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thebadbatch · 3 years ago

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Hii, can I request Crosshair being send by the empire to delay a rebel politician reader with the excuse of protecting her, but it happens to be a mission longer than expected and they start bonding and such? Thank you

A /N: l hope this is what you were looking for! I really liked writing this one so it's longer than the other oneshots I've written because I got carried away!

Imperial!Crosshair x Fem!RebelSenate

Plot: The empire have taken over the planet you try to protect and you've been assigned an imperial guard to protect you from the Bounty Hunter's who want you dead or for their own use. Crosshair ends up being your guard and connections blossom throughout the ongoing mission.

Warnings: Detailed description of Violence and a light mention of blood.

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Delay

"Why on Stars would you think I'd accept somebody from the Empire to protect me?" You shouted, anger clearly coating your voice as you spoke to your helpers. One sighed and stood forward, gently walking with you through the large and rather extravagant hallways of the place you were assigned to stay. "Don't you understand I'm a rebel? I speak for peace." Your helper nodded lightly, doing her best to remain professional.

"The planet you speak for is under the Empire now, my lady." She paused as you both continued to walk where you'd be greeted with the being who said they'd have to protect you. Things didn't feel right though, it was all so sudden but you had no choice but to leave your questions unanswered otherwise the Empire would silence you once and for all. "Please, allow them to give you their protection - just until things calm down." Nodding slightly in agreement you couldn't help but sigh as imperial ships came into view, storm troopers littering the streets whilst an admiral came to greet you whilst a darker clothed storm trooper stood behind him.

"Ah, senator y/n - I'm glad to hear the news that you've accepted our protection from bounty hunters set to kill you." Rolling your eyes, you soon narrowed your gaze onto him.

"Well it's not like I had much of a choice, is it?" Your words were coated in venom which only made the admiral laugh lightly sending wary shivers down your spine. You had spent years giving people hope, but now you were working alongside the very thing you swore to destroy.

"I'm sure time with your newly assigned guard will change your view of things and you'll give out a good word for the Empire." The trooper stepped forward and removed his helmet to place it under his arm. His hair was a light silver, an interesting mark lay over his eye which only left you with burning questions. "This trooper is named Crosshair, he's the current leader of our newly formed Elite squad. This building will be on complete lockdown until the bounty hunters are eliminated, our trooper will be sure to defend you with his life."

"Yes sir." Crosshair confirmed, his voice was filled with mystery and confidence which just made you shiver.

"I appreciate your time and service, admiral." You had to practically bite your tongue to muster out those words. There was no other choice but to go along with it until there was some sort of reliable plan to get out of here.

Turning your attention to Crosshair you thought the day through, "Come then, i'll show you around." He nodded and began to trail after you, a serious expression glued to his face. Showing him each individual area on the floor you were assigned to did take some time, but it was worth the protection and the longer this lasted the longer you could take to think up a plan to leave. "This is the final room, the Sleeping quarters. There are separate beds so I do hope you're not too fussed on sharing." He took a light breath in as he looked around, walking to the empty bed which would be his.

"That's not an issue." Sitting on your own bed, you watched as he did the same on his. The beds were opposite one another which gave him the best view to ensure you were safe at any given time.

"Well since we shall be spending a week or so cooped up together I thought that we could get to know one another." You attempted a smile towards him, one in which he didn't hesitate on not returning. Everybody from the Empire were so miserable and they were treated so horribly so you understood. "My name's y/n and I'm a politician reader on behalf of the rebels, I believe in hope and peace and know that it shall be achieved one day." A moment or so went by with no response from him, "How about you?" He shifted slightly against the blankets, moving his firepuncher rifle into his hands in a swift moment.

"I'm Crosshair, a sniper and currently your guard. I work alongside the Empire because they did not abandon me, they took me in." Tilting your head to the side slightly, you gave him a questioning gaze.

"Who abandoned you?" He gave out a hollow chuckle, wiping a spec of dust that had rested against his rifle.

"Nobody of your concern."

"You know that there are better places than the Empire? People who will view you as family and not an irrelevant number they can just replace." His eyes narrowed at you as he spoke.

"I'm sick of playing 'families', I'm happy where I am." You soon decided to drop the conversation, not fully willing to make the man who was supposed to protect your life hate you. Allowing silence to fill the room once again, you soon felt comfortable with it. This would only last a few weeks at most, you could get through it.

A week had passed since Crosshair was assigned as your guard and no attempt on your life had been made yet which you found rather surprising. Time had dragged by pretty surprisingly and you couldn't help but start talking outloud to Crosshair who didn't really respond but you knew he was listening and that's all you needed.

"... And that's why I absolutely dislike the dark." His comm soon beeped, and a different voice was heard filling the room for the first time in the week you shared together.

"A breach has occured, keep y/n safe and with you. We cannot risk her life being taken when she will be valuable to us." The voice fell silent as Crosshair replied quickly, placing his helmet over his head.

"Sir, yes sir." Standing he grabbed his rifle and turned toward you, "Let's go." He walked out of the room you were both in and this time you were the one trailing behind him anxiety and fear filling your chest rapidly.

"Where are we going?" You asked, trying not to let your voice shake with fear as his pace grew quicker toward a different room.

"A more secure room, preferably without windows." A loud shatter from behind you accompanied his words before a hand gripped onto yours pulling you into their chest. Before you could realize what was happening, a blaster was against your head and a hand against your throat which made it difficult to breathe. Crosshair had just as quickly pointed his rifle to the person trying to take your life, tension filling the air alongside your jagged and desperate breaths. "Let the girl go." The person simply laughed and stepped back toward the window which only made Crosshair put pressure against the trigger.

"What makes you think I'll let her go? She belongs with us - her skills could be vital for my kind." He snarled lightly in response as your breaths turned into light whimpers, your hands trying to pry the person's grip off of your neck.

"C-cross-" You whimpered out, voice filling the room. You couldn't see Crosshairs expression behind his helmet, but at your voice calling his name his face flashed with concern, worry and then anger. He didn't hesitate as he pulled the trigger, hitting the person in the head. The grip was freed from around your neck, red marks being left around your neck as you fell. Shattered glass cut into your hand, blood soon trailing down your skin. Crosshair picked you up all whilst activating his comm system.

