#like. uncontrollably falling asleep all the time is clearly a sign that Something Is Wrong

[kami-kun1003]

he deserves to go fucking apeshit i think

#Jamil lowkey felt super out of character during Silver’s lab vignette #like. uncontrollably falling asleep all the time is clearly a sign that Something Is Wrong #but instead he basically goes “you just wanna slack off lol” #??????? #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst silver #twst memes #twisted wonderland meme

[theautisticfroglord]

Songbird

Pairing - William x Yami x reader

Fic Type - hurt-comfort

Warnings - trauma mention, mental breakdowns

Notes - to explain the pairing (do I even call it that?? Pairing usually means two- ), this has william in a poly relationship with you and yami, and I hope i did a good job at writing it :3c also @kray-dragon hello hi

The Captain of the Golden Dawn, William Vangeance, is a powerful man, and he seems to be unfazed by most. Though, he only seems that way on the surface, only to those who aren’t close enough to him. You and Yami, on the other hand, know him all too well. You’re both his partners, and he trusts you both enough to tell you his feelings, and what he has experienced; he’s been through a lot, and that causes his emotions to spiral when he remembers some of the trauma that weighs down upon him at times. He only expresses this in front of you and Yami.

One day, you unsuspectingly walked into the room where William lives, wanting to just relax with your lover. Then, when you walk inside, you notice how something feels off, but you can’t tell what. Suddenly, you realize what’s off when you hear soft, breathless crying coming from his bedroom. You feel startled, and wonder if he’s alright, so you run to where he is to check on him. William didn’t notice you were at his place, but he realized you were when he heard footsteps.

William had locked his door because he felt paranoid. You found this out when you attempted to open the door to his bedroom. When he hears the doorknob jingle, he starts to cry harder. You hear this, and begin to become more concerned. William never showed any signs of distress the day before, and you feel scared that something is terribly wrong.

“Will… dearest, are you alright? Why did you lock the door?” You ask, hoping he hears you. He only responds in incomprehensible sobs and whimpers. You remember that you have a key just in case, so you pull it out of your bag and unlock the door. William sobs and cries out as he hears the door unlocking and the doorknob turns. Once you open the door, you look around his room, and you see him crying on the floor, his knees tucked in his chest.

William looks up at you, flushed with tears and embarrassment that you had to see him in this state. You’ve never seen William this distressed before. You shut the door behind you, and walk up to your partner as he continues to cry uncontrollably. As you sit down, you realize what’s happening; William is stressed from the trauma he’s experienced.

“Hold on, honey, I need to get something,” You whisper, trying to keep him calm as you grab some fluffy blankets from the other side of his room. You also find pillows for him, so you walk back to where he’s sitting. William is still rocking back and forth, tears still streaming down his cheeks; you notice he’s tired from the crying but he still can’t help it.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you, my love,” you whisper, wrapping blankets around him, and placing pillows under him so he feels more comfortable. You place your hand on his face, noting how warm he feels and the way he flinches whenever you touch him in this state. As you lay down next to him and put blankets over yourself as well, you feel sorrowful because of how clearly damaged William is from what’s happened to him. Though, you’re glad that you can check on him and make sure he’s alright whenever he spirals like this.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetness, I love you so much,” you whisper lovingly, kissing him and encouraging him. William shyly wraps his arms around you.

“That’s it, my pretty songbird… I’m here,” you mumble to William, causing him to cry harder. You let him wrap himself around you more, knowing it makes him feel more safe. Petting his hair, you continue to whisper to him as he wails against your shoulder. You feel his tears dampen your shirt as you softly kiss his forehead. William begins to fall asleep due to him calming down a little. His sobs begin to quiet down because of how exhausted he is.

As he falls unconscious, he continues to softly cry and sniffle. You roll onto your side and kiss him sweetly, noticing that he’s still so, so pretty.

“I’m so, so sorry, my darling… I have to get up for a few minutes, I’ll be right back, I swear… just wait for me, lovely,” you mumble, tucking him in a little more as you have him hug the pillows in the same way he was hugging you. After you kiss him on the forehead once more, you leave the room to go to the kitchen. You’re making tea for William to help him calm down when you hear a knock on the door. You answer to see it’s Yami.

“Oh, h-hello, Yami, what are you doing here?” You ask, slightly nervous for him to see William right now.

“Just here to see Goldie, also, what’s that wet spot on your shirt?” Yami chuckles, pointing to the small damp patch.

“Well… I can explain, but… I’m making tea for him right now, can you wait in the kitchen for a moment?” You request, still a little nervous, but you know that Yami wouldn’t judge William for his emotions. You go back into his bedroom, and you kneel down next to him, recognizing that he’s still a little conscious.

“Hey, beautiful… Yami’s here right now…” you whisper calmly to him, letting William know so he doesn’t get startled. As you walk back to the kitchen, you think about how he might actually feel better with both his lovers comforting him through his spiral. Then, you hear the kettle whistling, so you pour the tea into cups, and then pull out a third one from the cupboard for Yami.

“So… do you want any tea?” You ask before you pour into the third cup, looking back at him.

“Yeah, I guess,” he responds. You pour the third cup and place it on a platter, and then gesture Yami to come with you. You both walk to William’s room, and you halt before opening the door.

“Before we go in here, I want to let you know that William’s been going through a lot, and he’s been crying; try to be gentle with him because he needs it right now,” you explained quietly.

“Oh, so that’s why you wouldn’t let me go into his room?” Yami realizes. You nod before opening the door. As you place the tea down on the floor near the blanket pile, Yami observes how pretty William looks after he cries. He sits down next to him, softly touching his damp cheek. William senses that Yami is there, so he opens his eyes a little.

“Yami… Y/N…” he mumbles with a weak and soft smile on his face.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Yami teases lightly, making William softly chuckle. You smile at how he already made him feel a little better; you realize that your idea was a good one. Sitting down next to William, you cuddle up to him, and Yami does the same.

“I made some tea for you… I love you, honey,” you purr, kissing his neck. You give William the tea cup and he takes a sip, and you can’t help but to blush at how sweet he looks. His cheeks are still flushed from crying. Yami notices this and holds his free hand.

“You alright, Will?” he asks, leaning up to him more. Both you and William notice that Yami’s tone of voice is more gentle and serious than usual.

“I am now, because you’re both here,” he mumbles, looking down into his tea.

“I’m glad that we could make you feel better, sweetheart,” you whisper to him. At first, William thought that being in a relationship with both you and Yami would be a little stressful. Now, he realizes that this relationship has helped him more than he could have thought.

#black clover #gif warning #my writing #polyamarous #anime #william vangeance #yami sukehiro #hurt comfort #black clover fanfiction #manga #yamiwill #queer writing #tw trauma mention #yami sukehiro x reader #william vangeance x reader

[usaonetwothree]

First of all thank you thank you thank you so much for the johnny whump!!!

Also wondering if there's any chance you will be writing any johnny whump featuring more johnny/Carmen? Maybe an extension of that part of The Agreement where she's examining his injuries? The thought just gives me total whumperflies!

Thank you so much for the message, Anon!! And you're most welcome! The show is just teeing it up so nicely. I'm really just continuing what they started :)

I hadn't thought about an interlude to The Agreement, but now my plot bunnies are going. Give me a few weeks to see what I come up with! I'll post it here for sure, and if it's long enough, I'll copy it over to ao3 as a second chapter.

In the interim, I have the start of a whumpy two-chapter fic that I don't know if I'm going to finish. Working summary is "Johnny doesn't have time to get sick. Besides, it's just food poisoning... right?" I'll post the completed first chapter below, and the plan for chapter two would be from Carmen's point-of-view from the ambulance ride through surgery and Johnny finally waking up. I wrote a lot of the ideas I had for her part into Conflict, which is why I think I'm stalled on it here in coming up with something different. I don't know how long it'll take me to figure that out (if ever) but at least you'll have the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you again for the kind message!

Pain exploded in his side, worse than he’d ever felt before. He had reference for this: he’d torn, strained, bruised, strained, dislocated and broken many things in the past. This pain blew them all away. It was he’d been stabbed with a hot knife up to the hilt, and someone was twisting it around in his guts.

His hand went to the area, came away warm, but he wasn’t bleeding. Felt like it. Felt oozing and wet and raw.

Somehow, above the nausea, above the stabbing ache in his head, he knew this was serious. And he needed help.

He couldn’t remember where his phone was. Didn’t have time to stop and think.

With every inch of his skin on fire, he leveraged himself off the couch and almost screamed as utter agony raced up his side. His knees buckled but he didn’t let himself fall. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t get back up.

Partially hunched over, he stumbled forward, careful not to jar his torso. He caught the door before the handle, barely cracking it open before he almost fell through. He jabbed his right elbow into the stucco wall, used that as a guide.

Elbow on the wall, left hand on his abdomen, trying to hold whatever was wrong in. One foot in front of the other.

It was the only thing going through his head.

Left.

Right.

Left.

A chill tore up his spine. His brain went fuzzy for a second and his elbow came away from the wall.

He almost went down again, caught himself at the last second. Leaned so far right he almost bashed his head into the stucco.

But he was vertical again.

He kept going until he hit another door.

The door that could help him.

Everything hurt now. He was sweating, burning up. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, and his limbs were trembling.

He tried to knock, lost his balance. Went down in a heap of limbs.

His side crashed into the ground and fire tore through his abdomen, pain so sharp and intense he couldn’t speak—couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think.

He thought he smelled something familiar. Heard something close. Felt something against his forehead.

But it was lost in a wave of blackness.

A * A

Twelve hours earlier…

Daniel LaRusso walked into Miyagi-Fang to hear a sound he was uncomfortably familiar with. As his own stomach churned in sympathy, he stepped closer to the small wood door leading to the bathroom and rapped on it.

“Everything okay?” he asked, scrunching up his nose as the stench filtered out into the dojo.

“Fine,” a thin voice gasped.

“Johnny?” Daniel rapped harder on the door. “Let me in.”

“‘m fine.”

Daniel then heard the toilet flush and someone heave themself upright, before the faucet was turned on.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” The worst-case scenarios were flashing through Daniel’s head: Johnny had gone after Kreese and gotten his ass kicked, he was drunk and trying to sober up before class…

But when the door slid open and a pale-faced and miserable Johnny stepped out, Daniel knew both were wrong.

“Are you sick?”

Johnny shook his head, then winced. “Don’t think so,” he said as he shuffled to the inlaid bench and sat down, propping his head against his hands with his elbows braced against his knees. “Bologna might have turned."

“I told you you should stop buying that stuff,” Daniel said as he fetched a water bottle from the small fridge and sat down beside Johnny, sliding it between his side and forearms.

“Then what am I going to have for breakfast?” he groaned, ignoring the bottle of water.

Daniel lightly wiggled it so it tapped Johnny’s arm and side. Groaning, the other man straightened up so his head was leaning against the paneling and took the water. “Cereal.”

Johnny took a small sip of the water and grimaced. “Milk goes bad,” he said faster but in a much steadier tone.

“Drink it faster. Or have eggs and bacon.”

Johnny groaned and clenched his jaw as his chest heaved painfully. “No more… food talk,” he ground out.

“Duly noted.” Daniel stood again and grabbed a towel, wetting it in the sink and laying it over Johnny’s forehead as he sat back down.

At first, Johnny pulled back in surprise, the towel slipping, but then he caught it and visibly relaxed.

“Thanks,” he muttered, closing his eyes and resituating the towel.

“How are you going to teach like this?”

“It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.”

“Weren’t supposed to... be here this early,” Johnny mumbled as he shifted in his seat. He winced again then slowly lowered himself so he was lying on the bench, bringing his socked feet to rest on the wood as well. Daniel, who had originally been in the way, just shifted so Johnny could lie down unimpeded.

“That’s not making me feel a whole lot better.”

“’ll be fine by four,” Johnny replied. “Got like... an hour right?”

“Thirty minutes at best, and you know Miguel is always early.”

“’ll be fine by then,” Johnny repeated, somehow sounding so sure that Daniel found himself believing him.

He stood, then lowered the singular shade over the window. “I’ll come get you before class starts.”

Johnny just shook his head, though Daniel had yet to see his posture actually relax.

And yet, twenty minutes later, Johnny was standing in the backyard, dressed in his gi, looking… surprisingly normal. He was still a little paler than usual, but had clearly tried to push some color back into his face, judging by a few fading streaks on his cheeks.

“How?” was all Daniel could ask. The last time he’d had food poisoning, it had taken him four days and a trip to urgent care before he could leave his bedroom without puking.

“Mind over matter,” Johnny mumbled, straightening up as the kids began to stream in through the door.

That was… bullshit? Unbelievable? Incredible? But at the core of it, so very Johnny.

The kids were so caught up in the latest non-karate drama at the high school that none of them shot Johnny another glance. He did look at Daniel, grinning genuinely, and mouthed, “Thanks.”

Daniel just nodded, then set out doing the last bit of preparations for class.

A * A

If Johnny was being honest with himself, he should have known something else was wrong. His stomach had been hurting all day, even though he’d barely eaten anything since dinner yesterday: fried bologna, ketchup and some leftover rice Carmen had brought a few days ago.

But there was too much going on for him to be sick. There was getting the kids ready for the All-Valley, so they could once and for all remove Kreese from Cobra Kai—not that Johnny would be reinstating that name anytime soon anyway; his budding relationship with Carmen—which Miguel still did not know about; and the knowledge that Robby and a handful of his other students were doing who-knew-what under Kreese’s command.

There wasn’t any time for his problems.

So he’d taken a Tums last night, not really understanding how that had shown up in his medicine cabinet, and tried to sleep it off.

He’d shot awake somewhere around two, tangled in a thin sheet, sweating so badly it felt like he’d just come in from a run. But something else was wrong. His face felt too hot, the skin too tight, and his stomach continued to flip lazily, despite him begging it to stay where it was.

He’d cranked up the fan, and sipped some water, which was a mistake.

His stomach had rolled and he was puking up his meager dinner not long after. He sat there for a long time, head leaning against the cool seat, until he’d fallen asleep. He’d woken again when his forehead slid off the toilet and thudded into the vanity.

He was cool this time, freezing, and shit, that was signs of a fever. That much he knew.

He did not have time for this.

Still on his knees, he managed to reach the shower dial and turn it on. Then he crawled into the tub, clothes still on, and sat there, letting the cool water beat on him while he shivered uncontrollably.

He could not get sick. This had to be a twenty-four hour thing. The kids all came in with their runny noses, who knew what they got into at school. Maybe it was time he caved to LaRusso wanting hand sanitizer stations on the way out for those germ-minded kids.

Eventually the freezing water had become unbearable and he barely managed to reach back high enough to turn it off. Then came the more difficult task of stripping off his wet clothes, which he ended up doing still sitting in the tub, because the act of fighting with his clothes while standing seemed rather exhausting.

But then, he did have to get up, and it took everything he had to stay that way. His head swam and his stomach lurched.

That was when he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach around his navel.

No way this was some sort of flu.

He was reminded of Miguel pulling the package of bologna out of the fridge and frowning at the date. “This is over a week old, Sensei.”

“It’s fine,” Johnny had said.

Miguel had looked a split second away from pitching it, but had put it back in the fridge and chosen the bag of pretzels on the counter instead.

So this was food poisoning. It had to be.

He’d be in for a rough night, but it should be over by tomorrow, when he needed to be at the dojo, when he needed to be on.

The knowledge didn’t make his illness any easier, but it had made it manageable. He’d thrown up a few more times; felt his stomach cramp so severely, it doubled him over; and had eventually fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, ankles bracing the toilet, head leaning back against the far wall.

He didn’t feel better, per say, when he woke, but good enough to haul himself out of the bathroom, change into a loose shirt and sweats, and into the kitchen where he sipped at some OJ, literally the only thing in his entire kitchen that didn’t send his stomach rolling again.

At some point, he’d passed out on the couch watching TV and had jarred awake two hours before class.

He had to be there.

So he’d dry swallowed some aspirin and chewed another Tums, begged whoever was up there to keep them down, and headed out with the OJ tucked under his arm.

He’d barely made it to the dojo when his stomach began to cramp again, induced by the shifting horizons while he was driving. LaRusso found him and his once-nemesis had been surprisingly gentle. When he was better, Johnny owed him more than just a quick thanks for being decent about it, instead of leaving him to suffer on his own.

He’d had to pull over on the way home to puke again. Though he didn’t know what he was bringing up at this point. It was all acid and gunk from what he could see.

He was less than a mile from his apartment complex and he sure as hell wasn’t walking, so he slid back into the car, focused with all his remaining energy and went approximately ten miles an hour in the righthand lane the remaining way.

His fever was kicking up again as he parked, and his stomach began to ache with new intensity. He barely made it to the couch before he was retching again into the bowl he’d so left there earlier for just that purpose.

His head was pounding, his ears ringing, and the pain in his stomach had shifted so it was on his lower right side. He’d bruised a kidney before and it’d hurt in its own way, but it had been nothing like this. He hadn’t even fought anyone since Kreese. Couldn’t risk injuring himself and getting benched. Not with everything that was at stake.

It felt like he was getting the massage from hell, but inside, down in his guts. They were churning, dancing, twisting, oblivious to the pain they were causing. His actual organs hurt, however that was possible.

He sipped at the water, and immediately retched it back up.

Somewhere deep down he knew that was bad. Knew he needed to stay hydrated. Knew he hadn’t drunk enough the past eighteen hours. Knew he could replenish some of it from the shower, but it was so far away.

He just leaned his head against the arm rest, shifting until he found an angle that didn’t make him violently nauseous, and must have passed out.

It was only when he woke up that he knew something was seriously wrong, and that he had to get some help, and ended up passing out again in front of Carmen’s door.

Only it hadn’t been Carmen who answered.

“Sensei!” Miguel shouted, trying and failing to catch the older man. “Mama! Yaya!” he shouted as he dropped to his knees beside his Sensei, whose face was red and flushed but otherwise seemed uninjured.

“Sensei, please.” Miguel begged, tapping Sensei’s face and feeling the heat radiating off it. “MAMA!” he yelled again as he jabbed his fingers into Sensei’s neck, finding a thin pulse.

Then arms were on his shoulders, pulling him away, as his mom replaced him.

“¡Llame una ambulancia!”

Yaya was telling him to back up, was shoving her phone into his hands.

He didn’t remember making the call, but he must have. His mom was trying to rouse Sensei, had unbuttoned his shirt, and was swearing.

“Qué pasa?” Miguel demanded, but she didn’t answer.

“Ice, Miguel,” his mom was ordering, still bent over Sensei. “Quick!”

His feet were moving, grabbing whatever frozen vegetables they had in the freezer and handing them to his mom, who was placing them around Sensei’s neck, under his arms, around his groin.

Sensei groaned, flinched, but didn’t rouse.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel heard himself ask, but his mom was telling Yaya to take him in the apartment instead of responding.

“No!” he shouted, planting his feet. ��I'm not leaving.”

His mom turned to look at him, a bit of panic in her eyes before she could hide it. “Go inside, Miggy. Please,” she said very carefully.

As much as Miguel didn’t want to, he did. Until he heard the sirens. Then he was outside the door again, watching as the paramedics swarmed Sensei.

They were asking his mom a bunch of questions and she was rattling off the answers. Then Sensei was on a gurney and they were rolling away and his mother was climbing into the ambulance with him, and then they were gone.

Miguel felt Yaya’s arm wrap around his upper back, not tall enough to reach his shoulders, and he turned and buried her head into her shoulder, letting the tears fall.

#johnny lawrence #carmen diaz #daniel larusso #cobra kai #cobra kai fanfiction #asks #answered #THANK YOU

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (5)

    jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst + soft joon cameo

words: 3.9k

      chapter five

You tossed and turned for half the night and when you finally managed to fall asleep, your phone buzzed with a text message. Sticking your hand out from under the covers, you kept your eyes closed as you looked for your phone and debated throwing it against the wall so you could keep sleeping.

Driven by some sort of a pathetic hope – what if it was him – you opened your eyes after all, only to see that the text came from a student in your Sociology class, Namjoon. You were supposed to work on a project with him and he was wondering if you were free to meet him at the library today.

“It’s Saturday,” you texted back sleepily, thanking the God for autocorrect, “I don’t mind but don’t you have plans?”

You put your phone back down, hoping to get at least a few more minutes of sleep, but another text message came in almost instantly.

“Everyone will flock to the library on Monday and pick out the best books,” Namjoon said in his text, “so I’d like to get a head-start. Would 9 work for you?”

Nine in the morning – considering that it was eight right now – was absolutely not going to work for you because you were still half-asleep and weren’t motivated enough to have breakfast, shower, make yourself look presentable, and drag yourself across campus in an hour. But you didn’t want to be a nuisance, so you texted back, “sure! See you at 9” and sighed your way into the dorm bathroom.

Thankfully, everyone else seemed to be still asleep, so you got the whole place to yourself and could shower for as long as you liked, without fearing that someone was going to rip off the curtain, separating your naked body from the rest of the room – it was the sort of fear that didn’t go away in all of the three years that you’d lived here.

The shower did wake you up but, with waking up, came the memories of last night and the disappointment that Inna had brought home.

Truthfully, what hurt you the most wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had presumably spent the night with some other girl but rather, the fact that he did so right after you decided not to purposefully sabotage your budding friendship with him and, instead, give it a chance to see what happened.

Well, you saw what happened and you didn’t like it one bit. So, on the other hand, maybe this was for the better. Clearly, there was still a lot of the old Jungkook – the one you knew and loved once upon a time – left in him, but there was also a part of him that you had never gotten to know – that was the part responsible for the end of your friendship seven years ago.

And, stepping out of the shower in your robe, you decided it’d be best to never get to know the foreign parts of him. Obviously, some of those feelings you’d had for him all of those years ago – actually, a lot of those feelings – had survived the long hiatus and were very much making a comeback – if they ever truly went away, that is – so it was best to quit before you got burned. Again.

And then, by a stroke of simply awful luck, you exited the communal bathroom only to see a familiar figure leave someone’s room down the hall. Being the only two people here, the two of you immediately took notice of each other, and you were starting to wish someone had ripped that shower curtain off so you could have died of embarrassment back there, instead of suffering through seeing Jungkook right here.

