking about, actually… Another pair of hands, another set of eye-sockets… a diamond would be a costly investment, both time and resource-wise, but certainly more bang for the buck than a mess of soldiers or technicians that they really don’t need…

Plus, it’s something to do while they scour the whole damn globe for everything of use on it.

So... might as well try it.

A nice chunk of forest is summarily leveled by Cloudy Diamond (Horrorswapfell Sans) when he decides he’s good and ready to emerge—and while he’s certainly an extra pair of hands for the group, the eye-sockets…didn’t really work out the way they’d thought.

Cloudy, it turns out, is blind as a bat, a defective diamond—but still a diamond, able to interface with and access everything the other two diamonds can, if guided to it.

He sticks with Cubic and Moissanite, mostly, a quid pro quo sort of arrangement that works for everyone, at least until everything of use and worth is mined out of the artifacts of the planet, and it’s time to move on to the next lead: what seems to have been a military base on an almost entirely aquatic world.

Cloudy isn’t interested in visiting a water-world, not for a long-term stay like they’re talking about. He prefers solid ground beneath his feet at least most of the time...and he actually has very little investment in their Quest for Homeworld, so he decides that he’ll stay here.

The others question if he’s sure, and even offer to leave at least Moissanite with him to help him around, but he refuses. Aside from not feeling altogether right about splitting Moissanite and Cubic, Cloudy has his pride and he’ll manage just fine. He is a diamond, after all!

And so off the others go to the military installation.

Raw has a great time digging around in all the decaying ships and weaponry, Cubic and Moissanite explore the things left behind by the gems that were once upon a time stationed there, and Champagne researches.

Cloudy’s defect...weighs on him, though...

(Possibly because they kind of…created the poor guy, imperfect, and then left him there, which sucks… but Champagne is a diamond and doesn’t have half the emotional intelligence to realize the injustice of that is what’s bugging him.)

He somehow decides that it’s the defect itself that’s bothering him, that he failed to create a 100% functional diamond. But he didn’t fail, he could do it, if he tried again…which he’s not going to do, just to prove a point, to himself even and not anybody else!

………

That’s exactly what he does.

Pink Diamond (Horrorswap Sans) rises from the sea one day, kicking up a tsunami in his wake, much to the surprise of the others who were definitely not kept in the loop on this matter.

Champagne, for his part, is unapologetic and unashamed: Pink is a total success, strong and complete and perfectly formed (aside from, perhaps, the occasional, very minor glitching of his physical body... but that can surely be put down to all that water he was incubated beneath, smoothing his intended rose-cut over time into something more like a cabochon. That’s nothing to do with him...)

Pink, for his part, is happy to help and join the search for answers.

He dives right into it all without complaint…until…

Well...

Seeing Cubic and Moissanite, and Raw and Champagne…they get along so well, and his recent arrival hasn’t opened up any space for him in their dynamics.

He’s very pointedly the odd man out, and it’s enough to make a diamond quite lonely,  quite aware that he’s the only gem here without a brother to call his own.

………

Taking a page from Champagne’s book, telling absolutely no one, Pink sets out to squeeze one more diamond out of this big ball of water, even though the planet’s resources are low after his emergence.

It’s not long before Olive Diamond (Horrorswap Papyrus) is slogging out of a dark, wet swamp, assisted by his brother—which is appreciated, because he seems to have a hard time keeping his legs to retain the ‘hard’ part of ‘hard light projection.’ Sometimes they’re solid light and sometimes they’re only light and maybe that’s what happens when you try to make a gem from a planet that’s running on empty...

Pink is delighted by his new sibling all the same!

Even so, a rule is made amongst the gems after that and agreed to by all: nobody makes anymore gems without telling somebody, no more surprises!

………

In retrospect, they probably should’ve decided on that rule a lot sooner, maybe a planet ago.

By the time they all return to the ghost world with a stockpile of newer tech and ships, they find Cloudy in the middle of a fully-operational and tidied up base, with everything rigged to accept voice commands and read out text, and a brand new shadow hovering around him.

Pepper Diamond (Horrorswapfell Papyrus) emerged from the ruins of one of the abandoned cities, Cloudy explains, and has been very helpful in the others’ absence, wonderful company—he told them he’d manage fine. > 3c

Well.

After all of that, the military base had been their last, best clue to finding Homeworld, or at least the remains of it, if gemkind were truly gone…

After a bit of discussion among the group, they decide to take communicators and ships and anything else they wanted/needed and just…go their separate ways, to do their own things.

Cubic and Moissanite set up shop on the first world they can find with sentient organics that will accept them, wanting to be around other people and to live peacefully.

Raw and Champagne choose to stick to their mission, going on the wild goose chase that is the search for other gems somewhere in the universe, even without any solid leads—the gem empire was expansive, but not As Infinite As the Universe-expansive, so they haven’t had any luck yet.

Pink and Olive are curious about other gems, too, but make it their mission to hunt down all the deserted bases, Kindergartens, and outposts in their neck of the universe and fix them up, restoring everything to its former glory as best they can—whether those places are promising in terms of leads/clues or not. It’s their heritage and they want to explore it and restore it, if they’re able.

Cloudy and Pepper intend to stay put on their birth world…but when Cloudy’s done everything he can on their planet, he gets a little bored sifting through the ruins of this dead world and wants to go find somewhere with living organics to stay instead. Pepper (reluctantly) agrees and they stumble upon a fledgling, primitive society that seems to think of these giant, shining and glowing immortals as some sort of deities… Oops, it seems as if they’ve started a colony of sorts on accident!

They’ll all keep on keeping on, and if anything interesting happens or someone needs a hand, they can reach the others to get back in touch.

…

Unbeknownst to the Outer Galaxy diamonds or the Diamond Authority back on Homeworld, a strange pair of Chameleon Diamonds—one Reverse (Gastertale Sans) and one Classic (Gastertale Papyrus)—are spat out of a singularity, somewhere in a galaxy in between.

They’ve got a lot of knowledge between the two of them, in the skulls behind their briolette-cut gems, but not a single solid memory, and their only clue is a whole lot of wreckage of some strange machine scattered around them in space.

They don’t know what they are, where they came from, how they’re alive, or what all this junk is…but once they make their way to a planet with gravity and stuff they can fashion tools and parts out of, they do figure out that they can cobble together a ship out of all this...

What better use of a couple of brothers’ time than a bit of adventuring, leisurely exploring the universe and any interesting lifeforms or civilizations they find along the way, with little more than respect of the Prime Directive to argue about? ;3

#skelegems #diamond au #undergloom #ug!sans #ug!papyrus #horrorfell #hf!sans #hf!papyrus #horrorswap #hs!sans #hs!papyrus #horrorswapfell #hsf!sans #hsf!papyrus #gastertale #g!sans #g!papyrus #Anonymous

[reddeadbread]

Fortunate ones

Javier Escuella x reader

Part 5

Summary: You recover from your first job with Javier.

Notes: this is another long chapter frick I’m sorry, this had been mostly written for days but here it is at last.

warnings: blood/guns?? SFW as always yall

word count: 2093

last chapter - next chapter

There was a loud thud of a body hitting the floor as the smoke cleared. You stared at the stranger you had just shot, shock taking over for a second that dragged on for an age. He didn’t die right away, and his co-workers wailed in terror while he writhed in pain. “fuck.” This was the best word you could come up with to summarize your current emotions. There was so much more blood than you thought there would be, his expensive tailored waistcoat soaking up all that red. That was a close one. It could have been you shot, or Javier. Oh christ, Javier. You whipped your head round to check on him.

“Mierda!” The victim’s gun had gone off as he went down but the bullet had thankfully only grazed Javier’s arm. Still not exactly how you wanted your first job to go.

“Javier!” you rushed to his side carelessly, anyone would think the bullet had hit his chest the way panic saturated your words.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he whistled for the horses hastily. Those gunshots had drawn too much attention and anyone nearby would of heard it, you needed to move and fast. Both the driver and the passengers were too busy cowering to even dare try and attack either of you again and they didn’t move from their position, whimpering by the corpse of the man you’d shot when you snatched all the cash from the lockbox and crammed it into your saddlebags. “We need to move.” Javier pressed and you quickly mounted up and followed his lead. The thundering of the horse’s hooves matching the thundering in your chest as white-hot adrenaline coursed through your veins. It felt almost euphoric, or at least it would if you weren’t so worked up about Javier and about that man you’d gunned down.

The both of you bolted from the scene before anyone could so much as investigate, never mind alert the authorities, so it was safe to say you weren’t followed but that didn’t stop you from taking the long way back to camp. As soon as you were out of sight of passer-by and into the trees outside horseshoe overlook, you came tearing off your horse to his aid. “Let me see! That moron, I saw him reaching for his gun and I just-“ you cut yourself off mid-sentence and shook your head, as if trying to shake the thoughts out of your mind. He dismounted slowly, ready to insist he was perfectly fine until you caught him off guard again. Oh, so carefully you took his arm to examine the small wound, your touch as gentle as ever. Javier had been through a lot in his life, far too much as had most members of the Van Der Linde gang, but people were rarely so concerned for him. As long as he wasn’t dead it didn’t matter, you kept moving forward. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me. It looks like it hurts.” The guilt of it all hit you and the weight of it was crushing.

“I’m fine, Just a scratch. We got away, you got the money, right?” this was of more importance than him, at least that was the way it always had been. The life of an outlaw, life as one of Dutch’s boys. It was dangerous but that was how it was for him, he wouldn’t even concern himself with a near miss like this for a second. Still, he didn’t pull away when you took his arm, it felt nice for someone to be so tender.

“I’m so sorry. This is my fault, you could have been really hurt, or killed!” You frowned as you looked at the blood on his shirt. It was really true when you said you wanted your first job to be with him because he was your favourite, you trusted him after only a few short weeks and that was rare in this life.

He looked at you, it was obvious you were upset, and he didn’t want you feeling so terrible over something so silly. He rested his free hand over yours, it lingered there for a moment before he spoke “I’m really okay, y/n.” he smiled at you, moving his hand to gently tilt your head towards him to press a kiss to your forehead. He had acted on impulse, he wanted to make you feel better. Normally if he flirted it was all just a little game to make you blush, and normally because he was drunk and had a soft spot for you, but this was just kindness. Maybe that wasn’t the most obvious trait Javier displayed but he had a good heart just as you thought you did and this small gesture made that weight much less heavy.

“no nicknames? Now I know it’s serious.” You joked and he smiled, you felt better when he smiled. You hesitated for only a second before wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He laughed a little and wrapped his unscathed arm around you. You had a spark about you, enough grit to survive but enough heart to not be warped by all this.

“Javier? y/n? you finally back?” You heard Bills voice and pulled away, a little sheepish as you looked at him, wandering out here for guard duty. “oh, am I interruptin’?” he spoke mockingly, and you were surprised he was even intelligent enough to mock anyone.

“we’re back.” You responded flatly, taking your horses reins to lead her back to camp. Bill tried to give Javier a knowing look but much to his dismay he was ignored.

Of course, when you arrived back in camp Dutch wanted to know how it had gone and you handed over half of the money just as you were told. He didn’t ask anything else once the money was in the box. He didn’t even ask why there was blood on Javier’s shirt. Upon arrival into this gang you had wondered why people did whatever Dutch said but already you noticed that you were doing the same. He spoke so confidently, every word that slipped past his silver tongue was dripping with charisma and you did as he asked without even stopping to think whether or not it was a good idea.

Javier was ready to leave and volunteer for guard duty again before you stopped him, taking his good arm and pulling him back towards you “hey, come.” You dragged him along to one of the tables and he reluctantly obliged, bewildered as he may be. “let me see,” you waited expectedly, and he stared back at you blankly. “what? You want it to get infected? You want to lose that arm?” you’d had your moment of weakness, but you were concerned for him now. Harmless as it may be this injury surely hurt. “so let me see.”

“so you want me to take my shirt off?” he looked bemused still, not expecting his own personal doctor over this tiny injury.

“don’t get shy on me now. I promise not to faint.” You quipped, skimming through the exceedingly lacking medical supplies you’d found once you’d paid your pound of flesh you owed to this gang into the chest, but you wouldn’t need much. The wound was minor, just a scratch as he said but you took your responsibility for it.

He glanced around camp, not many people were around anyways, it was early afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. Most people were out at this hour. “Well if you really insist Chiquita. Do your worst.” He slipped off his shirt to give you access to the small would on his left arm.

Your eyes drifted down to his body for a moment, you couldn’t help yourself, but you tried to keep your focus on the task at hand. You noticed a few more scars on his body that were previously hidden under his clothes and pondered how he got them all.

You looked at the small gash and dabbed alcohol on it as gently as you could but he still sucked in air through his teeth, he was pretty sure this was more painful than leaving it to get infected but he went against instinct to keep his arm still to humour you.

“sorry,” you apologised when he flinched, easing off to give him a moment to adjust before continuing on. You were no doctor, but you knew to keep wounds clean and covered so that’s what you did. He watched you closely, not accustomed to this attention but enjoying your touch and observing the focus on your face until you were done and looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “I guess now I owe you two, once for this mess and again for saving me up on that mountain.”

“that was Dutch,” Javier corrected you, he had happened to be the one to find you but around here Dutch was boss, he was the one who allowed you to stay. He was quite sure that he was the reason you stayed too, Dutch was the glue that kept everyone together and there wasn’t a man or woman here who didn’t trust him with their life.

“I don’t think so. Besides, you’ve been kind to me since I arrived.” you spent more time with him than anyone, something about him drew you to him right away. “I mean, every person here has been nice to me. Other than maybe Micah but I don’t think he has a kind bone in his body.”

“ah, Micah doesn’t count as a person.” He joked as he slipped his shirt back on and pulled out cigarette paper to begin carefully rolling a cigarette. He gave you a sideways glance as he did “y/n? Today…was that the first time you shot someone?” when he asked you this your smile quickly vanished which almost made him regret asking.

He was too blunt, and you stammered in your response. “uh…yeah. First time killing someone at least.” You looked down at his hands fiddling with the cigarette paper to avoid the steady gaze of his deep brown eyes. Killing was something he was perfectly accustomed to but as he looked over to see you shuffling uncomfortably in your seat, he realised that was not the case for you. He offered you the neatly rolled cigarette as if that would be helpful now but you shook your head and he set it aside.

“are you alright?” a stupid question really but what else was he to say? He could hardly remember what it was like to kill for the first time.

“I’m alright.” You were lying really but you’d get used to it. Everyone else already had after all.

“you know he would of shot me if you hadn’t shot him. You shouldn’t feel guilty.” He offered, watching you carefully still as if he was worried you might break. You had been rather fragile when you had arrived back at camp.

“I know.” You paused, not wanting to talk about this despite Javier’s good intentions to console you, “why are you looking at me like that? You gonna kiss me again?” your smile was just a little less bright after that particular topic had been discussed but you couldn’t resist throwing this back at him again and it made him laugh as he lit up his cigarette.

“maybe I will, Princesa. Would it make you feel better? I can if you really want me to.” he took a deep drag of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke slowly. You felt yourself blushing a little and turned your face away.

“you wish,” you were still lying but you at least managed to play off your reaction as a dramatic eyeroll. Javier laughed as he took another drag of his cigarette. You’d never liked the smell of tobacco before but on him you did. “next time I should go out alone,” you announced after a few seconds of admiring the man in front of you. “then I won’t get anyone hurt.”

“no.” he replied too quickly “no. That’s too dangerous. Dutch wouldn’t allow it. If you want to go out again come find me.” He was uncertain if he used Dutch as an excuse, either to save face and not embarrass himself in front of you or to save face and not admit to himself that he liked you more than even he was saying. Either way it didn’t matter, he had signed himself up to stay by your side and you gladly agreed.

“Okay. I’ll find you.”

#i cant red this again reeee #this took longer bc i wrote it reallllly rough then baso rewrote it all and grrr #also i started uni again so busy eeep #but here ya go #to the three people who read this....god bless #red dead redemption #red dead redemption2 #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #rdrwriting #friends to lovers #i desperately wanna write something thats not established relationship bc I love slow burn shit #javier #rdr2 javier #ajsjdjdj honestly rdr javi is kinda #javier escuella/you #red dead #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfic #fluff #sfw #hurt/comfort #iguessssss

[keyofjetwolf]

Bonus Question Answers! (non-anime animated noms)

This was SO. FUCKING. HARD. This question went so much better than I expected, and I’m only sad I lack the artistic skills to make it all a reality.