"The threat has been neutralized." He took a soft breath before carrying you to the room you both shared, sitting you softly on your bed. "Requesting a clean up on the third floor." He ended the communication as he reached for the medkit in one of the draws, crouching before you and tending to your hand.

"Thank you..." You mumbled, watching him tend to your hand so carefully made your heart swell - it was a sweet action but something you assumed he was hired to do.

"I'm just following orders." He responded as he finished clearing your hand up - his fingertips moving across the red marks upon your skin. You watched his face turn into anger as he viewed the marks, applying some bacta to soothe the sting. "I won't let them touch you again." In all honesty, you felt terrified - everything suddenly felt so real and who knew how many more times an attempt would be taken on your life? Exhaling a shaky breath, you nodded at his words and you finally allowed him all of your trust. His eyes seemed gentle as he gazed at you, only kindness filling them as he stood. "I suggest you get some rest now, y/n - I'll keep watch over you." He pulled the blankets back for you before he moved to his own bed sitting on the edge gripping his rifle as his eyes scanned outside the window. After climbing into bed you felt the previous shock begin to calm down, the absence of the adrenaline leaving you feeling empty and cold along with the realization that your life was on the line kicking in.

"Crosshair?" You gently called his name, "Can you stay a little closer?" Your question felt out of character for you, but things were just so terrifying and uncertain that you were desperate for some comfort - especially from the man who had just saved your life. He didn't respond so you assumed he just ignored your question rather than saying no. Your doubts soon left though as you felt a weight beside you on your bed, Crosshair sitting beside your tired self. "Thank you." You whispered, the room falling into a comfortable silence as his hand rested against your leg covered by the blanket. Sleep was quick to overtake you, all of your previous worry seemingly melting away at his touch. With him beside you, the week ahead would be bearable for sure.

Plans had changed at the news of more bounty hunters being assigned to take you out or with them, now Crosshair was staying for longer until the Empire had things under control. A month had passed since the attempt on your life and you had both grown closer than ever. During your rants he would always respond willingly and help out with things whenever he could for you, in fact you both managed to become close with one another.

"So," You hummed as he turned his attention toward you, "when do you think they'll let you go back?" He shrugged lightly as he walked closer to you, helmet under his arm.

"Soon." Those words seemed to shatter your heart into literal pieces. "But I have no intention of leaving." A smile crept onto your lips as you moved closer toward him, eyes lit up like a city at night. Your hands held his own as thoughts raced around your head at an incredible speed,

"Why don't I make you my permanent guard? I'm sure the Empire will be overjoyed that I've taken a liking to their services…" You didn't miss the smirk that placed itself onto his lips, his hands softly squeezing your own. Before he could speak, his comm system lit up again.

"Trooper, are you prepared to move out? We have another mission assigned." Your eyes met him in a gentle gaze praying to the stars that he'd stay alongside you.

"Actually, there's been a delay- a proposition has been made which I'm sure will benefit the Empire." The comm fell silent as You moved closer into his arms before the communication device lit up in confirmation,

"Understood. Take your time." With that, you held his face and met your lips with hisin a gentle get loving kiss. Pulling away you couldn't help but sheepishly grin at him - a rare smile of his falling back onto his face which you adored.

"You'll stay with me?" You asked, voice beyond helpful as he moved closer to you.

"I'll stay - I don't want to leave you like they left me." Nodding softly, you offered him a smaller smile.

"I won't ever leave you Cross like they did, I love you." His lips met yours once again before you both came up with a detailed plan on keeping him with you whilst still getting your hope filled messages out there. You were going to take down the Empire one way or another, but now you had Crosshair with you which made everything better. It was you two against the galaxy for years to come.

"I love you too."

#the bad batch #Tbb #The bad batch x Reader #Crosshair x reader #Clone Force 99 #Bad Batch #Starwars #Fanfiction

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

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I hope that you are doing well! I love the your writing! If you are open to a Tarlos fic request: TK to Carlos after the doctor has told him Carlos might not make it through the next 48hrs "I cannot imagine life without you, please don't let me live my greatest fear. I won't survive."

Carlos has been working a case and it happens that he becomes a target. He starts getting messages at work, at home and becomes paranoid but doesn't tell TK, but TK can see that Carlos is on edge. Carlos picks a fight with TK so that he goes to stay with Owen for a while. Carlos does this to protect him, let him at least stay away so that if anything happens, TK is safe. Then one night, Carlos is alone at home and someone breaks in, torture ensues and he is barely clinging to life. He calls 911, Grace answers and he can barely get the words out "it's Carlos, send help". 📍

holly's august extravaganza day 10: i can't imagine my life without you

thank you!

ao3 | 1.9k | descriptions of torture, major character injury, angst, hopeful ending, open ending

TK knows he’s annoying people. The atmosphere in the ambulance is thick with tension whenever they’re out on a call, and it’s not much better back at the firehouse. He tries to keep his distance, occupying himself in the gym or aggressively doing chores, but he can’t avoid everyone forever and his bad mood is starting to spill over.

Like when he and Nancy fell back into their old pattern of snipping at each other, or when he nearly bit Paul’s head off when he asked what was wrong. It was less the question itself—though TK certainly doesn’t want to get into why he’s so out of it—and more the way Paul phrased it. Nobody likes to be asked ‘trouble in paradise?’, particularly when the answer is yes.

He just doesn’t understand. It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

Carlos hadn’t explained why; when TK had tried to push, he’d turned it into a fight, until TK had no choice but to leave. He’s been staying with his dad for a week now and he desperately misses his boyfriend, torn between wanting to go over and check on him and wanting to give him space.

He’d settled on a text, a simple you okay?, which still felt woefully inadequate. Carlos had been on edge for weeks before the blow up and TK hadn’t been able to get a word out of him about why.

The text is still unanswered, though it’s been marked as Read.

TK huffs and hauls himself up into the ambulance to check stock. He knows Nancy has already done it and she’s going to be pissed if she catches him, but he needs to keep his mind occupied somehow, lest he start to spin out. But the peace he finds is short-lived, as not ten minutes after he starts, TK looks up from his clipboard to see Judd approaching, hands held out in a pacifying gesture.

It has the opposite effect, TK’s nerves becoming that bit more frayed at the spooked animal treatment he’s getting, but his pointed glare does nothing to deter Judd. Nor does turning his back and returning to work, as he finds out when Judd’s heavy footsteps stop behind the rig and don’t move away.