“Hi,” he said, just as surprised to see you here even though he walked you home yesterday and knew very well where you lived. “W-why are you up so early?”

“I have plans,” you said, your answer more curt than you’d intended. Being subtle would probably work better since you didn’t want him to know how hurt you were.

“Oh,” Jungkook said. He noticed that you didn’t ask why he was here which could only mean that you knew. “Can I walk you? I was on my way home anyway.”

“I’m not going out in a robe,” you said, “I still need to change.”

“Well, I can—I could wait,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans to hopefully stop them from clenching into fists. Your coldness was messing with him.

“No need,” you said, abandoning all hopes for subtlety, “I’m sure you’d rather get back to your—well, friend, I guess. She’s probably waiting for you inside.”

You wanted to walk past him into your own room – and would have done so, too, if you were only a little faster – but he was quick enough to get his hand out of his pocket and grab your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you jealous?” he asked and you began fuming at this—very observant and absolutely correct—accusation.

“What? I’m not jealous,” you lied loudly and proudly. “I just think it’s funny how you’re trying to get your life together one moment, and then go ahead and sleep around the next.”

He let go of your hand. “I—”

“If that’s your version of drinking responsibly,” you added with a scoff, “then I have to tell you, it’s not all that different from any other type of drinking you’d been doing since you started college.”

“Drinking—are you going to preach about absenteeism to me now?” he asked, suddenly focusing on the wrong thing. “That’s very closed-minded coming from someone like you. I thought you were—”

“I’m obviously not who you thought I were,” you cut him off again, even angrier now that he’d touched you – just like that time at the party last week – because, despite the circumstances, the softness of his skin felt outrageously nice.

“Okay, fuck!” he couldn’t help raising his voice. “I’m still trying to catch up on all that we’ve missed about each other.”

“Why?” you demanded. “Why does it matter?”

“Because we were friends once upon a time,” he quoted the words you’d said to him and you groaned as you recognized them.

“Once upon a time was a long time ago,” you said. “Maybe what’s in the past should stay in the past.”

Jungkook had gotten into physical fights more times than he could count and yet he’d never gotten punched just by someone’s words until now. It hurt and, frankly, he’d have preferred it if you’d socked him in the eye instead. At least that way you could both could see the damage done.

“Right. Well, in that case, it’s really none of your business how or how often I’m drinking,” he said, his hurt feelings coming out in chilly, stone-hard sentences and you’d already heard him tell you something like this before. You should have listened and hung up the phone as soon as he called to apologize about it.

“Hey,” you raised your hands in defense, “you’re the one who called me last night.”

“I was drunk,” he shot back, his voice as cold as yours had been, “I barely even remember it. Don’t think it means anything or gives you the permission to—”

Not realizing what excellent liars you both were when you were angry, you allowed yourself to listen to him until his words started to sting too much.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said then, turning around to go back to your room. He didn’t try to stop you this time. “I never thought it meant anything.”

You were late to meet Namjoon at the library because, after having closed the door of your room, you didn’t dare to come back out into the hall even after you dressed up and got ready, in case Jungkook had lingered. But it all turned out to be just wishful thinking – he probably left as soon as you went inside – and there was no sign of him anywhere when you did finally come out.

Well, that was that. This time last week, you had been on your way to visit Jungkook at the hospital, and now your very unsuccessful attempt at reconnecting had ended. 

You should have seen it coming, it’s been far too long. Pretending that it hasn’t and rebuilding your friendship on memories had, clearly, not worked.

“So sorry I’m late,” you announced to Namjoon when you finally reached the library, all out of breath and with a very poorly hidden bad mood.

“It’s alright,” Namjoon replied, showing you his cup of coffee, “I stopped by the café next-door, so I just got here myself,” he said and then realized, “oh! I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what—”

“Oh, no, there’s no need,” you plopped down into a seat opposite him. “I had a quick cup before I left the dorm. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded and, taking a sip of his beverage, gave you a look that he’d hoped appeared as nonchalant and not at all suspicious – even though it was – and, as soon as he placed his cup down on the table between you, he inquired somewhat awkwardly, “are you okay?”

You were busy taking your backpack off and putting it on a chair next to you, so his question took you off guard.

“Hmm?” you turned to give him a look. “I’m fine, why? Is it about being late? I was just—”

“No, no, it’s just that—well, nevermind. I thought you looked upset,” he said and then regretted ever bringing it up. His perception had gotten him labeled as creepy several times before. “Sorry if that’s out of line for me to say.”

“No, it’s, uh—” you looked down, unsure if pouring your heart out to someone who was virtually a stranger to you was such a great idea since you obviously sucked at making – or, well, remaking – friends. “I am somewhat upset, I guess. I got into a fight with—with a friend before I left. But I promise it won’t interfere with my work!”

“Ah. Sorry to hear that,” Namjoon said and he sounded genuine, which was nice, considering he didn’t have to try so hard for someone who was just his partner for a Sociology project.

“Yeah,” you spoke and allowed the quiet atmosphere of the library on this early Saturday morning to engulf you both before finally saying, “anyway. Do you have the literature list, perhaps? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“I have it on my phone,” he said and, in an attempt to sit up straight and pull his phone out from his back pocket at the same time, he spilled some of his drink on the table. “Oh, shit, uh—sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, reacting immediately and reaching for a pack of tissues you always carried in the outer pocket of your backpack. You extended it for him. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he took one out and wiped his own hand first before cleaning the drink off the table.

“Is your hand okay?” you asked. “The coffee seems to be hot.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said with an awkward laugh. He’d already showcased enough of his inability to function as a normal human, he didn’t want you to have to deal with the stinging pain of his palm, too. “So, anyway, as I was saying, I have the list on my phone. I can send it to you and then we can split up to find the books faster.”

“Okay. That sounds great!”

And it really was great because, aside from being somewhat clumsy – he spilled his coffee again when he was pushing his chair back to get up from his seat and then dropped his phone as he was attempting to clean the new puddle – Namjoon was also an honest, dedicated worker and you appreciated that. You’d already had to work on many projects with peers who were more than happy to let you do all the work.

“I love the library at a time like this,” Namjoon told you from the other side of the book shelf as you two began to freely roam the near-empty library, browsing for books. “Not crowded with people, I mean.”

“Yeah, I love it, too,” you agreed. “But I don’t get to see it often, to be honest. I’m one to jump on the bandwagon and come here when everyone else comes.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, usually, I’m like that, too. But I started coming on weekends recently. It’s blissfully empty here, especially in the morning.”

“Everyone’s probably hungover,” you observed. “Parental Advisory had one of their usual ragers last night.”

“Ah, yes,” Namjoon nodded and then, somehow hesitantly, asked, “why weren’t you there?”

He made it sound as though you were supposed to be there and, for a minute, you wondered if your very few public conversations with Jungkook ended up bringing more attention to you and him than you’d realized.

“I—well, I don’t really go to those things,” you admitted, “it’s not really for me. I was home, binging on TV shows instead.”

He laughed – not mockingly but rather, understandably. Like he could relate.

“That’s my usual weekend, too,” he said then, confirming your thoughts and you gave him a smile through the gap between the books on the shelves. “I’ve been catching up on the movies I’ve missed during mid-terms.”

“Oh?” you picked one book up to check the edition and then put it back after realizing it wasn’t the right one. “Did you watch anything last night?”

“I tried to give the Kristen Stewart movie a shot,” he replied, dragging his finger on the spines of the books as he looked for the one he needed. “But it didn’t do it for me.”

“Underwater?” you asked. You had dragged Inna to see this movie in the theater with you. “I didn’t like that one, either. Even though Kristen Stewart was, predictably, great.”

“Oh, you’ve seen it, too?” he seemed surprised as he stopped and glanced at you over the shelves.

“Yeah, horror movies are much more my thing than campus parties,” you said.

“Really?” now he was properly intrigued. “Mine, too.”

You stopped browsing as well and your eyes met even if your bodies were separated by shelves of books. Not wanting to make this awkward, Namjoon didn’t let his gaze linger for too long before he looked back at his phone and continued his search for books.

“What would you say were your Top 3 horror movies of the last few years?” he asked, not just to keep the conversation going, but also because he was genuinely curious. He hadn’t met a lot of other people who were into horror.

“Only three?” you put your hands on your hips, deep in thought. “Okay. I’d choose Get Out, Us… and Midsommar.”

Namjoon wrinkled his nose at this. “Midsommar? Really?”

“Yeah,” you looked at him in confusion. “Why? It was good!”

“Well, it wasn’t bad,” he said, “but it just… I don’t know, it didn’t have enough horror elements for me. You do have good taste, though. Get Out is definitely one of the few late-decade films worthy of its’ horror genre.”

You couldn’t deny that but felt like you had an addition, “I actually quite liked Hereditary, too. It was different from what I usually watch.”

“Is that the one with the actress from The Sixth Sense?” he asked as he pulled a book from the shelf nearby to check the cover.

He was truly proving to be a project partner sent from heavens as you squealed, forgetting the library rules for a minute, “Toni Collette! Yes!”

He turned around, surprised by your excited tone.

“You liked The Sixth Sense?” he asked with a laugh, then.

“Loved it,” you said, still overwhelmed by the realization that you two seemed to share the same taste in movies. “It’s one of the best movies out there, in my opinion.”

“I think it might just be,” he agreed. “I’ve never seen Hereditary, though.”

You stopped walking and turned to him with wide eyes. “No. Are you serious? It’s terrible! I mean, terrible as in, I had to look away from the screen several times and I’m not one that gets fidgety during horror movies. That really proves how good it is.”

“Ah, yes, as the rating for horror movies goes – boring, decent, bad, terrible,” he counted with his fingers as you both laughed. “No, I don’t know, I just somehow never got around to watch it.”

“I have it on my computer,” you found yourself saying, “if we wrap this project up quickly enough, we could watch it. If you’d like.”

“I’d love that,” he said, smiling, and then stopped himself, “although, I don’t think the library allows that sort of activity here.”

“Oh. No, I guess not,” you thought about it for a moment and then came up with a plan, “well, are you free on Monday? We could work on the project at my dorm and watch the movie then. My roommate has classes in the afternoon, so it’ll be quiet.”

You hadn’t even realized that you were inviting a guy you’d almost literally just met over to your room and neither had Namjoon as he considered your offer – trying to remember his own schedule for Monday – and then nodded. 

Truthfully, he didn’t even consider that there could have been some concealed intentions behind your invitation – he genuinely wanted to watch this movie with you since it seemed to have left an impression on you.

“Okay, yeah,” he said finally. “Monday sounds good. I’ll bring my books.”

“Great!” you’d have clapped your hands together if you weren’t holding three books and your phone. “I’ll bring the movie.”

Shortly, the two of you had finished your search for the books for the project and Namjoon excused himself – apparently, his drunk roommate had lost his keys and couldn’t get home – agreeing to meet you at your dorm on Monday.

You didn’t even realize it until you sat down by the table to put the books into your backpack but discussing your favorite movies with Namjoon had helped you forget all about your fight with Jungkook. Smiling solemnly to yourself, you concluded that you were actually feeling surprisingly well right now in comparison to how disheveled you’d been when you first arrived here.

Deciding that it was your choice how to feel about your second falling-out with Jungkook, you chose to move past it with surprising swiftness. If a good conversation was what it would take for you to forget about him, then you were just going to have to find more interesting people to talk to. Inna, once she sobered up, would work perfectly.

You’d have probably succeeded at this plan if it weren’t for the two girls that just arrived to the library, sunglasses and paper cups of coffee in hand. You merely glanced at them, choosing not to say hi even though you thought you’d seen them around the dormitory, as they sat down a few seats away from you.

“Okay, listen, why does it matter that he left early?” one of them was saying as you pulled the zipper of your backpack, opening it up. “Everyone still knows that you went home with Jungkook last night.”

That’s when you froze, focusing all of your energy into not turning around to look at them again. 

One of these girls was the girl whose room Jungkook had left this morning.

“Yeah, but so what?” she replied to her friend. You knew you had to keep putting the books into your backpack or else you’d look weird just sitting here, obviously listening. But moving with minimal noise, so you’d still be able to hear them, was difficult. “Nothing happened between us.”

“I mean, not nothing,” her friend countered and then hesitated, “you did kiss, right?”

“Yeah, but—I don’t know. We kind of did,” her friend said and you found yourself drowning in waves of hotness. You decided you should probably go if you wanted to still have a chance at the swift-moving-on you’d planned. “But it was really more me, kissing him. He didn’t even—he was just there, you know what I mean?”

“Was he drunk?”

“No—well, yeah, we both were,” she giggled. You mentally gagged as you hurriedly stuffed the books into your bag. “But he was sober enough to recognize where I lived.”

“He knew where you lived? Girl, that’s good!” her friend clapped her hands together.

“No, but he didn’t, he just—he knew someone in the building,” she said. You sat up straight suddenly and the two girls stopped talking. Trying to play it cool, you coughed nervously and pushed your chair back, standing up. They carried on, “anyway, I think he just went with me because he wanted to visit that friend who lived there. But he tripped over the door on our way in, and I said that maybe we should stop at my place first, I could get him a drink or something. He said, ‘yeah,’ so we went and… he fell asleep basically as soon as he entered my room.”

“What? Seriously?” her friend asked as you zipped up your bag.

“Yeah,” the girl said. “I sat him down on my bed, left to pick up some snacks from the mini-fridge, and when I came back, he was full-on snoring.”

“Shit. Maybe he’s sick or something.”

The girl wasn’t so sure. “Or maybe he’s just not into me.”

Choosing not to listen anymore or else they’d have to notice you loitering, you picked up your backpack and headed for the exit. Your mind was buzzing and even the walk across campus to your dormitory didn’t help make it stop.

Apparently, Jungkook hadn’t slept with the girl that brought him home – he just let you assume he had. Not that you’d given him a chance to deny it, to be fair, accusing him of sleeping around one second and drinking himself blind the next.

It was clear that you’d overreacted and, in a moment of weakness, you considered calling him to apologize. But then you stopped and reconsidered – he’d told you it wasn’t your business to worry about his drinking. He’d told you his late-night phone call meant nothing and that he could barely even remember it.

So, maybe the argument in the hallway meant nothing to him, too. Maybe you were the only one still thinking about it while Jungkook was already off, doing whatever he did Saturday mornings because, God knew, moving on came easy to him.

Deciding that it was time you listened to him when he told you not to get involved in his decisions, you exhaled shakily and put your phone back in your pocket. 

There was no point to apologize to him about anything.

It was over.

keep reading | masterlist

#jungkook #bts #jeon jungkook #bts reactions #bts fanfiction #bts angst #angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfiction #fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #college au #bts college au #bts au #jungkook college au #jungkook au

[sicjimin]

Hi! another yoonjin fic from me.. not really a sickfic but i just need to let out this idea from my head hehe. I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes 😺

Warning : slight mention of emeto

"Hyung, is yoongi-hyung woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?", Jimin whispered to Seokjin that sat beside him right before the meeting started. Seokjin that was reading the materials turned his head to Jimin, confused with the sudden question, " Huh? why?"

"Look at him. I mean, I know he's usually grumpy but today just another level of it. I think I can see the black aura radiated from his body right now", Jimin says nonchalantly as he flips through his notebook. Seokjin turned his gaze to the younger and yes, he can see black aura radiated from Yoongi's body with a clear sign of " Don't do anything wrong in front of me if you still value your life"

Seokjin made a mental note to asks Yoongi about it, maybe later when they back in the dorm. He doesn't want to push the wrong button on Yoongi, even though he's older and knows that Yoongi won't snap at him, but still.

He managed to get Yoongi to tell him about what makes his mood went so sour today, and that's because he lost one of his work for his mixtape. He accidentally closes the program and forgot to save it. So he needs to work on it right from the scratch again. Seokjin wants to laugh but he doesn't want to hurt Yoongi's feelings more, "I know you can do it again Yoongi-ah, you must have memorized some of the beat since you practically played it again and again when you worked on it. Do you want me to be your human reminder?"

"Huh? I don't get it about the human reminder, but thank you hyung"

Seokjin just smiled at that, ready with a simple plan to help the younger.

The next day, Yoongi jumped on his seat when his studio door suddenly opened and he heard Seokjin's cheerful voice "YOONGI-CHI DON'T FORGET TO SAVE YOUR WORK TODAY" and the door already slammed close before he managed to acknowledge the sudden commotion. Yoongi laughs at it, finally understand what his hyung means with a human reminder, and he clicked ctrl+S at his work. That habit keeps going every single day, Seokjin would burst into his studio just to remind him at the most random time and leave. Yoongi grows comfortable with that habit too. So, when one day Seokjin didn't burst at his studio, he's confused. He still waiting for Seokjin's reminder even though he already saves all his work. Yoongi walks out of his studio, wanting to ask the member where's Seokjin. They didn't have any schedule together that day, so most of the members either already back in the dorm, or their studio, like Yoongi.

To his luck, he met Jungkook in the cafeteria. The youngest looks like he about to go back to the dorm, despite it's still 8 PM, quite early when they usually back at midnight or more. "Jungkook, have you see Seokjin-hyung today?"

"Huh? No, i haven't hyung. But Jimin-hyung said that he needs to go back to the dorm early because Seokjin-hyung is sick and needs some medication", Jungkook says as he scrolls his phone, reading some messages. They fall into silence until Jungkook grabs his iced americano and tell Yoongi that he gonna go back to the dorm. Yoongi just nods, still busy with his mind.

Hyung is sick? but he looked fine when he woke me up this morning? he still made breakfast for all of us ... but he didn't eat much though if I remembered it clearly .. and he didn't speak as much as his usual self. How could I not know that he is sick? Is he okay? I think-

Yoongi shakes his head, rather than drowning in his mind, he grabbed his belonging and heading back right now. He wanted to take care of his roommate, felt a little guilty that he didn't know earlier that Seokjin is sick. When he arrived at his & Seokjin's room, the light was off. Only the sound of a humidifier could be heard. He walked softly, didn't want to suddenly wake up Seokjin that's buried under the thick blanket. His heart almost stopped when he suddenly heard a soft, "Yoongi-chi .. don't forget to save your works" followed by a cough. He turned his head and Seokjin's eyes were completely closed. He is still asleep. Yoongi blushes uncontrollably at the fact that Seokjin still remembers to be Yoongi's reminder even when he's sick. Yoongi walked outside, he was tempted to make a chamomile tea and porridge, he didn't know if Seokjin can handle something to eat, so porridge and tea seem like a safe option. After he grabbed some medicine, he walked back upstairs.

His heart skipped a beat again when he didn’t found Seokjin in his bed. He stood there in silence, thinking about the possibility where his roommate might be until he heard a sudden noise of someone retching from the bathroom. “Seokjin-hyung, are you in there? are you alright?” Yoongi called through the door but got no answer, instead, he heard more heaving, followed by a sickening splash in the toilet. He waited for a minute, contemplating if he needs to break the bathroom door. Seokjin's hoarse voice echoes in the bathroom, “Yes I’m in here, I’m fine, will be out in few minutes”. With that, Yoongi sighed in relief, winced a few times when he heard another retches and sound of thick liquid hitting the water. It goes for a solid 5 minutes until Seokjin walked out from there. His cheeks flushed red, and his eyes glassy. “Yoongi? when did you arrive?”, Seokjin walked to his bed, hands still lingering in his stomach. He feels relieved when he knows Yoongi already there, not staying up too late in his studio. He didn’t want to be alone when his body felt like shit, and Yoongi is a perfect companion for him. 

Yoongi didn’t answer his question immediately, instead, he grabbed a thermometer and a cup of chamomile tea, Seokjin’s favorite when he’s sick. “Since when did you feel sick hyung? Why didn’t you tell me?”. Seokjin smiles weakly, “Since this morning actually, but I figured all the members are busy, including you. I thought this only will be a bug, but I guess it kinda gets worse”. Yoongi just nods and then let out remarks that left Seokjin’s cheeks redder “I’ve been here since an hour ago hyung, I even heard you mumbled in your sleep, reminding me to save my works” 

Seokjin laughs and wiggled his eyebrows, “So, you missed my reminder, don't you?”. Yoongi throws a pillow at him, but Seokjin can see his gummy smile peeked out

Seokjin takes another sip of his chamomile tea, “Yoongi-ah”. Yoongi that has been tidying up his blanket just hummed at the call. “hmm?” 

“Don’t forget to save your works” 

“You’re silly hyung” 

———————————————————

Ideas :

#bts sickfic #bts emeto #tw emeto #tw vomit #caretaker!yoongi #sick!seokjin

[horoyois]

play the part | myg

pairing: reader x min yoongi

word count: 958

genre: soulmate au, angst

summary: sometimes those initials on his wrist doesn’t look like they’re yours. 

a/n: this soulmate au is basic af but i wanted to write bc im not feeling good today (again) (tis a repeated pattern HONESTLY) and writing calms me down A LOT so yeah angsty yooni!!!!! 

“I don’t deserve you.” You’re looking at him with guilty eyes, the eyes that tell everything, those eyes you reserve only for him. In those eyes there’s no lie, but there’s doubt. 

“I… I don’t understand. Are you leaving?” He hopes his voice lets you know that he’s not one bit confused, that he’s just afraid. Afraid of losing you. His eyes drift from your face to your wrist, his initials inked in deep blue. You are also looking at yours tattooed in his own wrist, so he extends his arm, letting you see it clearly. “Does it has something to do with this?” 

“Yoongi…” 

“Answer me.” His tone is not stern, he hopes. But the look in your face says that you know, you know he’s not mad, you know that he’s pleading.

“I already told you. I don’t deserve you, Yoongi.” He notices from the way that your breathing is accelerating that oxygen is not finding your lungs in the way it’s supposed to. “I don’t think I do any good to you, I think you should be with someone more understanding and…” 

“You are literally my soulmate. Are you implying that the Universe is wrong?” You hate when he interrupts you, but he guesses that you’ll let it pass this one time by the way you’re looking at the fluffy rug that decorates your bedroom. “That everything we’ve lived until now is a lie?”

“And how do we know it’s true? How do we know this is not just a stupid amount of coincidences?” He’s getting angry now, but he’s trying his best to conceal it. He doesn’t want to scare you or make you feel worse.

