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potter-imagines · 4 years

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Left Waiting at The Three Broomsticks (Fred Weasley x Read)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Fred Weasley imagine where he pisses off his gf somehow and so she gives him the silent treatment and only talks to literally everyone (including George) but him so he gets all jealous and pouty lol. Eventually he gets her to start talking to him again and then it’s all fluff etc. Hopefully this wasn’t a confusing request! Thank you!! :)

Warning: Tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, little bit of swearing, kinda angst at the beginning ?? and a lil towards the end ?? I think that's all, a lot of fluff scattered about

Word Count: 9.5k (I am so sorry I got carried away)

Two hours. Y/n had spent two hours waiting for him. Two stupid hours on a Saturday night that she could have spent elsewhere making something productive of her day but no. The last two hours Y/n had been seated in a small booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks waiting patiently for her boyfriend, Fred Weasley.

The thing that infuriated her the most was that it was his idea in the first place! Originally, the couple had planned a stay-in date in her dorm room for the night before, Friday, but other plans came up. Fred got tangled up in a prank with George that had landed him in detention with Snape for the night. Yes, it annoyed her but what could she do? It wasn’t like Snape would excuse Fred because she tells him they have a date. If anything, Snape would hold him back longer.

When Fred and George were finally dismissed, it was nearly eleven at night and Fred was sprinting down through the dungeons to the common room. Their arrangement was for eight and he was praying to anyone listening above that she was still awake, but not furious at him.

Skipping up the transporting stairs, Fred basically shouted the secret password at the Fat Lady making her narrow her eyes at him. She swung open, not without muttering about how rude he was, and Fred jumped inside. Ten or so students were scattered around the common room, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the couch near the grand fireplace. They sent Fred a wave, which he frantically returned. The golden trio watched in curiosity as Fred darted up the stairs of the girl’s dormitory.

Hermione looked back to the group and asked,

“Wonder what that’s about- he seemed in a hurry.”

“Heard him and George got detention. They put stink-bombs in the Slytherin common room! Heard it stained some of the furniture maroon!” Ron chuckled at his brother’s antics then resumed his debate with Harry over their thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup happening every four years. Harry tried to explain the concept of the Olympics to Ron, but Ron was too focused on how amazing it would be for the World Cup to happen each year. Hermione went back to her studies, blocking out the mindless bickering of the boys.

Above the common room, Fred Weasley was scurrying to his girlfriend’s dorm room. He hoped Angelina and Alicia were out so he could be alone with her. Their time spent together had been oddly less than usual the last few weeks. Fred had no change of heart- actually, he found himself falling more in love with her every day, but their final year at Hogwarts was creeping up from the woods and he was working on a dream career behind the scenes with George that was eating up his time with her. He had shared this idea with her before- but it was just an idea then. Fred and George planned on putting their dreams to action once they finished up the next year. He wanted her to come- George did as well, but he didn’t want to mention it until it was a reality.

Reaching his destination Fred took a second to compose himself. A thin line of sweat was forming near his forehead. This was the first chance he had to take a breather since detention ended. Fixing his dark robes Fred knocked against the door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough to hear.

“Y/n… Y/n… love, are you awake? It’s Fred-“

Abruptly, the heavy wooden door cracked open and a weary looking girl poked her head out into the quietness.

“Darling, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry.” Fred stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a tight embrace. Y/n’s head fell against his chest out of instincts. His arms fastened around her waist as he invited himself in the room, slowly walking her back.

“Here, go back to bed, love. You look exhausted.” Fred led the sluggish girl to her familiar bed. Throwing back the covers, he readjusted her pillows so there would be room for him to fit as well. Fred then walked back to Y/n and took her hand softly. Kissing the back of her hand, Fred helped Y/n get into bed then slipped in beside her. His arms snaked around her body without thought. The naturalness of holding her in his arms made Fred feel confident in his dreams of starting a future with her. All the tension in his body collapsed when she leaned into his frame. Fred held her close and kissed the side of her cheek lovingly.

“I’m sorry about detention tonight but I promise I’ll take you out Saturday, alright? We can have a date at Hogsmeade and spend the night together, does that sound nice?”

The sleepy witch gave a tired mumble and nodded her head. She was cuddled under a stack of blankets, wearing Fred’s sweatshirt which made him smile. He’d usually crack a joke at this and tease her but, she was already asleep when he looked back to her. Fred couldn’t help but stare at her for a while. There was never a moment that went by where Fred didn’t think of Y/n as anything other than beautiful but in these moments, she looked ethereal.

Moonlight poured in from the open window and splashed across her s/c cheeks. Her hair was sprawled against the white pillowcase. Fred smiled at the sound of her light snores. Fred wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was deep asleep. It was their thing. She hated going to bed without him there.

“Okay, I love you, Y/n. Get some sleep, angel.” Fred whispered.

He pecked her forehead, then kissed her lips gently. Removing the covers, Fred tucked them back into Y/n so she could keep warm. He closed the open window then tip toed out of the room. Instead of rejoining his friends, Fred decided to head to his room. He felt too guilty for missing out on their plans to go have his own fun. Anyways he did have a Potions paper coming up and if he was going to spend the day with you Saturday, he surely wouldn’t be doing any homework.

So, the plan was confirmed the next morning, Friday. Y/n ran into Fred on her way to breakfast and they discussed where they’d meet and a time. They ate breakfast together, walked to class, then headed in different directions when six rolled around. Fred had a Quidditch match and she had a group project, so they didn’t cross paths for the rest of the night. Even though he refused to admit it, Fred absolutely hated when Y/n missed one of his games. His favorite thing to do was search for her in the stands during each game and it made him sad not to see her smiling face standing out in the crowd. Y/n entered the common room around midnight and went straight for her bed. Gryffindor had lost so there wasn’t a single housemate sitting in the common room. She could only imagine how upset Fred must be, she’d be hearing about it tomorrow. Y/n giggled to herself at the recollection of Fred’s angry rants about his teammates to you in private. She basically crawled to her bed, dreaming about the handsome, goofy, witty twin that had captured her heart.

Which would bring us to Saturday night. Fred and Y/n had made specific plans; they were to meet at The Three Broomsticks at seven then hangout for a while and spend the rest of their night sneaking around the castle with the help of The Marauder’s Map. Fred had practice at six so he was planning on meeting up with the girl at the pub. Y/n expected him to be running late- it wouldn’t be Fred if he didn’t show up a good twenty minutes late.

Only Fred never showed up at seven thirty, not at eight, and by the time nine neared, he was still nowhere in sight. The Three Broomsticks would stay open for a few more hours but the thought of sitting there alone for any longer, jumping at the sound of the door every time it opened, it made Y/n feel less than sane.

Throwing a handful of coins on the table, Y/n thanked her server then exited through the front doors. The walk back to the castle wasn’t long but being with Fred made it a lot more amusing. He’d pick her flowers, give her piggy back rides, play games, race, and hold her hand the whole walk back.

This time, Y/n walked alone hugging the material of her raincoat to her chest. A light drizzle had been pouring on and off for most of the day. Earlier, it was perfectly bearable- hardly noticeable. Although the weather had only worsened as the night grew darker. Hard rain drops crashed against Y/n coat, cascading down her covered arms and bouncing to the wet ground. Her black boots were soaked. She could feel the water rising to her socks, one of her biggest hatreds. Wet socks.

The hood of her jacket only helped so much before the pelting raindrops started to seep to her hair. Typically, Y/n loved the rain. If Fred was here, they’d be dancing right now. But he wasn’t, she had no clue where he was and that was exactly what Y/n was headed to find out.

By the time Y/n made it back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, it was past ten.

Much as Y/n had expected, the common room was lively with energy and conversations. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all sitting in a circle with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Dean. A dark bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and Daisyroot Draught were being passed amongst them. Y/n watched as Fred leaned into his brother’s side, obviously tipsy and slurring his words while he practically shouted to their friends who were only sitting feet away.

His frame twitched with every small hiccup he let out. The whole group was smiling, they were happy. Y/n wondered to herself if Fred even noticed that she wasn’t there. She wondered if he liked it more when she wasn’t there, they were having fun and although the group was also her friends, no one was interested enough to invite her. Biting on the tender skin of her bottom lip, Y/n bundled her fist to her sides. The anger refused to simmer, only continued to boil. Her dripping clothes weren’t helpful to her sour mood.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, no, but they were bound to get caught in the crossfires. Fred was the one who left her waiting for hours on end. Her chest was tight- livid yet sad all at once. It was an aggravating feel, unfamiliar. Y/n hated the suffocation entering her drying throat. More than anything she longed to handle situations like these in an aloof fashion. The last thing wanted was to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help it. Her head screamed ‘just go to bed, ignore him’ but her heart wanted to scream at him and let him know just how bad he had hurt her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale received a choppy exhale.

For the first time, Y/n decided not to join her friends or to even say a word to Fred about how he stood her up. She was sick of it- completely exhausted and drained from his lack of care and presences in their relationship the last few weeks. If he wanted her as bad as he claimed, he’d find a way to show it. And leaving her sitting alone in a noisy pub while he partied and drank with their friends, showed her the exact opposite of his words.

Diverting her leer from the inebriated group and studied the rest of the room, hearing voices near the sitting area. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all staring at Y/n in mixed judgement. Harry, Ron and Neville looked concerned by the appearance of Y/n. Hermione on the other hand, she was absolutely flabbergasted, Y/n could see the pity written on her face. You had mentioned having a date night with Fred in Hogsmeade to the four the night before. Harry had invited Y/n to hangout with them and visit Hagrid, but she politely declined and informed them about the special night Fred had planned for them.

Harry and Hermione stood up at the same time ready to comfort the teary-eyed girl. They motioned her over but just as she started towards them, Angelina Johnson noticed her friend who had been absent for most of the night. Setting the bottle of brandy down, Angelina wobbled up to her feet and smiled giddily,

“Y/n! Come- come drink with us! I was wondering where you- why… why’re you all wet?”

As the words fell from her mouth, a crowd of eyes planted on Y/n. Her fists clenched, bone white knuckles visible, at her sides. Angelina scurried over to her friend and wrapped her in a tender hug. If the scenario had been different, she’d gladly join in the fun but there wasn’t an ounce in her body that desired a drink.

Y/n’s eyes found their way to the boy she had been longing for all night. Her lips quivered, the anger and sadness reaching it’s overpour. He looked so handsome, so happy, but it meant nothing to her.

Pulling back, Angelina squinted in confusion at Y/n. The lack of embrace given back had thrown her off. The group had been awaiting her arrival, no one was quite sure where she’d gone off to. Angelina scanned Y/n’s reddening face, noticing the emotions bubbling under the surface.

Moving away, the dark-skinned girl turned to her friends. No one else seemed to notice the offset of Y/n’s attitude.

“Angel, where have you been? I missed you!” Fred’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Quickly standing up, he held his hand out to his girlfriend. Y/n shot a dangerous look to his outreach, then up to his face. Usually she’d find his toothy grin and childlike state loveable but for obvious reasons, it made her irate.

Stepping back, Y/n sternly scowled at Fred,

“Missed me? You’re the one who left me waiting all goddamn night, Fred Weasley.”

A part of Y/n felt guilty for forcing her friends to witness their unpleasant exchange. George was now to his feet standing behind Fred, just as lost as the group he had been sitting with. Despite the alcohol running in his veins, George could sense an argument budding by the second.

“Not like any of you really seemed to care where I was.” Y/n kicked herself for this cold statement.

Her friends weren’t at fault- not in the slightest. But everyone was at risk of becoming a victim to her fiery wrath. In actuality, it did hurt her a little that no one had gone searching for her. It had been hours! Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the reactions of the group. George took his arm off Alicia and nudged his twin.

“What- I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, love. I think you should have a drink and loosen up-“

Y/n couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Scrunching her face, she used every bit of strength to force her salty tears to hide at bay. Although her emotions screamed to be heard and saw right through her façade. Sweeping her hand across her cheek, Y/n caught the stray tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks. Huffing all her emotions out at once, Y/n shook Fred away from her and hurried towards her room.

Fred stood appearing dumbfounded. He could only gawk in perplexity. Blame it on the alcohol, but Fred’s mind was drawing a blank when surveying her words. For most of the night, he was the one thinking she was leaving him waiting. No one else had a clue as to where she’d gone off to, so he assumed she was in the library or wanted some space.

“You’re an idiot, Fred.” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the thick air. The happiness and drunken laughter was extinct. The girl’s shared an exchange, all confused as to what just happened. The glass bottles didn’t help clear their judgement. Dean and Seamus took small sips from the Daisyroot Draught. The tension was unbearable, it felt wrong for their friends to be a part of it.

George set a hand on Fred’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Leaning forward, George whispered to his twin,

“I reckon it’s best if we turn it in for the night.” Fred gave a tug of protest. His intoxicated fought against him though he knew he did something wrong and needed to find Y/n. In spite of his desire to chase after the girl, George couldn’t let him do that. It was obvious Fred had forgotten something and Y/n was more than upset. Sending his brother up to drunkenly apologize to his hurting girlfriend for a reason he can’t even recall, that was a recipe for disaster and would only cause a bigger mess.

“Fred, you’re going to bed. You’re too drunk to talk to Y/n right now, okay? We’re going up the boy’s stairs, not the girls, okay? You two can talk in the morning, maybe you’ll remember where you fucked up tonight by then.”

Suddenly, Fred stop moving and let out a low groan,

“Oh shit… merlin’s sake, I fucked up, George. Oh my god- Hogsmeade… shit! I told her we’d meet at Hogsmeade and I forgot-“Fred whipped around in his discombobulated state. Everything clicked at once. Fred had been so concentrated on Quidditch that once practice had wrapped up, his exhausted body dragged him back to the common room out of muscle memory. It was his typical routine; Quidditch practice, head back to his dorm, shower, change, eat, work on some possible products with George, then hangout with his friends. How could he be so neglectful?

George sent his brother a comforting look then grabbed him by the shoulders, helping aid him up the winding staircase. It came as a shock to him that Fred had forgotten about their date. All he spoke about was Y/n, it was a rare occurrence for the couple to

“So that’s where she’s been all night?” George pushed open the door to their room, looking to his twin sternly. Fred had most of his weight piled on George, trying his hardest to remain upright. Lee had decided to stay back, allowing the brothers a chance to talk.

George helped his frantic twin in the dark room, then gave him a light push towards his bed. Fred plopped down, burying his face in the fluffy pillow. Pulling off his jumper, George threw the large maroon comforter over Fred’s tall frame while he wailed,

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. I planned the bloody date too! I left her-“

“How ‘bout you get some rest? You can find her in the morning and apologize to her and… hope for the best. It’ll give you more time to think of a way to make it up to her. You’re just a rambling mess right now.” The alcohol was not wearing George down. He had been on an adrenaline high since his second shot. This was the first moment of the night where he had stepped back. His tiresome hands rubbed against his face as he made his way to his bed and collapsed on it.

Fred was still moaning on, the sound of his drunken voice making it harder for George to fight back the urge to sleep,

“She’s gonna dump my sorry ass-“

“Go to bed, Fred. It’ll be okay.”

George let out a sigh of exhaustion. The twins had been best friends with Y/n since they were just children, new to Hogwarts and unfamiliar with the power of magic. It pained him to see his brother hurt, but it also hurt to see Y/n upset. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Turning his head, George let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his twin passed out cold. The worry that dripped from his voice was now gone as he eased into his dreamland.

George wanted to scold him, knock him upside the head for skipping out on Y/n again. He cared a lot about her, she was basically a sister, a triplet to him. If Fred was gonna win her back, it wasn’t going to be easy, George knew this. Y/n was stubborn, and the twins had witnessed this first hand for years, it was a trait they loved, when not directed towards either of them.

As George’s head hit the pillow, all he could do was pray to Godrick that the morning would bring good news.

Sunday morning arrived much faster than Y/n had hoped. A bright, loud, light interrupted her sleep as the gears in her head started to turn. Her mind was groggy, the events of last night were foggy. Warm sunlight broke through the glass stained windows. Y/n wiped her eyes and slowly sat up. Her mouth was dry, screaming for a drink of water.

For a minute, she felt calm- happy almost. The room was half empty; Angelina’s bed was bare and Alicia laid in a star-fish position, a snore sounding from her mouth. The image made Y/n laugh.

Standing up, Y/n’s hands flew above her head as she stretched. She cracked her back, a morning ritual for the girl. Just as she reached for the knob of her dresser, a wave of recollection nearly knocked her off her feet.

Fred had stood her up, of course, how could she forget? The irritated skin under her eyes and nose suddenly made sense. Leaning against the wooden cabinet, Y/n huffed. It was times like these she wished she could crawl into bed and stay there for eternity. Nothing would get better though if she didn’t at least try to fix it.

As quick as the thought came, it had evaporated once more. Why did she have to be the one to put forth the effort to fix things? There was no use in fixing their relationship if Fred wasn’t willing to try too. More than try, Y/n thought. It took a piece of her when she came back to the castle just to see him drinking with their friends, not thinking a thought of her. She needed to see that he cared. His words held no value to her anymore, not until he could prove he meant what he said.

Y/n went through her morning routine like a snail, wanting to drag out her time. Eventually, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She liked to take advantage of the days her school robes weren’t required. The cooling weather led her to a fuzzy black sweater, and light washed jeans. Sliding her delicate wand into her back pocket, Y/n exited the room and took the stairs down to the common room.

Approaching the bottom of the steps, Y/n could hear familiar voices exchanging hush words. She stepped into the room and was surprised to see the lack of students. The only ones present were sat one the long leather couch on the left half of the massive room. All of their gazes fell on Y/n.

Fred, George, Ron, Angelina, Harry and Hermione were all relaxing- well all of them except Fred. He on the other hand was frantic- disheveled. His knee bounced in anticipation. The clock was sneaking

“Oh, uh, hey Y/n!” Ron Weasley moved his hand side to side, waving to Y/n. The temptation to admire the handsome boy at his side leaped into her heart. Using every ounce of strength, Y/n trained her eyes on Ron, not allowing a single peek at Fred.

“Hey, Y/n/n!” The voice of Angelina brought a perk to Y/n’s head.

“Hi.” She greeted the younger Weasley and her close friend back, then headed for the portrait. Before she could make it half the distance, the tall figure of her boyfriend appeared.

“Angel, how did you sleep?” Fred was by her side in an instant. He was desperately trying to read her expression, testing the waters to see her mood. He had hardly slept, he spent most of the night thinking about this exact moment, when he’d have the chance to apologize and make it up to the girl he loved. “Can we please talk? I’m really sorry for last night, honestly, I am so so sorry, darling.”

Y/n stared at him, or rather, through him. It was like she didn’t see the tall wizard in front of her.

“I’m gonna go study, I’ll meet you with you guys later.”

“Y/n, love-“ His warm hand took hold of her of her own, an action she’d typically love. The familiar grasp sent a burst of comfort in her stomach, but she ignored it.

Wiggling out of his grip, the girl shot him a look of displeasure then rushed off. Hermione chased after her, no one else brave enough to step in. Besides, Hermione was one of her closest friends. Watching the younger girl follow after her roommate, Angelina walked after them. Fred stomped like a toddler having a tantrum as the portrait swung open then closed. He knew he had to do something- anything to get her to talk to him again, and that was his plan.

For a Sunday evening, the school library was relatively empty. A majority of the students occupying the tables were studying away for their O.W.L.S. The exams weren’t for another two months but hardly anyone dared to procrastinate until the last week before opening their books. The stress of the exams was enormous, but the students still had other classes to keep in mind.

Y/n Y/n/l and George Weasley were sitting across from on another at a study table. Three hefty textbooks were open as the two discussed their Potions paper. Y/n had been stuck on hers and George had yet to start so they decided to head to the library together and get it done.

Fred was usually right by their side, his hand wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, but she neglected an invite for him. About an hour after their exchange in the common room, Y/n had apologized to each friend she had snapped on the night prior. They were understanding, clearly seeing where her frustrations had come for. They also felt bad as she was right, no one had even checked to see where she’d gone, and George especially felt terrible for not searching for his friend.

At least three hours had passed since the two Gryffindors started their study session. Y/n was sneaking up on her last two pages while George still had three left. They collaborated every few minutes, then returned to tranquil silence, scribbling away.

Y/n was in the middle of sharing her idea for the last section of her paper when George’s eyes brighten and he interrupted her,

“Fred, how nice of you to join us.”

Turning in her chair, Y/n found her boyfriend standing behind her with a nervous smile. She hated how perfect he looked, even in the poor lighting of the library. He still managed to make her breath hitch in the back of her throat.

“Hi, Y/n. You look beautiful as always.” Fred announced himself softly. George scoffed teasingly, muttering a ‘hello’ to himself to make up for his brother ignoring him. Freds words were genuine though didn’t make much of a difference. Y/n was still hurt and a compliment wasn’t going to mend that. She needed to feel it, to see him truly show that he cared- that she meant something to him. That she was deserving of his time. Sweet comments didn’t not add up to that feeling.

George closed his textbook, then glanced up at his twin,

“Should I leave?”

Before Fred could answer, Y/n slammed her hand on top of George’s Potions book. Wide eyed and frightened, the boy gaped in shock. Even Fred was taken aback by her unexpecting movement. Leering at her friend Y/n replied,

“No. I want you to stay, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fred’s heart dropped at her words. It was heartbreaking to have the girl of his dreams now shunning him- brushing him off with ease. It was driving him mad. All he wanted was for her to acknowledge him, give him a little hope that he can earn his way back in her heart. He loved her, every bit of him loved her.

All he wanted was to make it up to her for his mistakes the night before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw him sitting with their friends. She was miles exceeded hurt- more devastated at his negligence than hurt alone.

Maybe it was the fear of meeting the reality that losing Y/n was a possibility, but Fred experienced a new sort of emotion when his girlfriend asked for his brother to stay. Yes, they’re friends, all three of them are. Fred had to remind himself of this like a record on repeat. He couldn’t fight the envy off though.

It made his heart twist as she stared at George. Never did he think he’d be jealous of his own twin, but Fred was livid. The seething stream of covetousness overtook his veins. Fred wanted to be the one you ran to for comfort, not his brother. His entire life he had shared everything with George, Y/n was far too meaningful to Fred for her to be shared.

Now it does take two for a turn of events like that to happen. Fred knew, clear as day, that George had no romantic feelings for Y/n and she had none for George. This was true, but for some reason, it didn’t help tame Fred’s envy.

He knew causing a jealous scene would do no good for anyone, so Fred realigned his train of thought and asked,

“Could I steal you from that conversation, please love? I really need to apologize to you.”

Fred allowed his hands to reveal themselves from their previous position hiding behind his back. When he moved them, a full bouquet of colorful flowers and small green plants of different shapes and sizes. The flowers were a display of fuchsia, pink, orange, red, and yellow. They were beautiful, so beautiful, Y/n thought to herself. She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past her lips.

Fred had gotten her flowers their first-year dating but since the last month or so, she hadn’t received many of his heartwarming gifts. It wasn’t the monocle value of a present but the thought and attention to care that captured Y/n’s heart. Fred had always been the best at creating meaningful gifts on a tight budget. Whether it was flowers he stole from school grounds, or necklaces he made out of stones she found around the Great Lake. He’d make her perfume- proving rather excellent in the Potions department. He also asked Molly to teach him how to knit in order to make Y/n a sweater. This of course delighted Molly over the moon.

George bit on the skin of his knuckles to keep for laughing at his brother. He recognized the flowers, as did Y/n. Fred had picked them from the garden outside the castle- something that had earned him a detention before. George decided not to comment on his observation, Fred was sure to murder him in his sleep if he put his apology in any jeopardy.

Fred extended the bouquet to his flustered girlfriend. He felt a sense of accomplishment while watching her reaction. It was small to most, but for as stubborn as she was, it was big in his eyes. The girl reached forward, accepting the gift with a tiny smile rising to her lips, one she didn’t force down.