“TK,” Judd says, his voice suspiciously rough.

TK doesn’t bother turning around, hoping it will get the message across. “Fuck off, Judd,” he says, which would normally be a guarantee of riling him up enough to get him to either leave TK alone or engage in a more physical manner.

At this point, TK doesn’t really care which reaction he gets.

Unfortunately, he’s not in luck today. Which, honestly, tracks.

“I got a phone call,” Judd continues, undeterred, “from Grace. Now, I figure you’ll be getting a similar one soon enough, but we thought it might be better if you heard it from us first.”

TK sighs and hangs his head, reluctantly turning around. “What?” he snaps out. When Judd doesn’t react, not even with a raised eyebrow, a quiet dread begins to pool in his gut, a little voice in the back of his head telling him he already knows ‘what’.

He tries to push it down, but there are very few reasons why Grace would call Judd and ask to talk to him. TK takes the proffered phone in a shaking hand, his heart starting to pound as he lifts it to his ear.

“Grace?”

“Hey, TK.” Grace’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but there’s a soothing note to it now, and more of the pieces start to slot together in TK’s head. “Listen, honey, I’m at work and I just got a call come through. I’m… I’m so sorry, TK. It was Carlos.”

TK’s breath catches, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “What do you mean?” he demands, voice shaky. “What do you mean ‘you’re sorry’?”

“He was… I don’t know. He was barely able to talk, but it sounded real bad. EMS 122 were in the area at the time so I sent them out; they should have arrived at the hospital by now.”

And TK… TK doesn’t know what to say to that. He slumps back on the bench in the rig, breathing turning shallow as he imagines what could have happened to Carlos. The last time they’d seen each other—the last time they’d spoken—it had ended with them throwing insults across the kitchen island and with TK packing a bag and slamming the door behind him.

The thought that it might be the last memory they have together kills him inside.

He needs answers. Before he can face this new reality, he needs to know what happened, which means there’s only one thing he can do right now.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to hear it.”

Judd has followed him up to the mercifully empty bunkroom, refusing to leave after both his and Grace’s attempts to dissuade him had failed. TK ignores him for the most part, but he does give in to his request to put the phone on speaker. Much as he wants to deal with this on his own, it is a kind of comfort to have Judd’s steady presence next to him.

“Are you sure about this, TK?” Grace asks for the millionth time. TK appreciates her concern, but he needs this. He needs to hear it for himself.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then.”

He hears a few clicks and then the recording starts, Grace’s voice coming over the speaker.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

No response.

“Hello?”

The silence continues, broken only by static, and then what TK recognises as heavy, gasping breaths.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

A few more seconds pass, and then, “Grace.”

TK has to suppress a sob at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice—though, if he didn’t know for sure it was Carlos, he wouldn’t have recognised it. His words come out ragged and hoarse, riding on breaths that seem to be getting slower and more laboured by the second. TK clutches the phone tighter in his hand, biting down hard on his lip.

“It’s… It’s Carlos. I… Send help. Please.”

“Carlos, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Grace goes unanswered, and TK suddenly notices that he can no longer hear the sound of Carlos breathing. His own breaths hitch, his lungs refusing to expand properly, and his vision blurs with tears as he curls in on himself, hands braced on the edge of the bed and gripping tightly onto the covers.

He doesn’t notice Judd taking the phone back, nor is he aware of him moving to sit next to him until he’s being pulled into a strong embrace, TK’s head cradled against Judd’s chest. Judd whispers things TK doesn’t hear as his hands gently rub his back, the touch grounding him as he loses himself to tears and the overwhelming pain in his heart.

Five minutes later, TK’s phone rings.

Fifteen minutes after that, they arrive at the hospital.

“Please,” TK whispers, clutching onto the hand in both of his. “Please don’t make me do this. I don’t… I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t, you understand me? I can’t. If you leave, I won’t survive it, so you just hang on for me, alright? Forget what the doctor thinks, you keep fighting, and come back to me. Please, Carlos. Please.”

TK looks up, hoping to see Carlos’s beautiful brown eyes staring right back at him, but of course they’re not. He might never see them again, which is something TK is still trying to wrap his head around. That’s not the only thing either; Carlos has so many injuries that he’s struggling to remember them all—the only thing he does remember with horrific clarity is the doctor’s words when he’d asked to speak to TK privately.

“We’ve done what we can, but I’m afraid Officer Reyes’s wounds are grave and there is a significant possibility that he may not make it beyond the next 48 hours. If he does, then we will re-evaluate, but currently his chances of recovery are slim. I’m truly sorry.”

TK wipes away a stray tear and presses a kiss to Carlos’s bruised knuckles. His other hand is completely shattered, and TK can barely stand to look at his face; it’s been beaten to a pulp, there’s a patch over one eye, and whoever attacked him even went so far as to rip out some of his teeth.

It’s grim, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his body. Torture is the only word to describe what happened to Carlos—brutal, savage, and without mercy, somebody tortured him in their home.

And he was alone.

“Son, you didn't know.”

“That’s no excuse. I left him.”

“Carlos pushed you away. He was trying to protect you.”

“And where was I when he needed protection?”

“TK—”

“Don’t, Dad.”

“TK, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please, Mitchell. I need to know. Carlos knew something was going to happen but he chose to drive me away instead of letting me in. I just… I just want answers.”

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

Carlos makes it through the 48 hours, but not without incident. Somewhere around hour 32, the machines had started going haywire, summoning an army of doctors who shoved TK out of the room, leaving him to stare in through the blinds as they worked to save Carlos’s life.

They’d done it, but it had taken TK hours to come down from the resulting panic attack.

“Oh my god.”

Mitchell is standing at his shoulder, watching him warily as he flips through the file she brought him from the station. She keeps looking around anxiously, as if her sergeant is going to appear and arrest her for misconduct at any moment, but TK only has eyes for the images and words in front of him.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, gesturing to the myriad of threatening messages they’d apparently found in Carlos’s desk.

She shakes her head. “We noticed he’d been acting weird, but we figured something was going on between you two. He never said a word to anyone that I know of.” She pauses and sighs shakily, placing a comforting hand on TK’s shoulder. “We, um. We found some at your house, too. In Carlos’s nightstand.”