“All the signs, all the silly serendipities that happened to be destiny, our connection. The fact that your initials are tattooed in my wrist since you saw me and recognized me. Is that not proof enough for you?” 

“I don’t know anymore. Sometimes I think I ask too much. Sometimes I hate myself so much that I don’t think those initials are mine.” 

Tears are sliding down your face now, and that’s his red alert. You never let yourself cry, you find it too bothersome to others and also to yourself, you never let the dam break until you are crashing down. And damn, is it breaking now. You’re trembling so much that your body can’t hold yourself up, so you just crumble down to the floor and start sobbing uncontrollably. 

His movements are quick and precise, he just lets his body do whatever his instincts tell him, almost muscle memory. He crouches down to the floor next to you and takes you in his arms, letting you cry into his neck, left hand fingers caressing your back slowly while the right one looks for your own hand and holds it righty, locking your fingers with his, hoping that somehow he’ll easy the anxiety that’s clouding your mind and darkening your thoughts. 

He thinks it’s working when you start hiccuping softly after a while, wails now lost in his lips after he kissed them out of you, your eyes tired and sad but no longer hopeless, and your body is warm once again. His heart feels at ease when your breaths are deep and calm instead of shallow, rapid sighs that leave you even more breathless. Anxiety is leaving you, sleep finding you now instead, and he urges you to go up to bed before you both fall asleep on the rug. You comply and get up, but your hand never lets his go, so he’s left with no other option but to cuddle you to sleep. Not that he’d have it any other way, quite honestly.

He moves your unfinished luggage out of the way and waits until you slide under the covers to go to his side and lie down on the bed, now facing you for the first time since he arrived home. You smile softly but look at him guiltily, and he slides closer and holds you tightly under the covers, and maybe his skin can absorb the worries that cloud your mind in days like this.

“You really were about to leave me, huh?” He whispers. It’s intended more like a snarky remark, but he’s aware that weakness and insecurity colours his voice, and that you see it as clearly as day.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Yoon. This has to do with me, not with you. Everything with you is perfect.” He pecks your lips softly, romanticly.

“Everything with us is perfect, honey,” He takes your intertwined hands out of the covers and points at both of your initials, beautifully inked in each other’s wrists. They look like a secret code, one that only you two know, and he hopes you don’t forget even when you’re feeling like this. “And this is the proof. Don’t take the Universe so lightly.”

“I know. I’m sure about you, I know you’re my soulmate. I… I just wasn’t so sure about me being yours. I just want the best for you.” A tear is leaving the corner of your eye once again, but he kisses it right before it slides down your nose. He doesn’t want more tears striking down your face in the next few decades, and he’s planning on being there to make sure of it.

“You are the best for me. And it's not only the Universe’s decision, but mine. I want you here, always.”

You nod softly and sleepily, and he knows you don’t believe him right now, but there’s not much he can do. He just hopes for the best, and if the Universe is not enough for you to see that you’re the one for him, then he’ll be the one to show you. 

#yoongi #yoongi imagines #bts #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #min yoongi #suga #mine

[btstimestamps]

Mine [Ch.2]

Pairing(s): maknae line x fem!reader [hybrid!au] [college!au]

Genre(s): fluff, tiny bit of angst, lots of smut 😜

Summary: Having three of your best friends as cat hybrids was quite chaotic especially when their heat hits them all at the same time.

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

Previous Chapter

You both watched as Taehyung marched out the room. Jungkook ruffled his long locks and released a sigh.

"That was tense."

You smiled warmly in his direction before patting his bare arm.

"Dont worry about Taehyung now and go to sleep." You said but Jungkook raised a brow.

"I'm worried about you, noona."

That took you by surprise and you blinked at the boy in wonder.

"Why?"

Jungkook let out another sigh before he placed his hands on your shoulders and drove you out the room.

"Good luck."

Before you could say anything, the door was shut making you huff. A chuckle reached your ears and you turned your head to Jimin who was sitting on the sofa.

"Have you been sitting here this whole time? You could have said something." You approached him as you spoke.

You placed your hands on your hips and raised a brow at the older male who found your annoyance quite amusing. He shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerating manner making you lightly hit his shoulder.

He grabbed your hand before you could pull it back and he tugged you forward making you fall on his lap.

"Why would I step in when you already made your decision to help us."

His hands travelled down to your thighs and he gave them a light squeeze making your breath hitch.

"Did he please you?" He asked as he admired your reaction to his touch.

You shook your head and Jimin tutted in dissapointment.

"He's so greedy."

Jimin removed his hands from your body and you almost whined at the loss.

"I'd love to carry on but I have an extra class to attend in the morning and so do you."

Jimin was known out of three to have the most control whenever his heat occurred even though your scent was driving him mad.

He gently removed you from his lap and stood up, sending you a wink.

"See you tommorow."

You ran your hand through your hair in frustration before sinking into the sofa and closing your eyes. It was the next morning and Jungkook was the one to wake you up, lightly scolding you for not sleeping jn your bed.

"You could have caught a cold."

You simply sent him a sheepish smile making him roll his eyes before they settle on Taehyung who had been ignoring you completely since he woke up but you didn't take it to heart and continued to get ready.

"Come on, [F/N]. We have to go." Jimin walked past you as you grabbed your phone and put it in your bag.

"Alright. See you two later." You waved at them, Jungkook being the only one to return it.

The extra class that you were both attending was just for points so any person could be apart of this class which was why you and Jimin were going to college together. All you had to do was sit and watch a few clips about a topic and then you got points. Easy, right?

Jimin and you sat at the back where not many students were sitting, a majority at the front so they could hear the video clearly. The lights dimmed down it began playing. You rested your chin against your hand and watched with no interest but your eyes moved away from the screen as soon as you heard something drop.

"I dropped my pen." Jimin whispered.

He pushed his chair back, slow enough to not make a sound and moved down to grab it. You focused back on the video for literally two seconds before you felt a hand travel up your thigh. Your eyes widened and you leaned back to see Jimin crouched down on one knee as he gazed up at you with mischief gleaming in his eyes. He placed his finger against his lips indicating for you to stay quiet. You heart thumped wildly against your chest in mainly fear but also a tiny amount of thrill.

'Not here!' Your eyes practically screamed as you held eye contact with him.

You saw how he bit his lip, his coloured orbs gleaming brightly with lust. Looking back at the screen, you failed to hold in your shock as he gently moved the fabric covering your wet folds and gave an experimental lick. He almost released a groan as your sweet scent hit his sensitive nose. You tasted amazing and Jimin knew he wouldn't be able to control himself any longer.

"You taste so fucking good." He growled, low enough for only your ears to hear.

You placed a hand over your mouth to stop a moan from leaving your lips, checking to see if anyone had noticed what was happening but everyone was too into the video.

Jimin flicked his tongue against your clit and watched as you gripped onto the table and tried hard not to twitch. He smirked to himself, knowing that you wouldn't be able to hold back soon.

You couldn't as soon as he sucked your clit harshly and entered two digits into you, pumping them in and out. You hastily grabbed your book and placed it on the desk, using it as a shield to block your face as your features revealed the pleasure you were gaining from his actions. Your eyes were hooded at this point and you let out small whimpers that were drowned out by the sound of the video clip. Jimin could hear it perfectly and he curled his fingers inside you to see you tremble ever so slightly in your place. Your stomach fluttered and your face twisted in ecstasy as your high came. You hands found their way to Jimin's hair and you gripped it harshly as a sign that you were close. Jimin didn't drop his pace, he went faster and soon you were cumming hard, your body shaking uncontrollably. You bit your lip so hard, your breathing coming out in uneven patterns as you went through your high. Jimin cleaned you up with his tongue because sorting your clothes out. You were a mess as the lights came on, half of your body slumped against the desk and Jimin could see as he returned to his seat with a very innocent smile on his face.

"What's wrong, [F/N]? Was the video that boring that it made you want to fall asleep?"

That earned him a punch on the arm.

Jimin simply laughed as you mustered the last of your energy to sort yourself out before you stood up and left him behind, following the rest of the students out the room.

"Wait for me!" He called but you were already gone by the time he left the room.

Jimin pouted but as he saw the time, he realised he was going to be late for his next lecture which began in two minutes.

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

You lightly tapped your red cheeks as vivid images of this morning's situation appeared in your mind. A gcxzYou were currently sprawled across the sofa, watching a random series on Netflix. You assumed your friends would be late as usual so when Taehyung suddenly walked through the door and announced his arrival, you jolted up in surprise.

"Hi Taehyung." You waved but he simply glanced in your direction before heading straight for his room.

You called him once more and he stuttered in his steps but continued as if you didn't exist.

"Please don't be like this." You softly spoke and that did the trick.

Taehyung released a sigh and turned back to you. He sat down next to you as you made room for him.

"If you don't want me to help you then that's fine. I just can't stand the fact that you might be in pain." You got straight to the point and he bit his lip, nodding to your words.

"I... I don't want to ruin our friendship." He whispered and your heart clenched at his sad expression.

"I already told you before. Our friendship will never change after all this. I love you all so much."

He searched your eyes and all he could see was warmth and honesty making him smile.

"Then..."

You inched forward, prompting him to continue and he looked towards you, his eyes glowing amber.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question didn't take you by surprise but that didn't mean your heart didn't flutter. You gave him a nod, suddenly too shy to speak and he glanced down at your lips before holding your gaze once more. He leaned forward, the distance between you shrinking and you closed your eyes.

His lips were soft as they connected with yours. Taehyung was trying his best to hold himself back but your scent was driving him insane. He managed to move your form so you were straddling his lap, making it easier to deepen the kiss. You gripped onto his shirt as the kiss became intense, your tongues clashing with each other.

"We're home! Oh..."

You separated from Taehyung and almost fell off his lap, him quickly winding his arms around your waist to keep you in place. Jungkook and Jimin had walked in through the front door, not expecting to see the two of you making out. Jimin wore a smug grin while Jungkook was flustered but they both couldn't keep their eyes off your messy state and especially, your swollen lips.

Taehyung growled at them as a warning to back off before he stood up with you in his arms and took you to his room. You watched as your friends exchanged a look of knowing but mainly amusement before the door was shut. You were placed gently on the bed, Taehyung joining your side and cuddling up to you.

"Taehyung?" You called after a moment of silence.

"Just cuddle with me and go to sleep. I'm tired." He grumbled and you couldn't help but giggle at how cute he was being.

Finally relaxing into his arms, you closed your eyes and matched your breathing pattern with his as you both drifted off to sleep.

#bts #bts imagines #bts fic #bts jungkook #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts taehyung #bts jimin #btsv #bts jhope #bangtan #bangtan boys

[meetevieinthehallway]

and i can’t give that to you.

in which harry suffers from seasonal depression and she doesn’t know how to help.

-

there’s a thrum of guitar strings.

she hears it— and sighs.

she isn’t sure if she should breathe happily or sadly; there’s various possibilities of what she would find if she followed the sound until she unveiled the outcome.

she shivers because the gentle pluck of guitar strings is beautiful—he always plays so beautifully—but it’s a low toned, melancholic song and she’s torn between some unknown battle of duality.

she closes the door behind her body with her foot, the grocery bags in her hands making her arms begin to burn as she waddles to the kitchen. she sets them down and sighs, trying to ignore the guitar but she can’t and she shouldn’t.

his love huffs.

she blows air from out between her lips and her head drops to her chest. she turns, looking over her shoulder at the stairway— the music is coming from the top of it, their bedroom.

he hasn’t moved since i left, has he?

a glimpse at the clock confirms the three hours that have passed since she left, and her heart throbs at the possibility that he hasn’t shifted from his spot in their bedroom.

she kicks her shoes off and away and she’s mulling in her head some kind of speech but it helplessly dissipates as she walks up the stairs.

“haz?”

the plucking doesn’t cease and she isn’t sure if she wants it to anyways.

hesitancy.

always, always hesitancy when it comes to times like these.

moments like these are unsure and tentative for her; she can never know if she’s making the right choice because he turns so stoic and blank in the winter and she can never gauge any reaction.

even her steps are hesitant as she sighs outside their bedroom doorframe before walking in slowly.

his profile is to her.

he’s shirtless and sitting in the middle of their bed and his guitar is in his lap and he looks so fucking sad and gorgeous at the same time.

his eyes are downcast on his instrument and he seems lost in his music, so much so that he doesn’t react when she’s standing a foot into the room.

“haz?”

he jumps.

the dimples at the bottom of his back move and momentarily deepen and she sighs again—she feels like that’s all she does nowadays—because she hasn’t seen the dimples in his cheeks in what feels like forever.

she misses his smile.

his face turns so his eyes meet hers and she smiles small, hoping that his guitar playing was a sign of motivation— in any way.

“sorry.. i—... uh.”

hesitancy.

even he felt it.

“d-did y’just get home? would’ve... would’ve helped with the groceries—... putting them away.”

she smiles small, looking up at his curls as she steps closer. “’s okay.” she whispers. her hand moves to run through his hair, twisting it around her fingers, and his eyes flutter closed as his guitar is forgotten about. “you.. you showered?”

his eyes open. he nods, looking at the glimpse of pride that washes over her face and he draws his bottom lip in.

you’ve disappointed her that many times?— that a fucking shower makes her proud?

“that’s good. that’s—... that’s great, bub. h-how—” she sits next to him, hand falling to his thigh, “—how do you feel?”

harry looks into her hopeful eyes that beg for any indication of betterment, and he sighs. the truth is that yes, he does feel differently than he has been, but he still doesn’t feel happy, good.

he hates continuously disappointing her— but he can’t lie.

“i feel okay.” he whispers. he reaches slowly with his fingertips until they’re touching her skin, wrapped around her wrist and his touch burns her.

“scale from one to ten?”

he bites his lip.

he doesn’t like the number system.

his therapist had suggested it a long while ago, and his lovie likes it so that’s why he tolerates it.

to him, there was no way any value could replace a feeling, because some days his sadness could be a one but his loneliness could be a seven and averaging those together brings about a four and that seems wrong, off.

averages and means and medians have never been a solidified concept that most see it as—

it’s a summarization. a non specific, lacking of details summarization.

he doesn’t like summarizations.

but he does it for her— she says it’s a simplistic way for her to understand where he is in his own head, so she can try and help.

but nothing about this—him, being with him—is simplistic.

“four.”

she smiles small.

he’s been a two for the last couple of days.

he looks down on his guitar and his finger bounces on the string closest to him, “maybe a five? like—... a four ’nd a half.”

she smiles a bit brighter, squeezing his free hand. “okay.”

he smiles weakly but it doesn’t meet his cheeks or his eyes and he’s quiet for a long while and his fingers pulse in her hand. “do you wanna... do something today?”

she can tell it’s forced.

she can clearly see the reluctance on his face as he asks that— because he doesn’t want to go out.

but he’s being considerate because he knows it must be driving her crazy to be cooped up in here, taking care of her husband who barely wants to speak or move.

so she shakes her head.

“no, i didn’t necessarily have anything to do.”

he swallows.

harry slips his hand away from hers and her heart sinks, her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches him adjust his body to pluck at the strings again, his face further from her view.

“y’sure?” he’s mumbling and hasn’t taken her hand again, and she squeezes her fingers into a fist.

she nods. “yeah.”

but she isn’t sure.

this is when she is reminded to have faith—

where he’s looking away with saddened eyes and a rounded back and blinking away tears and not talking to her.

she prays every night after he falls asleep that he gets better—that spring comes sooner—because the outside winter air mingles with her husband’s sadness and she feels so lonely and cold and alone even when he’s next to her.

he’s heard her.

he’s heard the prayers— he’s seen her desperation.

google searches of how to make winter seem more lively, best ways to live with someone with depression, how to be a more supportive wife.

phone calls of her worried tone and hesitant breath and falling tears as she swallows down emotion and swallows down the advice from her mom, girlfriends, best friends, anyone.

tears at his therapy sessions where he admits he doesn���t take his medicine some days but throws it away— and he sees her shoulders deflate and he doesn’t have to know her inside and out to know that she’s belitting herself— that she thinks she is a failure.

he breaks every time.

it’s one of the only emotions he feels besides emptiness— heartbreak for his wife who feels like she isn’t enough.

she shouldn’t have to take care of him— not yet, anyways.

they’re fucking married, a team, a relationship that gives and takes equally and yes, takes care of one another—

but not like this.

not like this—where she can’t get through to him—where she struggles to coerce him to eat, to take his medication, to breathe, to let his emotions out.

he hates himself.

it comes with the depression, he thinks, the absolute loathing—

he hates that his depression is bringing her down.

harry sharply snaps at her sometimes and he hates himself every time he uncontrollably does so— his heart throbbing as he’s watching her inhale sharply and look away and back out and away from his space with a soft i’m sorry and teary eyes.

he always breaks into his own tears after he does so.

and she holds him, she holds him like he didn’t just yell at her for trying to help him— and he hates himself.

i don’t deserve her.

dumbass— you never have deserved her.

shut up, you don’t need to remind me.

but don’t i?

“what?”

he jumps a bit, his daze breaking as his fingers halt and he turns to her with furrowed brows.

“huh?”

“y’mumbled something.”

his eyes widen— he didn’t think his thoughts could escape his head like that; but he’s underestimated this fucked up brain millions of times in his life.

“i...”

he doesn’t know how to respond.

he’s staring at her and he can’t help but realize how utterly beautiful she looks— but how tired she is.

“nothin’... just, a lyric idea.”

“oh.”

he breathes.

—

the wind is fucking loud.

it’s loud and obnoxious and is causing the windows to rattle and harry is getting really fed up.

he knows better— he knows better than to let an uncontrollable force of nature piss him off, but it’s pulling him away from unconsciousness and causing an ache to pound in his skull.

or at least, add to one already there.

he groans when the branches knock at the window and squeezes his lids tighter, a frown falling onto his face as he wakes fully.

he grumbles, arm lazily flinging up to his face to drape across his eyes when he realizes the television is on and bright and he groans, eyebrows furrowed under his warm skin.

“h?”

he jolts. harry jolts up and his arm leaves his face and he pushes up slowly, rolling over and landing on the other side of his frame.

he squints.

she’s crying.

she’s wiping her tears quickly but he knows she’s crying because the dim light of the silenced tv illuminates the redness of her eyes as he blinks away the blurriness of sleep.

“sorry..— did the tv wake you?” she whispers, staring at the screen and praying he doesn’t notice the wobble in her voice.

he’s never seen her cry like this. she looks blank— like she’s unfeeling, unmoving, and his attention immediately jumps.

“you’re crying.”

she sniffles, shaking her head and placing an easy smile on her face as she glances to him. “i’m okay.”

he props himself up on his elbow. “no.” he murmurs, shaking his head. “lovie, you’re crying.”

she hasn’t heard lovie for such a long time.

it makes her cries choke her and she sobs once, pulling her lips into her mouth. she’s still looking at the television with saddened eyes, her fingers trembling in her lap as she shakes her head.

“love.”

she nods.

“you—... you can talk to me.”

he whispers and it breaks her.

“you can... am i—... am i the reason you’re crying?”

“don’t—..” she chokes, meeting his eyes and shaking her head. “don’t say that, harry, of course not.”

“it’s true, isn’t it?”

she’s quiet. she swallows once, hand reaching quickly for the remote, fingers nimbly moving to the off button.

the room goes black.

he sighs.

“go to sleep, harry.”

she rolls so her back faces him, and she tucks herself under the covers and sniffles.

he’s about to lay back down himself and let his drowsiness take over— but he stops himself.

he reaches over and twists the lamp on instead.

“no.”

her eyes flutter closed and they’re squeezed tightly.

“you’re sad. it’s because of me and...—” he places a hand on her shoulder and she moves to face him, letting the tears roll freely down her cheeks. he shifts greatly, sitting up so he’s sitting on the mattress and looking down on her, noticing the saturated pillow under her head. “i’m the reason you’re sad.” he whispers, folding his legs to sit cross legged.

“you aren’t, h.”

“please don’t lie to me.” harry’s eyes are pleading, hands folded in his lap. his shoulders are slouched, and he’s finally looking at her. “you’ve... you only show me your strength, but... i know you’re sad— that i make you sad.”

she swallows and looks at the comforter as she sits up and rests her back against the headboard. she doesn’t respond.

“do you regret marrying me?”

“what?”

he swallows. he looks down and away from her, wanting to hit himself for how desperate his brain is moving and thinking and spitting.

“...do you?”

his eyes are wet.

“are you crazy, h?”

“yeah. i am, that’s why i asked.”

she breathes through her nose and lets her eyes close, and she shakes her head.

“you... that’s not— you’re not crazy, harry. you know that.”

“i... i don’t know that.”

he hates himself.

he hates that he’s turning her sadness back into talking of himself— but he’s so far down that it pains his chest and it’s hurting the one person he loves more than anything.

“i act like i’m crazy.”

“you’re depressed; you aren’t crazy. and i don’t regret marrying you, why—”

“i hurt you.”

harry says it tremblingly and shakes his head, curls bouncing around his temples.

the room falls quiet and he hears the wind hit the windows again and a chill crawls through his spine and pushes on his throat to release his next words.

“i ask you that because i hurt you every day and you stay and i don’t.. i can’t comprehend how you don’t hate me.”

his eyes water.

it hurts to say but there’s a weight lifted off his chest the more he rambles and word-vomits and he lets his feelings run marathons across their sheets.

“i see... i see you. just because i’m sad and in my own head doesn’t mean that—... that i don’t see that you’re unhappy, that when i snap it makes you hesitant and when i don’t respond to you your heart breaks.”

the tears are flowing down her cheeks as she stares at the blanket, drinking in his emotions and there’s a weight lifted off her chest the more he rambles and word-vomits and he lets his feelings run marathons across their sheets and it hurts but he’s talking to her and—

“that’s why you’re crying.”

“harry—”

“no.”

he snaps at her and she flinches and he sniffles when he witnesses it— the turn of her face like he’s sent a flame to her cheek.

“and that.” he says, nodding at her. “you see it? you’re afraid of me, you have to tip toe around me like i’m a bomb and— you... god you are so good to me and i treat you so badly—”

“stop it.” her voice is trembling.

