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mphoenix-7 · 3 months ago

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Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 12: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 3)

Summary: Soap thinks that taking a walk through the woods is just what you need to help you get over your new fear. Your walk isn’t as pleasant as you hope it’ll be.

Word Count: 5,176

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, panic attack, arguing

A/N: I didn’t know if this would be ready or not to be posted on time, but I managed to get it done! Please enjoy loves!!

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Bitter Allies • Part 12

This was such a bad idea. Why the hell did you agree to this? The hike was most certainly not helping you overcome your anxieties; it was making them worse. You thought being cornered in the outhouse and standing in the open field was bad, but try walking through thick foliage where you can’t see your surroundings. Your poor heart is doing double-time in your chest, pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.

Soap, oblivious to your mounting dread, is making so much noise as he plows through the brush that you can’t even listen for any potential threats. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sends a jolt of panic through you. The fear in the pit of your stomach is growing stronger with each step. The oppressive canopy above blocks out most of the sunlight, not that it would help to ease your nerves if it didn’t. However, it does make it feel as though the forest is closing in on you, suffocating you with its dense undergrowth and unseen dangers.

About five to ten minutes into the hike, you desperately want to turn back. By now you’ve gone at least a mile, but the feeling is the same. Nothing has happened yet—you haven’t even run into any animals—but that doesn’t help to quell the anxiety flooding your system. It feels like you’re just waiting for something terrible to happen. Just waiting for another bear to catch your scent and come after you.

Like it had that morning you went out by yourself…

A shiver runs along your spine as you recall the feeling of being chased. The heavy, thudding footsteps behind you, the growl that sent you sprinting for your life. That had been your warning, your sign of the dangers waiting in the woods, and you hadn’t listened. Maybe the fear gripping you now was also a warning, screaming at you to head back before it was too late. Your hands tremble slightly, and you clench them into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Holding up back there States?”

You glance up, your teeth releasing their hold on your lip as you meet Soap’s eyes. He’s been walking ahead of you this entire time, leading the way and stomping down the brush for you. You’ve been mostly silent since you left the cabin. The only communication you’ve had since you left are moments like this where he’s just checking to make sure you’re still following him and not completely breaking down.

“Yep, just peachy.” You tell him, the answer seeming to be enough to satisfy him for the next few minutes. He turns forward again and keeps on going.

As you continue trudging through the forest, your mind races with what-ifs. What if a bear does come? What if you can’t handle it? What if this hike is just a terrible mistake? You should just go back now… give up and-

No.

You were not going to just give up and quit. That stubborn, won’t quit attitude had gotten you through a lot during your time in the military. It was the very thing that kept you in the Task Force despite how much of an ass Soap was.

You can do this… you can push through it.

“Hey Soap,” you start, hoping that talking might help distract you. The only problem is, you don’t know exactly what to talk about. “Uh… do you know where we’re going?” You settle on.

“Course.” Soap answers easily, not even so much as glancing over his shoulder at you. “I know of a few bear caves around here that we can-“

“Are you fucking serious?!” You shout at him, stopping immediately in your tracks. The thought of walking to the den of a bear, practically handing yourself over on a silver platter, is enough to make you want to ditch Soap and bolt. He can’t be serious.

At your outburst, Soap instantly turns around, his eyes locking onto yours. He sees the panic glazing over your eyes and immediately raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression shifting from confusion to concern in a heartbeat.

“I’m kidding! Just joking! Fucking hell, States. I don’t know of any bear caves around here.” Soap's quickly says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Don’t fucking do that! My God, you’re going to give me a fucking heart attack!” You shout, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger, fists clenched at your sides. You were stressed enough as it was, you didn’t need him saying shit that was only going to add to that stress.

Soap gives you an exasperated look, his mouth hanging open just a bit. “Fuck’s sake! It was a joke! Lighten up!” He snaps back, his initial confusion giving way to irritation.

“It’s not funny!” You retort, your own anger only growing the more defensive he gets.

“Oh come on. Anyone else would have taken that as a joke.” Soap's tone turns sharper, his frustration evident as he glares at you.

You’re steaming now, fists clenched at your sides. The fear that had been bubbling under the surface is now mixed with a growing anger. Your heart is pounding, not just from the anxiety of being out in the woods, but from the frustration of dealing with Soap’s insensitivity. You already felt vulnerable and on edge, you don’t want to have to deal with Soap being a total ass as well.

“Really? Forgive me for not wanting to laugh about walking into the home of the animal that almost took my life. I’m already freaking out about seeing one out here, so what makes you think I’d find that funny? This isn’t a joke to me, and I don’t want to joke about it.”

Soap rolls his eyes right back at you. “We haven’t even seen anything yet. You’re working yourself up over nothing.“

“Nothing?” You snap back. “It’s not nothing to me!”

“Well, it needs to be,” Soap retorts, his tone firm. “The 141 doesn’t get hung up over stuff like this.”

You feel another surge of anger rush through you at his words. “Easy for you to say! You weren’t the one with a bear practically on top of you, trying to claw and bite your face off.”

“And you think I haven’t faced things just as bad, if not worse?” Soap counters, stepping closer and invading your space. “I can tell you this, States. I have faced much worse than something like a bear! If you’re this freaked out over a little joke, maybe you should reconsider if you’re cut out for the military.”

His words cut deep, reopening old wounds. From the beginning, Soap has always been trying to get you kicked off the Task Force. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s told you that you should quit. Hell, he’d even told Price to get rid of you while you were in the room with him.

You stare at him for a long moment, disbelief mingling with hurt. “Is making me quit all you ever think about?”

Soap’s expression hardens. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t keep proving to me that you should.”

You bite your cheek harshly. “If my fear of a bear that nearly killed me is a reason enough that I should quit, then what about your fear of thunder? Shouldn’t freaking out over that mean you should quit too?”

Your words are met with a confused expression from Soap. It’s like he doesn’t remember having a full blown panic attack the day it stormed.

“What?” He finally says after a moment of not being able to figure out where you got that idea from. “The fuck you talking about? I don’t have a fear of thunder.”

You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. “What do you mean? Yes you do. You don’t remember that big storm that rolled in like the first or second day we were here? It was thundering so loudly, and you had an episode. How can you not remember that?”

Soap is silent another moment while he thinks back. He opens his mouth to reply, but then shuts it, his face shifting as he figures out what you were referring to. However to you, it looks like he realized his argument was flawed and is now trying to come up with some kind of excuse. He couldn’t tell you to get over his irrational fear if he had an irrational fear himself.

“I-I’m not scared of thunder. That’s not what I was…” He trails off, further adding to your suspicion.

“Really? If you’re not scared of thunder, then why the hell were you freaking out like that?”

Soap is silent for a moment, his eyes distant. You think for a moment he’s trying really hard to come up with an excuse, but when you really look, his eyes look slightly glazed over and there’s a pinch of worry between his brow. It’s almost like he’s actively reliving something. His thoughts are racing, though with what, you aren’t sure. The silence stretches on and almost begins to get uncomfortable. You’re about to say something, but Soap finally speaks up.

“It wasn’t the thunder…” He finally says, his voice tight. “Just... let it go, alright?”

You scoff at him. “Let it go? So you can give me shit about being scared of a bear, but you can have some irrational fear yourself, and it’s just fine? You’re allowed to be scared and have stuff freak you out but I can’t?”

Soap instantly snaps back, his voice firm and defensive. You’ve hit a sore spot.

“What happened that night it stormed was different! Alright!? What happened to me is nothing like what happened to you and that bear. I actually got fucking hurt! All that bear did was fucking growl at you and threaten you, I took fucking glass to the face.”

He points at his face, specifically more towards his chin than any other area. Your glare dips down to where he’s pointing, naturally locking on to the now faded, but still visible scar that runs along his chin.

You follow the thick, long scar that runs in a jagged horizontal line below his lip. It was his most noticeable scar and one that you’d always been curious as to how he got it. Apparently there was quite the story to go along with it. You always imaged he’d got it from some kind of explosion to the face, though he didn’t sport any burn scars that would support that theory. It was far too complex to be from a knife, but a shard of glass made perfect sense.

He must have been tortured. Maybe at some point in his career, he’d been a POW and gotten tortured for information. You did not put it past the enemy to go to any means necessary to get information. Using broken glass off the ground to slice someone up for military secrets was quite a common tactic too. Soap’s files didn’t say anything about him ever being taken hostage though. Then again, it could have been something that had been redacted. A lot of the things in his files regarding missions were heavily redacted.

You don’t focus too heavily on his comment about the broken glass though. That was something you could table for a little later. Right now you’re far too upset that he’s completely dismissing your own fears just because he’s seen worse.

“So would my fear be more valid then if I had gotten hurt? Almost getting hurt isn’t enough to justify having a fear of something? Whatever the fuck happened to you, it would have been absolutely nothing if your precious face hadn’t gotten cut up?”

Soap tenses up, his voice dropping a few octaves and taking on a dangerous drawl. His entire body goes rigid, and his fists clench as his sides. “States, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, so I suggest you shut the hell up.”

He’s probably right. You have no idea the kind of things he’s been through, so you shouldn’t be making assumptions without knowing the full story. But you’re so angry with him right now that you can’t bring yourself to care.

“And you have no idea how I feel, so you can shut up too!” You shout back at him, and his eyes ignite with anger. You can practically see the spark before it flares up, and you’re sure he can see the same thing happening in yours.

His inhales sharply through his mouth prepared to absolutely lay into you, but before he can, you notice his eyes flicker away from yours for a moment. They quickly snap back to you, but then look away once again, his mouth slowly closing. At first, you don't think much of it, but then the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Your body senses danger before your mind can process it.

The anger drains from you in an instant, replaced by a growing unease as you try to understand why Soap isn’t looking at you anymore and why you suddenly feel so on edge. Then Soap says the most panic inducing words, his voice dropping to an unnaturally calm level after the shouting he’d been doing not a second prior.

“States, listen to me, do not panic.“

You feel yourself instantly freeze. Usually when someone tells you not to panic it’s because there’s a reason you should be. The nagging feeling of danger intensifies, your hands almost feeling numb from the rush of sudden adrenaline.

“What? Why?” You ask softly, mouth quickly going dry.

“Don’t turn around, don’t freak out.” He tells you carefully, eyes staying mostly locked off somewhere behind you now. “Just walk over to me, lass.”

“Is it a bear?” You ask bluntly, feeling your whole back tense up. You want so so badly for him to say no. You wouldn’t care if he was joking. You wouldn’t even care if it was any other animal, just not a bear. Not right now.

“Yes, it is. Just stay calm.” He reaches out to grab your arm, but you move it away from him, hugging it to your chest instead.

“No… no please…” Tears start to blur your vision. “Tell me you’re joking. Please. This is a joke, right?” You feel yourself starting to shake. You so desperately want him to be kidding. “I swear to God if there isn’t a bear, I’m going to kill you.”

“I swear to you, I’m being serious, lass.” He insists.

You want to call his bluff, convinced for a moment that he's just being an asshole and there really isn't a bear. But then you hear it—the sound of something big moving slowly and deliberately. Each step is measured and heavy, rustling the foliage on the forest floor. You hear a snorting sound, similar to the one that the bear at the lake had made as it sniffed the air. Your heart skips a beat as the reality sinks in: there really is something behind you.

You feel the panic set in, your body simultaneously hot and cold. Adrenaline surges through your veins, making your hands both numb and hypersensitive. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can hear the blood as it rushes through your ears. Your breathing starts to quicken, shallow bursts as your mind races. Every muscle in your body tenses, poised for action, wanting to bolt and create distance between you and the thing behind you, but also frozen in fear.

“States…” Soap says, almost in warning. He’s trying to watch you while also trying to keep an eye on the animal behind you. “Please, just walk over to me.”

You want to do as he says, but first you just need to see for yourself. You need to know there really is something behind you.

“Don’t.” Soap warns, almost like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You don’t listen though. Gathering any remnants of courage you had left, you take a deep breath and start to slowly peak over your shoulder. And there, a few feet away, is a black bear. You don’t give yourself proper time to really look at it. The second your peripheral vision spots it, your terrified gaze snaps back to Soap.

Your eyes lock onto Soap's, breathing picking up now that it’s been confirmed. You want to scream and cry out, but you’re too scared to even do that. “Soap…” You sob, making him just reach out for you instead of continuing to wait for you to come to him.

He grabs ahold of your arm firmly, gently and slowly pulling you close to him. “Shh, it’s alright, come here.” He says as he moves an arm to wrap around you. It’s surprisingly comforting to feel him holding you. Your bickering, all the things that were said, are momentarily forgotten.

“Just stay clam, it’s gonna be ok.” He mutters to you, and you nod, more out of instinct than understanding. You’re a bit more focused on listening for the bear than you are to Soap’s words.

You try to sneak another look at the animal, only really wanting a quick glance, but Soap takes that opportunity to turn you fully so that you’re facing it. His hands settle on your hips to keep you in place, and your breath hitches as your eyes land on the bear. On instinct, you press back firmly into Soap, his chest acting as a solid wall to keep your from moving any further.

“I’m right here.” Soap reminds you, whispering softly into your ear. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.” He promises, thumbs brushing softly against your hips, though you can hardly focus on that right now. Still, his presence alone is grounding. Feeling him behind you, him holding you tightly, it reminds you that you’re not alone.

Facing the bear now, you can finally take in the scene before you. The bear is a few yards away, its black fur glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. It’s a smaller bear, not as large as the one that attacked you, but the sight of it still sends a jolt of fear through you. Its eyes are fixed on you, nostrils flaring as it sniffs the air. The memory of the bear in the lake doing the same thing before it approached you flashes through your mind.

Your heart pounds faster, and you feel your breathing stutter. For a moment, you're back there, alone and vulnerable, with the bear bearing down on you. Stalking towards you, about to strike.

Then you feel Soap give your hips a squeeze, and his voice cuts through the haze of fear. “It’s okay, States. It’s just passing by. It’s more scared of us. It doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

His voice brings you back to the present, and you shake your head a bit to focus on what’s happening right now. “Look at it,” he whispers softly in your ear. “It’s just curious. It’s not here to hurt us. Not all bears are aggressive.”

The bear takes a tentative step forward, then pauses, its ears twitching. You tense the second it moves, and Soap’s arm around you tightens slightly, a subtle reassurance. “Stay calm. It’s going to move on. Just keep breathing.”

The bear snorts, shaking its head before taking another step. You can tell that its muscles are tense under its fur. It takes a few more steps, its eyes never leaving yours as it slowly moves. A deep growl rumbles in its chest, and you are tempted to take a step back, but you can’t with Soap standing directly behind you.

“Don’t back away.” He tells you gently, able to feel the muscles in your back twitch against his chest. “If it starts to come this way, wave your arms above your head and shout at it. Just like I showed you.”

“I don’t think I can.” You whisper back to him. Your mouth is so dry, and it feels like your throat has completely sealed itself off. Even talking was a challenge, and your voice already sounded weaker and slightly hoarse.

“You can, States. You can do this.” He encourages you.

The bear takes a few more steps, still just trying to move perpendicularly past you, but it stops once more to huff softly. When you don’t react to it, it takes a small steps towards you, its head lowered cautiously, but eyes still fixed on you.

“It’s not being aggressive, it’s just curious. Just tell it to go away. Nice and firm.” Soap whispers to you.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather any bit bravery you had. “Go away.” You say, voice a bit wobbly, but still managing to be firm.

The bear hesitates, lifting its head a bit as you speak to it. Its glossy eyes keep locked on you, and it starts to sniff the air once more. Speaking just seemed to make it more curious. It takes another step forward, and you feel Soap’s grip tighten again.

“Alright, it’s getting too curious now. Gotten show it you’re not something to mess with. Get loud now, wave your arms and yell. Make yourself big.” Soap instructs, his voice steady. He’s not panicked at all, or at least he’s not showing it. “Do it now, States. Nice and loud.”

You take a deep breath, trying your best to push down all the anxiety eating away at your courage. Drawing on every ounce of strength you can muster, you raise your arms above your head and yell.

“Ahh!! Go away! Get out of here!”

The bear stops, taken aback by your sudden outburst. It jolts back, retreating a few feet away before stopping and looking back at you. Its ears are standing straight up, its eyes widen in surprise. You can see its hesitation, its uncertainty.

“Good, again!” Soap encourages softly from behind you.

“Go! Get out of here! Go away!” You shout again, making it jump again. This time, it turns and bolts, clearly not wanting to mess with you.

You watch as it crashes through the foliage, moving quickly to get away from you and Soap. Your arms stay raised while you watch it run off, only becoming heavy and dropping once the sounds of the leaves rustling fade into the distance. Your eyes stayed locked on the path it took, froze in shock for few seconds.

When it finally registers that it’s gone, you can feel your entire body become suddenly exhausted. You let out all the air in your lungs and sink back. You probably would have fallen to the ground if Soap hadn’t been behind you. He instantly wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly to him.

“Oh fuck...” You curse, making Soap laugh. “It-It’s gone, right?” You ask hesitantly. It was like your brain hadn’t fully processed what happened yet.

“Yes, it’s gone. You did it, States! It’s not gonna be coming back, you scared it.” He chuckles, his tone becoming light and filled with genuine joy. It felt like he was proud of you, excited that you’d been able to scare the animal off.

“Holy shit...” You curse again, still trying to wrap your head around it. And when it finally sinks in, you feel a rush of relief wash over you. Your body starts to tremble, not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that you did it. You managed to scare off a bear. It’s a mix of pride, disbelief, and a strange sense of empowerment. You did it. You really did it.

“I did it...” You mutter, smiling as your shoulders behind to feel lighter.

“Hell yeah you did!” Soap laughs from behind you, giving you a squeeze. “You did fucking great! You just stood your ground against a bear!”

“Yeah! I… I….”

The intensity of the moment finally catches up to you. All the fear, the tension, and the adrenaline suddenly give way to a flood of emotions. You feel a lump form in your throat, and your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes. The relief is so overwhelming, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and you can't hold back any longer.

You begin to cry, tears streaming down your face as you let out any remaining pent-up emotions. It’s relief, and stress, and joy, and shock, and pride. It feels good to let it all out, your body shaking as it releases everything through your tears.

Soap’s laughter quickly fades when he hears your sobs. He pauses for a second and then quickly turns you around to face him, concern etched across his face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice soft and full of worry.

You try to speak, but it just comes out as a jumbled mess. The words catch in your throat, choked by the intensity of your emotions. You want to let him know you’re fine, but you just can’t get the words to come out. The more you struggle to speak, the more worried and confused he looks.

“Fucking hell, States, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Soap whispers, rubbing your arms soothingly. “You’re safe now. You did it. You faced your fear. The thing ran off.”

You nod at him, that being the only way you know how to communicate. Finally though, you manage to settle enough get a few words out. “I’m fin-e… j-just hap-py...” You choke out. “I-I feel b-better.”

Soap has to strain a bit to hear what you were saying, but he gathers just enough to make out what you said. It makes his shoulder relax and the worry lines in his face soften. He lets out a relieved sigh, hands dropping from your arms so they can run through his hair.

“Steaming Jesus. Thought you were going insane or something. Shite. I never know what it means when you start balling.”

You start to calm down, laughing a little at the poor man’s distress. Taking a few deep breaths, you steady your breathing and wipe at your eyes to dry them. “I mean I very well might be.” You giggle softly. “I’ve been hanging around you for five days, that would drive anyone insane.”

Soap scoffs at you, but there’s a smile on his face that he can’t hide. “You sound like Ghost.”

“Well, good to know it’s not just me who thinks that.”

“Oh shut your mouth.” Soap grumbles, giving you a light shove and making you laugh again. “That what I get for helping you? Should have just let the bear eat you if that’s the case.” He mutters, arms crossed over his chest as if he’s pouting at your teasing. “I am only kidding of course too, yeah?” He adds, making your laughter fade.

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh, feeling a little guilty now about earlier. Soap had always been the guy on the team to make jokes and lighten the mood when things got too serious. That’s all he’d been trying to do earlier, and you snapped at him for it.

In your defense, you had been horribly stressed out, but that didn’t give you permission to lash out at Soap. He’d only been trying to help you this whole time, both last night and this morning. Of course that didn’t excuse him from lashing out at you in return, but you could understand why he did. You would have done the same thing if you were him.

“Hey, I… I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. When you made the joke about the bear caves. I was just really stressed out, and I feel a little bad now. I know you’re just trying to help and… well I appreciate it.”

Soap blinks at you in surprise. He looks shocked that you’re apologizing, though to be fair, normally you didn’t go around saying sorry to each other. That was something that only started happening recently.

“Oh, you know it’s… it’s whatever, really.” He stammers, clearly taken aback. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said either. So I’m sorry too.”

You smile at him, watching as he rubs at the back of his neck. You can feel your heart softening just a bit for him. “Thank you for that, Soap.”

Soap gives you an awkward smile back, nodding his head a bit. Neither of you are great with apologies. It feels unnatural for both of you, and it’s quickly starting to get a bit awkward.

“Well… Should we head back? Or did you want to go explore a bear cave?” You try to joke, which earns a laugh from Soap.

“I think I’ve had enough of bears for a good while, so I think I’ll pass.” He smirks, able to look back at you now. “But hey, if you wanna go though, by all means don’t let me hold you back.”

You giggle softly, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m alright. I think I’d rather just go back to the boring ol’cabin. I’m getting hungry anyway.”

“You hungry now?” He questions. “I packed us both a lunch since I didn’t know how long we’d be out here. And I know this really nice spot where we can stop and eat.” He says, which surprises you. Not that he’d packed a lunch—you were aware of that. What surprises you is that he’s suggesting you both go out and eat instead of going back.

“Really?” Ask before you can stop yourself. It makes Soap pause, his expression shifting just a bit.

“I mean unless you don’t want to. We can just head back if you’d rather do that.”

“No! No, I think eating out here would be fun. I haven’t been able to do too much exploring, and I could use a break from just hanging around the cabin all day.” You quickly say before he can change his mind. “Lead the way.”

Soap watches you for a moment, almost like he’s trying to figure out if you really wanted to go or not. He makes up his mind in a second and starts back the way you came. “Alright, follow me. We’re only about five minutes away at most.” He says, and you quickly rush to fall into step beside him.

A comfortable silence falls between you like it had before, though this time as you follow him, the tension and fear from earlier are gone. All your anxiety has seemingly melted away. The natural sounds of the forest no longer bother you, and even the thought of running into another bear isn’t as terrifying as it was when you first left. It’s a relief to be able to walk around without feeling the need to constantly be on alert. You just hope it stays that way.

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a-tale-of-legends · 1 year ago

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It's hard to define what exactly counts as the "old" and "new" protags since they're constantly growing, but here's a run down of how I see the older protag ocs when they were kids....as in actually protagonist.

Jin- Angry, has daddy issues. Wanting to prove themself despite no one asking them to. Petty rivalry with Amber that turned into a big crush. Calms down around Wally, only cause they don't want to scare him. Actively questioning why they- the 12 year old- is fighting eco-terrorist.

Amber/Kohaku - Energetic yet awkward gal, very athletic. Started on the wrong foot with Jin, starting their rivalry....which turned into a big crush ( but that happened a tiny bit later for her). Loves pokemon and wants to know as much as she can about them. Amazing battler but that isn't her priority. Wants to get closer to her dad via studying pokemon ( so she too has daddy issues)

Kenji- Another energetic kid, dreams of being a hero like the famous Red. Very excitable, occasionally loses focus and tends to be reckless. Likes helping in any way he can, even if he finds it boring. "I'm gonna be the very best >:D". Wants everyone, both people and pokemon, to be happy and hate seeing people hurt.