TK stares, first at Mitchell, then at the file, then at Carlos, still just as silent and motionless as he’s been since the day all this happened. “Why?” he breathes, and he doesn’t know which one of them he’s addressing the question to.

The doctors are amazed when they get to a week and Carlos’s heart is still beating. He still has a ventilator breathing for him and there’s still been no sign of him waking up, but he’s not giving up.

TK wants to say that he never doubted him, but he can’t ignore his paramedic training. He’d heard how badly Carlos was injured; he’d seen the crime scene photos and all the blood coating their bedroom.

(He’d needed several minutes in the bathroom to recover from that sight)

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, all the signs pointed to Carlos not making it.

But he’s still here. Still fighting. And TK can’t help but let that little bit of hope into his heart.

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

Text

an americano

Remus X Reader (coffee shop AU)

Summary: He always asked for the same coffee order, but one day, he finally asks for your name.

A/n: So, I put up a post and the lovely @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room responded first with a request for a Remus drabble so here it is! Our soft nervous precious Remus. I limited myself to about 1k words, so it is truly a drabble, but I’m willing to do a part two if y’all are into it. It’s super cute, and yes, I may or may not be a barista at a coffee shop, but that’s beside the point. and I am seriously judging you if you like americanos

“So, you come here often?”

He had been coming here for weeks. Maybe a few months. And every time he followed the same routine. He’d walk from the small bookshop across the way and into my café just as my shift was coming to its midway point. Always in a jumper. Always with a beat-up satchel. He’d order an americano and sit in the corner booth and tap on his laptop and work through a book, frowning and typing again, until his coffee was gone, and he seemed satisfied with his progress.

Remus. The name he’d put for the order. The first time I wrote it on his cup was customary. By his third visit, I didn’t bother. I knew who he was. By his fifth, he just waved, and I smiled, already pulling the shot of espresso for his americano. After a while I’d write stupid things on his cup. The slower days when we were the only two in the café. The color of his jumper, a silly variation of his name, whatever the main character of his book was.

“Seeing as I work here,” I baited with a smile. “Yes,”

“Right,” He stammered. “Um...”

“Do you want another coffee?” I prompted, as he looked down, blushing a bright pink.

“I... uh.” He finally glanced up. “I don’t know your name,” He rushed out.

I looked at him a moment, taken by surprise.

“And I would ask you to join me for coffee, when you’re off your shift of course... or maybe on your day off if you even want to not that you have to, but I realize that I can’t exactly do that if I don’t know your name, so...” His nervousness left me scrambling to keep up with his rushed words.

“Y/n,” I gave a reassuring smile. “And I’ll join you for coffee as long as I don’t have to drink an americano,”

Now it was his turn to look shocked. As if my acceptance of his offer wasn’t expected.

“I’m sorry, what?” He stumbled.

“Americanos,” I clarified. “I don’t know how you manage them, because they’re just awful,”

Whatever he had been thinking was abandoned to defend his drink of choice.

“They’re not that bad,” He refuted. “And I’m lactose intolerant, so I don’t really have much of a choice,”

I pursed my lips and chuckled. “Go sit, I’ll be there in a minute,” I sat across from him, setting a cup of coffee in front of him that held a warm amber color. He studied me and the cup.

“This has milk in it,” He accused.

“Oat milk, completely lactose free,” I rose my own mug of coffee. “It’s the only way I take my coffee anymore. I haven’t put any sugar in it, I don’t know how sweet you like it and I didn’t want to overdose you,”

“Oat milk,” Remus pondered, picking up a fair share of sugar packets. “I never would have thought of that,”

“Here’s to good coffee, not watered-down espresso,” I raised my mug and we both took a sip together and I watched his eyes widen at the coffee in his cup.

“This is brilliant,” His eyes lit up.

“You’d think that after the few months you’ve been here constantly, you’d figure out we had non-dairy options,” I teased lightly, and he blushed slightly.

“I... I was distracted. So, I ordered what I knew,” He stammered, staring at his coffee.

“Distracted?” I pressed. “Lost in too many books then?”

“Well, yes. But no,” He chuckled. “There’s this pretty barista who works here that keeps me off balance.” I hid behind my mug my cheeks warming.

“That so?” I tried to play off, but he caught my flush and grinned. “Then why the hell did it take you three months to ask for my name?” I accused, chuckling.

“Well, I don’t know!?” He laughed. “You just so... you!”

“What is that even supposed to mean!?” I giggled.

“I don’t know,” His face was red from the laughter and the unanswered questions.

“I’m glad you did finally ask,” I admitted, fidgeting with a spare napkin. “Are you a student? You’re always here with a book,”

“Grad student,” He clarified. “Working on my dissertation. I have an internship at the shop across the way,”

“You’re there most days that I work,” I noted. “You always come for coffee,”

“Yeah, well,” He ducked his head. “I may or may not have accidentally memorized your schedule, so that our hours are close to the same,” We both blushed again.

“Little creepy,” I raised an eyebrow, “And kinda a shame. I’d love to come and bug you while you’re working,”

“Oh... I—you like to read?” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he backtracked. “Not to say that you don’t! But it’s a shop filled with—”

“Vintage books, classics, literature, mythology. I know,” I smiled. “I frequent there. Even before you came around,”

“Really?”

I nodded and nursed my coffee. “I might not seem like it, but I’m also a student. I work here for the extra cash,”

“Right,” He fumbled. “I—read anything interesting lately?” He redirected the conversation, and I could tell that he was more comfortable with the topic. It wasn’t hard to pick up that he wasn’t one for small talk, but his eyes lit up at the mere mention of a book.

“Some work by De Pizan, my professor is doing a seminar on her,” I gave. “It’s really interesting, I’m enjoying it a lot,”

“De Pizan,” He mused. “Middle Ages? Rhetorist, right?” I nodded and smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve read anything of hers for class, or fun or that matter. I remember liking her work though, she was a proto-feminist,”

“Yes...” I was surprised by his base of knowledge.

“Sorry, I know I ramble,” He ducked his head.

“I think it’s cute,”

“Oh... well,” Remus was becoming a permanent shade of pink.

“You don’t do this sort of thing often do you?” I prompted.

“What gave it away?”

“Well, I mean there is the whole name ordeal. Then of course, you’re a shy book nerd, that’s obvious, but honestly, you’re nervous for all the wrong reasons,” I supplied.