Below, my PAINSTAKINGLY selected top answers, If yours is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

---

Q: The Senshi suddenly find themselves in a very different animated world. Which cartoon power (think Looney Tunes) do they each now possess?

*  Usagi can make literal rainbows happen when she smiles.  Rei can set anything on fire with her mind (she feels a bit cheated because she can do that at home too).  Ami can write down anything in her special notebook and it literally changes reality around her (she does not share this with her fellow Senshi, because she knows the full weight of this power.  She did, however, write Michiru having a bad hair day for just one day.  Just one.)  Makoto has the ability to pull out any ingredient she wants from any pantry/door/closet.  She usually uses this for cooking purposes, so she won't have to purchase groceries.  Minako has the ability to mimic any voice in the world, whether she has heard it or not.  Hijinks ensue.  The Outer Senshi sensibly escaped from the new animated world right after Michiru recovered from her bad hair day.  They don't speak of the experience. -- @amberlilly  [The whole thing was so solid, but what absolutely sent it over the top for me was Ami using her powers to fuck with Michiru in the most petty benign way, which is EVERYTHING.]

*  Usagi is definitely rocking the exaggerated tear gushers.  Ami can pull charts/diagrams out of nowhere at any time.  Rei combusts when she gets sufficiently mad.  Makoto has birds fly around when she sings while cooking or cleaning.  Minako breaks the fourth wall to make jokes and asides to the audience.  Chibi-Usa is somehow able to walk through ludicrous danger without getting touched, because the censors won't allow kids to be hurt in this show. Haruka can make girls melt into puddles of goo with her flirting.  Michiru can summon a servant at any time to take care of an unpleasant or potentially dirty task for her (including to take the slapstick comedy for her).  Setsuna has access to the script.  Hotaru just sort of appears sometimes, just standing there, silently and menacingly, but never does anything on-screen (though you may hear the occasional off-screen screaming).  Oh, and while I'd like to say Mamoru gains the power of inexplicable entrances... he kinda already has that one.  --Darkcloud k'California  [Again, I loved all these, but particularly Chibs saved by the censors, Michiru’s poor hapless slapstick avatar, and everything about Hotaru, thank you.]

*  Usagi: The power to be found charming by every character she encounters and somehow escape all consequences and damage by simply remaining oblivious, a la Tweety Bird.

Rei: The power to explode, reducing her surroundings to charred wasteland, but remain relatively unscathed (perhaps a bit singed)

Ami: The power to grow multiple arms, hands, and hundreds of fingers in order to do tech stuff

Makoto: The power to punch someone through a brick wall, possibly several, and into someone's family dinner. It's always some surprised-looking family's private event. Often the same family.

Minako: the power to, Bugs Bunny style, apply lipstick and seduce ANYTHING. Which, according to her, is a power she already has.

Haruka: The power to run off a cliff and keep going until she looks down. She never learns to not look down.

Michiru: The power to stick a pin into any other character and cause them to deflate like a balloon

Hotaru: She just gets to actually be used. It is thrilling.

Pluto: She will observe this strange planet from afar with her huge telescope and breathe the Martian air and look great in a kilt and Roman-style helmet. --  @incorrecttact  [Your set-up and punchline delivery style on all of these was perfection, and I legit lol’d at Mako and the poor family she continually interrupts.]

* to make dynamite go BOOM (Rei obviously); to have their opponent chase them to the point where they're floating in midair and then their opponent falls 5000 feet but they calmly walk back to land (like Wil E Coyote & the Roadrunner) (Usagi); the power to blow kisses to their opponent (which are clearly poisonous and end up killing the chap) (Minako); the power to have their opponent's entire arm shattered if they try to even punch them lightly on the arm (Makoto - this is canon anyways, but moreso exaggerated here hehe); to open a book and start reading it out loud and words start showing up on screen, confusing tf out of their opponent (Ami - also canon already)  --@midnightdrops  [Each of these were great, but Usagi and Mako as you described them totally sold me.]

* usagi: can now float on yummy aromas, so long as they lead her somewhere tasty! the others play a quick tournament of jun-ken-pon each time it happens to determine who will be responsible for steering her from blissfully drifting into traffic. again.

ami: is now possessed of x-ray vision! only she can neither turn it off, nor control its intensity. she is working on developing a set of goggles to dampen the effect, and secretly hopes they will make her look like geordi laforge.

rei: rei-chan is now blessed with the power of song! her heartfelt melodies soften the malice of even the most one-dimensional baddie, and influence public policy on a global scale. international success life, yo! i guess she's really a hard worker!

makoto: has become something of a cartoon cupid! in a poorly-ventilated room, her mere presence has bystanders declaring their love for one another within minutes*; and her decadent wedding cakes are the hit of second marriages across the country. *all of them so like her old senpai, and none of them falling for her, alas!

minako: employs her considerable powers of confidence and charm to convince the others she now has access to Plot Manipulation, mainly by engineering and taking ownership of a series of happy accidents. her real power is to literally jump out of her skin when she's startled*, and she has no intention of EVER letting the others know about it.  *minako discovered this new ability while she was changing a roll of toilet paper, and a spider dropped onto her hand. the leader of the inner senshi had never been so horrified. her bones were so slick and cold, her skin a hideous unwiped pile, and then THE SPIDER CRAWLED INTO THE PILE and she STILL doesn't know if it ever got out and sometimes her skin itches REALLY bad and you know what let's stop talking about this right now okay???

setsuna: can now manifest a giant pencil and erase the enemy! but doing so would be breaking The Greatest Taboo, and leave her impaled upon the pencil.

haruka: her new empathetic ability is remarkably similar to Ma-Ti's "heart" ring (Captain Planet and the Planeteers, 1990 - 1996). basically, she's just like really soft at you, and it inspires you to take more positive actions toward yourself and the world at large? she protests about wishing she'd received something tough and intimidating, but secretly is very moved by being made an instrument of kindness.

michiru: her intuition has mutated into fourth wall awareness, and the subtlety with which she makes this known to you is SO GODDAMN UNCOMFORTABLE OH MY GOD

hotaru: can now not only communicate with inanimate objects, but also render them permanently animate! you should have been there during the princess tutu crossover episode when she met lamp-chan - they're STILL inseparable, and chibiusa is SUPER jealous. speaking of which,

chibiusa: can now use hammerspace to store her endless series of magical geegaws and weird animal boyfriends.  -- @rasiqra-revulva  [Dude, you have got to stop making me snort laugh, it’s RUDE. Pure solid gold, every word, with a special nod to Haruka, MICHIRU, and Minako’s extended tragic cartoon backstory.]

* Usagi - like her name suggests, she is now Bunny. By which I mean she is now a very pink and blonde bunny (somewhere between Bugs and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit), but with super-elastic limbs to accompany her new form. Ami - Magical Science Powers up to and including ‘mix one brightly colored liquid in flask with another brightly colored liquid in flask, explosion, get hammer.’ Rei - An infinite supply of dynamite she can pull out of nowhere. This shouldn’t be as useful as it is. Mako - Literally suplexed a giant metallic youma not just untransformed, but before she has Senshi powers at all. I fully believe she could lift an anvil in canon. Minako - While Usagi looks like a rabbit, Mina now has the supernatural trickster abilities of Bugs Bunny. Implausibly effective bad disguises, persuasion, showing up out of nowhere. Chibs - Now that gun from her first appearance is a real gun, but it shoots anything from normal bullets to pies in the face to live birds. Pluto - The fourth wall is a real and tangible thing. Pluto can not just break it, but control it. If she wants to remove a layer of cel or suddenly turn things into sketch, she can do it. If she wants to teleport, she can skip in the animation. If she wants to suddenly appear as a Roger Rabbit-style cartoon in a live action field, or vice versa? Yeah, she can do that too. She basically uses this power to warp the layers of her cartoonish reality for pastry acquisition. Haruka - You’d think it would be Roadrunner speed. Haruka thinks it will be Roadrunner speed. But no, it isn’t. Space Jam is Looney Tunes, and Haruka’s power is Basketball. Michiru - Another power that’s just canonical: Wealth. Ridiculous, tremendous wealth. Hotaru - The funniest thing for Hotaru to be in a zany cartoon world is Even More Spooky. Nothing changes except the artstyle and a ridiculous supervillain cape.  -- Regalli  [Pluto, man. Fantastic and brilliant and I legit WANT THIS. Also though, Hotaru with a cape.]

*  Usagi gains the ability to eat anything and everything like the Tazmanian Devil, though she shares none of his aggressive personality; Minako enjoys fucking with people by bending reality (you know, diving into painted tunnels and stuff like that); Ami is able to utilize and test unreal technology without harm, like jet boots, massive bombs, tornado seeds, etc.; Mako uses body manipulations to change her size and shape--especially for blocking attacks to protect people or grabbing people (coupled with her immense strength); and Rei is the only one aware of the audience beyond the Fourth Wall... She tries not to talk to them but sometimes she just can't help it, especially when Usagi is getting on her nerves.  -- @thehubby  [I said pander to me, and you absolutely did. I can’t stop thinking about Rei trying not to make fourth wall eye contact, then just whirling around all “CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT??!?” and as it turns out, that IS precisely what I wanted.]

---

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry, so keep those answers coming! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin shit #THE GIFTENING 2020 bonus q

[mylittleredgirl]

trekathon: disco 1x9

“into the forest i go”:

rated m for major trauma

this season is a 12-hour movie and my five-acts-for-syndication brain has a hard time parsing the plots of individual episodes, but suffice it to say:

things get resolved in this episode

making way for even more things

star trek: after dark:

until now the adult nature of discovery has been ~dark themes~ and Let Tilly Say Fuck and stamets on a three-episode shroom trip

instead of rape and grAPHIC TORTURE

it’s blessedly only shown in disjointed flashes but after that bone saw sound effect i’m never even gonna use an electric toothbrush again

keeping track of the plot threads in this episode like i’m taking notes at a board meeting:

old business: klingon cloaking technology (resolved)

old business: klingon ship of the dead (resolved)

old business: admiral cornwell captured by klingons (resolved)

old business: what the fuck is happening to stamets (ongoing)

new business: what the fuck is happening to tyler

new business: we have a klingon POW now and she’s acting real creepy

new business: where the fuck are we

that was easy:

i’m stuck on lorca’s “welp i guess you better come up with a plan in two hours to do this thing that has stymied the best minds of the federation all season or ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ” 

you know how in “who framed roger rabbit” there’s this bit where roger can’t pull his hand out of the handcuffs until it’s funny, because he’s subject to the laws of the cartoon universe?

it’s like that but the laws of the star trek universe mean that they can’t come up with a solution for the klingon cloak until a) the fate of an innocent civilization hangs in the balance, and b) they have a very short deadline.

i tried to find a joke about the staples easy button in space adn came up with the “spaceles easy button.”

welcome to the a-plot, klingons:

once again, i will stand here and testify my love for the discovery klingons. kenneth mitchell as kol sticks the landing so hard

this episode is a prime example of foley artists doing damage to me personally, because those loud beep beep beeps from the super secret devices michael and tyler are planting on the klingon ship really! stress me out!!!

tyler’s mental break is appropriately uncomfortable from start to finish (and the energetic lead-up to it is especially well-done, with him getting more and more on edge as they go through the klingon ship)

i love that michael sees a strange psychological standoff happening and just shoots l’rell. more stun first sort it out later behavior is what we need sometimes

the long explosion sequence for the ship of the dead, shown entirely as reaction shots from inside the discovery bridge? brilliant

EvilWatch 2255:

“captain, i didn’t know you cared” these jerks have me wanting a lorca redemption arc at the exact moment he’s laying out his evil plan

i really admire his ability to play two long games at once

thinking about that scene with stamets in the shuttlebay and i’m honestly not sure if lorca’s subtly manipulating stamets into jumping to the starbase because he wants to bail for the mirror universe before cornwell can reopen the conversation about his command

but i THINK he intends to stay and finish out the war until stamets’s final-jump ultimatum forces his hand

why does he even want to go back in the first place? the mirror universe is terrible?? if he stays here starfleet is going to give him a medal and he might have to go to therapy for a minute but no one’s gonna try to murder him just walking down a hallway

i understand why lorca probably avoided seeing admiral cornwell after her rescue from klingon torture but “okay send her my best” is pretty cold, dude 

i’d like to personally offer jason isaacs the scott bakula & jolene blalock award for playing the “lorca cares about michael’s safety far more than is reasonable under the circumstances” bits with the least sexual tension possible

it’s like he and i both took a look at the upcoming mirror universe reveal and were like “lorca was burnham’s surrogate father, yep” and then just stopped reading before the rest of that sentence, and bless him for it

oh my god michael and tyler:

it’s so raw

tyler’s complicated feelings about whether he’s complicit in his own torture because he chose to live by whatever means necessary and then it’s almost worth it because he got to meet michael “is that weird?” a;lksdgja;lsgasg 

i know it’s about to get 900% more complicated but right now with their entire combined mess of trauma but him being so open always i love them so much

“i’ve found peace, right here” STOP

she falls asleep on his couch so he won’t be alooooone

other characters:

so! much! happens in this damn episode this recap would be 9 pages long but i don’t think we give hugh enough credit

in every conceivable way, but right now i’m admiring how he’s the only one of the crew who never wavers from the “that dude’s evil and i’m gonna judge to the full extent allowed within my professional boundaries” stance on lorca

i mean where are your threat ganglia, saru?? this man has literally EATEN kelpiens

and hugh and paul though, hugh and paullllllll 🥺 fighting and kissing and making opera dates 🥺 so much happiness can only end in tears

other moments of delight:

all the reaction shots from the bridge crew at all times, they’re all nosy af and i love them

and they’re so cute and proud when lorca calls them “fierce warriors all”

i think this is the first time discovery has engaged the spore drive while at warp, which was a pretty cool combination of visual effects

really enjoying tilly’s low braided space buns in this episode, definitely going to wear those tomorrow

#star trek discovery #discotrek #trekathon

[nightstalkerhunterguardian]

Tragedy

I keep coming up with in-between scenarios while writing other shit so I mean. 

Here’s another one. 

TW: descriptions of gore

Songs listened to: Panic Room by Au/Ra

Bottom of the River by Delta Rae

Go fuck yourself by Two Feet

-

The idea that they’d one day have to return to the surface of the moon only crossed Kano’s head in a hypothetical sense. She thought she had let go of what happened. Let go of the memory of Crota, of Oryx, of the Dreadnaught, of the bodies of Awoken floating out in the vacuum of space. 

PTSD was common among veteran Guardians, but few seldom talked out about it. It was almost like it all wordlessly bonded them in a sense and they had hoped that what they did on the moon would save the newer generation of Guardians the mind-numbing trauma of what had happened so long ago. 

They were wrong. 

-

She shut down once they entered the moon’s atmosphere. KillShot knew. He could tell by the way her eyes dulled. She had gotten good at shutting down in her years as a Guardian and as necessary as he knew it was, he hated it so damn badly because it took so much after the fact to tell her that she was still a person, that she still was more than a weapon or a soldier, that she was something and someone that mattered. 

She never believed it. 

She wasn’t brought back because she was special or she was unique or any other optimistic reason that Killshot tried to convincer her of. 

Her existence was a tool to ward off tragedy. 

Ironic is how she saw it. 

How was one tragedy supposed to fight off another?

The tag that Drifter had wound in her hair brushed gently against her jawline, along with the small jade charm that hung at the end of the tassel. Whether she was a joke to him or he was trying to make a point, she never bothered to ask but for some reason, she couldn't find it in her to take it out, no matter how many times she cut her hair. The tag remained. 

Landing on the moon and transmatting to the surface made her stomach lurch and she wanted to throw up in her helmet but she held it down and made her way through the base, Thorn in her hand. 

She had received an earful from numerous people over the gun she now kept at her side, but she refused to listen to any of it. It did it’s job and so did she. 

They were red. Covered in thorns and filled with something far deeper than rage or pure animalistic instinct. It seemed almost symbolic. Religious. 

It didn’t matter to her. 

Thorns jutted viciously up each hive body she dropped and she walked by each corpse as if something corrupted didn't follow her with each shot. Like she herself wasn’t becoming something vicious while wrapped in her own cocoon of pain and loneliness and fading sanity. 

Times like this, she really wished the man with the golden gun would've taken the shot at her when he had the chance. But maybe he knew she’d become this. He had to of.