Aiko- Just as excitable as Kenji, though wasn't that interested in battling til Silver called her weak. Not sure what she wanted to do with her life, not sure if she wanted to take up her dad's mantle as a pokemon professor. Stubborn with a strong sense of justice, is not afraid to throw hands.

Beryl- Only planned to be a professor's assistant to Professor Elm. Was not expecting to be the babysitter to two energetic 10 year olds. She takes it the best she can, aiming to fill the Pokedex. They want to prove her older brother wrong, in that being a professor's assistant is worth something. Level headed and honestly very chill, keeps Aiko and Kenji on a leash, while also being the first person Silver properly opens up too.

Danica- Very quiet, borderline creepy girl. Doesn't emote much, no thanks to her scarf covering her mouth and her bangs over her eyebrows. Only friend is Barry, who isn't put off by her at all. Always had an interest in battling and pokemon, and had the goal to be a champion for a while. No one knows what she's thinking, and has an eerieness around her. But she has a good heart, willingly putting herself in danger even at her own risk ( reminder that this girl is 11). May or may not be a bit battle hungry. People think she's the brains for Barry's brawn but honestly they tend to share the same braincell.

Kiran- Son of a problem professors aid, Kiran is Rowans professors assistant that is honestly rather lazy. Rowan forces them to go out with him one day and all of a sudden he's now taking a journey all over Sinnoh, something he was not planning to do whatsoever. But Rowan is insistent that he accompany Danica and Barry so here he is. He's trying ( key word: trying) to fill up the Pokedex for professor Rowan, all while getting wrapped up in Team Galactic which again, he did not plan for. Wants nothing more than to go home and crawl back in his bed....but he would be lying if the situation didn't urk him. Often it is the one raining Danica and Barry in so they can think of a proper plan. May or may not also be trying to stick it to his little sister who somehow has gotten more academic awards than him.

Alexis: A shy kid with big dreams of being champion. Cautious to a fault, Alexis tends to worry about what his journey might bring. He had a right to worry; he is a nuzlocke protagonist. His anxiety and depression grows worse over the course of the journey, but also his ideals and conviction to stop Team Plasma and help N. His friendships with Cheren, Bianca and his twin sister Elliot keeps him together, as well as the surviving members of his team. He's still not in a good mental state by the end of it all.

Elliot: Alexis' rebellious and loud twin sister. She's younger, don't believe her lies. Ready to take on the world and become champion, she wasn't exactly prepared to face Team Plasma and N. However she saw the way they affected her brother and those she cares about and saw red. She has a fighting spirit, and is stubborn to a fault. She hates seeing the ones she loves hurt, and vows to use all the power she has to give those who caused such pain a severe ass kicking.

I think B2W2 and XY are the transition point of the old era to the new, so I won't be going over them here.

Here's the ages of my ocs in their respective game

Jin- 12

Amber - 12

Kenji- 10

Aiko- 10

Beryl- 13

Danica- 11

Kiran- 12

Alexis - 14

Elliot - 14

This is from Emerald/ORAS to BW, if that wasn't clear before.

#legendverse #r rambles #oc: jin amachi #oc: kohaku amber birch #oc: kenji hino #oc: aiko elm #oc: beryl jewel #oc: danica yamamoto #oc: kiran plum #oc: alexis jones #oc: elliot jones #legendverse ocs

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bluerosejuliet · 2 years ago

Text

Bridgerton Superhero AU

I thought of this while working on some asks and had to post it. Imagine the modern day Bridgertons are a family of popular superheroes (haven't come up with their powers quite yet but am open to ideas). They are very popular in the media and at least one of them is sure to make the news daily. The people adore them and they are a myriad of admirers. However, their civilian identities are more lowkey and not quite as popular.

When he's not saving damsels in distress and seducing the many women of London, Anthony Bridgerton works as an attorney who fights for justice. Because of this, he often works closely with detective Kathani Sharma, a woman who exudes confidence and doesn't take anyones bullshit. It doesn't help that she absolutely gorgeous (lord knows how often Anthony dreamed about those long legs of hers wrapped around him) and one of the few people who can challenge Anthony. And yet Anthony still hasn't plucked up the courage to ask the woman on a date.

Benedict Bridgerton works as an art therapist, mainly working with children coming from tough home situations. He also volunteers to the local retirement home to teach painting classes every other weekend. He does paint in his free time but doesn't have the confidence to share his work with other people. In between saving people every week, Benedict also faces another problem: he's in love with two women. One, a beautiful masked woman that he kissed at a New Years Eve party. All he remembers about her is the lovely silver dress she wore and how wonderful it felt to have her pressed against him. The other is Sophie Beckett, a beautiful social worker that he's collaborated with a few times. She has to be the sweetest woman he's ever met and she genuinely cares for all her charges. If only he could forget his mystery woman and just ask out Sophie his life would be so much easier.

Colin works at a large newspaper, reviewing various restaurants but longs to travel to other countries. However, he does love bringing focus to local restaurants that may not be as fancy as others but have amazing food and also amazing background stories. Is it any surprise then that he has a crush on Penelope Featherington, the owner of his favorite bakery and one his best friends? Not only does Penelope make the best muffins and is one of the nicest people he knows, she's also witty and very pretty. If only he could get out of the friendzone with her.

Daphne works as a wedding planner and is known for creating the most beautiful weddings no matter the budget. She's always prepared no matter what the situation and he assistants are left in awe of her cool head. The only time she seems to lose a bit of her cool is around Simon Basset, her brother Anthony's best friend and the most handsome man Daphne's ever seen. Not only is the man a firefighter (as if he wasn't hot enough!) he also works at the gym Daphne goes to and teaches self defense classes.

Eloise is currently working as an associate attorney Lady Danbury's law firm. Whereas Anthony specializes in criminal law, Eloise aims to be a civil rights attorney. As a bonus, her best friends bakery is right down the street but it is also next to a flower shop run by the quiet but handsome Phillip Crane. He's also a frequent customer of Penelope's and the two have gotten into quite a few debates. Eloise is not one to swoon and will kill anyone who says otherwise, but something about the quiet but intelligent flower shop owner draws her in.

Francesca is a music teacher at the local elementary school and also teaches piano lessons on the side. Like many secret superheroes, Francesca has a bit of a tragic backstory. She lost her best friend John, the only person outside her family to know her secret, to a horrible accident. John had asthma and during a hostage situation had an asthma attack and died because he didn't have his inhaler. Francesca blamed herself because John had snuck out that night to help her with something. What's worse is John was her first love and admitted his feelings for her with his dying breath. Since then, she's put up a wall around her heart and it took awhile for her to even think about joining the family business once more. Things are going smoothly, until Michael Stirling waltzes back into town to open his own bar after being discharged from the army. Michael used to be one of her good friends as well but after John's death, they grew apart. It also doesn't help that he's no longer the charming boy boy she knew in high school but a dangerously handsome man who seems to see right through her.

Gregory works on designing video games and is viewed by many people as a bit of a nerd given how he loves comic books and video games and is very smart. If he would just wear better clothes, tame his hair, and ditch the glasses, he'd be pretty handsome. He's not the best with talking to girls but finds the local librarian Lucy Abernathy very easy to talk to. Lucy's very organized and seems extremely prim and proper but can debate marvel vs. DC like no other and is an expert when it comes to Lord of the Rings. Even better, the woman makes her own cosplay outfits and Gregory had to stop himself from double liking her instagram photo of her as Galadriel. But how can an ordinary guy like Gregory hope to win over Lucy?

Hyacinth is currently working as a barista in a local cafe as she finishes up university. However, she is still unsure about what she wants to do after college. All her other siblings seemed to have figured out what they wanted from life but Hyacinth is still struggling. At least she gets to chat with Gareth St. Clair each day. He works in part time as a bartender while completing his business degree. He plans on opening his own auto shop one day and has a job lined up after he graduates to work as a mechanic for a bit to gain some experience. With his various piercings, tattoos, and the fact that he owns a motorcycle, he looks exactly like the kind of guy Anthony always warned her to stay away from. Yet, Hyacinth can't help but get a little weak in the knees each time he smiles at her.

So what is the conflict you may ask?

Is it that the Bridgerton spouses are secretly supervillains?

(No, they are normal civilians thank you very much).

Are the spouses seeing someone else?

(Nope, all of them are single).

The problem is, that the spouses seem highly unimpressed whenever the Bridgertons rescue them.

Anthony doesn't understand how the Kate who sometimes brings him his favorite coffee and teases him, instead acts like he's more of an annoyance whenever his hero persona interacts with her.

Or how Lucy doesn't seem impressed by Gregory saving her and instead points out all the disorder he caused but is so patient and warm to him even when he accidentally knocks over a shelf of books as a civilian.

In short, the Bridgertons are trying to win over their spouses as their hero selves (as this seems to be the version everyone prefers) while their spouses are in love with the Bridgertons civilian identities.

Meanwhile, Violet is sipping her tea, wondering when her children will realize that their spouses love their true selves, just as she loved the sweet Edmund Bridgerton who stuttered out an apology after accidentally causing her to spill her coffee all over her dress rather than the handsome and suave hero who saved her from some thugs.

If you would like to see more of this AU or have any ideas for superpowers, please let me know!

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton Superhero AU #the bridgertons share one brain cell #obvious Bridgertons

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

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I really enjoyed reading your fic fall in hatred with jin and liked the concept of a couple on the verge of a divorce. I thought I’d make a request for an angsty marriage/divorce au with another member like jk but it ends fluffy🥺

Whether you take this request or not, I wanted to say that you’re a great writer and I always love reading your stories 💜

↳ Honeymoon Horrors

3.7k || 55% Angst, 45% Fluff || Min Yoongi || Divorce!AU

It was great when it started. Cloud nine had descended down and made its home above both your heads. You were practically floating, swooning, living a romance that Nicholas Sparks would’ve envied. You felt like you were on a permanent high as if weed and cocaine was permanently stuck in your system. You had reached enlightenment and you were permanently euphoric. How could you not be? You had met your soulmate after all. But as the years passed, it came tumbling down. Cloud nine started to rain. You swooned so hard that you struck your head against the edge of the kitchen counter. Instead of floating, you were getting dragged down to hell and the high you felt turned into a crash. Most importantly, you became enraged. And you’re still mad now. When you watch your wedding videos, all you can do is throw popcorn at the screen and scream at the grinning bitch that she’s making the worst mistake of her life. Life’s full of plot twists, isn’t it? And you can only chuckle at that realization now. Because what was meant to be the honeymoon you never had, a replacement honeymoon of sorts, is turning out to be a nightmare. “Hey. Can you move?” You rip off your headphones. “Excuse me?” “You’re taking up all of the space.” Yoongi stares at you lazily. “This is supposed to be my armrest.” “No. This is mine. That’s yours.” “No. Yours is next to the window. This one is supposed to be mine. If you’re that uncomfortable, you should’ve just given me the window seat.” You scoff and shove his arm off the armrest with your own. The half-offended, half-amused expression on Yoongi’s face is utterly stupid. It’s as if he’s judging you for being childish when he was the one who started this. You wish you could punch him square in the nose. “If you want me to move, then why don’t you move your legs? You’re taking up all the leg room!” “You’re only out of space because you had to put your purse under the seat.” “Where else am I supposed to put my purse?!” “Do you see me carrying a purse?” Suddenly, there’s a clearing of the throat. A female flight attendant is standing at the aisle and leaning over while wearing a perfectly, cordial smile. “Is there a problem over here?” Your eyes narrow into the nosy bitch sitting across the aisle who probably tattled. You saw her looking in the corner of her eye from the very start. “No. Not at all.” Yoongi smiles easily. “We’re fine.” There’s an urge to roll your eyes. In all honesty, you underestimated Yoongi. While your divorce was well on its way and heading off like a bullet train, you had forgotten how petty he was. Exactly like you. Maybe that’s why for a period of time, you suited one another so well. With the deposit already given on what was supposed to be the honeymoon extravaganza you never had and the plans already made long ago, you were set on going no matter what. Except he was also set on going. The asshole couldn’t give up and neither were you willing to give in. So here you were. With your worst nemesis. “Can you repeat that?” “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no possible way we can get you two rooms.” The receptionist looks up from her computer screen. “You originally booked the presidential suite, correct?” “Yes, but we changed it into two regular rooms a while ago,” Yoongi says. His brows are cinched together and he’s gripping onto the itinerary tightly. The girl behind the front desk looks at her computer again and clicks twice but probably at nothing. “I’m so sorry. It looks like it didn’t register into our system. Is there anything else I can do for you?” This is dreadful. As if things couldn’t get worse, they got much much worse. “Great.” You haul in your luggage, no thanks to him. “This is just great.” “Yeah, keep complaining,” Yoongi grumbles, “See how much that helps.” “Shut up.” On the top floor, the room is quiet and open. There’s a love seat in front of a flat screen television, a dining room and an open kitchen and bar. The large glass windows fully face the sandy, blue beach and allows light to pour into the enormous space. There are two chairs outside the private terrace and a jacuzzi too. But as beautiful as the place is, you feel bitter. It should’ve been great. It would’ve been great if you were alone. And to make matters worse, it seems like the resort hadn’t gotten the news that your relationship with Yoongi was essentially decimated. Not when there was a scattered rose petal path leading up to the king-sized bed which also had two folded doves on it with the word ‘congratulations’ spelled out in more petals. There’s also a note: I hope you enjoy yourselves, Mr. and Mrs. Min. And neither of you miss the mountainous stack of condoms on the nightstand. Yoongi’s pale. “Christ.” The knock on the door breaks the thick tension. Yoongi opens the door, and he immediately steps back as two enthusiastic employees enter while wheeling in a silver cart. “Aloha, welcome to Hawaii! Are you the newlyweds?” “Umm…” The two of you are well past that period. To be exact, you married nearly two years ago, but you don’t know how to break it to them. Yoongi’s never been good with words either. “Enjoying your honeymoon, aren’t you? Congratulations!” The older man is excited as if he was the one who got married. “We bought you a bottle of our best champagne to celebrate and hope you have an everlasting marriage!” The girl beside the man pops the cork and pours the champagne, and you realize it would be more painless to go along with it. “Thanks,” you mumble, taking your flute of champagne and nearly downing the entire thing in one go. Yoongi holds his and raises a brow at you. “We also have a red velvet cake.” He shows you on the busy cart. “And our freshest chocolate strawberries just made earlier by our finest chef. I think you’ll enjoy this chocolate as well.” “Thank you.” Yoongi offers a faint smile. “This is really nice.” “Of course, of course! Anything for our newlyweds!” There’s a small bowl of almonds next to the chocolates and two raw oysters served on a plate. It’s odd with the ensemble, but then the man leans closer as if revealing a secret and puts a hand by his mouth. “It is said almonds, chocolate and oysters are aphrodisiacs.” You choke on your champagne, sputtering. The girl grins. Yoongi’s wide-eyed. He collects himself quicker than you do. “Thank you.” Luckily the friendly, borderline-overbearing staff leave the both of you to it and you’re put out of your misery. For only a moment. “Are you going to finish that bottle of champagne by yourself?” Yoongi asks across the room and you turn your head to see his cocked brow. Of course, he’s unpacking. The asshole doesn’t know how to relax and always has to make you look bad. You scoff. “I’m about to open the red wine too.” “Never thought I’d see you be reduced to a drunk so quickly.” “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You’re always judging and nitpicking me.” “I was making a comment.” “Yeah and no one asked you to,” you mumble into the glass. Yoongi eyes you. “You don’t have to get so upset, Y/N.” “Are you serious?” Your posture straightens, legs lifted off the chair you propped them on and feet shifted onto the ground. “I was sitting here minding my own business. Why don’t you mind your own business.” “I just thought you didn’t want to be sloppy when dinner hasn’t even started yet.” “I know how to control my pacing.” Yoongi snorts. Your tongue rolls inside your cheek. “Excuse me?” “What?” “You look like you want to say something.” “No. Not at all.” You place the flute down onto the table. “Say it, Yoongi.” “I thought you said I should mind my own business.” “You’re such a condescending asshole, you know that?” Yoongi stops folding his shirt and shuts the drawer. His expression is impassive and it irritates you more. “Pot meets kettle.” “For someone who’s supposedly quiet, you fucking never know how to shut up.” “Can’t you just calm down, Y/N? Unlike what you think, I’m not trying to get on your nerves. I’m trying to enjoy this trip.” “Why are you acting like I’m the only one getting upset and that I’m the crazy one,” you spit, and he opens his mouth as if to say you are being crazy. But you don’t let him— “Don’t you dare say it. Fuck you, Yoongi. You don’t think I’m trying to enjoy this too? You think I wanted it to be like this?!” “Maybe if you weren’t trying to pick a fight with me every goddamn second, you would have a good time, woman.” “You’re the one who’s always trying to pick a fight with me!” He sighs, body language dismissive to what you’re saying. “Stop being so upset—” “Well too bad, I am upset! So just let me be!” You stand on your feet, teeth gritted and fist clenched. You’re practically screaming across the suite but there aren’t any close enough neighbours to complain. “You’re always telling me what I should and shouldn’t feel! This is exactly why we’re getting a divorce!” With the last word said, you stomp away and the bathroom door slams shut. It’s the only place you can be alone, but even then, the four walls are frosted glass. … You’re not sure who brought up divorce first. It’s not like it matters. But one thing you do know is that it came up in an argument. A jab where someone’s sole intention was to hurt. And the other person stubbornly retaliated with ‘fine, have it your way’. You remember calling your lawyer and him calling his. The process continued and continued and as it did, so did your arguments as the two of you realized no one was going to stop it. It became more painful the more time that went on. Clearly, it meant he was serious about it. Clearly, he didn’t care if he was happy to sign divorce papers. So you made yourself not care too. And it continued to snowball like that. Before you knew it, you were telling your families that the divorce was happening, much to their distress. Before you knew it, here you were. By the time you get out of the bathroom, Yoongi’s gone. He probably left for some peace and quiet. After all, it’s volatile when you’re together. It’s not like you want it to be that way, it just became that way. What sucks the most is that you know he’s right. You’re part to blame for the recent argument. You got too worked up unnecessarily. You’re constantly on the defensive as if he’s out to attack you. And once it’s quiet, you hate that you shouted. But he has his own part to blame too. Yoongi knows how to get under your skin. He knew he was egging you on and he didn’t stop. So it escalated and escalated. You end up wandering the resort by yourself. You enjoy the sunset on the beach and when the dinner buffet is open, you sit alone with your plate, staring out into the empty abyss of the ocean shrouded in darkness. All around you, there are families and lovers, jovial music that’s inviting. Yet you feel isolated in the crowd. You try to move around, preoccupy yourself. But the last thing you expect is to see Yoongi. Across the bar. With a pretty, young girl on his arm. A sun-kissed blonde, to be specific. Wearing a crop top with booty shorts. Yoongi’s nursing a whisky on the rocks, his usual drink, as she grasps onto his bicep. The swell of her breasts are practically pushed onto him. She says something and he smiles. At the same time, something boils in the pit of your stomach. It’s pure, unadulterated rage. Before you know it, you’ve turned on your heel and beelined to the hotel lobby bar. You call yourself hard liquor and down the drink as you seethe. The image of him and that Barbie doll is seared into your mind, flashing beneath your eyelids each time you blink. The liquid burns and tears pool into your eyes, but you hold them back. The bar is busy, filled of guests constantly ordering, so no one notices that you keep downing bitter drinks until there’s a tap on your shoulder— “Aloha.” A concerned employee looms over you. “Is everything alright?” That’s when you realize you’ve been drinking by yourself for three full hours. The table’s crowded with glasses and the ones on the edge are a centimeter away from falling over. You end up waving him away and stumbling back to the room. The world is teetering and you try to lean onto the wall for balance. It’s a miracle that you pressed the right number on the elevator when everything was swirling together. Or at least, you’re pretty sure this is the right floor. You pound on the door. “Yoongiiiiii! Yoongiii! Open up!” When there’s no response, you mutter ‘asshole’. Then your eye peels open and you realize you’ve been knocking against the door of the ice and vending machine room. You turn on your heel and careen to the next door. “Yooongiiii!” you whine his name in exasperation, cheek pressed against the smooth surface. You only have to call out twice before the door’s suddenly swinging open and you’re falling into the arms of your (soon-to-be ex-) husband. “‘Bout time. Was waiting foreverrr!” “Fuck.” Yoongi’s nose scrunches at the smell of alcohol and he grabs a hold of your shoulders, pulling you away from him, nose scrunched at your smell. He keeps you at a safe distance as if you were nervous middle-schoolers at your first dance. You hate it. Why can’t he just hug you? “God, how much did you drink, Y/N?” “Dunno. Lost my key card.” “What?” The door swings shut. “Are you banging a chick in our room?” you slur, trying to keep your eyes open to look at him. He was already changed into his soft pajamas, a blue checkered print that made him look so much cuter. It’s unfair. “Am I interrupting?” His brows cinch together, lips turning down. Yoongi’s visibly confused. “Ban—” “Saw you talkin’ to that pretty girl at the bar,” you huff, wobbling back and forth. He’s dumbfounded. “Who?” “Don’t play stupid!” You poke his chest with your finger. “That lil girl who looks like a model!” Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice and you add in frustration, “I’ll leave if you are, so just tell me already.” “No, I’m not sleeping with anyone, Y/N.” Yoongi fixes his arm around your waist to keep you balanced and he sighs, reaching down to help you take off your shoes. “So much for knowing how to pace yourself, Y/N,” he mumbles with a faint smile on his lips instead of the annoyance you’re used to. Yoongi loops your arm around his neck and begins to guide you towards the bed. But you stop, making your legs deadweight and you turn to him, staring into his eyes so deep, it’s like you’re looking into his soul. It’s pretty. “What?” he asks, almost uncomfortable by your intense gawking. “Do you not love me anymore?” “What?” “Just tell me, goddammit. Do you have no feelings towards me no more?” You pound your chest with your free hand. Yoongi plops you onto the love seat when he sees that you have no plans of making it to the bed. “Did everything mean nothin’ to you?” He remains silent. You angrily shout— “Answer me!” Yoongi flinches. “God, Y/N. You don’t need to scream, I’m right next to you.” He sighs and drags a hand over his face. “If it meant nothing to me, do you think I’d be taking care of you right now? Now sit here and wait.” With his dictatorial command wielded with his low voice, you pout but obey. Yoongi returns a minute later with your pajamas in one hand and a cool glass of water in the other. “Drink this. And all of it.” You nurse the glass of water with two hands and get a sip in. But your pout persists and before you know it, you’re bursting into tears. Yoongi all but freezes. “’m sorry,” you sob, “I didn’t wanna fight.” “Y/N.” “I don’t mean to be so mad! I’m sorry.” Yoongi kneels in front of you with a long sigh. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he coaxes and tugs the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the beads of teardrops trekking down your cheeks. “I know you didn’t mean it.” “Really?” “Yes. If anything….I’m sorry too,” Yoongi mumbles solemnly and before you can react, he’s already moved on. “Now drink your water.” You cry into your glass, but you down the entire thing like he said and your crying stops by the end. “Arms up,” Yoongi commands and you listen to him. He peels off your shirt in one single swoop and tosses it aside. He helps you put on your pajama top without blinking an eye and pulls the hem of your leggings to replace those as well. Yoongi even takes a damp washcloth to wipe your face and you watch him the entire time. His lashes are long, and Yoongi’s so nice and reliable. “Let's get you to bed, alright?” You nod, and he guides you to it, having cleared the rose petals earlier. “So you didn’t sleep with her?” “No.” “Why not? She was hot!” “I wasn’t interested.” “Really?” “Really,” Yoongi assures as he sets you to sit on the edge of the mattress. He moves to pull the sheets and struggles with how tucked in they are. In the meanwhile, you get the greatest idea you’ve ever had— “Then fuck me instead before you fuck her.” “What?” Yoongi’s entire body goes rigid and he whips his head towards you with eyes that nearly bulge out of their sockets. You pout at him. “I wanna suck your dick and feel it in me, Yoongi. I miss it. When we used to have sex. It was so good.” “Oh, you are so drunk.” He chuckles, a sound that sounds so nice you wish you can hear it forever and ever. “You’re going to be so embarrassed when you wake up tomorrow, Y/N.” Yoongi pulls the sheet and is about to get you tucked in. But you steal the opportunity when he gets close and you loop your arms around his neck. “No, I’m not.” Your voice drops into a whisper. “Remember when you used to spit in my mouth? And you liked it sooo much.” You giggle when you notice his ears becoming hot and red. “You still like it now, don’t you, you nasty freak!” You smack him on the shoulder in the midst of your bubbling laughter and he winces. “Ow!” “Imagine if I got pregnant from it too!” you add in your hysterics. “Let’s not.” “I always thought our kids would be so cute. Especially if they got your cheeks.” You reach and tug on Yoongi’s cheeks while giggling. He lets you have your fun, staying still and letting you squish his face together. And in your drunken state, you don’t realize how tender his eyes become. “We’re getting a divorce, Y/N.” You frown. “Why on earth would we do that?” “Because,” he murmurs. “Let’s not,” you slur. “Can’t we cancel it?” It goes quiet with Yoongi gazing into your eyes. “Do you even know what you’re saying?” “Yeah.” You grow sheepish. “Aren’t you supposed to get a divorce if you hate each other?” “That’s how it works generally.” Yoongi stands and gently presses on your shoulder to lay you down. The pillows feel soft underneath your head and he starts to tug the covers up to your chin. “But I don’t hate you. I care a loooooot about you.” You sulk. “Otherwise, why’d I get jealous when I saw you at the bar?” The corner of his mouth tugs. “So you’re admitting you were jealous?” “Wouldn’t you get jealous if you saw me with someone else?” Yoongi thinks about it. “Maybe.” “Maybe?” He finally admits, “Yeah, I’d be pretty pissed.” You hum contently, lids becoming uncontrollably heavier. You want to stay up. It’s so much fun talking to Yoongi. It feels like forever since you talked to him like this. But you’re so tired. And comfortable. You want him to cuddle and spoon you to sleep. Yoongi cuddles are the best. “Yooongiiii.” You call out to him with your eyes closed. “Yeah?” “I think—” You go dead quiet and after three seconds, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then your mouth moves again. “—I loooove you.” A beat later, your two arms suddenly raises up into the air. Hands measuring about a ruler stick length. “This much.” He snorts and turns off the lamp. “Go to sleep, Y/N.” … When you wake up the next morning, your head is absolutely pounding. For the first time, you detest how much light the damn room lets in. You also curse aging and having to suffer hangovers when five years ago, you were perfectly unscathed the next day after drinking. Luckily, there’s advil on the bedside with a tall glass of water and you down the entire thing after taking a pill. You’re not so sure where these came from, but your answer is across the room. Yoongi, realizing you’re awake, has an amused smile on his face and his brow cocked. More importantly, his eyes have somehow softened. You groan, remembering last night. Every detail. Every word. Like a film that could be played back. It’s mortifying and even without your obvious reaction, Yoongi’s been with you long enough to know how superb your memory is even after being wasted. He knows you know. And the worst part? You meant it all.

#bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi reader insert #yoongi x reader #Anonymous #omeone tell me why two of my Yoongi drabbles are so FUCKING LONG. it's practically a oneshot ;_;

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dragonfirez · 2 years ago

Text

Short Crack fic about the Hair 😂

Maedhros, returning from torture, cuts off his hair. It was a dramatic gesture and he did not anticipate the events it would set in motion, but once done he could not go back.

His brothers, being Fëanorion and also slightly guilty about abandoning him, all cut their hair in a public act of solidarity. (All except Celegorm. His hair is the most beautiful silver so why would he cut it? Just below shoulder length is the shortest he can bring himself to go.)

To Maedhros’ despair the hair thing only grows from there and soon all the Fëanorions are doing it as some kind of declaration of loyalty and to show Fingolfins people what they think of them. Maedhros tries to explain they are only making themselves look like fools but it has gotten out of hand and no one will listen to him. At first the haircuts are dire but then, with everyone doing it they do get some pretty good barbers.

The first to run into problems is Celebrimbor when he first separates from Curufin….and therefore Curufin’s personal barber. While he is still hanging at Nargothrond it’s not the end of the world. Nargothrond have people who can cut hair because……Finrod. (Who we will get to later) Though he is not really keen on what they call “the Nargothrond fade.” But when he moves to Gondolin it is an absolute disaster. No one cuts hair there, no one! They haven’t even heard of such a thing. He has to do it himself and he is well aware he looks absolutely dreadful, but what can he do? He may have foresworn Curufin but he is still a Fëanorion.

By the time Maedhros and Maglor find themselves lumbered with Elrond and Elros they have forgotten what it was like to have long hair and Maglor has become pretty darn good at the hair cutting. Elros’ curls really suit the short styles and he loves fashioning Man-style cuts for him. Elronds hair is more problematic but Maglor still thinks he does a reasonable job. It all falls apart when they deposit Elrond with Gil-galad. Gil-galad is horrified at the Fëanorion looking boy he is left with, but try as he might he cannot convince Elrond to grow his hair out. If only the boy would see sense. He has a hard enough time fitting in as it is, but no. A more stubborn elf Gil-galad has never met. None of his people in Lindon will cut hair. They hate the Fëanorions with a passion and cutting hair is seen as an absolute betrayal. Gil galad is forced to be in charge of cutting Elronds hair himself. He’s appalling bad at it, swearing every time that he has inherited none of his fathers hairstyling ability. (Fingon being so very good with beads and ribbons). When Celebrimbor shows up Gil-galad is SO relieved to be able to hand the Fëanorion hair cutting responsibility on. But Celebrimbor seems even worse at it. How can that be? Elrond is doomed to have bad haircuts until Celebrian gets her hands on him and puts her foot down.

As for Finrod……. Bored while in Valinor, wanting to create some drama, he cut his hair off one day in an act of rebellion. However it did not have the desired effect, his father just sighing heavily and saying, “oh well, It’s your hair I suppose, Finderáto.” Having made the gesture he had to stick with it or he would have looked a complete fool.

This had unfortunate consequences when he announced he was leaving for Arda and Amarië said she would only go with him if he grew his hair out. (If she hated the hair so much why had she not said something earlier?) Still Finrod was not one to cave in to blackmail. He gave a very impressive speech…he thought….. about freedom of expression and love being respecting choices you might not like.

And Amarië stayed behind.

So that didn’t work. But having grandstanded and lost her he had to keep the hair. To do otherwise would mean losing Amarië was completely pointless.

He did get sick of constantly being mistaken for a Fëanorion in later years however. Could they not see he was blonde?

On arriving back in Valinor after the unfortunate werewolf incident the first thing he did was to grow the dratted hair back.

Then he and Amarië could forget the whole thing had ever happened.

It was an aberration, that’s what it was.

#rop #finrod #shorthaired elves should not be a thing #rings of power #no short hair here #Leave my Finrod alone

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years ago

Text

Raise the Barre (Ch. 7)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: mention of vomit, intense physical training, blood blisters

Word Count: 6,829

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin pulled to a stop at the edge of the curb.

Stepping from the sidewalk, you hastened to the passenger side and opened the door. Your wait had mostly been uneventful, but you hated standing alone in the dark for any longer than necessary. Sliding into the passenger seat, you pulled the door shut and turned sideways to face him.

“Thanks,” you exhaled, seeing him for the first time tonight.

Jimin looked sleepy, as though your call had woken him up – which it probably had, since it was near 1:30 AM. Yesterday when you spoke, Jimin had said he planned on going to bed early. He was dressed in what Noelle would’ve called a groutfit – grey sweats, grey hoodie and silver-framed glasses. You blinked at these, not having realized Jimin wore contacts.

“No problem.” Jimin stifled a yawn. “Seat belt.”

“Huh?”

“Put on your seat belt.” He nodded at the strap by your side.

“Oh – right.” Hastily, you pulled this across your chest. “Thanks.”

Silence fell as you did, the awkwardness increasing with each passing second. Usually, you were better about things like car safety, but everything about this moment felt surreal. Jimin had given you his number barely twenty-four hours prior – you highly doubted this was what he had in mind when he said he’d call.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, unsure what to do.

Jimin’s lips twitched. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

Glancing his way, you found Jimin’s profile dimly lit by the streetlights. He sat spread-legged in the driver’s seat; one hand placed casually on the shift. When he caught you looking, Jimin arched a brow and shifted the car into drive.

Pulling from the curb, he merged into traffic headed away from the club. As the bright lights of Excelsior disappeared into the rearview mirror, the cars on the road became few and far between. You drove in silence, city lights striping Jimin’s profile in black and white.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?” Jimin asked, too casual to be normal.

It took you a moment to answer.

Usually, you would’ve responded yes even if it weren’t the case, since no one truly wanted to hear about your problems. Asking someone how are you? in the city was the same as a nod hello. It wasn’t genuine interest in another person’s well-being.

Tonight though, your usual responses caught in your throat. Tonight, you felt tired, frayed and dangerously thin at the seams.

Everything was not okay, and you weren’t sure how to say otherwise. Your usual walls had been torn, leaving you with this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your fight with Finn had been a big one, even worse than the argument a few weeks ago.

Still, Jimin was a newer friend to you – if you could even call him that. It wasn’t fair to unload all your problems on him. Especially at such a late hour and especially not when he was the one doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” you said at last. “Everything’s fine.”

Jimin paused, as though he knew this to be bullshit.

“Let me rephrase,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Anyone’s ass I should kick?”

You laughed a little, surprised by his threat. “No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

“Good.” Jimin’s smile faded. “So, what happened then? How’d you get stranded?”

He didn’t ask why you called him, but the implication was clear in his voice. Honestly, it was a question you had no good answer to. All you knew was when you were standing on the curb, staring at your phone and wondering who to call, Jimin was one of the first people to pop into your mind.

“I was out with my boyfriend,” you sighed. “I said I’d go to the club with him and his friends, but it got late and we have class tomorrow, so I told Finn I wanted to leave. He… didn’t.” Pausing, you swallowed. “I ended up leaving, but I didn’t realize the trains had stopped running. Uber surcharge was ridiculous, too.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s grip on the wheel tightened.

“Anyways.” You slouched lower in his seat. “You’re the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah. Right.”

Curious, you glanced sideways. Although Jimin was responding in one-word answers, they seemed somehow loaded, as though they contained hidden meaning. Even his profile seemed cautious, full of a tension you couldn’t quite place.

Jimin frowned. “Your boyfriend just… let you leave like that?”

“He didn’t let me,” you said as you straightened. “I can make my own decisions, Park.”

“I know, I just…”

“You just what, Park? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know.” Jimin shrugged. “It just seems kind of cold. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well.” Truth be told, it seemed cold to you, too. “I’m not exactly… thrilled with the situation, either. He turned off his phone,” you muttered, turning to face the window.

In the reflection, you saw Jimin grimace.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“What for?”

“That just sucks, that’s all.”

“Yeah. It does suck.”

Jimin made an indiscernible noise of agreement before lapsing into silence.

It was strange to be in a car with him at this late an hour; oddly intimate for a multitude of reasons you pushed aside.

The last time you’d seen Jimin dressed so casually had been when you walked in on him with Sabrina. It had been nearly a month since then, but you hadn’t heard any gossip of them being together on campus.

Maybe this was something you could’ve asked Jimin, but it wasn’t like you had that type of relationship. Sure, you were ballet partners and sure, you’d been getting along lately, but you didn’t usually interact outside of class. Yet another line you’d crossed by calling Jimin tonight.

Thus far, you’d mostly managed to keep Finn and Russet separate. Noelle had met Finn a couple of times – you’d gone to dinner once and gotten coffee together another time, but otherwise, nothing. Finn wouldn’t have wanted to come to one of your Grace Hall rom-com marathons or take a pilates class on Sunday morning.

Mixing personal life and dance felt strange to you, as though two separate halves of yourself were colliding. It was odd to see Jimin outside of Russet’s walls. He seemed more at ease in his car, like the lines of him had blurred more from dancer to person.

Something about the nighttime made things seem fuzzier. Tired from the day and just beginning to thaw from the cold, you found your lips and mind looser than usual.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jimin said, interrupting the silence. “But I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

With a humorless sort of laugh, you turned to face him. “Yeah, well. I do.”

“Huh.”

Hearing his skepticism, you insisted, “I do!”

“I believe you!” Jimin chuckled. He paused. “Is it new, then? I don’t remember anyone coming to watch your dance competitions in high school.”

Warmth spread through your body, realizing Jimin must’ve kept tabs. He’d watched you at dance competitions. He knew your usual crowd of supporters.

“Finn isn’t new,” you said slowly. “He just didn’t come to a lot of competitions. They got repetitive, you know? Lots of waiting around for three minutes of watching me dance.”

“I guess.” Jimin shrugged. “I used to go to my ex’s tennis tournaments all the time, though. That was the same thing, except no AC.”

“Right,” you laughed. “You’re right, at least our competitions had air conditioning.”

Jimin turned on his blinker to switch lanes. Pulling onto a side street, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Another moment passed, and then –

“We broke up before college.”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. “Oh. Okay.”

You stared at his profile, wondering if you were supposed to say something more. You could think of many questions to ask, but they didn’t seem appropriate coming from you. You hadn’t realized Jimin was dating someone in high school – although, come to think of it, you did seem to remember a blonde girl cheering for him in the audience at Applause Dance Competition.

“It seemed like time,” Jimin continued quietly. “She went to a school across the country and we just never assumed we’d stay together. That sounds bad,” he said with a half-laugh. “I kind of figured though, if we were meant to be, we’d figure it out. The fact that we didn’t try spoke volumes.”

“That makes sense. Honestly,” you said with a sigh. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if me and Finn had been long distance.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you blinked. The statement hung before you in mid-air, forcing you to consider it for the first time.

This wasn’t something you’d allowed yourself to imagine before; what would’ve happened if you’d gone to a different school. Going to college so close to Finn had just seemed like a sign. You didn’t have the college break-up talk because you’d simply assumed you didn’t need to.

“Yeah.” Jimin sighed. “It’s hard, right? Everything is changing so quickly. You want things to stay the same, but isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Change. Grow. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Everyone keeps telling me change isn’t a bad thing.”

“Sure seems like it, sometimes,” you said softly.

Jimin nodded. After a moment, he reached out for the stereo. A familiar song filled his car and something uncertain unfurled in your stomach. You weren’t sure what you were even talking about anymore – change was a dangerous topic without Finn around.

When the chorus of the song kicked in, you smiled.

“I love this song,” you said, turning to Jimin. “I almost choreographed my solo to it senior year.”

“Really?” Jimin glanced at you in surprise. “Same.”

“No way!” you laughed. “Wow – that would’ve been awkward. Imagine if we’d both had the same solo.”

“It would’ve made us even more competitive.”

“Not possible.”

“You’re probably right.” Jimin smiled. “We were really at each other’s throats for a while, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were.”

Settling back in your seat, you couldn’t help but frown.

Something about this statement bothered you, although you couldn’t put a finger on what. Maybe it was what Jimin had said yesterday about your mutual competition pushing each other forward. Maybe it had something to do with that night in Danley Hall, when Jimin stopped by and said he loved watching you dance.

If you really stopped and thought about it, Jimin was the sole constant in your dancing career. Every year, at every dance competition, you’d make sure you were available to watch Jimin’s solo. You told yourself this was because he was your competition but really, you just loved watching him dance.

You could remember the cool air of the theatre as you snuck in, sinking into a plush, velvet chair and hoping you wouldn’t be seen. You’d loved watching Jimin near the front, close enough to see his facial expressions but not close enough to be seen from the stage.

If your solos were close to one another in timing, you tended to watch Jimin from the wings. This had been a different kind of intimacy, hidden behind the first leg while you watched him dance. Lights dim, you recalled Jimin’s silhouette while he would walk to center. The opening notes of his music would sound, and you’d stifle a shiver while you watched him, entranced.

As it turned out, Jimin had been watching your solos as well, but you hadn’t known this for some time. Not until he’d told you the other night.

Suddenly, you turned in your seat. “You know I think you’re talented, right?” you blurted. “There was a reason I was always trying to beat you.”

Jimin’s brows shot up so high, they nearly met his hairline.

“I – uh, no,” he said. “You’ve never said that to me before. In fact, you kind of said the opposite. You told me the only reason I won was because I’m a guy.”

Hearing your words thrown back in your face, heat began to creep up your neck.

“Listen, about that –”

“I’m kidding.” Jimin shot you a smile. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

“I – okay.”

“Look, I know men have an advantage in the dance world.” Returning his gaze to the road, Jimin’s smile disappeared. “I’m not dumb. I know we have higher centers of gravity, and all that. It’s just… you’re also talented, Y/N. People love to watch you dance, myself included. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Staring at him over the console, you felt oddly moved by this speech.

It was strange; many people in your life had called you talented. Your parents, your teachers and Finn, of course. Each of those compliments had meant something to you, but this one felt different. It felt different coming from Jimin – more important, somehow.

Maybe it was because you admired him most of all. The realization didn’t shock you as much as it probably should’ve.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Jimin nodded, continuing to scan the road. His car was clean, you realized as you glanced around. There were no water bottles on the floor, no napkins hastily stuffed into the glove compartment. The only sign of being lived-in was a keychain dangling over the dashboard; a small, plastic photo frame with two people inside.

“My parents,” Jimin explained, noticing where you looked.

“Oh,” you said, bending a bit closer. “They look nice.”

He laughed, unable to help it. “I’ve always thought so. My dad is the one who encouraged me to be a dancer, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Fondly, Jimin smiled. “He’s always loved music. When I was a baby, he loved to hold me and jump around the living room to songs on the radio. My mom has tons of videos of it.”

You smiled at the image. “That sounds adorable.”

“And embarrassing. My dad’s not that great a dancer.”

Without meaning to, you snorted.

Hearing this, Jimin’s smile widened. “When I started memorizing all the dances I saw on TV, my dad convinced my mom to put me in classes. Things kind of spiraled from there.”

“That’s nice,” you said, settling down in his seat. “My parents have always been my biggest supporters, too.”

Jimin nodded, about to respond but then a blast of AC hit you and you shivered. You’d nearly forgotten what you were wearing – or more accurately, what you weren’t wearing. The thin tank top you had on did little to hide the bare skin underneath.

Jimin’s gaze darted sideways. “Are you cold?” he asked, reaching out for the heat. “You can have my hoodie in the backseat, if you want.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay.” Hastily, you untied your cardigan from around your waist. “I have this,” you said, sliding both arms into the sleeves. “Completely forgot about it.”

Silently, Jimin nodded – and then his lips twitched.

“What?” you demanded.

“Nothing!” He shook his head, fighting to keep his face even. “It’s just… you wore a cardigan out to the club?”

Glancing down, you felt your cheeks begin to heat again. “Yes,” you said, somewhat defensive as you looked up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It’s just, you know.” He paused. “My grandma has that sweater.”

“Well, your grandma sounds like a cool lady.”

“Without a doubt,” Jimin assured. “Not much of a clubber, though.”

Leaning your head to the window, you smiled. “That makes two of us then.”

You knew the city well enough by now to recognize you were only a few blocks from Grace Hall. Somehow, you found yourself not wanting the car ride to end. Talking to Jimin outside of dance practice was nice – even fun, you realized with some surprise.

It was a shame it’d taken you so long to recognize this.

“Seriously, though.” Jimin laughed. “Clubs can be a good time! There’s dancing, there’s music… rumor has it you like dancing.”

“Not that kind of dancing,” you sighed. “That kind of dancing is just a dry version of a lap dance for people who don’t know what to do with their hips.”

Jimin hid behind a smile. “Ouch, on behalf of your boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Straightening, you glanced at him in alarm. “That’s not – I didn’t mean…”

Stricken, you realized the obviousness of what you had said. Forget about your face heating, your entire body felt like an inferno. You had just told Jimin, in so many words, that Finn didn’t know what to do with his hips.

Jimin waved this admission aside. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ll forget what I heard the instant I get home. Up until tonight, I didn’t know the guy existed, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, settling back in your seat.

Rather than reassure you, this only gave you further pause.

It didn’t seem possible Jimin hadn’t known about Finn. Racking your brains, you tried to think of a time they would’ve crossed paths – only to come up short. Finn hadn’t ever stopped by the studio to pick you up, he hadn’t ever come to mutual hangouts with your Russet friends. Admittedly, Jimin had only recently started attending the same ones as you, but it still seemed unthinkable.

You and Finn had been dating for over two years. Finn’s name should have come up at some point and yet, it hadn’t.

Before you could respond, Jimin pulled to a stop outside your dorm. Glancing over the console, he smiled and again, you were struck by the image.

With his grey sweats, mussed hair and those glasses – you swallowed. It was a side of Jimin you hadn’t seen and something about the visual made your stomach lurch. Before you could launch into full-blown panic, Jimin raised a brow.

“Here you are,” he said with a grandiose wave. “Home sweet home.”

Glancing past him, you took in the steps of Grace Hall.

“Thanks,” you said, pushing open the door. Before exiting the car, you paused and looking over your shoulder. “Seriously, Jimin, thank you. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten home without you.”

In the darkness, you saw his expression soften.

“Anytime,” Jimin said.

You could tell he meant it. There was something to his gaze which made you nod. Jimin wasn’t the type to mince words or say things he didn’t mean. Just like when he said he loved your dancing, you knew Jimin was telling the truth. When he said anytime, he meant it.

Nodding, you resumed exiting the car. Waving goodbye, you stood on the curb until he was out of sight.

Once Jimin disappeared, you sighed and turned towards the building. Grace Hall was silent this late at night – it was nearly 2:00 AM and again, you were thankful Jimin had answered his phone. As you let yourself in and climbed the steps to your room, your thoughts began to race with all the what-ifs.

What-if Jimin hadn’t answered, what-if you’d had to walk home alone, or walk to find a cab. Pressing your eyes shut, you shooed these thoughts away. None of that had actually happened, so it wasn’t worth worrying about.

As soon as you got upstairs, you stepped in the shower – the stickiness of that girl’s drink continued to linger on your skin. After changing into fresh pajamas and brushing your teeth, you wearily climbed into bed. The last thing you did before falling asleep was call Finn again in case he’d returned home.

His phone went straight to voicemail though and, with a sinking stomach, you rolled over in bed and turned off the light.

After sleeping until the last possible moment, you managed to roll yourself out of bed around seven the next morning. This only left fifteen minutes before you needed to leave and even then, you felt like a zombie as you rushed out the door.