“—i am the worst husband—person—in the entire world—”

“stop!”

her voice is loud and it cuts through the room and breaks the rhythm of his speech. his eyes turn round and wide as she yells and his breathing is labored and his tears are pooled in his palms.

“i stay because i’m in love with you and because i want to take care of you. ever heard of in sickness and in health, harry?!”

“but i’m not taking care of you, love.”

“i don’t care!” she’s still yelling and now he’s the one who is flinching. “you’re sick, harry. when i have the flu or summat do..— do you get upset that you’re not taken care of?!”

he sniffs and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand.

“...no.”

“no. you don’t. because we love each other and care for each other and you act selfless when you’re in love with someone.”

he looks at her eyes and he can’t see her irises because the water is blocking his view.

“you just said it.”

“said what?”

“you act selfless when...— when you’re in love. that’s how it should be.”

she pauses.

“i’ve been so in my own head that—... that i fail in putting you first. you...” he shakes his head. “i have never loved anything more than i do you. you’ve stuck with me for so long and...”

harry swallows.

she swallows.

“i treat you terribly and... i don’t know how you haven’t left.”

it’s quiet.

“leaving you is worse than being sad for a little while.”

he sighs deeply, his body moving up and down with his sighs. her eyes are so sad and it causes more tears to pour from his eyes and suddenly he feels himself unable to catch his breath.

“i don’t make you happy.”

he’s sobbing now, harshly, and his hands land on his eyes as he cries into his palms. she sits up slowly, her fingers reaching to his wrist, her other joining when she sits fully.

“harry.”

“i want you to be happy and— ... i can’t give that to you.”

he’s shaking his head and his hands are still covering his eyes—pressing and pressing in hopes for the tears to just fucking stop—and she’s absolutely helpless; she can’t calm him and he’s trembling in her gentle touch.

“harry, breathe.”

he’s hyperventilating, breathing ragged and his chest is bouncing violently. her hand comes to his back and she’s rubbing slow, soft circles to attempt to lull him. his hands fall off his face and into her lap, his fingers reaching to wrap in her hand and he’s trying not to fall away from her. harry’s staring at their joined hands with widened eyes, gripping tightly, tears falling to his skin and hitting him at his forearms.

“love, shhh,” she’s shushing him through her own tears, helplessly trying to make him breathe. but she can’t pull her hands out of his grasp.

his eyes meet hers and he shakes his head, lips pulled in and he’s exasperated.

“this life is not what i promised you.” he cries, voice strained. “i want you to be happy and i don’t make you happy and i’d rather you leave me and be happy then stay here and be sad all the time—”

“shh,” her voice is quiet and her forehead falls onto his but he’s talking over her. “harry, i’m not leaving.”

“all i do is pull you under.” he whispers and he sounds angry— angry at himself and this fucking situation and his grip loosens on her hands. “you...” he hiccups and her hand lifts to his cheek and he whimpers and leans into her touch. “you’re so good, and-and..” he waves his hand dismissively, saying it sourly yet sadly “some other guy—some normal guy could make you so fucking happy—”

“i love you.” she cuts him off and he sniffs and meets her eyes. “i want to be here, here with you.” she whispers, tilting his chin up, “i’d rather be with you for a million winters than none at all.”

he swallows and looks down.

“hey.” she’s whispering. “look at me.”

he obeys and lifts his eyes again.

“the winter months are awful.” she murmurs. “but you always come back to me in springtime.”

he sniffs. “but i don’t—” he shakes his head.

“h.” she sighs, and he quiets. “i am sad when you are. you’re half of me, love— i’d be worried if i wasn’t.”

look at how sad you made her— how long until she leaves? don’t you wish you were normal?

“listen, h.” she pulls him back because she can feel his mind drifting away— his eyes turned more watery and his jaw tightens. “being not okay for a season... just makes the happy moments between us even better.”

his hand moves to hold the side of her neck.

“life is hard, bub.”

“i-i know.” he swallows. “i know but ‘s not much easier with me.”

“but...” she lifts his chin up and his eyes meet hers. “but you make it a journey.”

“it just takes a bit of time to find our destination.”

—

there’s a thrum of guitar strings.

she prays it’s better than those nights ago.

she can’t stop replaying it in her mind, the way he’s been crying and speaking and begging her to leave for herself but also beg her to just stay— with his tears in his palms and his face in her neck and she’s overwhelmed because for him to break down like this is unlikely.

but there’s a silent, indirect agreement between them two as she’s swearing she won’t leave while her own tears coat her eyes— that they’d live day by day, and do their best to talk and feel and cry and express, just as he has been. she had lulled his teary and achy body back to sleep with her every time she awoke to his sobbing, humming and her hands rubbing at his shoulder blades, and he had gently kissed at her collarbones before resting his forehead against them before he’d slip back away to momentary piece.

the wind hasn’t hit their window panes since.

it would all be okay— at least when spring came.

but now?— she has extreme déjà-vu as she pads up the stairs with her socked feet.

the air seems thinner today, like she can breathe easier, but now her throat feels tight again because she doesn’t want to see him in a ball in the same spot again like when she sees him through the dark.

day by day.

“haz?”

except this time the music halts.

she frowns because typically he’d be so zoned out that he wouldn’t acknowledge her entrance, her voice, but she reaches the top of the staircase and walks towards their room.

what if he’s sad and he’s been waiting for her to come home—

what if he just threw his guitar on the ground because he tried to write lyrics but he can’t—

what if—

“h? are you okay, love—”

she pushes the door open to their bedroom and she stops.

harry moves away from the mirror quickly, shifting so he’s standing in front of her with his hands behind his back. he’s blushing, and he’s looking at her and scanning her body with a shy smile on his face, a curl falling in his eyes.

“hi.” he murmurs.

“... you okay?” she questions him, drinking in his shirt covered torso and baggy sweats.

“i’m okay.”

her eyebrows are pinched in the center. his skin seems more glowy today, radiance oozing from his pores and irises and— the bags under his eyes are more purple but his little smile is a sight she can get definitely used to. she hesitates, frowning at his expression.

“you are?”

“yeah. i uh—” he sways gently, in a way that settles his nerves as his cheeks blush. “i’m... i’m okay..”

“you seem hesitant, bub.”

“no, no. i—... i’m alright i’m just...” he trails off.

“is there a number you—”

“six.”

she falters, a shocked look falling onto her face as she stares at him. she falters again, though— he looks so unbelievably proud of himself, of his own mind, but weary simultaneously and her face smiles brightly, slowly moving to bounce on her toes as to not outwardly explode in excitement.

“that’s — that’s fantastic... just—... great.”

he nods. then a soft look of revelation falls between his eyes.

“oh, and... uh—”

his hands behind him move to his front and he’s holding a small bouquet of yellow tulips between his twitching fingers and he doesn’t know what to say so he pauses before parting his lips.

“‘m sorry if they’re a bit wilted... i uh.. got them this morning.”

she’s shocked.

she’s gobsmacked and her lips are guppying as she’s trying to discover any phrase or word that she can respond to him with.

“you... what—...”

“after you left i—... just...”

he’s looking at the floor now because it embarrasses him to look at her directly, when she’s staring at him with those beautiful eyes filled to the brim with awe. there’s a twinge of disappointment he feels for himself—that for him to go out and buy her something as simple as flowers is a godsend—because she’s looking at him the same way that she did when she saw him with wet hair—

a look of pride, happiness, and somehow that diminishes any dismay he feels for himself.

“just thought... you deserved something good.”

his foot rubs atop his other.

“so...” 

he thrusts them forward, away from his body and he finally meets her eyes.

“for m’wife.” he’s blushing and biting the inside of his cheek.

her smile melts to an endeared one at the same time her heart turns to a puddle.

“you... got me flowers?” she walks forward and takes them between her fingers, eyes peering at him with awe and astonishment. “why?

he bites his lip and shrugs softly, smile cute and little on his face and it doesn’t meet his entire face, but his dimples pop out like flowers do out of the ground.

“happy first day of spring.”

#my fave piece ((''': #lowkey cried at my own piece #fluff #harry #harry blurb #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #fluffy #fluff one shot #harry one shot #one shot #one shots #angst #harry angst #harry styles angst #angsty

[bittersweetsongbirdsworld]

Jimin and Yoongi had already parted ways for the night, but that doesn't mean Jimin was going to bed right that moment. How could he possibly sleep now when he read the message Jeongguk had texted him? He knew Yoongi was exhausted with all the dancing Jimin forced him into, but they could finally dance and transform at the same time. It was smooth and Yoongi always ended in a twirl with Jimin in his hands, in scythe form that is.

Oh God, Jimin was day dreaming again. Call him petty, but after Yoongi praised him and even said that the dancing and transforming was that smooth that he decided that was how they'll prepare for most battles from now on. Jimin was nearly vibrating with pure joy because he actually made Min Yoongi comfortable with him, even if it took him four months and twenty six days to achieve his trust. He was beyond joyful, but he had to watch his steps. It was like walking on egg shells around the elder. One wrong move and Jimin was done for.

Though, that wasn't the thing worrying Jimin at the moment. He had to reread the message three or four times for it to finally sink in. Yoongi suffers from a severe case of PTSD from years of missions that he never once talked about. Jeongguk was specific with him though, which Jimin noted he'd have to thank the kid later for it. Don't mention kids, his family, the dark, or missing. Jeongguk said if he mentioned anything like that, Yoongi's breath would hitch before he'd start to breath heavy. If the topic continued, he'd start to sweat and biting his lip. If Jimin finally asked about it, Yoongi would be shaking uncontrollably and gasping for air.

Jimin knew to never step over these boundaries, but it made him curious at the same time. He wanted to know what was hurting Yoongi so much that he couldn't even be in a room that was pitch black. He was beyond curious and it made Jimin want to ask him. He wanted to get to know Yoongi more and more everyday that he didn't even realize that he was falling head over heels for him. He didn't complain though, he didn't have the right to complain when he wanted to fall for the elder. He was happy and he thinks Yoongi is happy.

His thoughts were cut off when he heard strange noises coming from Yoongi's room. Jimin was surprised he actually heard the noise because Yoongi's room was on the other end of the hallway, which was quite a walk compared to Jimin's room. Jimin literally had to strain his ears to pick up another noise the came from Yoongi's room. It sounded as if there was someone walking around, throwing books off a high shelf, and the sound of something wet and sticky hitting the wooden floor. It honestly sounded like someone had skinned someone and thrown the bloodied skin onto the ground.

Jimin didn't have a chance to process everything before he was flying towards Yoongi's room, his hand grasping the doorknob. He twisted the knob with so much force that he neatly broke the whole thing in the process. Still, the door swung open and Jimin rushed in, his eyes meeting but pitch black nothingness. That was the first thing Jimin noticed when he rushed into the room. Pitch black. Nothing. Complete darkness.

One of Yoongi's triggers.

Jimin knew that it was way too dark for Yoongi, so he looked for a light switch. As he shuffled along the wall, he stepped right into a puddle of something unknown. It was warm, which made Jimin shutter because it only made his mind wonder. The liquid was warm and thick, the liquid soaking into Jimin's socks. He had to bit his bottom lip to stop himself from screaming out in pure terror. There was a pile of- Something in the middle of the floor and Jimin was dead set that someone skinned Yoongi alive and got away. He felt like he was going to cry, but he needed to see it to believe it.

When his hands landed on the light switch, Jimin didn't hesitate to flip it on, the room now rather brightly illuminated by the light of the ceiling light. His eyes wondered around the room before the fell on Yoongi's bed. Jimin's heart sank when he saw the condition Yoongi was in. No wonder there was a mess in Yoongi's room, the footsteps making more sence now that he was actually in Yoongi's room.

Yoongi had his hands tangled in his hair and his face buried in his knees, his shoulders raising and falling at a great speed that Jimin knew he was hyperventilating. Taking his socks off first before anything else, Jimin rushed over to Yoongi's bed and carefully made his presence known. He brushed Yoongi's hair out of his face before he carefully cupped Yoongi's cheeks in his hands, the elder's trembling lips curled into a frown. There was red stains on Yoongi's cheeks, identifying that he was crying before Jimin welcomed himself in.

Yoongi's breathing was haphazard, hysterically at that as he shook violently in Jimin's gentle hold. He was trying to breath properly, but with his eyes darting everywhere in the room before his eyes landed on Jimin, he could only choke on nothing. They stared at one another but when a choked, pitiful sob bubbled passed Yoongi's lips, Jimin felt his heart break even more. Yoongi was clearly having a panic attack and Jimin didn't know how to help someone through one. Still, he took a deep breath before he stared Yoongi in the eyes.

"Come on, hyung, breathe with me." Jimin took a deep breath, Yoongi shakily imitating Jimin's deep breathing before letting out shaking breaths. "That's it hyung, let's keep doing that, ok?" The two breathed together, the bruising hold Yoongi had on Jimin lossening with every deep breath. When Yoongi could actually breathe properly without Jimin coaching him through it, the grip on Jimin's arms completely vanished, Yoongi's arms resting atop his trembling knees.

Jimin looked around the room, eyeing the books that scattered the floor. He continued to look around the room to see what the hell he had stepped in when his eyes landed on a mug. There was lukewarm coffee all over the floor, the smell finally hitting Jimin like a punch in the face. He nearly facepalmed with how stupid he was being, but when he felt Yoongi grab his sleeve, he tore his eyes away from mess on the floor.

Yoongi was still shaking, but he looked so wreaked, dark circles under his eyes as he gnawed at his bottom lip. Jimin was concerned about Yoongi, he really was, but he also knew Yoongi doesn't like a mess. He was about to slip off the bed and start picking up the books when Yoongi spoke.

"Please stay with me till I fall asleep."

Now how the hell was Jimin supposed to say no to that? All he could do was smile at Yoongi before nodding his head softly, Jimin going so far as to help Yoongi lay back down and cover up. He turned on a lamp, the bulb warm and no white light to blind Yoongi. He turned off the main light though, the soft glow of the lamp just the perfect amount of light for Yoongi to fall asleep to. Jimin was placed on the couch in Yoongi's room, his eyes trained on the steady rise and fall of Yoongi's shoulders, the elder already fast sleep.

Quiet steps and muffled giggles, Jimin walked around the room and put every book away, placing them in their proper spots before he wondered back out to grab the mob as to mop up the coffee all over Yoongi's floor. He washed the mug and put it back, Jimin wondering back to Yoongi's room so he could check up on Yoongi. The elder was still asleep, a slight curl to his lips that it looked like he was pouting and Jimin melted.

He closed the door softly, Jimin's heart pounding against his ribcage as his eyes fluttered closed. He ran a hand through his hair before pushing his body away from the door. He wondered back to his room and got himself ready for bed as well, nothing but a white tshirt and sweats. Just as he was about to slip under his covers, something stopped him. Instead of getting under the covers, Jimin ripped the blanket off his bed before he shuffled over to Yoongi's room.

Jimin basically made himself comfortable on the couch in Yoongi's bedroom, just one pillow not comfy enough, but Jimin was too lazy to actually get up again. He made sure he was facing Yoongi so if anything happened again, he was there to comfort him when he needed it. He swore he'd stay by Yoongi's side, even it he strayed from the path of good, Jimin will stay with Yoongi. He smiled softly before everything started to fade to nothing, a quiet voice filling the quiet room before Jimin passed out himself.

"Thank you, Park Jiminie."

______________________

A sound soul

Dwells within a sound mind

And a sound body

.

. .

. . .

The DWMA is was widely know around the world, even in Korea. Every child wanted to be either a weapon or a meister, but only a select few were blessed with such a golden opportunity. These students were admitted into the DWMA as soon as they could walk and talk, many of them not showing any signs of weapon form till years on. Yoongi was a meister, a scythe mister to be exact. How is he going to feel when he finds out there is only one in the school and the kid just so happens to be fucking annoying?

🖤 9/?

#bts #yoonmin au #yoonmin #taekook #namjin #jung hoseok #original character #soul eater related #soul eater au #soul eater #bts fanfic #bts fantasy au #bts fluff #bts angst #heavy angst #a lot of angst #angst #mostly sad shit #sad shit #blood #violent #violence

[arigatouiris]

out of my league // t.h — 05

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: swearing; eventual fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; pining; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: I’m going along with the Mark Hamill thing, just for gags idk. Anyway, as for Aditi; I’m from India and I really don’t see a lot of representation on here, so I decided to add her as a side character. Hope ya’ll like this chapter~  Also, if you want me to add you to the series taglist, just drop a note or comment! ^^

Word count: 3171 

Series Masterlist

 04 | 05 | 06 

It came as a surprise to everyone a day after that when (y/n) decided to stick to the desk. Susannah even offered her another break (but, she was hesitant while doing so and blamed herself as the reason for which (y/n) declined), but (y/n) had made up her mind.

    “But why desk? I thought you hated the desk!” Susannah exclaimed, confused out of her mind.

    “Takes my mind off things. This is a vacation when compared to what I have to do otherwise.” (y/n) said, sheepishly.

    “You love reviewing though.” Bruce mumbled, but no one really paid heed to what he was saying.

    “Ever since Tom Holland made it easier for everyone around here to breathe, you should take that as a sign that you can get back to your normal life, (y/n). Maybe, even send him a thank you—”

    “I’m not sending him any thank you notes, he’s the reason everything began! He can’t create a problem and take credit for solving it.” (y/n) didn’t think she was being harsh.

Not doing this, she reminded herself. Turning on her heel, she headed to the desk she was appointed a few days ago and opened her mail. An exasperated sigh exited her lips when she noticed the odd number of mails, each containing a document for her to copy edit and review.

    She’d be lying if she said she didn’t at all feel thankful that Tom solved the issue with that one Instagram story. First, it took him that long to make it (which meant he went against what his manager said again, and who knows what trouble he got into for doing that?) What trouble can he get into? He’s an actor! (y/n) rolled her eyes as she continued her thoughts. Second, this was all his fault in the first place—considering how Jean Marcel is doing quite well writing crappy scripts for smaller TV shows at the moment. And third, (y/n) had had enough of an actor trying to win her over with his charm. Of course, some part of Tom Holland wanted to say sorry and thought it would work because he’s an actor. And an actor appearing on your doorstep is a big deal, as well! And some part of (y/n) wanted to accept such an apology only because Tom was a celebrity, and this didn’t sit well with her.

I’m out of his league, it had become a mantra now. I will never accept his apology. In the past, (y/n) was known to be someone who used the word ‘never’ a tad bit too much. Whether this aspect of her personality died down with age didn’t phase her at the moment. This was Tom Holland, an actor by profession, and a man who had screwed up otherwise.

    “So, are ya gonna thank the woman who showed you lovely Tom’s story yesterday?” Aditi’s voice appeared out of nowhere.

Rolling her eyes, (y/n) looked up from her desk to see a grinning Indian woman, her shades still on and her smile, rather annoying. Aditi was the personification of sass.

    “He’s not lovely Tom.”

    “That’s all you’re going to correct from that sentence? Wow, (y/n), you’re going soft on me.”

    “Aditi, what’s up?”

Taking her shades off, Aditi grumbled something before turning to her friend, “How’re you holding up?”

    “I’m better now.”

    “Like Post Malone?”

(y/n) turned to her computer, ignoring her statement, thus inevitably shooing her annoying friend away. Aditi laughed as she walked away, talking about Tom Holland being a savior. No one sees it, (y/n) thought to herself, feeling her ears turn pink. Everything that I had to go through, all those mails I had to read! If they knew even half of it, they’d know that Tom Holland isn’t to thank for here. I can’t believe that it has to be explained to them, she shut her eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. I won’t be doing the explaining. I’ve had it. I don’t want to ever associate myself with Tom Holland ever again.

    While it was surprising to everyone that (y/n) decided to stay back at the desk for the moment, it wasn’t as surprising as it was for (y/n) herself. She has always hated the desk for as long as she could remember; her first week at the job and she dreaded it and wanted out. Her confidence levels were booming then, she was an enthusiastic cutlet of pure passion, she wouldn’t let the desk mar her confidence in anyway from achieving what she truly wanted. However, now, especially after the internet fiasco, (y/n) had come close to giving up.

Mental exhaustion hit her harder than it ever did before; she never knew people were capable of such hate, such anger over something they didn’t clearly understand. If (y/n) wasn’t being existential, she was being cautious. People were a force of nature, and angering a crowd proved drastic for her. She always considered her job like surfing, it’s never a safe sport. However, even a surfer tends to take a break after almost drowning. But the breath of fresh air had hit her lungs, she had found her release and everything was slowly going back to their place—Tom was leaving her alone, and she could return to critiquing.

    (y/n) should be happy, but she felt nothing of the sort. She felt absolutely nothing. She felt nothing a lot these days, ever since the scandal; she’s cried a few times, but she mostly found herself feeling nothing, being nothing. She felt empty—as if whatever makes her feel and hurt has been surgically removed, leaving her hollowed out like a shell.

The mere mention of Tom did something to her; she would feel agitated, an uncontrolled force of ire would fill her veins. She didn’t know if this was for the actor, or the person or the entire ordeal that had taken place. She didn’t know if she was wrong in blaming only him, or being mad at only him—but from her shoes, he was all she could see. 

     It was as if someone could draw lines pointing toward what caused all these problems and all lines met at Tom Holland. In a way, she admired his strength. Just a few weeks of internet hate turned her into a hollow shell of who she used to be; Tom does this every single day. He couldn’t be who he wanted to be because he was a celebrity; all his shows and interviews were interviewing Tom Holland, the actor who played Spiderman and Lionel, and not Tom Holland, the person whose face turns red because of the weather.

However, she was not in any position to be empathetic to the perpetrator of her sorrow. Whether he wanted to or not, he had impacted her mental health more than adulthood had; and he had done it in a span of a few weeks. Less than what adulthood itself took. While comparing her sudden outbreak to adulthood, (y/n) understood that this pain was given the right credit. That the hurt she had been inflicted with demanded her response.

    She, therefore, could not forgive Tom Holland, the actor, the person, the phenomenon.

Even Tom Holland had his phone fall flat on his nose as he held it to his face in the dark as he was lying down. It didn’t matter to the phone that he was Tom Holland, gravity worked even if you’re attractive. 