For the first time since the night before, Y/n fully saw Fred. She peered directly at him silently. George glanced between the two, stuck between a dual. Without speaking, Fred took some steps forward and pulled the chair next to Y/n out. He slipped into the seat, the couple still staring at each other. Y/n studied his demeanor, he didn’t push her anymore, but he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that she would tell him but, she was happy he joined in. She didn’t want him to leave, she had missed being around him. Tearing herself away, Y/n focused herself back on the other twin.

“As I was saying, George…”

Fred drowned out the words but accepted the fact that Y/n didn’t reject him from sitting down. She also didn’t set the flowers down for the rest of their study session. The remained clutched in her hands, resting in her lap the whole time.

Monday night came in the blink of an eye. Classes had resumed and the castle was bustling in stress. When the end of the year neared, the time spent sitting through lectures was an eternity, while the weekends flew by. Fred had always hated summer break, actually, that’s not entirely true. His dismissive of break budded around the same time his relationship with Y/n became official.

Their first two years, she would spend the holiday back home in London with her family. She loved her family but once she experienced her first holiday at the Burrow, she never wanted to miss another. Her family was a bit distant, not the warm and welcoming pure-bloods like the Weasley’s, but not as cold as the Malfoy’s. Y/n’s family had no issues with her spending breaks at the Burrow, as long as she had Molly and Arthur Weasley’s approval. Molly insisted each time that there was no need for her to even ask to stay. They accepted her with open arms, ecstatic to see Fred had found such a lovely girl.

The end of the school term was coming up and Fred needed to fix things with Y/n before that happened. She planned to spend the break at his family’s home and he feared she’d take her agreement back if things weren’t improved between them. Spending almost two days stuck in the anger of his love was two days too many. Fred was going to fix this and he planned the best idea he could think of, good thing he had their friends happily available to help.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, while she was resting up from her illness Harry, Ron, Lee and George were helping Fred create his masterplan. Hermione helped in her own way by remaining near Y/n’s dorm, sitting in as the lookout. It gave her an excuse to get her school work done so she didn’t protest.

Alicia and Angelina stayed in the room. Once Y/n started to feel better, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the girl’s altered Hermione who passed the news along to Harry as the chain continued until it reached Fred. At the confirmation, his plan was set into action. Ron was sent to retrieve the girl after Alicia and Angelina convinced her to get some food from the dining hall.

She walked through the common room then down the moving staircase, when her redheaded friend popped up. Ron scared the girl, making her stumble back, her hand placed over her chest.

“Y/n! I’m so glad I ran into you! No one has seen you all day- Angelina said you were feeling ill this morning.” Ron rambled at a fast pace. Y/n, still surprised by his sudden arrival, took a deep inhale, nodding to the boy,

“Yeah, I saw Madam Pomfrey this morning when classes started. I just had a stomach bug and she said I’d have to wait it out but the medicine she gave me seems to be doing the trick.” Y/n gave Ron a kind smile. Ron was two years younger than her but they had always been great friends. Y/n would travel to the Burrow as a guest of the twins during the holiday breaks, so Ron and her had spent a lot of time hanging out together. It was sweet of him to ask how she was doing, but he didn’t seem that her health was the reason for their conversation.

“That’s good to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be heading anywhere, are you?”

“Just to get some food. I’m starving-“ Ron nodded eagerly, cutting his friend off in the process.

“That’s great! I mean, not great, just… well… uh, follow me please!” Scrambling like a mess, Ron clasped his hand over Y/n’s wrist and abruptly dragged her down the stone corridor. She couldn’t find the words to question him and allowed Ron to lead the way. Her curiosity was far too big to ignore his odd request.

Ron carried on for another five minutes then took a sharp turn, heading for the courtyard. Two figures ran off around the side of the castle in the darkness. Y/n swore she recognized the pair as George and Lee. What were they up to? Snapping her head to the younger boy, Y/n waited for him to fill her in on why he had dragged her halfway across the castle to the freezing courtyard.

“Okay! We’re here- I’m just gonna… head out. See ya, Y/n!” Ron rushed his farewell then ran off towards the direction George and Lee had escaped to. What in the world is going on? Left by herself without any explanation, Y/n threw her hand up in annoyance.

“What?”

Alone in the cold, Y/n wrapped the opening of her fuzzy cardigan against her body, attempting to keep warm. Although warmth entered her vein as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, snatching her backwards into a firm surface. She gasped, thrown off by her attacker and tried to turn in retaliation, but their grasp was far too firm. The familiarity of the hold made her body ease up. As much time as the spent together, she could recognize his touch anywhere. Fred.

His touch released a swarm of butterflies through the girl. She could feel the anger washing away as she leaned her body into his chest, having pined for his arms for two too many days than she was accustomed to.

The tall Gryffindor held her tightly. Moving forward, Fred pressed his lips against the shell of Y/n’s ear. The heat of his breath causing her to shudder as he whispered,

“I’m so happy you came, darling.”

Y/n smirked, looking up at him. The concurrent willfulness of her nature could only carry on for so long until her headstrong demeanor crumbled. A pang of chagrin still grumbled in her stomach but the sight in front of her certainly was a runner in her change of heart.

Soaking in her surroundings, Y/n realized they were just a few hundred feet outside Hargid’s hut. This explained the garden full of massive orange pumpkins. In the middle of the path was a small gazebo decorated in fairy lights and sunflowers. A small table set for two was tucked inside. Small teacup white candles line the path, creating a runway of sorts. Another candle, larger and purple, sat flickering in the breeze in the center of the neat table.

Y/n stood motionless absorbing the creation her boyfriend made- all for her. Speechlessness was not common for Y/n so Fred undoubtably began to second guess if his efforts were good enough. His fears were stomped in a matter of moments when Y/n harshly yanked at the material of his collar and placed a brisk, short kiss to his lips. Fred was startled, losing the opportunity to kiss her back but Y/n didn’t want him to. It gave her a sense of control- they still had issues they needed to work out, but she loved him nonetheless. Besides, avoiding and staying mad at Fred forever? Impossible. In two days, Y/n had to stop herself a million different times from approaching Fred and sharing a laugh with him, or kissing him, or holding his hand and giving him a hug. She didn’t want to fight off the urge anymore- and Fred couldn’t handle the distance spaced between them. Thus, being the motivation for his grand, heartfelt, date.

“I’ll assume that means you like it. I won’t take all the credit- it was my idea, but our friends are the main reason I was able to pull this off. I feel really bad and… I need to do something special for you- I don’t do that enough lately. I forget sometimes to remind you how important you are in my life and how much I love you.” Fred sheepishly smiled, nervously awaiting her reaction.

The small table was set, a new bundle of crimson red roses placed on her seat. To the side of her plate was a small box with a beautifully wrapped ribbon tied to the top. Fred had a special way of showing his love and adoration for his girlfriend, but even this was new to her. Never before had he gone so over the top to prove his feelings to her.

Y/n lifted her hand and intertwined it with Fred’s, smiling up at him,

“It’s gorgeous, Freddie.” The bashful smile made Fred’s heart melt on sight. He had prepared himself for the repetitive rejection she had been sending, so when she whispered those sweet words, his chest tightened, and his pace stopped.

Fred almost fainted in shock at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her light hand and drew it back, forcing her body into his own. Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that fell from her lips. She missed his playful ways. With the foreheads pressed against each other, Fred grinned,

“I’ve missed your voice, love.”

Although his words made her heart take flight, the reality of her hurt was still roaming. Y/n detached herself from his grasp and rested her hand on the black metal table. Her fingertips fumbled with the white cloth, it served as a distraction only for a short period of time. Fred sent her a sorrowful look. Her shift in moods was confusing to him, he only wanted to make things better.

Y/n sighed and ran her hand through her h/c locks. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply then asked,

“Why don’t you have time for me anymore, Fred?” The question of the night- or rather month. His date was beautiful, absolutely stunning. As riveting as it was, it couldn’t erase the hurt she had been experiencing.

Fred shook his head frantically, dismissing the accusation. He knew why she would think that way, he understood. It wasn’t true, though. Actions speak louder than words and Fred despised the fact that recently, his feelings for Y/n weren’t lining up with his actions. His words could only do so much. But he also knew soon, things would be different. Missing the Hogsmeade date was his fault, and he paid for it. Two days might seem minute to most, but when you spend essentially everyday attached to someone’s hip, two days of them purposely ignoring you and speaking to every soul expect you, it can feel like a lifetime. He realized a few things in this time.

Fred remembered how fun it was to act as if he was still trying to win her over. Gifts, no matter their cost, always brought a gleam to her face which never failed to make Fred grin. However, it was much more entertaining when she wasn’t upset with him and would throw the flirtatious comments right back at him. He was also reminded of how lucky he was to be with Y/n. While she ignored him, Fred found himself envious of every living being Y/n spoke to, as they were not him. When he started engulfing himself in his plans for the joke shop, his effort in his relationship had decreased and this was something he vowed to never let happen again.

“I’ll always have time for you, darling. And if I don’t, I’ll make some. I truly am sorry about this weekend- you don’t deserve that.”

“It just seems like you’re distracted, like you don’t care anymore.” Y/n batted her reddening eyes, finally throwing her worries to the air.

“No, no, Y/n, not at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, love. I’m a terrible excuse of a boyfriend, I never meant to create this mess. I love you so much.” Fred’s head bowed down. It tore him up to know the way his actions made her feel, the only girl he loved.

“I love you too, Freddie. I really do but I can’t feel alone in this relationship. I let our date Friday slide, even though I was annoyed, but Saturday night? I feel like it broke me. Just knowing you forgot about me-“ Y/n fought back the burning sensation in her eyes as the tears began to brim.

The anxiety blooming inside her was clear to Fred. Suppose that was the downside to dating your best friend, they can always tell when somethings wrong. Before a tear could hit the floor, he whisked her to the iron garden chair, then kneels before her, his hands holding her face as if it was a priceless, dainty piece of china.

“I didn’t forget about you, darling, that’s impossible to do. I’ve been… well I’ve been working on something with George for when we leave school next year. It’s real important to me and I wanted to share it with you but I was scared that it might not happen but… if I have your support and you with us, I know it’ll happen.”

“What’re you rambling on about, Fred?”

“Remember how I told you that George and I wanted to open a joke shop? Well, it’s happening… I think. We’re really close, we just gotta make it through next year then we’re free! We’ll have our own joke shop and get to sell our own products and start our future.”

A silence overtook the atmosphere. Y/n’s lips were stuck open in a small ‘o’ shape, eyes glued to the floor. Was he really going to leave her all alone next year? Would they have to break up? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.

She was snapped from her own mind when her skin registered the touch of Fred’s lips as they traced her knuckles, kissing each finger as he did. His eyes then peered up to meet her own. She could tell he was serious by the feeling of his stare. Then he continued, making Y/n perk up,

“But none of that can happen without you… Y/n I want you to come with me. Move in with George and I, start a future with me. We want you to be a part of the shop. I want you there. You’re the only girl I want, for the rest of my life.”

Her once open mouth clamped shut in a swift motion. Ever since she met the twins, Y/n wanted a future with Fred. Everyone saw it as a childhood crush, but she always knew it was more. She never stopped loving him- never could. Even when his pranks took a step too far over the line. They always found their way back to each other and would work through it. Fights such as the most recent were rare- but Fred’s admission filled in a lot of empty spaces that had left Y/n sleepless for days. Finally, the crushing weight was lifted from her chest as she choked out a shaky breath.

Leaping forward from the chair, Y/n threw her body into her boyfriend’s body and clamped him in a koloa like hold. Fred chuckled in amusement, falling onto the near ground at her jump.

“Why do you have to be so lovable? I hate it. I should be angry with you, but I just love you too much. Besides, I think you did enough suffering.” She giggled as she pinched his round cheeks in her hands. Fred poked his tongue out at her and grabbed at her sides. Y/n swatted his hands away, giving him a stern glare saying, ‘don’t push it’.

Slowly, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Fred’s, smirking down at him. It was a change in roles. In their more adult situations, Fred was typically the one on top with Y/n pinned below him, but that’s a story for another time.

A small, almost whimper, sound came from Fred. He hated being teased- that was his job. Dragging out the moment, Y/n tugged on the skin of his bottom lip with her teeth, earning a groan of approval from Fred. She grazed over his mouth one last time before dipping her head down to meet his and interlocking their lips, still straddling his waist. Fred’s hips pushed towards her core out of instinct. Not ready to give in quite yet, Y/n lifted her body and shifted forward, entrapping Fred even more so in the heated kiss.

They parted for seconds to sneak a bit of air, then continued their needed make out. It had been a while since they proved their love to each other in this way. For the last month, it had been small kisses here and there when the couple had a chance to see each other. Y/n needed his touch- she needed him. Fred longed to have under him, pleasuring her. He desperately wanted to sink his head between her legs and really show her just how much he loved her.

The coldness of his fingertips hit Y/n’s skin as his fingers dug into the sides of her waist. As much as she longed to keep the exchange going, the last thing either of them needed was a detention.

Y/n plucked herself away, a small pout lining Fred’s lips. His hands remained tied up in her own, lying them on his stomach. The weight of his question seeped in like molasses. Opportunities like this presented themselves once in a lifetime, there was no way Y/n was going to let it slip by.

Rolling off his lap, Y/n plopped down on the ground to the side of Fred. Their heads turned simultaneously towards each other, Fred winking to Y/n.

This is what she wanted. To see him care for her, show his love. His attention. It was the one thing she had been striving for but now that the cat, or rather joke shop, was out of the bag, Fred didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her anymore and keep his work to himself. He was over the moon with excitement to have her join George and himself. It was everything he could hope for.

Coyly averting her peer, Y/n asked,

“Do you really mean it, Fred? You really want me to come with you and George?”

Kindly, Fred swiped his thumb under her chin and raised her head up so their eyes were level.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world then with me.” The serenity in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Y/n propped herself up to her elbows and brought Fred in a bone crushing hug. Heavy chuckles croaked from Fred as she smothered him lovingly. He managed to sneak in a tiny peck to her check and she hugged him. Placing her head on his shoulder, Y/n poked the side of Fred’s cheek, commenting,

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Fred, I love it!”

Throwing his arm around the elated girl, Fred just smirked.

“Duh, that’s kind the whole point of you moving in with me.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. The night was growing darker and the steady wind was escalating. In an hour, two if they were lucky, Filch would be surveying the grounds in search of students, mainly Fred and George, out past curfew. It was a sport to him, catching students breaking rules and getting to turn them in. It was part of his job, yes, but Y/n hated that he never took it easy on anything for the Gryffindors like he did the Slytherins. Fred looked at the scenery around them and remarked,

“Y’know, angel, as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night laying with you in my arms, we can do that in my dorm room tonight… in an actual bed instead of dirt. I mean, we didn’t set up this whole thing for nothing! If I knew laying in the dirt would win you back, you should’ve told me!” His sarcastic words were received with a light slap.

“Smart ass.” Y/n rolled her eyes teasingly and started to sit up. Before she could get to her feet, a pair of hands planted themselves at her waist and lifted her. Fred had his moments, but he was always a gentleman to her. His teasing ways were comforting to Y/n, reminding her that they were good now, in comparison to the recent downfalls.

Fred helped Y/n to her seat, then jogged over to his own. He presented the girl with a cake he made for her. Hermione brought him to the kitchens and taught him how to make one. It took about three hours, he burnt the first, put too many eggs in the second, then forgot to add eggs to the third. Finally, on the fourth attempt, Fred created a passable cake. Hermione had no desire to spend any more time in the kitchen, so she quickly frosted it for him, not wanting him to ruin it this far in, then covered it and locked it in the fridge. Much to Y/n’s surprise, it was one of the best homemade cakes she’d ever had. Her teeth were practically chattering from the intense amount of sugar, but she had to keep in mind it was Fred who baked it.

After eating, Fred and Y/n took their sweet time strolling around the castle. Fred swung his hand back and forth, causing the same effect to Y/n’s. They laughed feverishly as Fred chased Y/n up the moving stairs as they raced to the common room. When they entered the room, they sprinted straight for Fred’s, still in a chase. Hermione, Ron, Harry, George, Angelina, and Lee all watched in amusement as the couple seemed to be reunited.

“Wonder if they’re back together. You guys think the date worked?”

Everyone shared glances at the obliviousness of Ron. There were times when social cues and context clues just didn’t exist to Ron. George scoffed at his little brother and shook his head. The rest of the group roared with laughter as Ron’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Not sure, Ron. Why don’t you go out to our room and ask them?” George smirked mischievously causing Ron to turn white as a ghost in realization. A faint ‘oh’, tumbled out of his lips and his eyes went wide.

Despite their assumption, up in the top room in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, Fred Weasley laid snoring in his large mattress, still in his school robes. Squished against his chest by his arms, Y/n was sound asleep, similarly dressed. The two didn’t care what they looked like or who came in, as long as they were together, that’s all that mattered.

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yourlmanburg · 3 years

Text

benchsquad meetup // benchtrio (& others) + reader

i know nothing about london zoo

word count: 1,485

(this hasn't been proofread or anything pls forgive how bad it is smh)

---

You hadn’t felt excitement like this since you received your invite to the Dream SMP, barely containing your smile as you sat on the train on your way to spend the day with your three best friends. You’d known Ranboo, Tubbo and Tommy for a good few months now after you met them through the server, and your friendship quickly solidified and morphed into an iconic group known as the “Bench Squad”, and today was the day you’d finally be meeting them in person.

It’d been agreed that you’d meet in London, film a Tom Simons vlog, and then meet up with Wilbur, Philza, Jack and Niki to film another vlog for your own channel before spending a few nights at Tubbo’s house. You had a busy few days ahead of you filled with recording and streaming but you couldn’t care less; you knew these were about to be the best days of your life. You passed the time with your airpods in your ears with your guys’ collab Spotify playlist blasting through your ears and catching up on missed vods and YouTube videos, when eventually the train came to a halt at your stop.

This was it. You were about to meet the people who meant the most to you.

You pulled out your bags as quickly as you could, not wasting a single second that could instead be spent with them. Shoving through the congregation of people and stopping one or twice to greet fans who recognised you, you made your way over to a less crowded area of the train station to shoot Ranboo a quick “where are you?” text. It took a few anxious minutes for him to reply, but once he did there was nothing stopping you from practically running to where they waited.

And there they were. You could see them not too far away now, two tall figures and a slightly smaller one stood in a row, looking around as if they were waiting for someone. It was then that you were struck with an idea, what if you just…

You snuck round to the other side of where they stood, making an effort not to be seen. You crouched down a little and creeped towards them, praying none of them turned round.

“BOO!” you shouted, successfully scaring the three of them and even a few poor strangers around you. With a smile you jumped straight into Ranboo’s arms, and you held each other tightly as the four of you grinned like children on Christmas day.

“Y/n!” Tommy and Tubbo exclaimed in unison, while Ranboo simply commented on the pun you accidentally made. You chuckled as you pulled away, wiping the tears from your eyes and readjusting your bags. This is the moment you’d been waiting for for so many months now.

“How was the journey?” Tommy asked after you’d greeted them properly and had begun to make your way out of the train station and to the location of where the vlog was going to be filmed.

“Wasn’t too bad, it was a bit scary doing it on my own and it took way too long but it could’ve been worse, I guess.” you replied, the smile seemingly glued to your face. “Where are we going again?”

“This way,” Tommy led you through many busy roads and you really wished you had somewhere to put your bags, which is why you were grateful when Ranboo offered to carry one of them for you. You thanked him profusely, rubbing your sore shoulder from where the heaviest bag had been resting. It took a while to get there so Tommy decided to film the vlog intro while you were all walking, though soon enough you found yourselves standing outside the great entrance to London Zoo.

“Here we are,” Tommy said as he held his phone up to the sign, clearly out of breath from all the walking, “We’re at the zoo!” he showed you and the other two on camera and you all waved, just as worn out as he was.

You went in and got all the registration sorted, and now you were free to do as you pleased! As you walked into the main area the gorilla enclosure immediately caught your eyes and you ran to see them, Tubbo in tow. Tommy started complaining to the camera as he caught up to you and Ranboo simply laughed, standing back and watching the “argument” you two were putting on for content.

The four of you walked around the zoo for a while, filming the majority of it and laughing and joking around with each other. You were having the time of your life, and it was far from over; you couldn’t wait to meet the others.

“Hold on a minute…” you interrupted Tommy filming Tubbo trying to get an Alpaca’s attention as a certain species caught your eye, and being close to the one and only Wilbur Soot made it impossible to miss. “Are they anteaters?”

“Thank God Wilbur’s not here, huh!” Ranboo chimed in, walking over and standing beside you. This still didn’t feel real.

“Can we go and see them?” Tubbo asked, but there was hardly a chance of anyone saying no. So now you were on FaceTime with Wilbur (who was already with Niki) as he gushed about how much he hated those damn creatures, pulling up the infamous list. None of you could stop laughing rather loudly and you certainly got many dirty looks, but you didn’t care.

The aquarium was quite something, too. One of the staff members got particularly mad at Tommy for tapping on the glass and shouting at the fish while you recorded him for a bit, which was definitely a sight to see. Needless to say, you rushed right past that woman the next time you guys saw her.

You saw so many incredible animals and had so many laughs with your friends, and you didn’t leave until late afternoon. It didn’t really matter though, there wasn’t much planned for your vlog. You guys made your way out of the exit and caught a taxi to take you to another place, wrapping up Tommy’s filming there. You admittedly almost fell asleep, but the calm conversation you were having with Tubbo kept you awake.

The taxi eventually pulled up outside a post restaurant which is where your vlog was going to be filmed. You didn’t choose anything too extravagant, the plan was for a short but entertaining video with you and your friends. It took about ten minutes of standing and waiting for the other four to turn up. First it was Philza, of course he was the only one on time. You suspected Niki would’ve been too, but she was probably being held up by Jack and Wilbur.

“OLD MAN!” you shouted, zooming in on him as the first clip of your vlog. He burst out laughing as he greeted you, asking if the others were here yet. “Nope! Bet they won’t be here for another two hours.” you joked, stopping the recording and talking to Phil and the others until they did eventually turn up.

Soon enough all eight of you were sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant, trying to decide what on earth you were going to order. You were squished in between Ranboo and Wilbur which made you feel particularly small, and Tommy was laughing at you from the other side of the table, Niki jokingly scolding him for being mean.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” he retorted, amping up his personality for the camera again.

“Neither did Y/n and you’re being mean to them!” Niki said, a smile evident on her face as you caught her eyes and laughed.

“Thank you, Niki, I believe Tommy should learn his lesson from a responsible adult.” you thanked her, Wilbur tuning in from his conversation with Ranboo, Tubbo, Phil and Jack.

“Tommy, stop being a dick.” He said bluntly, causing you all to burst out laughing.

“I agree.” Jack said with a deadpan face, earning an eye roll from Tommy.

“Oh, shut up Manifold!” He whined, failing to notice the very confused waitress standing over the table, waiting to take everybody’s orders. Phil was, of course, the one to apologise for all the commotion and you all took turns to let her know what you wanted, going straight back to your previous antics the moment she left.

You left the restaurant hated by most people who were in there, and you all found it funnier than it really was. You said goodbye to the adults and finished up your very chaotic vlog, making your way to another train station and taking the train back to Tubbo’s house. You got back quite late and all of you pretty much immediately crashed after such a busy yet fulfilling day. And it was the first of many.

#reader insert #x reader #platonic x reader #ranboo x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x reader #philza x reader #nihachu x reader #jack manifold x reader #are those the right tags #i just don't want them in the general mcyt area #mcyt x reader

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sickficsies-and-whumpsies · 3 years

Note

hi, may i ask you sick semi eita fic? he went amusement park with his team despite feeling a little bit unwell. Later he feels dizzy & nauseous, his team then take him to doctor/dorm. thank you 🥰

Oui oui, mon amie!!

TW: dizziness & nausea, vomiting, hospitals, brief mentions of IVs.

1.4k words, Gen.

ーーー

“Oh, the queue for that one isn’t too long!! Let’s go, guys!!”

Semi sighs. While Tendou’s volume doesn’t usually bother him, right now, stuck in the middle of Yagiyama Benyland, surrounded by screaming people and running children, he wishes his friend could turn it down a notch already.