The path she traveled the farther she went slowly became emptier as she passed through a haze and into a cleared path, overlooked by a cliff. 

A cliff with something looking at her atop it. 

A sharp pang of something hit her hard in her stomach before crawling into her chest, making her gasp for air and tears blur her vision. Killshot quickly makes his way to her side, scanning her over to check her. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, panicked, despite how something feels wrong to him too. 

Her line of sight goes back up to the cliff above, looking at the figures floating ominously, hovering as if they were watching them. 

It felt like an overwhelming amount of panic and sadness and distress was spreading through her chest cavity, crushing her lungs and threatening to break her ribs just to escape and she clawed at the ground below to try to get a hold of herself. 

Her legs were shaky by the time she was able to pull herself up from her knees and continue along the steep path, the looming figures still watching them. 

The sudden wave of scarlet hive that appeared didn't surprise her, each bullet and grenade hitting its mark and clearing the area as they approached the hazy red aura at the edge of the cliff. 

Memories quickly flashed behind her eyes when she reached her hand out to touch it and suddenly, she realized it wasn’t a memory. 

It was real. 

A nightmare that was supposed to remain in the past. 

It was here. 

-

The rapid haze of black and white and green that obscured her vision soon spat her out in a giant scarlet room, large barbs and broken stone surrounding them.

“Eris Morn...” she murmured, slowly approaching.

If there was anyone in the ‘verse that she felt an unspoken relation to, it was Eris. The primary difference between them, however, was Eris’s will to live. Her continuous fight to survive in spite of her tragedy.

Kano was ready to let it kill and consume her.

Maybe that’s why Eris was willing to share the memories of her fallen friends. To show that it was possible to overcome. Accept. That there was something to live for in the smoldering ashes of tragedy and pain.

It was...revealing to say the least and Kano couldn’t imagine how it felt for Eris to admit to the ache in her being while nightmares of her comrades loomed over her shoulder but she also noticed how she would stand a little straighter each time she remembered them. Their quirks and personalities. She hunched less as if the box she had been closed into was slowly expanding and she could stretch more and more.

Kano was proud of her. There was no denying that. She remembered when she first met her in the old tower, how she stayed crowded in a corner beside the staircase and muttered often of the growing threat of the taken and hive. The eerie green glow that emanated from where her eyes should’ve been was captivating in a way Kano couldn’t describe but she also didn’t seem to be very fond of company, so she kept her distance.

The talk that ensued between her, Eris, and Ikora had another type of whisper creeping into her head but she ignored it, at least for now.

She knew it would come back.

-

The chiming of metal was slow. Periodic. It followed a slow but sickening rhythm that only ever made anyone within earshot uncomfortable.

Only KillShot could hear it, though.

Had he any other choice, he’d simply leave, fade away in shimmering blue and white vapor. But there was a problem.

His Guardian was hanging from those same chains.

The twisted lengths the Hive would go to to experiment and make examples of Guardians was, in short, disgusting and to see that same hostility and viciousness taken out on his Guardian made it worse.

Kano’s body had stopped swinging by now, the chains having settled finally in the silence of the dim green halls. He could rez her but it wouldn’t do any good. The hooks they had used to hang her form from the ceiling needed to be removed or else she’d simply come back in the same excruciating pain she suffered before succumbing to the torture.

A hook was driven through the palms of each of her hands, spreading her arms out wide to her sides. A much larger hook had been driven through her back and was jutting from her chest, supporting most of her weight and keeping her body suspended in what could only be described as a sadistic mockery of a crucifixion.

It made KillShot want to be sick in ways he didn’t have a body for.

He tried to cut through the chains as best he could, managing to free one arm with a strong enough beam of laser light before moving onto the next, listening out for approaching Hive through the halls.

The clanking of the metal was loud against her limp form but it was overtaken by the sound of Knight footsteps thumping against the floor and crushing old bone beneath its approaching feet. KillShot quickly hid in Kano’s hood, nestling into her black hair.

It approaches, dragging its sword with it. A metal screech. A warped growl. And slowly, the footsteps leave. He peeks from the curtain of black hair he’s hidden in and emerges once the threat is gone, doing his best to cut through the large chain until finally, the chain breaks and his Guardian falls down into the pile of bone below, the crunch following indecipherable between her bones or the ones her body falls atop.

He won’t deny being panicked. Scared. They’re alone in the dark below the moon’s surface. They have no team. But he settles himself and broadcasts out a message as far as the suffocating Hive around them will allow it to travel.

“If anybody can hear this message, my Guardian is down. We are in need of assistance. Please, if you can lock onto my signal, we are in need of help. There are potential threats lingering and my Guardian is down.”

He sends the signal out and waits, staying hidden alongside his Guardian’s body.

Time passes and fear begins to set in. He needs to rez her but the hooks remain. Her helmet stays on but he can see the splatter of blood on the inside from when she had been choking on it.

Gunfire sounds off down the hall. It’s not loud and thundering like Hive boomers. It’s quick, cracking, and from the shrieks sounding after each shot, it’s hitting its targets. Rapid taps follow. Running.

Is that...? Did somebody catch his signal?

Red.

He sees red. But it’s not threatening and he realizes who it is. He rises from his spot and greets the Guardian who meets him, head turning to the body.

“Attack! I-I...” KillShot gathers himself for a second. “I can’t get the hooks out. I can’t rez her like this or she’ll just die again and-“ but the Guardian holds his hand up and nods, holstering his gun.

“It’s okay. I’m here to help”. He simply nods and glides aside, letting him approach her body as he takes her hand and begins working the jagged metal from the flesh. The squelching and popping makes him shudder but he allows Attack to pull the metal away and toss it aside before working on the other hand.

“You’re okay, buddy”, Attack says and the small ghost turns to him. “It’s gonna be okay. Luckily, worm rot hasn’t made it to her”. The reassurance sounds grim but it still works. Another clatter and he pulls the body up by the shoulders, surveying the damage before propping her up and crouching behind her.

“I’m gonna have to pull the hook through”, he sighs. “I can cut off the back and just pull out that half though”. He pulls out his knife and it glows with solar light that manages to cut through the metal quickly. He sheathes the blade and grabs the end jutting from her chest. Her back is leaned against his chest and he pulls her towards him while pushing against the hook and after a moment of stomach turning slick and sticky sounding shuffling, the hook finally clatters against the bone and floor.

KillShot is already scanning over her body and a shutter rattles through her chest before she jolts up, gasping.

“Welcome back, kid”, he says, clapping a hand against her shoulder. “You got put through the fuckin’ wringer by the looks of it”.

Her breathing is heavy and her hands clench in the remains beneath.

“When did you get here?” She asks, ignoring the comment. He nods his head to KillShot.

“Your friend sent out an SOS and I managed to catch it”.

She swallows and the taste of blood is still thick in her mouth.

She’s frustrated and it’s clear to see. The torture she’d been subjected to was agonizing to say the least and she stood from her spot, kicking the hook down the hall, making it bounce off the floor.

Attack says nothing and simply watches her pull Thorn from her hip in a grip that makes her gloves squeak under her hold.

Between the whispers in her head, the looming shadows hovering above, and the nightmares resurfacing, she was breaking.

She screamed. At nothing, at nobody. Just screamed.

-

In front of her, she can see Eris flinch away from her nightmares. She’s seated on the top of the small building across from her, cigarette hanging from her lips. She doesn’t know that her cigarette is halfway burnt up, the ash never falling while the smoke swirls over her head.

She doesn’t flinch away or even look when a familiar form seats itself beside her. All she does is hold her lit lighter to him for a moment. A puff of smoke makes her pocket the lighter and she otherwise remains still, gaze fixed on nothing until a small veil of light washes over her eyes and she looks up at the now unblurry form of Eris, flinching away from the remaining shadows that loom beside her.

She can feel the tag in her hair move as Attack takes a look at the writing on it before grasping the charm that hangs from the tassel at the end. It’s a snake. Of course it is. There’s no surprise in the carving itself but the detail and time put into it is something to take a moment to gander at. Each scale is clear and smooth and the way it coils around itself is mesmerizing for such a small object.

“...Tragedy”, she mumbles. Attack glances at her as the ash of her cigarette finally falls to dust on her thigh. “...it says tragedy”.

“That so?” He asks. She simply nods and the tag swings below her jaw when he lets it go. “Not one to make assumptions but the snake on it kinda hints at who gave you that”. Another nod confirms his guess.

“...don’t really enjoy giving credit to a man that reads people like cheap books but I suppose he makes his points when needed”, she says, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “More so when he’s right”.

He’d like to make a quip. A snippy remark, a sarcastic jab. Anything to lighten the mood but there isn’t much to work with at the moment, so he settles for taking another drag of his cigarette.

“...We never should’ve come here”.

There’s truth in what she says. Human nature demands that curiosity be sated at the cost of what may become of it. She knows it, he knows it, but it’s too late for knowing. The damage was done too long ago for regrets to form. The slump in her shoulders says she’s already carrying the weight of too many, some she can’t even recall in a life she isn’t privy to.

The butt of her cigarette is flicked away and her hand comes up to rub against her chest with a frown etched into her face. The convenience of remembering each death she had endured yet not being able to remember her final death from before seemed more and more fucked up everytime she died. And as she said before.

Human curiosity demands to be sated.

The way her fist clenches against her chest plate doesn’t go unnoticed and Attack sighs and rests a comforting hand atop her head of unruly black hair that had been pulled into a messy top knot, her shaved sides visible.

“You’re allowed to be hurt, ya know?” He finally says. It catches her off guard but she doesn’t show it. “You’re allowed to feel hurt and angry and sad. Just...just try not to stay there too long or else getting outs gonna be harder”. She scoffs but allows his hand to remain.

“I wouldn’t have a purpose if I did...”

-

We in them sad boi hours my dudes ✌🏼😎

As usual, Attack is @guardian-headcanons and Kano is mine.

Shit has been ✨r o u g h✨

#destiny the game #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny hunter #the drifter #destiny 2 fanfiction #fanfiction #writing

[arotechno]

The Heartless: Chapter 5

Read on Inkitt

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Chapter V: in which the proverbial dam breaks

We stayed with Esther for three days. We’d spend the daylight hours working in the field, and in the evenings we’d sit outside and listen to Esther’s stories while the sun sank into the far-off horizon and gave way to the cool summer night. Sometimes, she’d help us in the garden or sit by the back door with the baby; other times she’d spend most of the afternoon in the house, and we’d see her carrying out crates of old-looking memorabilia, like our hard work had inspired her to finally clear out the detritus of an old life that she didn’t lead anymore.

Over those three days, we razed the overgrown garden rows, trimmed back the bushes, and cleared the creeping vines from the side of the house with the old rusted garden tools from the dusty, cobweb-laden wooden bin by the back door. There were several moments where I considered disappearing overnight, dragging an unwilling Petra back home with me before something could go horribly wrong. But every time, the thought of sleeping another night in the treetops and the mental image of Esther waking up one morning to find us gone convinced me to stay, at least until the work was done.

On the morning of the fourth day, Petra and I gathered up our measly belongings from the stable and bid our goodbyes to Esther and the baby, standing between the freshly shorn raspberry bushes with the whole truth sinking into the sun-baked earth unspoken. I began a thousand sentences in my head without finishing any of them, but thankfully, Petra picked up the slack.

“Thank you so much, ma’am, for everything,” she said with a polite nod.

Esther returned her thanks with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, dear. It was nice to have some helping hands around for a few days.”

Petra went in for a quick hug, and if I’d had a heart, I believe it would have leapt into my throat and stayed there, permanently, until I choked on it and died. Instead, I found myself suddenly frozen to the ground where I stood, a thousand panicked thoughts buzzing under my skin until I saw Esther reach her free arm towards me and took a practiced step backward, a trillion possible endings to a million possible nightmares playing out in my head in that one instant.

“Thank you,” I choked out, startling Esther out of the bewildered expression that had crept onto her kind face. “Sincerely, I’ll never be able to thank you enough. More than you will ever know.” I gave her a polite nod to match Petra’s and turned to go, but when we were halfway to the road, she stopped me.

“Ace!” Esther called after me.

I turned around to see her look of confusion soften into something bordering on sorrow.

“I don’t know what it is, and I don’t expect you to tell me,” she began, “but whatever it is, no matter how bad you think it is, it doesn’t matter. You’re always welcome here, if you ever decide to come back. That’s a promise.”

“Please don’t make a promise I can’t expect you to keep, ma’am,” I answered honestly, and then I turned to go, Petra marching solemnly alongside me with her hands clutching the straps of her now full bag.

“You’re good kids, both of you!” Esther shouted, her voice carrying her desperation through the raspberry field down to the road’s edge. “I really mean that!”

I said nothing in return, and looked back only once, to see the baby reaching that chubby hand out toward me from afar. As the tiny house and Esther’s slowly shrinking form began to disappear at our backs, I thought quietly about the argument Petra and I’d had amongst the too-tall weeds that first day, and was left wondering which of us was right.

* * *

Bertrand greeted me with cold indifference when we finally arrived back in the Village of the Heartless. The house was stuffy; it felt more oppressively stark and empty than I remembered, as if I’d been gone for months instead of less than a week. It didn’t seem like Bertrand had eaten much, unless he’d managed to get more food in my absence—the more likely scenario was that he’d been brewing away at failed cure after cure in his study the entire time I had been away. It wasn’t as though he did much else when I was home, for that matter.

The sweltering summer dragged on, slow and sticky like pulled taffy. The weeks passed in much the same way as the ones that came before; Bertrand and I rarely spoke, and I spent long afternoons in the shade of the forest grove having target practice with Petra. She and I had taken to doing odd jobs for the neighbors in exchange for food or supplies, scrubbing kitchen floors on our hands and knees or picking fresh vegetables for the summer harvest until the sun had dappled new freckles across our noses and the tops of our shoulders. Whenever I couldn’t sleep at night (which was often), I’d climb to the top of the oak tree by the village gates with my bow and arrow and wait for someone to show up. No one ever did, aside from Petra—though her escapades were admittedly few now that our days were occupied by work.

Eventually, the days began to grow shorter and the summer heat faded into the crisp early autumn. The leaves on the big oak tree lost their green hue and the air grew drier day by day as the year commenced its twilight march to the cold, dark winter. The mounting tension in our tiny house came to a head on one cool autumn night, when my tired bones finally gave in to the deceitful throes of sleep.

* * *

My parents were very good at hiding the fact that I had no heart in my chest, and they had to be—harboring a Heartless child was against royal decree and would likely get them imprisoned, or worse. The people of Swallow’s Point didn’t suspect a thing, and I was content to keep it that way. I saw no reason to ever be discovered; I was living an ordinary childhood simply by pretending to be ordinary, and it was working.

It was just a beautiful, average day; the neighborhood children were out playing in the grass. In an act of heroics, Basil climbed atop a tree stump, wielding a stick like a pretend sword. We were playing knights, like we always did.

“I’m going to be king!” Basil declared gleefully to our group like a ruler addressing his people.

I turned up my nose and protested, “Basil, we’re all supposed to be knights! That’s the point of the game!”

Basil frowned, fists landing on his scrawny hips. “No, stupid, I mean in real life! I’m going to be king someday!”

"Sure you are,” retorted a kid who reminded me of Knife Boy. “You have to be related to the king to do that.”

Basil shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

“I don’t think so. You’re too weird to be related to King Brutus,” Marcus taunted.

“Don’t speak that way to your future king!” Basil joked, hopping down gracefully from his stump. He landed with a soft thud, worn-out shoes kicking up a cloud of dirt. The dust coated his face and clothes as he and the other boy began play-wrestling in the dirt road where we lived, laughing all the while, and warning bells resounded in my head. I could sense the impending danger from a mile away; it was an instinct I had been honing even throughout the most carefree years of my life, in case I ever needed it.

"Basil,” I muttered, hoping he would hear me and no one else, “maybe you shouldn’t—”

I stopped short, choking on my own breath as the group went dead silent. Marcus had gone to push Basil away and in doing so had placed a hand to Basil’s empty chest. He froze that way, eyes wide, and Basil paled considerably, realizing the gravity of what was happening. The moment cemented itself in my mind’s eye as tension soaked into the air, heavy and still.

“Why were you tricking us this whole time?” Marcus grumbled in a voice too low and too angry to ever come from a child. “You’re cursed! You could doom our whole village!”