Grumbling in pain, Tom immediately checked for any signs of blood spilling from his nostrils, and sighed in relief when there was none. Letting out a couple of coughs, and pushing one leg out of the corner of the blanket that was covering him, Tom was finally comfortable again. It was close to 2:30 a.m., but he couldn’t sleep. Tom always had trouble falling asleep, but he normally never let it embrace him like he did that night.

    His eyes scrolled through Google search, his tongue popping out in instinct, and his eyes landed on what he wanted to look for.

    Birds of a Feather — Review by (y/n) (l/n) | London Daily

He licked his lips instinctively before clicking on the link. He scrolled to her profile in the bottom and clicked on it (since he had already read the review multiple times since then). Tom was reading the script for a new advert he was sent electronically, till it was around 1 a.m., and it was after that when he tried sleeping. When he couldn’t, he browsed through Instagram for a bit, laughed at a few funny videos on cats and dogs, but all of this he was trying to do to avoid thinking of her.

    But, once he thought of her, she stuck around. He shut his eyes and breathed, recalling her face as she smiled at him, sitting across from him in the coffeeshop. He’d pictured over ten times on how that conversation would have gone if those girls hadn’t interrupted them. He’d wondered if she’d tell him more about herself, and he wondered if he could ask her why she didn’t follow him on Instagram (taking a careful moment there, because he didn’t want to seem creepy). He wondered if she’d smile at him often the way she normally smiled, and he wondered if she’d reserve a special smile only for him.

It was almost as if he was resisting all these thoughts by not thinking of her and thinking of everything else; but all else seemed mundane in front of her.

He recalled every single detail about her from that day in the coffeeshop. Her Emilia Clarke smile when he was surprised she drank her coffee black. Her laugh—oh goodness—her laugh. When he thought about the way she laughed, as though she owned the air around her, Tom’s heart thundered inside his chest, a symphony on its own.

    He looked at all the reviews she had written, over a 100 of them, and scrolled to the very first one. He could feel his heart beating as he was scrolling through her pages, almost as if he was doing something so secretive that he couldn’t let the world know yet. Tom wasn’t thinking and perhaps, a crush can do that to a person; where their body knows what the mind wants, and was working on finding out more and more and more about the person in question.

He found her Star Wars reviews, all of them stacked together. He slowly began reading each and every single one—some were not longer than 900 words, some critiques were over 2000. He absorbed the way she thought in some of the movies he’s also seen, and he wanted more. 

He searched for her name on Facebook after that and found her in one go, chuckling when he discovered that she hadn’t actually deactivated her Facebook account. He stalked her innocently, careful not to like anything, careful not to make it seem like he had tread on a path he wasn’t allowed. Tom almost felt like he was trespassing, but this didn’t harm anyone.

    She likes Star Wars, he thought before adorning a smile. He took a look at one of her status updates about Mark Hamill. If Mark Hamill ever replied to a tweet I made, I’d die. I’d just cry and die right then. Tom laughed, before scrolling past and seeing more of her. Here was a whole person, whose life was intertwined with an Instagram story he had put up.

    “I’ve met Mark Hamill, you know,” Tom said to absolutely no one. “He’s such a nice guy.”

And Tom fantasized all night over introducing her to Hamill, seeing her melt, or cry and die like she had written. Tom knew this was incredibly foolish of him to be thinking the way he was about someone he knew nothing about (of course, knowing she likes Mark Hamill didn’t count). Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to know her. He wanted to ease things and not have this radio silence with her. He’s an actor, and there would be so many people he’d never ever meet, who desperately wanted to meet him. But this was perhaps the first time, where Tom desperately wanted to meet someone, and being an actor didn’t help.

    It was as if the tables were turned here. To him, (y/n) was now the celebrity, far out of his reach, pristine and wonderful, hardworking and gorgeous, close to ideal even—but one fact remained. Tom shut his phone and put it aside, noticing the time was close to 4 in the morning. She’s out of my league, Tom chuckled, before hoping to dream about her.

(y/n) woke up to her phone buzzing. It was several minutes before her alarm could wake her, but she was not complaining. She blinked a couple of times before checking her phone, and noticing that the message was from an unknown number. Sitting up, she held the phone in her hands and read through the message.

I hope everything is alright now. I sincerely hope you don’t have any more mails coming your way, bad ones. I’m sorry I can’t tell you this in person, for screwing up last time. Have a good day, (y/n). :) 

There’s a smiley in the end, she thought before frowning. She knew who it was from. She didn’t want to wake up with this being the first thing she saw. Sighing, she closed the messages app before getting on with her day. If he was expecting a reply, then her behavior was a clear giveaway. She was ghosting him. 

     It took her close to an hour to get ready, have breakfast and begin her journey to the office that morning. She liked how London was sunny that morning, and not gloomy like it was almost every other day. Just as she reached office, greeting people she knew with a nice smile, she spotted Aditi already waiting by her desk. Cocking an eyebrow at her friend, she hopping toward her to ask her what happened.

    “You won’t believe who called me to ask for your number,” Aditi said, smirking. “You most definitely won’t like who it is, but I’m warning you, be nice. You need to be. May the Force be with you.”

(y/n) rolls her eyes before whispering, “Was it Tom Holland?”

Aditi blinks like she heard her friend say the most idiotic thing possible. She scoffed and shook her head at (y/n)’s imprudence.

    “Oh, please! Why in the world would Tom Holland call a beat reporter? No, it was someone else that you don’t like and you’re going to need to be at your best—”

Almost as if on cue, (y/n)’s phone started to ring. Blinking at Aditi, she moved aside a bit, placing her bag on her desk and picked up the call.

    “Hello?”

    “(y/n)?” The voice sounded bored, almost as if she didn’t even want to be talking.

(y/n) felt all the energy leave her body when she identified the caller.

    “Jenny. What a pleasant surprise.” Robotic and not genuine.

    “Alright, so I don’t know what the whole deal is with you and Tom, but he sent me a rather sharp mail talking about how disappointed he was with the content I broadcasted on my show, and that I had to call you and apologize for slandering your name.”

    “He did?” (y/n) was confused.

    “Yes,” There was a sigh, “He did. And he was demanding so I had to call you. Why else would I call you?” Jenny didn’t have to explicitly state that she hated (y/n), all Jenny had to do was talk.

    “Thanks for calling, Jen. Keep up with the great work!” (y/n) faked enthusiasm, and heard Jenny groan before ending the call.

    “Jennifer fucking Campbell. I can’t believe it.” (y/n) breathed, letting out a laugh.

    “But, why did she want to call you?” Aditi asked.

(y/n) sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to tell Aditi that Tom had asked Jenny to call. Aditi’s response was already in order. She’d ask her friend to send Tom a thank you note or a bouquet or whatever it was that they’d send with thank you notes. (y/n) shrugged before dropping the topic and getting to her desk. She had decided to ghost Tom, and even a rather hilarious apology from Jenny wouldn’t do.

An hour later, (y/n)’s phone beeped. Taking a breather, she checked her phone to find she had a new follow request. Blinking, she clicked on the Instagram notification and groaned. A ‘tomholland2013’ had sent her a new request. What is he doing? She thought before declining it, and refreshing the page. A second later, there was another request. From Tom.

I am not doing this right now, she thought before ignoring the request; she felt her cheeks burn up, and a ghost of a smile was threatening to make its way up to her lips. She wouldn’t cave. No, she scolded herself before straightening her reaction. I am not doing this!

A moment later, she let out a squeak and covered her face with her hands. She could control her reactions, but her face was still quite warm. As much as she loved her ability to ignore unwanted people in her life, ignoring Tom Holland was a challenge.

    “What’s gotten into you?” Haz asked, petting Tessa on the head.

    “What do you mean?” Tom said, looking up from his phone, a smile still on his face.

Harrison pointed to Tom’s eerie smile, disgusted, “That. You’re smiling like a horse.”

Tom scoffed before muttering a ‘sod off’ and getting back to his phone. Haz blinked before looking at Harry and Sam, who were coming into the living room. Pointing to his friend, Harrison waited for Harry or Sam to respond on their own.

    “He’s been like this since last night.” Sam said, bored.

    “He’s been readin’, can you believe it? I even peeped into what he was looking at so intensely, but they were just words.” Harry said, shrugging.

Haz looked at Tom, who was ignoring the whole thing.

    “Could be smut.” Sam suggested.

Haz rolled his eyes, “He’s not reading porn, Sam.”

    “Whatever he’s readin’s sure making him smile like a fucking creep, that’s for sure.” Harry said, letting out a laugh.

Harrison let out a sigh. He looked at his friend and wondered. The only other time that Tom was out of wits was back in BRIT when he was obsessed with this other girl in class. The crush didn’t last very long, but similar signs were present back then—now grown in intensity. Haz nodded to himself once before minding his own business. The answers would come to him, as they always did.

It’s Tom. And he was Haz. It was meant to happen.  

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff, @aestheticgaybish, @noobmaster63, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay, @wonders-of-the-multiverse, @boushalaivre, @jackiehollanderr, @nerdypisces160, @yourwonderbelle, @quackson606, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff, @fandoms-stuff, @danicarosaline

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom hollander #tom x reader #tom holland fanfic

[spruceplank]

Glitch03

First // Previous //Current // Next >>  ———–  Also on ao3!

At first it wasn’t noticeable. Maybe the blocks you just broke would suddenly go back to where they had been. Maybe your hits wouldn’t connect with the mob you were hitting. Then it slowly got worse and worse. And then the world around them started to vanish.

And that was only the beginning.

Scar was supposed to be here like three days ago. He had sent a message to Cub saying that he was on his way to HermitVille for real this time after a detour to rebuild/redesign another village on the way. He thought Scar was already here and had just been so caught up in building that he didn’t come and greet him. Then he tried to message Scar but there was no response. 

No one around town had seen Scar either. Maybe he was still in that other village? Pulling out his communicator he checked Scar’s last shared location. Only a few thousand blocks away. Grabbing some extra fireworks and food, he set off to find his friend. 

Cub flew close to the top of the trees. Trying to find any sign of his missing friend as he headed closer and closer to the coordinates. Up ahead there was a gap in the trees, that must be where the village was. The closer he got though, the clearer it became that something was wrong. 

Forget there not being any trees, there was nothing at all. He crashed into a tree to avoid flying over the giant hole in the world. It was like an entire chunk just hadn’t loaded. Snacking on some cooked fish to hopefully replenish some of his now missing health and ignoring a sore arm he walked over to the edge of the hole. It really was a whole chunk. He could see the caves below and ores in ground. This hole, though quiet larger than the one Stress had fallen into, also went straight through bedrock into the void. What the?

He looked around the edges carefully, trying to find rhyme or reason for why this was happening. Across from him right at the corner of the chunk something was there. He couldn’t tell what it was from here. It looked like part of a tree? He could clearly see brown but it was too short to be a full tree and trees didn’t glitch up and down repeatedly like that. 

Slowly walking around the death pit he approached the strange glitching object when he heard a meow nearby. Looking around, he spotted the source of the meowing. Under a nearby tree there was a very familiar looking cat with the name Jellie. Oh no.

Turning back to the glitch he could now clearly make out what was supposed to be Scar. How was he supposed to get him out of there?

Cubfan135: Xisuma we have a situation.

XisumaVoid: What’s up?

Cubfan135: Please come to my location, it’s hard to explain. But be careful when you approach, make sure it’s on the ground for the last twenty blocks or so and you’re not flying.

XisumaVoid: Okay? I’m on my way now then.

Well, the only thing to do now was wait.

He slowly approached a nearby tree and sat down with his back to it. Jellie hesitantly approached him after a little while, sniffing at his offered fingers cautiously. Upon recognizing him she purred loudly and crawled up into his lap. Her fur was matted in several places and she was absolutely filthy. Had Scar been stuck like for the past three days? When did this happen? How did this happen? He wanted to do something but what if he screwed up and Scar never came back? He couldn’t lose Scar. That wasn’t an option. Xisuma had the best chance of fixing this and so he waited. He saw Xisuma approach and stood up, Jellie asleep in his arms. He wondered if she had slept at all since this had happened. Xisuma circled before dropping somewhere behind him into the trees.

“So what seems to be the iss- oh” Xisuma walked up behind him and reacted just as he had, oh was right. “Is that Scar?” 

“He was missing. He was supposed to be in Hermitville three days ago and I figured he’d just gotten caught up in another build project but when I went to come get him, I found this.” He explained, “I would’ve tried to pull him out but I didn’t want to risk anything.”

Xisuma hums in agreement, “Yeah I’m going to have to force reload these chunks but I don’t know what that will do to Scar…”

He looks from Scar to Xisuma and then back again before speaking, “If you think that’s the best call then I trust your judgement. Even if he dies, he’ll just respawn.”

He would respawn. There was no other option. 

Xisuma’s eyes glowed behind his visor, and small screens popped up into the air with numbers all over them. Watching Xisuma work like this was always mesmerising. Every hermit agreed on it, and even he couldn’t look away whenever he saw it. He can’t really see what Xisuma is doing on the screens other than tapping them in certain places and pushing objects on them around with a wave of his hand. 

While Xisuma was working the world in front of them glitched into being and Scar fell face first on the ground. Jogging over to his friend he set Jellie down to help him up only to find that Scar was shaking uncontrollably. 

Dropping to his knees, he grabbed at Scar’s shoulders and pulled him up. Scar shook violently, his body still glitching in and out of existence. His hand almost  went through Scar’s shoulder at some point. It didn’t even seem like Scar had acknowledged his presence. How was he going to ground Scar here when he might end up just phasing through him?

Jellie didn’t seem to care for any glitching though as she walked up between them and rubbed against Scar’s knees purring. That seemed to be all it took. Scar breaks in a way he has never seen before. There was something soul wrenching about the way Scar just started sobbing. 

He pulled back, removing his hands from Scar's shoulders. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Scar decided for him, throwing himself forward into his arms, desperately grasping at the back of his coat. 

"Scar, what?" he stuttered, unsure of what to do with his friend sobbing in his arms. Scar didn't respond, still shaking and sobbing. Putting his own discomfort aside, he gently reached behind Scar and patted him back gently, "Its okay now, everything is gonna be fine now."

Just when Scar started to calm down a little, X spoke up, "I hate to stop this, but we have company." 

In the forest surrounding them were several pillager patrols. That was alarming in itself. Forget the situation they had just found and dealt with, now there was not one, but what looked to be six different full pillager patrols? Complete with ravagers and vindicators and the works? Something was definitely wrong here. 

Gently pulling Scar back he gave his friend a smile before standing up and pulling out his sword. There was no way only him and X could take down six patrols alone, but they were going to have to try. Scar was in no condition to fight. Nodding to X they charged into battle. 

Slashing down one of the illagers, he dodged two crossbow bolts and hits a ravager only to be thrown back by a vindicator. The Vindicator sent out a few vexes at him and he couldn’t help but laugh.

They had the name convex for a reason.

Eyes snapping up, he could feel the air shift around the clearing. Tiny giggles and laughter filled the air as vex started to appear around him. The vindicator’s vexes falling in one hit to his own. These pillagers were fools to think they ever stood a chance against the convex. 

He was about to charge into the fray again when he felt his power double. More laughter filled the air, chiming like small bells in the morning air. Little wisps of white power flew around the vex as they chased after the illagers. He turned around to find Scar hunched over, gathering Jellie in his arms before he looked up, eyes glowing white in a perfect mirror of his own, full of determination. He could still see Scar’s arms shake a little around Jellie, but this was just another fight they would win. After all, Concorp always came out on top.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfiction #cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #xisumavoid #next chapter we get answers #and a suprise :) #also sorry this took so long i just wasnt happy with it for the longest time before just dealing with it :/ #the next chapters will come out faster i promise #glitchau

[ask-elementalhermitcraft]

Chaos Combined

Characters: False, Scar, Cub

Genre: Hurt... it’s just hurt I’m sorry

Summary: Everyone is a little on edge during the war. It’s best not to sneak up on people.\

The battlegrounds were quiet for the first time in a while. Each team was rebuilding, fixing what was broken for each of them physically and otherwise. False, on the other hand, was set for recon and supplies gathering.

The ashes of grass disintegrated under her boots, staining the brown leather grey on the soles of her shoes. There were hundreds of arrows just strewn about, wasted if they weren’t going to be picked up. She carried a bucket of water in one hand and a bag in the other as she slowly cleared the field of the flint heads.

She wandered in the middle of a large cluster of arrows, ashes covering the ground and staining the cuffs of her shorts as she kneeled down to tear them from the ground. She shook the dirt off, dropping the arrows into the bucket. She heard the embers that clung to them sizzle.

As she gathered what spare supplies she could, she held herself in hypervigilance mode. At any moment there could be an attack. If they did so now, she would be stuck in the middle of where arrow fire clearly hit. She kept a foot up, ready to run at the slight sign of danger. She felt cold power pool in her fingertips. The more time she spent in the middle of danger, the antsier she got to leave it.

A faint noise caught her ears. Wind blistering through elytra. Something inside her comforted that it wasn’t feathers but the leathery fabric akin to phantoms. Still, her heart jumped, every hair on her arm rising and the power that had been pooling at her fingertips sending a rush of power from her spine down to her hands. As she hastily stood up, she couldn’t get a good view of who it was. Everything seemed to go wrong. The sun got in her eyes, she tripped on an arrow still stuck firmly in the ground, and she summoned her shield in the wrong place, landing on the glassy surface instead and breaking it across the ground. She felt shards cut into her shoulders and arm before the bits and pieces dissolved into nothing.

“Hello there Fal-” a voice she was too panicked to recognize started as she summoned a second shield, this time between the voice and herself.

She felt something hit the shield, it covered the entire surface, trying to poke holes in some places as it pushed against. The energy built up on the surface of the mirrored shield as False recomposed herself. The shield, only a half foot away from her face, was coated in a blue and white swirling color, geometric bits attempting to pop a hole in the carefully crafted shield. She heard grass crunch as someone she couldn’t see took a step back. Her heart dropped into her feet as she realized what it was: Vex magic.

False quickly attempted to lower the shield, disperse the uncontrolled energy that attempted to infect the world around it. When the shield shattered outwards of her own accord, the magic that had attempted toward her shot backward, rushing toward its caster.

The Concorp member who had cast the dangerous aura took the full brunt of the chaotic energy. The impact wasn’t much, but it was enough force to send whoever it had hit falling backward. At that moment it was clear to False who it was. Unable to redirect the impact of magic, Scar hit the ashen ground directly on his lower back. The white-blue mask that had been covering his face flew off, the only thing protecting it from the sticky grey ash being the chaotic aura it held in its frame. Scar let out a grunt of pain.

“Don’t sneak up on me, you conbutt!” False exclaimed, only half joking as she stood up.

She brushed ash and dust off of her clothes. She picked the bucket of water up, some of it splashing against her hands and the feathered ends of arrows tickling her fingertips as it swayed slightly. There was a large smudge of ash on her forearm that she started to attempt to scrub out against the side of her jacket.

“This is a war zone, Scar,” she continued, eyebrows furrowing as the stain was becoming ever more difficult to scrub off, “you can’t just go and sneak-”

She stopped short, casting her gaze over to where Scar was, still on the ground where he was thrown. He was curled inward, ten feet from her with his knees pulled up. His hands were pressed against his face and she heard the faint sound of him hyperventilating. It was hard to process him at all. The ash that surrounded him flew up in particles resembling those of a nether portal. He looked desaturated, but anything blue popped out brightly, like the vex mask that was staring at False eerily. Scar’s entire being looked distorted.

False rushed towards him, any hesitation abandoned. Scar’s form rose and fell sporadically, timed with his breath as it quickened and quickened. As she got closer she felt her body and fingers twitch, her limbs buzz and prickle like they had fallen asleep, and her vision turned completely monochromatic.

Her knees hit the ground, sending more dust particles up towards the sky. She reached towards him, feeling a physical push back as she put a hand on his shoulders. Any grass that hadn’t already been dead was shriveled and gone. She felt her skin become dry and her eyes sting.

“Scar? Scar?” she said, voice frantic as she set both her hands on his shoulders. “What happened? What did I do?”

His breathing only quickened. His clothes felt damp to the touch. More than damp, actually. She tried to focus on him, seeing a blue aura start to form and quickly realizing it wasn’t an aura. Her mouth was dry and her eyes stung. Every time she blinked it felt like it did nothing, sandpaper over her eyeballs and skin that turned white and ashy. The aura wasn’t an aura, it was a bubble of water, pulled from the ground and False’s skin.

False hastily got to her feet, backing up. Her eyes flashed to the vex mask, still staring at her in malice. Scar’s breathing got quicker, more sporadic. The bubble of water grew as False retreated, her steps denting the dead grass as the monochromic aura grew bigger.

She heard the sweeping sound of an elytra coming to land. Heard feet hit the ashen ground running. Her eyes snapped over to a figure in the edge of her vision. Bright blues and dull greys that twitched and glitched as it moved. It snatched the discarded mask off of the ground and came right at Scar.

“Scar, buddy, are you there?” Cub asked, his voice edging off of the calm tone it usually held.

He took Scar’s hands away from his face. His form continued to heave with each breath. With Scar’s hands away from his face, they went to his temples, attempting to hold in the pounding in his head. He looked up at Cub, eyes wild, bright blue and swirling. He couldn’t focus. He saw blurring movement, fuzz in his vision and black coming from the edges. He felt his blood run cold and hot, heart go a hundred beats per minutes and drop to what felt like nothing all within the same ten seconds.

He felt something cold press against his face, blocking out most of his vision except for large slits, tinted white where he could see. Shadows moved outside of his vision. He felt like he was underwater. Was he underwater? He could hear things other than the ringing in his ears for once. Muffled noises, coming from behind a barrier and he knew it was water. A wet blanket covered him and he felt like he was drowning but he was breathing. He was barely breathing. Holding his breath and breathing quick, so quick. He felt his lungs burn and throat sting and water in his eyes, water covering his eyes. His limbs ached and he was so tired. Why was he so tired he had only just woken up. Or did he sleep? He felt like he could sleep forever. He felt his vision go dark and he could sleep forever, he was so tired.