The fabric around his neck feels constricting, suffocating. Semi tugs at the collar of his shirt lightly, clearing his throat silently as he trails behind the rest of the team.

He massages his stomach under the grey hoodie, feeling it gurgle under his touch. It was only two days ago when the pinch-server’s stomach first sent a painful, sudden jolt of white-hot pain throughout his body, making him shudder and gag, taken aback. But since his appendix has long been removed, Semi’s confident that it’s probably just a matter of too much coffee and too little water in his guts. It’s been a stressful week, after all. Nothing he can’t fix. It still hurts, though.

“Are you sure we’re tall enough for that ride?” Goshiki jokes, and everyone laughs, Tendou wrapping a lanky arm around the first-year and ruffling his head with the other hand. More laughter echoes among the group.

Semi shudders, chills running down his spine, stomach twisting. He struggles to even only force out a tiny smile.

ー

The safety belts press against his stomach and shoulders uncomfortably, and Semi doesn’t think he will make it. Next to him, Ushijima sits quietly, waiting for the ride to start. He briefly glances over, humming.

“Are you scared, Semi?”

There’s no malice in his voice, no curiosity either. It’s something along the lines of… Concern? Annoyance? Both?

“M’fine.” Semi gulps, “Just excited.”

“It’s okay to be scared.”

“M’not.”

“Alright. But if you were, it’d be okay.”

“Ushijiー!!” he gets cut off, abruptly, as the thing finally starts to move.

The higher it goes, the more Semi knows he’s not going to make it. There’s no doubt about it. He quickly tries to recall if there’s some sort of trashcan near the exit but he realises that he hasn’t seen any.

His complexion bleaches rapidly. The thing is, Semi isn’t scared of roller coasters, he quite enjoys them, to be fair. Right now, the thing he fears the most is puking all over himself or worse, over the team’s captain.

And he knows it’s going to happen.

The people in the front row start screaming, Semi only a few rows back. It’s only a matter of seconds before he feels himself falling, and the world tunes out.

ー

He doesn’t actually pass out, really. Instead, once the operators remove his safety belts and wish him and his friends a fun day, he lets his shaky legs guide him down the metal staircase, eyes glazed over, blind. He’s not quite sure he’s moving, either. And he looks green.

Semi doesn’t even register that Ushijima’s strong hand is wrapped around his right upper arm, the left in the care of Tendou himself, eerily quiet. They set him down on the first empty bench they find, the team quiet behind the three.

It’s Reon to crouch in front of the ill teen, a firm hand squeezing his knee encouragingly. “Semi? Dude, hey.”

“...up…” he murmurs, seemingly catatonic, staring somewhere behind the team that has gathered in front of him, eyes filled to the brim with apprehension.

The setter swallows, a thin trail of saliva making its way down the corner of his chapped lips and down his twitching chin. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out, and soon enough he ducks his head between his knees and retches onto the pavement without a second warning.

His teammates gasp, horrified and worried, but Reon is quick to avoid the onslaught and immediately usher the others away, leaving Tendou and Ushijima behind. The taller guy rubs at his back firmly, while the other puts a palm flat on Semi’s forehead, preventing him from giving himself a whiplash.

His skin feels cold and clammy, ashen. Tendou hisses.

Not long passes before Semi throws up again, more and more bile splashing between his feet, little droplets staining his shoes and jeans. He retches and gags, helpless, eyes stinging painfully, about to pop out of his skull.

Reon jogs back a minute later, stopping a couple of meters away to give Semi some breathing room. “Should we call an ambulance? He looks like death warmed over...”

Ushijima shakes his head. “We should try and make him drink something, first.”

“I don’t think he’s up to it, Toshi.” Tendou reasons, “Semi-Semi, hey, you need to take a breath, my man.” he adds, patting the boy’s shoulder while Ushijima keeps massaging circles on his back.

But Semi doesn’t. He can’t. His stomach twists and knots painfully, and he doubles over, arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen as he hiccup and dry-heaves weakly.

“Does your stomach hurt?” Reon asks, careful, calm as ever, “Do you need an ambulance?”

“Yeah, we should call ‘em.” Tendou says, “It’s not normal to feel this sick after riding a roller coaster as bland as that one, andー”

“He was feeling ill before the ride, too. I didn’t think it was this bad, though. I apologize, Semi.” Ushijima interjects. “I think the ride was simply the last straw.”

The three stay quiet for a moment, Semi’s desperate struggles and pants and hiccups drowning out every other noise. And finally, blissfully, about ten minutes after sitting down, his jagged breaths come to a halt, and he slumps to the side, crashing into Tendou.

“Semi-Semi...? Oh shit. Is he dead? Semi-Semi?” Tendou gasps, “Guys, a little help?”

The ill teen is quick to blink his eyes open, glassy and dull, spent. “H’rts.”

“What hurts?”

“S-stomach. Head.”

Reon nods, serious. He then takes his phone out and quickly types something, before glancing at Ushijima and Tendou, who are both massaging Semi’s trembling back, subconsciously.

“Okay, the closest bus stop is about five minutes away on foot from here, and then it takes about ten minutes to get to Sendai Red Cross Hospital by bus, and another minute on foot after that. What do you guys say?” Reon asks.

Tendou is fast to nod, “Let’s go, we might catch the first bus available if we hurry.”

“I’ll carry him.” Ushijima adds.

Semi then struggles, shaking his headー aggravating his nausea and gagging silently. “Th-the others, and y-you, th-the pa-park and- and the tickets andー”

“Woh, woh, slow down, Semi-Semi!! It’s fine, we’ve been here for hours already anyway, and the entrance fees aren’t that expensive. No worries, okay? Let us worry about the rest.” Tendou says, cheerful, “We’ll text the others to let them know we’re leaving. We can always reschedule for another time, alright?”

“Done.” Reon smiles, waving his phone, ‘Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club’ chat open and rapidly flooding with texts from everyone. “Let’s go.”

ー

Luckily, and unsurprisingly, the bus is perfectly on time, and Semi doesn’t even have the time to register that he’s an eighteen year-old being offered a piggy-back ride from another eighteen year-old. He couldn’t care less. Instead, once he’s on the bus, he drifts, drained.

ー

“Anyone here for Semi Eita?”

Tendou, Reon and Ushijima are quick to reach the doctor, wide-eyed. “How is he!?”

She smiles, “Your friend will be okay, nothing to worry about. He was terribly dehydrated and overall exhausted, courtesy of the raging viral gastroenteritis he has. The nurses gave him an IV to pump some fluids into his system, and once it’s done, I’m going to prescribe him some probiotics to help with the infection and he’ll be free to leave.”

“Can we see him?” Tendou frets, “Is there anything else we should do? Are you sure he’s okay?”

The doctor nods, her expression firm and reassuring. “Viral infections are extremely common, we treat thousands of similar cases each day. I promise you, Semi-san will be okay. And yes, you may see him, of course. Come with me, please.”

The three follow the kind doctor quietly as she leads them to Semi’s bed, in the ER, the thin curtains between his and other patients’ beds being his only source of privacy.

Upon seeing them, Semi sits up, grinning sheepishly, cheeks tinted in red. “Hey there.” he grins.

His friends chuckle, rapidly making their way toward his bed, ruffling his hair and pushing him around with calculated motions.

He’ll be fine.

ーーー

I got carried away and started researching how to get to the closest hospital from Yagiyama Benyland, a real amusement park in Miyagi. And yeah, the Red Cross Hospital’s real, too, and the bus as well. I had so much fun researching this stuff. So yeah, I hope you liked it, let me know!!

Also, anon, if you have an AO3 tell me so that I can gift this fic to you when I post it there in a few days.

September 2, 2021

#pardon the french- literally. just wanted to say oui oui mon amie #my fic #haikyuu!! sickfic #sickfic #haikyuu!!#haikyuu sickfic #semi eita #tendou satori #ushijima wakatoshi #oohira reon #dizziness & nausea #vomiting #brief mentions of IVs #hospitals #shiratorizawa

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evienyx · 3 years

Text

DSMP Citizens POV 7: The Lonesome Vessel

DSMPsona created by anon

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

DSMPsona Submission Rules

- - -

Before the L'Manburg Revolution, Iris had never really bothered with combat. She'd taken her physical education classes at school as a kid, had done a few extra sword-training classes as a teenager when her mother put her into them, but other than that, there wasn't really anything.

When the Revolution happened, though, Iris, who had already joined up with the rebellion when it was just starting out, took up arms at General Wilbur Soot's call and went out to the battle field, her heart pounding and blade sharp.

As she stepped onto the battlefield, entering into her first bout of combat with one of Dream's soldiers, something within her changed. Voices chanted in her head, screaming their desire to be appeased, one that could only be fulfilled by the spilling of blood.

Death, Death, Death!

Blood, Blood, Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

Iris roared and slashed wildly at whoever she saw. Power thrummed in her veins, blood splashing across her armor and voices screaming in her ears as it did.

A soldier in L'Manburg colors ran past her. The voices screamed even louder, and Iris thrust her sword forward.

A moment later, she was lying in the medical tent that had been set up at the edge of the battlefield. Curtains shielded her from the rest of the tent. Her mind was deafeningly silent.

Iris realized that her limbs were restrained, her armor and weapons gone. Her throat was dry and her head pounded.

After a few minutes, the curtain pulled back, and a man in a medical coat peeked inside.

"You're awake?"

Iris locked gazes with him and nodded.

The doctor glanced outside before giving her a nod of his own and closing the curtain. She was alone again.

About ten more minutes passed before the curtain opened again and General Soot stepped inside.

"Sir," Iris said, trying to sit up before remembering the restraints.

"Iris," Soot replied, sounding even more exhausted than he looked. "How are you feeling?"

She swallowed. Her throat hurt, and when she spoke, it was hoarse, as if she had screamed at a concert all night. "Tired." She scrunched her nose. "My arms hurt."

Soot's lips formed into a thinner line and he nodded. "Yes, well, you were swinging that sword quite a bit."

Iris furrowed her brow. "What're you talking about?"

The general sighed. "I was afraid of that." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. "What do you remember about the battle?"

"Uh, nothing, really. I... fought a few people, I think, and then I guess I must've been knocked unconscious."

Soot's eyes were hard, but sad. "You were not. You lasted through the whole battle."

"What happened, then?"

Soot was silent.

Iris narrowed her eyes and pressed on. "What happened?"

"You were like a machine, Iris," Soot explained. "No one... No one could quite describe it. You cut down every person in your path, whether they were enemy or ally." Iris's heart sank and her blood ran cold. "Can you remember anything else? I need to know."

"Uh..." Iris wracked her brain for answers, but her head was still pounding, aching from the screams of the voices in her mind. "I mean... There were... voices. Voices, in my head? They... They wanted me to kill people."

Soot, as if his attention hadn't already been completely on her, leaned in, his eyes widening just a bit. "Voices?" She nodded. He grabbed her by the forearms, turning her toward him a bit more, despite the restraints digging into her flesh as he did so. "What did they say? Do you remember what they said?"

"Uh..." Iris nodded shakily, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah. They... They talked about the, er, the Blood God? Like what people always call Technoblade, you know, the famous warrior?"

Soot's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment before he leaned back and nodded. "Yes, I know." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Iris... I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. I think that we have every reason to believe that you are a vessel of the Blood God."

A chill ran down her spine. "What... What does that-"

"People often believe that Technoblade is a vessel of the Blood God, as well. He is not. He is the chosen of the Blood God. Those voices you heard while you were fighting? He hears those all the time, screaming for blood, and apparently being rather annoying as well."

Despite the bombshell being dropped on her, Iris managed to focus on his words and ask, "How do you know all this stuff about Technoblade?"

"Lived with him for years," Soot said, waving his hand around. "Not important. What is important is this: Controlling the desires of the Blood God that are within you is going to be difficult. Many go mad trying to fight against them. As you are simply a vessel, those voices will only come out when you are actively in combat, but they will never go away. If you plan to continue to fight, you must learn to live with them. We cannot have a repeat of the last battle, where you kill many of our own troops, as well."

Iris swallowed and nodded. "I'll do better next time, sir."

Soot cracked a smile, the bags more apparent than ever. "I'm sure of it."

During the next battle, Iris held her weapon in her hand, slashed at the first enemy soldier that she encountered, and then found herself restrained in the medical tent once more, President Soot standing over her with eyes even more sunken than the day before.

Iris felt tears spring to her eyes and shoved her head back into the pillow beneath her.

"You'll always have a home here," General President Soot told her after the Revolution ended, L'Manburg gained independence, and Iris had decided to pack up and leave. "Regardless of what happened on the battlefield, you still fought for this country. No one blames you for what happened." He paused and released a sigh. "The Blood God is as ruthless with its Vessels as it is with us mortals."

Iris huffed. "You don't need to tell me twice." Her thoughts fell to the voices, screaming in her mind.

Death, Death, Death!

Blood, Blood, Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

She shuddered and glanced up at President Soot. "I need to leave. As long as I am here, people are in danger. The voices showed up the moment I picked up a weapon. If something were to happen, there would be nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do." She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. "It's better this way."

President Soot was silent for a moment before nodding solemnly. "That's what I thought you'd say. Still, should you ever wish to return, the gates of L'Manburg will open wide to those who fought for them to stay standing."

Iris cracked a smile and nodded. President Soot returned the gesture before stepping out of the tent that she had been staying in. Iris tied the sack that held all the things she couldn't fit in her inventory and set off. She made a quick pit stop at the Pet Sanctuary, an underground bunker that had held the pets of all L'Manburg soldiers during the war, keeping them safe and protected from both battle and Sapnap, who was both their enemy and infamous for killing pets.

Iris grabbed her cat, Tabi, and pulled an empty beehive from her inventory to allow her bee, Honeycomb, to travel in safety and comfort. Finally, she set off, her fingers tightly wound in a lead attached to Tabi's collar, Honeycomb's hive tucked into her inventory. Iris gave a final wave to the soldiers standing guard at the L'Manburg walls and began to walk.

After fifteen minutes, she was at the top of a hill, looking down over the independent land of L'Manburg. Already, there were more people than had been during the Revolution, people from the Greater SMP and other servers having begun to move in.

After another half-hour, L'Manburg was barely visible in the distance.

Fifteen more minutes after that, and it was gone completely.

Reaching the edge of the charted land on her map, Iris pulled a boat from her inventory, setting it up while Tabi investigated a small patch of wildflowers growing nearby. Iris picked up her cat and plopped the animal between her legs as she sat down in the boat. Making sure she had everything, Iris used a stick to push off from the shore and set off into the ocean.

She followed the coast, mostly. Eventually, she reached a grassy plain that seemed to stretch on for as far as her eye could see. As the sun began to set, she finally pulled up onto a small beach just outside of a coastal village. She stored her boat, held Tabi's lead in her hand, and set off into the village.

The town was small enough that they didn't have an inn, but a farmer and his wife were nice enough to allow her to bunk in the barn for the night to avoid the monsters, and Iris fell asleep to the sound of an Iron Golem guard pummeling a zombie into dust.

Another day of boating passed before Iris settled on a small clearing a little ways into a spruce forest island to call her new home. Tabi's lead tied around a tree, she quickly set to work making a small tent to stay in while she worked on a more permanent home. A few weeks passed, but she was rather satisfied with her work as she took down the tent and spent her first official night in her new cottage. Tabi curled up on her chest, Honeycomb resting in her hive in the small garden she had made, Iris fell asleep to the sounds of rustling leaves, flickering torches, and distant waves crashing against a rocky shore.

Iris would spend a lot of her time exploring, after that, hopping across nearby islands. She constructed an Iron Golem to guard her clearing after a hoard of mobs appeared during the first night and she had been forced to hide under the floorboards and be as silent as possible until day arrived and they burned in the light of the sun. She refused to pick up a weapon again. The voices still stung in her mind (Blood for the Blood God!), and she didn't know what would happen if they took over again. She didn't want to know what would happen if the only thing for them to hurt were Tabi and Honeycomb.

The islands nearby varied in terms of what they had on them. Some were barren, others sported lush forests. One had a ravine so long and deep it almost cut the island itself in half. At one point, she arrived at a point that she had thought was an island, but was actually large enough to be considered mainland, stretching so far that she had to spend the night at a village after she realized that she didn't have enough time to get home before dark.

Iris mapped out the nearby islands, as well as the mainland, and explored them enough that she eventually didn't even need a map to explore them anymore. She knew them like the back of her hand.

That was why, when a small hut popped up in the stretch of plains on the coast of the mainland, she was confused. It was night, then, and she was making her way to the nearby village to stay in the inn. This was too interesting to pass up investigating, though, and Iris snuck over and leaned against one of the hut walls, straining to hear what was happening inside.

"-and I have no idea why he did it, because wasn't the whole point that there's-"

"Someone's listening."

"...What?"

"Someone's listening."

"What are you talking about?"

"Through the wall. Right here. Someone's listening." There was a beat of silence, and then a rush of cold air that made the hairs on the back of Iris's neck stand up, and then she was face-to-face with eyes void of anything but inky darkness, set into the grayed-out version of a familiar face. Bright blue teartracks seemed stained on the colorless skin.

"Hello," an echoed voice that almost exactly matched President Soot's said. "Who are you?"

Iris yelped and fell back, barely catching herself against the hut before she hit the ground.

"Ghostbur? Who is it?"

TommyInnit (VP Tommy, she remembered people had started to call him) asked, stepping around the corner of the hut to join the two of them.

"VP Tommy?" She blurted out. "What are you doing here?"

VP Tommy furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about? I was exiled. What are you doing here?"

"I...I live around here! And, what do you mean you were exiled? And why does President Soot look like that? And why did you call him Ghostbur?"

"That's who I am!" The spectral form of the leader of L'Manburg said cheerily. He reached out a translucent hand. "Ghostbur, nice to meet you!"

"We've met," Iris said, still reaching out to shake his hand anyway. His skin was freezing cold, and she though that if she pressed a bit more, her hand would simply slide right through his own.

"He has memory loss," VP Tommy said. "Only remembers the happy things from when he was alive. None of the bad stuff."

"What happened to him? When did he die?"

"A while ago," VP Tommy said, looking rather confused at her lack of knowledge but still managing to glare at her throughout. "How is it you know who both of us are but not what happened to..." His throat bobbed and he glanced away, falling silent.

"I fought in the L'Manburg Revolution," Iris explained. "At least, I did for a bit until President Soot-" She gestured at the grinning ghost- "and I realized that I was a Vessel for the Blood God. I can't control myself whenever I pick up a weapon, and so I moved out here to keep from hurting anyone."

VP Tommy leaned back a bit, his eyes widening. "You're a Vessel of the Blood God?" He asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. She nodded. His eyes flicked over her. "You're... You don't have any weapons on you, do you?"

Iris ignored the fact that she had already said that she didn't in favor of shaking her head and raising her hands a bit. "Nope. Nothing. I haven't touched a weapon since the Revolution."

"How do you defend from mobs then?" He asked, his brow scrunching as he crossed his arms.

"I'm normally home before night. If not, I make sure I'm close enough to a village to stay there. At home, everything's lit up, and I even have an Iron Golem to make sure that any stray monsters can be taken down without me having to do anything." She offered the gentlest smile she could. "You don't need to worry about me."

VP Tommy was quiet for a moment before releasing a forced laugh. "Ha, I wasn't worried! I'm never worried! I'm Big Man TommyInnit, I don't get worried about anything!"

Iris raised an eyebrow but she nodded. "Of course. I never would've thought otherwise."

VP Tommy wrinkled his nose and looked to the ground. A moment later, she heard him muffling a yawn.

"Well," Iris said loudly, stretching her arms toward the sky, "I think it's about time that I head off to the village and get settled in for the night. I'm exhausted." She saluted lazily. "Good night, VP Tommy."

"Uh, yeah. 'Night." He didn't return the gesture, but he glanced at Ghostbur, who was fiddling with what looked like a handful of blue and clearly not paying attention to the conversation whatsoever. "C'mon, Ghostbur."

The spirit of the president looked up abruptly, turning from VP Tommy to Iris. "Oh, are you leaving already?" She nodded. He gave her a smile. "Good night, then! I hope next time I get to find out your name!"

Before she could say anything, he had slid through the hut's wall and was gone. VP Tommy stood there for a moment more before disappearing inside as well. Iris hitched up the straps of her bag on her shoulders, checked her inventory, and set off for the village at the edge of the plains. She didn't want to be out in the dark for too long.

The next morning, Iris left the village inn an hour before noon, her bag and inventory stuffed full of ore that she had purchased from the blacksmith.

As she walked through the plains, she stumbled across a figure riding by on a horse. The two of them stopped and stared at one another.

"Uh, hello," Iris said, raising a hand in greeting. "Haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm not from around here," the figure, a piglin hybrid, from the look of it, said gruffly. "Was just visiting an... old friend."

Iris nodded. "Cool. Well, if you're ever in the area again, the village back by the forest edge has incredible potato bread."

The hybrid's eyes lit up a bit. "Really?" She nodded. "I'll have to check it out, then." He observed her for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

She cracked a smile. "Just a lonesome wanderer, trying to live a peaceful life."

He nodded. "I can respect that. As long as you're not with any sort of government."

She shook her head. "I used to be a part of L'Manburg, but I left right after the Revolution. I... didn't want to be a part of that anymore. Now, it's just me and my pets."

The hybrid hummed, his gaze flicking over her and seeming to notice that she had no weapons. "All right, then." He gave her a nod. "Stay safe, fellow wanderer."

She grinned and returned the gesture. "And you as well." He patted the horse on its flank, and a moment later, they were gone.

Continuing across the plains, Iris came back across the hut that VP Tommy was living in. She thought the ore in her bag and wondered if the teenager, who was apparently exiled (though she didn't know why) would want it.

Iris knocked on the door. There was a beat of silence. Then, the door swung open, and she was met with the face of VP Tommy, eyes red and face blotchy. He sniffed, rubbed at his nose, and scowled at her. "What do you want, bitch?"

Ignoring his aggression, Iris offered a smile and said, "I come bearing gifts."

Though he complained, VP Tommy did agree to take the ores from her, shoving them into his furnace along with some coal that he had apparently gotten that morning. Then, with his eyes narrowed and mouth twisted into a frown, he offered her a porkchop.

Iris started to visit him more and more, after that. She brought Tabi to the village's healer when the cat got sick one day, and that evening showed her pet to VP Tommy on the way home.

"This is Tabi," she said, holding out the cat to the teenager. VP Tommy stared at the cat with raised eyebrows. "Go on, take her. She loves being pet behind the ears."

VP Tommy took the cat in his arms, holding it with a surprising amount of caution. He reached forward and scratched slowly behind Tabi's ear. The cat purred and leaned into the touch. VP Tommy's eyes flew up to meet Iris's as his jaw dropped, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh at his reaction.

Over the time that she visited him, Iris watched as VP Tommy (My name is Tommy, shithead, he insisted after she called him by his old title to his face) deteriorated. His laughs were more forced. His face was more sunken, his hair grew limp, and his the light in his eyes dimmed, the bright blue seeming to fade into a cool gray. Still, he would grin every time she showed up, and would bounce on the balls of his feet as he told her about what he had done since her last visit.

"Ranboo came to visit me," he said one day. "He showed up after Schlatt and Wilbur died and L'Manburg was rebuilt. He's cool, even though he's kind of a pussy."

"Does anyone else come to visit?" She asked, poking at the fire that he had made when the sun began to set.

"Well, Dream is here all the time," he said, but she already knew that. About a week after she started visiting regularly, he had all-but-demanded that she only visit at night, because Dream was there in the daylight and didn't really like when he had other visitors there. "Mexican Dream came here one time, too, but..." Tommy sniffed. "He, uh, he died."

"Oh," Iris said. "I'm sorry."

On certain days, she would let Tommy ramble to her about his problems. He would complain about the 16th of November, about the election from months ago, about his exile from weeks prior. Other days, he would tour her around the things he was building.