Grabbing coffee at the place down the street, you and Noelle entered class with barely ten minutes to spare. Jimin was already present but he was talking to Louis, so you stuck to your side and didn’t interrupt. You wanted to thank him again for his help, but all this flew out the window when a familiar woman followed Mr. Vlad into the classroom.

“Class.” Mr. Vlad set his things down by the window. “You remember Anna Hodelle, I presume – principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. She’s in town for a different master class and has graciously agreed to lead ballet this morning.”

The news was simultaneously exciting and nerve-wracking. Anna had taught a master class several weeks prior which left you sore for days following. Her classes were exciting though, and she was Anna Hodelle, one of the youngest principal dancers for the New York City Ballet in at least forty years – so there was that.

Her introduction didn’t require any response. Scrambling into place at the barre, the class waited while Anna shed her warm-ups and Mr. Vlad left the room. As soon as the music began, you found yourself grateful you hadn’t drunk the night prior.

Similar to her last master class, you found Miss Anna relentless in her pursuit of perfection. Her expectations were high and as a result, everyone gave their best effort – and then some. By the time you broke for water, no less than three students had already run for the bathroom.

It wasn’t pretty, but vomiting was something which happened with dance. Class could be such a grueling workout that occasionally, younger students pushed themselves past their limits. If you ate a big meal before practice, it was increasingly likely you might throw it up after.

You could count on two hands the number of times this had happened to you in high school. There had been some days you practiced so hard, sweat ran down your forehead and blinded your vision. On other days, the floor was so slippery, your bare feet couldn’t grasp the floorboards. Dance, despite being hailed for grace and glamour, tended to be exactly the opposite.

One of your teachers used to say you weren’t using your muscles if they weren’t shaking by the end. Ballerinas were seen as delicate, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Ballet only looked effortless – this was a carefully cultivated image for the audience. At all times, all muscles in a ballerina’s body were engaged, yet even when sweat dripped down her brow, she had to smile.

You’d seen dancers finish their combination, give a sweeping bow, walk gracefully offstage and vomit into the nearest trash can. Everything was for show, everything was for the audience – one of your favorite parts about dance was knowing the brutal behind-the-scenes effort everything took. It made you appreciate the final product all the more.

By the end of class you were exhausted but happy, wiping sweat from your brow while you applauded the teacher. After Anna’s dismissal, you immediately exhaled and trudged towards your bag. Noelle chattered on about a TV show you were watching, reminding you to catch up before Monday.

As you picked up your bag, you felt its front pocket vibrate. Fishing inside for your phone, you pulled this out and felt your eyes widen.

Five missed calls and eight missed texts. Once you opened your phone, you saw they were all from Finn.

Finn: hey [8:18 AM]

Finn: Y/N, I’m so sorry [8:19 AM]

Finn: I don’t know if you’re ignoring me because you’re angry, or if you’re in class right now [8:25 AM]

Finn: you’re probably in class [8:30 AM]

Finn: if you’re not though, please call me back [8:31 AM]

Finn: fuck [9:01 AM]

Finn: I was such an ass last night, Y/N. I’m sorry [9:03 AM]

Finn: … please call me [9:35 AM]

With each text you read, you felt your heart sink. Up until this point, you’d gotten through class by pretending last night hadn’t happened. Now though, you were forced to remember every detail of the night prior.

Finn had left you at the club.

He’d stormed away from your fight, turned off his phone and left you alone. Each time you remembered the night, your fury only grew. This morning when you woke, you’d still been pissed off – even more so, when you turned on your phone and saw zero texts from Finn.

Had your roles been reversed, you never would’ve done the same to him. Sure, it had been a bad fight but who did that? Just took off in the middle of a conversation and shut everything down. The worst part was him turning off his phone. As soon as things didn’t go as planned, Finn simply washed his hands of you.

That was what hurt most of all, the shame burrowing deep into the crevices of your heart.

Beneath everything was a strange twinge of guilt at having called Jimin to pick you up. This was easily brushed aside, though – Finn had left you stranded. If anyone had a right to be mad here, it was you.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Noelle’s voice pulled you from your reverie. Blinking, you lowered your phone and realized you were alone. The rest of the room had cleared out after class – this probably wasn’t the first time Noelle had said your name.

“Shit, sorry!” Hastily, you shoved your phone in your bag. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine.”

Noelle gave you a look. “Really?”

After a moment, you sighed. “No,” you said, turning to walk towards the door. “Why pretend? It’s Finn.”

Following you from the classroom, Noelle fell into step alongside you.

“He’s not hurt, is he?” she said carefully.

“Unfortunately, not.”

Noelle snorted. “Okay, so he’s in the doghouse.”

“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

At the top of the stairs, you paused. “Finn and I got in a fight last night,” you admitted. “He wanted to stay at the club, and I wanted to go home – so he told me to leave. I did, but then I realized I had no way to get there.”

Noelle’s mouth dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me? He just… left you there? Wow. The next time I see your ‘boyfriend,’ I’m going to – wait,” she said, pulling up short. “How did you get home, then?”

“I – uh, well… Jimin picked me up.”

Noelle stared at you a moment longer. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I,” you said, beginning to walk down the stairs. “Finn turned his cell phone off, so I couldn’t get ahold of him and by then, the trains stopped running. Uber was surging and Jimin is the only person I know with a car, so…”

“Ah, gotcha. That makes sense.” Noelle nodded. “Nice of him to come get you.”

“Yeah, it was nice. Anyways, Finn’s been texting me all morning.”

“Oh!” Noelle groaned. “That was your phone! I kept hearing something vibrating while I was waiting to go across the floor.”

“Yep, that was him,” you said glumly. “Apparently he’s sorry.”

“Of course, he is.”

“He said he was an ass last night.”

“Of course, he did.”

“… I’m still pissed at him.”

“Of course, you are!” Noelle cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Listen, tell him you got home alright – not that he deserves that much, mind you – but you need some time to cool off. He can wait until you’re ready to talk, right?”

Nodding, you saw sense in what she was saying. “You’re right.”

Despite Noelle making sense though, part of you didn’t want to wait.

Part of you wanted to call Finn back right now and give him a piece of your mind, but you knew if you did that, things wouldn’t end well. He deserved to be cussed out, but you were completely exhausted. The idea of fighting with your boyfriend left you feeling drained.

Noelle was right – Finn could wait until you were ready to talk, whenever that was.

Pulling out your phone a second time, you texted Finn you were safe and that you’d talk when you were ready. Once he responded okay, you shoved your phone in your pocket.

Noelle looked sympathetically on. “Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” she said, arm back around your shoulder. “We can invite Irene and Ari and just watch dumb movies and eat brownie batter in fancy lingerie. You know, like every guy’s sleepover porn fantasy.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “Sounds like a plan,” you said with a grin. “God, what would I do without you?”

“Be super bored, probably.”

You snorted, but the thought stuck in your mind as you left the building. It really would be awful without Noelle by your side. Without meaning to, your thoughts strayed to Sabrina. Aside from Katie and Allison, you had no idea who she hung out with.

It had to be lonely for someone like her. Russet was intense enough without a support system. You quickly pushed these feelings aside – even if Sabrina was lonely, she had no one to blame but herself. You’d offered the olive branch enough times by now to know when to stop.

“I guess only one question remains,” you said slowly.

Noelle glanced your way. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“How dumb are the dumb movies we’re watching? Like, From Justin to Kelly dumb – where it’s a guilty pleasure? Or, more like The Kissing Booth dumb – where things are just bad dumb.”

“Why choose?” Noelle shrugged. “Let’s do both!”

“Deal!”

As you climbed the steps to Grace Hall, you continued to ignore Finn’s texts in your bag. He could wait until tomorrow, at least. After what he put you through, a single night of not knowing what you were thinking seemed appropriate.

When you finally gave in and called Finn the next day, you weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Finn had already texted his apology, so at least he knew he’d been in the wrong. As to what degree he was aware, you didn’t know, but you got a fairly good idea once he picked up the phone.

Short answer: very wrong.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Finn blurted, as though afraid you might cut him off. “I was such an ass to you Friday night. I – I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know where to start. I fucked up so bad, Y/N and I’m sorry.”

Silence followed this outburst as you frowned, leaning back on the bed.

Noelle had graciously left the room to study at the coffee shop on the corner. Secretly, you knew this was mostly to flirt with the barista, Namjoon, but you couldn’t begrudge her for that. Namjoon did have the most adorable dimples you’d ever seen.

Focusing your thoughts on Finn, you played with a stray thread of your sheets. “I mean… that’s a good start, I guess,” you muttered. “But what are you really sorry for, Finn?”

His sigh was soft. “Everything.”

“Specifics would be good.”

“I was drunk,” he exhaled. “That’s not an excuse, but… I honestly don’t remember everything that I said to you. I remember the gist of it though, and I know it was terrible. I know you didn’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, even though you agreed with him.

“I wanted to stay out,” he continued. “That doesn’t really matter, though. I was a dick. I was stubborn and angry, and I took that out on you. You’re the last person I would ever want to hurt, and I just… I left you. Something could’ve happened to you. God, if something had happened, Y/N…”

Finn trailed off and you heard his voice crack but forced yourself to stay silent. Hearing him break was hard, but you reminded yourself what you’d felt Friday night – all the anger and terror when he completely disappeared.

This memory hardened you enough not to melt at his apology.

“Yeah, well,” you said tightly. “You’re right – something could’ve happened. The trains weren’t running and Uber was crazy expensive. I couldn’t get back in the club. I ended up waiting outside for nearly twenty minutes before someone came to pick me up.”

“Fuck.” Finn sounded strangled. “Fuck… Y/N, I’m sorry…”

In your mind, you envisioned him shoving a hand through his hair. Finn did that when he was stressed or upset and right now, he sounded a little of both.

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Who picked you up?”

Immediately, you stiffened. “Do you seriously think you deserve an answer to that?”

“No, no, I – you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Thank them for me, okay?”

You remained silent and again, Finn sighed.

“Are you… are we going to be okay?”

It was a loaded question. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head to the wall. In all honesty, you didn’t know the answer to that.

On the one hand, you loved Finn. That hadn’t changed. On the other hand, it was becoming more and more apparent your problems weren’t going away. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise – but all couples had problems, didn’t they?

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think a break-up should be more obvious than this. A break-up should be something big, something irreversible. You were beginning to wonder though, at what point were problems considered insurmountable. Everything about this seemed grey and right now, you really needed black and white answers.

Both your lives were changing, as Jimin had said. Freshman year was a cacophony of change; in order to succeed, you and Finn needed to learn to grow with each other. Hiccups were to be expected, bumps in the road were to be expected, but if you wanted to stay together, you needed to learn how to fight for this relationship.

“I think so,” you said, opening your eyes. “I think we’ll be okay. I just… Finn, you really hurt me that night.”

“I know.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“You know… I want to spend time with you, right?”

“I… do.”

He paused for longer than you would’ve liked, but you brushed past it. “I know you like going to clubs and all that,” you said. “But that’s not really me. Maybe next time we can do something different. Something a little more low-key.”

“Yeah.” Finn chuckled. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“Good.”

“At least my friends really liked you.”

Taken aback, you snorted. “Oh, come on, Finn. I was barely there.”

“I’m being serious! Ben told me he thinks you’re funny.”

“Ben,” you groaned. “Has all the humor of a wet sock.”

Finn laughed and this time, it sounded like him. His laugh had been watery before, a restrained version but now, his true mirth broke free. As soon as the sound hit your ears, you began to relax. Truthfully, you hadn’t been sure things would be okay until then. Hearing him laugh, you knew Finn meant it. He wanted this, too.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Ben sucks, but at least he has the taste to know that you don’t. Next time, we’ll do something more fun.”

“Next time,” you agreed.

“Next time.”

Despite your conversation having gone as well as it possibly could’ve, uncertainty continued to linger in the back of your mind.

You spent Sunday evening watching TV, but still slept restlessly before your class the next morning. Mr. Vlad’s ballet was definitely not one you wanted to arrive at ill-rested, but Monday you showed up with bags under your eyes.

You tried to push all negative thoughts from mind while warming up at the barre. By the time class broke for water, you were feeling marginally better. Ballet was soothing that way. The repetitiveness of barre helped to put things in perspective. Your ankle had almost completely healed by this point and now, two weeks after the fall, your technique had finally begun to improve.

No longer were you the last one to catch onto combinations and Mr. Vlad only yelled once about your turnout at barre. This was a marked improvement from the start of the year and although you still were far from the top, you felt relatively good about your standing. You had a feeling once you and Jimin began to practice, the moves would come even easier.

The first combination at center was a slow adagio. It wasn’t particularly difficult aside from a lift in the middle, but despite the familiarity of the moves, Jimin was being oddly hesitant.

Mr. Vlad showed the combination with his dance assistant, Mina. After they demonstrated a particularly difficult lift, they gave everyone time to practice – which, in your and Jimin’s case, turned out to be necessary.

“Ladies, pique to arabesque!” Mr. Vlad called from the front. “Lift your leg higher and – the man lifts! He walks you in a promenade. Then you’re lowered, exhale – and bourrée!”

Brian immediately raised his hand for help, so Mr. Vlad left to assist in his corner. The lift was proving itself to be tricky – it required most of your weight balanced against Jimin’s side while he gripped your thigh, lifting you up.

You and Jimin began to practice, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to be working. After the fourth failed attempt where Jimin nearly dropped you on your ass, you shakily landed and whirled around.

“Alright,” you said, both hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how’re you supposed to lift me if you’re barely touching me? Look at Sabrina and Paulo!” you said, gesturing in their direction. “He’s got his whole fucking hand under her leg!”

Jimin’s cheeks turned red. “I – uh, right. Yeah. Let’s try it again.”

Staring at him another moment, you nodded and returned to your spot. Jimin settled into fifth position, jaw clenched and looking as though he were in pain. You stared at him in the mirror, considering calling him out before thinking better of it.

Taking a deep breath, you piqued into arabesque. Leaning your weight to Jimin, he reached again for your thigh – only to falter, leaving you hanging.

“Jimin!” you half-laughed as you slipped down his leg.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin blurted, stepping away. Looking thoroughly distraught, he shoved both hands through his hair. “It’s just… well, I…”

“It’s just what?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he said, a bit pained.

In response to this, both your eyebrows shot up. That had not been the answer you’d expected.

“I… okay?” you said, failing to grasp the point. “So what?”

“So.” Jimin glanced furtively around. “I don’t know, it’s just weird! I don’t want to… overstep my boundaries, or anything.”

“But…” You stared. “I had a boyfriend last week and it wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, but last week I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Again, you looked at him as though he was crazy.

“This is stupid,” you said, stepping closer. “Ballet is our job, Jimin. It’s the least sexy occupation on the planet. Right now, I’m bleeding from three different blisters inside my pointe shoes. I’m sure my deodorant has long worn off by now. Would you just fucking get over yourself and grab my thigh?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitched. “Well. When you put it like that.”

“I am putting it like that,” you said with a grin. “Now, let’s go again.”

Nodding, Jimin followed when you walked backwards. Taking another deep breath, you piqued to arabesque and this time, Jimin didn’t flinch when your weight transitioned to his. Hand sliding beneath your thigh, he lifted you easily into a promenade.

As soon as you turned your head, you caught Jimin’s gaze and felt – something.

Something other than the white noise of the room. Something other than the thud-thud of your heart, other than the music on the stereo and Mr. Vlad yelling counts from the corner.

Despite what you had just finished saying, something unknown seemed to bloom in your chest. In the middle of the lift – blood blisters and all – you felt an errant spark where Jimin’s front pressed to yours.

You barely had time to recognize this before the moment was gone. Slowing his walk, Jimin set you back down – and you wobbled.

This time it had nothing to do with his technique.

“Ah, shit.” Jimin frowned. “That’s my bad – I can do better! Let’s try it again.”

Nodding, you felt a bit wooden as you followed in his footsteps. When Mr. Vlad started the music, you fought the surging tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm. It had been nothing, you told yourself. Nothing of importance, anyways.

Shoving whatever you’d felt in a box, you pushed this to a corner of your mind and firmly shut the door. Forcing a smile to your lips, you lifted your chin as you began the combination.

It was lucky everyone else found you a talented performer, since beneath all your smiling, all you could think about was what was hidden in the box.

Something unknown, something tentative – and something which could be dangerous, if it ever came to light.

Author’s Note: I was so close to re-writing this chapter with Mr. Vlad picking her up LOL just kidding, but thank you for reading! 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre are posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin au #jimin series #bts au #bts series #jimin dance au #bts dance au #jimin e2l #bts e2l

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indecisive-behaviors · 3 years ago

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this has been nagging me since s3 and with his last minute appearance in s4 I need to know if I’m being really off base with this-

why did we get a chozen redemption arc? like I understand that’s kinda what the show is about, redeeming and reflecting on older characters, and I have no problems with him understanding he fucked up and trying to make amends. as well as the culture difference at the time where what happened maybe wouldn’t have been something he would have gotten punished for in any way worse than being shunned.

but it feels inherently weird to me at least, especially with how daniel reacted to silver in s4, for daniel to see the guy who wanted to kill him and almost did kill him multiple times, and not only forgive him but to enlist him as an ally.

say what you will about johnny, I’m not gonna sit here and be a johnny apologist cuz everything he did in TKK was extremely fucked up, but it feels like a significant jump to go from “teenage bully who took shit way too far but most likely never intended to kill you” and “guy who forced you into a death match by threatening your friend/love interest”.

like let chozen be a better person now. let everyone be better people eventually. but I don’t understand why daniel would have had such a visceral reaction to silver, assume he was still up to no good, but he ends up being almost friends with chozen in the span of an episode.

daniel, in all honestly, doesn’t even have to forgive johnny. there are arguments to be made that he shouldn’t, and he HASN’T forgiven silver. he can let go of the past, let himself move on, but forgiveness never should have been a mandatory part of daniel’s arc.

and don’t even get me started on the s3 sparring in the woods narrative parallel shit with chozen doing the nose honk thing, cuz the fact that that was played for a gag made me absolutely livid lol. like yes lets take this traumatic thing that happened to this man as a teenager and make him relive it by thinking he may actually be about to die. doesn’t that sound fun?

#feel entirely free to yell at me #i just needed to write this down #cobra kai #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #terry silver #chozen toguchi #potentially unpopular opinion #rant #i recognize the writers tried to write an apology #but given that it was a stupid ass apology i've elected to ignore it

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Note

Would you consider writing a story or drabble about Geralt having to rescue Jaskier after the bard is shrunk and locked in a birdcage after a noble refuses to let him leave?

I thought I could write a short drabble about this... but predictably I got carried away. Jaskier isn’t exactly shrunk? but... I hope you like it! __________

Geralt was pacing in front of the fireplace in the tavern. He wasn’t sure why he was so restless. It wasn’t like he’d made plans to meet up with Jaskier this year, or even last year, but it was strange that they hadn’t run into each other in three years. What was worse was that Geralt hadn’t even heard about the bard in those years. Normally, there would be chatter wherever he was about the bard’s whereabouts, conquests and new songs. There had been no new songs about the White Wolf’s adventures. None of the other Kaer Morhen witchers had heard anything either…

And Geralt was concerned.

He kept telling himself that if Jaskier the master bard had died then he would have heard at least something. The fair maidens would have been in mourning for the loss of the famously unparalleled lover, not to mention the countless beautiful people of other genders that Jaskier had courted in his time.

No.

There was nothing.

Silence.

Jaskier hated silence.

Something was wrong. Geralt was angry at himself for caring so much. He’d had friends before that had come and gone. The Continent was a harsh land and humans were fragile, they died. Geralt’s chest ached at the thought of Jaskier’s cold dead body, no life left in those twinkling cornflower blue eyes, no song left to sing.

He snarled and spun around on his heels. Jaskier wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He was barely… Geralt paused to think. How old was the bard? He couldn’t be any older than thirty but he was sure they’d been travelling together for longer than that. He grunted. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jaskier couldn’t be dead.

“You there!” He pointed at the barkeeper. “Jaskier the bard, you heard of him?”

The barkeeper nodded with wide eyes. “Course I have.”

“Have you heard any news recently, rumours, cuckolded nobles?” Geralt asked in a low growl. He wasn’t intentional trying to frighten the barkeeper but the icy cold dread had gripped his heart in a vice and he had to get answers.

“Nothing, witcher.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “What of his death?”

The barkeeper shook his head. “There’s been speculation but most lasses believe the bard has been cursed, the older folk think he got tired of fame and became a hermit.”

“Cursed?” Geralt latched onto that idea. Surely if there was a curse then a witcher or mage would have been called to deal with the problem. He let out a low sigh. “When did you last hear of him?”

The barkeeper gave a long drawn out whistle. “Sorry, witcher. Not for years.”

Geralt nodded and then turned to leave the tavern. He was going to find Jaskier.

_________

Geralt peered up at the manor house. The gates outside were shining, as if they were brand new. The gardens were in full bloom despite the cold winter chill and Geralt could hear the hum of bumble bees. As he pushed open the gates his medallion leapt from his chest and he frowned. He caught the wolf in his hands and gripped it tightly. That was not good. He whistled for Roach. She cantered up to him from the trees where he’d left her. She butted his head and he softly stroked her mane.

“Don’t know what he’s gotten himself into Roach, can’t let the idiot out of my sight.” He muttered. “I’ll kill him myself if he’s not already dead.”

She whinnied and stamped her foot, nipping at Geralt’s armour.

“Yeah. I miss him too.” He admitted quietly. It was the first time he’d said the words out loud but fuck, he hadn’t realised how much truth lay within them. “I’ll get him back.”

He pulled his silver sword from its sheathe on her saddle and gentle stroked her muzzle. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

The hum of his medallion got stronger as he neared the house. The sickly sweet scent of flowers was almost overwhelming. He covered his nose with his free hand to try block out the smell. If they were illusions they were fucking good ones.

The doors of the house flew open as he approached and he sighed. It was going to be one of those days apparently. He fucking hated mages. They thought the world owed them everything and rarely cared who got caught in the cross fire. The scent of the flowers faded away, replaced by the warm smell of roasted venison and apple tart. The strangest thing was the nightingale song that echoed through the halls. No matter where he walked it sounded like there was a nightingale on his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” He muttered, swinging his sword in his hand and peering around each door with narrowed eyes.

One room was completely empty except a golden cage hanging from an elegant hook; the nightingale. Geralt held his medallion tighter and hummed. The nightingale’s song didn’t stop but it did change its tune as it saw Geralt enter the room. Geralt swore as ‘Toss a Coin’ began to fill the air. It was only then that he noticed the cornflower blue eyes on the bird.

Jaskier.

He ran across the room and grabbed the cage. Jaskier carried on singing, moving onto the ballad he’d written about a bruxa hunt. He fell off his perch as the cage jostled but still he kept singing. Geralt tore the cage door off and Jaskier flew out. As he escaped the confines of the cage the feathers changed into dirty and torn teal silk. Jaskier gasped hoarsely as he fell forwards into Geralt’s arms.

“G’ralt” He coughed.

“I’m here. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” Geralt pulled Jaskier to his chest in a tight embrace. He buried his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and inhaled deeply. His scent was soured with fear but sure enough there was the warm smell of chamomile, of Jaskier.

Jaskier whimpered and shook his head. He pulled at Geralt’s arms and pointed to his neck.

Around Jaskier’s swanlike neck was a ribbon with an enamel nightingale in the centre; the curse. Geralt slipped his fingers under the ribbon. “Will this hurt if I take if off?”

Jaskier nodded. “I. I can’t do it. Only him.”

“Him?” Geralt growled. “Who did this to you?”