“That’s it, buddy,” someone said from outside of the bubble. He felt cold. “Just rest for a second. Just calm down.”

His limbs were shaking and the ringing in his ears was getting louder and louder and louder and louder. He was so cold and his lungs stung and his vision was no longer going black but bright white and his breathing quickened and his heart got faster and the muffling was bubbling in his ears and he couldn’t hear anything.

Something snapped.

Water fell over him like something had poured a bucket over his head to wake him it up. It certainly felt like that. His clothes were soaked and his chest hurt.

He was still wearing the vex mask. He took it off, feeling it stick to his face and getting sweaty underneath. He blinked, adjusting to the light. His back was against the grass, ash covering his clothes as he stood up. Everything was terribly damp.

What was he doing last?

Oh right.

He looked around to see Cub, who definitely wasn’t there before. He was soaked, also taking his vex mask off to dry it. They were both covered in sticky ash and embers.

Where was False?

He had come down to visit her but had seemed to frighten her, vex magic off its rockers from the excitement of the war. Bustling in the center of it all, next to the crater where the flag came down. He felt energy at his fingertips.

And it came right back at him.

But False was standing ten feet away. She stood on a piece of terrain in the marshy ground that had turned to sand. As he looked around it seemed that the entire radius around him had changed. Patches of snow, of ice, of water, of sand, of gravel, of sand. Some endstone even peaked out behind piles of ash.

False composed herself, feeling the stinging cuts of her shattered shield across her arms and shins. She felt blood trickle down her leg and soak one of her socks as it got down through the boat. She considered them a few more cuts for a lesson learned:

Don’t mess with the Vex.

#elemental!scar #scar #goodtimeswithscar #elemental!cub #cub #cubfan135 #elemental!false #falsie #falsesymmetry #elemental hermits #elemental hermitcraft au #ehcau #hermitcraft #false nails #mod endstone #writings

[kyouryokusenshi]

Title: Nature of Cherry Blossoms

Written for @baronessblixen for the #XFEaster2019 Fic Exchange organized by @gaycrouton!!

Rating: T

Summary: Easter 2019 for the Scully-Mulder family.

Note: Many thanks to Monika @monikafilefan and Cate @catebatman for their awesome beta work on this and to Paislie for the cover art!!! This fic takes place within the same universe as Into the Unknown. :) 

Six months had passed since Scully had developed a cure for the Spartan Virus which led to millions of lives being saved across the globe and just over two months since the birth of their daughter, Katie.

Another remarkable power Scully seemed to possess, was the ability to drag not just Mulder, but also their teenage son to Easter Vigil; Their son who would be eighteen just next month.

The last time she was in a church like this was not long after their daughter had been born. It was around Christmas time when she had felt comfort in prayer and took solace in Mulder’s presence as she confessed her sins behind closed doors. It was a complicated and difficult time with the onset of postpartum depression.

The reality of being a geriatric mother old enough for an AARP membership was starting to settle in and she had been dealing with episodes of what Mulder insisted were signs and symptoms of PTSD as a result of everything that had happened when William was a baby. Everything hit her full force along with postpartum depression.

Katie was now five months old and when she wasn't sleeping, she and Scully were inseparable. Normally, she knew Mulder enjoyed the sight, but he knew something was wrong and it took a trip to the ER and a diagnosis of a double ear infection for Scully to break down her facade of steel.

“ I'm afraid I'll lose her,” she had said as he held her. She didn't have to continue for him to know what she was referring to. “ Like William,” he thought.

As she stood at the altar pondering, she proceeded to light several candles as she had done before. One for each family member. Her mother, her father, her sister and Emily, the daughter she never had a chance to know.

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around the infant that snuggled securely against her in the Moby Wrap as she stared ahead at the intricate scene etched into the glass before her.

The baby scrunched her little face and balled up her tiny hands into fists as she let out a small cry, shifting against her mother and startling Scully from her thoughts. She looked down at the perfect combination of her Mulder and gently rocked her. “Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. You're okay,” she soothed.

With the gentle reassurance from her mother, Katie’s lids closed over her crystal blue orbs as she settled back against her and drifted off to sleep once again. Scully had an hour or so before she would need to nurse her and she was still trying to master nursing in the wrap.

While Mulder and Jackson waited in the car, Scully contemplated what she told Mulder all those months ago. “ I want to stop running and get out of the damn car...and that isn't my four-year-old self wishing for a miracle. That's my leap of faith forward and I'd like to do it together. ” She wanted to try again...wanted him to take her back after she made the choice to flee.

Little did they know where they'd end up, she mused with a smile. She was pregnant and hadn't even known it at the time. Closing her eyes, she gently rested her chin on the baby's head as she breathed in her daughter's sweet baby smell.

Scully opened her eyes as she heard footsteps approaching from behind and turned to see Jackson walking towards her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi,” she smiled a wide smile at the sight of her son.

“Is Mulder getting impatient?”

The dark-haired teenager shook his head. He was no longer a boy, Scully realized with an ache. He was eighteen now, growing every day.

“No, I uh, I actually just thought I'd come and pray with you. For my folks, you know?”

Scully couldn't help but feel a pang in her heart, but she understood. Her son had lost the two people who raised him for sixteen years.

When she didn't respond right away, he continued. “We also came to mass every Easter. Well, we actually went to church every Sunday, but I found it boring. Sometimes I'd fall asleep and my adoptive mom would be pissed.”

Scully couldn't help but chuckle. She felt fortunate his adoptive parents had given him an upbringing that was faith-based. She smiled as she turned her attention to the candles in front of her.

Jackson followed her gaze to the several rows of glowing votives.

“When I come here, I like to light these candles and pray for those lost to us both physically and spiritually. Last time I was here I lit candles for my mother, father, sister and my daughter Emily,” she explained.

Jackson's eyes went wide as she spoke and he glanced from the infant cocooned against their mother and back to her.

“Emily? You had another child? I had a sister?” he admonished.

Scully turned towards him, placing her hand on Kate from outside the wrap. “It was a long time ago, but yes. My ova were used to create her through surrogacy. When I found her, her adoptive parents had been killed. I wanted to adopt her, but I soon discovered she was very sick.”

Scully's eyes filled with tears at the memory and Jackson couldn't help but search her mind. Not her thoughts per se, but he could read her feelings.

“She was different, like me,” he said.

Scully turned away to afford herself some privacy as she wiped at her tears. When she turned back to face him, she nodded. “Yes.”

Jackson looked to the tiled floor, clearly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry.”

Scully sniffled. “It was a long time ago.”

A small silence passed between them before Scully continued. “I also lit a candle for you. After I had seen you the first time, I was afraid for you. Having just lost your parents and already running for your life,” Scully sighed deeply and averted her gaze as she felt tears prick at her eyes.

Jackson watched Scully closely as her voice caught in her throat, prompting the small being resting so close to her heart to emit a small whimper. As if she could sense their mother's pain and anguish.

Scully bit her lip before she blurted out. “I never wanted any of it for you,” her voice cracked as the dam erupted.

Before Jackson could process what was happening, he stood and moved towards his mother before he pulled her into his arms and held her as she sobbed against him uncontrollably. He couldn’t explain the overwhelming need to hug her, but he just knew he needed to stop the sight unfolding in front of him.

Jackson felt a lump form in his throat before he forced it down with a swallow. His vision blurred as he mustered up the courage to say, “I know.”

Several moments passed as they wept together, completely oblivious to everything around them, including the small whimpers of the baby between them. It was then that he realized how undoubtedly small his mother was. He was amazed someone so strong could reside in such a small stature. Thankful for the lack of audience in the church, they remained that way for some time until his tiny sister opened her eyes and started to break into a full out wail in protest of being wedged between them.

As Jackson pulled back, Scully stepped back as she sniffled, wiping away her tears before she moved to soothe her teething daughter.

“Oh, Sweetheart, it’s okay,” she crooned as she stroked the soft chestnut hair. Katie quieted before she pressed against her mother and pushing herself to turn towards her brother. She smiled a gummy grin as she reached a tiny hand towards him and squealed.

Jackson couldn’t help but smile back. Ever since his sister had been born, he felt an immediate connection and an indescribable bond. The need to protect her was a feeling like no other.

Scully smiled as she observed her children connecting with one another before she regrettably broke the silence.

“We should get back. Patience was never one of Mulder’s virtues and this little one is due for a feeding,” she said with a glance back to her daughter. “What do you say we get some dinner on the way home?”

“Sounds great,” Jackson admitted.

----

Forty minutes later, the four of them arrived home with takeout from one of the local burger joints. Scully had excused herself to nurse Katie while giving her boys permission to dig in ahead of her.

She listened as Mulder and Jackson’s voices drifted up to the second level of their house as Scully got herself situated in the nursery. Her tiny daughter had started rooting around and licking her lips in search of her meal as she whined.

“I know sweet girl, I know,” she soothed.

Once she got her into position, Scully unbuttoned her blouse and unlatched her nursing bra, waiting until her daughter’s tiny mouth was wide open before she gently pushed her towards her breast. She latched on almost immediately and began to suckle greedily. Scully closed her eyes, sighing in content as she felt the tingle of the let down as Katie nursed.

Looking down, relishing the sound of the little satisfied grunts, Scully began to speak. “I love you so much, little one, you know that?” she whispered. “And so does your daddy and your brother. None of us will let anything bad happen to you.”

Katie opened her eyes as she continued to suck, her blue eyes catching her mother’s. As her right arm supported the baby’s weight, Scully reached over with her left hand to gently smooth the tendrils on the baby’s head. “You may not know it yet, but many people love you,” she whispered. “Uncle Skinner, Uncle Doggett, and Aunt Reyes.”

When the baby unlatched, she gently shifted her to the other breast and let out a contented sigh. She closed her eyes as she listened to the mixed sounds of Mulder and Jackson talking along with the twitter of birdsong just outside the window, marking the beginning of springtime.

Once she was done feeding, she laid a burp cloth over her shoulder and gently patted her daughter's back. A few minutes later, she finished burping her before going to check her diaper. After she got Katie into a fresh diaper, she gently set the baby down into her crib.

She smiled, admiring her daughter's blue eyes and chestnut tufts of hair. Placing a gentle hand on her chest, Scully started to sing.

“ Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine .”

She hated hearing the tone-deafness in her voice as she sang the lullaby, but it always worked when it came to calming or getting William to sleep and it seemed to work just as well with Katie.

“ Joy to the world...all the boys and girls,” Scully's voice echoed from the monitor, causing Mulder and Jackson to pause and look at one another.

Mulder made a silencing motion to Jackson who grinned before he whispered. “Don't mention anything, she's pretty self-conscious about her lack of ability to carry a tune.”

“Really?” Jackson couldn't help but chuckle, his mouth full of burger meat.

Mulder smiled as he took a sip of his soda.

“Yeah. She sang it to me once and to you. I was only there for a short time, but she sang it to you when she was trying to put you to sleep. You didn't mind,” Mulder smirked.

The sound of footsteps from behind them got their attention and Mulder wondered just how much Scully had overheard as she approached them. If she did, she didn't give any indication.

“I'm glad it doesn't take much to put her down. I hope it stays that way,” she says as she joins them at the table.

Both Mulder and Jackson look at one another as if they were just caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“What's going on between you two?” she asked skeptically as she unwrapped her veggie burger.

“Nothing,” Jackson quickly offered.

Scully eyed them both dubiously but decided not to implore further as she was famished and started to devour her burger.

“So, actually something there is something I've been wanting to ask you guys,” Jackson said, changing the subject. He averted his eyes, unsure.

“What is it?” Mulder asked, perplexed by his son's sudden change in demeanor.

“I um….I never got to visit my parents since they passed away. I was wondering if you could maybe take me to see where they're buried?” Jackson asked, still looking away.

Scully abruptly stopped chewing and reached out to touch Jackson's arm in gentle reassurance.

“Honey, you...don't have to ask. Of course, we'll take you. We…we know how much they meant to you and I'll always be indebted to them for giving you a life we couldn't during that time.”

Jackson simply nodded. “Thanks.”

Mulder looked over and smiled his approval.

Scully continued eating for a moment before she stopped to continue.

“I was thinking...I’d also like to show you where your,” Scully hesitated, considering her words. “Grandparents’ ashes are scattered.”

Jackson considered for a moment. He remembered Scully talking about her as they went through some photo albums together a few months back. He knew that he was originally named after both her father and Mulder’s father, but that his maternal grandfather had died years before his birth. Scully had also told him at length how much his grandmother, Maggie, loved him.

To Scully’s surprise, Jackson nodded. “Sure, okay.”

Mulder extended his hand towards Scully and she took his in her own as she took a deep breath.

“Your folks aren’t too far away,” Mulder explained, turning back to his son. “We ensured they received a proper burial after we were able to collect most of your things from your house.”

Jackson smiled a real smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had one more chance to talk to them. To tell them how much I miss them. They were good parents even if they couldn't always understand me.”

----

The first stop was the Arlington cemetery. The Van de Kamps didn't have specific wills other than Jackson inheriting everything they owned and since Jackson had for a brief time gone missing and later was pronounced dead, it made probate more complicated as the Van De Kamps’ estate and financials would revert to the state had Mulder and Scully hadn't intervened.

They decided to go big rather than go home in their final days at the FBI and, with Skinner's help, they were able to fulfill this last thing on their agenda.

As Mulder and Jackson got out of the car, Scully opened the back passenger door to get Katie, who was lulled to sleep by the ride into town. After a single attempt to get her Moby Wrap situated, Scully gingerly reached for her baby. Although her eyes remained closed, Katie let out a whisper of protest as Scully scooped her up and got her situated inside the wrap, making sure she was nice and secure against her.

“You're really getting the hang of that thing, aren't you, Scully?” Mulder's voice came from behind her.

Scully scoffed as she pressed her lips to her daughter's downy head, full of dark hair. She was snug in a little off white onesie with a fox hoody.

“Well, it definitely makes a difference. I wish we had these when Will--Jackson was born,” she corrected herself. “The closeness and security that resembles the womb keeps them calmer.”

Mulder nodded as he gently brushed his hand against her shoulder before stepping back.

The three of them made their way past several headstones. The cemetery was surrounded by lush cherry blossom trees and as a light wind passed through the area, light pink petals danced about before landing on the graveled dirt.

Unsurprisingly, several other families had chosen Easter to visit lost loved ones. The park was fairly busy today.

Jackson carried a bouquet with a mix of pink and white carnations. Remembrance and gratitude, Scully had mentioned to Jackson as he struggled to pick out appropriate flowers at the store. It was a small gesture but, in a way, she wanted to express her own gratitude to these two people who loved and kept their son safe all these years. Their sacrifice wouldn't be forgotten.

Vibrant pink cherry blossom petals littered the ground beneath them, marking the beginning of the end of their already short season.

Scully's breath hitched as Mulder came to a stop in front of another familiar headstone that read Melissa Scully. Jackson, who had been looking down nearly ran right into his mother before he realized they had stopped.

He turned in the direction they were looking to see a headstone with overgrown grass that looked as if it hadn't been visited in ages.

“This is where Melissa, my sister was buried. Your aunt,” Scully explained.

Jackson nodded as he stood next to Scully. Mulder moved forward to set some flowers, a mix of gladiolus and larkspur, beside her headstone.

He remembered her from the albums Scully had shown him.

“Strength of character and a beautiful spirit. That's what she was. She was very passionate about her beliefs, just like someone else I know,” Scully said as she turned to Mulder.

Jackson rolled his eyes and Mulder couldn't help but smile, but they were quickly serious once again.

“It should have been me that night,” Scully said as she knelt before the tombstone and placed her hand upon it. “But Melissa always believed everything happened for a reason. And I realize now, I was meant to be here,” she said, her voice wavering.

Katie shifted from inside the wrap at the movement and Scully gently sushed her as she smoothed her hand over the baby's back.

“She would have loved to be an aunt,” Scully said wistfully.

Mulder closed his eyes as if reliving everything that led up to that moment.

Several moments passed between them as Scully closed her eyes, reliving cherished memories. She moved to stand as Mulder helped her to her feet. Dabbing at her eyes, she continued, “Since your parents didn't have a specific will or close family nearby, we decided this would be the perfect spot for their burial.”

Jackson kicked at a rock nearby. “So she wouldn't be lonely,” he mused.

“No one is ever truly alone,” Mulder quipped.

Jackson was about to keep going before he realized his birth parents had come to a stop. When he realized this was the place, he stopped and clutched the bouquet tightly in his grip. His heart pounded in his chest.

Scully and Mulder parted just slightly and he could tell his birth mother already had tears in her eyes that threatened to fall.

Kimberly and Brad Van De Kamps. Slowly, he moved closer to the large headstone with their engraved names. He reached out with his free hand and gingerly ran his hand along the textured edges. Loving, husband and wife, father and mother, together forever. As he looked around at the other headstones, he realized his parents’ headstone had to have cost a fortune. All the engravings were in marble.

Jackson wasn't one to get emotional, but as he set down the bouquet of flowers, the weight of everything suddenly became too much. The sound of gunshots, the image of their lifeless forms imprinted into his memory...his mother's guttural scream. He felt his mother's hand on his back as he sunk to his knees, a hand resting against the headstone.

Suddenly, his shoulders started to shake violently as he let out a year's worth of pain and anguish he'd been carrying around for so long. He should have felt self-conscious by laying all his emotions on his sleeve, by displaying any sign of weakness or vulnerability, but right now he didn't care.

At some point, he was vaguely aware of Mulder and Scully kneeling beside him and rubbing his back as he ugly cried. His sister fussing against her constraint in an attempt to get his attention. This was the first time he had really allowed himself to be completely vulnerable and he was thankful that Mulder and Scully remained silent while letting him know they were there with their hands on his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” he found himself sputtering and he immediately recalled Scully’s tearful revelation to him in the morgue just over a year ago now.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Mulder’s words triggered an immediate deja vu.

Jackson said nothing, but he felt the dam stop overflowing as he took a deep, shuddering breath. Unphased by anyone who may have been nearby them, he sighed as he rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. As he pulled away to look back at the headstone, he was startled by Scully handing him a tissue. He took it without a word and blew his nose.

Once his breathing returned to normal, he heard Mulder speak again.

“You know, I once said that I want to believe. Over twenty-five years ago it was a reference to little grey men from outside this universe, but there came a time when I questioned everything, including the truth. And even though I received all the answers I sought, I still wanted to believe. I still do.”

Jackson sniffled as he turned towards Mulder, who stood. Scully remained by his side, a hand on Katie who nestled against her chest and the other on his back.

“ I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us. That they come to us as something greater than us...greater than any alien force. I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves. ”

Scully sniffled as she started to openly weep at the memory. So many years ago, they were left with such uncertainty, but she had her faith and they had each other. They carried on. For better or worse.

Jackson stood and extended his hand toward Scully to help her to her feet.

Mulder turned towards Scully and opened his mouth to speak, possibly regretting his choice of words and the effect it might have had on her.

“Scully…”

She shook her head as she wiped her tears. “No...it’s. I’m okay, Mulder. It’s just...who thought we’d be where we are right now?

A gentle wind picked up around them and a dancing pink cherry blossom landed right on Katie’s head.

The baby roused slightly at the featherlike touch. Scully plucked the tiny petal off of her silky head.

“Cherry blossoms have but a short lifespan. A common symbolic flower of the spring, it represents a time of renewal and the fleeting nature of life. It is known as the “Sakura” in Japan, but also not exclusive though it’s cultural importance is significant, reminding us that though life is overwhelmingly beautiful, it is tragically short,” Scully explained wistfully as she held out her hand, watching the tiny flower dance away from her palm.

Mulder watched his wife in awe. “I thought you were immortal though, Scully,” he chuckled, lightening the mood. “See,” he said, turning to Jackson. “Who needs Google when you have Scully?”

Mulder gave a small smile before he turned towards Jackson. “Ready?”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah...can I just, have a minute?”

“Of course,” Scully replied as she gently reached out and touched her son’s arm.

“We’ll be at the car, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mulder slipped his arm around Scully’s shoulders as they walked back to the car. Jackson watched them for a moment, before turning back to his parent’s headstone, contemplating Mulder’s words.

“So much has happened Mom...Dad. I’m so sorry, for everything that’s happened. You both never gave up on me when you probably should have...thank you. I wish...I wish you could have met my birth parents. Dana reminds me a lot of you, Mom. And, Dad...Mulder likes playing ball too. They’re good people. I...I have a sister now, too. I think you both would have liked her. I know how much you wanted to give me a sibling. I think in some ways she might be like me, but I don’t want to scare Dana or Mulder… but I don’t feel alone anymore. There are also others out there, like me.”

Jackson closed his eyes as he placed his palm on the headstone once again. “I miss you both so much,” Jackson’s voice wavered, but he remained composed.

The light breeze of spring caressed his hair as he took a deep breath. He felt a light sensation on the top of his hand and he opened his eyes to see a small cherry blossom flower that had come to rest against his skin.

With his right hand, he picked up the small flower to observe before setting it on top of the headstone. He looked up at the luscious blooms of the trees around him.

“They couldn’t have picked a better place to lay you both to rest,” he mused. Another moment passed and he figured he’d better get back. “Well, I’d better get going...bye, Mom...Dad.”

As Jackson turned and started toward the car, back to his new family, he felt as if a massive weight had been lifted from his chest as a gust of pink blossoms cascaded around him in the fresh Spring air.

-------

Mulder had just finished changing Katie when Jackson returned to the car and she had immediately demanded her meal.

Using a small blanket cover that hung from her neck to afford them both some discretion, Scully fed their daughter.

Jackson rode in the front seat on the ride to the park where Maggie Scully’s ashes had been scattered.

It had been two years since her mother had passed away, yet Scully still had lingering pain in her heart. Though her heart was now full, perhaps there would always be a small piece of her heart that her mother left vacant.

“ My son is named William, too .” Scully bit her lip to prevent another onslaught of tears.

A moment later, Mulder brought the SUV to a stop as close as they could get to the beach area.

Once again, Scully made sure Katie was secure in her wrap and resting peacefully against her before they headed down to the beach area.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Jackson followed. When they reached the rocky shore, Mulder gently placed his hand on Scully’s back and offered a small smile.