"This is Logstedshire," he said, spreading his arms wide. "Ghostbur helped me build it, before he..." His smile faltered. "Before he... left."

She said nothing more, simply pointed at a random building and asked about it. Tommy took the change of topic gratefully and began to ramble on about the mining expedition he had gone on to get the materials.

One day, when Iris was on the way to the village past Logshedshire to trade before she visited Tommy that evening, she looked up from storing away her boat to see the Nether portal just outside of Tommy's home glimmering with particles, the distinct look of a portal that someone had just used.

Iris was confused for a moment, because she was sure that Tommy didn't use his portal anymore, not after the failed beach party (which he had requested she didn't attend, since he didn't think that Dream would like knowing that Tommy was talking with someone he didn't know. Iris still felt bad, though, after hearing about the disaster that befell the party that her teenager friend had been so very excited about).

Then, she looked up and her eyes fell on a tower of mismatched materials, stretching toward the sky. Her stomach dropped, and, ignoring her previous plans, she scrambled up the beach and sprinted toward Logstedshire.

The area was completely destroyed, decimated by what had to be TNT. The tower she had seen started near the pit, reaching to brush against low-hanging clouds in the expanse of sky above. Tommy was nowhere to be seen.

Nearby, Iris abruptly noticed, President Tubbo stood looking up at the tower, shaking his head desperately with tears streaking down his face. "Surely not, surely not," he said lowly, his voice hoarse.

Iris's heart skipped a beat. For the first time since the Revolution, her mind was flooded with voices, screaming, roaring in her ears. She didn't care what they were saying, though, instead covering her mouth with her hands, taking in a painful breath, and beginning to sob.

President Tubbo turned to look at her, just now noticing her presence. He reached a hand out and opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't give him a chance to, instead choosing to turn on her heel and run back to the coastline, tears streaming from her eyes and all plans of heading to the village forgotten. She hopped in her boat and set off in the direction of her home island, her salty tears falling from her cheeks and joining the ocean waters below.

Iris stumbled into her cottage, Tabi moving toward her and rubbing against her leg as she collapsed into a chair, shoving her face into her hands. Her cat's fur stopped brushing against her skin, and a few moments later, a buzzing sound met her ears. She opened her eyes to see Tabi hopping from the windowsill as Honeycomb flew inside, the window wide open behind the two pets. The bee settled on her shoulder, snuggling against Iris's neck and buzzing gently, while Tabi leaped to her lap and curled up there.

Iris pet her cat with a shaking hand and tried to ignore the screaming voices growing louder and louder in her mind.

That evening, she grabbed a pack that she knew had two twin blades stored away inside of it and set off for a nearby island, one covered in a forest so dense that inside of it, you couldn't see the sky. Mobs were there even in the day time, and at night, it was more stuffed with monsters than a dungeon was.

On the edge of the island, Iris watched as a zombie lumbered toward her.

Blood! Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

Kill it! Kill it!

Finally! Blood!

Everyone shut up, she's gonna do it!

She better!

Blood! Blood! Blood for the Blood God!

Ignoring the 'banter' going on between the voices in her head, the Vessel of the Blood God dropped the pack on the ground, pulled the twin blades from within, and let the voices take over, jumping forward and slashing at the monster in front of her. The voices cheered as blood splashed across her skin, and as her gaze fell on a skeleton near the tree line, she leaped toward it and felt her control over her body fall away.

She woke to the daylight, her cheek pressed against the warm sand of the beach. She heard the waves lapping at the shore. The twin blades she had used rested nearby. Her mind was silent, though the elation of the voices as she sliced through monsters was still very apparent. Iris sat up, grabbed the bag she had abandoned the night before, and scooped the blades inside, careful not to touch it. She then slipped into the boat and set off, leaving the island behind as she headed home.

Halfway there, she felt an alert on her communicator. Glancing down at it, she choked on a breath as her eyes landed on 'TommyInnit' in her messages lighting up. Taking in a deep breath, she clicked on the name and was greeted by a new chat message from her friend.

TommyInnit: Hey, bitch. I realized that Dream is an even Bigger Bitch Boy than I thought. He blew up Logstedshire and I ran away after he left. I'm with Technoblade, now.

TommyInnit: you were real poggers. I'll pay you back for that ore eventually.

Iris sniffed and wiped at her eyes, which were beginning to sting. She swallowed, her throat aching, and grabbed the oars resting on the sides of the boat, starting to paddle back home.

(Later that day, she would return to Logstedshire and root through the rubble for three days straight, searching for any remaining things of Tommy's that she could find.

She found a few photos buried under rocks, at one point. After the first one she touched crumbled to dust immediately, she took pictures of any she found before trying to pick them up. She found a few books that Tommy must have bought from the village. Nothing else really seemed like it would be valuable. Then, though, on her last day of searching, she broke apart a collapsed wall and saw a piece of fabric lying underneath.

She reached forward and carefully picked up the beanie lying on the ground, so covered in dust that it looked gray rather than maroon.

"This was his beanie," Tommy had said. "He had two of these. Phil has the one that he was wearing when he died. He gave this one to me right before we went to fight Manburg."

Iris's fingers tightened around the beanie, and she tucked it safely into a spare spot in her inventory before immediately heading off to the village to use their public Ender chest to put the beanie inside of.

The next time she saw TommyInnit, she would give it back to him. Afterall, he deserved to have the beanie. It was his brother's, wasn't it?

The sun was beginning to set, then.

Iris swallowed down a lump in her throat as phantom voices whispered in her mind and moved faster over the plains, focusing on making her way to the inn before nightfall and trying to ignore the murmurs in her ear asking for blood.)

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Note

Writting request!

Hels!Impulse taking regular impulses place n stuffing him in like a closet or somethin-

N someone who's sus of him (maybe iskall?) Finds the real impulse.

Now to unmask the fake.

okay so a few quick things:

1) this ended up a LOT longer than i expected lol so i apologise for that, it’s over 2k words

2) i also didn’t entirely stick to every detail in the prompt because i had an idea i rly liked and i wanted to roll with it, so i’m rly sorry if it’s not as good as you were expecting

3) anyway i hope it’s good! it was a lot of fun to work on

...

Impulse is working on the redstone of his pumpkin and melon farm in his base when he spots a shadow moving around right at the corner of his vision. Frowning, he leaves his task and heads out into the main part of the base, looking around. “Hello?” he calls cautiously. “Grian, if this is you again…”

He gets no response.

Just as he starts to turn back, thinking he just imagined it, something slams into him and knocks him into the wall, stunning him. He looks sharply up to find…

...himself.

Impulse’s eyes widen. “Wh-Who are you?!”

The new Impulse has his arms crossed and a malicious grin on his face. “My name is Impulstor. I’m your Hels counterpart. And I’m going to take over your life as my own.”

“W-Wait, what?!”

Before Impulse can move, Impulstor seizes his lapels and drags him across the base. Impulse struggles as hard as he can but he’s still winded from being hit against the wall.

Impulstor takes him to one of the support pillars at the very edge of the base, which has a two by one block hole in it, left over from Grian’s secret base shenanigans a few weeks ago. Weakened, he’s unable to stop Impulstor from shoving him roughly through the gap.

Since the floor is a block lower than the bottom of the hole, Impulse’s foot slips and he falls heavily against the wall, hitting his head and stunning him even more. The space inside the pillar is only one block by one block, with two or three more blocks of space above his head, so as Impulse collapses, he’s forced into an uncomfortable sitting position.

Blinking back tears of pain and fear, Impulse tries sluggishly to escape but Impulstor bashes him on the head with his own pickaxe.

The last thing Impulse sees before he passes out is Impulstor blocking the gap with white concrete, trapping him in this prison.

…

Zedaph flies over the shopping district and lands a little way off from Impulse and Tango, who are sitting on one of the benches outside town hall, chatting. As he approaches, the two look up and spot him. “Hey, Zed!” Tango calls, beaming. “Wanna join me and Impy hanging out?”

“Yeah, sure! What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought we might go give Decked Out a group run,” Tango says. “I’d have to fix things up a little bit but that shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. I think it’d be epic to go in as a team.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Impulse grins. “I always loved that game. It terrifies me, but I loved it. Those ravagers, man. I’m always on the lookout for them and it’s terrifying with the heartbeat and everything.”

“That was the idea,” snickers Tango.

“I know, I know. Doesn’t make it any less terrifying, though.” Impulse grins. “Going in as a group would be great! I’d really like to do that.”

Zedaph involuntarily takes a step back. He doesn’t know what, but there’s something off about Impulse today. There’s something different, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s known Impulse a long time, but not as long as Tango, who doesn’t seem to share his doubts. Is he misreading the situation?

“Yeah, me too!” Tango enthuses. “You up for it, Zed?”

“Um, actually…” Zedaph forces a convincing cough and rubs his stomach. “I feel kinda sick all of a sudden. I think the flight over here churned my insides.”

“Oh.” Tango frowns sympathetically. “You’d better rest, then.”

“Yeah, sorry. I need to go home.”

“No problem, man. Hope you feel better.”

Zedaph slowly walks away, keeping up his charade in case the others are watching. Over his shoulder, he hears Impulse say something about his ice farm, then a few seconds later, the sound of rockets are heard as the two take off with their elytras.

He keeps going for about a minute longer, just in case, before deeming it safe and taking off with his rockets. His heart pounding, he shoots over to Impulse’s base and after crashing through the water curtain, lands neatly on the ground inside. “Impulse?” Zedaph calls, starting to rush through the pyramid base. “Impulse, are you here?”

Zedaph’s voice awakens Impulse. Blinking against the throbbing in his head, he bashes his fist against the wall of the pillar as hard as he can. “Ze-Zedaph! ZED!”

Following the sound of Impulse’s voice, Zedaph locates the pillar and slices a hole in it with his pickaxe.

To his horror, he finds Impulse squeezed inside the narrow gap, blood still dripping from the wound in his head.

“Oh my god…!”

Zedaph drags Impulse out of the pillar and lets him lie flat on the ground for a moment while he tends to his wound. Impulse doesn’t even have the strength to wince at the stinging of antiseptic.

“Are you okay?” asks Zedaph quietly. “How long have you been stuck in there?”

“A-A few hours at most, I don’t really know. What’s going on?”

“Well, fake you is cosying up to Tango. I don’t think Tango suspects anything.”

Impulse swallows back a pang of hurt. “Oh… I-I thought he knew me better than that…”

“To be fair, whoever’s masquerading as you is really, really good,” says Zedaph slowly. “I hate to say this, but even I barely noticed.”

“Really? What made you catch on?”

Zedaph hesitates. “It was more of a gut feeling than solid evidence. I dunno, there was just something about the way he talked that seemed off. It didn’t seem like you. I thought either there was something wrong with you or it wasn’t you at all.”

“And you came to the conclusion that an imposter posing as me was more likely than me having an off day?” chuckles Impulse weakly.

Zedaph matches his chuckle as he starts to wind a bandage around Impulse’s head. “Again, it was just a gut feeling.”

“Well, your gut feeling was right. Now what do we do about Impulstor?”

Zedaph immediately bursts out a laugh. “Impulstor!”

Impulse gives him a look.

Zedaph clears his throat awkwardly. “S-Sorry. Anyway, we should go and save Tango from, uh… Impulstor.”

“Shouldn’t that be easy?” remarks Impulse. “I mean, I’M me. He’s not.”

“Man, you didn’t see the way he was with Tango. He has to be some kind of clone of you or something; there’s no way he’s just a guy who’s studied the way you behave. It’s not about us not knowing you well enough; it’s him knowing every mannerism, every quirk, every facial tick. If it wasn’t for my random gut feeling, I doubt we’d have noticed for a really long time.”

Impulse’s worry increases. If Tango, someone he’s known for over a decade, couldn’t even tell the difference between him and the imposter, his clone could have the whole server fooled within hours.

“We have to get to him away from the other hermits,” Impulse says. “The longer this goes on, the harder it’ll be to convince them I’m the real Impulse. What were him and Tango doing when you left?”

“I think they were taking a look at your ice farm,” responds Zedaph.

Impulse shoots bolt upright. “Oh no! I spent ages getting that farm the exact way I wanted; he better not ruin anything!”

Zedaph grips him by the shoulders. “Hey, easy, man. You might have a concussion.”

“I don’t care! Tango is in real danger and so is everything I’ve ever built! I’m going over to my ice farm right now and you can’t stop me.”

Zedaph hesitates. He knows his friend well enough to know that he really can’t stop him. “Okay, then. I’ll come with you.”

…

“-really like this pattern,” Tango is saying, looking down at the floor underneath the ice farm. “How’d you think of it?”

“Oh, it just came to me,” says Impulstor. “Took me a while to turn all the powder to concrete.”

“I bet. Nice farm, dude!”

“Thanks!”

Impulstor watches Tango move over to the side of the farm and look down. Tango clearly suspects nothing; if he has any doubts, he’s doing an amazing job hiding them. But Impulstor isn’t worried. From his (no, not his. Impulse’s) memories of Tango, he should be fairly easy to take down if the need arises.

But what he doesn’t anticipate is his ruse falling apart so soon.

“TANGO!”

Tango jerks and snaps his head upwards to find two figures flying towards him. He blinks in shock; one of them is clearly Zedaph but the other… It can’t be…

Impulstor lets out a very quiet growl, before rearranging his face into an expression of shock. “Wait a sec…”

Impulse nearly falls over in his haste as he lands, him and Zedaph getting between Tango and Impulstor.

“What the hell is going on?!” Tango demands. “Why are there two Impulses?!”

“He’s an imposter,” declares Impulse, jabbing a finger at Impulstor. “He’s a fake Impulse.”

“No, HE’s the fake!” Impulstor snaps back. “I don’t know what’s going on here but I’m the real Impulse!”

“Oh god, this is my worst nightmare,” Tango groans. “How are we supposed to know who the real one is?”

“Look, ask me anything,” says Impulse. “I’ll answer any question you ask.”

“What was your first build when you joined Hermitcraft?” Zedaph asks.

“The witch huts in season three,” say both Impulse and Impulstor at the same time, causing the former to stare at the latter in shock.

“Who did you team up with to do the pirate ship prank in season six?” Tango asks slowly.

“Ren and Doc,” both Impulses say, again at the same time.

“What did you call your season five base?” Zedaph says.

Again, the answer comes simultaneously from both Impulse and Impulstor: “Atlantis.”

“Okay, stop, stop.” Tango waves his hands. “This is going nowhere. I don’t know HOW you two have the exact same memory but clearly, we’re not gonna make any progress this way.”

“Hey, Impulse.” Zedaph turns pointedly to the real Impulse. “How did you get that scar on your thigh?”

“From an arrow wound during the season six civil war,” Impulse and Impulstor reply.

A split second later, Impulse realises what his friend is doing. He lifts his shorts leg just enough for the small scar to become visible. “This one.”

The other three turn to Impulstor, who realises he’s in trouble here. He may have Impulse’s memories but they don’t share a body. Impulstor remembers the exact moment Impulse got that injury but he wasn’t actually there. He didn’t live it; Impulse did.

“Impulse, if you’re the real one, show us the scar,” Tango says sternly.

Impulstor hesitates, his slightly narrowed eyes flickering from Tango to Impulse.

Suddenly, Impulstor takes off running, deliberately slamming into Tango as he does. Tango tumbles to the ground and slides right over the edge of the farm with a terrified yell.

Luckily, Zedaph reacts quickly and grabs his friend’s wrist. This stops Tango from falling long enough for Impulse to take hold of his friend’s other hand, and the two pull Tango back to safety.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?!” gasps Impulse. “You almost went over!”

Breathing heavily, Tango starts to speak but cuts himself off as he finally registers the bandage around Impulse’s head. “I-Impulse, did he hurt you?”

“What?” Impulse frowns, before remembering his head injury, which is already mostly healed. “Oh, yeah. He ambushed me in my base and knocked me out and stuffed me in the hollow space in one of my pillars for like five hours or so.”

“Oh my god...” Tango squeezes his eyes shut. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“Wh-What?” Impulse stares at him. What for?”

“For not realising he wasn’t you. I should have seen it; I can’t believe I was so blind.”

Impulse blinks. “Oh, Tango, no. Please, please don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault at all.”

“But…” Tango’s eyes glisten with tears. “I… I’ve known you for at least ten years. Surely I…”

“No,” says Impulse firmly. “Don’t blame yourself, Tango. Impulstor is… He’s me. Essentially.”

“What do you mean, Impusle?” asks Zedaph quietly.

Impulse hesitates. “Impulstor is my Hels counterpart. He looks like me, talks like me, he has all my memories. Tango, nobody can really blame you for not noticing. Dude, I know I’m the real Impulse and even I did a double take. You know I’m not observant at all but that was taking it to a whole new level.”

Tango gives a quiet laugh. “Yeah, you’re really not super observant. But still…”

“And hey, at least we now have a fairly easy way to tell us apart,” Impulse adds. “He won’t be able to fool you two again. But the rest of the server needs to be warned and briefed on how to tell us apart. Will you help me do that, both of you?”

“Of course I will,” says Zedaph immediately, putting his arm over Impulse’s shoulders. “We’re a team.”

Tango meets Impulse’s gaze.

Finally, he says, “I always knew you’d have an evil twin but I didn’t expect him to be LESS annoying than you.”

“Hey,” complains Impulse mildly. “Give me some credit for not trying to murder you.”

Tango laughs and grabs his friend in a hug. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favourite Impulse.”

Impulse hugs him back. “Good. Now, let’s find Xisuma and warn him about Impulstor.”

Tango pulls sharply away from Impulse and stares at him. “Wait… Is that his NAME? Impulse plus imposter?”

“Uh huh. Trust me, I didn’t choose it.”

His friend bursts out laughing. “That’s GREAT! Oh my god. That sounds like something Zed would come up with.”

“I know, right!” Zedaph laughs.

Impulse can’t help a laugh too. The tension and fear that’s been controlling him for the last few hours has mostly melted away now that his best friends are safe. Impulstor might still be out there but with a little luck, he won’t be able to fool the rest of the server the way he fooled Tango. He’s sure he’ll see Impulstor again, though.

But the real question is: how soon?

#hermitcraft #impulsesv #tangotek #zedaph #vaunna’s requests

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cafedanslanuit · 3 years

Text

✦ • ° *. — Ｓａｅｒａｎ＇ｓ　Ａｆｔｅｒ　Ｅｎｄｉｎｇ — . * ° • ✦

chapter guide | chat with me | maybe a coffee?

summary: Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

chapter warnings: [check chapter guide for story warnings] mentions and/or descriptions of night terrors

c h a p t e r f o u r — it’s not like me to be so mean you’re all i wanted

“Are you sure about this?” MC asked as she stepped into Jumin’s office. He closed the door behind her and sat on one of the sofas, inviting her to do the same.

“I already told you it’s more than okay. We have an interior designer but I… I am discontent with how this office looks. I want to change it and you need a job, what’s there more to ask?”

“I guess you’re right,” she replied with a smile, taking out a notebook from her purse. “I guess I was just worried you would have a problem with your father about hiring a different interior designer.”

“Not at all, I made all the normal paperwork C&R asks for a new employee, like a background check and some other revisions. You will also get the benefits freelancers get from our company, in case you were wondering.”

MC shot her eyes up at Jumin. He looked back at her, his eyebrow slightly raised. The silence between both of them became thick, the notebook on MC’s hands trembling slightly

“You’re worried about what I saw on the background check,” Jumin rationalizes, crossing one of his legs over the other one. MC nodded, her eyes darting from her notebook to the man sitting in front of her. Never before had she felt so vulnerable with someone from the RFA.

All this time, she believes only Saeyoung knew about it, since he was a hacker. She had done the best to hide her steps, never commenting on anything she shouldn’t have, knowing that even though Saeran was a better hacker than Saeyoung, he trusted her enough to not dig around her past and she planned to keep it that way.

She would tell him eventually, she had told herself. When she was ready.

“You shouldn’t worry about that. It’s not like you did something wrong,” the man in front of her said. “By your reaction I assume no one knows? Well, Saeyoung probably does. Does Saeran…?” MC shook her head. “I see. Well, he won’t hear it from me,” he assured her. “You can stop worrying about that.”

MC stayed in silence for another moment and then opened her small notebook with a long sigh.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want cats somewhere?” she asked with a small smile, to which Jumin imitated her.

“I actually do. I’ve been thinking about getting some cat pottery. I’ve found a couple of those at a designer website that seem to be a good fit.”

“Can you send me the link, please?” she asked, taking a note. “I will try to see if they still have them.”

The rest of the conversation fluctuated between casual conversation and ideas about Jumin’s new office. Even though she tried her best, she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone else knowing what had happened a few years ago. She wasn’t ready to tell everyone (and a part of her was sure she would never be) and now she felt as if Jumin was finally looking at the real her. The way he talked to her was the same, but she couldn’t shake the feeling something was bound to happen at any second, that if too many people knew about it, somehow history would repeat itself.

Jumin insisted she returned home with Driver Kim and, as soon as she jumped out of the car, she went straight to the kitchen. Distract yourself , had been the clear indication she had been told whenever her thoughts were too much. She put her earphones on with music on high volume as she followed the recipe.

Distract yourself , she repeated the words someone else told her before. No. She didn’t get to break down at something that didn't happen. Jumin didn’t question her about it. Hell, Saeyoung had never questioned her about it. Why would she allow herself to feel like this?

No, she deserved to feel like this. She had the right to feel scared, she had the right to feel whatever she wanted to feel. It had happened a while back, yes, but it was not going to happen again. She felt her chest tighten. It was not happening again. Just because people knew didn’t make it any different. She wasn’t in the wrong, she hadn’t done nothing to feel shame about what happened. It was okay, she was going to be okay, she was--

She felt a hand over her shoulder and screamed.

“It’s me, it’s me!” Saeyoung said, raising his hands in surrender as you took your earphones off. “I’m sorry, I asked you something and you didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

MC shook her head. “It's okay. You just startled me, that’s all. Not used to you being without the leg cast.”

“How did it go with Jumin?” Saeyoung asked carefully.

“Oh, it was okay. He has some ideas so maybe I’ll work on that later. I have to bring him a proposal by the end of the week,” she explained. Saeyoung nodded and waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. He understood.

“I was just going to ask what you were planning on cooking today,” Saeyoung said, his tone playful, trying to lift her mood. “Honestly, I’ve been so blessed since you started taking care of the food around here. God listened to his humble server and said: You! You deserve good food!” he joked, pointing at a corner in the kitchen. MClaughed. “And I was there, choking on a Honey Buddah probably, agog, aghast,” he said, running to the same corner and playing himself. “Thankful. Blessed. Touched by God’s light and MC’s cooking.”

More laughter erupted from MC as Saeyoung kept joking around. The door opened and they both saw Saeran entering the apartment, hands on his pockets and a dull expression on his face.

“Saeran! I made dinner,” Saeyoung beamed.

“I made dinner,” she corrected him, elbowing him on the ribs playfully. MC looked over at Saeran and smiled at him. “It’s going to be ready in twenty minutes or so.”

“I don’t want it,” Saeran muttered, leaving his keys on the small coffee table. Her smile faded and she did the best to bring it back up.

“Should I save you some for later?”

“No,” he said, avoiding her gaze and heading over to his room. The smile on her face finally vanished and she felt once more a hand on your shoulder. Saeyoung looked at MC apologetically and she shrugged, trying to rest importance to what just had happened.

“I’m guessing you do want some?” she asked and he immediately nodded with a smile.

“Please, I’m starving,” he sighed, putting a hand on his neck theatrically. You giggled and went back to your cooking, listening to Saeyoung rant about something he had seen on a movie the past week.

You had never been so thankful to have him.

…

Apparently, decorating an office with little cat motives while also maintaining a professional look was harder than MC had expected. She had been up all night in her room looking for new furniture and items she could add, drawing and drawing Jumin’s room in her pad and checking the photos and measurements she had taken earlier over and over again.

It felt good to finally be back to work again. After months of thinking only about religious cults and Saeran’s recovery, she knew she needed to get back on track. She had been without a job for about two months when Saeran had first contacted her to try out “an app”, and thinking she hadn’t many job opportunities before and rent wasn’t going to wait for her, she had taken it.