He gaped at me as if he didn’t know what to address about what I said first. While he was deciding, I reached out and placed my hand over his.

“As someone else with anxiety, let me tell you, you’re doing just fine.”

“Yeah?” His eyes were hopeful.

I nodded and glanced at the clock. “Well, my break is over, but you’re welcome to hang out.” I stood, gathering both of our empty mugs. “And thanks... for finally asking,”

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eternally6pm · 3 years ago

Text

To Distraction

Rating: T

Characters: Jakob, FCorrin, vague mention of various occupants of the Northern Fortress, Corrin’s Nohrian siblings.

- almost to a state of madness -

A/N: These are two old reposts mashed together. In a stroke of serendipity on my old blog, I had received two four-word prompts that happened to inspire two scenes with some sort of continuity. This takes place pre-Fates, with a number of assumptions: that Corrin and Jakob arrived in their adolescence having already developed strong feelings for one another; that Jakob, being the older of the two and a pessimistic sort of young man, wanted to do the practical thing and attempted to distract himself from the horrifying realisation that he was falling in love with his master - and that this failed miserably.

One of my favourite things about master-servant relationships is that even when there are hard lines and clear expectations, on closer inspection, you can never be sure who really holds power over the other.

---

Felicia could not find any clean hose. Knowing that the maid had not only a tendency to misplace but to also overlook things, Corrin joined her in her search and was very soon just as perplexed – not a single pair could be found.

As Felicia excused herself and ran off to find her sister, Corrin sat uncomfortably before her mirror, still laced in the leathers that she had worn to combat training that afternoon. She judged herself to look somewhat foolish, her tightly braided hair in disarray, her jerkin having ridden up so that the edge sat too high, the thick, stiff leather digging into the flesh of her stomach as she tried to sit on her chair.

She was going to have to ask for a new one. Her current jerkin just didn’t fit over her hips anymore, and the space in the chest was too small. There was pain in her back when she tried to stretch upwards, and if pushed a little too hard, she found it difficult to draw breath.

Gunter had been dissatisfied with her progress today, having knocked her onto her back several times without much exertion. Her left wrist smarted when she tried to flex it and she realised that she must have landed too heavily upon it while trying to soften her fall in a clumsy attempt to spare her sore backside from additional bruises to the ones that had already darkened there.

Corrin sighed, shifting slightly in her seat as she saved all these thoughts for later, when she saw Jakob. He was a soothing thought, a welcome presence who always came after Flora and Felica left, bearing a tray with her dinner and a gentle smile. At her request, he would stay to lend a patient ear to her complaints, and she always felt slightly guilty, keeping him from his duties, but never guilty enough to deny herself the part of the evening she looked forward to most.

Come to think of it…

Jakob would know. He knew where everything was.

With a wince, Corrin planted her hands on the seat and heaved herself from the chair, her already stiff muscles protesting the movement. Reaching for the bell, she rang for assistance.

It was not uncommon for her summons to go unanswered. There were few servants at the Northern Fortress, and often, they were distracted by either Felicia setting fire to something, or were simply occupied with something else.

Corrin waited only long enough to work her gauntlets and wrist guards loose and shed them where she stood before dipping her hands into a basin of (cold, goodness, Felicia,) water to wash the grime from her fingers. Drying her hands on a soft cloth, she left her room.

The Northern Fortress sat on the border of what was historically, heavily contested land. As a result, the fortress was structured as simply that – austere, heavily fortified barracks for housing soldiers in preparation for war. Now that the borders of Nohr stretched far beyond this point, it had been repurposed as Corrin’s home – though it often felt more like a prison than a home.

Fortunately, the nature of the Northern Fortress meant that servants were given the unusual benefit of being granted individual rooms, and the privacy was a privilege so great, not a soul cared to complain of the size of their quarters.

Corrin knew where Jakob slept. It was a piece of knowledge that she guarded jealously because she knew that Gunter would take a riding crop to Jakob’s wrists and shoulders if he ever found out that the princess was visiting his chambers in the dead of the night to trade books and whispered conversations when she couldn’t sleep.

Lately, Jakob had been more reluctant to open his door to her – he spoke constantly of propriety and what was appropriate, and Corrin, well-read and suitably informed by her sister, had more than just a vague notion of what it all meant. However, she also knew for certain that she didn’t like being told that she wasn’t allowed to spend time with him, especially now, when she realised suddenly that she would rather be around no one else.

She found that she liked to watch him whenever she could, studying his profile when he focused on work or catching a glimpse of him when he sparred with the other boys. Not that she could really call Jakob a boy anymore… she couldn’t remember when things had started to change, but now when he spoke, his voice was deeper, a low, wonderful sound that sank like hot liquid into the depths of her chest, and he had put on a lot of height, towering head and shoulders over her in a way that made her want to crawl into his lap and steal the warmth from his skin.

Thinking about him made her feel sick with delight.

Even now, as she approached his room, her stomach flipped like she was falling, and she had to inhale deeply to slow the rapid pulse of her heart. She was irrationally nervous. All she had to do was ask if –

“Oh!”

Corrin’s shoulder was knocked backward, unprepared for the sudden contact, and an arm reached out to steady her, a maid who immediately gasped in recognition and released her hold, dropping into a deep curtsy.

“Princess! A thousand apologies, Your Highness!”

Corrin waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s quite all right. My attention was elsewhere.”

“As was mine, milady. Forgive me for being inexcusably clumsy.”

“Think nothing of it. There is nothing to forgive.”

The maid lifted her gaze, smiling and Corrin could not help but notice that she was remarkably pretty, with blonde hair and eyes the colour of the sky on a fine day. She folded her hands neatly upon the front of her apron and politely inclined her head. “Can I be of assistance, my lady? Do you seek Flora?”

“Jakob, actually.”

“Oh.” At this, the maid directed her eyes downward again, and seemed to hesitate, the tips of her fingers worrying the edge of her skirt. “He is in his room, Your Highness. Though I believe him to be presently occupied.”

The sensation of falling returned, but this time, Corrin felt dread clench about her gut.

“Th-thank you…”

“Clara, Your Highness,” she curtsied again, colour rising into her cheeks and Corrin felt suddenly ill, nauseous as the maid’s words seeped into her skin, crawled into her pores with little thin legs to wriggle and bite.