“I’m gonna look around,” he said. Scully turned to see the silent offer in his eyes to provide them some privacy, not that they really needed it, but they had been here before, she and him. They scattered Margaret’s ashes together.

He offered a smile of approval before he turned towards the little one against her chest.

“Want me to take her?”

Scully shook her head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Alright, holler if you need me. I won’t go too far,” he promised.

“Okay,” she smiled as she saw him venture towards the large log not too far behind them. Its presence was timeless, now at one with this beach.

She couldn’t help but remember the conversation they had on it as she watched him retreat. They had been talking about her mother’s last words, how they were about William...how she felt as if she had treated him like trash and had abandoned him. How she would never find answers to her own mysteries.

“ I won't know if he thinks of me, too, or, if he's ever been afraid and wished that I was there. ”

“ Does he doubt himself because we left him ?”

“ I want to believe. I need to believe, that we didn't treat him like trash.”

“Mo…Dana? You ok?” Jackson’s voice startled her from her thoughts and she nearly missed his slip up.

She quickly wiped at her eyes before turning towards him, wondering if it was her imagination or if he started to say what she thought he had said.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced and she couldn’t help but laugh. As she looked over at the oddly calm waters today, she felt at peace. She reached into her pocket and thumbed at the coolness of the quarter inside.

“This is where my parents’ ashes were scattered...my dad some time before my mother, your grandmother.”

“So, what was your dad like?” Jackson asked as he bent down and picked up a rock, impressing Scully with his skills as he skipped it along the balmy waters.

Katie started to mewl and she shifted against her constraints. Scully gently shifted her so her upper body had more freedom to move.

Jackson watched as her blue eyes met his and she cooed.

“Well,” Scully said, placing a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead, “He was a Navy Captain and a very authoritative one. You couldn't get much passed him, but we bonded over Moby Dick, I called him Ahab and he called me Starbuck.”

Jackson made a face. “Seriously?”

Scully chuckled. “I was rebellious when I was younger. I studied to be a doctor and never quite earned his approval when I decided to go into the FBI.”

She swayed back and forth, gently bouncing the baby.

“He would have loved you...just like your grandmother did,” Scully continued with a smile. “You...were the apple of her eye. She had two other grandsons, your cousin Matty and Mike. But you..were her favorite,” Scully shamelessly admitted. “It's probably because I was never supposed to have children.”

“Yet, here we are,” Jackson nodded towards Katie who was tired of being in her sling.

Scully gently lifted her out and carried her against her chest as she tried to hold her head up and examine the world around her.

Jackson sensed there was more as Scully continued. “When...I gave you up for adoption, we didn't talk for some time. She was devastated. She didn't understand how I could be given such a miracle to give it away,” her voice wavered as Katie shifted against her.

“She died from a heart attack; she'd had congestive heart failure for some time, but I never knew about it. She was just suddenly hospitalized. Her last words, however, were about you.”

Jackson's eyes widened as Scully replayed the events for him in her words.

“I had told her you were with us and she woke up saying what she did. But she said it specifically to Mulder. In a way, I knew that it was her way of letting us know she was at peace with our decision and wanted us to know that you were okay even though we couldn't see you.”

Jackson looked away as he responded. “So that’s why you guys kept following me, huh?”

Scully managed a small laugh. “It was important to her that she knew your Uncle Charlie was okay before she passed away and I guess in a way, she got some closure by hearing him on the phone. But anyways, when you told me to let you go---I understand what she meant now. I had to make sure you’d be okay, that’s why we followed you. Even though I didn’t get to raise you, I still brought you into this world, so I felt responsible,” her voice started to break.

Jackson was startled by the information. “Charlie...is that…”

“Your Uncle,” Scully explained as she knelt down. Holding the baby with both her hands, she gently dabbled Katie's feet into the water and she shrieked into a fit of giggles at the sensation.

“They were estranged and none of us really know why.”

“I see.”

Jackson sank to his feet and found the smoothest surface he could possibly find before he sat down and watched his mother and sister. Her happiness and enthusiasm were contagious. Before she was born, he felt a connection to her he couldn’t quite discern. She was like him, but also different. He just knew that he would do anything to protect her so she’d never have to experience the life he did.

He realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts as his sister emitted a shriek as she reached a chubby arm towards him as Scully held her upright.

“You want to see your brother?” Scully crooned in a sing-song voice.

Katie let out a squeal of delight as Scully moved to place her in Jackson’s grip. Her heart swelled at the sight of them and she reached into the small bag she was carrying for her phone. Jackson frowned at the implication but complied as she snapped a few photos of them. He had seen his birth mother shed too many tears in the short time he knew her that he thoroughly enjoyed seeing her happy.

She returned her phone to her pocket and pulled out the quarter necklace. Jackson looked on in confusion as his sister pushed against his chest.

“What is that?”

“Your grandmother was wearing it when she was admitted to the hospital. I still to this day don’t understand it’s significance other than that it was important to her,” Scully mused as Jackson looked over it briefly before passing it back to her.

Scully glanced at it once more before awkwardly seating herself next to Jackson.

“I wish I could have met her; she sounds like a nice person.”

Scully’s widened at the familiarity of the words and was instantly transported back to the gas station in Norfolk.

Before she could respond, the sound of footsteps startled them both.

“I got bored,” Mulder whined. “Ready?”

Mulder held his hand out towards Scully as she moved to sit up.

“Yeah, I’ll...uh, meet you guys back at the car in a minute.”

Mulder nodded in silent understanding before Scully reached for Katie so Jackson could get to his feet.

Jackson offered a small smile as he followed Mulder.

Once they were a good distance away, Scully turned back to the vast blue waters as she slipped Katie back into the wrap. Once the baby was securely against her chest, she sighed.

“I wish you were here, Mom,” she whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I wish you got to meet William and your grandaughter...you have a granddaughter now. I know you would have spoiled her terribly. And Mulder...I finally found my way home,” she gushed, tears stinging her eyes.

“I miss you. I wish you were here with us,” she began to weep. As if on cue, Katie started to whimper. It never failed. Whenever she was upset, her daughter seemed to sense it. Scully gently smoothed her fingers over her daughter’s downy head to calm her as she placed a kiss against her baby smooth skin.

She took a deep breath as she gathered herself and released a slow breath into the air.

“Say ‘hi’ to Ahab for me and to Melissa,” she whispered. “I think Katie looks a lot like her already.”

With a small smile, she turned and moved up along the rocky path, but not before a sudden gust of wind rushed past them. Despite the mild temperatures, Scully felt a sudden warmth permeate throughout her entire body. She let out another breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and looked down at her beautiful daughter who was now eerily content, resting against her chest.

“Time to go home, baby girl.”

END

#xfeaster2019 #xfilesfanfic

[artificialqueens]

In Sickness and In Health Ch5 - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - this has been a long time coming, im sorry!! not sure when i’ll update next as i have exams in july (aaaaaaah) but i’ll do my best!! i hope u enjoy <3

Going in the sea had not been a good idea.

Even in her sleep, Sharon shivered, despite being curled up to Alaska with a tenderness that they had both been too afraid to broach before the confession. No amount of blankets or robes could lift the chill that had settled deep into her bones after her skin had dried. Alaska, as always, feared the worst, and told the driver to continue on through the night.

Sharon’s honesty was scaring Alaska in more than one way. The first being her fear of death - it seemed that both her obstinance and her life force were fading at the same voracious rate. The second, naturally, being the earnest, passionate way she leaned in to their shared kiss.

This was a princess - a member of the royal family that governed Alaska’s entire life. There were laws against this, but Sharon didn’t seem to care. Alaska, again, feared it was because she believed she had no reason to. She didn’t want to die, but she was certain that she was going to.

That night, Alaska was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink. She sat up straight, methodically rubbing Sharon’s arms to try and warm the princess as she slept, weakened and exhausted. The only sign that she was even still alive was the shallow rising and falling of her chest. Alaska closed her eyes and prayed that she would never have to watch the gentle movement slow to a stop, wishing she could keep Sharon’s heart beating through sheer force of will.

At some point she must’ve dropped off, as she found herself jolting awake and finding that the night had slipped out from beneath her. The land around them looked much the same - plain and green and empty, with a distinct lack of shrubbery or trees. Knowing the tricks of the trade, Alaska was glad - any kind of nature meant a hiding place for looters and robbers. She’d been the victim of highwaymen a few times, but she remembered Willam benefitting from befriending one once. The three friends had eaten well that night, but she had never trusted any of them.

Sharon had clearly woken before her, and was sitting on the opposite bench, wrapped in her robe, a book in her lap. She hadn’t noticed Alaska stirring.

“Hey, morning. How are you feeling?”

At Alaska’s words, she smiled and closed her book. “I’m… alive. Weak, but alive.”

“Good.” Alaska said. “Alive is how we want it to stay. What are you reading?”

Sharon shrugged. “It’s nothing important. I picked up this for you, though.” She lifted a book from beside her. “A compilation of fairy tales.” She told her, blushing slightly. “I read them as a child, before bed. I thought you might like them.”

Alaska bit her lip. “I appreciate it, I do, but I can’t…”

Sharon cut her off. “I know. We could… we could read them together. If you want, that is. It’s okay if - if you don’t.”

“We could try.”

The book was leatherbound, the worn brown cover giving off the impression that it had clearly been read many times before. Atop the leather was a shining gold inscription of a castle, surrounding by swirling cursive letters that Alaska didn’t even attempt to decipher. The pages inside were yellowed with age, but Sharon nevertheless handled them with care as she turned them over, smoothing each one flat as she went. She stopped turning the pages somewhere near the middle, where another story begin. There was a large ink drawing in the centre of the page, depicting a fair haired princess, asleep in an intricate bed. Her hands were clasped over her chest, a picture of serenity. Alaska couldn’t help thinking that the fictional princess looked just like Sharon.

“This is my favourite from when I was a kid…” Sharon said. “I’ll follow the words with my finger as I read it, so you can get a feel for what the words look like. I hope you like it.”

Alaska nodded, resting her head on Sharon’s shoulder as she started to read.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a king and a queen, and the happiest kingdom that there ever was. The kingdom was happy for a special reason, as they would soon be home to a new princess, and peace finally reigned across the land. Everything was perfect.

However, trouble was heading their way. Nearby, two sister witches had moved into the area. One of them was good, kind-hearted and honest. The other was foul and cruel, with a black soul.

When the princess arrived, the kingdom was overjoyed. The king and queen threw a ball, and all of the creatures of the land were invited to celebrate. Every man, every woman, every child; every fairy and elf; every pixie and spirit. Everybody was invited - except for the black-hearted witch.

She was enraged by the kingdom’s betrayal when she learned of the king and queen’s ball. In an instant, she appeared at the palace, darkening the hallways and hushing all of the delighted chatter as soon as she entered. The king stood protectively in front of his wife, as the queen clutched the baby princess in her arms.

“Let’s have a look at her, then.” The witch demanded, forcibly pulling back the baby’s blankets. “Just as I suspected. Pink and rosy and wrong.”

The king scowled at the witch. “Begone, you beast!”

The witch shrugged. “I must say, I’m rather offended I was not invited to this little… soiree of yours. In the future, you will learn from this grave mistake.”

Alaska felt as though she was slipping in and out of her own body as Sharon read. When she wasn’t coughing, straining for breaths after every sentence, she had a pleasant, accented voice, and it was comforting to listen to. In her mind, the story of the princess unfurled, her brain formulating images of beautiful fair-haired princesses in long gowns and scraggly, ragged creatures with hooked noses and warts placing curses on them. She could see the palace, hear the music and the revelry, experience the horror and shock of the vile creature turning up at the palace door. It was the kind of story that she knew, somehow, would have a happy ending, but remained utterly gripped as she waited for the resolution.

Her heart ached as she watched Sharon. Years ago, she was sure, the princess would’ve been sat with her two sisters, perhaps with Adore in her lap, reading fairy tales to them. She would’ve stroked her baby sister’s soft hair, pressed kisses to an unwilling Laila’s forehead, reading the story with exaggerated voices and silly facial expressions. Of course, she would’ve been in good health at the time, with bright eyes and round cheeks and a fuller figure.

Nothing like the skeletal, albeit beautiful, girl who sat beside her.

Alaska tuned back in, hoping to hear the end of the story. She had been listening, drinking in the sound of Sharon’s voice, but she’d been in her head a lot too. Wanting to be fully alert and awake for the ending, she perked up, but Sharon wasn’t talking anymore.

Her skin had gone positively translucent; she was so pale that Alaska could see the great blue veins snaking from under her eyes and stretching across her forehead. Her eyes were much darker than usual, and glassy.

“Sharon?”

One pale, shaky hand was resting at the base of her throat. Alaska felt a surge of dread, like icy water running down her neck.

“Sharon?” She tried again.

The princess gagged, her eyes streaming and bulging as she tried and failed to produce something. Alaska watched, horrified and helpless, as she retched harshly again and again, bringing nothing up and causing the veins in her face to become more and more opaque.

Then, all at once, she gagged and lurched forwards. Her blood, almost black, splattered all against the wall, covering the seats, the curtains and Sharon herself. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop - she was choking and vomiting pure blood uncontrollably. Alaska panicked.

“Shit! SHIT! DRIVE, FUCKING DRIVE! COME ON!” She screamed, petrified that she would be unable to make herself useful in any other way.

The carriage sped up. Alaska could hear the horses neighing as the driver whipped them, but it wasn’t loud enough to take away from the violent regurgitation. The whole carriage was sprayed with painfully dark blood, including Alaska. When she looked into Sharon’s eyes, they were red and terrified.

A minute passed, and she finally stopped, coughing twice before slumping down. There was blood on her face, in her hair, on her clothes. Her eyes rolled backwards.

“FASTER! PLEASE!” Alaska begged, only just noticing the volume of tears that were pouring down her cheeks. “GO FASTER!”

Despite the blood, Alaska clung to Sharon as tightly as she could. This was so much worse than anything she’d seen so far. This - This was Sharon knocking at death’s door. It was all Alaska could do to hold onto her, trying her hardest to keep her anchored to the world of the living. She could feel her slipping away.

“You can’t leave me now,” She sobbed. “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Almost as soon as the carriage had sped up, it was screeching to a halt. Alaska clutched Sharon as the driver dismounted, appearing in the window. He didn’t seem perturbed, or surprised, by the grisly scene.

“What are you doing?! Get back out there!” Alaska ordered, her voice shrill.

The driver shook his head. “This is as far as I go.”

“We paid you! Continue!”

“No.” He said adamantly. “No carriage goes here. It’s dodgy, they say. Witches and heathens and the like. Spooks the horses.”

Alaska could see very quickly that arguing would be of no use to her. What she needed right now was time, something that she didn’t have an abundance of. In fact, time was rushing away from her far faster than she needed it to. Before long, she knew Sharon would be dead.

“Fine. Go.”

The moment that Alaska had managed to drag Sharon’s lifeless body out of the carriage, it sped away in the opposite direction. The blood-soaked books had been left behind, and Alaska held only their money and the princess herself. Admittedly, she was strong from years of skilled labour, but it was disconcerting how easy Sharon was to hold. Alaska had spent a lifetime starving, and yet Sharon weighed less than half of her body weight.

She was desperate.

“Is there anyone out here?” She cried out. “Anyone? Someone help!”

A gust of wind swept past. Alaska was sure she heard a voice whispering “This way!” but no one appeared. There was nothing in sight, other than a rusty signpost pointing towards the nearest village. Whatever was there would have to do, for now. Although she had known and acknowledged it before, it hadn’t properly sunken in until now - Sharon was dying. And fast.

She trudged along the path, trying her best not to look at Sharon. The princess was warm and wet with blood, her throat raw from the repulsive outburst. Many times, Alaska had looked at her and sworn she looked dead, but it was nothing in comparison to what she could see now. This was a face that she could see being laid to rest, not that of somebody who would make a swift recovery.

“Please.” She begged, unsure of whether she was asking the heavens or the earth or Sharon herself. “Please, keep fighting. Keep holding on.”

“This way…” The wind replied.

-0-

Alaska’s arms were giving out. Despite Sharon being light, there was only so many hours that Alaska could walk and bear her full weight at the same time. Hours later, in the rapidly darkening world of night, they still hadn’t reached the village. It was likely - and horrifying - that Sharon wouldn’t make it through the night.

Collapsing onto the ground, Alaska laid Sharon down and began to cry, her back pressed against a large oak tree. The whole quest, the search for glory and riches in the hopes of surviving another few years had been utterly futile. She would be left with a broken heart and a broken home at the end of it all. Sharon was going to die, and that was it.

She felt selfish for thinking it, but knowing that her journey had been for nothing really stung. There would be no prize at the end, nothing good to come out of it. Only the memories of a forbidden love that almost was, but wasn’t quite.

Alaska sobbed bitterly. It wasn’t fair that she had been used, it wasn’t fair that she had fallen in love, and it wasn’t fair that she was blaming Sharon for the bleak future that awaited her. She was being awful and cruel, all because things had gone wrong. Deep down, somewhere, she had believed that Sharon just might make it. Now she knew better. Now she knew there was no hope.

It was pitch black, the empty night sky merging with the shade provided by the tree to create a comforting disguise of darkness. Alaska knew she was vulnerable - there was a large amount of money strapped to her, and she was armed with just a sword and a dagger to fight off any skilled thieves. One or two, she could maybe take on, but any more than that would have her seized, robbed and likely killed.

Oh, well. At least she could stay with Sharon that way.

Stop it! She berated herself. Sharon was going to live. She had to. Their kingdom needed a queen, and Alaska… Alaska needed her too.

“Oh, my. What a precarious and peculiar situation? Are you quite alright?”

Alaska turned, the voice jolting her from her misery. She didn’t bother to wipe away her tears, knowing that whoever spoke could barely see her.

“No. She’s dying and everything I’ve done has been for nothing. If you’ve come to rob me, just take it.”

There was a pause. “There won’t be any thieving tonight, I can assure you. Your friend here is sick, yes? She’s quite bloody.”

Alaska frowned, instantly distrustful of the figure. There was no way they could see Sharon, or know that she was covered in blood - Alaska couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Had they been watching?

“Who are you? What are you doing?” She demanded.

“All in good time.” The voice replied simply. “It seems that you require assistance. I would be happy to offer it, should you accept.”

There was no other option. “Okay. If you think you can.”

“Yes…” The voice said, though it sounded as though she wasn’t talking to Alaska. There was another pause, then she heard a quiet neighing. “No, no. That won’t do at all.”

Crack.

A bird tweeted.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

Crack.

An ungodly keening broke through the night.

“A banshee? Really? No!”

Crack.

“Ah. Much better.”

A greenish glow had suddenly lit up the area. Standing above Alaska was the figure of a woman, outstretching her long bony fingers. She took them and stood up, trying to take in the person before her.

She was tall and waifish, seeming almost too long to be human. Her skin was white, with deep blue eyes and sunken cheeks. Unusually, her hair was short and grey, yet she appeared to be ageless, floating between looking like an adult and an adolescent. She wore black leather from head to foot, in trousers rather than a dress, and was draped in a brown cloak. There was a tattoo on the inside of her wrist, visible from when she helped Alaska to her feet.

“Who are you? W-What are you?” Alaska managed. An odd mixture of fear and reassurance had washed over her. She didn’t feel threatened, but she was certain that this wasn’t any ordinary human.

She merely smiled. “If you can manage, lift your friend. I will have you to safety in no time.”

Alaska did as she was told. Sharon was still unconscious, and Alaska cursed herself for being so selfish and thinking of herself when the princess had still not woken up. All the time she’d wasted thinking about herself was time that Sharon was losing.

The source of the green light turned out to be what Alaska first thought was a pile of sticks. The woman picked it up, revealing it to be a broomstick, but that didn’t seem to be much of a revelation either. What was she planning - enslaving them? She couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had heard her when she said that Sharon was dying. Neither of them would be any use to her.

“Hold on tightly to this and to her. You won’t fall, but I find it often soothes the nerves of first time flyers. Quickly mount.”

First time flyers?

Before she even had a chance to ask, the broom seemed to have lifted itself. Alaska clutched Sharon, riding side-saddle on the broomstick as it rose into the air and shot away into the night. In front, the figure seemed perfectly calm and composed, as though she was used to her broomsticks randomly floating. If anything, she seemed to be controlling the direction it was going in.

Alaska was flying. On a broomstick.

It didn’t get much stranger. If she hadn’t been sick with worry over Sharon, she would’ve been utterly enthralled with such a novelty.

She tried to ask again who the woman was, but her voice wouldn’t carry over the rushing wind. They were travelling fast, the landscape racing behind them as they flew just below the clouds. It was a speech unreachable by carriages, that Alaska knew - and it was exactly what she needed. Wherever they were going, she was sure they’d get there in plenty of time.

A few short minutes passed of Alaska murmuring prayers for Sharon before the broom touched down in front of a small woodland cottage, just away from a series of lights that Alaska identified as the nearby village. The figure dismounted, clicking once to make the broom stow itself away somewhere inside her home.

“Come, now. There is a space on the table for your friend to lie. Hurry and place her there.”

Again, Alaska obeyed immediately, still somewhat afraid to challenge her unspoken authority. Her voice was soft, accented; it was nothing like she’d ever heard, and yet oddly comforting at the same time.

The cottage was rustic yet homely, made almost entirely of wood and wrought iron. Red and purple candles gave the place a warm glow and a heady, aromatic scent, making Alaska feel unequivocally calmer and safer than she ever had before. In the centre of the room, where Sharon was now lying, there was a large table, surrounded by cabinets and cupboards and strange devices that Alaska couldn’t identify. The grey-haired woman hurried to remove her cloak, taking Alaska’s robe from her and hanging them up before rushing to Sharon’s side. Alaska didn’t bother trying to make sense of her odd, yet comforting surroundings.

“Well?” She demanded. “Who are you? Where are we? Can you help, or not?”

The grey-haired woman placed a hand on Sharon’s ribcage.

“You can call me Max, dearest.” She spoke gently. “Tell me, how did you come across this young woman?”