“I just wanted friends,” was Basil’s whispered reply, so quiet I almost didn’t hear him. I saw him take a deep breath, chest rising, and then he spoke again, this time louder, bolder, “It shouldn’t matter! We were all friends until just now when you decided something was wrong with me! But that doesn’t change what I’ve always been!”

The entire group of children, save for myself, turned on him in an instant.

I backed further and further away from the scene but couldn’t look away, and in my mind’s eye their pretend-sword sticks became distorted until they resembled Knife Boy’s grimy dagger. I reasoned with myself, assuring myself that he was spry enough, light enough on his feet to escape. But poor, ten-year-old, Heartless Basil who had just declared himself king stared me dead in the eyes with a look that told me to run. So I did. He was foolish to let his guard down, I told myself. It was his own fault for becoming complacent. I almost convinced myself it was true.

  “Ace! Ace, wake up!”

I jolted awake, the residual terror warping the shadows cast by the lantern light into something macabre. It took a moment to will my body to move; my limbs had been reduced to lead, like if I played dead whatever demons haunted my sleep could not hurt me.

“Fuck,” I finally choked out, the hoarseness in my voice making me realize I had been screaming. I hadn’t woken up screaming from a nightmare in years, and it was at that point that I at last noticed Bertrand hovering beside my cot, the soft light from the lantern illuminating his stony features. There was something genuine in his expression—I realized belatedly that it was concern, and for some reason, it made me uncomfortable. Bertrand did not admonish me for my language, but instead stared at me patiently, expectantly, and somehow that made it worse.

"Sorry," I rasped. "For waking you."

Bertrand shook his head. “I was not asleep,” was all he said.

It occurred to me that Bertrand was the only living soul to whom I had ever told the details about Basil’s disappearance and the day I left Swallow’s Point. I had spilled to him one night as a child, the first time I woke him in the middle of the night with my screaming. He hadn’t said much, but he’d made me a cup of hot tea and let me lay my ten-year-old soul bare to him despite the ungodly hour. It had helped at the time, but it didn’t feel like an option now. I tried to steady my breathing, but I couldn’t, not with him looking at me so earnestly like that; it was as though my blood itself were vibrating just under my skin.

“I need to take a walk,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the cot and reaching for my shoes. I met Bertrand’s gaze, daring him to challenge me, but though he said nothing, his expression softened into a sort of resigned understanding.

“Are you sure you’re in any condition to do that?” he finally asked as I was putting on my cloak with trembling limbs.

“No,” I responded shakily, walking out the door unarmed.

Once I was outside, the fresh air immediately took some of the edge off, and I walked a short ways before my legs gave out like a newborn deer’s and I flopped backward onto the grass. I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, in and out several times until my breathing began to steady into something approaching normal.

This couldn’t go on any longer. I needed answers, some form of closure, someone to tell me straight to my face to get lost or die for all they cared, something more tangibly final than the memories that haunted me.

That night, I made a rash decision: I had to return home to see my parents.

When I eventually struggled to my feet and headed back inside, Bertrand was nowhere to be seen, but there was a mug of freshly brewed tea waiting on the table, the kettle still steaming on the stove as the crackling fire slowly burned out.

#the heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #aspec writing #aspec writers #writeblr #op

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xi: what kind of man

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~8.2k (I’M SORRY)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Gore/violence, Still Under The Influencer of drugs, uhhhh blood. There's a lot of mentions of blood and death and what have you. Elliot has a meltdown (surprise). Joseph is creepy (surprise pt. 2 electric boogaloo). People are confused about How To Feel. I don't understand how laws work and so I'm just literally out here trying my best, you know? Don't @ me.

Notes: I wanted to start off by saying THANK YOU everyone for your feedback! I was having a real hard time hitting my stride with the last chapter but all of your kind words has given me life. There's some still in these old bones yet and I really hope that you enjoy this one.

 Anyway I'm a clown and I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Joke's on you, it's always clown hour here! Thank you forever and always to @starcrier ​ for being the best proof-reader and somehow managing to make my incoherency readable?? Manageable??? You're an angel and ily! Also, @empirics ​, my writing aspiration forever, and @baeogorath ​ who makes me cry literally every time I read anything they have to say about my writing. Thank you thank you thank you!

John had never seen a person’s head blown in with a shotgun, and he wasn’t sure that he really needed to.

Ase’s blood had splattered when Jacob fired the shotgun at what he was sure could be considered point-blank range, the spray of it nearly catching them in the process. But no, it was mostly on Elliot, like she was some Carrie at her first prom, a real tried-and-true Scream Queen.

“I knew you’d find a way to fuck it up,” Jacob said, no absence of venom in his voice as he stepped away from Ase’s dead body like she was nothing—and sure, she was nothing, and John didn’t necessarily have any qualms with getting rid of her (he had blown a shell straight through her spine), but that wasn’t what was making him nauseated.

It was Elliot. Baby-blues eaten away by her pupils, blown wide with hallucinogens, drenched in blood, making a noise something close to a rabbit that thought it was going to die.

He didn’t have the energy to tell Jacob that the blow to her skull had been unnecessary, that there was no way someone could walk away from their entire stomach being blown through by a shotgun. That Jacob’s idea of “fucked up” was greatly, massively warped if he thought that Ase hadn’t been finished after shot number one. Even if he’d had the energy it wouldn’t have mattered, because the next words out of Jacob’s mouth were, “You put Faith at risk going back for her.”

The eldest Seed didn’t need to say what it was he meant; John knew. The words were “you put Faith at risk going back for her”, but what he meant was, Joseph’s going to be furious when he finds out.

“Get your pet,” Jacob bit out, “and let’s fucking move.”

John’s limbs moved of their own volition, kneeling down in front of Elliot and turning her face away from the grisly scene laid out next to her. If she recognized him, it didn’t show; she trembled, and her eyes never stayed fixed for very long, as though everything in the entire world was assaulting her senses at every second.

“Elliot,” he said, pulling her to her feet as the sound of voices rising in the distance peppered the air, “we have to move.”

Some kind of guttural sorrow welled up and out of her as he pulled her along and down the hill, her feet stumbling. Around them, the night hummed with gunfire and shouting. John was certain that he heard something like grief wracking the air at the hilltop above them, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back, afraid of what he’d see—that redheaded monster of Ase’s bent over her nearly-decapitated corpse, or worse: coming after them.

He kept one hand on Elliot’s arm and the other out in front of her case she tried to plummet headfirst down the hill—whether by chance or accident—and by the time they had reached the bottom, the strange agony sounds that had tried to burrow out of her had mostly ceased; her gaze was still glassy and dark, and there was an odd sway about her, but she looked only shell-shocked now.

Oh, John thought, absently, if that’s all.

Joey’s dark gaze darted between the two of them. He released Elliot to her without a word, his hand dropping from the blonde as Joey fussed over her. Faith swayed dreamily just a few steps away from Joey, humming a song mostly to herself; beyond her, Jacob stood, his arms crossed over his chest while he toted the shotgun in one of his hands, before he apparently got tired of waiting and grabbed Faith’s hand.

“If you want to stand around down here and chit chat, that’s fine,” he said, tugging Faith—clearly still drugged, clearly unaware of the carnage occurring around them—off to the trail that led away from the lake. “ We’re leaving.”

“Jacob—” John started. It was too late. The redhead had set for himself and for Faith a brutal and punishing pace to return them to wherever it was Joseph waited, and though he was loathe to admit it, Jacob was on the right track; pretty soon, the members of Eden’s Gate that had been sent up to wreak havoc on the Family would be dead, and he was certain that once Ase’s death was fully recognized, someone would want revenge.

“Are we going home?” Faith asked, giggling as she toddled after Jacob, barely able to keep herself upright. “That lady said John was going to come and rescue me.”

John’s chest tightened at the sound of her laughter. She was so completely unperturbed by everything—everything she had been through, had seen. He wondered how heavily they’d had to drug her, and if she would even remember half of it come the moment that she sobered up.

He exhaled, glancing at the top of the ridge above them where the lights of the cabins and flashlights and whatever-the-fuck-else those monsters had at their disposal glimmered.

“When,” Elliot said, the word grinding out of her mouth haltingly, “when... did Jacob-”

“Drink some water,” Joey murmured. She uncapped the half-drank water bottle and pushed it into Elliot’s hand and added, “And we’ll talk about it later, but right now we need to move, Elli.”

Elli, John thought, and felt a faint glimmer of amusement at the absurdity of such a soft, round nickname for a girl who was only sharp edges. Well, but she wasn’t so sharp now, was she? As he led them along the dark trail, her fingers brushing his on occasion, he would glance over at her and find her staring at him like he was a stranger, like she didn’t recognize him. Maybe she didn’t; he wasn’t familiar with the drugs they’d put her on, anyway.

“What the fuck happened up there?” Joey hissed, her hand firmly rooted in Elliot’s as she tugged her along—not unlike the way Jacob was pulling Faith. She had taken the water bottle back when it became apparent Elliot wasn’t interested in it. “Why is Elliot covered in blood —”

“She’s alive,” John snapped, “isn’t that what’s important?”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a fucking award.”

“Stop it,” Elliot managed out. “Stop arguing. You both are so fucking loud.”

Joey’s lips pressed into a thin line. They ducked into the treeline far below Sacred Skies Camp, picking their way as quickly as they could through the underbrush, but the journey was slow and arduous; guiding Elliot through the trees had, in the last twenty minutes, become no easier than guiding a toddler. A blind, deaf toddler, who spared no interest in staying upright, and also had a metric fuck ton of psychotropic drugs in her system.

The walk there seemed to take much longer than it had going up, but John was sure that was his own adrenaline crash happening. He’d been stressed—about getting Faith out, about what he’d find, if he’d find anything at all or if they’d have done away with Elliot seconds after getting her.

Fuck . The thought filtered through his brain with dismay at the realization that he had been worried about her. Jacob was right; he’d really only needed to get Faith. But Elliot had been—she’d gone in there for them , and Joseph wanted her alive, and—

“Tired,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking with exhaustion as she took agonizing step after agonizing step. “I’m so tired, J—”

“I know,” John and Joey said, both cutting Elliot off and overlapping each other at the same time. Of course, John already knew what it was like to handle Elliot like this. They’d toddled through one field with Elliot clutching him like an anchor, drugged to the gills, once already; this was new territory for the other deputy.

Joey gave him a dark, turbulent look—the kind that implied murderous intent—and John turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting the fuck out of there.

As soon as the truck came into sight, running with the lights off, John let himself breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought Jacob would really up and leave them, but it also wasn’t impossible that he would have insisted and said fuck off if Joseph had protested. His eldest brother had been notorious for pushing back, for picking fights, and maybe—just maybe—he was pissed enough to follow through this time.

“About time,” Jacob said from the driver’s seat. Joseph did not give his input, which only served to further John’s personal unease as he opened the tailgate of the truck. Joey climbed in first, swaying just a little. He’d noticed that her pupils looked blown, too, though not quite as much as Elliot’s, so it must not have been fully out of her system yet.

John glanced up the hill absently. The sound of Eden’s Gate members still echoed. Not quite done yet, he thought absently, and then said, “Alright, Deputy, let’s get a move on.”

“Too high,” Elliot sighed, and he wasn’t sure if she meant the tailgate or herself. John turned her around from trying to clamber into the back and gripped her hips; her hands fluttered unsteadily before holding onto his arms.

“Don’t throw up on me,” he said.

She looked tired. Each second her eyes spent open seemed to demand more and more energy from her. “Expensive shirt, huh?”

“That’s right.”

He hoisted her into the back of the truck; she sat on the tailgate for a second only, and swayed forward like she was going to tumble right off; she steadied her hands on his shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt and bleeding warm against his skin.

“You did it too fast,” Elliot muttered, her voice verging on spoiled brat. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John climbed in after her as she scooted to the farthest spot away from the tailgate. Jacob didn’t wait for the tailgate to close before he pulled out of the brush; the truck hit the dirt road with a heavy thunk that had his teeth rattling around in his skull. Fucker, he thought, slamming the tailgate shut before the dust kicked up beneath them.

Elliot had her back pressed against the window into the truck. Blood covered her face and matted strands of her hair where they’d stuck to her cheeks; the vicious edge to her was dulled, whittled down to the bone until she was just a small girl folded up into the side of Joey Hudson.

When her eyes had fluttered shut and the night had settled a chill over them, Joey’s gaze flickered across John for a moment before landing on his face. She was silent, studying him—in a most infuriating way, wordlessly —before she finally said, “What happened?”

John glanced out at the Montana wilderness stretching out behind her, late into the night; he thought about the way Elliot had balked at the sight of the treeline, like there was something in there only she could see, something horrible.

“Well, the boys and I thought it’d be a nice night to go out,” he replied flatly, cocking his head before looking at Joey. “It’s been a while since we’ve done anything fun, you know, so it was nice to get the gang all together again for a little fun .”

The brunette’s expression flattened. “The devil rebuking sin.”

“I shot the psycho and I got Elliot out of there,” John bit out. “What did you expect?”

“You, to leave her,” Joey snapped. “That’s what I would have expected out of you.”

The words shouldn’t have stung. They were coming from Joey Hudson, after all, the only person that Elliot really cared about and so clearly the only person that John could use against her. But these facts were minor details to him now, carefully pinned out somewhere in the back of his mind—always accessible, but no longer important. Hudson had stopped being very important at all when she stopped being something to dangle in front of Elliot. Now they stung for a different reason, something that John couldn’t put his thumb on.

That’s not very true, something in him said, rattling against the bones of his rib cage. You know exactly why that bothers you.

“Well, that’s on you, isn’t it?” John replied, keeping his voice sickly sweet. “I’ll have you know I took very good care of your hellcat.”

“Yeah,” Joey ventured dryly, “having her shoved into a cult that shot her so full of poison it was coming out of her eyes really showed some TLC.”

“I’m sure she told you the plan was different,” John bit out.

“She tried. Which is why I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all, Seed.”

Though Joey’s voice was soft so as not to rustle Elliot, it was pounding with venom. Hatred. That was to be expected, he thought; after all, in the short time that she’d been his ward, he’d done his very hardest to lure Elliot in with her fear and then passed her off almost immediately to Faith. But still, the wording struck him—it was the same sentiment that Jacob had flung in his face after blowing Ase’s brains out.

You put Faith at risk going back for her.

I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all.

It was never the plan to save Elliot. It was always: get Faith, get out, and if you can get the deputy too—sure. Why not? She’d be indebted to them. Even more so if they got Joey out with her. But Faith should have been the absolute priority first, and he’d left her down at the lake to go back up into the middle of a firefight to get Elliot and Joey out.

If we’re partners, you have to trust me.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he managed out, trying to keep his voice as clipped as he could. “Normally, when people are rescued, they’re thankful. ”

“You did kidnap me,” Joey snapped, “so you’re closer to us being equal than my being grateful, and even that’s pushing it. I just don’t know if the rescuing still counts as a good deed if you only did it for yourself.”

John stared at her, eyes narrowing and jaw setting, tense and tight until pain radiated up into his skull. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Deputy Hudson —”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Elliot stirred, eyelashes fluttering. She coughed into Joey’s shoulder—the gesture not lost on the brunette, who grimaced a little—and when her eyes landed on John there was an eerieness about them, like she was trying to pull him open and peer inside, peel back the vibrating tension and hostility that Joey Hudson’s interrogation brought of him.

“What?” John asked, barely masking his irritation. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, but it did because he couldn’t get the way she’d said, John? out of his head, small and wounded so very afraid, with Ase’s blood drenching her.

“Just trying to figure out which John you are,” Elliot replied, her voice slick with exhaustion and the words rolling out of her mouth in something close to a slur. They sent an uneasy jolt through him. It was the drugs, surely—she probably said all kinds of weird shit while she was high. He didn’t know what she was seeing, anyway.

(—fucking hate you, John Seed, John Duncan, whatever the fuck your name is, whoever the fuck you are—)

The blonde sighed again. The breath sounded like some kind of exertion for her; she squirmed and tried to get more comfortable against Joey’s shoulder, the blood on her face staining the forest-green of the deputy’s shirt. John’s head ached. The memory of Joseph, silent while Jacob debated the logistics of getting a killing shot through Elliot, flickered through his mind, venomous.

(—should see yourself whenever Joseph says anything. You practically fall over to kiss the ground he fucking walks on—)

“Well,” he replied, settling more comfortably in his spot across from the two women, “let me know when you find out, why don’t you, Rook?” He let his head loll back against the lip of the truck bed, a dark, cloudless night spreading out above him. He wanted to brush aside the way Elliot looked at him, but he had learned long ago that was the quickest way to underestimate her.