And now there she was, four months later trying to get back on the saddle.

MC clicked the next page on the website and a pop up of a blonde woman offering her help navigating the website made chills run down her spine. How long would it be until she could stop thinking about Rika? She took a sip of her coffee and let out a long sigh.

She still couldn’t believe Rika was found unimpeachable. Her attorney had brought a psychiatrist to the court who claimed to have assessed her as she waited for the trial. Apparently, Rika had been through her fair share of trauma as a child. Thanks to Yoosung, MC already knew Rika had been adopted by cruel parents and judging by what she’d seen at Mint Eye, she was sure Rika wasn’t in her best mental state. The updates MC read online didn’t provide any video of the trial itself as some subjects were private, but the source did confirm Rika was practically delusional. She had talked about a childhood friend named Mika, who she claimed has given her the idea for Mint Eye. But when Rika’s attorney tried looking for her, he discovered said Mika had died at the brief age of ten years, just a couple of years after being adopted.

Apart from the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder the psychiatrist had diagnosed Rika with, it seemed Rika couldn’t differentiate real life from her imagination anymore. The psychiatrist claimed she also had a complex personality disorder that could take time to correctly diagnose. The information presented on trial was enough for the judge to find Rika unimpeachable and sent her to a mental facility to spend the rest of her days.

The night she read those updates from the trial, as she rocked Saeran softly to help him sleep again after a nightmare, MC let herself cry again, torn between the feelings of wanting her to suffer and trying to understand she hadn’t been in her right mind from a very young age. As she looked through the window, she thought about V. She remembered Saeran mentioning V had been a victim of Rika as well and her heart broke by how much suffering he had been into while also being kind to her during the days MC spent at Mint Eye.

MC closed her eyes and wished V were healing as she was thinking about him.

A loud crash startled her, making her look at the door. Another crash and screams followed and she quickly stood up, recognizing Saeran’s voice immediately. She opened Saeran’s room and found him tossling on his bed, eyes closed and face damp with sweat.

“Saeran, wake up,” she whispered, standing on the edge of the bed. “Saeran, baby, it’s a nightmare,” she said in the softest voice possible, grazing his arm with her fingertips.

The door opened again and Saeyoung entered, his honey eyes widening at his brother screaming on the bed. He quickly jumped on the bed, ignoring MC’s protests and took Saeran by the shoulders, sitting him up.

“Saeran, wake up!” he said, shaking his shoulders. Saeran’s teal eyes opened and Saeyoung smiled again. “Hey, it was a--”

And that was when the first strike hit.

Saeran had punched Saeyoung in the face, who had fallen on the bed backwards. Saeran hit him once more as his brother tried to cover himself. MC gasped loudly and quickly latched herself on Saeran’s back, trying to restrain his arms the best she could.

“Saeran, it was a nightmare!” she yelled. She could hear Saeyoung’s grunts underneath his brother and she wished she had more strength than Saeran. “You’re safe! You’re not in Min Eye, you’re safe!” she assured him, using all the force she had to restrain his arms, stopping him from hitting Saeyoung any further. “Saeran, you’re safe!”

It took Saeran a moment to stop his movements. His body immediately tensed up and MC figured out he had noticed Saeyoung’s body underneath him. When she demeaned safe, she let go of his arms, which fell limp against his sides.

“Are you okay?” she whispered and looked at Saeran nodding slowly.

“What happened?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Saeyoung got up from bed and MC noticed the faint stain of blood on his cheek. He put his hand over Saeran’s shoulder and shrugged nonchalantly.

“You had a nightmare, but it’s okay now!” he said with a grin. Saeran looked up with a grimace.

“I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I hardly doubt she did,” Saeran muttered, his head leaning to MC’s side. Saeyoung dismissed him, moving his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Gonna get cleaned up, try to get some rest, bro,” he said, leaving Saeran’s room.

Without a word, Saeran got back into his bed and even let MC put the sheets over him. Her face was full of concern and he realized for the first time, she was quiet after one of his nightmares. She would usually talk to him, trying to get his thoughts to stop swimming around like they were in that moment.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, making her eyes look at him. She quickly nodded.

“I held you back, so you didn’t hurt me,” she replied, putting a strand of his hair behind his ear. “But don’t worry about that now. Did you take your pill before falling asleep?”

Saeran nodded, watching MC’s lips purse.

“They will start working better soon, I promise,” she whispered. Saeran watched her lean down as she always did to leave a kiss on his forehead but stopped herself. His chest ached. “I’m still working on that Jumin project, so I’ll be awake for a while. Knock my door if anything happens, okay?” she asked him sweetly and he nodded once more.

Battling with her intense desire to stay, MC stood up and left Saeran’s room without looking back. There wasn’t anything in the world she wanted more than to stay by his side until he fell back asleep but she also knew he needed to get better without the need to have her around. He couldn’t depend on her, no matter how much she was craving to go back and snuggle up with him, trying to chase all his nightmares away.

There was also the lingering concern about Saeyoung.

She found him in the bathroom, trying to pour alcohol over the wound on his cheek. She stopped him and made him sit on the toilet gently, trying to assess the damage. Thankfully, his cheekbone didn’t seem to be broken and the wound on his cheek was small, so there wasn’t the need for stitches. MC started cleaning it up in silence with a cotton pad, taking her time.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. She quickly shook her head.

“You didn’t know. But in the future, when he gets those night terrors… you need to wake him up gently. Works best on him or he gets confused and sometimes violent,” she explained. A move of her hand made Saeyoung hiss. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Duly noted,” Saeyoung tried to smile, but failed. MC some cream on the other cheek, hoping it didn’t bruise too much.

“Just give him some time, please,” she asked him softly.

“Don’t worry for me, MC,” Saeyoung grinned. “I’m okay.”

MC wished she believed him.

previous chapter | next chapter [tba]

#mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #saeran after ending #saeran ae #saeran x mc #saeran choi x mc #mysme saeran #mm saeran

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ephemeral-writings · 4 years

Text

Everything I Need // 04

oh sehun x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.3k

Everything I Need // oh sehun teaches you a thing or two about life. but falling for the boy who lived across from you was not what you had anticipated.

A/N-- Please leave me your thoughts!!! Enjoy reading!

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05

//////

The day your mother passed, it had rained. It was a spring shower that woke you up that morning, accompanied by the sound of water dripping from the roof leak into a rusty pail. You sat in bed, seconds after, your phone rang. Nothing had felt right that morning, not the rain, not the call from your mother’s hospital. But the absence of your father’s cigarette and constant grumbling yanked you back to reality. Your mother was dead before you had a proper goodbye.

As you looked around the memorial service, you had one thought in mind and one only: you were truly alone now. No amount of fake crying from your relatives could convince you to believe that they cared an ounce about you. And you couldn’t blame them. They didn’t know you and you didn’t know them. Why should your locked up father and dead mother have to force them to take you under their wing?

After the service, without much thought, you packed a bag and left your childhood home behind in the dust of a moving bus. You said a silent prayer that your father won’t find you in the next chapter of your life. You prayed and cried, for the first time since the news of her death, that your mother would watch over you from above.

You landed in Seoul, the main city just shy on the outskirts of the town you grew up in. You’d always dreamt about going to Seoul, but had never visited. You’ve heard of the high rise buildings that stretched to the sky. Turned out they weren’t that high, just taller than the ones from your town. It was definitely busier; the streets were always littered with people, cars lined bumper to bumper, in essence it was like a city that never stept.

You were accepted into a university in Seoul. Your plan had been to work while studying, and with the money you’d make, send half the amount in every check to your parents. Your already precarious future depleted the minute your life took a turn for the worst. One second a single lit candle was guiding you, and the next it was blown out, and you were left standing in the dark. But you’d eventually find your way around. Be it may lead to a cliff, you couldn’t stay in one place forever.

The first place you found was Jubilant. A help wanted sign was the beacon of light in beginning your new life, and more than anything, you needed money. The university had offered you enough aid to carry the weight of your tuition, and with scholarships, you had almost no trouble continuing your education. First year went by, slightly uneventful as you were only trying to adjust to the new-- well, everything. Your roommate situation was a mess overall. Second year was even more mundane as you were starting to get used to your everyday life of nothing but routine. Your second year was when you got comfortable enough to go out a little more, outside your school and work life. After a year of living with three other girls who were more or less strangers to you, you finally decided to move out on your own. You spent weeks searching for a place, and finally found the place you were residing at now. You arrived at your appointment early morning to sign and secured the vacant unit, and moved in a day after.

“Hey, Y/N.” Chanyeol called for your attention. It was downtime at the restaurant, and you were listlessly restocking on wrapped to-go utensils. Chanyeol was tinkering with his phone that was also dj-ing the restaurant’s soundtrack. There’s no one except a young couple who looked just about finishing up and your boss nowhere to be found, he put on what you liked to call lobby music. Chanyeol had a knack for jazz and blues, though he looked more like a rock and rap sort of guy. You made a small sound to let him know that you were listening. “You’re a girl, right?”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Last I checked, yes, Chanyeol, I am. What’s up?”

He grinned at your sarcasm. It wasn’t often when you’d let your, as Chanyeol liked to call it, fuck-off vibe, so he noted that you were in a good mood.

“What does a guy need to do to win over your heart?”

“My heart isn’t up for offers, Yeol. Don’t try for a second time.” You smirked.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “There wasn’t even a first time, Y/N. We talked about this, c’mon.” He groaned, leaning his right hip on the counter you were working on, arms crossed as he scrutinized you. Chanyeol was not a shy one. His gaze, at first, alarmed you. Having those set of wide eyes and a tenacious gaze made you uneasy, it was as if he could see right through you. After working with him for so long, you’ve learned that those clear eyes held more curiosity than harm. Although, curiosity could lead to harmful circumstances.

“Who’s the girl?”

You beated him to the punch. It was obvious that he needed advice on whoever it was that held his interest, you just weren’t sure you’d be much of help to him. In your relatively short life, you’ve never had someone pursue you romantically. It was unheard of, you being associated with a male, nevermind it being romantic or not. It wasn’t something you pondered a lot about, at least, not until last weekend due to a certain male who lived in your building.

“She’s in my music theory class. Senior, so you probably don’t know her.” A senior like himself, and also a music major, you deduce. “We got paired up to do a project together, but she’s…” Chanyeol trails off as he noticed the couple waving us down for their bill.

Chanyeol settled their check and bussed the table, and returned to your side all in less than five minutes. “So, I think she hates me. Actually, scratch that. I know she hates me, and I don’t understand why. I can’t read the girl, and it’s killing me.”

“Are you interested in her? Or just confused why a girl would reject you, the great Park Chanyeol?”

“Watch the tone, missy. I’m still older than you.”

“Well?” You pointed a brow at him.

Chanyeol thought for a while before deciding, “Well, she’s pretty. And smart. And she’s so talented-- that’s why I was so excited to work with her on the project! But then she got all frosty on me when I tried talking to her, and I’m confused.”

He truly looked perplexed by the girl in question behavior.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you shrugged, honest and regretful. Chanyeol, though a huge dork once you got to know him, was very handsome. If this girl didn’t like Chanyeol, for whatever reason unbeknownst to you, you couldn’t help.

Chanyeol was a music major and joined you at Jubilant a year after you started working there. He was a quick learner and even quicker at becoming one of the best servers. He held an affable vibe to him that was contagious, to the point that you found yourself tossing remarks back and forth until you established the relationship that you had now.

“I’ll figure it out, some way or another,” he waved the matter aside. “So, what’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re chirpy, Y/N.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I said hi to you earlier and you replied.”

“Okay, I always say hi to you,” you retorted, hands on your hips in defense.

“No, you just wave at me like a fly’s in your face or just grunt. You’re chirpy,” he emphasized the last word obnoxiously.

“Shut up, Yeol.”

“What, so you got nothing for me? Not even after the juicy stuff I spilled for you?”

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

“Uh, rude.” He deadpanned.

You laughed. Chanyeol could be sassy when he wanted to, and he mostly was when he’s with you. You guessed you both brought out something within each other that you’ve never known existed.

You tried not to let your mind wander during the rest of your shift, in case Chanyeol grew more suspicious and interrogated you again.

Though you didn’t like the job, it forced you to speak, something you had troubles doing, to talk to people who were strangers and co-workers who were your friends. It was just unclear, to you at least, whether that friendship extended beyond the scope of the restaurant. You hated that empty feeling in your chest whenever you parted ways with Chanyeol, him going back to his endeavors of becoming a music producer and you...well, you didn’t know exactly what you were doing or where you were going. You majored in psychology, but only because it had seemed like it was interesting. Three years in and you were beginning to think that it wasn’t. But it’s too late to turn back, so you would have to learn to settle.

Fortunately(unfortunately), you don’t see Sehun for almost a whole week. It’s weird that before that night, you wouldn’t notice how often you wouldn’t crash into him in the hall or the mailroom. He was Sehun, your neighbor who has lived less than ten feet away from you for months, yet you don’t know a thing about him. Sehun, the man who was so disarmingly handsome that you now found yourself peeking corners to see if you had missed him by just a second, or making trips to the mailroom even though you had already collected them after school just to catch a glimpse of him. He became a phantom that was impossible to find.

Of course you knew where to find him, but it wasn’t like you had a purpose to seek him out or knock on his door. Plus, it wasn’t like one conversation with him as your bartender constituted him as a friend. You convinced yourself that it was best to just leave it at that.

The following Monday, you came back from school to a surprise. You hated surprises for reasons, but seeing Sehun standing in front of your door as you watched from behind, a tinge of eagerness sparked on your skin.

“Hi.”

Sehun, being so wrapped up in conjuring up the nerve to knock on your door, is startled shitless when he turns around to meet your questioning gaze.

“Did you need something, Sehun?” You asked.

Sehun shook his head, his eyes being hidden slightly from his falling bangs. He looked younger, less brooding, and you noticed that he was freshly showered and his fluffy locks proved your speculation. There’s a waft of aftershave as well, and a scent of freshness that you picked up. You were still debating whether you liked the smell of seaside breeze with earthy wood when Sehun responded with, “Have you eaten yet?”

You willed your hopes to simmer down, to not jump to a favorable conclusion. He’s not inviting you to eat with him, is he? Though a part of you, the part that finds Sehun’s attractiveness insatiable, hopes with every fiber of your being to be allowed the time to bask in his beauty, another part of you dreads having to expose just how utterly banal your person actually was.

“I have, actually,” you lied easily.

Sehun, you realize, was actually easier to read than you think. Since his countenance didn’t range very far from each one, it was easy to see the slightest change and the small flash of disappointment in his eyes made you regret your words, but you weren’t about to go back on your words now.

“How about later, then?” He asked.

“I have a lot of work to catch up on, maybe next time.” Your heart thundered uncomfortably in your chest as you rejected him again. You felt your resolve fading the longer he stood there, contemplating whether he should say more. It wasn’t like this when you talked to him last week, but then again, you also had a bit to drink.

Alas, Sehun agreed, quietly retreating back to his unit with a lighter chest. It was four pm, the perfect time to squeeze in a nap but as you stripped down and crawled into bed, you found it impossible to shut down. Thoughts of why Sehun had approached you and why he was so adamant on having a meal with you prevented any sleep to come to you.

Finally at quarter past six, you decided fuck it. Sehun opened the door, not surprised to see you-- he probably looked through the peephole, something you could never do because you could barely reach it.

“Still want to grab dinner?” You blurted.

Sehun quirked a semi-smile, and nodded. He stepped back into his apartment, to grab a jacket he tells you, and you got a glimpse of his living space. You couldn’t see much, not from the entrance, but what you could see was a charcoal grey L-shaped sofa, a very sizable television mounted on the wall. The other side was the kitchen, similar to your own unit except reversed in layout.

Sehun emerged from his room wearing a black hoodie with the word Russel across the chest and a circle of stars on one of the sleeves. “Let’s go.”

While Sehun seemed as cool as a cucumber, not minding the small fact that you randomly going out for dinner together wasn’t something random. He even whistled to an unknown tune, as if the crisp air was singing him a song and he was responding with one of his own. The keys in his pocket even played to the rhythm of his steps.

The best thing about living in the city was that almost everything was accessible on foot, especially places to eat. Even as the sun was setting and people should’ve been home, having dinner, there was a considerable amount of people on the streets, running errands or doing like you and Sehun and looking for a place to eat out.

“Where are we going?” You asked. It had barely occurred to you that there was no prior agreement on what to eat, let alone knowledge on what your preferences were.

“I was thinking soup, with noodles.” That sounded pleasant with the weather so you quickly agreed. “I know just the place then.”

You and Sehun walked by your usual diner, passed by a Japanese restaurant, a ramen place which you thought was the destination, but he continued on until you arrived at a specialized knife cut noodle soup restaurant.

A cozy, traditional style restaurant was not something you had imagined Sehun having in mind. It was the perfect ambiance to the blue hue that was morphing into black by the second just outside; a juxtaposition to the warmth that the earthy tones of the restaurant provided.

A nice middle-aged lady greeted you from where she stood across the room, serving a table of older men. Sehun held up two fingers to indicate a party of two, and she gestured to an empty table by the window.

It was silent as you perused the menu. It was a small selection but straight-to-the-point with all the flavors being relatively traditional. While you decide on what to get, Sehun seemed to have already known what to get from the minute he walked in so he began to set the table, placing a napkin from the dispenser and a pair of silver metal chopsticks and spoon on top. Much to your astonishment, he does the same for you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, not forgetting your manners. He hummed in response.

“Have you decided?” He asked. You were debating between the chicken and the kimchi noodle soup.

“Hm...yeah, I’m ready.”

The same lady came by and jotted down your orders: Sehun ordered the perilla seed noodle soup while you chose the chicken. You both thanked her when she brought over two cups of water before slipping into silence. You busied yourself by finding interest in the streets. It was finally dark now, with the sun gone, the sky was painted in indigo. Unfortunately, the stars are barely visible under the city lights. In your old town, you would’ve been able to see all the stars, could’ve drawn out constellations if you set your mind to it.

“So,” Sehun started. It was so quiet that the sound of his voice caused you to jolt. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized. “I think they put this in the wrong box.”

At this, Sehun presented an envelope you recognize all too well. The seal of NCF rested on the left corner, followed by your name and address. Your stomach gripped, the pain eliciting all the nerves in your body upfront with hairs standing stiff and tall. This was the reason he wanted to have dinner?

You tried to mask your surprise. “Maybe it’s another Y/N at the apartment,” you excused. Your voice was steady, leveled, more than you could say for your body which was quivering from inside out. You played it off as if you were shivering from the sudden gust of wind when a guest walked in.

Sehun shook his head. “I checked with Mr. Kim,” your kind albeit nosy landlord. “He insisted on passing it onto you, but I told him that I would be seeing you tonight.”

How does one learn the art of teleportation because at that moment, you wanted to disappear into thin air. You weren’t ready to face this.

“Hey, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m not asking any questions.” Sehun reassured you. If he noticed the sudden paleness in your face or breaths you were stifling, he didn’t comment on them.

Your food arrived, and you both ate in silence. The food, although smelled delightful, tasted bland on your tongue that was as heavy as lead. Not a soul in this city knew of your past, of your family background whatsoever. There was never any need for anyone to know that your mother died of cancer or that your father was doing time.

“How do you know Liah?”

You glanced up from the ground where your eyes had been fixed. Sehun and you had left the restaurant after the quiet meal, and were ambling back to the apartment. You were stunned, not because of the way her name fell off his lips so naturally, you reasoned, but because he’s decidedly inquiring about your relationship with Liah. You gave Sehun the cliff notes version of your story, sparing him the unnecessary drama that had ensued. It was all ancient history since Liah was no longer in your life.

Sehun listened as you recounted living at school with Liah, after which you considered asking him the same question back but couldn’t form the words. While you debated, Sehun does the unexpected and revealed, “Whatever you think you saw at the club last week, Liah and I aren’t a thing.”

There was a park along the way, but cutting through it made the trek longer. Despite that, Sehun gestured with a nod towards the pathway lighted by warm street lights that did almost nothing to illuminate the cracked pavement.

“We met that same night.”

Without him telling you that, you figured that Liah would be bold enough to make a move on Sehun on their first meeting. Liah was known to be your building’s playgirl, if you will. Word spread around that she had slept with just about every guy in the dorms; you wouldn’t put it past her that she has done it in your shared room but you can’t say for sure since she’s never done it while you were in.

Suddenly, there was a small pit of anger bubbling in you, the source of it being the memories of Liah tormenting you, but what fueled it, you don’t know. You felt your walls close in, and soon you were just plain annoyed.

You shrugged your shoulders while hugging the package to your chest like some anchor, letting it fall heavily under your neck. “It’s honestly none of my business, even if you were. A thing.” You didn’t really mean to sound so cold, detached, but you couldn’t help the ice from freezing through your words, rendering even yourself speechless at how foreign you sounded.

Sehun stayed quiet at that, shoving his hands further in his pockets.

“Listen,” you stopped in your tracks, making him stop as well before he turned to face you. “I’d appreciate it if you could just forget about this,” you held up the crumpled mail, “and maybe not associate me with Liah anymore. You probably have your reasons, and so do I, to ask you for this favor. It’ll be the one and only that I ask, so, please.”

Sehun didn’t answer for a while. His face was lax, void of any emotion, as he looked at your face. Thanking the poor lighting, you doubt he could see how red you were turning. Your heart raced faster with every beat until you were sure it would burst. Then, his face crumbled into a look of confusion and desperation. “I can’t figure you out, Y/N.”

It came out quicker than both of you would’ve expected when you shot back, “Then don’t.”

Sehun shifted his weight to the opposite leg, showing for a split second that your sharp words affected him. He struggled to say something back, and when he didn’t for a minute, you turned and continued walking back to the apartment.

The sigh Sehun released sounded of defeat laced with frustration before there was the sound of shoes scuffling as he jogged beside you.

“Bongsan Hospital,” Sehun started, “About four years ago, that’s where we first met, sort of.”

Bongsan Hospital was where your mother stayed during her chemotherapy. She was in and out of several facilities, getting treatment here and there, until finally in your second year of high school, she was admitted into Bongsan.You remember too many nights of sleeping on those god awful chairs they had. In the winters you’d bring a thick blanket for your mother and a small one for yourself. In the summer, you’d sit in the garden as you waited hours and hours for your mother to receive treatment.

“What? How? I thought you were from the city this whole time,” you hesitated, stopping again in your tracks.

“I am,” he answered vaguely, prompting you to raise a brow, asking for elaboration. “What? I grew up in the city.”

“Sehun, the hospital,” you deadpanned.

“My mother’s doctor referred her to Bongsan, said the air was better for the condition of her lungs,” he explained.

“Sehun, you are about the vaguest man on Earth.” You said impatiently. You hadn’t pegged Sehun to be a man of such tact, beating around the bush like a young boy hinting his mother for a new toy would do.

Sehun fought a smile from spreading across his face. “Do you remember a conversation that you had with a woman in the garden? She was painting when her palette was blown over by the wind?”

The wheels in your head turned and turned until you recalled the memory. You remember helping a woman who frequently painted in the hospital’s garden when her paint palette had blown away, which she graciously thanked you for doing. She complimented your floral dress which you had only worn because your mother said that she missed the times when you were younger and she’d dressed you up. “Like the princess you are,” she had said.

The next thing you remember was the woman asking if she could paint you, sitting on the verdant patch of land. What you don’t remember was a certain male being there.

“What about the woman? Was she your mother?” Sehun nodded, making a show of acknowledging your keen memory. “But why don’t I remember you?”

“Well, you ran away afterwards. I was only approaching when I heard my mom asking you to model for her,” he revealed, a fond smile gracing his lips. “You ran off so fast, you really don’t remember running into me?”

You did, after the fact of him mentioning it. However, you don’t recall ever speaking to the woman-- Sehun’s mom-- again after the incident, and you haven’t been back to Bongsan since your mom’s passing.