Alaska found that her tongue had suddenly loosened considerably. As quickly and concisely as she could, she told Max everything - how Sharon was the princess, how she had fallen ill and was in desperate need of help before it was too late, and how along the way - along the way, feelings had gotten complicated. She found herself telling Max things that she swore she could never tell anyone, for her own safety.

“Of course, the darling princess…” Max murmured fondly. “Yes, I remember her birth. Your kingdom was delighted. She was a beautiful baby.”

“She- You know her? She knows you?”

Max smiled. “No, dearest, she doesn’t know me. I attended the ball that her parents held, to celebrate her arrival. She will become Queen soon, will she not?”

Alaska sniffed, suddenly remembering the problem at hand. “Not if she doesn’t get help, and fast. She’s - she’s dying, and even the royal physicist didn’t know what to do. Who-Whatever you are, you’re our only hope.”

Removing her hand from Sharon’s ribcage, Max frowned. “Peculiar. Very peculiar.”

“What’s peculiar?” Alaska asked instantly. “Is she okay?”

“It appears to be so.” Max said clearly. “That is unusual. This, perhaps, is no regular sickness.”

Alaska was on alert. “So there’s nothing you can do?!”

“Not necessarily.” Max said distractedly. “Dear, I need you to step over that glowing line, do you see it?”

Across the floor, although it hadn’t been there to begin with, a glowing white line had appeared, cutting off what appeared to be the living area from a kitchen of sorts. Feeling slightly shunted, Alaska perched on the end of the leather sofa, feeling much colder now that she wasn’t engulfed in the strange thick magic that hung in the air.

By now, she knew Max had to be a witch, which only meant one thing - she had to be the person they had been searching for. A witch who could heal Sharon was her exact instruction, and it seemed that she had found one.

Max was busying around the kitchen, pulling tiny vials of coloured liquids out of cupboards and plucking herbs and powders from their jars. Everything seemed to be in disarray, but she knew how to find it all in an instant. Ingredient after ingredient was carefully added to another small, crystal vial, each one producing some sort of reaction - a puff of smoke, a change of colour, a strong odour. Alaska watched in awe as she worked, all the while remaining inside her magically designated area. As she worked, she murmured an unintelligible incantation.

When the concoction was finished, it was pure gold, swirling like she had taken the shine from the stars and captured it in a bottle. Very carefully, she poured the mixture past Sharon’s lips, and the princess shuddered violently. She lurched upright, wheezing, but her eyes were closed. Her head lolled backwards.

“Quickly.” Max intoned. “State your full name and step across the line, now. You must hurry.”

Leaping to her feet, Alaska muttered her name and dashed towards Sharon, taking her hand and stroking her frighteningly cold skin.

“This is no ordinary sickness.” Max said gravely. “We must look deeper. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Hold on tight, dearest. Hold on tight and don’t let go.”

-0-

They were in palace.

It was a bright, warm evening in the palace - sunlight was streaming through the large windows, onto the dining table. The royal family were gathered in the middle, looking younger than Alaska knew them to be. Max was watching intently.

“Happy Birthday dear Shaaaron, Happy Birthday to you!” They sang, cheering.

Alaska was taken aback. Sharon’s hair was thick and full, her eyes bright, her skin clear and fresh. She was youthful, happy, and not remotely sick. Her trademark red lips were pulled into a smile, and she clutched a tiny, seven year old Adore in her lap.

“Happy twentieth, darling.” The Queen kissed Sharon’s cheek.

“Go on!” Adore grinned, bouncing.

Sharon smoothed down her dress, tickling her sister’s sides as she did. When Adore screamed and wriggled, she leant forwards and blew out the candles.

Alaska smiled warmly. It was true, Sharon had been beautiful; she was every suitor’s dream, in perfect health and the epitome of gorgeous. Her dress, a stunning olive-green number with lace sleeves and a full skirt, fitted her properly, rather than hanging loosely from her figure. She wasn’t emaciated and gaunt like Alaska knew her to be. She was full of life.

As the smoke curled upwards from the candles, Sharon coughed - just once.

The sound put Alaska on edge instantly. The Queen, too, it seemed, had been worried by the innocuous sound.

“Are you alright, darling?” She asked.

Sharon nodded, her cheeks rosy. “Of course, mother! I think it was just the smoke getting to me. Let’s all have some cake, yes? Miss Michaels!”

Alaska blinked, and she was back in Max’s kitchen. Sharon was lying down once again, positively corpse-like. It was a stark and painful difference from the lively princess they’d seen from just a few years ago.

Max’s expression was grim. “It appears to be just as I feared.” She sighed. “She’s cursed.”

“Cursed?!” Alaska screeched. “Wh- How?!”

Things seemed to just be going from bad to worse. Right when Alaska got her hopes up, they were knocked down again by some unforeseen consequence that loomed in the shadows. She wondered briefly if there was any point in continuing to fight - it seemed that the universe was against saving Sharon’s life. No matter the endeavours to try and keep her alive, the world was fighting to let her die.

“Y-You can help her, right?” Alaska’s voice trembled, betraying the hopelessness that had started to build up in the pit of her stomach. “You can still save her, can’t you?”

Max pursed her lips. “Perhaps…”

She placed her hand on Sharon’s forehead, chanting under her breath. The princess choked, a harsh, guttural sound, and a wisp of pure black smoke curled from her lips, instantly darkening the room. Once warm, the kitchen suddenly seemed frigid. A sinister chill had wrapped itself around the place.

“Of course.” Max whispered. “I suspected, but I hoped it wasn’t that…”

Alaska swallowed. “Wha-What do you mean? Is she okay? What’s going on?”

The witch turned her back on Alaska, hanging her head as though in shame or regret. She gently placed the used crystal vial back into its place and sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

#purecamp #in sickness and in health #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #max malanaphy #rpdr fanfiction #submission #lesbian au #royalty au

[the-canary]

Sky Full of Song (6/10)

Summary: Giving a recovering amnesiac the proper musical education he was missing, wasn’t supposed to involve feelings, right? (Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt:  “Should I reveal exactly how I feel?”

Word Count: 1771

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @redgillan writing challenge. hbd to myself.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5

“So, why is Six afraid of Seven?” you can already feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head at Four’s joke.

“Why?” Two dares to be the one asking the question.

“Cause her malfunctioning powers destroyed his lab. The poor guy, ” he wheezes out, as Two hits him in the ribs. You hear Six’s strained chuckle in the back of the room.

Cue your groaning, as Two shakes her head at Four’s awful joking. It doesn’t have the intended response, but it eases the tense air within the medical bay. Six had asked them leave saying that you were going to be alright, but they wouldn’t have it after the last mission -- your screaming and afterwards blacking out when the drive you were using your powers on overloaded had caught them both off guard -- you were usually much better this, had your feelings in control. Now, not so much.

“Have you had any nightmares lately?” a tall, dark-haired man comes up to question you sitting on the medical table, while all you do is nod no.

“Any fluctuations of emotions recently?” hazel eyes look up from the tablet they are scanning through to see you frowning.  Four’s ohhh makes you feel like you’re a child being caught stealing cookies before dinner. You all knew what uncontrolled emotions did to your powers and that made them, particularly Six, very protective of you.  

He motions your two partners to leave the room more seriously this time, as they send you hesitant smiles before exiting the medbay. You sit there and swing your legs due to the nervousness of it all, you hadn’t really blacked out while using your powers since you had been found by S.H.I.E.L.D all those years ago. It was worrying and you think Six might be feeling it too.  

“Who have you been commiserating with?” he asks while looking at familiar pair of gloves (that had helped controlled your power as a teenager and young adult), though they seemed a little different from the last time you had seen him, maybe he (or even Mr. Stark) had improved on them since the last time you had used them.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you simply answer, as Six turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

Six calls your real name softly, as you turn to look at him, “You know why we keep your circle as tight as it is. You’re an adult, but I hope you take your health into consideration as well.”

“ I’m trying ,” you murmur angrily, as he nods ignoring your outburst and brings up nothing more of the subject before pulling over a chair and placing those gloves and a headphone set on your lap.    

“Okay, what would you like to listen you?” he asks with a smile that reminds you an older brother.

“David Bowie.”

“Excellent choice.”

“Okay, so she likes you and you like her,” Sam pauses as he watches the former Winter Soldier pace back and forth, “I don’t see what the problem is here. Lost your touch, old man?”

“You don’t know that,” Bucky remarks while running his flesh hand through his hair in an agitated manner, “What if she just did it out of pity or…”

His voice dies out in the end because he doesn’t want to think of her that way, Sam just shakes his head at the sudden lost puppy dog look that appears on the big, bad former assassin’s face.

“That’s not what Steve’s been telling me,” he chuckles, as blue eyes widen.  Sam gives him a big smile, as Bucky groans.

“So what, I should just reveal exactly how I feel ?” Bucky groans in frustration at finally admitting that there is something other than friendship that he might be feeling towards her. He takes a seat on the couch and puts his head on the palms of his hands.  

“Duh, you’re just cockblocking yourself,” Sam laughs as Bucky keeps wishing that Steve was here to talk to instead.

eight night.

Now, Four likes to think he is the “cool brother” within his little group of colleagues. If Three was the grandfather and Six could sometimes be taken for the father with how he swinged between concern and reprimanding the rest of team, what else there for him to be. He cared about everyone, though he cared the most about his girls -- Two and you. Ok, maybe he cared about Two a little bit more than in a friendship or familial sense, but you were like his kid sister. Maybe that’s why he was spending the third night (middle of the night to be exact) in a row making you pancakes, as he tried not to laugh at the sight of you in those weird gloves and headset trying to cut your food with plastic utensils.

“ ‘m not hungry anymore,” you push the the plate of cold pancakes away, as he looks at you with mock disappointment before laughing. You cross your head over the countertop and lay your head on them.

“Okay, ignore my culinary marvels,” he says with the most serious tone he can muster, before asking the same question he did every night “You’re still not gonna talk are ya, sweets?”

You shake your head, as bright light suddenly glows from underneath your face and Four knows he shouldn’t ask anymore. He was aware of your talk with Captain Rogers and that after that you didn’t seek out a certain soldier anymore, Sergeant Barnes didn’t seem to seek you out either, but Four was fully aware that he still played the songs you had shown him. So, Four wasn’t sure exactly what was the problem, though it seemed --from his point of view-- that neither of you were very good with emotions.

“Okay, so what song are we going to play tonight?’ He questions as he sits on a bar stool not too far away from you. Playing some songs you knew until you fell asleep was usually how these types of nights went, then he would carry you to your room.

“ Heroes ,” you murmur, as F.R.I.D.A.Y to begins to play his Best of Bowie playlist with that song. He is ready to throw in the towel for the night, that is until a familiar figure slowly enters the room. Weary and bloodshot eyes turn to meet his green ones, as your soft and sleepy voice drags blue-gray eyes to look at you. A small smile blooms on Barnes’ face, which causes Four to start putting the pieces together in his head.

“Kid, what’s your favorite David Bowie song?” you stir a little and Bucky takes it as his cue to leave the room, but he pauses when Four puts his hand in front of him and mouths a   please.  

“R-Right now, As The World Falls Down ,” you shake your head, it’s sort of obvious who is behind you alongside Four, but you decide not to turn around and spare yourself the grief and whatever emotions might bubble up to the surface. You let David Bowie’s voice lull you to sleep, and hopefully not into those dreams  with the goblins again.

“ Damn , kid,” Four harshly whispers as he watches the soldier lean into the the countertop and take in the music for a moment. As much as Four might hate your love for The Labyrinth , he’s pretty sure you got a certain feeling across with this particular song.

You’re sleeping and snoring rather peacefully in that strange position when the song finally ends. Four signs and Bucky opens his eyes before glancing back at your form sweetly.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bucky asks quietly, his eyes completely taken by you.

“Her powers are extremely tied to her emotions,” Four explains,”if she gets too stressed, she gets sick and can’t recharge or let out her powers out properly.”

Bucky steps past Four to where you are seated, he places his right hand over your cheek timidly and Four looks away on the moment, though he’s probably being completely forgotten of at this very moment.          

“You should probably take her to her room,” Four nods at his brilliant idea,”I am sure that F.R.I.D.A.Y can tell you where it is, j-just watch out for the sparks and your arm.”

Four is already jogging down the hall before he can get a negative response.

It takes  Bucky awhile to figure out how to move you from the chair and not touch your hands,  though it does catch his fascination that there is a light glow of blue and white underneath the leather and mesh material covering them. F.R.I.D.A.Y tells him exactly where your room, which is three floors down from his where most the recruits are housed. The elevator ride is silent outside of your light snoring and his thundering heart, especially when you let out a little sigh and move in closer to take in his body heat.

What are you doing to me, doll?

Because Bucky Barnes isn’t exactly sure what he is feeling, he wasn’t sure he had ever felt something like this back in the 40’s and he wasn’t expecting anything like this after the horrors he had inflicted as the Winter Soldier -- but, here he was. He wasn’t sure is he was lucky or cursed, but looking down at your face made him think that neither one was so bad.

Your room is down the hall where most of the wall is just glass panels and he briefly wonders what it would be like to see you in the rays of sun each morning. However, he quickly shakes those thoughts away as he taps the door gently, and even though it is completely dark Bucky can make out some movie and concert posters, varying in decade, on your walls and a record player on the other side of your bed.

He walks to the opposite side of the bed, where the the blankets and sheets are thrown haphazardly together. Bucky places you gently on the bed and for a moment gets lost in watching your face scrunch due to the sudden lack of warmth. You groan and turn to your left side, facing him, and mumble something as he smiles softly at the sight -- something that he clearly doesn’t deserve. So, he’ll indulge himself slightly before leaving your room.

“Goodnight, doll,” is all he says as he closes the door, hoping you’ll get better without him in the way.

“‘Night, Buck…”you murmur before turning over again, not knowing exactly what you needed either.

Part 7 

#maisieswritingchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fabiola trying to write #series: sky full of song

[lesbianideadump]

Bloody Hands - Whumptober 2nd

If anybody thought that Obito never gets nightmares, they were wrong. There's a reason Obito is called "the sleepless" in gossips of ANBU (who are like a bunch of squealing highschoolers, sometimes funny, other times not so much). Obito gets nightmares all the time. He would've taken pills to take a normal, long sleep, but that won't ever be the case because he doesn't really need to sleep. Rin didn't believe that one quite, neither Kushina did, but after testing it a few times they got to the conclusion that Obito sleeps only because he misses it, just like eating (that got kind of logical as they saw Obito's "clay half" as most of his comrades calls it, the consistency is not near clay, but it is not flesh... not human flesh at least).

Uchiha Obito's world comes crashing down frequently.

The first time it came crashing down, was when he was small. Too small to even know when did it happen. But he remembers the warmth of his mother's embrace when she held him close to her chest while looking down at an unmoving corpse of Obito's father. That was when he was introduced to death, which he was meant to dance with a lot before he gets even to being ten-years-old.

After his father has passed away, his mother disappeared, when he retrieves memories from that time, he sees his own grandma more clearly than his mom. But he knows his mom loved him despite him being different, she seemed to even appreciate it more. Maybe it was just his imagination.

But he felt the pain all the same when one day he was driven into the hospital to see his mother hooked to machines and tubes. He remembers that every day he visited it and told his mom stories, he doesn't remember if she was in a coma, or if she just couldn't move a limb, but he recognizes that few days, or maybe a day before he assigned himself to the Ninja Academy, she was unattached from the tubes and machines and thrown into a grave. He recalls his grandmother and him talking about his mother and his father, his grandmother never directly answered to which parent he resembles more, or what traits he got from them.

He remembers when he woke up in the night once and went to get a glass of water for his dry throat. While drinking the water, he felt something cold crawl up his spine as he put the glass back and looked over his shoulder. The window was open and cold air blew inside the room, but he could swear it was closed moments before. Rubbing his eyes he walked up to it with intention of closing it, when suddenly there's a push and he's driven up to a wall with a sharp blade pressing and cutting the skin on his throat. Terrified, he screams and then chokes on his own blood as the ninja presses more to shut him up.

A moonlight reflects on the headband and the sign of Village Hidden in the Rock flashes in front of Obito's eyes. Back then he was so scared he thought he'd never be able to move his limb again, but years in Academy gave something to him, even if he was the one worst at rules and theoretical stuff. He stood frozen for a moment or two before he grabbed the man's arm with all the strength a ten-year-old could possess he pushed it back from his throat and did whatever he could - he just bit as hard as he could in the attacker's forearm. He felt the blood in his mouth for the first time that day. The attacker's plan was apparently to kidnap Uchiha child for some ransom (it made Obito afraid back in the day, but now he made jokes about how nobody would waste a penny for him if he ever got kidnapped), he didn't expect that the child could fight back.

Even if Obito was a cowardly Uchiha - a scream in the middle of the night, startled the Uchiha Officer that was patrolling the street. Coming through the same window as the attacker, he found Obito fighting desperately for life. There are unacceptable things even in the world of the damned Shinobi. Children aren't children for long, so seeing one being cornered by an adult triggered the officer's Sharingan without any effort.

It shocked the little boy Obito once was when an angry man suddenly turned still and looked down at the blade piercing through him. The man fell to the floor and his blood made it color red. The shocked ravenette suddenly felt the reality hit him, there was blood throughout his whole life everywhere. Even now, he was tasting it. He ignored the calls from his fellow clansman as he couldn't keep his eyes off the corpse.

That was when the reality of the world struck Obito Uchiha, who suffered so much loss but with no effect on activating Sharingan, so he was declared as a lost-cause and stripped from his last name as even his grandma's death two years after that didn't traumatize him enough to activate eyes of sorrow, hatred, and anger. People called him too naive and too innocent.

Obito became during the Chunin exams a murderer when a first person ever fell dead at his hand. For the next two years, he became an active murderer as he took part in the war. He wasn't sent to the frontlines until that one mission known as "Battle at the Kannabi Bridge". Kannabi Bridge today was nowhere to be found as it was blown up because of sabotage that two Chunins and a Jonin were able to commit. On their way, they lost one member of the team, but the mission was successful nevertheless.

By the age of fourteen Obito was freed from his awful nightmares. In his nightmares appeared people who always threw up with their blood at Obito's feet as they crippled and fell onto their knees.

Landing in Madara's cave after losing half of his body was something he'd never expect, but wasn't too much surprised. Rehabilitation of his body was more painful, but at least he didn't bleed. Over the years he learned to not vomit when he sees blood, but he can't help the freeze. He can't but cry when he sees blood because of the memories and made-up sick fantasizes his brain showed him.

It takes much shorter than everybody would think - especially Madara - for him to recover and gain the control over Hashirama cells in his body. He used his newly gotten Mokuton to make himself exit and wants to leave, but is stopped. Madara tells him about what the world can become, about the mighty Eternal Tsukuyomi - it even sounds tempting to stay, but Obito already promised someone to come home - even if he won't come without a scratch, he needs to at least tell Kushina he tried.

Zetsu informs him where to go to rejoice with team Minato, but doesn't think about informing the boy that they're in a really bad position and about to lose their lives. When Uchiha arrived at the scene he could see Minato, Rin and Kakashi fight for their lives, but then he noticed the numbers of the enemy.

They didn't stand a chance and Obito won't really help them much even with his Sharingan which he finally dared to bare itself and uncontrollable Mokuton... aside from that... He really can't imagine killing these much people- it is until Rin falls to the ground as an effect of Kakashi's first miscalculation Obito ever seen, or maybe Rin intented this to happen? All He sees is that Minato-sensei is worn out and looks even more worn out when he sees his two students fall. Obito never has seen Minato so broken, he never seen Kakashi so tired and he never even dared to think that Rin would ever get hurt.

His mind went blank with a searing, held back for years hatred, anger, sadness and mostly fear.

When he regains conciousness, he's all covered in blood. There's nusea in his stomach when he sees the dismembered corpses all around him. He drops to the knees but instantly gets up as he discovers that he had fallen on a body whoose head was disattached and casted away.

With disbelief he looked around as if he had woken up from a deep slumber. His eyes landed on his hands, they were shaking so bad, then he had started talking to himself, reassuring that everything is okay, and this is just a bad dream.

Whispering pathetically under his breath, he wandered away from the field of blood and corpses mangled into weird vines of plants, they looked like trees, but they weren't quite it... He had tried to put off his mind from the blood and the fact he's from head to toe covered in it. He also tried not to vomit.

It was so awful...

His chest felt heavy as his breaths grew into pants. The sound of tearing flesh and screams ran across his mind setting it into disarray.

But that history has a good ending, while Obito went on a bloody rampage, Minato took Rin and Kakashi to safety and then came back to look for Obito. He found the Uchiha boy vomitting - seems like he gave up to the sick feeling of guilt eating at his stomach and disgust at the sight of blood - helped him up and took him home.

It's been already ten years, and Obito can't believe it.

Throughout those ten years he hadn't lost anybody - that doesn't mean he wasn't close, but everybody he cared for were still alive and doing good. Obito looked at his little cute students and smiled to himself proudly. Kakashi might have his bratty little nephew - Sasuke, smart, cunning and with a photographic memory - Sakura, plus Naruto Uzumaki - Kushina's and Minato's son - as his students, but Obito has his own bunch (and they're not related to him in any way like his previous students) of brats and currently watched them rest from the training.

Obito closed his eyes and let his mind wander off, he hadn’t expect to fall asleep.

When he wakes up he’s screaming and there’s liquid coming from his nose, his whole body is shivering and sweating. The students trio - Sho, Setsuko and Michiko - jump away from him, seems like they tried to wake him up... Instantly he brought a hand up to his nose and discovered blood. Uchiha Jonin freezed up realizing the smiling faces spitting blood, cutting their stomaches open and showing him their heart... he shakes his head and dismisses the brats, who watch him worriedly. Using Kamui to get home is easy, but stopping himself from imagining the people he loves dead at his hand is hard.

The look of betrayal on their faces felt so real... just as if he had followed the Madara’s wishes and fulfilled the wicked plan and on the way he led to Rin’s death, broke Kakashi, killed Minato and Kushina - orphaned Naruto, the ball of sunshine who’s too cute for his sake.

#whumptober #obito #mentioned: minato kakashi rin naruto kushina #mentioned: oc #angsty :/ #uwu #no ending