“I did,” an icy voice came from the doorway. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you, Geralt of Rivia. My poor nightingale would not stop talking about you at first. If he didn’t have such a beautiful voice I would have cut his tongue out. Luckily, hope doesn’t last for long.”

Geralt snarled and bared his teeth at the man. Jaskier shrunk back and hid behind him, fingers digging into the back of his armour.

“G’ralt…” He whined.

Geralt raised his sword. “Release the bard and I won’t kill you.”

The man laughed bitterly. “Do you really expect me to believe that? The man sings your praises for years. Everyone knows he’s in love with you. The question is, White Wolf, do you feel the same?”

Jaskier whimpered pitifully behind his back. Geralt’s heart jumped in his chest but he filed that information away for later. He needed to save Jaskier first and then they could talk.

“Lift the curse,” Geralt snarled.

The man sighed dramatically. “I can’t. I lied to your bard, witcher. Only—”

“True love’s kiss.” Geralt finished with a groan. “Why?”

He shrugged. “The bard who loves everyone but has no one in return. It entertained me, nothing more nothing less.”

Geralt took a deep breath. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Geralt lowered the point of his sword slowly and narrowed his eyes. “He has me.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out if that’s really true, witcher?” The man’s lips pulled into a sinister grin. “Care to kiss your bard?”

Jaskier whined again. Geralt threw down his sword and spun round to face Jaskier. The bard was pale and shaking. Geralt did his best to give him a reassuring smile but it was difficult when he was so full of rage.

“Don’t have to…” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt nodded. “I know.”

Jaskier bright blue eyes were shimmering with tears. “I’ll understand. It’s ok.”

The hoarseness of Jaskier’s voice made Geralt see red. Jaskier meticulously took care of his voice, the same way Geralt took care of his swords. This man had taken that from Jaskier and he was going to pay. He took Jaskier’s face in his hands and placed a firm kiss on the top of Jaskier’s hair. “We’ll talk about it when you’re not cursed,” He murmured and then in a blink of an eye he’d turned to face the man again.

His sword was in his hands and at the man’s throat in a flash. The man stumbled backwards but Geralt moved with him, keeping the blade pressed against his neck.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” He snarled but before he could slit the man’s throat Jaskier’s hand was on his arm.

“Because of this,” Jaskier whispered and held out his other hand.

The ribbon.

Geralt’s eyes widened. “The fuck?”

Jaskier tilted his head and smiled weakly. “You, witcher, love me.”

“I…. fuck. Yeah.”

Jaskier laughed and then choked on a cough. “So it would be a shame to ruin it with murder, dear heart.”

Geralt glared at the man and sighed. “Fine.”

He pulled his sword away and Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his as they headed out of the manor house. It was far from over and they had a long journey ahead of them but it was a new a beginning.

Their new beginning.

Together. ___________

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt/jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #Anonymous

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weepylucifer · 4 years ago

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Tosses another dinluke at you. This one’s about caring for each other

Luke awakens from uneasy sleep filled with nightmares, and immediately can tell that today is going to be terrible.

The occasional phantom pain in his wrist, that he can take. The old, flaring ache, the strange feeling that the hand is still there, which somehow makes both wearing and not wearing the prosthetic feel uncomfortable - well, it’s a drag, but it’s only one part of his body. With meditation to aid him, he finds he can usually sequester it off, away from the rest of him, and go through his day more or less like normal. But sometimes, each and every scar caused by the Force lightning clamors in pain, especially when he’s been dreaming about how he got them. This is the worst, because he hasn’t found a good way to cope with it yet. He can’t make the pain stop, and it’s driving him up the walls.

There’s no way he can teach his padawan like this.

Fortunately, Grogu’s father is visiting, and will probably be more than happy to entertain the kid for a day.

Luke hasn’t gotten the measure of the Mandalorian yet. He talks little, projects an aura of intimidation, being covered in armor all over like that, but he seems very attached to his child, so attached that Luke reckoned upon getting Grogu that breaking their bond would do a lot more harm than good. He’s come over for a few visits to far, and he practically curls over Grogu like a loth-cat over its young. But Luke doesn’t exactly know anything about him besides that.

Also, it’s dawned on Luke that he knows nothing about Mandalorians. He knows Boba Fett is one, but that’s pretty much it.

So he’s not exactly comfortable admitting his plight to the man. What if he perceives it as weakness? So when he emerges from his bedroom to greet him, he is brief, almost curt, making himself speak through the pain.

“I’m sorry, but there’ll be no lesson today. Can you just watch Grogu for me? I’m... something else has come up.”

The Mandalorian looks... like an expressionless helmet on a suit of armor. But his voice betrays some surprise when he says, “Um, yeah. Sure. Not a problem.”

He’s justified in his surprise; Luke has never cancelled Grogu’s lessons before. “Thanks,” Luke says and repeats, “Sorry this is on such short notice.”

The last thing he sees before beating his retreat back to his room is Grogu cooing and reaching a little hand out towards him in concern, doubtlessly feeling in the Force that something is amiss with Luke. He closes the door but can still hear the Mandalorian reassuring the kid to the best of his ability, “Sorry, buddy, your bajuri seems to be busy. No floating stuff today.”

Grogu emits the sad coo again.

“Hey, it’s okay. Wanna go to the pond and look for frogs?”

...

“We can take the Phoenix over there.”

A happy squeak tells Luke that the plan has met approval.

“You like flying with the jetpack, huh? Yeah, me too.”

Their voices recede, Grogu babbling happily and his father talking back pretending to understand him, and then the temple is silent. It dawns on Luke that the Mandalorian is attractive, the juxtaposition between the gleaming armored fighter and the father so gentle with his kid intriguing. The thought is brutally cut short by another sharp flash of searing pain.

He whines and flings himself onto his bed, curling up and tugging at his hair with both hands, hoping beyond reason that the pain in his scalp will distract him from the pain in his everywhere else.

Luke has been trying on and off to meditate or at least nap for several hours, when he hears a knock at the door. It can only be Mando.

“Um. Master Jedi?”

The Mandalorian has never asked Luke’s name, maybe he reckons Luke goes by his self-assumed title, just like he seems perfectly comfortable going by Mando. Yes?, Luke wants to ask, but he’s scared it’ll come out an undignified whimper.

“I made some dinner for the kid,” the Mandalorian continues. Is it dinner already? “I thought maybe you’d want some, so I’ll leave it out here.”

Luke blinks at the door. He wasn’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if you’ll like it, it’s, ah. Aruetiise usually find our cooking too spicy. So I made some bread to go with it, it. Helps. With the spice. I used some stuff from your storage for it, hope that’s okay.”

The silence persists.

“Putting it down now. Okay. Good luck with your... Jedi business.”

There’s a sound of, indeed, something being placed on the floor, then footsteps walking away.

Luke opens the door. There is a tray of food waiting for him. An amazingly delicious smell wafts from it and his stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten today.

So this man can cook. This man baked bread for him. Luke tries to imagine him, in the kitchen, doing that. Maybe he put Luke’s apron on over the armor. The thought makes him giggle for the first time today. Truly Grogu’s father is full of surprises.

It’s already getting dark out when Luke carries his empty plate back to the temple’s little kitchen. He finds Mando there with Grogu on his lap, as always in complete armor, simply watching as Grogu plays with a small silver ball.

Luke clears his throat. “Hi,” he says eloquently and carries his plate to the sink.

The Mandalorian nods in greeting. “All done in there?”

“Not exactly.” Somehow, Luke can feel Mando refocus on him, even through the helmet. He knows he must look rumpled, his hair mussed, his face drawn, and using one of his robes as a shawl. He wishes he had the ability to suffer more attractively, or at least the energy to make himself up a bit.

He sighs and sits down at the table with them. Somehow he feels like, as fair payment for the meal, the Mandalorian deserves his honesty in return. “Full disclosure, I wasn’t doing... Jedi stuff in my room. I just... I’m unwell.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Mando’s head tilts towards Grogu. It becomes apparent why when he asks, “Anything catching?”

“No. No, Grogu will be fine.” Luke folds his hands on the tabletop. Well, he’s already at it being honest. “Do you ever get the feeling of... old scars, hurting again? Like they’re new?”

“Your hand?” the Mandalorian asks. Ah, of course, he’s perceptive, he’s noticed the fake hand.

“Not just the hand. Everywhere. All over.” Luke grits his teeth as his nerves alight again along the lightning patterns. Maker, he hates this. It’s like the shrivelled old prune continues to torture him from beyond the grave.

“All over?” Mando repeats. The helmet’s modulator dulls emotion, but Luke guesses it’s concern he hears.

“Yeah. Look.” Following a sudden impulse, he gets up and shucks his robe, unbuttons his shirt and slips that off too. “Here, see?” He turns himself this way and that, catching the warm lamplight. “And yes, they go all the way down.”

Helmet or no, he can hear the Mandalorian’s breath catch. His hand, the one that’s not keeping Grogu from tumbling off his lap, twitches... rises... reaches out... Luke keeps himself very still. For a breath or two, he thinks that if the Mandalorian were to touch him, trace the lightning bolts on his torso with his gloved hand, then he might feel better. Might be soothed.

The hand is lowered to the table again as if embarrassed. Luke lets out his breath and tries not to slump in disappointment. “I’ve never seen scarring like that before,” the Mandalorian says. “And I’ve seen my fair share.”

“Force lightning,” Luke explains, before remembering that his companion knows nothing about the Force. “A Sith torture technique.”

“You were tortured?” Mando asks, then amends, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Luke sits back down, hugging his knees to his chest. “Pffft. It’s not like I’m not already thinking about it.” He rubs his hands down his arms at another shiver of pain. “The Emperor did this. When I went to confront him on the second Death Star.”

“It was you on the Death Star?” the Mandalorian asks.

“Yeah. The Emperor wanted me to join the dark side. I refused. I had no idea he’d just start frying me with lightning. I had no idea this was something the Force could even do.”

“But then you... killed the Emperor?” The Mandalorian is clearly guessing, and Luke finds himself astonished that there’s someone out there still who doesn’t know the whole Luke Skywalker Saga.

“I did not,” he says. “My father killed the Emperor. All I did was lie on the ground and be tortured.” He picks at his wrist where the synthetic skin joins the organic. “I’m not even bitter about that. It ended up saving my father’s soul. But sometimes, I have nightmares about it, you know? And in those dreams, my father... doesn’t help me. He just stands and stares at me and that’s worse than the pain. Because, when it actually happened, there was... a moment when I thought he wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t care and he’d watch me die. For a moment there, I lost hope, and that’s the worst of it really, knowing that about myself.”

“Why was... your father on the Death Star?” the Mandalorian asks, and huh, apparently he hasn’t heard about the Luke-and-Vader-connection either.

“It’s a long story,” Luke says, because it is, and he’s tired. His scars still hurt, not in these sudden flashes anymore, but as a pulsing, bone-deep, constant ache. But his chest feels a bit lighter for having talked about it.

The Mandalorian now gestures at said chest, instead of asking for the story again. “Can you take painkillers for those?”

Luke shakes his head. “They don’t help much. The pain’s in here.” He taps his temple. “I’ve just been trying to sleep it off, but it hurts too much to get to sleep.”

Mando hisses out a breath, and Luke is by this point fairly certain he’s commiserating. “Phew. Sounds like you need a drink.”

This makes Luke laugh, and he appreciates that. “You know, I’d love a drink, actually.”

After Grogu is put to bed, Luke gets a glass of spotchka and Mando’s company (he tilts the helmet off just far enough to free his mouth in quick, almost furtive gestures and takes tiny sips). His head’s starting to feel pleasantly swimmy when he says, “You know, I’ve just bared all my troubles to you - well, not all, but some, and pretty hefty ones - and yet I know... three facts about you, maybe.”

“Hmm. Yeah, that doesn’t seem fair,” the Mandalorian says amusedly. “What would you like to know?”

“Your name would be a good start,” Luke suggests.

The way the Mandalorian fidgets with his glass, he looks almost flustered. “Ah... Din. Din Djarin.”

“Luke Skywalker.” Luke grins and reaches across the table, ignoring the pinpricks of pain up his arm, to grip Mando’s - Din’s - hand. “It’s nice to have met you, Din Djarin.”

-----

In the following months, these flare-ups return occasionally, but none in such intensity. Luke knows that it’s only a matter of time, though. He’s beginning to suspect that this might stay with him forever. But he’s not as horrified at the prospect as he once was, after talking about it to Din and being neither judged nor pitied. After Din didn’t look at him worried like Leia, or attempted clumsily to walk on eggshells around the topic like Han, and didn’t think less of Luke, and didn’t act like Luke’s admittance to his issues tarnished some sort of larger-than-life image of the glowing Jedi hero. How odd it is to think of a future that has someone in it he can rely on in such an uncomplicated manner. He hasn’t had anyone in his life to rely on - or dared to think of himself as needing this - since... well, since Aunt Beru, probably.

During these months, Grogu has steadily progressed in his studies. Din has visited the temple with some regularity, but Luke has yet to get used to him. How could he, when there’s so much new and exciting to discover about Din still? He finds himself looking forward to these visits, and missing Din when absent, almost as much as Grogu does. Din can only ever stay a few days at once, and Departure Day is a sad one for all two inhabitants of the makeshift Jedi school. (Luke’s not sure what Din does when he’s not here. It can’t be so important, right? Surely not more important than spending time with Grogu? Than talking to Luke?)

This time, though, when Din shows up at the agreed-upon time, it’s weird. He speaks even less than usual, he seems to retreat into his armor even more, he opts to sleep in his ship instead of one of the many empty bedrooms in the temple that Luke has yet to fill with more students. And he barely holds or even touches Grogu, and that tips Luke off. These other observations he could chalk up to paranoia and his own desire to coax Din out of his (figurative!) shell. But that last one tells him that something is off.

Grogu can feel it too, and confusion and worry is seeping off of him into the Force. Luke tries to calm him and get him to sleep, but in the morning, Grogu’s still a bit anxious, and their collective worry mounts when breakfast passes by and Din fails to emerge from his ship. The two of them are reflecting their worry back off each other, and it’s getting aggravating, so Luke gets up and resolves to investigate.

“Okay, Grogu, can you go in the garden and play with Artoo? I’ll go look what’s up with your dad.”

Grogu immediately calms now that he knows the matter is being taken care of, and it warms Luke’s heart to see how much the kid has grown to trust him.

He gains entrance to the ship - it’s not the same one that Grogu has shared memories of with him, but similar enough in layout. The cockpit is empty, so he descends down a narrow ladder into what probably passes for crew quarters here. Peering around a corner, he finds Din hunkered down with his back against the durasteel wall, his threadbare cape wrapped around him as a blanket. He hasn’t noticed Luke come in yet, and that’s wrong in and of itself, and he’s shivering so hard it makes his beskar rattle slightly. As Luke lays eyes on him, he breaks into a horrid wet cough beneath the helmet, the modulator rendering it rasping and metallic.

Okay, something must be done.

“Din?” Luke asks, peeking his head out into open view. “It’s Luke, I’m in here now. You sound like my dad, kriffing-- how long has it been like this?”

Din’s head whips around in Luke’s direction, and he probably only doesn’t flinch because he’s trained to not flinch at things. “I’m fine,” he claims - outrageously lying - and tries to drag himself to his feet, hands bracing against the wall behind him.

Luke is already rushing to his side. “No, no, just stay down. There, that’s right, just sit. Are you wounded? Sick?”

Din tilts his head back against the wall. “Not wounded.”

“Well, that’s... good.” Luke squats next to him, unsure how to proceed. In the Force, he can feel exhaustion and pain radiating off of Din, but that doesn’t tell him what exactly is wrong. He tries to touch his wrist and, of course, meets beskar.

“Din, I realize this might be a... big ask, but can you remove your helmet so I can check your temperature?”

A stuttering sigh comes out through the modulator. “I don’t...”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Luke hurries to add. “It’ll just be for a few seconds. Oh, oh I have a blindfold back at the temple! I can run back and get it.”

Din shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’ve seen it before.” He reaches a shaking hand up and with a hiss, the locks on the helmet disengage. He slides it up and off and Luke takes in his face. It’s flushed, his hair matted and sweaty, his eyes bleary, and yet. It’s as attractive as Luke remembers.

Shaking these thoughts off, because there certainly are more important things now, Luke reaches out and puts his ungloved hand on Din’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he hisses. “I’m taking you back to the temple, I have medicine there.”

He’s already in the process of wrapping an arm around Din’s torso to help him up when Din shakes his head. “No. Gotta stay here.” His speech is washed out, his eyes glassy, and Luke’s concerned he’s not talking sense.

“You’ll be more comfortable at the temple.”

Din tries to brush him off with alarmingly feeble hands. “No. The kid.”

Ah. “I don’t think Grogu can catch anything off of you. Different species and all that.”

“You don’t know.”

Well, strictly speaking, Luke doesn’t. Yoda never mentioned anything like that. For a moment, Luke looks around the room, but his old mentor’s ghost is unhelpfully absent. He settles for promising, “I’ll make sure he keeps his distance.”

Din shakes his head again. “Kid’s going to...” He’s interrupted by another coughing fit. “...try to heal me. Don’t want him to overdo it.”

Even miserably sick, Din’s first concern is for the child. It makes something warm swell in Luke’s chest, and he realizes with no small start that Oh, this might be something a lot more than attraction he’s dealing with.

It doesn’t matter now. “I’ll make sure Grogu doesn’t overtax himself then. I’m his teacher, it’s what I’m here for.” Not at home to any more protests, Luke uses the Force to help him lift Din up in his arms. “Try to have a little faith in me, okay?”

“I’m fine here on my own,” Din insists.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Luke says distractedly as he starts off towards the exit ramp, bridal-carrying a whole Mandalorian warrior.

Din is not cooperative, doing his damndest to make himself a dead weight. “I’m Mand’alor,” he mutters, eyes half-closed. “I don’t have to take that tone from you.”

Luke doesn’t know what that word means. Maybe it’s a special type of Mandalorian. He’ll ask later, if he remembers. “Right now, you’re sick, that’s all,” he says, taking them at a brisk pace back to the temple. “You need attention.”

Din’s answer is a displeased groan. “My own damn fault for taking off the helmet.”

In the moment, Luke wonders if he means that in a metaphysical sort of way, like he’s being punished by the ancient Mando gods for his heresy. He’ll later discover that it’s much more prosaic than that: Din has worn the helmet since he was a child, and it’s protected him amiably against any airborne diseases. Now that he’s decided to start taking if off occasionally amongst other people, his immune system is being thrown into a panic by all these new unfiltered things to be breathed in, and he has prompty caught some kind of space flu.

For now, he gets Din into bed, armor and all, and heads for the ‘fresher and the aid kit he stashed there.

Din is burning.

Din is glacier-cold.

He sleeps irregularly in this soft bed he doesn’t recognize, and wakes himself with fits of coughing. He gropes for lucidity and gives up on it again in intervals. At some point, someone took his helmet - no, he remembers taking it off, or was that a dream? He has a memory of being carried in somebody’s arms, but who would carry him in full beskar? Who would care to? He’s not on his ship and he’s not alone and this is wrong. He’s been sick before, even with the helmet: from infected wounds or bad food or bad water or being out in harsh weather too long during a job. He’s always ridden it out by himself, if he was too far off to stumble his way back to the covert. But this isn’t the covert - that’s long gone, isn’t it? - and someone is here.

The person, at some point, helps him sit up and removes his armor, and Din would panic - does - but the person’s hands on him are gentle, and there’s some voice telling him that “It’s just to make you more comfortable, I’m putting it right next to the bed, I’m not taking it away, see? It’s right here waiting for you” and he’s too exhausted to put up a fight, and why would they lie? If they wanted the beskar for themselves they would’ve killed him already. But the person doesn’t. The person gives him water when he’s coughed his throat raw. The person drapes a blanket over him, which he shucks off during the hot spells only to grope for it again during the cold ones. The person puts a hand on his forehead and it’s even more cool and soothing than the damp cloth they also provide.

At some point, the person puts something in the bed with him - some alive thing, some small and fussy thing, some important thing with small green claws and wide moon eyes and large ears that are the softest thing that Din’s ever touched. He reaches out for it on instinct, just to pet the downy white hairs on its little head, and the person’s voice says from somewhere far above, “Okay, Grogu, I promised your father to take this slow. We’ll do this gradually, so you don’t tire yourself. You understand? Small healing. Easy.”

The small and precious thing makes a displeased sound, and Din wants to soothe it again. The voice replies, “I know how you feel, I know you want to fix it all right now, but I promised, okay? Your father will be very disappointed in me if we don’t do this just like he’d have it. And we don’t want that, hm?”

Din hears a coo close to his ear, feels a tiny, three-clawed hand touching him, and then there’s a sudden warmth spreading in his chest, not like the clammy heat of the fever but different, pleasant. Suddenly it seems easier to lie back and get some real, truly restful sleep, and this he does.

This instance repeats several more times, over days, until there is a point at which Din wakes - still sore, shaky, and with his muscles aching from having trembled so much - but with the fever broken and his head clear enough to string a coherent thought together.

He’s vaguely aware of a warbling voice a short distance away that he can’t quite yet discern. The room is dim, with only a singular lamp by his bedside spreading a warm light. There is a window above the bed but no light is coming in. It must be late in the evening - Grogu’s bedtime, is what Din’s inner alarm clock tells him without fail. And indeed, when he raises his head, he spots a small crib across the room that can only be Grogu’s, and Luke is there, rocking it in gentle motions. It is him who’s doing the crooning - singing Grogu to sleep, Din realizes abruptly. As he focuses, the lullaby slowly starts to make some sense: it’s in Bocce, which Din is about as conversant in as Tusken. He’s actually heard the tune before; it’s a nonsensical little ditty that settlers on Tatooine sing to their children.

He stretches out an arm and points a shaky finger at Luke.

“Hick,” he accuses, his voice gritty like he gargled a mouthful of sand.

Luke spins around, his blue eyes widening. “If you’re trying to insinuate that only sand-encrusted, desert-dwelling hicks speak Bocce,” he says, “then you are correct.” He smiles. “It’s good to see you back with us.”

“You’re from Tatooine,” Din says, and wonders why this is so important to him. Maybe it’s because learning things about Luke is like putting a puzzle together. There’s somehow a whole bunch of people that Luke is - he’s fascinating, he’s vexing, he’s confusing, and Din has no idea why he’s this interested in the first place. Well, he does have some clue, but it’s best not dwelled upon. Luke has his Creed and his life, Din has his wholly different Creed and life, and it’s not like the interest can be mutual anyway.

Or can it? Luke seems to have been here for days, watching him heal. Din’s mind veers away from phrases like “nursing” and “caring for” because, well, it implies a needing and a being needed that’s not usually extant for him. He takes care of himself, mostly, that is how it’s been for years. Decades...

Luke nods. “Anchorhead represent. Go Womp Rats.”

Din wrinkles his nose. “Anchorhead? There’s nothing there.”

“You’re telling me! Come talk to me about it when you’ve lived there for nineteen years.” He crosses the room to come perch on the edge of Din’s bed. “Which you won’t, you’re the king of Mandalore.”

Oh, shit. Yeah. He’s probably missing a council meeting right now. Wait. “Who told you?”

“You talked a lot when you were feverish.” Luke passes a hand over Din’s brow. He’s done that before, but it’s very different now that Din is awake for it. “It seems to have broken.”