“I’m just dying to know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The truck came to a halting stop. John hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the strange inertia-pull of the truck stilling rustled him from his sleep. It was hard to say how long they had been on the road, but if he had to guess—and, taking into consideration how Jacob liked to drive—he’d wager it had been only thirty minutes.

Across from him, Elliot was awake, murmuring something to Joey that he couldn’t hear over the sound of the engine giving one last kick before Jacob turned it off. There was a higher clarity about the blonde, now, one that implied that sleep had done her well—though the pupils of her eyes stayed wide, there was now a sliver of baby blue that he could see, if he looked close enough.

He grimaced as exhaustion burned through his body, and for a brief second, their eyes met; like before, they pried at him, tried to see something that maybe he didn’t want her to. 

As he lowered the tailgate of the truck and slid out, John turned around and instinctively reached to steady Elliot as she tried to climb down.

“I’m fine,” she said, more biting than he anticipated. Just coming down, John thought absently, his hands only remaining in the air for a second after her assertion before dropping to his sides again.

“Oh, yeah,” John replied, “I forgot that you’d rather I let you eat shit than keep you from falling over.”

She’s always been willful, he mused. The thought occurred as though John had known Elliot for a long time. In a way, he supposed that he did; fuck, he’d tried every goddamn trick in the book to lure her in, and she’d still spit her venom into her walkie at every chance she’d gotten. There was nothing that John didn’t try and dig up, nothing that he hadn’t racked his brain for in the brief moment that they’d visited all those years ago. And still— and still, and still —she—

“Hudson,” John said, offering his hand to her because he was a gentleman and certainly not because he enjoyed the way the gesture made her squirm.

“Fuck off, John,” Joey replied tersely, sliding off the truck bed as well. John smiled dryly.

He said, the needling coming to him like second nature, “So nice to have both of you here at one time. It’s what I always wanted, you know.”

Elliot shot him a look, one that sucked the wind right out of his sails. It was a wounded look, like he had suddenly reminded her of the things he had done, and John felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He didn’t know why the words came out—a force of habit, maybe, or the way that Joey Hudson’s animosity (and closeness ) to Elliot made his hackles raise. As though Joey’s presence made a choice immediately clear for her, and she chose Joey.

The clench of his jaw sent pain radiating up into his skull. He thought that things had been much simpler pre-Joey Hudson, and he was regretting having helped her.

“I knew you’d come and save me,” Faith said, her voice breaking him out of the turmoil of his thoughts. She smiled at him, and it would have almost been endearing if her pupils weren’t absolutely blown to hell, reminding him that they’d probably done more than just drug her with some weird hallucinogen—the way she’d been acting when he’d seen her on the road had been something more akin to the kinds of things Faith had partaken of before.

He reached up, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Yeah?” he replied. “You listened to those crazies?”

“They’re not crazy,” Faith sighed. Her voice bloomed with something like affection, and when she looked at him, there was a startling clarity about her expression—keen, and a little sly. Not so innocent, our Faith, he thought absently. “Just different, John. And you came, didn’t you?”

A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. John glanced away from Faith, his gaze meeting Joseph’s from where he stood in front of the car; per usual, his expression was unreadable, obscured behind a mask of tranquility that provided no insight on what his brother was thinking or feeling.

“Go on,” John said, patting Faith’s back, “get some sleep. You’re going to feel like hell in a few hours, you know.”

She laughed, like maybe she didn’t quite hear what he actually said, and slid out of his half-embrace to wander around to the front of the car where Joseph was waiting. He turned his gaze away, swallowing back the feeling that he’d somehow failed a test—something that only Joseph knew the meters and results of, that he’d have to sweat until he found out about.

Elliot had already started walking away with Joey, taking her back to the same bunkhouse that she’d been holding up in prior to their little excursion. They spoke in low voices to one another; Elliot’s expression was even soft, softer than it had been when he’d found her sobbing into the grass in the field, when she’d been terrified out of her skin. Softer than when she’d had Ase’s brains splattered all over her.

John sucked his teeth, pushing the tailgate of the truck up until it latched. The adrenaline crash was starting to hit him hard, now. Every muscle in his body ached with the effort of moving, as though they’d all tensed and held for hours at a time; maybe they had. Gunfire and screaming still echoed in his head, while corpse after corpse, and Ase’s shattered head, lingered just behind his eyelids. They didn’t bother him, these images of glory and gore—but he couldn’t shake the way that Elliot had looked at him from the ground, drenched in blood, terrified.

Terrified of him.

“It’s always going to be like that, you know.” It was Jacob’s hard, steely voice that pulled him now, like his siblings wanted to take turns interrupting his train of thought. “She’s always going to pick Hudson over us.” His brother leveled him with one swift, hard look. “Over you .”

“Funny,” John muttered, “I didn’t realize you were a psych professional, Jacob.”

“Faith could have died because you went back for that girl,” Jacob bit out, his voice low but vibrating with something more venomous. “I know you know that, you aren’t stupid. And you went back for her anyway. So—”

“So, what?” he interrupted, trying not to let the frustrated venom from watching Elliot take Joey’s hand and walk off bubble out of him. “Faith’s alive, that crazy bitch is dead. What else do you want?”

“For you to get your shit together,” Jacob snapped. “Like I said, I know you’re not stupid, but do yourself the favor and prove it to me anyway. That girl —”

That girl, Jacob said, like the words didn’t suddenly fill John with some kind of poison. The eldest Seed gestured toward the bunkhouse, where inevitably, Elliot and Joey were conspiring; to leave, to kill. At this point, John wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think that either would surprise him.

“—is nothing. Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for us.” Jacob’s words were hard and cold. He gripped John’s shoulder and added, “Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for Joseph.”

That’s what it really boiled down to at the end of it all: that Joseph had seen like he always did, because nothing went without Joseph’s seeing, and maybe he wasn’t sure that Elliot was really worth the trouble anymore. Before, Joseph had wanted her to add to their little collection of misfits, just like he’d added the sheriff’s receptionist, just like he’d picked up Faith when she was Rachel, just like when he let Jacob tap into the worst parts of him for use, just like just like just like . Joseph was hard-pressed to find a vicious misfit that he didn’t want for himself, and Elliot Honeysett had been no different.

But a hard-to-break will cost time, and resources, and maybe with these locusts in their garden, that just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Not for Joseph. Not right now. Where was this, anyway, back at the start of it all? Back when John had wanted to do things his way?

“Whatever Joseph’s opinion on the usefulness of the deputy, Burke’s gone,” John said after a minute. Jacob’s hand still sat heavy on his shoulder; he passed a hand over his face and sighed. “That marshal, the one that was—”

“I remember.”

John grimaced. “He was with Faith, and Hudson, but he wasn’t at the camp that I could see.” He paused again. “Jacob, if he got out and he made it out of Hope County, he’ll be a problem.”

The red-headed nodded once, brisk. “A big fucking problem.” Another pause, and then: “Tell me you’ll get this whole issue with the deputy wrapped up.”

John’s jaw clenched. Tell me you can do this, Joseph had said. Tell me you’ll get this whole issue wrapped up. Hadn’t he proven he was capable of handling her? Hadn’t Joseph himself said that?

“There’s no issue,” he replied flatly, stepping around Jacob and heading to the church. “Never was.”

“Good.”

It was easy to say, and harder to believe. He knew—the rational part of his brain, somewhere inside of him—knew that he was jealous of Hudson. That he knew exactly what Hudson thought of him, and he hated that someone who hated him had Elliot immediately trailing after her like a puppy, as though the last three days—all of those moments hadn’t meant—

And what was he supposed to think, then, about the way that her lashes had fluttered when his fingers brushed her skin, the way the heat crawled under her freckles when he slid into her planetary pull? That it was just—passing? Nothing?

Does it matter?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  

Elliot was having a hard time.

That was to say, there were a lot of conflicting emotions that were welling up inside of her, crashing down like tidal waves. Normally, she’d be able to bottle those pesky things up and bury them deep inside her, to access later (which could be minutes, or days, or years—whenever); but with the drugs still wreaking havoc on her, she felt like all of her normal defenses were crashed and battered, maybe even beyond repair. Maybe even permanently decimated.

It was lucky that she had Joey, she supposed as she closed the bunkhouse door behind them, letting the noise of it soothe her over-worked senses; lucky, because Joey had always been her lighthouse in the times that she needed it the most.

“We have to get out of here,” Joey said, and the words immediately exhausted Elliot further. She took in a long, suffering breath and sat down on the edge of one of the bunk beds, rubbing her hands against her face. She was far from out of the woods; she thought maybe she was starting to come down, or even crash, because it felt like electrical pulses kept ricocheting through her body and they wouldn’t stop.

Elliot managed out, “I’m in no shape to go anywhere, Joey, you know that I—”

She saw the look on Joey’s face. Distress. John had kidnapped her, and terrorized her with whatever it was he had originally planned to do to her, and now they were here, in the compound, where it had all began. And yes; John had kidnapped Joey, and her, and yes, he was a fucking psycho, and—

And yes, he knew her well enough to shove a cigarette in her hands when she was stressed, and he didn’t complain when her nails dug into him when she thought the world was going to split in two around her, and yes, he did come back for her when he didn’t have to, and yes and yes —

‘And yes’ what? A nasty voice inside of her head said. A man so much as looks at you and all of a sudden you’re on the other side?

“I can try,” she offered weakly. “I can try, if you want to go now, but I don’t know where Boomer is and everyone from Hope County is—hopefully—already gone. I don’t have anything.”

When the words came out of her mouth, she felt the last thread holding herself together snap. I don’t have anything, the words echoing hollow inside of her, reminding her that everyone was gone, maybe they were dead, that she didn’t know where her dog or her mama were and maybe that meant that she didn’t have anything left inside of her, either, nothing left to give. That she had scraped and scraped to the bottom of the barrel and now she’d have to start breaking herself into pieces to have anything worthwhile to give anyone.

“I don’t have anything, Joey,” she said again, her voice wobbling and wet and fuck, she hated it so much, the burning of her eyes stinging against blood and viscera collecting in the tears. “I don’t, I’m sorry—I’m really sorry—”

Joey crossed the small space of the bunkhouse to crouch in front of her. She pressed her hands into Elliot’s shoulders, and she was saying something, but Elliot couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in her head.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eye sockets, but the gesture brought no comfort; each time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Ase, skull caved in. Surely, one shot had been enough? Surely, the second shot to her head was just—

Just John being himself.

“God, he fucking—he mutilated her, Joey,” Elliot managed out, her voice breaking on something like agony as the panic started to set in. Her hands trembled and she pushed the hair from her face, a movement that she was sure was just packing the dried blood in. She couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything; everywhere she looked, she thought she could see the dark flicker of Ase’s clothing, the haunting corpse come to finish what she started. “She was dead—all of her, just falling—spilling out of her, like she’d been gutted, and I thought that he was done, and we’d go home, but then he shot her again—God, fuck, Joey, she’s all over me—”

“Hey,” Joey said firmly. “El. Take a breath and look at me.”

“I am.”

“A bigger breath,” Joey insisted, taking her hands away from her face and pulling her to a stand. “Just one.”

She did. I see, she thought and failed. I smell, I hear, I feel, but nothing came. She was drowning in it, whatever it was; Ase’s blood and guts on her, the memory of her glassy eyes as Ase reached for her, the feeling of Kian’s hands on her neck, the horrific monster lurking in the woods, and…

“Take another,” Joey reiterated. “Just one more.”

Elliot knew this trick. It was the oldest trick in Joey’s book. Just ask for one, and then just one more, and then just one more, until she was breathing like normal. She did as the brunette bid her anyway, and because her normal grounding methods had failed her, she instead thought, I’ll just count to ten. If I can make it for ten more seconds… And then another ten…

“You’re still sweating hallucinogen,” Joey murmured, squeezing her hands to help bring her back down. “You should take a shower. Come on.”

The journey between the main room of the bunkhouse and the felt both like it took years and happened without her knowing, as though she’d blinked and suddenly found herself standing in the bathroom, the fluorescent on the ceiling digging into her irises.

Her gaze flickered up to the mirror hanging over the sink. The person that looked back was a stranger to her; blood splattered every inch of her skin, matted in her hair, staining her in dark, carmine gore. Elliot thought about the strange voice in the woods, crackling and snapping and trying her on for size as it slid under her skin.

As the glass of the mirror seemed to pulse and stretch, the sound of running water snapped her attention elsewhere, hands limp at her sides. Joey pulled the knob that turned the water into a shower and said, “Okay, Elli, you call if you need me.”

“Okay,” Elliot murmured tiredly.

“Okay,” Joey repeated, watching her for a moment. And then she pulled her into a tight hug, and whispered, “For the record, I never doubted you’d be able to get me out. From John, or from the other place.”

The words didn’t offer her any comfort, but they were nice, nonetheless. She nodded her head and waited until the brunette had left the room before she started to undress, her movements methodical but unsteady; it wasn’t until water hit her skin and she saw the streams of thinned blood touching down on the floor of the bathtub that she finally felt some relief.

Even if it was only a little.

I don’t have anything, she thought tiredly, her eyes closing as she ducked her face under the stream of the shower. I don’t have anything left. What am I supposed to do now?

She had Joey. She didn’t have any idea of how to find Boomer. Hope County was gone, if they were lucky, and dead if they weren’t. She hadn’t heard from her own mother in--weeks? Or was it days? How long had this been going on?

It felt strange, to not be able to trust her own memory—to not know when the last time was that she got a full night’s sleep, or the last time that she curled up in her own bed, or the last time that she spent doing something that she enjoyed. As Elliot scrubbed the blood off of her face and out of her hair, staining her fingernails rusted-red, she thought that the idea of continuing on , of doing more, was so very exhausting.

They didn’t hurt you? John had asked, his fingers brushing the bruises on her throat where Kian’s fingers had gripped. It bothered her, when people touched her—grabbed her like they owned her, like she wasn’t in control of her own body—but when John did it, it was different. Even when he’d dragged his finger under her collarbone and said, I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you? Just over your heart.

John was only doing what he was meant to do all along: draw her in, keep her there, and Ase’s gruesome death was just a reminder of the person that he really was. She had forgotten that.

But she wouldn’t again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night felt sticky, sitting like a second skin on him. When John stepped into the church to find Jacob and Joseph talking in low voices, he felt a strange sensation prickle down his spine. It was anticipation, he realized, nearly a moment too late; by the time he was bracing himself, Jacob had turned and walked out the side door, leaving himself and Joseph alone.

“How is our deputy?” Joseph asked, his voice light and mild. John tried to lessen the tension in his jaw.

“Which one?” he replied dryly. “She’s fine.”

Joseph said, “You were worried about her.”

“Well, I did work really fucking hard not to kill her,” he bit out, and then sighed at the way Joseph’s brow arched, a visible change in his expression even in the dim, intimate lighting of the chapel. “Look, Jacob already gave me the whole speech about—”

“I think you’re doing a great job with the deputy,” Joseph interrupted, firm but not unkind, “and I want you to continue.”

John stopped. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, or the way that he’d come into the conversation at what appeared to be the end of it, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what Joseph was telling him; especially after what Jacob had said to him.

So he said, very intelligently, “What?”

“Our friend the marshal got out,” Joseph supplied. “Hope County has evacuated, if they’re lucky. But you know, John, even if they come for us—even if they arrest us—there are…”

A pause lingered between them, just long enough for something close to dread to knot and writhe between his ribs.

“... ways,” his brother continued, placing each word meticulously, “to make a legal case like this one fall apart.”

I don’t know what you mean, John wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of him. If Hope County was on the run, they might not ever look back; if the U.S. Marshal brought his buddies back, that would make Elliot the key witness in their case, while the other members of Hope County and the Resistance were…

“It’ll be all of them testifying against us,” John said after a moment. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but—”

“You can convince people not to talk,” Joseph replied. He paced away from the table at the center of the chapel’s front room, absently scratching at his jaw, as though he were only just coming up with this idea; John knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t ever the case with Joseph. Nothing went without careful deliberation. “There are particular brands of persuasion that work better than others. But we’ll need more than just silencing our neighbors. We’ll need…”

Positive testimony, John thought, when the words didn’t come out of Joseph’s mouth.

“Yeah,” John murmured tiredly. “I know.”

“Good.” Joseph gave him a small smile. He reached out, gripping John’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, John.”