“Thank you, Clara.”

She curtsied once more, but Corrin had already turned to continue her path, her steps quickened by fear or anger – she could not tell which.

She found his door ajar, and in her urgency, forgot to knock, pushing it open and letting herself in as his name left her mouth in a bark.

“Jakob!”

Dismay struck her square in the chest like a blow from Gunter’s shield, and she was winded, her heart still and all sound stifled as she watched him turn in shock to face her, his hands grasping at his half-open shirt for decency as he stammered unfinished words and excuses.

“Lady Corrin! I am not – I didn’t hear –“

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t speak.

“Apologies, milady, if you could spare me a moment, I could – “

The air smelt stale, acrid with the scent of something unseen, warm like the heat of two bodies.

I believe him to be presently occupied.

Her chest heaved against her inanely ill-fitting leathers and swallowing the bile that sat at the back of her tongue, she willed her lips to smile through the pain of her heart cleaving in two.

“Do not concern yourself, Jakob, it is only me.”

A burden, a chore.

“I came to ask you something.”

It was a tone Camilla had made her practice, repeat so often that it came with only slight effort.

Still his fingers fumbled at the buttons and Corrin stared jealously at the smooth skin and taut muscle that he hid away – a sight for someone else.

But never for her.

“Felica cannot find any clean stockings. Are you able to assist?”

The question sounded foolish and trivial. In that moment, Corrin could not have cared any less if she caught her death walking barefoot through the halls of this damned fortress.

“She sent you to fetch me?” Irritation caused his brow to furrow. “Is she insane?”

“Felicia is not at fault, I came of my own accord.” And oh, how she regretted that decision.

“Nonsense,” he muttered, and Corrin hated the way she enjoyed watching him knot his cravat, neat and pleasantly high upon his neck.

Did he remove it himself, or did she help him?

Where did she touch him?

Do you love her?

The questions prickled on the tip of her tongue and frustration wrenched an empty substitute from her lips. “Who were you with?”

“J-just a friend, milady,” it was the same blush, the same downward glance.

Why did she have to be so beautiful?

All of a sudden it felt like her lungs were bloated with water, her throat tight. Corrin was drowning and she had to leave, lest she retched and spite was expelled from her mouth.

“I’m sorry I was a bother, Jakob. I’ll see if Flora can help.”

She did not care to hear what else he had to say, turning to leave, and wandered blindly, until she returned to her own rooms where she gave no replies to Felica and Flora’s concerned questioning.

She nodded numbly as Flora explained that her stockings had simply been moved, and there were plenty, so there was no need to fret.

Silently, she let the sisters undress her and climbed into the bath they had prepared, sinking beneath the surface where it was warm and she could not tell the scented water apart from the tears that she shed.

“Felicia. Please inform Jakob that I do not want dinner. He is not to disturb me tonight.”

She curtsied, but hesitated. “Milady, you must eat.”

Corrin pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms about her legs as if she could hold herself together through sheer force of will alone. “Please, Felicia.”

At length, she curtsied again. “Yes, Lady Corrin.”

In the silence, Corrin sat still, shut her eyes as Flora’s cool, slender fingers threaded through her hair and pressed firm strokes against her neck and scalp.

“My lady, do not punish yourself for the sorrow that others might inflict,” she advised quietly. “They are not deserving of your suffering.”

Corrin sighed. “Thank you, Flora.”

“If I can aid you in any way, milady, you have but to ask.”

For a long moment, Corrin considered being benevolent, gentle and forgiving, but she had not the strength, and it was too easy to speak the words without conscience, draw a line in the air across her throat and call for blood.

“The maid, Clara. Do you know her?”

“Yes, she works in the kitchen.”

“Her efforts are to be commended. I wish to recommend her for promotion.”

There was silence as Flora ceased her ministrations and reached for a pitcher. “An excellent suggestion, Lady Corrin. I shall put a good word through to Gunter.”

---

The motion was a small one, almost casual. Camilla laughed softly as the young Duke spoke of studding horses, her long fingers neatly grasping the edge of Corrin's glass and whisking it away from the server before he could attempt to pour more wine.

“Wait, sister –“

There was not a single word spoken in direct response, but Camilla smiled brightly, her eyes narrowing as she laid a hand firmly on the satin of Corrin’s skirts.

“I think I’ve heard quite enough about the size of a stallion’s member, don’t you?”

Corrin stared vacantly at the man beside her, almost surrendering to the urge to frown. “Yes. One might presume to expect too much.”

Laughter cut through the low chatter and Duke coloured indignantly.

He asked her afterward, his voice low as he bent to speak softly, unpleasantly close to her ear, if she would be so kind as to honour him with her company as he had never been to Castle Krakenburg before, and would very much like a tour of the grounds.

Corrin would have been more interested had she been shown the underside of a slug.

But she could hardly say as much, and simply gave him another empty smile, evading a touch to her shoulder like she would the glance of a blade and excusing herself to retire with the other ladies from the dining hall.

With absolutely no intention to stay, she bid Camilla and Elise a good night and left without a word to anyone else, not caring that they would whisper of her cold and graceless behaviour, unbefitting of a princess of Nohr.

Her fingers closed upon the neck of a tall, unattended pitcher of mulled wine, and with the same motion she had just learnt from her sister, took it gently away, her only companion as she thought miserably of Jakob and how he was probably somewhere else, seeking comfort in the arms of a friend he had made years ago at the Northern Fortress.

---

The first sign that something had gone awry was the sound of shattering glass.

Jakob jerked in shock in his seat, the needle slipping between his fingers and he quickly dropped the hem of the cotton blouse, mere moments before a bead of crimson formed and began to run.

He released his breath in a long, hissing exhale, pulled the thread taut with his teeth and slowly, silently, counted to ten. He got as far as six before the clomp of heeled shoes reached earshot.

She was getting better at anticipating disaster, even if she hadn’t a clue on how to avert it.

It was certainly dire, he realised, as the door swung open without so much as an attempt to knock, and she stumbled into his temporary quarters with the momentum of the movement.

“Where’s the fire, Felicia?” He asked dryly.

She shook her head. “No, Jakob – it’s Corrin – Lady Corrin. She’s had far too much to drink.”

He stood at once, sewing forgotten. “Where is she?”