“You had the kid heal me,” Din surmises. He can’t waste breath right now on wondering what else he said to Luke, when the fever had him. “I told you not to do that.”

“I had him heal you slowly, step by step, so he wouldn’t exhaust himself. Just a little every day,” Luke explains.

“He okay now?”

“He’s-” Luke begins to answer, then stops himself. A truly mischievous smile spreads on his lips. “Prince Grogu is resting, your highness. But yes, your majesty, he’s perfectly fine and healthy.”

“Stop.” Din swats a hand at him. “Not... ‘majesty’. We don’t even do that. It’s just ‘Alor. Actually, it’s just Din.”

Luke dodges his hand and almost falls back onto the bed, laughing. “Oh, dear. Please, your worship, accept this humble Jedi’s apology--”

“I mean it, stop--” He probably sounds petulant. He can’t bring himself to care.

Luke’s smile gentles. So do his eyes, impossibly blue. Huh. He’s beautiful. “I’m just teasing you,” he says, beautifully. “I know this doesn’t change anything here. Just another facet of the man I’ve been getting to know.”

“Ah. So you’ve been.” Din clears his throat. That feels awful, as it is still very dry. “Getting to know me. Huh?”

Does this qualify as flirting? This is probably awful. Din’s not good at this. And anyway, it’s still unclear if Luke is actually--???

The softest pair of lips in the galaxy (the galaxy!!!) is on his forehead. Din’s chest implodes. He can feel Luke’s smile on his skin. He’s never felt anything like it before. How is this happening? He’s most likely still sick, and this is a fever dream.

“I’d like to get to know much more of you,” Luke says, withdrawing, still smiling, his eyes like sun-streaked oceans. Din has no breath in his chest.

He delays his reaction two seconds too long, and Luke’s expression begins to falter. “I’m... sorry, you’ve just recovered, and here I am putting... this on you.” He gestures broadly at himself in his entirety. “I... hold on, I’ll go get you, um, a glass of water or something...”

Din would like a glass of water. He would not like Luke to leave. The latter wins out. “Wait.” He grasps Luke’s wrist before he can get up. “I didn’t mean... I would, um. Like to get to know you also.”

Luke stills, his face a turmoil of emotion. How is this the same man who looked so utterly serene to the point of expressionlessness when they first met?

Din figures it’s way past time he made a move. Luke’s already gone and bared himself so much. It’s only fair that he meet him halfway, Din thinks and kisses him.

#dinluke #skydalorian #hurt/comfort #sickfic #this one's about two guys who don't normally have people finding themselves having someone #it got longer than expected!#did i give din djarin the corner virus by accident #big yikes #posts by me

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years ago

Text

-The Arrangement- Chapter 1

Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable add. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.

Chapter summary: Let’s meet our lovely [Y/N]. Every good story starts somewhere. Buckle up for the next few months babes <3

Chapter 1

“Nope, sorry, I have to get to my other job.” You politely declined getting after-work drinks with your colleagues like usual. It was nice of them to still invite you even though you never said yes.

You excused yourself to the company restroom. Out with the office worker, in with the bartender. You switched shirts, put your hair up in a ponytail, and applied heavier make-up. You'd switch out your skirt when you got to the club. As dumb and gross as it was, you always made more money when you wore your questionably short shorts. Oh well, money is money.

You sent a quick text to your brother to make sure he and your sister got to your aunt's apartment and then headed for the station. Ok. How much money do I need to make tonight? You asked yourself as you opened the banking app. You mentally calculate the amount needed to feed your siblings, pay for the bus, and utilities. Ugh Maybe Park Minho will let me stay for him tonight. He usually wanted to get out of work early to go hang out with his friends. You would be ok this week if you stopped taking the bus and ate more ramen and less real food. You sighed. You were so tired.

You walked through the black glass doors of Club Tokki. There were only a few customers right now and you immediately went to see if anyone had made coffee. Work coffee=free coffee. Luckily for you, Lisa, the woman who worked the day shift almost always needed an extra dose of afternoon caffeine and there was still enough for a cup.

“Hey doll!” Lisa greeted you. “Here, I brought some milk in as well,” she said as she poured the coffee for you.

“You are a lifesaver. Thank you so much.” You gratefully took the mug, warming your hands.

“No problem, do you need me to do anything before I leave? I’m going to close out with those two groups first.” She asked as she rinsed off some pint glasses.

You assessed the bar looking to see what you might need over the next few hours. “Yeah, ask the bar-back to get two more bottles of Goose and a bottle of Crown. We usually go through those on Wednesdays. And maybe cut a few limes and lemons. Thanks.” You took the coffee with you to the small office and finished changing clothes. Lisa was a student so she shared your need for thrifty living, coffee, and work. You didn’t have many friends, but you knew you could count on Lisa for caffeine and getting the bar prepped.

You walked back out to the bar, mentally preparing yourself for the night ahead. In a few minutes people like your office coworkers would stream in, treating each other to after work drinks, socializing, and networking. You used to wonder if your circumstances were different if you would be the type of person who went out after work and socialized with their colleagues. You had come to the realization that “no” you wouldn’t. You would probably go home and sleep. Maybe read. You sighed and shimmied behind the bar as Lisa started to count down the drawer. "Alright, I asked the barback for the alcohol and there's 2 cups of lines and lemons."

"Thanks a lot babe. See you tomorrow." you waved at her and started to move stuff around to where you liked it.

"Happy money making." she smiled and headed out.

As predicted about half an hour later, office workers start to show up and the bar is slowly starting to fill up. Club Tokki is known for its laid back vibe so it's mostly beers and "and" drinks. Whisky and coke. Vodka and soda. Occasionally there were some younger girls here that ordered the more complicated drinks. But you got those out as well; this wasn't the first bar you'd ever worked at, just the latest incarnation. And just like that, the night starts to speed up. Minho arrives two hours into your shift for the after-dinner rush.

“Just in time dude,” you greeted him as he walked behind the bar.

“What do you need?” He asked as he clocks in for the night.

“The bar is caught up if you want to go check section one. Shinhye has the rest of the floor.” You instructed him and used this opportunity to catch up on cleaning dishes. You caught one of the guys at the end of the bar staring at you. He was definitely good looking, and stood out with his expensive suit, silver hair, and strong facial features. Whatever. As long as he tips. You were not looking for a boyfriend. Or a hookup. You cringed at the thought of even trying to navigate dating between your work schedule and also living with your Aunt as a grown ass woman. You shook your head like it would get rid of the thought. Satisfied with the current state of the bar you took a minute to drink some water and scan the club. There were worse places you could work for sure.

Minho came back to the bar and asked you to make some shots while he grabs some beers. Grape bombs? Is this 2012? You resisted the urge to gag, having gotten sick on them when you were younger. You placed the drinks on his tray and checked the bartop once again.

Mr. Expensive Suit dimple-face was nursing a Goose and soda. “You doing ok?” you asked him as you made your way down the bar.

“I’m great. Thanks. What’s your name?”

“[Y/N]” you responded and started to move on to your next guest.

“This is the part where you ask my name.” he said arrogantly. Suddenly you did not care for him as much.

“Is it? I’ve never talked to someone in a bar before. I didn't realize there was a script.” you responded sarcastically. You hated it when guys thought they could manipulate you.

“Wow. Ok. Ok. Hard to get. I respect that. I’m Kim Namjoon.”

“Ok Mr. Kim, is there anything else I can get for you right now?” you asked, oh so sweetly.

“No. I’m good for now.” he said, laughing to himself. He shook his head incredulously and sipped his drink.

Well maybe you weren’t going to get tipped after all. Oh well.

The rest of the night was mostly a blur. The vodka special brought in quite a few people and you ended up going through four bottles of Goose. Mr. Kim Dimples remained, nursing only his second drink now and still staring at you even though he was trying hard to not look like he was staring. It was awkward. He was hot but sooo not your type. Which you thought you had made clear.

“Mr. Kim, are you sure you even like Goose and soda?” you teased him as you made another round checking on people.

“You know, I am more of a beer drinker myself, but I can’t pass up a good vodka special.” he leaned to the side, getting out his wallet, and pulled out a business card.

“[Y/N], I’d like for you to take this.” he stuck it between his index and middle finger, holding it out for you to take.

“I am flattered, Mr. Kim, but I’m not interested in anything like that.” you smiled politely.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Believe me, I’m not asking you on a date. You are so not my type,” he said with an air of disgust. As though he was repulsed that you would have even thought he would consider asking you out. “This is a job opportunity. I work for a talent agency of sorts.”

Wow. What a dick. “Oh yeah? What talent do you see?” you gesture to yourself. “I do pour some stiff drinks and can usually tell rude guys to fuck off with a smile on my face.”

To your surprise he just laughed. “You are very funny. And I suppose some people would find you attractive. Just take the card. I think you’re the best candidate I’ve found yet.” he stood up and put on his suit jacket, sitting the business card down on the bartop.

“Rude.” you casually said, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"Well, it makes no difference to me if you accept or not. Regardless, there it is." He gestured to the card, and sat down way too much money on top of it. "Keep the change." He turned and left.

You didn’t end up closing for Minho; the two of you both stayed since it remained steady through closing time. You were weirded out by the conversation with Mr. Kim, but having worked in a bar for the past 7 years, it wasn't the weirdest thing that had ever happened to you. You threw the business card into your purse and forgot about it for the rest of your shift.

The remainder of the night passed without incident. As much as you disliked it, that weirdo's money helped make sure you could take the bus again the next few days. You stuffed your tips into your purse and walked home. Well. To your aunt's house. It didn't really feel like home. Just a temporary landing spot until you and your siblings could get your own place again.

You entered quietly and washed your hands. You dutifully went through your siblings school bags, making sure their supplies and homework were where they should be. You packaged their lunches as much as you could and started a fresh batch of rice for tomorrow. All mostly in the dark so you didn't wake anyone up. Your brother was sleeping on the couch, which you hated, but he insisted on it. You were sharing the guest bedroom with your sister and your niece.

You grabbed your laptop and curled up in the corner of the kitchen to not bother anybody. I’m a 27 year old loser hiding on the floor of my Aunt’s apartment in the middle of the night. I have to wake up in 5 hours for my other job and instead I’m going to look up a website that some weird ass rude hot guy at a bar gave me. Why is this my life? You thought, and yet you pulled out the business card and entered the link. It took you to a black website with a white box asking for a code. You flipped the card over, and there it was, handwritten. You type it in and wait for the website to load, convinced it’s going to be some weird porn site with fisting or crush videos. You almost cover your eyes but to your pleasant surprise it’s a normal website.

Seeking: a suitable adult woman for long-term companionship. Will be well compensated. Serious inquiries only.

The text continued: If you are on this website, congratulations. You have already presented the basic level qualifications for this position.

Ok. So maybe this was an escort service. Which I mean...if it paid better than both of your jobs and you didn’t have to have sex with people maybe you could. No. No. You talked yourself out of it and scrolled down to read more of the description,

Requirements:

Female between the ages of 20 and 40.

Flexibility in schedule

Desire to travel and attend events

Strong personality and interpersonal skills

Proficiency with Microsoft Excel and Word

Punctuality, attention to detail, and strong organizational skills

Desired but not necessary

Non-smoker/drinks alcohol socially

Like animals

Enjoy listening to music

Compensation:

Position requires relocation to on-site premises and therefore covers room and board.

Monthly stipend (click here for more information pertaining to taxes)

3 meals a day, beverages, and snacks included

Most escort services didn’t require proficiency in Microsoft Word or Excel...you were guessing. Maybe it was a legit job. Like an on-site event planner? You clicked the link contained in compensation and HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A LOT OF MONEY.

You bit your lip and pulled up your resume. It couldn’t hurt to submit it, right? You didn’t have much to update since you had just started your office job 3 months ago. You updated the resume to include that job and listed your address as Club Tokki’s in case this was actually a sex trafficking set up. You thought about it for a another minute and then uploaded the document, took a deep breath, and hit “send.” NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: @lidda

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts fanfction #bts yoongi x reader #bts suga x you #bts fics #bts au fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years ago

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warmth

Then her shoulders fell, the inky shadows deepening across her face as Katara sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just—I have to know you’re okay, Aang. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Aang blinked, her words sinking into his heart like a stone into quicksand. “Know I’m okay,” he repeated, “or know I’m alive?”

When Aang falls, Katara is always there to catch him. But maybe that’s part of the problem.

(Written for Day 5 of Kataang Week 2021: Healing, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3 or continue reading below.)

Aang loved Katara. Plain and simple. Under only the watchful eye of the moon—hope all is well with you, Princess Yue, Sokka is doing just fine—Aang might even be willing to admit he was in love with her. It wasn’t a secret, per se, but to love was to be vulnerable and despite the infinite lives he contained as the Avatar, Aang was still only human.

All the same, Aang had no shame in acknowledging that he liked having Katara’s attention on him, and moreover that he liked reciprocating her attention with his own on her. He liked how they were touchy-feely with each other in a way they were with no one else, liked how they would stay up together to count the stars and talk about anything and nothing, liked how they could make each other smile at even their lowest points.

But ever since Ba Sing Se…

Something had changed.

For better or for worse, Aang wasn’t quite sure. Because now, now it seemed more of Katara’s attention was on him than before. And at first, Aang thought he’d understood why. He’d died, he’d been in a coma for weeks, he’d flirted with death while Katara had been the one keeping constant vigil at his bedside. Though his outward wounds had long since healed into scars, there were lingering aches and pains below the surface that still could make him stumble.

Katara was always there to catch him when he fell.

But that was the—that was the problem, for lack of a better word on Aang’s part. Katara was healing him all but constantly, never letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. The only exceptions had been his time at the Fire Nation school and her secret trips to Jang Hui as the Painted Lady. She’d almost burst into tears when he’d gotten the smallest of scratches across his thumb the other day, and that? That was not normal.

Whatever was going on, Aang knew he couldn’t let her face it alone any longer.

One night during their usual stargazing, lying down with their backs against the grass on the flattest ledge in their camp, Aang seized the moment.

“Is there a reason you’ve been so… protective of me lately?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. It was like trying to approach a baby deer-cat—he didn’t want to spook her by storming into the subject.

Katara stiffened, and though she didn’t flee, Aang idly wondered if he’d underestimated how painful this conversation might be. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Aang tried to reassure her, turning in the grass onto his side so he could face her properly. “You’ve just seemed a little on edge the past few weeks. Talking about whatever’s on your mind might—might help.”

“Doubt that,” Katara muttered bitterly, keeping her eyes averted from Aang’s own as she picked at a blade of grass. The moonlight breaking through the tree branches to their right cast dark shadows across her face, like rivers of ink winding down her cheeks. “I prefer not thinking about it, much less talking.”

Well, at least she’d admitted something was bothering her. Aang counted that as a small victory. But her aggressive resistance did mean he would have to prod a little more to get her to open up.

“I know you’re worried about me,” Aang said after a pause. He sat up, bracing himself with his hands behind him. “I don’t know why, but I know you are.”

Katara sat up and opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Aang pushed forward, not giving her the chance to disagree. To lie, really.

“I can tell because you’ve… you’ve been healing every little scratch I get. Which is kind, but”—he pursed his lips, shaking his head—“I can’t be your priority, Katara. Not all the time. Not over healing Sokka or Toph or yourself, when someone else’s injuries are worse. Okay?”

Katara’s jaw was tight, a clear sign Aang had struck a nerve. Hopefully not one that stung too sharply, bit too deeply, because hurting Katara was the last thing he wanted to do. What he feared more than anything.

Then her shoulders fell, the inky shadows deepening across her face as she sighed and pulled her knees into her chest. “I just—I have to know you’re okay, Aang. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Aang blinked, her words sinking into his heart like a stone into quicksand. “Know I’m okay,” he repeated, “or know I’m alive?”

Aang had only the faintest memories of Ba Sing Se, of waking up for but a few seconds in Katara’s arms as the most radiant, most relieved smile he’d ever seen had graced her lips. The relief hadn’t matched the exhaustion—the terror—in her eyes, though. After that, he’d… disappeared, vanished somewhere into the depths of his own mind for more days than he could count.

Katara chuckled, the sound tinged with a deep-seated weariness. “Maybe a bit of both?”

“Katara—”

She silenced him with an icy look. “Don’t. Don’t use that pitying tone with me, Aang. I know it’s an irrational fear, I don’t need you to tell me that.” Katara huffed, throwing her hands up and shaking her head. “See? This is why. This is why I don’t like thinking about it.”

Aang bit his lip. Tempted as he was to swear up and down that no, he hadn’t meant to strike such a tone, he hadn’t meant to invalidate her concerns, there was a far more important direction their conversation needed to be taken in.

“It’s clearly not irrational if you can’t shake it off,” Aang said after a pause. He hesitated, then placed a careful hand on top of hers, which had returned to resting on the grass. When she made no move to pull away, he continued. “But if you’re really worried… why don’t you explain it to me?”

That offer caught Katara’s attention, and she stared at him with a mixture of shock and confusion permeating her features. Furrowed brow, head tilted at a slight angle. “What?”

Aang shrugged. “Tell me what’s making you so anxious, and then I can confirm whether or not your fear is rational.” He suspected it would be somewhere on the perpetually sliding scale between rational and irrational, as most fears born of traumatic experiences were. He had a few of his own. No shame in admitting that.

Katara hesitated, her gaze flickering over his face from top to bottom, as if searching for any hint of doubt or suspicion or—spirits forbid—pity. But Aang knew she wouldn’t find any, and he was right.

“Okay,” she murmured, averting her eyes from his own to stare at the grass they still sat upon. “Maybe I do need to”—she shook her head—“maybe that would help. A little.”

Katara’s current discomfort was clear to Aang, and he hated seeing her like this. Shaken, weary, broken in more ways than one. But what he hated even more was to see Katara terrified, and terror was the only expression written in her eyes each time she watched him get hurt, no matter how minor the injury. So if she would talk, Aang would listen, and he would do whatever he could to reassure her.

“This war has been going on my entire life,” Katara said after a pause. “So I’m not—I’m not unfamiliar with death”—a low chuckle escaped her lips—“although not for a lack of trying on Sokka’s part.” She heaved a shuddering sigh, picking at a blade of grass with her hand that wasn’t beneath Aang’s. “But warriors died in battle. Babies didn’t always survive birth. I—I saw my own mother’s corpse when I was only eight years old, Aang, so burned up you could barely recognize her—”

Katara snapped her jaw shut as her voice neared a fatal crack, and she blinked back tears.

Before he could lose his nerve, Aang turned Katara’s hand over, the one still beneath his own, and carefully laced their fingers together. I’m here, he tried to say, not knowing how to say it. His touch seemed to do the trick, though, as Katara exhaled a shuddering breath and moved to rest against his side, their shoulders pressed firmly together.

“I was never… never close, though,” she murmured, her voice having regained stability. “Never touched the bodies. Not even my mom’s.”

The note of grief in Katara’s voice rang sharper than a wind chime, and Aang had to fight down the urge to pull her into his arms then and there. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she was finished, not until she was ready. So though Aang’s heart ached with an identical loss—You turned your back on the world!—he said nothing, and he let her continue.

“But I… I caught you, Aang.” Katara’s grip tightened around his hand, but Aang didn’t pull away, not even when her nails began digging into the skin just below his knuckles. “When you fell, in Ba Sing Se. After Azula. I caught you, I held you when you were—”

“Gone?” Aang supplied when her voice vanished, and Katara nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her free hand.

“Yeah.” She took another slow breath, clearing her throat. “And, you know, people always say that death is—that death is cold. It’s life, energy, stolen from the body. But Aang, you were”—Katara shook her head, eyes brimming with tears that glowed like droplets of liquid silver in the moonlight—“you were so warm, I could almost believe you were sleeping and would wake up in my arms any minute.”

Aang swallowed a lump rising in his own throat. “And I did wake up,” he said gently, once a beat had passed. “Because you saved me, Katara. You brought me back.”

Katara gave him a sorrowful smile. “Don’t you get it, Aang? That’s the problem.” Her free hand clenched into a fist, and she slammed it a single time against her chest—right over her heart. “I had the water from the Spirit Oasis. I had control, that was why I was able to heal you then, that was how I was able to make everything okay. But now?”

Katara’s hand uncurled, falling weakly to her side as she shook her head. Another silver tear traced the edge of a shadow that still haunted her cheek, the drop trickling downward. “Now, I don’t have miracles to rely on for help anymore. The only control I have is me, my own abilities, and Tui and La, Aang, I can’t—I can’t lose you again!”

Her voice broke, and Aang threw all forethought to the wind, releasing Katara’s hand to pull her into a hug fiercer than any they’d ever shared before. He didn’t care how her tears wet his shoulder, he didn’t care how desperately her arms locked around his body, no, all he needed was for Katara to know that he was there.

“I’m so sorry,” Aang finally whispered, pathetic and useless as the three words were.

Katara shook her head, face still buried into his shoulder. “Not your fault.”

For the first time since they’d met in the South Pole, Aang had no idea how to comfort her. It won’t happen again, I’ll always be there for you, you’ll always be there for me, we’ll both make it through this—they were empty promises, cheap vows he had no way to guarantee.

“We’re here now,” Aang murmured, pressing the lightest of kisses to the top of her hair. A new three words, a different but still simple action—something about the combination of gestures must have soothed Katara, as Aang could feel her exhale and her body relax against his own. “We’re here now.”

The present was all they could count on.

#kataang #kataangtag #kataang week #katara #aang #kataangst #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfic #tw: discussion of death #amy writes

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heliads · 4 years ago

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Lie For Me

When Scott McCall ends up being trapped by hunters, the last thing he expects is to be saved by one of them, a Y/N L/N he knows from school. He later finds out that she is a werewolf as well, and she needs his help as much as he needs hers.

masterlist

The woods are beautiful at night. The gentle rustling of leaves against the boughs, the silver light of the moon spilling down into the trees. Emerald green melts into deep oak and mahogany. It’s one of the most soothing places in all of Beacon Hills. Scott McCall would love to appreciate this prime example of nature, but he’s a little distracted by silently cursing Liam for running off into the woods and getting himself discovered by the hunters.

Clearly, Scott doesn’t have this whole alpha thing on lock. He had thought it was going fine, that Liam was finally making headway with managing his emotions. It was a difficult enough transition for any wolf, but for a boy with Liam’s anger problems? It turned out to be practically impossible. Scott’s been trying to think of anything from when he had been a beta, of any helpful tricks Derek had taught him. However, Derek’s version of teaching Scott about being a werewolf had basically consisted of disappearing for days at a time and then showing up out of nowhere to lurk ominously across a parking lot. Not a lot of help there.

The most he remembered from Derek was that one line the older werewolf had uttered to him, when Scott had wound up in the middle of the woods with a supernaturally charged heartbeat racing through his veins. “The bite is a gift.” “We’re brothers now.” Scott had tried out those same phrases on Liam, which had gone about as well as one could expect, with the boy storming away. Well, at least he’d tried.

But ‘just trying’ hasn’t really given Scott the results he had been hoping to see. Liam had gotten into some argument, probably with that boy from Devenford Prep- Brett or something- and stormed away into the woods. The only problem was that it was late at night, the moon was out, and the hunters always chose this time to go on patrols, looking for lone wolves. Lone wolves such as Liam, or at least Scott, who is chasing after him. Scott believes that Liam has managed to get away, but only because Scott distracted them. This has the unintended downside that about a dozen hunters are currently on Scott’s tail, and he has no idea how to get rid of them.