He stared at the wood paneling of the floor. Maybe he was tired; maybe it was the exhaustion from the last few hours, but Joseph’s words didn’t strike the same match in him that they had before. If Joseph noticed—and he almost certainly had—he didn’t let it show; rather, he let the distance between them grow, hand dropping from his shoulder as he walked for the door.

“You were going to let Jacob kill her.” The words came out of John’s mouth before he could think to stop them, before he could say to himself, it’s not worth the fight. He’s your brother, John. He gave you everything. Don’t you always say that you waited your whole life for something to say yes to?

He felt, more than he saw, Joseph pause in the doorway leading out of the chapel. A strange silence stretched between them; it was one where John thought he might have felt the scrutiny of his older brother’s gaze on him.

And then, in a voice casual and light, Joseph said, “You’re tired, John. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest, won’t you?”

John was tired. Tired enough to think that he might fall asleep standing up if he wasn’t careful. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, turning his head to look at Joseph over his shoulder with a small smile. “I will.”

“Goodnight, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Night passed more quickly than he would have liked. By the time morning had arrived, he thought maybe his conversation with Joseph was a dream; that he’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe some of the Family’s weird drugs had rubbed off on him while he was in there.

By the time early morning had rolled around, he’d dragged himself through a shower and into cleaner clothes. He half expected to find the bunkhouse completely vacated by Elliot and Hudson by the time he walked out with an armful of clothes, pleasantly surprised that Elliot was leaned against the door. Smoking, naturally.

“You look more like yourself,” John said as he approached. Her gaze flickered over him absently. She looked tired, but had since washed the blood and guts off of her face and out of her hair; as she took a drag of her cigarette and tapped the ash out of the end of it, her eyes turned away from him. Weird, he thought. He added, “I know you’ve got the whole blood-stained look, but I thought you might like to get into some clothes that are a bit cleaner.”

Elliot smoothed her boot over some ash on the ground, waiting for a heartbeat longer than normal before she said, “Thanks.” She sounded sour , like John’s mere existence was a chore for her, and not the way that it had been before—like she really meant it.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, watching her curiously. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, and the sickly rasp in her voice—it had probably felt nice to be high in that regard—she looked clear-headed. Normal. “How are you feeling?”

“John,” Elliot sighed, “let’s not.”

“Fine,” John snipped. “Where’s Hudson?”

“She went to walk the perimeter to try and call Boomer,” Elliot replied tiredly. “And then we’re leaving.”

Fuck, he thought, remembering his conversation with Joseph. Fuck fuck fuck. “Well, isn’t that lovely.” The biting venom welled up in his voice. There was a strange panic setting in now. She wouldn’t look at him, not for longer than a second, and her tone rang hollow and empty. He swallowed thickly, teeth clenching as he continued, “And how do you intend to leave, then? On foot? You sure seem like you’re in peak physical condition to be walking cross-country, Elliot. But I suppose if you have Hudson, then it won’t matter, because Hudson rescued you from those cultists and—”

“I don’t know, John ,” Elliot bit out, a real flex in her voice this time. It was comforting, to have her be anything—anything but ambivalent, anything but absent from their conversation. “I think I could get pretty far if I decide to start blowing people’s fucking skulls in with a shotgun, don’t you?”

John stared at her. “Pardon?”

“Oh, fuck off,” the blonde snipped, dropping what remained of the cigarette and stomping it out with her shoe. “Don’t give me your fucking clothes. If I change out of these I might forget that you splattered me with that woman’s brains.”

She turned and opened the door to the bunkhouse, going to close it, but John shoved his foot in the doorway to stop her, tossing the clothes onto the bed the second he got inside. 

“I didn’t ,” John seethed. “Maybe you were too fucking high out of your mind to tell—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Elliot’s voice was flinty. “It completely slipped my mind that you’re incapable of taking responsibility for yourself. Remember, John, that time you rubbed it in my face that your fucking family made me into a murderer? Because I do, and the pure fucking irony —” She jabbed a finger into his chest, the anger seeping out of her now. “—of you trying to make me feel like shit for killing your idiotic little cultists and then obliterating a woman’s skull onto my face is palpable!”

“Are you deaf?” John snapped, snagging her wrist before she could turn and try to walk somewhere else again. “I didn’t shoot Ase in the head, Jacob did. I put both my fucking hands on you to get you off the ground. How am I going to do that holding a fucking shotgun, Elliot?”

“I don’t know!” she replied furiously. There was a reckless, high-color in her cheeks, her voice cracking and breaking on something that John couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite get his hands on. Even now, he thought, even when she was spitting her venom she was so — 

“I don’t fucking know, John, you do—crazy fucking things all the time,” she insisted, and there was an uncomfortable wobble in her voice as her lashes fluttered. “Half the time I don’t know which John is going to open his fucking mouth—I don’t know if it’s—if it’s the John that kidnapped my best friend or if it’s the John that… That can be… With me, he’s...”

Her voice trailed off, weaker now, her fire spitting furiously as it tried to stay alight. John’s fingers loosened around her wrist, but didn’t let her go.

“There’s only one John,” he said, and his voice came out hoarse. “It’s just me.”

“I hate you,” the blonde managed out weakly, her lashes dark with unshed tears, soft and doe-like. “I’ve never—”

“Elliot,” John, tugging on her wrist, pulling her forward until she was in his space, until he could feel the warmth of her body and smell the wild on her—pine trees and ash and the mild shampoo she had used, “you’re going to have to come up with a new slogan that you actually believe.”

“John,” she tried again, and she was soft, soft and tired, “please, I’m—so tired of trying to figure you out—”

He closed what little space remained between them to kiss her; for a second, her entire body tensed like an animal ready for flight, stony and immovable against the affection, but he let her wrist slide from his hand, concerned that any moment he might spook her, that she was frozen because she was deciding when to run.

Her wrist slipped through his grip, catching at the base of her hand. She knotted her fingers into the front of his shirt and when his hand came up to the slope of her jaw, she leaned —like a flower to sunlight, blooming under his touch, just like that. Just that easy. John’s other arm slid around her waist to tug her up closer, and her mouth parted against his like instinct, like it had never not been this way between them.

The moment stretched; reality swung back in, the warmth of her mouth against his leaning back until a bit of space stretched between them. Not a lot, just enough for their noses to brush, and Elliot said, “I don’t know which—”

“I told you,” he replied, threading his fingers through her hair, “there’s just the one. This one, El, me. I want—”

“John,” she started, her voice overlapping his, "tell me that you're not lying when—"

He went to say, I want you to stay, I want to kiss you again, you hellcat, I’ve wanted to kiss you for days, but he didn’t get the chance because the sound of Joey’s voice outside the front door had broken the magic of the moment.

“Elliot,” Hudson called, “guess who I...”

The door opened, followed quickly by a scattering of dog nails as Boomer came racing inside. Without a second thought, Elliot had crouched down to wrap her arms around the dog John immediately took a step back and cleared his throat, feeling as though he’d been caught-out. Maybe, in a way, he had. He wouldn’t have cared, if he didn’t think that the idea of Hudson catching them would have made Elliot bolt instantly.

I should have kissed her again, he thought absently, watching Elliot fawn over Boomer with the kind of delight that she reserved only for him, her lips kiss-reddened. Before Hudson.

“He must have followed you here and waited,” Hudson said, looking at John with a narrowed, suspicious gaze. “Everything okay, Elliot?” she asked, even when she was looking at John. “I heard arguing.”

“Fine,” Elliot insisted, crouched on the floor to get as close to the Heeler as possible. “Everything’s fine. John was just—”

“Just dropping off some clean clothes for the deputy,” John interjected, despite the anxiety he felt sliding around inside of him when Elliot looked at him. The flush in her cheeks remained, and he knew that it wasn’t just anger there, anymore. Not really. 

Joey crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. So you can leave, then? We’re done with you.”

We’re, she said, like she spoke for the both of him, both herself and Elliot. We’re, like just seconds ago, John hadn’t been thinking about the way Elliot’s breath hitched when his fingers brushed her skin.

“Sure thing,” he drawled, taking a few steps toward the door. He almost walked right out the door, even with his hands itching for her again, but he stopped. I should just say it, he thought. I should just out it right now.

“What is it?” Joey prompted, her voice hard and flinty.

Elliot wouldn’t ever forgive him if he did.

“Nothing,” John replied after a moment. A little smile ticked the corners of his mouth upward, and for a second his gaze met Elliot’s. “Hope you get some well-deserved rest, you two.”

The brunette watched him with a dark, inscrutable gaze, and he stepped out of the bunkhouse, letting the door swing shut behind him. For just a moment, he paused outside the door; long enough to hear Joey go, “What was that about?”, and he started off across the yard.

Not done with me yet, deputy.

#far cry 5 #john seed/deputy #john seed/rook #my writing #fic: ancient names #when i say it's clowN HOUR #I MEAN IT #WELCOME TO CLOWN TOWN BABY #i'm the MAYOR

[monkey-network]

Why Sam & Max IS the Best

Seing a vid by B- Mask on The Devil’s Playhouse and honestly, it made me think a lot about how Sam & Max essentially got everything it wanted as a franchise. For a long time, after playing the third and final Telltale season, I’ve been craving for a season 4; at least one more season after a long time to just give the dog & rabbit an easy string of adventures like old times. But after seeing that video and remembering the beautiful story that was Sam & Max's third season, it made me realize how much the duo was able to offer over the decades and how Telltale’s third season was a definitive send-off. Call this a big brained take, expanding on that video, but to me Sam & Max is what would’ve happened if Calvin & Hobbes was marketed outside its comic strip. 

If you know the latter’s history, you’ll know that Bill Watterson had a strict rule against Calvin & Hobbes being merchandising beyond its comics or continuing in any way after the final comic in ‘95. “This isn't as hard to understand as people try to make it. By the end of ten years, I'd said pretty much everything I had come there to say. [...]  I've never regretted stopping when I did.” I’ve always admired Bill’s stance on this, especially after seeing my declining interest in stuff like The Simpsons where I’ve realized that sometimes a good thing doesn’t need to exist all the time, less it becomes a zombie of its former self. With that in mind, it’s amazing that Sam & Max managed to not adhere to Bill’s philosophy yet be able to have the most simple yet cleanest franchises I’ve seen in history.

It was in 1987 when the comics started, a pulp detective comedy centered around the duo basically doing whatever they want to both stop the bad guy in question and get a laugh from the audience. They’re vigilantes at best, antagonists at worst where while they aren’t total monsters, they’ll gladly treat anyone and anything they see as a part of their playground. From the beginning, Sam & Max are kinda the Rick Sanchezes of the late 80s if Rick was more casual and optimistic about not giving a shit. The comic as a whole is actually not big in content, but engagingly dense in what it offers. With lots of cockroaches cuz I guess a bug really had an impact on Purcell. It was clever, happily mean-spirited, sometimes dark, and after 6 years of making the comic, we soon got the biggest hit that is... 

Hit the Road honestly was the key to Sam & Max’s popularity. During the era of Point ‘n Click Adventures, it was the most fitting game genre in existence for the characters. Exploration was always Sam & Max’s forte, their special sauce of the comics outside the duo’s chemistry and bizarre encounters, so to center a game around a cross country road trip where the two fuck around in order solve a case is sheer brilliance. It of course captures the style of the comics, only in bright colors but the most memorable voice acting. This was where they had more of a voice. The game’s popularity would lead to them getting a cartoon which I say works well differently...

While Hit the Road was about the duo interacting with the world around them, the cartoon more adapted the comics where it was about the two getting in different situations; a day in the life if you will. For only 24 episodes, they certainly made the most of adapting the easy going yet absurd aspect of the comics for a younger audience. I mentioned before in a review long ago that it’s Freakazoid’s Pulp Fiction and it still holds up as such, where with this and Hit the Road, it’s credulous to believe that Sam & Max always worked better animated. To get the verbal and lively reaction of our duo is as equally compelling if not more than the subtler yet static page of a comic. And while it’s still a shame that while both the animated series and LucasArts got shut down, the new Telltale Games would pick up the slack and give us the next round of content. 

Season 1 and 2 of the Telltale series go hand in hand where they shrink the scale of Hit the Road in favor of having one off adventures all tied to one big final boss at the end. Many have called them repetitive but I say they work well for they are, with the dialogue and special moments picking up for what could be considered formulaic by design. It’s still Sam & Max, only made a little easier to enjoy the story more. While I wish I could say this for Bone, it was these games that put Telltale on the map; what they were known for in the early era. As such, it’s sad to say that when the third season rolled out, looking back now, Sam & Max was truly reaching its end.

The Devil’s Playhouse is the biggest S&M adventure, one the developers were plotting to make the whole time. While each episode has a different style and scenario, everything plays to one continuous story where for the first time in this series’ history, our duo are actually challenged. Max isn’t just the sidekick, he’s both a playable character in the game and a huge target thanks to his newfound importance. This makes Sam show more concern than usual where the idea of losing his best friend can leave him feel irrelevant to devastated. While the two still fire off jokes at each other and others as usual, there’s the looming threat of them being forced apart; the real antagonist is the story’s increasing rift between Sam and Max. The Devil’s Playhouse essentially dissects the franchise’s heart, finally putting the two’s friendship through the wringer to a point of no return. It all somehow makes sense, both Max’s reality warping ability and Sam as a character on his own especially with the 4th episode. Not everything about the duo is revealed, but enough was where I unfortunately have to repeat that Sam & Max was “at its end”.

Before, our duo literally went to hell and back, fought a variety of monsters and villains, and have bent reality to their will countless times. The two could go on many absurd adventures as possible afterward, but where can you go when you finally rattle the core of the franchise? Devil’s Playhouse ties up not only loose threads for fans of the previous seasons, but flips the script on what the series has built overall. There were a couple times beforehand where the comical shtick was dropped and things got serious for the duo, but they weren’t as climactic and revealing as the third season. As good as it sounds to reboot the series, since the season ends on an optimistic note, to return back to Watterson’s words. “I said pretty much everything I had come there to say.” We got two games with Sam and Max making irreverent cameos and later merch, but The Devil’s Playhouse is otherwise the last we truly see of the two. No official talks of a comeback and for what it's worth, that’s enough.

I brought up the Calvin and Hobbes comparison because Sam & Max is where I say if Bill decided to market the comic, this is what the best outcome would be. From the comics to the games, not only have they got a sense of clean finality but every step of the way, Steve Purcell was there to handle it. Beyond the cartoon getting toned down for obvious reasons, it never felt like Sam & Max was warped to please execs or turn into something unfamiliar. Steve’s vision got to exist through and through with The Devil’s Playhouse being the best finale. Purcell’s moved on and with Telltale’s sour shutdown, I’m not sure how S&M could come back. It’s impossible to think of how this could’ve ended like The Simpsons, Garfield, Spongebob, etc, but it feels like bonafide luck that we got Sam & Max as is. It’s not the biggest comic or video game franchise around, but I can never argue that it’s a franchise that stayed true to itself all the way. I'll never know what the future holds for Sam & Max, if there truly is one anymore, but I at least have some belief that it’ll be there for our boys.

Cuz after all, isn’t that the beauty of this whole series?

#Sam and Max #sam and max freelance police #freelance police #comics #cartoons #video games #animation #analysis #long post #Good Stuff

[princesssarcastia]

aos!star trek sense8 au

okay so. i had a thought as I was watching star trek 2009.  mainly, i was pissed that we got jim being a fucked up troublemaker and spock being an ostracized genius, but we didn’t get:

uhura growing up with her huge family devouring information about alien cultures, or bby!sulu learning how to fence or bby!checkov doing spiraling math equations on the wall of his bedroom or little scotty running around with an outrageous brogue and a penchant for taking apart the replicator, or bones being adorably, earnestly caring

fuck that noise.  I want baby-faced versions of the whole bridge crew.

thus, the sense8 AU. I’ve never watched sense8 but I’m 90% sure they’re all supposed to be the same age, which is alright.  i can do that.  it just means that they know each other a little differently; some things happen earlier or different, but that’s fine.

oh my god this is going to be ridiculous.  okay. again, never seen sense8, never will, so i’m pulling this out of thin air

                                                          —

clusters are so rare no one knows about them at this point; there are myths and legends from the eugenics wars—the very wars which essentially wiped them out, actually—but for the most part, everyone has forgotten.

very rarely will someone from a cluster speak about their experiences, but whenever they do, it’s written off as part and parcel of mingling with telepathic alien races.