Felicia was nothing if at the very least, quick when it came to requesting aid. She hurried back out the door with Jakob on her heels, passing through a short corridor that connected their much smaller rooms to the solar of the guest suite.

The princess was found standing in the centre of the darkened room, still and staring as though lost. In one hand she held a metal pitcher, which she mindlessly released, letting it clatter hollowly and roll over the remains of what appeared to be a broken crystal statue of a swan at her feet. There had been a function at the palace that evening and she was laced up in a gown of pale blue satin with a neckline that dipped in such a way that made Jakob forget for a moment how to breathe.

“I dropped it,” she explained, smiling, and Jakob barely managed to completely close the distance to catch her by the shoulders before she could reach down to pick up the shards with her bare hands.

He gestured to Felicia. “Take her to her room and put her to bed,” he instructed, already planning how he would clean the jagged glass they trod upon.

Felicia nodded and tried to reach for Corrin, but with a sharp, petulant whine of irritation, the princess swatted her away.

“Horrible! Unhand me. I won’t allow it.”

Felicia turned to look at Jakob, shaking her head helplessly. “I’ve tried already. She won’t listen to me.”

Honestly, if you wanted something done right…

“Come now, Lady Corrin,” he soothed, pressing a hand between the blades of her shoulders to gently propel her towards her room. Suddenly obedient, she took to his encouragement without any resistance and Jakob flicked a hand at the mess they left behind so that Felicia might take the cue to clean it before he returned.

However, Corrin had other ideas.

No sooner had Jakob eased the door shut, he felt her hand upon his back and alarmed, spun immediately to face her, stepping away.

“Ah,” she frowned, reaching for him again, and he barely managed to catch her by the wrists, forcing her back, trying to get her to stand straight, to not… tempt him with her bare shoulders and neck exposed by her dress. By the moonlight, he could see that her cheeks were flushed red, and there was the scent of fruit and spice on her lips as she spoke.

“You weren’t so shy before. Let me hold you.”

It was a cruel joke, he realised, much too late, standing alone with his mistress in her bedchamber as she swayed, intoxicated on her feet and mistook him for someone else.

“Lady Corrin, stop. It’s me. Jakob.”

“Good,” she giggled softly, and the sound wove like a net over his heart. “Come here, Jakob.”

“No,” he replied firmly. It was a reminder to them both that she was senselessly drunk and knew not what she spoke; an order to maintain his distance. He gripped her wrists tightly and tried to ignore the writhing anxiety that came with the guilt of knowing. Of wanting.

Gently, he attempted to guide her towards the bed, to have her seated in a bid to escape from this nightmarish trap of his own devising so that Felicia (the gods themselves never could have imagined the day he required her help!) might rescue him.

With a motion trained and too swift, Corrin turned and threw her arms about his shoulders, throwing her entire weight upon him. Unprepared, he stumbled and could only reach for her out of reflex as they both toppled upon the bed.

“Lady Corrin -!”

There was a flurry of motion, a delectable confusion of bare skin and satin as she giggled again, pressing herself close to him and in that moment, Jakob was powerless to fight, because being touched by Corrin felt like being burned by a fire he couldn’t contain, like being drawn by the weight of the moon and drowning, euphoric in the tides.

“Just a taste,” she sang softly, so warm and pliant in his arms.

He couldn’t.

How many times had he fantasised of such a scene? Of having her witless and willing, because nothing else would ever allow the suggestion of impropriety. However, now confronted with it, the reality was horrifying, both in the possibility of having his wicked desires realised and in the fact that he found it utterly reprehensible. He could never forgive himself for such a dire lapse in judgement, for dragging the reputation of the one person he held dearest down into the filth of rumours whispered behind the flicker of a fan, about princesses with no honour who deemed to take their own servants to bed.

What would have been the point in resisting, in dressing his affection in decorum and drowning his desire in another girl?

What would be the point of his duty if he couldn’t even protect her from himself?

“My lady, you must stop.” He gently took her arms and pushed her back, rising from the bed and shaking his head when she tried to reach for him again.

“Why?” She asked, her voice plaintive, and her expression crumpled with dismay. She sat up, gathering her long skirts in both her fists and folding her knees to her chest. “What did I do wrong? You don’t mind kissing other girls, but you… You don’t want me.”

Jakob felt his heart wrench as she pressed her hands to her face and started to weep.

Who had done this to her? What deplorable scum had abused her kindness and corrupted her joy?

Slowly, he knelt before her, waiting until she lowered her hands and looked at him, her breath ragged with sorrow, her face wet with tears.

“You are mistaken,” he told her.

Do I dare?

“You cannot possibly know -”

How much of this will she remember?

“- how much I want you -”

This… is a mistake.

“- to only be mine.”

Smile for me, Princess.

Her lips were soft, her face warm. He felt her hand grip the fabric of his waistcoat and she leaned against him, a small, sweet whimpering note hummed in her throat, pushed onto his tongue. He tasted wine in the heat between her parted lips, and it was enough to intoxicate him too.

He parted the kiss with a sigh, stood and stepped back, his heart a storm of fear and elation, pierced deep with guilt.

Jakob couldn’t explain why he had decided to do this, only moments after convincing himself that it was a doomed choice, treacherous and lonely. He didn’t know why he felt the compulsion to flee, as though the longer he stood there, the greater the risk of being caught out, called traitor, exposed as a fraud.

“Felicia!” He growled as he strode out of the room, hiding behind a veil of irritation. “Lady Corrin is now calm. Kindly assist her.”

The maid scampered past him, barely acknowledging his words.

All he knew was that he was miserably weak, and for all the pain and suffering he had ever seen in his life, he couldn’t stand for a second to watch his princess cry.

#Jokamu #Jakob #Joker #Corrin #Kamui #mutual pining #maybe I just need to find another prompt list #they're not bad for kickstarting an idea #republished edit #fanfiction

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Before It’s Too Late

Characters: Spencer Reid x Reader, the BAU, Tobias Hankel

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: angst, fluff, tobias hankel angst, s2 spencer reid

Request by @eideticprettyboydrreid: Can I request a story where I (or the reader) are Penelope’s assistant, and I (or the reader have a crush on Spencer? But before I/reader can say anything he gets kidnapped by Hankel? And have to sit at the BAU and watch the livestream, but once he “dies” I/they run out. I/they beg Hotch to come with to what I/they assume is a body retrieval. But Spencer is actually alive, so everything comes tumbling out in the relief of seeing him standing there. Idk if you want to put anything about his addiction too that’s up to you.