Scott leaps over a ravine, taking advantage of the sudden increase of ground in between himself and the hunters to duck around a stand of trees. There’s a large rock face a short distance from him, and if Scott can manage to get over there, he just might be able to lose the hunters once and for all. Just as he’s about to cross the final leg to the rocks, however, he hears the sudden sound of a dozen running feet and an arrow flies an inch away from his head. Looks like the hunters have caught up.

They’re gaining ground quickly, too. Unlike Scott, they aren’t constrained by the need to hide, and can blunder through the woods far faster than him. Scott throws himself behind a grove of trees, leaning back against the rough wood of the trunks and listening to the hunters draw closer and closer to him. They appear to have passed him, and then they fan out and begin searching in earnest. Scott’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. If he moves, they’ll hear him, but if he stays, they’ll see him. What does he do now? The choice is made for him when Scott sees a pair of black hunting boots stop in front of him, and then a pair of eyes meet his.

Scott is about to extend his claws and try to make a run for it through this nearest hunter, but his movements slow when the figure quickly places a finger against her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. The hunter shifts slightly, and the moonlight washes over her face. Scott’s eyes widen as he realizes he recognizes the hunter- it’s a girl from his school, Y/N L/N.

Y/N seems to recognize him as well, and he can see panic warring in her eyes as she tries to figure out what to do. Then she points towards the forest behind him, at a hole in the undergrowth. She whispers quietly, the sound only audible to Scott’s supernatural hearing. “Go. Quickly.” Scott nods, and turns and runs as fast as he can, disappearing into the night. He hears Y/N loudly walk back towards the other hunters, stepping on as many twigs and crackling leaves as she can to hide any sound of Scott’s movement. “I didn’t see him over here.” So she’s covering for him- but why?

Even after Scott manages to make it out of the forest, he’s still confused. If Y/N is a hunter, and her entire family are also hunters, why would she save him? Scott knows other teenage hunters, and they’ve never let the simple fact that they are schoolmates with a werewolf stop them from killing. In fact, they seem to take added joy in making the demise of a former friend turned wolf as gruesome as possible. So why would Y/N disregard all of that to save his life?

Scott decides to get some answers when he returns to school the next day. Y/N sits at a table outside with a couple of friends, and Scott waits until those friends disappear to the lunch line before he slides into a seat next to Y/N. She looks up, but seems unsurprised to see him. “You made it out.” She says, and Scott nods. “All thanks to you. I have to ask, though- why did you save me? I’m used to hunters being more of the merciless type.”

Y/N looks around, as if making sure nobody is watching them, then casually moves her hand onto the table next to Scott. It’s hidden to any passersby by her lunchbox, so Scott is the only one to see the werewolf claws extend from her fingertips. Once she’s sure Scott has seen them, she flicks the claws away as if they were never there. Scott stares at Y/N, speaking as quietly as possible. “You’re a werewolf? But how- I thought hunters weren’t allowed to undergo the change.”

Y/N tilts her head in acknowledgement. “They’re not. Nobody knows except you and me. I was bitten a couple of months ago, by some werewolf who wanted to send a message to my family. I managed to get rid of him so he wouldn’t tell anybody, but there was still the issue of the bite. I know I’m supposed to kill myself because death is meant to be better than living as a werewolf, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’ve been as careful as I can to make sure nobody finds out.”

Scott shakes his head, amazed. “That must be terrifying, living so close to the hunters and having to keep that secret. How do you do it?” Y/N shrugs. “I spend as much time as possible at school or with friends. I figure the less time I’m around them, the less likely they’ll figure it out, right? I’m very careful not to get paper cuts, so they can’t see me heal. Plus, I have a sudden and extreme dust allergy that just happens to flare up whenever I’m handed a container of wolfsbane. What’s nice is that I know what they look for when trying to figure out whether someone is a werewolf, so I can just do the opposite of all that.”

Scott glances over at her, taking in the stress lining her brow. “I’m impressed that you’ve managed to keep it a secret, but that’s going to be hard. If you need any help, any at all, ask me. It’s hard to be a lone wolf, but it’s even harder to be alone in a house of hunters. You saved my life last night, I’d like to be able to begin to pay that back.” Y/N smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Scott is walking past the lacrosse field after practice when he first hears the howl. It’s quiet, as if someone’s doing their best to hide it, but it’s there nonetheless. Scott turns around to try to find the source, noticing Liam freeze in place as well. “Did you hear that?” The younger boy asks, and Scott nods. “I think it’s Y/N. I think she’s in trouble.” Liam glances around to see if anyone’s watching, then looks back at Scott. “Go find her. I’ll make up some excuse to Coach.” Scott claps Liam on the shoulder in gratitude, already starting to sprint away from the field. He doesn’t know how long Y/N has until the hunters find her, and he intends to get there first.

Scott was able to track the howl fairly quickly. It only came once, but he could get a rough location thanks to his supernatural hearing- roughly around the woods. Besides, the forest is the only place that makes sense- if Y/N was trying to maintain control over her claws and fangs, she’d probably want to go to the one place where she wouldn’t be immediately caught by her hunter family. Not her house, or the town, but the woods. Of course.

Scott turns out to be right about the woods- he finds her after only a couple of minutes of searching through the tangled briars and wind-swaying branches. She’s huddled under a large California maple, back pressed against the trunk. One hand is pressed against her temples, the other over her mouth as she tries to bite back another howl. When she looks up at Scott, her eyes are a glowing, burning yellow.

Scott approaches slowly. “What happened? Talk to me.” Y/N breathes out harshly, as if trying to regain focus, then begins speaking. Her fangs flash in her mouth with every word. “I was with the other hunters, in the house. They started talking about the werewolves they had killed.” She stops talking, as if physically forcing herself to stay calm. “They were so proud of themselves. One of them pulled up a picture on his phone. Scott, the body was a teenager. Just a kid. Younger than I was, and he was so proud of it. It made me sick. I barely managed to get out of there before losing it.”

Scott nods, then kneels to the ground in front of Y/N so they’re sitting next to each other on the leaf-strewn ground. “That sounds horrifying. They’re all horrifying.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “And they’re the ones calling us monsters. I hate that I have to keep hiding from them. I have to live around them all the time, and it’s just going to get worse.” Scott watches as she tries to make herself return to a more human appearance, practically forcing her claws away. Scott reaches out and grabs her hand. “This is how you’ve been trying to hide? Y/N, you’re hurting yourself.”

Y/N looks away. “It’s what works. I don’t have much of a choice.” Scott puts his hand on her cheek, gently guiding her eyes back to his. “You do have a choice. You always have a choice. Even when it seems impossible, you always manage to do the right thing. You saved me from those hunters even though they could have hurt you. Honestly, it’s amazing how you’ve managed to stay afloat in the middle of all this.” Y/N’s angry expression brightens at that, and all of a sudden her eyes lose their golden glow and return to normal. Her claws slowly retract, as do her fangs.

She stares at him. “How did you do that?” Scott shrugs. “A big part of the shift is just losing control of your emotions. Sometimes it’s handy to have someone stay here and help talk you through it.” Y/N smiles at him. “Thank you, Scott. I mean it.” She breathes in and out slowly. “You don’t know how much of a relief it is to go back to normal.” Scott stands up, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up. “Hey, no problem. We all have to have each other’s backs, right?”

Y/N seems about to respond, and then her eyes lock on something behind him. Too late, Scott realizes that the vague noises echoing in the forest around them are not just woodland animals and birds, as he’d assumed, but more distinct. Human footsteps. Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic. “Those are my parents. They’re out hunting. Scott, they’re going to find out.” Scott can feel her shaking slightly with terror. He looks for a way out, some escape route, but there’s nothing. The hunters are closing in on all sides, and they’re only seconds away from finding the two of them. Just before the hunters swarm out from behind the trees, Scott whispers something to Y/N. “Trust me.”

Then there are guns pointed in their direction, guns held by a multitude of hunters. Too many to fight. Besides, a fight wouldn’t have saved them anyway- they would still wonder why Y/N, who was supposed to be one of them, was out in the forest with known alpha Scott McCall. Scott’s mind is a whirl of thoughts, and then he realizes what he has to do. Quickly, he grabs Y/N over to him, extending his claws and holding them over Y/N’s throat. He can feel the panic radiating over her, threads of betrayal making their way to the surface. He mutters something quietly under his breath, something only Y/N can hear. “Go with it. Please.”

One of the lead hunters, Y/N’s father, cocks his rifle. “What are you doing with her?” Scott just tightens his grip around Y/N’s throat. “You’ve been messing around with my pack too many times. I’m here to send a warning.” The hunter laughs, although Scott is pleased to hear a note of worry in the undertone. “We all know this is fake. Scott McCall would never hurt someone.” Scott tilts his head to the side, considering this. “I would never hurt an innocent. She’s a hunter, there’s a difference.”

The lead hunter’s eyes begin to cloud over with panic. “Okay, you’ve said your message. Now let her go.” Scott shakes his head. “That’s not how this works. You’re going to leave the werewolves alone, all of them. Even the lone wolves that aren’t a part of my pack.” The hunters scoff, and another one steps forward. “Why would we ever do that?” Scott’s voice lowers to a threatening pitch. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tear her throat out right now.” It’s a lie, an obvious one to anyone with supernatural hearing. Y/N can hear the hesitation in his heartbeat, and knows that Scott couldn’t do it if he tried. But the hunters cannot hear that reluctance, only see the scarlet glow of his eyes and the monster they’ve always thought him to be.

Anger replaces fear in the leader hunter’s eyes, and he signals to his men. “Like hell you are.” Suddenly, a bullet flies out of the woods and lodges itself in Scott’s arm. He reaches back away from Y/N, fighting the pain in his bicep but watching the skin already begin to reknit itself. The second Scott’s grip loosens, the lead hunter calls out to his daughter. “Y/N, quick! Run!” Y/N’s eyes dart to Scott, and he nods almost imperceptibly. She turns and sprints towards the false safety of the hunters. The other men swarm Scott, grabbing him and forcing him away. Just as Scott is dragged out of the woods, he turns to see one last glance of Y/N, who stares at him. Her eyes are full of terror.

Scott is taken to some hunter stronghold. He’s fairly sure that he’s in the basement of one of the hunters’ houses. Maybe even Y/N’s. It doesn’t really matter, though- he’s a little distracted at the moment. The hunters are lording it over him that they’ve managed to capture a true alpha, and rewarded him with a fairly large dose of torture. It’s not the first pain he’s experienced at the hands of hunters, and it likely won’t be the last, but that doesn’t mean that this doesn’t hurt. He’s been tied to a metal grate at the back of a basement, wires strapped to his arms, legs, and chest. Whenever the hunters feel like it, they’ll up the voltage and a shower of sparks will descend over his vision.

They’ve left for now, but Scott groans inwardly when he hears the sound of footsteps descending down the stairs. He was hoping for at least a little more recovery time, but it doesn’t look like he’ll even have that. His head is hung low, and he can’t see the approaching hunter until they’re only a few feet away from him. Then they pause, and Scott bites back a growl. “Why bother standing there? Just get it over with.” But the hunter doesn’t turn on the electric shocks. Instead, they walk even closer, and gently raise Scott’s head with the palm of their hand.

Scott’s spirits lift when he realizes the hunter is Y/N. She’s looking at him, horrified at what her family had done to him. “Give me a second, I’ll get you out of this.” She grabs a knife from her belt and starts sawing away at the restraints binding his arms and legs. Scott attempts to shake his head. “No, don’t. You have to go- they’ll see you.” A light smirk flickers across Y/N’s face. “Actually, they won’t. They’re all off at some bar on the other side of town, taking the opportunity to celebrate their capture of the one and only Scott McCall with some cheap beer. They won’t be back until late tonight, and they won’t be able to think straight until noon tomorrow.”

The last of the ropes have been cut away, and Scott rolls his shoulders, wincing from the stiffness already starting to creep across his limbs. Y/N watches him, pain flickering across her face. Scott glances over at her. “Don’t feel bad. I made my choice.” She shakes her head. “I should have done something to stop them. To stop this.” Scott reaches out and takes her hand. “There was nothing you could do. I’d rather have you stay alive then save me from a few shocks.” Y/N considers their intertwined hands. “You shouldn’t have had to choose.”

Scott places a hand on Y/N’s face, gently guiding her eyes to his. “We’re not human. We’re always going to have to make impossible choices, that’s who we are. And I chose you in the woods, and I will continue to choose you whenever I can. You’re a good person, Y/N, and good people rarely get to make easy decisions.” Y/N’s look of guilt fades away, and she smiles at him. “Actually, I can think of one easy decision right now. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to spend any more time in this basement.”

Scott chuckles. “I can agree with that.” The two of them head quickly out of the door, and escape into the brisk chill of night. As they both make their way through town, Scott can’t help but look over at Y/N and smile. He meant what he said earlier to her- he intends to put her first in every day to follow. Today is just the first instance when he can say that out loud.

#scott mccall #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall imagines #scott mccall oneshot #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf oneshot #teen wolf scott #teen wolf scott imagine #teen wolf scott x reader #teen wolf scott imagines #teen wolf scott oneshot

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1kook · 5 years ago

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skirt chasers - drabble i

a skirt chasers drabble bc they are my fave fictional couple to date <333

tags: coupley and domestic, jk’s terrible attempts at seducing via text, making out, dry humping, spitting (ik idk what came over me), too much talking for this to be sexual pero hey here we are wc: like 3k

entirely based off jungkook from bv3 that man had NO right to look that good and the holy jirkenstocks (jungkook birkenstocks). wont lie this has been completely written in my drafts since November (yes 2019) and i hoarded it under the belief i would make this a whole part 2 which i did not

que dios los bendiga <3

Much to everyone’s dismay, Jungkook’s spring break in Vegas with the boys is cut three days short when Jimin’s dog sitter suddenly cancels, citing a case of homesickness as enough cause to abruptly go home. When you first hear news of this, you’re preparing yourself for the return of a mopey, useless Jungkook, too drained from four glorious days in Las Vegas to carry on. What you’re not expecting is the mysterious text he sends you before boarding a five hour flight with no service (he was cheap).

kook still on vegas lockdown. Have that pussy ready when i get home

“The fuck does that mean?” Chaeyoung is the first to see the message, your screen lighting up on the kitchen counter beside you as you scrub through a mountainous pile of dishes. You try to play it off, after all, Chaeyoung had seen parts of you you hadn’t even seen, but there was no worse embarrassment than having your homegirls see your clown of a boyfriend’s ridiculousness. “He’s so romantic,” she swoons, and you shoo her away from the offending device as you wipe your hands down on your t-shirt.

you for what?? One 20 second round 🤥

Chaeyoung suddenly cackles from over your shoulder, and you swear your soul leaves your body.

You don’t get a response until exactly five hours and thirteen minutes later, your phone vibrating like crazy on the edge of your bathtub, and if you hadn’t given it a hearty kick and sent it flying across the room, front screen shattering into the most intricate spider web of glass shards, it would have fallen into the water. The terror.

kook pls pick me up

kook also haha. U r soooo funny 😑

You’re halfway to the airport, idly sitting in traffic and giving the public a free, Beyonce-like experience of The Script’s Breakeven, when you realize you’re not wearing any pants. You’re not exactly sure which part of Jungkook’s long t-shirt had tricked you into believing you were decently dressed, but you’re not too mad. After all, Jungkook’s trip with the boys had been a last minute decision that did not take into consideration your never-ending thirst for your boyfriend, so a little payback never hurt anybody.

He’s sitting on top of his suitcase outside the airport when you get there, cute Birkenstock-clad feet swinging back and forth as he waits for you like the good boy he is. He crouches down by the passenger window, “Uh, yeah, is this the Uber?”

You can’t even bother hiding the smile that consumes your face, and it only grows tenfold when he finally gets in and immediately leans over the center console to kiss you. “Look who’s finally back from their little bachelor party,” you murmur, eyes lidded dangerously low when he breaks away.

“Oh, the party where I accidentally sleep away my life-savings to a stripper named Aries and then have to go home and beg for my wife’s forgiveness?” He responds immediately, devious pink tongue swiping out to lick at your bottom lip.

You snort. “Joke’s on you, because our hot pool boy kept me company and treated me better in four days than my husband had in six years,” you mumble, finger looping into the silver chain around his neck to pull him close again.

“Not our hot pool boy,” he whines, smile pressed adorably to your lips.

You almost retort, but a ten-second horn blast from the car behind you has the two of you jumping three feet from each other, like teenagers caught making out in the school parking lot.

Just as you’d predicted via text, Jungkook barely has the energy to walk up the steps to your apartment, much less fuck you like he’d promised. “Fuck, stop being healthy and let us take the elevator,” he grunts, pushing his suitcase onto the final platform leading to your floor.

“Nope,” you concede. “The stairs give me a good view of your ass going up.”

He shoots you a scandalized look, like you’re an old man who’d just catcalled him on the street. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

It’s when you’re unlocking the front door, sending out a little prayer to the heavens (Chaeyoung) for the blessing of an empty apartment, that he notices your lack of proper clothing. “Oh, hell no,” he groans, immediately crowding you against the armchair nearest the door.

You laugh, struggling to turn to face him as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “What seems to be the problem?”

He sighs against the shell of your ear, and you’d be a liar to say it didn’t send a gush of wetness to your core. Jesus, just a single puff of air from Jungkook was enough to turn your coochie into a Fruit Gusher. “Not your sexy legs again,” he whines, and you giggle when he presses those pouty lips to yours.

“Thought I was supposed to have this pussy ready for you,” you tease, tilting your head up until your noses brush against each other. Jungkook lets a soft huff of a sigh go, eyes fluttering shut at your close proximity.

There’s a hand that creeps along the back of your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin until he finally guides it upwards, hitched over his hip. The new position has your body curving backwards, tilted over the edge of the couch as he continues crowding closer and closer to you. “Baby,” he whines, and the tone and sudden usage of your favorite nickname wipes the teasing smile off your face. “I missed you so much,” he purrs, in that tone that says he knows he has you under his complete control, all he has to do is take care of you.

Still, you try to put up some sort of a fight. “I’m sure your eyes were kept entertained in Vegas,” you retort weakly, not even bothering to hide the jealousy in your tone.

Jungkook laughs, before puckering his lips and smothering you. Instantly, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His hair tickles your face from how long it’s gotten, and when you brush it back, collecting it into a makeshift baby ponytail, you can’t even enjoy the sight because Jungkook is pressing his rock hard member against your inner thigh.

“You think I’m a cheater?” He muses when he finally pulls away, a little entranced by the saliva that coats your lips in a thin sheen. “Couldn’t be even if I wanted to.” Before you can ask what that even means, he’s hauling you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, his cock now cradled between your thighs, right where you want him most. You moan immediately, head lolling backwards at the touch you’d craved for days. “Feel that? No one gets my dick hard like you do, baby.”

Even though his adrenaline is on one hundred, and he’s clearly blinded by his lust, Jungkook still sets you down on the bed like you’re made of glass. Any comments you may have made are smothered by his lips on yours, fingers gripping your waist like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark and his breath is a little heavy where it fans against the lower half of your face.

“So pretty,” he huffs, rolling his hips against yours. You groan, eyes rolling back as the familiar feeling of your boyfriend between your legs consumes you. Jungkook presses his mouth against the skin of your neck, where the faintest sheen of sweat had begun to form the moment you unlocked the front door.

If you thought you were loud, the sounds leaving Jungkook’s throat are teetering on the edge between a pornstar and a yodelling-enthusiast. You can’t help the smirk crossing your features. “Are you really gonna come?”

Jungkook was many things, and drama queen was definitely very high on that list. He gives you the most scandalized expression, stopping the movement of his hips to scoff. “As if,” he snorts, but you know that little eyebrow furrow a little too well.

You snort, reaching down to his sides as you try to discreetly urge him to start up again. “Baby, your jaw is twitching,” you point out, a soft whine leaving your lips when he shifts your leg up. It’s this same sound that has him finally moving again.

“Yeah, well,” he groans, one hand deathly gripping into your hip now, pressing you down onto the bed so hard you feel the comforter will swallow you up any minute now. “I just got my wisdom teeth removed, ‘member?”

Your retort is briefly cut off by the cry you let out when he ducks down to suck a mark beneath your jaw. “M-Months ago,” you weakly respond,

Jungkook ignores you in favor of using his Hulk strength to fold you in half, groans borderline animalistic as he grinds his cock into your soaked panties. His jaw is tight like you’d said, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. He hated coming before you, seldom doing it unless it was one of those rare days where he wanted you to pamper him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, swallowing your pitiful whines before pushing his tongue down your throat. There was something sexy about your boyfriend being so turned on that his saliva production was off the charts. “You’re gonna ask me to do that thing again, aren’t you?” He predicts.

All you can do is nod, and Jungkook smirks. “Ah,” he says, much like a doctor would, and you comply, mouth wide. You see the muscles beneath his jaw twitch, and a moment later he’s leaning over you with puckered lips, a glob of saliva begging to drip down.

The moan that catches in your throat has him smiling, tongue peeking out to cut the bridge of saliva that connected the two of you, and you want to tell him you love him, but then he’s raising his eyebrows at you, motioning for you to swallow, so you do. “Absolutely filthy,” he grins, and then returns to thrusting against you.

As much as you liked to tease him, he’s good at fulfilling the sexual aspects of his boyfriend role, and he guides you to your orgasm moments later. Of course, he does so by toying with your tits just the way you like, lips pressed firmly to yours as you become a boneless heap beneath him. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before he’s shifting back onto his haunches, tugging you closer until the backs of your knees are cradled carefully in his elbows.

Despite your transcended state, you love watching Jungkook get himself off, and your eyes flutter as you watch him thrust sloppily against your soiled panties. They’re soaked by your own arousal, and had Jungkook’s sweats not been as dark as they were, you’re almost certain you’d see how they stained.

He comes a moment later, body twitching and fingers tightening against your skin. His chest heaves, head lolling back as he tries to regain his senses. Silence envelopes the room.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You blurt, no longer able to pretend like something isn’t completely wrong.

Jungkook rolls his neck out, a satisfying crack resounding, as he angles to look at you again. His tongue is poking against his cheek in that cocky way it does sometimes, and he furrows his brows at you. “What?”

You shuffle up onto your elbows, motioning towards him with the vaguest wave possible. He blinks. You groan.

“What did you do?” You question, and immediately his eyes go wide and shiny in that way they do when you’re reprimanding him and he doesn’t see the wrong in his ways.

Cute little lips forming a pout he remains as confused. “Nothing? We really just went to fuck around and get drunk—“

“Kook.”

“You don’t actually think I cheated, I thought we were just joking? Unless…” he trails off, doe eyes suddenly filled with fear. “You weren’t?”

“Jungkook—“

He intercepts you, “did you do something while I was gone? Who was he? Or she? Wow,” he huffs to himself in disbelief. “I don’t even know you well enough to know if you’re into more than just men.” The frown on his face is getting deeper with each word he utters and you almost can’t believe how dumb he could be. “No wonder… am I a terrible boyfriend?” He asks, voice louder and more concerned than it’s been all night.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” You say, and Jungkook looks just as lost by your response as you are with his. “Because I’m talking about whatever this is,” you explain, reaching up to drag a hand through his dual-colored locks.