Which reminded you to ask Sehun, “How is she doing? Your mom.”

“Good, I think. I visit when I have time, but she doesn’t want me to see her ‘not in her best form’. Her words, not mine.” He said, grinning when he finally sees something other than a frown that you’ve been wearing since dinner.

It took a while but you both eventually made it back home. Sehun was fairly quiet the rest of the way home, and likewise you didn’t know what to say. It would be misleading to say that he was a gentleman and walked you to your door since he lived right across from you, but your heart stuttered at the fleeting idea nevertheless.

“I think I owe you an apology,” you said. “For walking off and for speaking so harshly.”

The smile Sehun gave you was affable, and dare you say adorable. “I think I can take whatever you throw my way, Y/N.” You couldn’t help but think that his words were meant for more meaning than one.

“Go on in,” he jerked his chin towards your apartment and you do so after offering him a closed lipped smile. “I’ll see you around,” he offered, leaving you the slightest chance to say otherwise.

That night, you dreamt of your mother, but unlike the many times she’s appeared in your dreams, this one didn’t leave you waking in cold sweat and screaming for her.

#exo scenarios #oh sehun #exo sehun #exo series #sehun fanfic #sehun scenarios #sehun fluff #sehun angst #angst #fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #exo angst #exo fanfic #sehun

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bytheangell · 4 years

Text

Let the Clichés Pour

(Read on AO3) (Based off of This Tweet that everyone kept sending to me because I used to waitress at an Olive Garden, so of course I had to turn it into an entire fic)) -------------- “I was going to break up with you anyway, I guess you just sped up the process.”

God, Camille was a bitch. Her words replay in his head over and over as he drives, looking for the first place he can find that’ll serve alcohol. He’ll take a corner store just as quickly as a five-star restaurant at this point, but he absolutely needs a drink. He should’ve known better, should’ve seen it coming the way all of his friends did, warning him constantly that Camille was no good, that she didn’t love him the way he loved her. Magnus suspected that to an extent, but he didn’t think she didn’t care for him at all.

She said she was working late, that they’d celebrate another day over the weekend. Magnus - because he loved her, and what a goddamn fool he was for that - took the day off to go to her apartment while she was at work and cook her a full three-course meal from scratch to have waiting for her when she got back. As a surprise.

The surprise was his when he heard her key turn in the lock and she tumbled in through the doorway with another guy attached to her lips. And her hips. And her--

No, he is entirely too sober to relive that moment. As if on cue he spots the sign for an Olive Garden and pulls off the road towards it. He doesn’t want to be alone and he doesn’t want to tell Cat and Ragnor just yet; they have a night out of their own planned and he doesn’t want to ruin it. He knows they’ll want to know and that there’s no way they’d let him deal with this on his own which is exactly why he decides to wait until tomorrow to break the news. Just because his Valentine’s Day is ruined doesn’t mean everyone else’s has to be, too.

The restaurant is packed. Magnus doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by the number of people who wait cramped in the too-small lobby since the weather outside is far too cold to wait anywhere else. Thankfully the host with the glasses who looks two seconds away from having a breakdown finishes his by-the-book greeting by adding that the seats at the bar are first-come, first-serve.

There’s a single chair open at the end of the bar and Magnus takes it, praying no one he knows will be here to see him. He’s given a polite but short “be right with you” from the bartender that, judging by the length of the paper lined with drink orders coming out of the printer next to her, maybe a bit longer than she’d lead him to believe.

“I’m in no rush,” he assures her. He’s eager to get alcohol in himself but, honestly, the sad truth of the matter is that he has nowhere else to be. He just needs to kill enough time where he isn’t alone, and he doesn’t foresee himself bursting into tears at an Olive Garden bar over the woman who broke his heart so he thinks he’s safe here. Safer than he’d be drowning himself in wine and ice cream alone in his apartment if nothing else.

“Why are there so many people on the wait?” The exasperated voice of a waiter floats over to him, the words directed at the female bartender who only laughs and shakes her head.

“It’s like this every year, Alec. I don’t know why you keep acting surprised,” she points out.

“The surprise is that people aren’t even trying to up their standards from a $9.99 unlimited soup and salad deal for a romantic night out. If one more person tries to get 4 samples of wine out of me to avoid buying a glass I swear to God-”

“Deep breaths, Lightwood. Take your samples, bat your eyelashes, and do what you do best.”

The waiter - Alec - rolls his eyes, and Magnus is left with the distinct impression this cannot possibly be what he does best. The bartender makes a few more drinks before she sighs at the orders still remaining and decides they’ll just have to wait, turning back to Magnus to take his order.

“Sorry about the wait,” she says, and he’s surprised to see she actually does seem apologetic despite clearly being swamped. “I’m Maia, what can I get for you?”

“Whiskey, neat. Make it a double. Best you got.” Because fuck it, he has about $400 worth of jewelry to return the next day so why not splurge a little on overpriced drinks.

“Waiting for someone?” The bartender asks him, and then immediately regrets the question when Magnus opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, frowning. He realizes that he’s been operating in such a daze since he left Camille’s apartment, ordering his heartbreak drink on instinct, that now that it sits in front of him the reality of it all crashes down on him.

“No, but I’m afraid that’s for the best.” He’s quick to recover with a smile, albeit a sad smile. If this were another setting on another day he might actually be the cliche who spills his guts out to the bartender. Instead it’s Valentine’s Day in a busy chain restaurant and the poor girl in front of him doesn’t have time to play therapist. “Thanks,” he adds, taking a very long sip of the drink.

She takes the easy out and turns back to the couple next to Magnus, leaving and coming back with an appetizer for them to share. There’s another bartender on the other end of the bar, Magnus observes as he continues to make quick work of his whiskey, a blonde male who’s doing more winking and theatrical bottle flipping than actual drink making, not that his patrons seem to mind. At least not the women; Magnus imagines he might be making an enemy or two out of the dates they’re there with.

It is a nice distraction, Magnus thinks, being surrounded by people, even if most of those people are couples. The best distraction of all, however, is the frustrated waiter when he’s right back at the side station where the servers go to pick up their drinks from the bar. Magnus has a clear view of him from where he sits and for the first time allows his eyes to dwell on a tattoo barely covered by the collar of his shirt, the scar in his eyebrow, and the way his hazel eyes widen in surprise as he laughs at something the girl next to him says.

“Seriously? A second proposal?” Alec says, shaking his head. “I refuse to believe anyone would want to propose here. There are a million better places! Like literally any other restaurant, for starters.”

“You’re just bitter because you’re still single,” Maia offers.

“No, I just have standards,” Alec counters. “For all the training we get here, nothing could’ve prepared me for the number of guys who think it’s completely acceptable to propose to their girlfriends in Olive Garden on Valentine’s Day.”

Magnus should be offended for probably being roped in with the ‘people without standards’ for spending his own Valentine’s Day here, technically speaking, but that isn’t the part that sticks with him. Alec’s single, Magnus notes - that’s his takeaway. Not that there’s even a hint of the waiter not being straight... and not that Magnus is going to ask out the first attractive person he sees, especially not on Valentine’s Day.

At least not with just one drink in his system.

Magnus gets Maia to refill his whiskey once more with things slowing down just enough that Maia swings back around with a basket of bread despite the fact that he told her he wasn’t hungry. “You’ll thank me later,” she says, eyeing the whiskey pointedly. “The bread is fresh, and I threw in a dipping sauce on the house. Just don’t tell my manager.” She gives him a wink and he wonders how sad he must look for her to be throwing bread and alfredo sauce at him for free.

Magnus finishes the whiskey and, instead of leaving, decides to switch to something a little lighter. It’s with a large glass of sangria that’s more fruit juice than wine, he’s sure, that Alec is back by the bar.

“They’re sitting on the same side of the booth, Maia,” Alec grumbles. “They spent ten minutes making out instead of eating and then complained the food was cold. I swear to God I’m going to commit a felony before the night is over.”

“Tell me before you do!” the blonde bartender chimes in, coming up behind Maia. “I’ll record it and put it on the internet so we can go viral!”

“Thanks for the support, Jace,” Alec says and rolls his eyes again.

Maia turns around, spots Magnus staring, and winces apologetically. “He’s not really going to commit a felony,” she says a bit nervously.

Magnus only laughs. “I wouldn’t blame him if he did. There’s a special place in hell for couples who sit on the same side of a booth.” He intentionally speaks just loud enough for Alec to hear him, and makes eye contact when Alec looks over in his direction to see who said it. Magnus winks at Alec who flushes and turns quickly to leave… too quickly, it would seem, as he runs directly into another server.

Magnus cringes at the sight of spilling drinks followed by the sound of breaking glass, watching a nearby busser spring into action to clean up the mess almost immediately.

“Shit,” Alec curses, looking back over at Magnus with a mixture of shock and mortification before shifting to look apologetically at Maia instead. “Can you-”

“Already remaking them,” she reassures him. “Go clean up, they’ll be done when you get back.”

Alec vanishes from sight and Magnus wishes desperately that he could do the same. Instead, he drenches some bread in alfredo sauce and works on sobering himself up enough to leave before he can do any more damage.

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

Alec is drenched. The only plus side is that the black shirts they wear hide the stains of wine and margarita, but no matter how much he wrings it out into the sink the wet fabric clings to him now and he’s pretty sure he’s starting to get drunk off the smell of the alcohol on him.

“What the hell was that?” Jace’s voice sounds behind him.

“An accident, Jace. People make them. You should know, you make plenty.” Alec glares, hoping his tone is enough to convey that this conversation is absolutely over. As if the night hasn’t been stressful enough before he made an absolute fool out of himself in front of the gorgeous guy at the bar-

“I’ve never seen you drop so much as a single fork, let alone an entire tray of drinks,” Jace insists. “What’s wrong?”

And I’ve never seen someone as gorgeous as that guy at the bar, Alec thinks to himself, and feels the hint of a blush creep onto his cheeks remembering the fact that the very same man saw the entire disaster that Alec just became.

Jace peers closer at him. “Are you blushing?”

Alec pushes past him without a response and goes back out to the bar, praying that Maia has his drinks ready so he can take them and leave as quickly as possible. With any luck, the guy at the bar will be gone.

Of course, luck obviously isn’t in Alec’s favor tonight. Maia still has two drinks to finish and the guy at the bar is definitely still there. Alec looks everywhere but at him while he waits, praying the dim ‘mood lighting’ of the restaurant can keep his embarrassment mostly hidden.

Jace goes back behind the bar, eyes glued curiously on Alec, and it doesn’t take him long to realize exactly where Alec is very pointedly avoiding. Jace smirks and Alec feels the panic flare up in his chest, giving him a warning glare and shaking his head, silently pleading with Jace to not do anything with the dots he just connected.

Still waiting on one last drink Alec is forced to watch in silent horror as Jace leans over to Maia and whispers in her ear. Maia looks up at him in surprise at first but then smirks.

“I will tip you out an extra 10% tonight if the two of you mind your own business,” Alec begs.

“I’m offended,” Maia says as she places the last remake on his tray. “When have I ever done anything that wasn’t entirely in your best interest?”

“15%?” He counters, ignoring her question.

“Save that money and buy the poor heartbroken guy at the bar a drink,” Maia suggests quietly dropping her voice low enough that the guy at the bar won’t overhear.

“He’s- why is he heartbroken?” Alec asks immediately, feeling conflicted over the idea. Who cares if he’s single if he’s also way out of Alec’s league?

“I’ll find out,” Maia says, and before Alec can stop her and say he doesn’t actually care enough for her to pry she’s already too far away for him to get her attention without also drawing attention to himself.

Busying himself as much as he can with every other possible thing he has to do, Alec saves his next round of drinks for last. The guy is still there, talking to Maia, and Alec has never been more concerned over a conversation he isn’t part of in his entire life.

“Maia?” he calls from the side station, and both she and the guy at the bar look over at him. His eyes are gorgeous, lined with black and tinted with shadow, and--

--and Alec’s staring. Shit.

Thankfully Maia makes her way over to hand him the two beers he needs, giving him something else to focus on.

“His name is Magnus,” she whispers. “And some coldhearted bitch broke up with him today.”

An ex-girlfriend. Not a total rule out, but not exactly helpful, and- no. No, he’s definitely not considering trying to make a move on a guy who just got dumped. That has to go against, like, every rule in the book.

“Stop. Just… it’s not going to happen. Let the poor guy sulk in peace.” And without another word Alec turns and heads back to his section.

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

Magnus ends up ordering an appetizer and another drink. He doesn’t know why… or maybe he does. He didn’t intend on comforting himself with a surprisingly nice conversation with Maia and shameless eye candy in the form of a waiter, but it seems to be helping, so he decides to linger a little longer despite the fact that Alec refuses to look him in the eyes.

Until he does. Magnus doesn’t have to worry about embarrassing himself with staring because now it’s Alec’s turn to be caught surveying Magnus... until Alec realizes what he’s doing and goes back to complete avoidance. Magnus sighs and takes another sip of his drink.

When Maia turns back to Magnus she catches him watching Alec walk away and levels him with a knowing gaze.

“Can I help you?” Magnus asks her when she doesn’t turn away, only continues to watch him in silent consideration.

“Not me,” she says cryptically. “But perhaps there’s someone else…”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you could possibly be referring to,” Magnus insists, because like hell he’s about to get thrown out of an Olive Garden, borderline drunk, for harassment.

Maia only hums and goes over to whisper something to the blonde - Jace, Alec had called him - before they both snuck a not-subtle look back at Magnus.

Perhaps he should stop lingering after all.

Except Alec is back a moment later with something new to complain about. It seems innocent enough except for the fact Magnus swears Alec keeps glancing over to see if Magnus is looking, or listening. And though he keeps his gaze very intently on his phone he’s definitely listening.

“Can you believe she had the audacity to say they were in a hurry to make an 8:00 movie and then try to order a well-done steak?” Magnus overhears and glances at the time at the top of his phone screen. It’s 7:12, the restaurant is packed, and though he’s never worked in a restaurant a day in his life even he knows that’s never going to happen.

“I suppose we can’t all be blessed with kind, patient… handsome guests,” Maia says, just loud enough for Magnus to overhear, but he keeps his gaze resolutely on his phone, even as he hears Alec’s frantic whisper of “Maia!” in warning before he’s gone again.

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

“Just admit you think he’s hot,” Maia says, cornering Alec by the soups in the kitchen. He’s waiting for a plate of lasagna to come up in the window and really can’t leave to avoid her, not if he wants the lady with the ‘I’d like to speak to your manager’ haircut out of here before she can actually ask to speak to the manager.

“If I do will you drop this? Because yes, Maia, I think he’s hot. And that’s the end of it. He’s going to pay, and leave, and I’m going to be stuck refilling soup for at least another two hours, and then we’re never going to see each other again,” Alec snaps. He’s stressed enough with his tables and embarrassed enough from spilling those drinks everywhere that he can’t even humor the idea of flirting just then.

“Not even if I caught him staring at your ass as you walked away?” Maia offers in a sing-song voice.

Alec nearly chokes on nothing but air. “Did he really- no. No, I see what you’re doing, and it doesn’t matter.”

The lasagna comes up and Alec grabs it with his towel, taking the plate into the dining room with a smile that’s a little less fake at the idea that the guy at the bar might actually be a little bit into him, too.

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

Magnus is mid-sip when Alec appears to his right again, frantically waving over Maia. He’s so wrapped up in whatever it is he has going on that, Magnus notices with a hint of disappointment he’ll never admit to, he isn’t even ignoring Magnus on purpose this time, he’s just ignoring him.

“This night is my own personal hell,” Alec says.

“What is it this-” “I need two glasses of champagne for, you guessed it, another proposal. This is the third one tonight and I swear I’d have to offer up a blood sacrifice to get someone through the door tonight with the decency to tip even half of what they should for how entitled they all-” but Alec stops abruptly, looking past Maia to where Magnus sits, listening in eagerly.

He can’t help it. He’s just drawn to the sound of his voice, even if Alec is complaining just a tad too loudly about customers around, well, a customer - even though Magnus is certain he’s the only one paying him any attention. And he plans on tipping Maia very well for humoring him the past hour or so, so at least he knows he isn’t personally included in Alec’s rant.

Still, the moment Alec realizes Magnus heard all of that he falls abruptly silent.

“Anyway. Yeah. Two glasses with that stupid strawberry on it,” Alec mutters, suddenly very interested in the little order pad he holds in his hands. Magnus wonders if there’s a particular reason he seems to hate this job, or this holiday, or both, so much. He wants to ask, to get to know Alec a little better the way he had with Maia, and even Jace while the people lingering around the bar for drinks got tables and dispersed, leaving only Magnus lingering behind.

He wants to ask, but instead, he decides he should cut his losses before he gets shot down twice in one romantic holiday. Magnus isn’t sure he can handle that.

Plus, trying to flirt with someone who has to be nice to your face because they’re at work is just asking for trouble - the last thing he wants is to put the poor guy in a position where he feels like he has to act interested just to keep a customer happy. Magnus may crave some validation in his life right about then but he isn’t quite that desperate.

“I should take the check,” he says, loudly enough that Alec can rest assured Magnus will be on his way soon and no longer hovering about to distract him or eavesdrop on his conversations.

Maia nods, printing one out as she pours the champagne, dropping it in front of Magnus on her way past him to Alec. Alec takes a ring out of his pocket to put in one of the glasses and Magnus, against his better judgment, decides to grant himself one last longing glance before he leaves.

Alec decides to do the same, but even with Alec looking at him Magnus can’t help but let his gaze fall down to the ring in the glass, thinking of the ring he has waiting back in his own apartment, the one he was so sure he’d be using soon. He must look really fucking pathetic over those thoughts because the sudden look of sympathy Alec gives him is too much for Magnus to take. Yes, it’s definitely time for him to leave.

Except the moment he stands to leave he sways on his feet, entirely unaware of just how much he actually drank until he tries to move.

“Woah there,” Maia says, coming out from behind the bar to steady him. “Not to be that person, but, well-” it’s obvious she’s trying to find a nice way to say there’s no way she can legally let him go out to his car like this and Magnus spares her the trouble.

“No need. Sitting back down now,” he confirms, silently cursing himself. So much for getting out of their hair. Without another word Maia turns around to get him a water which he accepts gratefully.

There’s a high-pitched squeal of joy followed shortly by clapping. Magnus can almost picture the forced smile on Alec’s face and the exasperated eye-roll he’d seen countless times the moment his back turns to the happy couple. Then he feels a tap on his shoulder, which takes a moment for Magnus to register because he doesn’t know anyone on this side of town besides Camille, so he isn’t sure who he expects to see when he turns around.

....it certainly isn’t Alec.

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

Alec knows he crossed a line. Maybe two or three. Between the constant staring, the fact that he’s positive Maia and Jace have been trying to drop hints at Magnus about him all night or pry information out of him to give to Alec to use somehow, he’s positive there’s no way this ends well for him by the time Victor swings around to check in on how everything is going.

Or, worse, until Magnus takes the survey on those little table tablets and writes all about how his experience was tainted by the rude server who kept shit-talking every customer who came in through the doors. He thinks the guy is probably cool with it from some of his initial reactions but by the end of the night he seems less amused and suddenly Alec isn't so sure he can trust that gut instinct.

He has to fix this before it comes back to bite him - or worse, Maia or Jace - in the ass. Those reviews aren’t just for them, they go to corporate, and he’s seen people lose their jobs over less.

“Hey,” Alec starts, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Listen. I, uh, know you heard some of the stuff I was saying. I just wanted to say sorry. It was unprofessional, and I just- we have those stupid surveys and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything bad about Maia and the service because of me.”

This is, quite possibly, even more embarrassing than spilling an entire tray of drinks on himself, but he owes it to Maia even if she’s been annoying the entire night.

“I wasn’t even considering it,” Magnus says, and Alec’s shoulders slump in relief. “And don’t worry, I tipped your friend at least twice what my entitlement called for.”

Alec winces at the reference to his previous comment, but to his surprise Magnus is laughing. And, realizing he’s laughing, Magnus stops abruptly and looks twice as surprised as Alec.

“Sorry. I was just teasing. Honestly, I wouldn’t have the patience for a food service gig. If I were you I would’ve gotten fired around the second proposal.” Magnus pauses. “Actually, I was having a pretty shitty day and your running commentary made it a lot better. So thanks for that.”

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome,” Alec manages, because it isn’t at all how he anticipated this going. “Sorry you were having a bad day.”

“Thanks.” Magnus says. Alec knows he isn’t imagining the way Magnus’ eyes linger, the way he looks like he’s just on the brink of saying something else.

Alec wonders if he should say something else, anything else, to keep them talking. His voice sounds almost melodic and ALec never wants him to stop talking.

Unfortunately Simon comes running up to him at that exact moment. “Alec, table 34 is getting a dessert on the house and Victor has it waiting for you to take over. He’s been looking everywhere for you.”

“Better get back to the happy couple,” Magnus says instead of whatever else he may have been about to say a moment before. And just like that the moment’s gone, Magnus turns back around in his seat, and Alec is helpless to do anything other than force himself to walk back to the kitchen.

He drops the dessert off, gets coffee for another table, and tries to go about business as usual… but the entire time his mind keeps drifting back to the guy at the bar. He knows it’s stupid after making sure everything was fine to go back and risk crossing a line with a customer but he can’t help it. Alec turns and heads back out to the bar…

...only to find it empty.

Maia sees the disappointment on his face and shakes her head in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you finally decide to ask for his number after he leaves,” she says.

“No. Of course not. I was just… coming to check on you. And Jace,” Alec lies unconvincingly.

“Uh-huh,” Maia replies, sounding equally unconvinced. “So you wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in the fact that he left his number on the back of the receipt?” Maia dangles a piece of paper up in the air expectantly, and Alec all but lunges for it. Scrawled above 10 beautiful digits is a note:

‘Hoped your friend might want this. If not, toss it and pretend this never happened for the sake of what little dignity I have left. -Magnus’

Alec beams at Maia. “I owe you!”

“After the tip he left? We’ll call it even.” Maia says with a wink.

Alec wastes no time pulling out his phone and pulling up his text messages.

A: Hey, it’s Alec. Your dignity is still very in tact.

M: Good to know.

A: Would it be too soon to ask if you’re free tomorrow tonight?

Alec hears his name being called but it only vaguely registers as he stares at the three little dots blinking at the bottom of the message in anticipation.

M: Unfortunately, I have a grand tour of ‘I-told-you-so’s tomorrow

Alec’s face falls. Maybe Magnus was just hoping for a booty call tonight, or-

M: But I can tell you all about it over coffee Sunday, if you’re free then?

Alec smiles through the breath of relief he lets out.

A: It’s a date.

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #maia roberts #jace herondale #people kept sending me this tweet i couldn't help it #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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cwmoonglum · 3 years

Text

The Atomic Death of the Moon

20/05/07 – The Moon is on Fire. Atomic death pours from the skies. Sneaking onto the family computer at 7.30am per my orders, I find my email inbox flooded with furious diplomatic cables. My real life friend, fresh from holding Stalinist show trials of those who objected to a recently ratified treaty, is facing fresh calls to resign. In the parlance of the day; the moon is closed.