(little do they know it’s the one form of telepathy completely indigenous to Earth)

—

Spock is the most powerful telepath of his generation because of his uniquely human experience fielding the emotions of six other people.

—

nyota is five when she decides she wants to learn to speak all the other languages, because then she can talk to pavel and spock with their words.  she learns to speak swahili with her mother and father and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents at home, and standard at school.  having to translate things in her mind because people don’t know her language, her words, is hard.  and if she can keep pavel and spock from having to do that, she will.

—

nyota is the reason they all join starfleet, in the end.  she meets a recruiter at school when they’re seven years old.  when the woman starts to talk about experiencing alien cultures and first contacts and languages she excitedly pulls everyone to her.  they all sit bunched up at this woman’s feet and learn about starfleet for the first time, together.  maybe they don’t all know what they want to do yet, or even that this is what they want.

but nyota wins out, in the end.  she always does.

—

when Jim breaks the security on Frank’s car, ribs still aching from the night before, Hikaru slips into the passenger seat.  they don’t—none of them really know how to respond when things like this happen to jim, when jim pulls these stunts

(sometimes, Spock can get through to him, speak to his anger.  but spock is...having his own problems today)

but when Jim frantically pulls out of their driveway and down the dusty half-road, only thinking awayawayaway Hikaru grins at him and whoops as they push sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety

then the cop pulls up alongside them and he gets nervous.  jim throws him a wild grin and yanks the wheel to the side, crashing through the gates and heading straight for a ravine.

“Jim,” Hikaru says in a panic.  “Jim, jim ,jim stop the car!  Stop the car!  JIM!”

they’re 20 feet away from the edge when sulu makes a desperate, useless grab for the wheel and Jim finally gives in.  everyone steps onto the edge of the cliff as he frantically grabs at sand and dust, living only because his friends family cluster are screaming at him.

they huddle around him in shock as he pushes to his feet and mouths off to the police officer; scotty giggles at his nonchalance and nyota thwaps him on the back of his head and leo wraps him in a hug, careful of his ribs.

—

everyone piles into pavel’s room the nights his uncle tells stories.  exciting adventures with spies and snipers and assassins.

—

nyota spends quiet afternoons with spock on his balcony under the hot vulcan sun, pouring over whatever data has drawn Spock’s attention this week.  he helps her with her pronunciation and lets her practice golic scripture on his pads.  vulcan is her third language she ever learns.

—

Hikaru goes on hikes with Scotty through the still-preserved highlands, stopping every five minutes to pester him for the names of the plants.  when they first start out, there are a lot of “i don’t knows,” or asking of scotty’s mother, but eventually Scotty starts learning them ahead of time, just to see Hikaru’s grin as they discuss foliage patterns and pollination.

—

Jim, Spock and Pavel will spend hours debating mathematical theories, wearing out the wrist of whoever’s room they’re in.  every once in a while pavel will say something that gets and eyebrow raise out of spock and a look of utter shock from Jim, because he proven them completely wrong in an effortless manner

—

Tarsus—

when Jim understands what’s happening, what Governor Kodos means, it’s—fuck.  he just.  he just shuts down, starts grabbing as many people as he can, other kids, mainly.

and everyone else freezes right where they are.  in the middle of class and fencing practice and church and after bolting upright in the middle of the night.

Spock initiates an emergency shutdown of his pod and rushes up the stairs, politely requesting (demanding) that the instructor contact his father immediately.

Pavel jumps out of bed and bangs on his Uncle’s door, begging him to open up, please open up, you still have friends on the federation council, yes?

Nyota pulls the...enhanced radio transmitter Scotty helped her build out and immediately breaks into contacts starfleet command’s private frequency to begin relaying everything she has so far, as Jim gets it, and Scotty sits right next to her, helping find new ways to break in every time starfleet shuts them out until they have to listen, please listen, this is not a joke!

Leo and Hikaru...they stay with Jim, as he scrambles through the facility where Kodos penned them in to be slaughtered; grabbing a phaser off of a corpse and shooting the guards who chase after them; kicking the legs out from under one who gets too close; keeping track of little Kevin who’s screaming and crying for his mother.

(instead of waiting six months until their scheduled check-in to find the remains of the Tarsus IV colony, Starfleet finds out about the massacre of 4,000 federation citizens almost as it’s happening; finds out from, oddly enough, the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, a former incredibly classified russian special ops agent for the United Earth, and one very persistent child in the African Confederacy with a souped-up radio communicator.

it still take three weeks for the nearest ship to warp to Tarsus, near the edge of uncharted space, and rescue the remaining colonists)

Hikaru advises Jim on whether they can eat what few plants they find; Leo uses his rudimentary medical knowledge to help patch up the injured children.  Nyota and Spock take turns helping Jim translate for the young Vulcan among them, young enough that her Standard is not yet perfected.

Spock demands that his father demand information on the rescue mission, so that he may coordinate with Jim on how long they have and where to meet the survivors that Jim is slowly, carefully, gathering.

—

the minute Jim is settled in the med-bay of the starfleet vessel carrying him and the other 73 survivors of Kodos’ condemned colonists, he breaks.  break in half, breaks down sobbing, curls up into a ball and just lets himself feel, again.

all six of the others pile around him on the biobed, surrounding him, until all he can see are other parts of himself.

—

Jim is fourteen years old.  There are six other people living in his head.  He has survived a massacre and a genocide and his mother is—

His mother is—

Not coming.  She’s not coming.  She’s sending him back to Frank, who chased Sam away and let Jim go to Tarsus.  She barely even looks at him when she sentences him to another six years of terror.

Before, he might have panicked.  Now he just...shuts down again, steals a datapad, and hacks into starfleet’s communications with his mother and frank.  Jim-as-Frank says he’s beaming to Risa to pick Jim up as soon as possible, and Jim-as-Winona signs off on it.

With Leo yelling at him and Nyota reminding him he can just come stay with her family and Pavel saying my uncle would be happy to—, Jim steps onto the transporter pad and beams down to Risa, hastily making his way out of the starfleet outpost and into the crushing crowds of the pleasure planet, and disappears.

—

They all worry about Jim, and keep tabs on him, but they have their own lives to live, too.  Even if they never give up on pulling him to one of them before he gets himself killed.

—

Pavel gets admitted to starfleet academy when they’re fifteen and Nyota is not jealous!  No, no, she’s not jealous, shut up, Hikaru.  And it’s fine, anyway, because they all know the reason half of them are planning on joining starfleet (at least, right then) is because of her. So there.

And when he gets homesick his second week there, Nyota plops herself down on his bed and babbles with him in Russian (her fourth language) until the ache in his chest recedes.

—

Hikaru and Pavel are the first of them to meet in person, because Hikaru lives in San Francisco.  Whenever Pavel is granted leave from the Academy, Hikaru shows up to drag him surfing, or to his favorite restaurant, or to meet his parents.

—

Six months after Pavel starts at Starfleet, Leo is needling Spock about the Kohlinar so much that he actually seeks out his mother to ensure Leo is wrong, that he is not needlessly repressing his “humanity” at the expense of a real part of himself.

Leo stands there in shock, glee and utter disbelief as Spock tells the old racist bastards at the Vulcan Science Academy where to put it; just claps him on the shoulder on his way out.

(Jim quietly grins to himself as he listens in)

(Nyota high-fives Pavel, Hikaru and Scotty; five down, two to go)

—

Given the nature of Vulcan secondary education and Spock’s desire to be a science officer, he tests out of basically the first two years of classes.  Then he does such an exemplary job that he earns an officer’s commission right after graduation under fucking Pike, are you kidding me?? Nyota screeches and jumps up and down and generally makes an emotional scene while Spock suffers. 

—

When they are seventeen, Leo gets his girlfriend Jocelyn pregnant. 

What.

—

After Tarsus, the times that they all get together are few and far between; but when Joanna is born they all stop what they’re doing to gather around Jocelyn’s biobed and coo, or congratulate, or tease Leo for being the one to have a kid, come on, I really had money on Jim.

He smiles at Jocelyn and stares in awe at Joanna and feels how much they all love him, how much they already love his daughter (not their daughter; not yet).

—

When they’re eighteen, Scotty and Hikaru and Nyota are finally (!!!! Nyota is so excited) going to Starfleet Academy, to join Pavel in his third year and catch Spock in passing whenever he’s on leave.

Before they leave, Nyota stands in the center of her sisters and cousins and aunts and nieces and sobs, happy to be one step closer to starfleet but unashamedly grieving for the stage of her life that she’s leaving behind.  And she decides then that she’s going to start going by Uhura, her family name, so that she can take them with her into the stars.

—

Jim is, oddly enough, the one to sit up with Leo on those long nights when Joanna just. won’t. sleep.  He quietly chats him up and stares in awe at this baby girl who came into the world peacefully and wanted, if not fully expected.  This baby girl whose parents will never raise a hand to her and has a dozen people willing to lay down their lives for her and, more importantly, take her in if god forbid it becomes necessary.

He whispers sweet nothings she can’t hear to her and Leo throws an arm over his shoulders, grateful and missing him even though he right there.

—

His feet hit the ground on Earth for the first time in four years two weeks later, after doing a few things he shut the others out for (he and spock are the only ones who bothered to learn how to do that) to get onto a shuttle headed straight back...home.

Not home because he lived there Before, but home because that’s where all the other pieces of him are living.

Because he a masochist (shut up, Leo) he acquires a hover bike and zips over to Iowa, and starts haunting Riverside, Iowa.  He lets the corn and small-town bullshit crawl under his skin and takes it out on anyone stupid enough to provoke him when he’s drunk.

He’s completely smashed when Leo finally admits he’s going to be a doctor and tries to call him sawbones; only, the first part doesn’t quite make it out of his mouth.

Leo—Bones—groans because the others are never gonna let this go.

(he is correct on that front)

—

The others are trying to give him space, he knows, but they’re also not at all subtle about their excitement at his being so close for the first time.

Hikaru, Scotty, Pavel, and Uhura orbit each other in San Fran, with Spock the occasional comet passing through their system, together in person, for real, and so eager to share that with the last two of them who’ve never met any of them in person.

They descend on they newly-christened Bones for winter break that first semester (well, actually, it’s Pavel’s seventh semester—i swear to god Chekov i’m gonna knock that smirk off your face) to meet Jocelyn and Joanna. 

And god, they spoil that girl.  Almost a year old, toddling around and bumping into everything and so curious about everything.

Spock couldn’t quite swing leave time to go with them, but they video comm him a few times so Joanna can see him, too.

Jocelyn is quietly unnerved by these people her partner is so close with, who he talks about all the time but has apparently never...met in person before?  Who call him Bones, of all things. And they all take the time to talk to her, get to know her and try and connect, but it’s overwhelming.

And then Uhura sits Bones down in person and lays out all the reasons he should transfer to the Starfleet Academy to finish out his med degree; they have a track laid out to get your doctorate and become an officer, you’re majoring in xenobiology anyway and there’s no better place for that, the opportunities for residencies will be so much better, the trauma surgeons at the academy are unmatched, and—

and we’ll be there.  Joanna can grow up with all of us around to help.

Six down, one to go.

—

The first time Hikaru sits at the helm of a shuttle, he doesn’t stop grinning the rest of the day.  Botany is his first and best love, but by god he’s going to qualify to be a pilot, too.  Maybe someday he’ll get to fly something like the Enterprise.

—

Scotty has taken engineering by storm.  All his professors have an opinion on him, and it’s always love ‘em or hate ‘em.  He’s absolutely brilliant or completely mad, should be given the flagship at the earliest opportunity or marooned somewhere he can’t do any real damage.

—

Uhura comes in knowing eight languages: Swahili, Standard, Vulcan, Russian, French, one of the Rhiannsu (Romulan) dialects, Tellaran, and rudimentary Andoran.  She knows exactly what she’s going to do and has been preparing for it her whole life.

The rest of them grin to each other when they start hearing about Uhura’s exploits in astounding the communications track time and time again.

—

Spock lets them know before anyone else that Captain Pike has been re-assigned to Starfleet Academy for a round of teaching...and that Spock himself will also finally be accepting the Science track’s increasingly desperate demands that he teach.

He’ll also be offering courses in communications; ones Uhura will have to take before graduation.  A clear conflict of interest.

(Uhura is ecstatic; Spock is concerned, but will only volunteer the incredibly personal information when it becomes relevant)

—

When Uhura sees the sign-up for a summer tour of the shipyards in Riverside, she smirks to herself and signs the fuck up, then goes directly to Jim to needle him about it.

Jim sighs and orders another drink, but...finally getting to see one of them in person after all these years...something settles in his chest that hasn’t sat right since he was just a kid.

—

Uhura is practically vibrating as she bursts into the club.  Practically half their class is stuffed around chair and in booths, and she makes a brief stop by some of her friends, but she’s on a mission now.

She can feel a subtle itch under her skin that means Jim is so close.  So close, after so long. After being so alone for so long.

He doesn’t quite understand how unwilling she’s going to be to let him go, once she has him in her clutches.

They practically run into each other next to the stools by the bar and she fights the urge to throw her arms around him.  He looks breathless and a little disbelieving, even though he knew this was coming for months, until a bright and easy smile breaks out on his face.  The one she hasn’t seen since they were still kids.

“Jim,” she laughs, giddy, and he laughs back at her, leaning onto the bar.  She sidles up next to him, as close as his current general aura of “don’t touch me” will allow, and just...breathes, for a second. 

He’s definitely drunk (although, when isn’t he, these days) but still lucid.  “I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly, so low she almost can’t hear it over the throbbing music.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she shoots back, still unable to let go of her smile.

They’re still just basking in each other’s physical presence (after all these years, she still sometimes has no idea what to do with Jim Kirk, except be there with him), when asshole security track cadet Hendorff and his pals make their way up to the bar behind the pair of them.

She can feel the way Jim perks up at the tension in their figures and sighs internally.

“This townie isn’t bothering you, right?” He asks with a smirk, like, what, he has the authority to protect her?

“Oh, beyond belief, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,”  Uhura turns toward Jim and tries to make it clear that he has no business interrupting their conversation, but Jim...

“You can handle me, that’s an invitation,” He smirks at her and knows exactly what he’s doing.

And she has half a mind to let him do it; if he wants to get his ass beat that’s his business.

“Hey, farmboy,” but then Hendorff lays his hands on Jim.  “Maybe you can’t count, but there are four of us and one of you.”

He lays his hands on Jim.  He’s interrupted their first meeting in person after nineteen years living in each other’s minds, and laid his hands on her cluster-mate.

Jim lets his gaze flit to her for half a second and then steps into Hendorff’s space, clapping him on the cheek.  “So go get some more guys and then it’ll be an even fight.”

Uhura rolls her eyes and her shoulders and knows from Jim’s experience the exact moment the tension will spill over into violence.

Hendorff draws back and decks Jim, who falls into the bar; as he makes his next move, before Jim can fully turn around, Uhura draws her heeled boot up and buries it in Hendorff’s stomach, flinging him back into the crowd.

The other three look at her in shock before Jim draws their attention again and they start—god, brawling is the only word for it.  Flinging wild punches and bottles and chairs.

When one of them gets Jim in a lock Uhura swings behind him and pinches the nerve on his shoulder, just like Spock taught them, and he goes down like a light.

But the other two still get four good hits in while she’s doing it, and between the alcohol and the concussion one of them manages to fling him onto a table while Uhura goes for the other one.

Unfortunately a whistle pierces the din before she can kick his ass.

Captain Pike is standing at the entrance to the club, staring in disbelief at the mess they’ve made of the place, and of Jim.  “Outside, all of you,” he orders.

Uhura seethes at the lost time; she didn’t even have the chance to make her annual pitch for him to join starfleet.  But she also doesn’t make her way out with the others, instead grabbing some napkins from a nearby table and hurrying over to Jim, who’s in that fun in-between state between conscious and unconscious he’s so very familiar with.

“I can feel you judging me from over here,” he mumbles, then lolls his head back to say something about whistling to Captain Pike.

She dunks one of the napkins in a glass of water and starts wiping at his face automatically, until Captain Pike clears his throat.

“Cadet, you know this man?”  He asks pointedly.  God, she’s going to get court-martialed for this, but she looks down at Jim before she answers.  He’s been off Starfleet’s radar since he was fourteen, and has never been keen to get back on it.