They’d been carefully tucked under his bucket hat when you’d picked him up, a tuft of blonde peeking out from in front of his ear. It wasn’t until he’d tipped you over the side of the couch that it had tumbled off. Of course, at the time, there had been other pressing matters at hand than wondering why your Hannah Montana blonde boyfriend had returned as Todoroki, which is why you’d waited until now to revisit the topic.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Then, as if processing the emotional episode he’d just given you, he gives you a sheepish smile. It’s one of those smiles where his lips press together thinly and cutely and the apples of his cheeks seem like the squishiest things in the world. “Oh…” he says, voice soft and nothing like the man that spit in your mouth five minutes ago. “You like it?”

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #bts smut #jjk smut #mine #what did i even use to tag with lolol #sc universe #skirtverse #skirtfic

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ayellowbirds · 3 years ago

Photo

Today being my birthday, i had the time and energy to finally do some drawing after ages of neither time nor drive. So, i spent that on sketching out some headshots of the recurring characters of 33 Usher Street, my 1920s (and beyond?) vampire hunters story. Meet the employees, management, friends, and nuisances of the Usher Street House of Antiquities and Curios, an estate management company specializing in settling the affairs of the unusually deceased. This is both a source of income and a cover for their real calling: the elimination of dangerous vampires and other hostile undead.

Solomon “Sol” Szombathy (gay intersex man), a Jewish dhampir of Romanian-American extraction (late of Pittsburgh, Vandalia) has arrived at the USHAC with his guardian in tow, after both of them got involved in a vampire attack. Sol’s ability to see the invisible and the surges of supernatural strength he gets when battling the undead are especially useful, as is the hawthorn-wood cane he uses to deal with the chronic pain he feels the rest of the time.

James “Jim” Cullock III (asexual cisgender man) is a Scottish immigrant who helped co-found the USHAC as the assistant of a longtime vampire hunter; his love of gardening has given him many potent botanical weapons against vampires, including especially hardy and richly-scented roses that repel most bloodsuckers. He’s taken to maintaining a backstage role for the most part, as his lifelong issues with visual hallucinations have gotten worse with age.

The Reverend Doctor Matteus J. Hammer (transgender man of no particular sexuality) is an aging monster hunter of no small repute, his experience having brought him briefly as a boarder to the Szombathy house. His recommendation brought Sol to Usher Street, but can the perspective of this eccentric wandering hero be relied upon?

Randolph Carter (in-denial bisexual cis man) was once an author of minor repute with a fondness for the strange and occult, but encounters with the genuinely supernatural have mellowed his previously bigoted worldview. While he still struggles to be a halfway decent person in a reality that is at odds with his beliefs, his expertise with languages, obscure subject matters, and research makes him at least a useful jackass when it comes to spending time among his books.

Pluton is a very good judge of character, for a one-eyed cat. And oddly skilled at making his way out of dangerous situations, to the point that one might almost think he has more than the usual nine lives. It’s no wonder that the USHAC often bring the cat along.

Constance “Connie” Wright (pansexual cis woman) is a former orphan with the miraculous talent to ‘chew’ raw materials into new shapes, a skill she most often uses to create nails for sealing up coffins and the like. Naturally, the rail-thin Connie’s favorite weapon is a heavily weighted steel sledgehammer, when she can’t just do some slugging with a sturdy baseball bat.

Dorotheea “Dotty” Szombathy (transgender lesbian) is a golem that once served as Sol’s guardian, and is now happily living as his adopted sister. Her ability to reshape her naturally earthen clay body pairs well with her immunity to most forms of vampiric attack, as an artificial being. Prone to switching between having difficulty speaking at all and being effusively loquacious, she finds it easiest to focus when she has something to occupy her hands and mind.

Marie Bosley (bisexual cis woman) was and is the greatest vampire hunter in the United States, even if these days she prefers to stay at home and listen to music. Her unmatched knowledge of apotropaic magic allows her to create boundaries and barriers that no vampiric influence can pass, and lets her open the way for her proteges.

Esther "Essie” Levi (asexual cis woman) is the self-proclaimed ‘fastest knot-tier east of the Rockies’, and an unmatched expert in knotting string, yarn, thread, and cord to achieve magical effects. Paired with a gift for strategic thinking and an eye for symptoms of vampirism, she can easily weave a web that no bloodsucker is going to get through.

Aleister “Al” Jones (gay cis man) is a multilingual expert in stealth, infiltration, and charm whose gentlemanly demeanor is in no way at odds with his fondness for boxing. Unfortunately for opponents that would see him as unarmed except for a disarming smile, he’s also the bearer of a pair of gloves lined with the relics of a Catholic saint invoked against vampires.

Wilhemina “Will” Fawkes (lesbian cis woman) is the USHAC’s resident machinery buff, with cutting-edge expertise in automobiles, radios, firearms, and more. Her fondness for artifice means that the only thing that can distract her from something shiny and new is an animated short at the nearest theater, and her love of testing the limits of machinery means that her allies often find she’s made unexpected ‘upgrades’ to important equipment.

Adriaen ten Boom (bisexual cis man) is the most senior of the employees of the USHAC, a skilled actor whose pyrokinetic gift makes his good looks more than just smoldering. In spite of these charms, he’s actually fairly naïve when it comes to romance, and is prone to charming his way into entanglements he didn’t mean to get into.

Smith the Mechanical Heel (just a real dick) is a World’s Fair experiment gone wrong, and now runs the criminal underworld in Jackson, Massachusetts—which puts him at odds with the USHAC, since that’s where their home base is. He sees most of the employees as potentially useful additions to his crew, but he’s especially interested in learning more about Dotty’s magically-constructed nature, in the hopes of making himself more lifelike. He’s not above getting involved in things that involve the undead....

The Ghosts of Madeline and Roderick Usher (cis lesbian and cis gay man) are the former owners of the land on which the USHAC was built, and haven’t moved on since the new tenants turned up. Freed of mortal concerns, they’re fond of teasing the living staff members, and serve as a second line of defense after Marie’s wards and magical traps. Roderick is absolutely certain that he’s going to get his ectoplasm all up on Randolph one of these days, and nobody feels up to questioning his taste in men; Madeline is the company gossip fiend and the best source of information on comings and goings at 33 Usher Street.

Dr. Joaquín de la Garza (closeted nonbinary queer) is a local physician who has a close working relationship with the USHAC, and is very fond of the mysteries and excitement they bring to his life. Exactly what brought a medical expert of Zapotec and Spanish heritage all the way up east is uncertain, but the good doctor seems to know a lot more about the supernatural than one might expect from just his familiarity with the secrets of the Usher Street staff.

Phoebe Khrysos (???) is a remarkably pristine ancient automaton, whose actual provenance is uncertain. Resembling a child made of silver, glass, and gold, she has a mischievous mystery about her that makes her more like a mechanical fairy than a precious relic. What motivates her and how she sees the living and the undead remain to be seen....

Zuleika Dobson (pansexual cis woman) is a a con artist, thief, and scammer who has broken many hearts and far more bank accounts; her lack of concern about what she leaves in her wake may have finally caught up with her when she targets some valuable goods in a city with a vampire problem. Can someone so untrustworthy be relied upon when there’s undeath to deal with, or will her self interest put her in the way of both bloodsuckers and the USHAC alike?

33 Usher Street leans heavily on the public domain, and will do so much more than just in the few characters here that originated elsewhere. Some of these designs are likely to change as the story develops, but i’m just so happy to finally get them on paper!

#33 usher street #my art #sketches

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

Text

pirate king (27) || atz

You’ve learned that Hongjoong’s determination knows no bounds.

Because a week after that terrible little fiasco, he and Yeosang have gotten straight into planning how to slip into Nassau once again.

“Are you serious?” You had asked them, leaning over the map that they’re studying as you brought their dinner to them, Seonghwa’s masterpiece, beef stew. Hongjoong takes the bowl from you gratefully and starts to shovel the food down his throat, never once looking away from his map.

It’s a map of Nassau Island, with several navigational notes to it that you don’t understand, talking about tides, depth of the ocean and what not. Yeosang is pointing out a patch of map off the eastern coast of Nassau that is painted a darker blue than the rest.

“We could drop anchor here.” Yeosang says, gesturing to it. “And have two people take a rowboat out to the beach that Chin Hae and Wooyoung swam to the last time. They could retrace their steps from there.”

Captain nods as he studies the map intently, but his brow is furrowed. “I worry about the tide, though. It should be coming in, but anything could change.”

Yeosang shrugs, taking his meal from you with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Chin Hae. We can’t really do anything about the tide, since nature itself controls it as it will, but that’s a risk Seonghwa will have to take.”

Hongjoong nods once. “It’s final. This is what we’re going to do..” The navigator gets up, rolling the maps and tidal charts up, before giving you a quick smile. “I’ll go over the plan with Seonghwa, then. See you, Chin Hae!”

His fingers grasp yours as he leaves. Ever since the two of you had brushed death hand in hand, you find his fingers have instinctively begun seeking yours. It’s cute, the two of you are almost like twins now, two people cut from the same cloth.

The door swings shut behind you, and then you and Captain are the only two people left in the cabin since the time the crew discovered you are a woman.

Your captain looks at you for a moment as he unconsciously flexes the fingers of his right hand, the one he had crushed after San had told him of Yeosang’s condition.

It occurs to you that since waking up, you haven’t apologised to him yet.

You muster up all the courage you have in you, bowing before your captain deeply.

“I’m sorry, captain.”

Hongjoong must know what you’re apologising about, because his face stiffens a little. Then it relaxes, ever so slightly as he reclines in his chair, San having healed the damage done to his back during the week you were unconscious.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“I don’t accept your apology.”

Your heart stops in your chest. He doesn’t… accept your apology? You lift your head just a little to stare at him, and he gazes back it you, green eye firm and unyielding. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle, a little sad, a little hurt.

“I need to know why you lied to me, lied to all of us. I could have understood if you’d told us you were hiding the truth from us because you were afraid that we would leave you behind if we found out about your identity, but after you became part of our crew, there is no excuse, Chin Hae.”

All sorts of emotions swirl in you, the most prominent one guilt. You’ve hurt your captain, lied to the crew, and now you need to give them an explanation, except that you have none that makes sense.

“I…” You begin hesitantly, fingers fiddling with the hairpin at your belt. Its touch is cool and comforting, even if the man who gave it to you hasn’t said a word to you since you woke up. “I was afraid at first. Afraid that if you found out who I was, you’d leave me behind. But as I started to grow closer to all of you…”

The words choke in your throat.

Hongjoong’s expression is soft as he urges you to continue. “Go on.” The dam in you breaks, tears slipping past your eyes as the feelings that you’ve kept in so long spills out of you.

“I didn’t know how you’d react! I saw how all of you trusted me as one of your own and I was so afraid what you’d do if I told you I had been lying to you the whole time! I didn’t want you to be hurt, I didn’t want you to hate me! I just wanted to keep being Chin Hae, your crewmate! And now, everything has changed!” A sob leaves you and your eyes squeeze tight, unable to look your captain in the eye. You don’t want to see the look on his face as he tells you that this is a stupid reason, that you should have just come clean at the start.

But he doesn’t.

There is silence for a moment, then the scraping sound of a chair behind pulled out. You hear soft footsteps on the cabin floor approaching you, and for a moment, you’re actually afraid that your captain might hit you.

Instead, two warm hands come to rest gently on your shoulders.

“What has changed?” He asks softly. You look up in shock to see your captain’s faces mere inches from yours, so close that you can count the stitches on his eye patch. You’ve always wondered why your captain needs an eye patch, just like how you’ve questioned why Wooyoung always wear shirts with longs sleeves even on the hottest of days and why he wears shackles around his wrists like a slave. But this isn’t the time for those questions.

“I don’t understand-”

“Nothing has changed.” Your captain tells you firmly, not a trace of doubt in his voice. “You are Choi Chin Hae, you are and have always been since the day I gave you that name. You are still part of the Treasure, part of my crew, one of my family. Even if you are a woman, a clay one, instead of a man of flesh, neither of those things change for me.”

Warm tears run down your eyes. You finally have something you had been searching for your whole life, a family who loved you like no other.

“Why I wish you had told us earlier… is because we could have protected you better, made your life easier on this ship instead of having you live a lie.” Hongjoong says honestly, his hands are gentle as he squeezes your shoulders. Something in his voice cracks. “I regret, with every fibre of my being, being unable to protect you from that commander back in Nassau.”

You don’t understand your captain. He was getting whipped within an inch of his life because of you, and the thing that weighed most heavily on his mind was being unable to protect you?

“I’m… sorry, captain.” You manage to stutter, still utterly in shock. But your captain shakes his head, his green eye staring at you meaningfully.

“I believe that apology is better saved for someone else, Chin Hae.”

You immediately know who he’s speaking about. Your fingers touch the silver sea flower wrought into the head of the hairpin.

“I will.” You tell your captain, determined to make amends. Even if he doesn’t forgive you for betraying him, you still owe him an apology, at the very least. “But I’m still sorry for causing you all this burden, captain.”

Hongjoong laughs, stepping back as his hands fall from your shoulders.

“Didn’t you hear what I said to Seonghwa the last time? I want you to tell me all your problems, burden me with everything, share life with me and the crew. We’re a family.”

The tears that slip from your eyes, this time, are ones of happiness.

“Yes, captain.” You manage choke out, and before you’re overcome with emotion, you move for the door, intent on finding the head gunner. But when you’re out of the cabin, stepping onto the main deck, a call from your captain makes you whirl back to look at him.

“Chin Hae?”

You’re a little confused by what he wants to say. He seems to be pondering something, rolling the thought around in his mind. You prompt him, curious about why he seems to be so hesitant.

“Captain?”

Finally, he smiles, and your breath catches in your throat from how it highlights every part of his face even in the gloom of his cabin.

“Call me Hongjoong.”

And with that, the door closes in your face with a soft click.

A happy laugh leaves through your tears. The words seem almost instinctive to you now, more free on your tongue than they have ever been. Before, you had been part of the crew, but now, you are part of the family.

“Of course… captain.”

A light feeling blossoming in your heart, you wipe the tears from your eyes and look up to the sky with a smile.

And you see a dark shape in the rigging, swaying back and forth with the wind, looking utterly alone.

Concern wells in your chest. San had told you that Wooyoung had been been remaining in the rigging for the past week you had been unconscious, only visiting your bedside once. During that time, he had refused his meals, snapped at everyone who had attempted to talk to him and had literally drunk himself half to death. In fact, he probably would have, San had told you grimly, if he hadn’t gotten into a massive fist fight with Jongho.

The maknae had tied a rope around Wooyoung’s waist, picked him up and thrown him into the sea to sober off. After that, the gunner had stopped downing alcohol like he was trying to drown himself in it, but it evidently wasn’t enough to stop him from separating himself from everyone like he had the plague.

Worse of all, Yunho had confided in you, eyes worried, that Wooyoung seemed to be regressing back into the behaviour he had exhibited when he had first come to the ship. He had ignored Hongjoong’s orders, which simply doesn’t happen on this ship, and had even refused to speak to Yunho or Yeosang.

Lonely, afraid and terrified of interacting with anyone around him.

You need to apologise.

Crossing the main deck, you make your way to the foremast, climbing up to the forecastle deck. The dark shape above you continues swaying precariously in the ropes above, uncaring of anything below it.

You exhale deeply, trying to muster up the courage to speak.

“Wooyoung!”

The dark shape jerks, almost tumbling out of the rigging, to your horror. But his hand flashes out instinctively from years in the ropes, gripping tight onto the sheets, and he rights himself, glancing down.

His eyes meet yours for a second, and in that moment, your heart shatters.

You honestly don’t know what you were expecting when you met him face to face again. You remembered, more than anything else, that his face had been the last thing you’d seen when you slipped into your tangle with death itself, streaked with tears and grief. You couldn’t exactly recall what he’d said or you’d said, but you had seen his face in your dreams more times than you could count.

But in none of them had he looked like this.

The person staring back at you looks like a man haunted, as if he’s just surfaced from a terrifying nightmare, trapped in the shadows of his own mind, desperately wondering if he’s still merely wandering about in the darkness. His normally immaculate purple hair is mussed, as if he hasn’t bothered with it for weeks, and his mouth hangs open in shock.

Then he smooths it over the best he can, but you can see the wounded, terrified look in his eyes right before it slips away behind his mask. Hiding his true self in front of your eyes.

“I’m coming up.” You call, and you don’t think you’ve seen him more panicked your entire life.

His eyes fly wide in horror and he opens his mouth to protest, but then immediately shuts it before a word can escape him, much to your confusion. You place your hands on the rope, the thick lengths twisting under your grasp as you begin to haul yourself up.

It’s been a long time since you’ve touched the ropes, but you’re sure it’ll come back to you soon. You’re just not sure whether it’ll come back fast enough to catch Wooyoung, who’s scurrying away from you up the mast like a terrified monkey. Honestly, your limbs are still weak from your long bedrest and you doubt that you can catch the man who’s practically lived in the ropes for half his life, but you need to at least make an effort for all the pain you’ve put him through.

“Wooyoung, wait!” You shout, chasing him up as fast as you can. He doesn’t look back once, scrambling as fast as he can to avoid you at all costs. But there’s only one way he can go, and that is up. Eventually, he reaches the top of the mast, and there’s nowhere else for him to go. His eyes widen as he realises this and he glances at your approaching figure like it’s the devil itself come for him.

Then his eyes flicker to the side and you gape, a swear starting to emerge from your mouth. “Wooyoung, no-”

But it’s too late. He’s already jumped across the rigging, catching onto the ropes of the main mast and hiding from your sight behind the wooden pillar.

“Are you serious, Wooyoung?” You grumble, grabbing a rope from the side and swinging across to him. The wind and warmth of the sun caresses your face as you grab onto the ropes of the main mast, barely catching a glimpse of his eyes as he leaps to the mizzenmast.

Honestly, if you follow him again, he’s probably just going to jump into the ocean to avoid you and you’ll never get to apologise to him. Then a dumb, reckless plan pops into your mind and you start climbing higher and higher, as fast as you can.

“Do you trust me?” Wooyoung had asked you once.

You had replied with a joking ‘not at all’, but deep in you, the words still stayed the same, no matter what had happened between the two of you.

With my life.

“Wooyoung!” You call, and from your time together in the rigging, learning about the way each other thinks, moves, breathes, he can sense something in the air. One eye peeks around the wood of the mast, only to widen in horror as he sees you stand at the highest yardarm, arms outstretched, only holding on to a single length of rope in hand.

It’s a trick that the two of you had developed, before the mission, before Nassau, before any of this had happened. It had just been the two of you, you resting against him in the crow’s nest, your intertwined hands in his coat pocket for warmth as you had watched the sun vanish behind the sea and the stars twinkle to life in the night sky.

You want, for a moment so desperately it hurts, to return to that time.

“No, don’t do it-” You see him begin to shout in raging alarm and panic, but you simply grin at him, wild and breathless from the sheer stupidity and recklessness of what you’re about to do. You’ve never done it from this high before, but you place your faith in Wooyoung, closing your eyes.

“Catch me.”

With that, you jump.

Wind rushes past you for a second as you seems to hang in free fall, but you’re not the least bit scared like you should be. In a single breath, something warm slams into your body, sending you flying backwards. Strong arms wrap around you, one around your waist and the other catches the rigging behind you. Your entire body jerks as you come to an abrupt stop, tangled in the ropes and in Wooyoung’s arms.

His body is warm against yours, pressing you to him. For a moment, relief sags in you.

Your eyes fly open, only to see Wooyoung’s eyes staring straight into yours, pupils still dilated from fear.

Then his mouth opens, and from incensed look on his face, you’re about to get a tongue lashing.

“What were you thinking-” He rants, furious at your actions. But you aren’t paying attention to his scolding, instead, your eyes flicker over the sickly, bloodless pallor of his face, the way his jawline looks too sharp from lack of proper eating, skin stretched over his bones, how gaunt he looks with sunken cheeks. There’s a healing bruise on his cheekbone, still fresh, put there presumably by Jongho.

Your heart breaks clean in half when you study the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, as if he hasn’t slept the entire week, how the white colouring of his skin makes them look like dark bruises.

“And do you know how dangerous that little stunt was? What would you have done if I hadn’t gotten to you in time? I can’t believe-” His words are cut off in a breathless gasp as your hands reach up to cradle his face gentle, thumbs brushing the soft skin under his eyes. He stares at you with wide eyes, terrified but so desperately unwilling to pull away from your touch, a war raging in his heart.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” You murmur softly, tracing his cheeks and for a second, in a moment of weakness, he gives into your warmth, pressing his face into your hand. For a while, everything is right again with you and him, two people seeking comfort in each other.

That’s what the two of you have always been, a refuge for the other.

Then he catches himself and yanks himself from you, clapping one hand over his mouth, turning away so that you can no longer see his face.

“Go.” You hear him choke out, the words muffled by his hand as he sits down on the yardarm, unwilling to look at you in the eye. But you’ve had enough.

“Stop running from me, Jung Wooyoung!”

He seizes up at his full name. Nobody on board this ship calls him that, aware that his family name isn’t a real one. It’s something Hongjoong gifted him with when he had become one of the crew, a precious treasure of incomparable worth to him. But when you use it, he knows you understand the weight of it.

Having a name, when before you had none.

You see him shake his head and bury his face in his hands, knees curled up to himself. He doesn’t want to speak.

Crossing over to him, you crouch before his form. Initially, you had thought he was angry at you and merely didn’t want to talk to you out of fury at being lied to like that, but now you feel like it runs so much deeper than that.

“Wooyoung, talk to me, please.”

He shakes his head again, a little more frantic this time. You hear a sob torn from his chest and the sound of pain, anguish, agony makes yours ache in return.

“I’m begging you, Wooyoung. Please. Please talk to me.”

He remains completely still apart from the silent cries you can hear trapped in his chest. You’ve never seen him this vulnerable before, like a child who wants nothing more than to run to his parents for comfort, but doesn’t have any.

Someone who doesn’t know how to be told that it’s all going to be okay.

You rack your brains furiously for what happened to make him like this. Back and back and back, to that moment in the captain’s room, to when Wooyoung looked at you with eyes burning with ice cold fury. You see his lips move, and then you remember what he had said to you.

I wish… I wish you had died that first battle after Raguza... I wish you had never come to this ship.

“I didn’t mean it…” You hear Wooyoung’s soft whimpers as his body is wracked with the force of his sobs. Your heart breaks as you finally realise why he’s afraid of speaking to you any longer, why he won’t look at you in the eye. “I never wanted for any of that to happen… I never wanted for you to get hurt like that…”

A tear escapes you, a single drop rolling down your cheek.

He blames himself for what you had done.

Then you move forward, arms wrapping around him. His entire body stiffens in shock at your touch and he tries to shy away, but you cling to him, unwilling to let him go this time. Your chin rests on his shoulder, so close to him you can hear his heartbeat in your ears.

“I forgive you, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Don’t-” He chokes past tears, and another shudder runs through his entire body. “Don’t forgive me.”

You smile at him fondly even if you know he can’t see it. “Then you forgive me for lying to you.”

“I don’t blame you for that.” He sniffs, wiping his eyes but face still hidden in his arms. “You had every reason not to tell me. I had no right to say anything like that to you.”

“If you don’t let me forgive you, Wooyoung, I’m going to jump off the mast right this second.” You tell him, pulling away. Wooyoung’s hands rush to grab your wrists, pulling you tight to him, his chains jingling in your ears.

“Forgive me, forgive me-” He chokes out, wheezing from the heart attack he has almost gotten. You laugh, curling yourself into his chest where you’ve always sat before as you watch the sun begin to set before your eyes, turning the sky golden and blue.

This time, you take his hand in yours and place it in your pocket.

“I do.”

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