In 2007, adolescence was being revolutionised by access to an internet much more anarchic than today's. Youtube was only two years old, music was something to be downloaded illegally via megaupload and imageboards proliferated. Within a year 'Anonymous' would announce its opposition to Scientology in the much touted Project Chanology; a celebrated mainstream debut that often overshadows its precursor events. Anonymous – a loose alliance of mainly teenagers drawn from across the constellation of imageboards – had been conducting 'raids' for years prior to Chanology. From the occupation of Habbo Hotel with offensive statements and racial caricatures to the scripting of endlessly self-replicating cubes and storms of horse dicks that would crash Second Life servers, the absurd and often cruel humour of the group was stamped across the internet. Anonymous were the degraded Situationists of the commercialising internet, squeezing jouissance from the newly colliding social groups of odd hobbyists, lonely eccentrics and baffled normies.

youtube

With widening internet access yet many people connecting via low powered computers, a market emerged for browser games. In these, roleplaying and metagaming were as compelling as in narrative games. One such game that persists today,Cyber Nations, found itself targeted by Anonymous. A political simulation game where players controlled their own nations, the gameplay was itself was fairly monotonous, but the wider system of alliance forming resulted in elaborate treaties, wars and diplomacy that was truly gripping. On Cyber Nations, Anonymous went under the banner of /b/ (named for the 'random' board on, amongst others, 4chan), and spent 7 months growing itself. With a loose governing structure, /b/ existed mostly on the sidelines before it was dragged into Great War III, a multi-faction conflict that was to have been non-nuclear. However, two rogue actors within /b/ launched nuclear weapons, causing both the mass of members to follow suit and the nominal leader of the alliance, Furseiseki, to disband it. Now pariahs, /b/ spammed the Cyber Nations forums with all manner of shock images to disrupt the game, culminating in a DDoS attack and hack where the home page was defaced and the game's source code stolen. Cyber Nations was down for a number of days, and upon restart my own nation, designated as part of /b/, was stomped into the ground by furious players. The 'disbandment' section on /b/'s official channels read 'many lulz were had, but now we're off TO THE MOON.' Opened to public beta in February 2007, Lunar Wars was a political simulation game that took the broad strokes of Cyber Nations and refined them. Developed by Alessandro Bassi ('Sandro') as a way to teach himself web development, it swiftly attracted players, and offered a new theatre for Anonymous following the dissolution of /b/. I joined up as a junior diplomat for the Elitist Lunar Superstructure on 18/04/07.

The ELS was more disciplined than /b/ from the start. Allied nations were assigned squads to cooperate and trade within, and all announcements were handled through the ELS forum and emailed to members. A greasemonkey script (in 2007, we all used Firefox) was thrown together to assist players. Guides on increasing power quickly were disseminated. Notably two of the admin/developers for the game, skaladis and owl, were ELS members and the recruitment drive across various imageboards was persistent. The IRC channel was anarchic as usual, but diplomats and the leadership convened within a private channel to guide policy. Eph, the alliance leader, designated myself and select others to open lines of communication with smaller groups within the game. Of course, enemies from the days of Cyber Nations had come to the moon. It seems strange now that 4chan is so identified with reactionary politics, but in these games Anonymous enjoyed bullying the sad little men who named their nations things like 'Wolf Reich ov Iron' and roleplayed as Nazis in their alliances. In Great War III, /b/ had been opposed to Nordreich ('German Nationalists'), and FAN (Federation of Armed Nations), and these groups reemerged on the moon. Leftwing alliances like the Red and Black Block or Union of Lunar Socialist States (ULSS) tried to combat the Nazis on the moon, but the appeal of roleplaying internecine Left political conflicts was limited. To actually wield power capable of slapping down the fascists often meant joining with apolitical, carnivalesque groups like Anonymous. As fun as dunking on fascist cosplay was, however, the real enemy was FARK.

In the ecosystem of the 2007 internet, imageboards were not the only hangout. There were also humour sites like YTMND (You're the Man Now Dog), Something Awful and FARK. The content filtered through to everyone, but allegiance to any one site was performatively over the top. It was as good an excuse as any for enmity.

As a junior diplomat for ELS, I handled treaties with various smaller alliances, most notably the aforementioned ULSS which had been captured by my friend in early May 2007. The tension was mounting palpably across the lunar community as treaties were signed and mutual defence agreements entered into. Something like the network of alliances that ensured the nightmare of World War I was formed, overseen entirely by spotty teenagers and shitposting idiots. Notably GOONS, formed by SomethingAwful forum members, had joined with ELS; FARK was left out in the cold, and allied with FAN. On the night of 19th May 2007 as I stretched my allowed time on the family computer, diplomatic channels became frantic as spies within IRC channels let FARK/FAN know of a planned attack, per ELS internal communications;

GOONS is likely to be attacking FAN within 48 hours. We will receive target lists of anyone GOONS has trouble with. Do not fire counter offensives on FAN unless necessary (problematic targets, etc.)

FARK retaliated by launching the SHIT HITS THE FAN war, beginning perhaps ten minutes after my parents told me to turn the computer off and go to bed. Tossing and turning, I considered diplomatic avenues to strengthen the ELS cause. However as I finally fell into an uneasy sleep the metagame overtook the roleplaying.

For a while now Sandro had been teasing the existence of Galava, a new, more complex browser game with a medieval setting that further developed the gameplay of Lunar Wars. Given that the moon had only been open for a few short months, the kids who had wasted the back half of their school year building alliances on it were grumbling that Lunar Wars was being abandoned before it had even exited beta. The two ELS-allied admin/developers, skaladis and owl were similarly irritated. According to a post by Arciel, head admin of the Lunar Wars forums;

owl had not only given herself nukes; she had given herself and ELS members 9001 nukes each, in reference to a meme. The balance of the game was completely upended; by the time I awoke and booted up the dusty Dell in the spare room Sandro had locked the game. In private conference, Eph and the leadership decided to disband ELS. I was appointed interim Chief Ambassador for the continuity faction, but within a scant few hours I had come around to the joke. Emails continued to go out to rally the faction, but Anonymous' attention, and my own, was shifting elsewhere. The next time I encountered the group, the kids who shut down Habbo Hotel were going up against Scientology.

My friend lost his leadership position in the ULSS after the coup he helped lead was put down. He's involved in actual Leftist politics now, though he's not a Stalinist. In October 2007 Galava was released, and I received an email via the ELS list;

I didn't join. The internet got less wild, more scary. Megaupload was taken down in 2012 and Anonymous initiated a DDoS attack on Universal Music Group. 'Youtuber' became a job, and 4chan birthed the alt right. Both Galava and Lunar Wars continued until October 2009. For me and many others, though, it ended in the atomic fire of 9001 hacked nukes. Anything else was epilogue. The tribute page for Lunar Wars sums it up perfectly;

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Codename: Candy

Part Seven - Freddie’s Confessions

Word Count - 1597

Author’s Note: Time to get deep! Some more graphic descriptions in this one but I mean... The show is a gore fest...

As night fell and the sky went from shades of yellow and orange to a rich midnight blue, Jack and Candy arrived at the restaurant of choice: a small diner three streets across called Freddie's, the pair headed inside and grabbed a booth away from other patrons, getting themselves comfy. Candy removed her bag and jean jacket, her bandages shoulder and arm surrounded by scars, and her chest bearing the start of a much larger one. Their walk over had focused on the case, Jack informing Candy on the developments that had been made in Afghanistan, the go ahead from Hawkins from them and Greer to fly out when new intel arrived, so after placing a drinks order for beers, Jack turned the conversation onto Candy.

"So, you day seems to have been as eventful as mine." Jack smiled, the statement urging her to tell him about it. As beers were placed down, Jack took a sip, watching her movements.

"Well, I ate breakfast then slept for most of the morning, had a fun encounter at the bank, met a lovely taxi driver, shopped and had coffee with a personal shopper named Greta, and then I went to the salon." Candy informed, taking a sip of her own beer.

"You two ready to order?" The server came over, and took down their orders before disappearing.

"Sounds like you enjoyed yourself, though I'm not sure how you have fun at a bank." Jack half-joked.

"I found out I have half a million dollars in my savings." Candy smirked, and Jack had to stop himself from spitting out his beer.

"That... That sounds like something fun. Ok, you win." Jack managed to say after he swallowed his beer, taking a napkin and wiping his mouth.

"It's just... Weird. Acting like..." Candy started, shaking her head. "One of the women at the bank was talking about when I leave the army, and I realised I never thought I'd leave. I haven't planned for a future, never bought a house or had friends outside of the army... I have spent my entire life thinking I'd die in uniform, I didn't imagine a world where I was outside of one." Candy shrugged, taking another drink of her beer.

"Once you lose connections to home, people get that way. Building your emotional connections with the constant reminder everyone you know and care about could be dead in an instant stops you from thinking about the future." Jack agreed, there was a time where he felt the same. He invested everything in the Marines, and after the crash and physical therapy, he had no clue how to get to normal. He joined Wall Street for a while, then landed at the CIA, but had never quite found the balance. And when Suliman happened, he finally realised he still craved the front lines, despite all the pain that came with it. He could only imagine how Candy felt with no family to keep her in touch, after ten years in combat.

"Today has felt like a fever dream in all honesty... So many people thanking me for my service and being friendly... So many women too. I started today without a phone and now have the numbers of six different women in my phone." Candy pulled out her phone to show Jack the proof.

"You found out you have half a million dollars and you bought... You bought a Blackberry?" Jack asked, surprised by the choice.

"I never had one as a kid. And I decided in the shop, right, if I'm going to get a phone, why not get the one I always wanted as a kid. Keypad and all." Candy grinned, and took a few moments to find her contacts, presenting all her new contacts.

"You make a fair point..." Jack smiled, looking up as their food appeared. "Thank you." He smiled quickly at the server.

"And don't worry, Greta managed to help me beyond sundresses and jean jackets. Got a bunch of clothes for 'work' too." Candy grinned, taking a bite of her burger. After swallowing, she spoke again. "What... What exactly am I meant to be doing until we head off into the unknown again?" She asked. While she had jumped at the opportunity to join the case full time, she never knew what her role really was once back in Virginia.

"Well, by tomorrow, we'll have video footage of interrogations from Afghanistan, and we've managed to get phone data detailing payments to the men who attacked you... And while I'm running the rest of the team, you could maybe sort through the information? See if you can flag anything? You seem to have an eye for detail." Jack offered, stopping every so often to eat. Candy nodded enthusiastically, glad to have something to do.

"Oh, one more thing... You don't know how and where I might get a gun, do you? I sort of feel naked without one." She asked, and Jack nodded, swallowing.

"I'll get you in touch with Matt, he'll sort you out." Jack promised. The two continued to eat, commenting only on how good the food was for the next twenty minutes or so. It was only after a order had been placed for milkshakes and cookie dough that Jack decided to bring up something that had been on his mind since that morning.

"I don't mean to pry... But the 904th, there's no files on them, and when Hawkins apologised for your loss... Can I ask what happened?" His words were careful, and he fully expected a flat out refusal. He had refused to talk about Afghanistan for years, and whatever happened to Candy was fairly recent. He sat back, and Candy thought for a moment on the question, a finger twirling a curl of hair.

"The 904th was a small subdivision of JSOC, tasked with stealth operations..." Candy started, keeping her eyes down. "All classified, top secret stuff. There was five of us, and one of the missions went wrong." She took a shaky breath, and smiled suddenly, Jack then noticing the server coming over with dessert and their milkshakes.

"You don't have to continue..." Jack suggested, but Candy shook her head.

"We got bad intel, the dude sent us straight into an ambush. Two of us died on scene, they captured the other two and I. And I was there for... Four months?" Her voice cracked as she tried to remember, biting her bottom lip. Jack sat there, silent, and a few deep breaths let her continue. "I escaped... I escaped when they were transporting us somewhere, managed to wrestle a gun off of a guard. There were so many other people... Children, and I just left them all. I walked for two days until I found a city and radioed into Command." She stopped to sip her strawberry milkshake, trying to clear the lump from her throat. "Saber, my second, he died while they tortured him, he just couldn't take it anymore. They sent a video of his body being... Being sunk to his parents. And, uh, they... They beheaded Buster for, uh, for a propaganda video." She stabbed her spoon into the warm cookie dough, taking a bite as she thought about it all. Jack reached over the table, taking her hand in his, and giving a light squeeze.

"It's not your fault..." He said gently, but knew all too well that the statement was impossible to believe. Coming out the sole survivor of something like that, it messes with the mind.

"The source was mine... The call to go in was mine... I just wish I had died instead of them." Candy admitted, a single tear staining her cheek. She swiped it away quickly, smiling up at Jack. "But at least now, what I'm doing with you and Greer, it's going to change things."

"That's the plan." Jack agreed, the pair digging into the cookie dough.

—

The walk back to the hotel was pleasant enough, the way lit by warm street lights that made the night seem less expansive. Jack joked the whole way down the street, trying his best to make Candy laugh as much as possible, and succeeding. She laughed at every bad joke he could manage, even chipping in her own.

As they reach the hotel entrance, the pair stopped, neither sure what the next move was. Candy took a stab in the dark.

"Do you want to come up for a drink? I think I can splash out on room service after you paid for my first American meal in a decade." She asked, pulling her room key out of her purse, the offer on the table. Jack hesitated, Greer's words ringing through his head, and his hand went to rub the back of his neck.

"I would love to... But..." Jack started, and Candy nodded, the tight lipped smile back.

"Work in the morning, I get it." With the offer turned down, she did her best to ease the tension. "Remember and send me Matt's number, yeah? I'll give him a call to arrange a meeting." She reminded him, and Jack nodded, letting out a soft sigh as Candy disappeared into the hotel, having half a mind to follow her.

He knew better than to ruin things, especially when he was in such close contact with her for Lord knows how long. Friendship was better, and as he convinced himself that business and pleasure should never mix, he walked back home with a frown on his face and a sad sigh building in his chest.

—

Tags: @iwantthedean

#jack ryan #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #tom clancy #jack ryan x reader #reader #reader insert #john krasinski #us army #army

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bubmyg · 5 years

Text

discount date - knj

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, waiter!au, yoongi is namjoon’s grumpy coworker

word count: 3,004

summary: you’ve been waiting on a date the entire evening and it’s obvious he’s not coming and it’s obvious you look a bit foolish sitting alone on Valentine’s Day but the really cute waiter keeps bringing you pity bread or the really cute waiter just so happened to have got off his shift and he gets a discount so do you mind if I join you?

a/n: part 4 of to lovers :’-) the rest of the series is linked on my masterlist!!

The last text message on the open thread in your lap was blue, a neat little read receipt under it from nearly ten minutes ago, no trace of three little grey dots popping up on the left side of the screen. Just the ugly dark font informing you that your date had opened the message and failed to respond.

Your dress felt sticky on the back of your thighs, like the slight sheen now coating your palms as you fumbled the device into your grasp, dropping the corner against the thick tablecloth coating the surface above your lap, thumbs clenched and half prepared to type out a follow up message. A question, justified and innocent.

How late are you going to be?

Maybe they’d opened the message because they were mid grabbing their keys. Giving the Uber the address to the restaurant. Zipping their jacket. Got a text from one of their parents in the process. Or even more pressing, a grandparent. They were probably close if they hadn’t responded yet, traffic was, in short, not good, and maybe they thought they’d be to you quicker than they could respond anyway.

You were just being paranoid, anyway. They’d texted back all day. You’d been on three successful dates with them before. Everything was going to be fine. They were just a little late.

On Valentine’s Day, but late and on a day, nonetheless.

“Hi, welcome!”

Your knee crashed into the underside of the table, jolting you backward into the booth and burning bare skin from where it had molded to the leather. The poor waiter seemed just as startled as you, pen dropping from his fingers and rolling to the floor.

“Uh...”

You took the time in which he crouched to retrieve the item to settle yourself, or rather shoving your phone into your purse, crossing your legs, and flattening your palms to the table cloth. Parted grey locks bounced when he straightened with the pen in hand, the most nervous of smiles ghosting two deeply indented dimples to each cheek as he set his shoulders with a sharp huff.

“...my name is Namjoon and I’ll be your server for the evening,” The tight lipped smile didn’t falter as he clicked the pen, stabbing the end into the tiny notepad, “Can I get you something to drink—”

“—actually, I’m waiting on someone.”

He, Namjoon, stared at you in another lingering silence, pen still smudged to lineless paper. “Okay,” He began, slowly albeit, “I could still bring you something to drink while you wait?”

“No, that’s okay,” You offered a faux line of your lips in return, “They’ll be here soon, anyway.”

The pen scratched audibly as he pulled it away from the notepad, instead pocketing the two items and nodding curtly, “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

“They’ll be here by then,” You offered. You swallowed the you’re just trying to convince yourself intrusion in favor of a wider, fake smile.

He nodded, silent and mostly to himself, as he turned on his heel and disappeared into the bustle of the restaurant.

The last message was still blue, the read receipt bordering on twenty minutes without a response with your next frantic check of the device. You didn’t bother to stare at it this time, your attempts as manifesting a response or an appearance of a figure over your table unsuccessful to that point. Instead, coiled thumbs dashed over the screen as you frantically fixed another, more appropriate response than how late are you going to be?

You sent I’m at the booth on the east corner of the building instead.

You were prepared for Namjoon’s approach this time, the toss of your phone and the slow rotation toward the heart of the room in time with his quick steps. He held a tall glass of water and a basket of bread in his hands, both things he set on the table with an entirely more relaxed smile than before. The easy upturn of his lips contrasted to the way the bread basket toppled over, effectively dumping a half dozen dinner rolls onto the table.

He pretended it didn’t happen in exchange for not spilling the entire glass of water all over the front of your dress.

“Complimentary,” He told you, voice too soft for the volume level of the tables nearby.

He left before you could notice that no one else had glasses of water unless ordered and the bread was an upcharge listed on the appetizer menu.

Blue was still the tale of your open thread on your phone yet the read receipt had changed to three minutes rather than twenty three. You stared hard at the screen. You hadn’t tried to manifest the typing emoticon yet.

You left the screen on in front of you, instead busying yourself with cleaning the table of the bread by placing them back inside their wire basket. In the same movement did you remove one from the basket and tore a sizable chunk. You didn’t care what part of your physique you ruined as you shoved the dough through your lips with a push of your thumb, chewing thoroughly while glancing at your phone over the smush of your cheeks digesting the food. A similar print of color flaked to the crust of the bread in your cheeks printed to the rim of the glass as you downed water, the liquid splashing a top the churn of your insides.

When three minutes became ten on the light grey of the read receipt, Namjoon appeared again, notepad and pen wielded close to plump lips as his eyes assessed the table in a thin sweep, the cleaned bread basket and your open phone and all. The tiniest of affirming hmph’s left his lips, as if you cleaning up his previous mess was a good sign for the frazzled state of your person squished against the leather booth seat.

He didn’t address you as a customer, instead as a concerned friend, dropping the notepad back into the front pouch of his apron, “At least let me bring you the drink menu?”

“Okay,” You sighed the syllable, “Okay, yeah. Please.”

He almost tripped over the leg of an elderly woman’s chair in the rush back to the station to snatch one of the thick, bound booklets but you pretended you didn’t see him almost trip the second time when he stretched the menu toward you with a bated smile. You offered a shaky grin in return, one preceded by a stuttered sigh that released some of the built up tension in your shoulders.

You flattened clammy palms across the slick pages, squinting briefly at the collection of dark font curling over the surface before squinting at Namjoon, “Any suggestions?”

He almost tripped over thin air in the rush to crouch over you, happily explaining each section with a crooked index finger bumping against your hands in sliding across the different drinks. He explained it all, informing you of his personal favorites, what made his extremely tolerant friend, Yoongi, tipsy in seconds, what didn’t affect his lightweight roommate, Hoseok, two in. You tried to push the thought of the glare from the middle aged woman in your peripheral being neglected by his excessive amount of time spent tending to you.

Instead, you nearly slapped the booklet shut on the tips of Namjoon’s retreating fingers, thrusting it up into his broad chest.

“Surprise me with one of your favorites.”

The tiniest twinkle lit the corner of his irises as his skin crinkled around his eyes, “Anything for your friend?”

You cast a glance at your phone, now dark and unaffected by notifications for a close total of forty minutes. A tight lipped smile, one that was genuine but tight on the snap of your voice, graced your features, “No, actually, they just canceled.”

He scrawled loudly on the notepad, obnoxiously clicking his pen with a triumphant smile, “Sounds great. I’ll be right back with that.”

Namjoon avoided headbutting the door to the kitchen only by the grace of Yoongi tearing it open in time with his stumbled push against the heavy metal. Yoongi regarded his friend with an annoyed uncertainty, eyes sliding from the mumbling part of Namjoon’s lips to his fingers fumbling at the knot at the back of his apron.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi questioned slowly, fingers still gripping the side of the door open.

“My shift just ended,” Namjoon grumbled out, thrashing as he wrestled his way out of the dingy black fabric.

“Don’t you still have tables—”

“Yeah, you’re taking them for me,” He pushed the article of clothing against Yoongi’s chest, dimples appearing in concession, “Please? Please take my tables for me.”

Yoongi blinked, slowly then rapidly, long fingers prying the fabric away from Namjoon’s tight grip. He wasn’t saying no, not as he began to untangle the ties to adjust around his waist. He squinted instead through red tinted bangs, stepping out of the doorframe to let it swing shut, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Namjoon hopped, literally, into his retreating steps to tear open the door and retreat out of the kitchen, “It’s Valentine’s Day, after all, right? By the way, can you bring table 41 two of that one wine you like? Thank you, you’re the best!”

Yoongi blinked as the chipped white paint smeared over grey metal swung to a quiet shut, his eyebrows curled upward near his hairline.

“What the fuck, Namjoon, yeah you’re welcome!…”

You were nervously peeling excess skin off the side of your nails for another reason entirely now, the leftover particles of your disappoint of being stood up replaced with what you interpreted as flirting from your beautiful waiter who was about to bring you his favorite alcohol and kept bringing you bread that you weren’t going to have to pay for. You were pattering a new blister into the back of your heel by bouncing your heel aggressively into the tile flooring below when a loud series of the breaths alerted you to a presence. Again.

Namjoon slid to towards your table with running steps, catching a palm to the far corner of the table from where you sat.

“What are you—”

“My shift just ended,” He puffed, shadowed grey fringe catching in light eyelashes as he seemed to try to catch his breath, “Do you mind if I join you, uh…”

You supplied your name in a soft breath, the nerves balled in your stomach spreading and numbing every ending in your body. Your fingers shook where you fiddled them on the table and you could barely feel the movement of your chin nodding, managing to breath out a, “Of course, have a seat.”

He visibly relaxed, set shoulders slumping as he slid into the booth seat across from you. Ring clad fingers mirrored your own, tangling within each other as he shifted to get comfortable. He repeated your name in an equally breathless pitch, supplying, “My friend is going to bring us the drink you wanted, by the way.”

“I can leave if this is too much trouble…”

“No,” His dimples were back and you thought you were going to puke out every synonym for adorable you knew, “He owes me one. Or twenty. Plus, who am I going to share my discount with if you leave?”

“Not to interrupt whatever this is, but what exactly do I owe you for?”

You both startled equally at the clink of two wine glasses hitting the table, sloshing white liquid attached to a pair of hands disappearing into an annoyed stature standing at the front of table. The man wasn’t looking at you, instead glaring at Namjoon with dramatically pursed lips, arms folded tightly under rolled shoulders.

Namjoon took it in stride, jostling his intertwined hands against the table as he shot you a nervous glance, “Not important right now, Yoongi. I’ll convince Taehyung to give you a raise or something if you just—”

“Welcome, my name is Yoongi and I’ll be taking care of you now—” The man, Yoongi, dramatically flipped a page on the notepad in hand, attention pointed to you now as the force of his pen jabbing into the paper simulated a stab, “—I guess.”

You laughed, your own gaze flicking to Namjoon for a second, “Hi, Yoongi.”

“Can I get you started with any—”

“Just bring us the…” Namjoon trailed off into a series of words you didn’t understand, names that you didn’t exactly think were on the menu, descriptions that could only come from seasoned experience working at the restaurant in question. He spoke so fast you weren’t sure you’d be able to decipher the code on a good day, let alone when you felt like you were permanently stuck underwater with your apartment and the heels strapped to your feet coming off nowhere in sight.

Yoongi’s shorthand appeared to be scratching out a drawing rather than words, three lines pressed into the pad, “Should I assume you’re using your discount?”

“And that I’m paying,” A breath sucked through your clenched teeth when one of his hands covered your twisted knuckles, thumb stroking out some of the tension at one of your index fingers. His palm was warm, gentle, comforting to the dinner roll bile threatening to coat your tongue, “Yes, you should assume that.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” You told Namjoon after Yoongi had waddled back toward the kitchen, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“What if I want to?”