But he sort of shrugs at her, so she looks back up.  Pike is giving her a bemused eyebrow raise she’s pretty sure he got from Spock as she says, “Yes, sir.  This is Jim Kirk, my...” she doesn’t even know the word for it.  Cluster-mate?  Bonded?  There’s no true word for it in Standard, or even Vulcan.

“Boyfriend?” Captain Pike finishes dryly, but then watches as they both gag.  Uh, no.

“No, sir, Jim is one of my...bond-mates.”  She grimaces.  “I don’t know the exact term for it, but that’s close enough, sir.”

“Well, Cadet Uhura, if you don’t know the word than it the word must not exist,” Captain Pike says, and she fights the urge to flush. 

Decides to raise her chin instead.  “Thank you, sir.”  Deeming his face clean enough for now, she hauls Jim off the table and hands him the rest of the napkins.  She draws the line at stuffing things up his nose for him. 

“Why don’t we all sit down for a minute and discuss what the hell just happened here,” he suggest-orders.

—

Spock has a very interesting comm message from Captain Pike the next morning, and fights the very human urge to rub his temples in exasperation.  Uhura is supposed to be his partner in sensibility, not Jim's back-up in bar fights.

Perhaps they all bring out different sides of one another.

—

Uhura screeches at Jim when he shows up at the shipyard the next morning.

“Are you kidding me?  All I had to do, all this time, was dare you to join Starfleet?  Are you six fucking years old?!?”

Jim grins at her, and is incredibly lucky they’re lifting off so she can’t get up and strangle him.

—

Of course Jim joined for Them.  But it’s funnier to let Uhura think Pike could just dare him into it.

#wow this was uh #a lot #utter garbage #weird as hell #not exaclty what i was looking for but i like it kinda?? #whatever #anyway #sens8 #star trek #fic #star trek fic #star trek 2009 #nyota uhura #jim kirk #spock #hikaru sulu #pavel chekov #montgomery scott #leonard mccoy #anyway i may write more of this i may not #but its fun to think of pike finding out his first officer has a bunch of other teenagers in the back of his head #and then having an incredulous conversation about sharing personal info #i'm tired this took awhile #enjoy?? i guess??? #this is 4k i wasn't expecting to write tonight #long post #tarsus IV #sens8 au

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 23: The End

When the white light cleared, Tommy was in a starfield and his hands were empty. The burn wound on his shoulder was already healing over, the pain ebbing and melting away as scar tissue scrawled pale starbursts over his skin. His heart pounded as he cast his eyes around, meeting only streaks of multicolored light, galaxies and nebulas passing by like landmarks on a road trip.

His breath left him all in a rush as he realized where he was. His father had come to pick him up.

The man in the suit materialized as soon as the thought crossed his mind, clean and pressed as always, hair neat and black as cast iron. His shadowed eyes swirled like the stars around them as he regarded his son. They stood, facing one another in the void, standing on nothing. Tommy waited for his father to speak first.

“Happy Birthday, Tommy,” the man in the suit said with a smile.

Tommy stared at him, robbed of words. Birthday? Today was his birthday? Slowly, he raised his hands to clutch at his hair, drawing in a thin, shaky breath so he wouldn’t fall apart completely. The dissonance of something so routine happening in the midst of this disaster made him want to scream.

Birthdays had always been mundane to him, another insignificant turn of the wheel. But after what he’d just survived, he wondered if it was something worth celebrating. He was indescribably tired.

Thirty seven. Thirty seven revolutions around the sun. It was the worst day of his life.

He didn’t know how to respond to his father, who had plucked him out of Xen for a chat after turning his back on him hours before. There was definitely not a ‘thank you’ on his lips, and his mind was clouded with all the ways he could accuse his father of abandoning him, none of them coherent or respectful. He eyed the other man wearily and finally settled on asking, “the others?”

“Alive and well, I assure you,” his father answered. “I must congratulate you on your success in dealing with this… little issue.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he computed. “Success?”

“I certainly would not have been able to remedy the situation without the help of you and your associates.”

He laced his fingers behind his head and tilted his chin to the star-streaked void above him so he no longer had to look at his father. “You couldn’t have just taken care of this on your own?”

His father chuckled grimly. “Hardly. At least, not in a manner as quick and efficient as this one.”

Efficient? “Do you know how many people died?”

“I can say with confidence, Thomas, that far more would have died if the four of you had done nothing at all.”

Tommy dropped his arms from behind his head and instead pressed his fingertips against his eyelids, inhaling heavily through his nose. He didn’t answer, fighting for control of his facial expression while his father examined him. This man couldn’t possibly grasp the scope of what Tommy had just lived through, what the week’s events had done to him. He didn’t have that kind of perspective, being a god and all that; all that mattered was that his plan had worked.

Success. They had succeeded. Mission complete, crisis averted. He felt awful.

His father broke the silence evenly. “I took the liberty of upholding our little family tradition,” he went on. “The entire venue has been rented out, as usual, and I will be personally extending invitations to your new... hm. Friends.”

Tommy paused from kneading his eyeballs in consternation to give his father a puzzled look. “The scientists?” he asked. He could think of no one else.

The man in the suit eyed him with amusement. “Yes, the scientists,” he affirmed. “The experiments known as Bubby and Harold Coomer, as well as your ‘Mister Freeman.’”

“He’s not my-“

“I am well aware of the nature of your relationship,” his father spoke over him, “and I will be having a little chat with him before we convene at the entertainment center.” His eyes glittered not so much in threat as in curiosity.

This didn’t feel to Tommy like the appropriate course of action to take at all. He still recalled clearly on day two of this disaster, when Gordon had told him he planned on sleeping for five days after this was over. Sleep for five days and get a Big Mac. After everything the man had just survived, that was the bare fucking minimum of what he deserved, and Tommy had half a mind to drive Gordon to a McDonald’s himself.

“You can… probably just send him home, I think,” he intoned quietly. That was all Gordon wanted, this entire time. Everything he fought for, everything he endured. Home. Home. He just wanted to go home. Tommy’s stupid birthday could go on without him.

“I’m afraid Mister Freeman does not have a home to go to. Black Mesa, including his living quarters inside, was completely destroyed.” He lifted his brows in a way that didn’t quite line up with the tone he was attempting to convey. “He might as well have a little fun before he goes house hunting, hm?”

Tommy’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Some reward for saving the world. “Can you at least – I don’t know – do something about the hand?”

His father threaded his fingers together behind his back. “I can do something about the hand,” he said conclusively.

The galactic landscape passed on in silence. Tommy kept his gaze on the void beneath him, refusing to meet eyes with the man who was so clean and spotless while his son looked like a dead thing Sunkist had dragged in from the back porch. Exhaustion made his bones heavy and his posture downcast.

After a thoughtful pause, Tommy’s father went on. “I suppose you need some time to yourself. I trust you’ll be able to find your way... home, from here, yes?”

Distractedly, Tommy splayed his fingers, feeling the power that had abandoned him on Xen sizzling beneath the surface of his skin. His pulse ticked down to a more manageable pace and he nodded silently. His father was right once again.

“I shall take my leave, then,” he concluded. His visage began to fade as he leapt from the dimension. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Tommy raised his eyes just in time to watch his father disappear.

He didn’t have the energy to cry once he was gone, though he could feel from the prickle behind his eyes that he probably needed to. Proud. He was proud of him. What was that pride worth, at the death of so many innocent people? Tommy felt cold deep in his chest, and it wasn’t just from floating in the vacuum of space.

He missed Gordon already.

---

The Chuck E. Cheese location in Las Cruces, New Mexico, was a place Tommy Coolatta knew quite well. He expected the venue to bring warm familiarity with it after the past week’s events, but he wasn’t fully prepared for the heavy thump of nostalgia in his chest as he opened the door. The rows of tables, the multicolored lights, the arcade games, all called back to happier days he’d spent with his father here. Once he’d outgrown what was essentially a children’s casino, the two of them had kept up the birthday tradition as a little joke within the family. Besides, one was never really too old for a round or two of skee ball.

The venue was empty, save for the disinterested staff. Tommy ordered a cheese pizza, found himself a seat at one of the tables, and waited.

It was strange, being here. The music and the flickering lights would have made the experience feel otherworldly if Tommy hadn’t literally just been in another world. He felt remote and detached, like the past week’s events were his reality and the entertainment center he sat in was merely a fever dream. Tommy closed his eyes and took in the smell of pepperoni and grease and whatever cleaning product the staff used to wipe down the tables. Underneath it all the iron scent of blood still lingered on his skin. He desperately needed a shower.

Bubby and Coomer arrived after a while via portal, dropped unceremoniously from the ceiling in front of a staff that was perplexed but not paid enough to care. The older gentlemen looked just as haggard and warweary as Tommy felt, joining him at the table as soon as their eyes lit on him.

They helped themselves to the pizza he was working on. They didn’t talk. There was nothing to say.

Weirdest birthday ever.

Bubby eventually made an offhand comment that he had never been to a Chuck E. Cheese before. His tone of voice was neutral, but the pinch of his eyes betrayed his curiosity as he flicked his gaze between the arcade games.

“Never?” Tommy asked at length.

Bubby nodded. “I’ve never left the facility,” he admitted.

Dr. Coomer exchanged a surprised look with Tommy as music thumped in the background. After some thought, the scientist wiped his hands on his napkin and gave Bubby a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Chuck E. Cheese is an excellent example of what the outside world has to offer, Dr. Bubby,” he told him, smiling tiredly.

Tommy snorted into the slice of pizza he was eating. The remark was almost enough to lift his mood away from the pit of anxiety in his stomach. Maybe he really could call these gentlemen his friends. Or, at least, he might learn to do so in time.

Bubby and Coomer excused themselves to try their hand at the arcade games. Tommy remained seated, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, too antsy to partake. He checked his phone, only to find it waterlogged and dead. He tossed it onto the table in disgust. Who would he call, anyway? The one person he wanted to talk to wasn’t in his address book.

His father was taking too long. Why was he taking so long? What was there to discuss with a man who just put his life on the line to seal an alien rift? Tommy watched the remainder of the pizza grow cold on the table before him. He ached in every way there was to ache.

Just as he was beginning to debate leaving his seat for a couple nervous rounds of air hockey, space split open across the room and a portal appeared. Tommy froze, watching the air shimmer and warp as someone stepped out of it.

And there was Gordon Freeman, alive and exhausted, blinking in disorientation as he touched down onto solid earth.

Tommy ran to him, chair clattering to the floor in his haste.

Gordon’s eyes barely flickered in recognition before Tommy collided bodily with him, arms flung around his neck. The HEV suit dug hard and unyielding into his chest, a discomfort ignored in favor of the other man’s arms returning his embrace, warm and solid. A shaky exhale sounded in his ear and he felt tears spring unbidden to his eyes. He made it. This wonderful, insane survivor. He made it, and he was hugging Tommy so hard he thought his spine might snap.

The other man’s voice was broken up with relieved laughter. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday, man.”

Tommy wasn’t letting go of him just yet, staccatoing his response into Gordon’s neck. “Sorry, I was - I forgot.” The sound he made was a sob disguised as a laugh, or perhaps vice versa.

“It’s okay,” Gordon chuckled, and it sounded like he was fighting for control over his voice, too. “We were a little busy.”

Tommy’s shoulders shook with mirth, awash with joy and wonder as he clung to him. The lights and the music around them didn’t matter, nor did the stars or the hungry void beyond. They could figure out their new reality one fragile step at a time. As long as they could stand together, feeding each other with laughter, they could find their way.

---

The party didn’t end up being too bad, even if the timing was a little weird. For all the exasperation Tommy held with his father at present, it still meant a lot that a man who played time like it was a pickup basketball game still tracked how many times Tommy had orbited the sun. The Science Team played a couple arcade games, ate their first real meal in days, and took turns splashing their faces and cleaning the blood from under their fingernails in the bathroom sink. It was an interim recovery, a pit stop on the way to rejoining life.

By the time it was over, everyone felt a little more human. Human enough, at least, to step outside the liminal space they found themselves in and return to Earth. Far flung explorers, lost inside themselves. Off in search of home, whether that home was found or they built it with their own two hands.

Tommy stepped out to the parking lot, the asphalt washed white and stark in the floodlights. The cool night smelled like juniper and sagebrush. He waved goodbye to Bubby and Coomer, who decided to make their own way from here after bidding him final birthday wishes. His father had vanished a while ago to deal with some cosmic follow-up to the Xen issue. Thankfully, Tommy got a pass on that.

That left Gordon, who he found leaning against the side of the restaurant, staring vacantly out at the parking lot with his eyes half open. The jingle of a staff member’s key ring startled him out of his reverie, and he slid a look first to the manager locking up, then to Tommy’s quiet approach. He was smaller without the HEV suit on. Softer. It had been a group effort to prise the armor plating off of him and carry it to the dumpster out back, leaving him in just the black utility coveralls worn underneath.

Where once there was a shield was just a man. Gordon smiled wearily at Tommy as he leaned his shoulder against the faux sandstone next to him.

“Is someone coming to pick you up?” Tommy asked.

Gordon sighed, turning to stare back at the vacant parking lot. “No,” he said, his voice small. “I’m still kinda… I was just trying to - y’know - I was gonna figure something out,” he shrugged. “I guess.”

Tommy tilted his head to the side, studying him. “It looked to me like you were falling asleep,” he observed.

A short, humorless exhale escaped him. “I was doing a little bit of that too, yeah,” he admitted.

His glasses were still smudged to hell and splintered with cracks. Carefully, Tommy reached out to remove the frames from Gordon’s face, sliding them off as gently as he could. There was a cut across the bridge of his nose. He did his best not to jostle it.

Gordon cleared his throat, returning his gaze from the parking lot to watch him pass a hand over one lens and then the other. “Do you have a ride coming?” he asked.

In the process of literally bending physics to fix the man’s glasses, Tommy tried not to smirk. “I’m - I can teleport, Mr. Freeman,” he reminded him.

Gordon chuckled softly. “Right. How could I forget?”

“But if you need to go somewhere, I can take you,” he added.

The lenses were repaired, for the tenth time over. Tommy inspected them for a second before sliding them delicately back onto Gordon’s face, somewhat hesitant to remove his hands as he withdrew. The first time he did this, Gordon was telling him all about what he wanted to do once they made it out of Black Mesa. Even then, it had seemed like an impossible dream, stacked as the odds were against them.

Now that they had done it, that it was real, Tommy felt like they had been handed some a measureless gift. He wasn’t quite sure yet what to do with it, and he guessed Gordon didn’t have much of a clue, either.

They held one another’s gaze. Gordon’s eyes were as full and clear as a starfield in the wilderness, dark and vast and deep. The lights in the parking lot hummed in the silence. Tommy had never felt quite so lost before, yet never quite so certain of where he needed to be.

“Thank you,” Gordon said finally, his words holding enough weight to indicate that he wasn’t just grateful for the glasses repair or the offer of travel.

No response seemed an adequate enough reply, so Tommy just smiled at him. For all the nightmares he endured in the past week, he didn’t regret a second of it if he got to see Gordon looking at him like this in the close desert night. He’d completely fallen for him, as hard and as fast as a meteor burning through the atmosphere.

He felt the threat of tears returning in the tightness of his throat, so he dropped his gaze and cracked a joke. “So… did you still want to get a Big Mac, or-”

“Oh my god,” Gordon cut him off, grabbing Tommy by the lapels and pulling him in.

This kiss was so different from their first one, it may as well have happened in another lifetime. The loss and pain and almosts were replaced with a fierce, blooming hope, a warmth and possibility passing between them in the breaths they took. Tommy raised his hands to tangle in Gordon’s hair, slow and reverent. This was magic, this was sunlight. They may have just lived through hell, but as Tommy kissed Gordon, he knew that he had found heaven right here, in the person he loved.

When they broke apart, it was soft and gentle, and it wasn’t goodbye.

They stood there, foreheads touching, under the soft full moon. Gordon unknotted his hands from Tommy’s lab coat in favor of winding them around his waist. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.

“This is gonna sound - like, this is probably a stupid question, after everything, but like,” Gordon stammered out, breathless and rosy. “D’you wanna get dinner sometime?” he asked. “Y’know, like, somewhere nice?”

Tommy drew away to look at him, a slow grin unfurling on his face. “Was Chuck E. Cheese not fancy enough for you, Mr. Freeman?”

Gordon threw his head back to laugh, clear and sweet, and it was the loveliest sound in the world.

Chapter 22 <--- 

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #theres kissing in this one too #hlvrai