You laughed in spite of yourself and only then did you notice he was still holding onto your hand, gripping a bit tighter in your hesitance, “Why would you want to? I’m some random girl of probably thousands who was stood up on the stupidest holiday of the entire year. I can go home right now and eat the discount bag of heart shaped chocolate my mom sent me and be perfectly content.”

Namjoon shrugged, warmth separating from you as he leaned back in his seat, twined fists falling against his long torso, “If that would make you happier, more comfortable with this shitty situation, then that’s perfectly fine. I can call you a cab even, if you like…

“...but I’d still really like to buy you dinner. With a fantastic discount, might I add. It can even be another day, if you’d like...”

“Ah, another day to annoy your friend with waiting on you and some random girl you bought bread and wine?”

His smile was slow to spread but when it fully settled into his features it was beautiful, all squished eyes and deeply set dimples paired with a single beat laugh that made your heart melt and drip like wax into your stomach. His chin dropped with his laughter, shoulders shaking slightly.

“He’ll get over it,” Namjoon told you, gaze slow back to yours, “...so does that mean you’re staying?”

“An extremely attractive man wants to buy me expensive food and wine at a discounted price after noticing that I seem to have exceptionally shitty taste in other people in order for someone to leave me on read on Valentine’s Day?” You downed a sizable sip of your wine after rushing the words out in a single breath, “Yeah. I think I’ll stay for a little while.”

He hummed, reaching for the last roll in the basket to tear off a chunk, “So you’re only using me for my looks and my discount, huh?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

Namjoon’s dimples appeared even while he chomped happily on bread and you thought about picking up your phone for the first time in two hours to google if dimples were some sort of manipulation for falling in love at first sight rather than to check your text messages.

He quirked an eyebrow, “So…you think I’m attractive?”

You rolled your eyes, prepared with another sarcastic response when he was leaning forward, hands on yours again, panic endearing all the same.

“It’s just, I think you’re attractive too,” The man who’d spilled bread all over your table was back, “Cute. Beautiful. Yeah, beautiful…”

Your skin burned all the same, the worst where he touched you but crawling from the back of your neck down to the cinch of your dress around your waist. “Thank you,” You murmured finally.

He patted your hands in departure this time, nodding, “You’re welcome.”

“Your food has arrived, your highness.”

Yoongi’s presence didn’t startle either of you this time, the plates balanced on flat palms enough for you to pay attention. He warned you lowly of the plate being a bit warm, winking at you as he handed Namjoon the dish without a word. The man across not to be phased, just a wince painted to his features as he tried to play off the heat that immediately seared his skin. You giggled anyway, especially at the satisfied smirk that met Yoongi’s lips.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Your phone vibrating on the table answered his question. Your attention was slower to the device, Namjoon and Yoongi zeroing in on the exaggerated movement immediately. You were slow to pick it up too, calm in unlocking it with your thumb and dragging open the text message notification.

Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight. Reschedule?

“What’s wrong?”

You heard Namjoon but you didn’t respond. Your expression remained neutral as you erased the text thread, pressing your thumb harder into the screen as you navigated to your contacts, effectively deleting the number in question as well. Your phone hit the table with as loud of a clatter as it had made when it vibrated and the middle aged lady you had been worried about earlier was glaring at you again as if Yoongi hadn’t sated her wait caused by Namjoon with complimentary dessert just two minutes ago.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You chirped, the smile pasted to your teeth wholly genuine, giddy almost as you faced Yoongi who looked mildly terrified.

“Could we get some more bread, actually?”

#kim namjoon #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts fluff #namjoon scenario #namjoon scenarios #kim namjoon scenario #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon imagine #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon fluff #not edited per usual bc i wanted to get it out tonight ajfksajfdl

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

Text

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 14

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Friday - the wedding, pt. 2 / 2

Breathing deeply, Rose let out a sigh of contentment. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, the luncheon had been wonderful, and now she was on the dancefloor, swaying in Malcolm’s arms. Her head nestled against his shoulder, body flush to his as they moved, was her idea of heaven.

It was why the Gala was her favorite night of the year, more than her birthday or Christmas, New Year’s, or any other bank holiday. The opportunity to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent, to have him hold her closer – they always danced together for several slow songs. The first was often spent whispering about how the event was going, the second was for sharing any juicy gossip, and the rest… She liked to think the rest were just because he wanted to hold her as much as she wanted to be in his arms. It was silly, bordering on deluded, but- she was in love.

And he wouldn’t hold her like this if he didn’t want to.

“You look beautiful,” Malcolm murmured out of the blue, grip tightening on her slightly as the song changed. Other couples joined the floor, but Rose paid them no attention, trusting him to keep them from crashing into others.

“Thank you.” Opening her eyes she glanced up at him, gaze tracing along the line of his jaw. It was only mid-afternoon but his five o’clock shadow was already strong, and it wasn’t just the champagne that wondered what that would feel like against her bare skin. “You look handsome yourself. I expected your tux, but this is actually better.”

He was dressed in a morning suit, including a waistcoat, looking very dapper and dashing. The accent colors even matched the light shade of blue and cream she’d chosen for their colors.

“A tux?” Malcolm sniffed, affecting a haughty tone. “During the day? What am I, a savage?”

Rose laughed, and his mock-disgusted expression melted into a grin.

“No, this was more appropriate. Besides, I’ll be wearing the tux next weekend, for the Gala. And if I do say so myself, I look particularly debonair in it, and I didn’t want to take the chance of upstaging the bride.”

“Oh, I get it,” she beamed up at him. “I’ll be much more dressed up for that as well.”

“As you should – you’re a proper Lady now, Viscountess.” His thumb began a gentle back and forth motion along her spine, and even though the thick material of her dress separated him from her skin, it was intoxicating.

“Noted,” was all she could manage, breathless, and his crystal blue eyes darkened a bit in response; they even flickered down to her mouth, and for one wild moment she thought (hoped, prayed) he was about to kiss her again. When he had, at the officiant’s direction, her knees had gone weak and she would’ve sunk to the ground if he hadn’t been holding her up. It had been dream-like, and all she wanted was for him to do it again, longer this time, deeper, and most importantly, because he wanted to. She was equal parts pleased and disappointed that no one had yet clinked their glasses to make them kiss; while she would like the excuse, the idea hurt too much, of him doing it only because it was expected.

“Rose?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I tempt you to another slice of cake and glass of bubbly?”

She waited a beat before opening her eyes, hoping the disappointment wouldn’t slow. “Yeah, course.”

Malcolm led her to their seats; at some point between her visit that morning and the ceremony someone had decided to space out the tables along the wall so they wouldn’t have to go all the way around behind people, and Rose didn’t care whose idea it was- she was just grateful.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she teased him as they settled into their seats, grinning at him. “Too kind.”

Their glasses had been refilled while on the dance floor, but Malcolm gestured to their server to bring them cake before lifting his flute, Rose copying him half a second behind.

“I propose a toast,” her new husband said, sending a thrill through her. “To you. For being the wonderful, selfless human being you are. Your kind heart and generous spirit constantly amaze me. And… if I may, for a moment, be selfish, I am very much looking forward to spending more time with you for the foreseeable future.”

Rose smiled, cheeks turning pink. “Thank you. And to you, for… for being a good man, kind, trustworthy… I agreed to this because you are you. I wouldn’t have done this for… anyone else, basically.” She pretended to think about it for a moment. “Maybe Chris Hemsworth. Or that bloke that plays that detective on that show I like. But no one else.” Her smile faded, and she added softly, with a bit too much emotion in her voice, “Just you.”

She met his eye, and slowly, his expression changed, grew more thoughtful and curious and just a touch hopeful.

“Rose-”

He knew, rationally, that she didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It had been an emotionally charged day, the free-flowing champagne only complicating matters. But his treacherous heart refused to hear it, trying to beat its way out his chest and across the small space to hers, to be forever entwined as they had promised to do in their vows. He wanted that, a life with her for real, so terribly, and all of this was just a tease, an offer that would never pan out.

And then she looked at him that way, all doe eyes and earnest expression, like he was the only one in the world, the only person she could see, that they were alone in a roomful of people, and he dared to dream.

It occurred to him, then, with a bitter irony, a sucker punch to the gut, that this wedding was the final death knell for any potential relationship. That now, as her husband as well as her boss, the difference in their power balance was too great. He could never be certain that, were he to actually be brave enough to ask for what he wanted, and by some miracle she agreed to more, that it was because it was what she wanted, and not because she was trying to please him- her entire life depended on him now, he was responsible for everything in her daily life, and he could never be sure.

This realization took his breath away, a visceral, physical ache in his chest. And, judging by the concern spreading over her face it was visible on his, and he glanced around desperately in an attempt to distract her.

“Brigadier!”

His old friend was standing at the edge of the dance floor talking to Clara and Danny, and by the pale expression on the young man’s face, giving him quite the talking-to, which Malcolm appreciated. Glancing up Alistair nodded, and a moment later, made his way towards him while Clara and Danny escaped to the dance floor.

“Hello, Malcolm,” Alistair rumbled, stopping on the other side of the table from them. “And Mrs. Tucker, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a fair bit about you, over the years.”

Ah, shit, Malcolm thought, belatedly remembering that he had, in fact, mentioned Rose to him once or twice over the years. Or during every bloody conversation. “Rose, this is Brigadier General Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. We go way back. Brigadier, this is Rose Tyler.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Brigadier,” Rose said warmly. “I believe I’ve taken a few of your calls over the years. Malcolm hasn’t told me all that much about you, but what he has says quite a bit.”

“Is that so?” Alistair narrowed his eyes at Rose, as though sizing her up. “And what, precisely, does that say- does he say?”

Malcolm held his breath, but Rose hardly blinked at the challenge.

“That you are one of the best men he’s ever known, and one of the few he would trust with Clara’s life, no questions asked. That the world could do with more men like you.” Then she grinned. “His actual words were ‘he’s an old friend, and would sometimes watch Clara for me when Wallace couldn’t’.”

Malcolm’s ears went red, but Rose and the Brigadier both burst into laughter, so he was willing to suffer a bit of embarrassment in favor of two of the most important people in his life bonding.

“Did he ever tell you how we met?” the Brig asked, still chuckling, as he came around to sit in the chair on Rose’s other side.

She shook her head, shooting Malcolm an appraising look. “No, he didn’t, an omission I hope you’re about to rectify, Sir.”

“Most certainly. And, please, call me Alistair. Now, it was-”

“You know, I don’t think I ever got the story of why you’re here,” Malcolm cut in. He didn’t have serious expectations of being able to keep Rose from hearing the story, but he was inclined to keep them from getting too chummy. The Brig knew too many of his secrets for their friendship to be comfortable for him. Even a ten-minute delay seemed a wise move.

Both shot him knowing looks tinged with exasperation, saying they knew what he was doing. “Very well,” the Brig said, “if you must know right this moment. Clara called and asked me to come- begged, really. She was surprised to learn I’d never received an invitation, and that was the first I was hearing of this- you, remarrying.”

Fuck. “I tried to get in touch, but was told you were very busy in Geneva,” Malcolm said stiffly. “I don’t think your assistant liked me very much- Dorothy? Doria?”

“Doris?”

“That’s it.”

The Brig smirked. “You’re right, she doesn’t. She’s my wife.”

Rose snorted, and Malcolm gave her a wounded look. “Don’t laugh, how was I supposed to know?”

“You’ve met her at least a dozen times.”

“Still.”

“All right, all right,” Rose interrupted, smirking. “You’ve gotten your answer. I was about to get a story- a wedding present, if you will. You wouldn’t deny a bride her wedding present, would you?”

Malcolm could deny her nothing on an average day; certainly not now that she had made such a sacrifice. “Go ahead.”

“So-”

“Maybe I should tell it.”

The Brigadier rolled his eyes. “If you insist. But I will correct any falsities.”

Taking a long sip of his champagne and bite of cake, Malcolm nodded. “So, it’s our first weekend in London- divorce finalized on Tuesday, packed up the car on Wednesday, and now it’s Saturday. Having effectively never been to the city, I decide to take Clara to some of the historical tourist sites, as one does. We sign up for a tour. Not twenty minutes into it do I realize that somewhere between the ticket gate and Traitor’s Gate- roughly 100 meters, mind you- this girl has vanished. Gone. I about lost my fucking mind. So I alert the security guard, they start a search party, you’d think someone had said ‘hey, where’d the crown jewels go?’ it was that level of seriousness, which I did appreciate.” Pausing for another sip, he appreciated how intently both were listening to the story, relishing in their anticipation.

“Everyone’s searching for her, calling her name, everything. And don’t I hear behind me, ‘Dad, there’s a girl missing with the same name as me, isn’t that weird? Can we help look for her?”

Rose burst into laughter, so loud half the guests turned to look, including Clara, who got one glance at the three of them and marched over, Danny trailing behind as her ears turned red.

“Oh please, please, please tell me you didn’t tell her,” Clara begged, glaring at him. “Please.”

“This explains so much,” Rose gasped, holding her napkin to her mouth in a failed bid to repress her laughter. “Remember? You did exactly the same thing in Edinburgh, I even called Malcolm, and he said, I quote, ‘She’ll turn up. Don’t bother calling for her, she’ll think it’s a coincidence’. Now I know why!”

“It was the first time she did that, but not the last,” he confirmed, grinned at Rose’s good humor.

“Oh, I love it. Doesn’t explain you two meeting, though?”

The Brigadier beat him to the punch. “I joined the army at eighteen. When this occurred I was stationed at the Tower working security when this five year old comes wandering down stairs I’m fairly certain haven’t been used in five hundred years, absolutely off limits even to us. Well, I very slightly outranked my fellow guard, and decided to take her back up myself. My daughter’s a few years older, and done the same thing once or twice, so I understood the panic. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Wow.” Rose turned back to Malcolm, flashing him a grin. “That is a great story. Much better than being uni roommates.”

“Hey, I like our story,” Clara protested, giving an exaggerated pout. “It’s good too.”

“Of course it is.” Rose leaned back in her chair, examining the Brig with a considering eye. “I bet you’ve got lots of stories about these two back in the day.”

To Malcolm’s dismay but not surprise, a coy grin grew over the soldier’s face. “Why yes, indeed I do.”

“Alistair, I believe this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #human!au #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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siraranispleased · 4 years

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Characters: Makalov Rating: G Tags: Drinking, Gambling, Impulse Control Word Count: ~1800 (~9 minute read) Summary: (Pre FE9) After leaving the Begnion military, Makalov seeks to raise enough money to pay back his debts. He just needs a little extra cushion of cash before he can start working off his dues... Prompt: "makalov getting into shenanigans before marcia finds him in por."

Happy @nagamas to you, @bi-naesala! The prompts were all quite interesting, but as one of the only Makalov fans in the fandom, I knew exactly which one I would have to work on the moment I saw it. Writing isn’t really the medium for showing off freckles like you may have hoped, but I hope a quick little line in the middle of it might be enough.

If you prefer to do your reading on Tumblr, you can check out the story below the Read More, as well!

Makalov weighed the small pouch of coins in his hand, before looking back up across the bright lights of the gambling hall. There were cheers of winners, the clacking of wheels. A troupe of minstrels on the center stage played exciting music, and servers wandered about with delicious looking drink orders. Truly, it was a carnival of the senses.

“Careful, Makalov, this is what got you in this mess in the first place,” he muttered to himself. Since finding that debt notice nailed to his door, he knew more would keep coming until he could find some way to pay it back. And he couldn't go through that humiliating ordeal in front of the knights. Not in front of Lady Sigrun. Not in front of his sister.

“Just need a decent cushion, then I can start working off the debt like normal,” he reminded himself, exchanging his coins for ten small chips, and approaching the roulette tables. He watched the wheels for a few spins, trying to see any pattern or fault with it. Once an opening was made in one of the tables, he stepped forward.

“Alright, Makalov, just remember your bad luck...” he said below his breath, before placing two chips on the table. “Just bet small...” He pushed those coins to bet on red. No numbers, just red.

The wheel clicked and clacked as it spun, before coming to a slow crawl... “23 red,” called out the hall employee, and the winnings were dealt out.

Makalov smiled as he held up his new chips. Now he was up two from where he started. Collecting those, and the chips he initially bet with, he placed them down for the next spin. “Red again.”

And so the wheel spun several times. Many times, Makalov's heart jumped into his throat, before relief allowed him to melt and relax into the side of the table. All the while, he continued to bet “small,” always sticking to just picking the colour, never the number.

“13 black,” called out the hall employee.

Makalov cackled and cheered with delight, reaching over the table to start scooping up his winnings. “Fourteen in a row...!” he gasped, unable to believe his luck; in just one night, he had turned two chips into thirty-two thousand. If he did just that, one more time, he'd get enough to pay off his debt. All of it! In one swoop--

Quickly, Makalov started pulling his chips not just towards himself, but off the table entirely. No, no, that was exactly the sort of thinking that landed him in this mess in the first place. He could hear Marcia shrieking in his ear, see the soft but disappointed shake of Sigrun's head. Time to pack it in before anyone got hurt!

“Well, that was fun! Boy, what a night, think it's time for this good old boy to hit the hay,” Makalov quickly rambled, gathering up his chips in his purse, now full to bursting, even with the larger denominations.

“Oh, come, sir, you can't leave now! You're on a hot streak!” insisted the hall employee.

“No ho, no, I'm dreadfully thirsty,” Makalov “explained” with shifty eyes, “I have a particular drink order, and I certainly can't leave all my chips to go get it. But I shall lift my glass to you all, praising your good company, and wishing you all the greatest of--”

---

LIFE SUCKS! SO LET'S DANCE!

YEAAAAH, MAYBE IF WE HAVE SOME FUN

WE WON'T FEEL SO BAD!

Makalov interrupted his own warbling to grab the trumpet out of one of the minstrels's hands, throwing his still half full glass aside with a wet crash to play quite loudly and enthusiastically. And quite well, too, for someone three sheets to the wind and red in the nose.

Soon the trumpet was tossed aside, and so was Makalov, throwing himself off the stage and towards the crowd. “WHOO!”

KRRSSH!

---

“...300 for the drinks, 2000 for the tables, 8000 for the distress caused to the band,” the head of the gambling hall muttered, counting up the damages Makalov's bender had done to the establishment, while Makalov had buried his head in his hands, not just as part of nursing his hangover.

“All told, you owe us 32,500 gold.”

A weak, shaky smile spread on Makalov's lips. At least he remembered to cash out first before his inadvertent, drunken rampage forfeited it all. So he had reset himself back to square one. He still made more than 200 coins in profit from where he started.

He'd just need another 328 nights just like tonight to pay off all his outstanding debts.

And a couple more gambling halls; he certainly wasn't going to be allowed back in this one in his lifetime.

“Fair's fair,” Makalov whimpered, as he started to pile up his payment for the boss man. “Well, time to find another way to turn a hundred coins into a thousand, quickly...”

“...You're one of the knights, aren't you?” the boss man asked, looking Makalov over.

“H-Huh? Oh, um... Yes? Erm, formerly, admittedly. I, uh...retired? Retired.”

“...Uh-huh. Well, if you want to live out your, ahem, golden years in comfort, we do have a few tables still opened to wild drunks like you.”

“Sir, I must defend my honour and insist I was a splendid drunk.”

“Of course. Follow me, Sir Former Knight.”

The boss man walked with Makalov through the back room of the gambling hall, and down a flight of stairs to a cellar level. Instead of wine barrels or other stored goods, the cellar was made empty and wide open to make room for a large cage in the middle of it. Inside the cage were two men, engaging in a barefisted brawl. One was a Beorc with a bushy brown beard, the other was a Laguz with spiky red hair. Both of them exceptionally well built.

So of course Makalov winced when a punch from the Laguz sent the Beorc flying across the ring, into the cage, landing with a dull thud, drowned out over the roar of the excitable, rough looking crowd.

“The fighting pits aren't usually something we like to advertise,” the boss explained, “but you can make decent money betting on these things. And even more money winning them, Sir Former Knight of Begnion.”

“Mmhm, mmhmm,” Makalov hummed, stroking his chin, nodding his head. “Hmm.” He wagged his finger as though in understanding, before looking up towards the boss. “Alternately...?”

---

Makalov sighed, once again bouncing his small coin purse in his hand, before looking up and over the dingy mercenary campsite. Apparently, the Beorc who got laid out back at the fighting pit belonged to a band of local mercenaries, and his turn as a gladiator left his “spot” open on the team.

Well, it was dirty work, but less expectations of decency and pride than the knights, Makalov thought, wandering through the camp.

“Hey, freckles!” a rough voice called out.

Makalov stopped and looked about; it was a large camp, noises coming from everywhere, maybe he was inadvertently eavesdropping on something. As he whipped himself around, he finally spotted a group of three men sitting around a barrel with a wooden plank resting on top of it like a makeshift table. All three of them looking at him. He pointed to himself and lifted his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you. You're the new guy, yeah?” the rough sounding man asked.

“Erm, yes. Just arrived. Spent, um, spent a few nights traveling from the city to get here,” he explained. “Sorry, I just, those aren't usually what people use to call out to me in a crowd,” he said, bouncing his hand in his pink, frizzy hair.

“Heh heh, I'll bet. You ever play cards, new guy?”

“Certainly,” Makalov answered immediately, before clicking his tongue and wincing, realizing he just compelled himself to join them by speaking up.

“Well then, how about sitting in with us for a round? We could use a fourth.”

Yup, there it was. Makalov sighed, and took the empty stool and plomped down around the barrel, taking out a few coins from his money purse. “This isn't some hazing ritual to dunk on the new guy, is it?” he had to ask.

The other three men at the table laughed, the lead one shaking his head. “Fresh meat like you, probably pretty desperate to join up with us. Definitely not the kind to have a lot of spending money to throw around. What's the point in cleaning you out of what little you got?”

“Fair enough. So, who's dealing?”

And so Makalov sat in with the mercenary for a few hands of cards. A few hands turned to several, and several hands turned into a proper, tournament style game. Raises were called, pots fluxuated and expanded, and purses got lighter and lighter.

And all the while, Makalov was doing pretty well for himself. Soon, he and the rough sounding mercenary were the holders of the majority of the pot, and it was between them on one final hand to take it all home.

Makalov was sweating as the face cards landed on the table. The stakes were called. He and his new “friend” showed their hand.

“Three of a kind,” the mercenary boasted with a grin, which quickly faultered when he saw Makalov's hand.

“A flu—A flush!” Makalov gasped, before cheering, throwing his cards to the makeshift table and quickly scooping up the pot. “Ha ha! I'm not so unlucky after all!”

“You clever dick,” the mercenary grumbled through a teeth bearing smirk. “You had that hand before the last card was revealed!”

“Well, don't really have much of a poker face,” Makalov explained, “so might as well lean into the flop sweats!” He grinned as he started counting up his winnings. With the money he brought with him to the camp, he was now sitting on 500 coins. Not bad for his first day on the job!

“Come on, one more hand!” the mercenary insisted.

Makalov laughed and gently tapped the table. “My friend, I've nearly cleaned you out! I couldn't possibly take away what you have left, leave you with nothing for rations for the next few days! I'll tell you what, though: tonight, I'll buy us all a round, some extra nice rations for the table! Maybe they'll have some decent mead to go with--”

---

WELL I KNOW THAT I'M GONNA GO SCREWING UP IN THE END!

BUT THAT'S OKAY!

'CAUSE I'M YOUR AVERAGE MAN!

With his arms thrown around the shoulders of two other mercenaries, Makalov drunkenly screamed out his song while kicking atop one of the dining hall tables, sending plates and cups flying, stonework crashing on the floor.

“WHOO!”

KRRSSSH!

---

“...100 to replace the beer supply,” the mercenary captain growled through clenched teeth as he tallied up the damages, “one week's pay for the fruit supply crates kicked over, one week's pay for the grain supply, two weeks pay for that drunken brawl...”

Makalov planted his forehead on the captain's desk. He weighed his coin purse in his hand, a purse that was about to get substantially lighter. He let out a deep, exhausted sigh.

This was gonna take a while...

#nagamas #fire emblem #fe9 #tellius #makalov #sir aran is writing

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