Summary: You’re not part of the BAU in the way you would like to be. You’re Penelope’s assistant, and you have a major crush on Spencer. He goes missing before you can tell him how you feel, and when you do find him, can you even tell him now when he’s already in so much pain?

Squares Filled: ambulance ride @badthingshappenbingo // unsub @cmbingo // friendship fic @trope-bingo // hurt/comfort @genprompt-bingo

Author’s Note:��If you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me.

“Where is Spencer? Tell me that he’s okay!” I yell, clearly in distress. Penelope works to get the system back online, but she’s coming up on all the dead ends. “Tell me I didn’t just watch Spencer get killed by that man!”

“Y/N, you need to calm down,” Derek warns, but it goes over my head.

“Please don’t tell me he’s gone,” I cry, my voice cracking at the end.

One Week Earlier

Ever since I started working here as Penelope’s assistant, Spencer is the one I truly connected with. Whenever the team is at the office working on files instead of traveling around the country, Spencer likes to visit Penelope a lot. Derek does too, but not as much as Spencer. He’d bring lunch for me and Penelope, and we’d sit and talk with him until he decided to get back to his files.

He’d tell us everything from what he did last week to something he read to a funny moment stored away in his memories. It didn’t matter the kind of story Spencer was telling because I’d be into it all. His voice is so soothing to listen to, and his energy can captivate anyone who is listening.

He used to come into that office to talk to Penelope, but now he comes to see me. Well, I think he does. She’s not usually in the office when he comes in, so why else would he? I’m the only thing that could entertain him besides a computer game, and I don’t think that would blow over well with Penelope.

I see what she does, and I hope to be that good. I am not meant for the field at all, but I do wish to help in any other way possible. Penelope had put a listing online for an assistant, I immediately took that opportunity. I wanted to know how to become a hacker like her. I wanted to be able to see what people are doing and uncover their dirty secrets to get justice for the people that needed it.

I wanted to be a rockstar just like her, and she’s helping me become that.

Everyone is so nice and welcoming, but I really like Spencer. He just stands out over all the rest, and I really like that in a man.

“Aren’t you scared every time you go out on these cases?” I ask, walking into the BAU with my best friend.

“Not really. I know I have a team to back me up when I need it.”

“I’d be terrified to go out there,” you chuckle and immediately head to the break room with him.

Should I tell him or should I not? What would he think of me if I did? Would he like me back? Would he reject me? Would I have to quit? There are a lot of unanswered questions here, but I’m only going to know if I come out and say it. I’m just having a hard time figuring out when and where, and what exactly I’m supposed to say. He’s the least intimidating person I know, yet, he’s the most intimidating to talk to when it comes to this kind of stuff.

“It’s not that scary. Don’t let anything Penelope says influence your decision.”

He pours himself some coffee and grabs the bottle of sugar since he likes to add a pound of it in there.

“Spencer, can I tell you something with the promise that you won’t laugh at me?”

“I would never do that. You know this. What is it?” he asks, suddenly serious and curious.

Here I go. This is the scariest thing I have ever faced, but I am going to do it. I am going to tell him how I feel about him. I am going to--why is Penelope speed walking over here? Oh no, I know that look on her face… we have a case. Shit, I guess this is going to have to wait. It’s probably for the best so I can practice what I am going to say to him.

“Hey sugar, we got a case coming in,”

“Okay, I’ll be there,” I say and then turn to Spencer. “To be continued, I guess. Just please make sure you’re safe. I don’t need my best friend coming back in a body bag.”

“I won’t. You have a question to ask me,” he grins.

“I’m holding you to that, Reid,” I joke and completely leave his line of sight.

It’s been six days, and I haven’t heard from Spencer once. I get that he’s busy and all, but I wish he would send me a text message saying everything is fine. I don’t know if he’s okay or if he’s injured, but all I can do now is wait. The last thing I heard is that the team is coming back, but it’s weird that I hadn’t heard anything from Spencer.

The most concerning thing is when they came back without Spencer. Like, they walked through the doors of the BAU without Spencer with them.

“Where the hell is Spencer?” I ask, but they don’t answer.

They all have grim looks on their faces, and my heart immediately sinks. Are my worst fears coming true? Is he really not coming home?

“Briefing room, stat,” Hotch orders.

I practically have to drag Penelope out of her office and into the briefing room because I need to know what is going on. The rest of the team don’t seem to care if I’m there or not. Spencer is gone, and they need to go out looking for him. No, gone is the wrong word--kidnapped. He has been kidnapped by the unsub, and who knows what he is doing to him right now. I have to hold in all my tears as to not interrupt them when Penelope gets a video chat request from an unknown person.

What’s on the screen breaks my heart into two. Spencer is tied to a chair and the unsub, Tobias Hankel, is sticking him with a needle. I know instantly that the needle isn’t filled with something good. Spencer is pleading that he doesn’t want it, but Tobias doesn’t listen. Tears are streaming down my face as I continue to watch on.

Tobais visibly shutters, and he takes on a new personality--his father. I may have read the case before they left; I just didn’t know how dangerous this could be. Tobias starts to beat Spencer, and I think he’s going to beat him to death, but the camera feed shuts off.

That’s when I lose my cool, and that’s everything. Now you know why I am freaking out about where Spencer is and if he’s okay. I just can’t seem to grasp the concept of him never coming home. To never see his smile or hear his voice again. It’s hard to keep me under control, but I need to know where he is. Penelope is already tracking the feed so I know she is going to get his coordinates.

“I got it,” she exclaims.

“Please let me go. I need to be there,” I beg Hotch.

He doesn’t really have time to argue with me about the dangers of bringing me along, so he says yes just to get the show on the road. The entire car ride over to where he could possibly be is excruciating, but I have to hold on. He may not be dead, he may just be injured. But whatever was in that needle could kill him if medical attention isn’t prominent.

“I need you to stay here and call 911. You’re not ready to be in the field, and we don’t know what could be waiting for us. We will call you over the radio when we find him,” Hotch says as he gets to the run-down farm where Spencer is said to be.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Everyone abandons me from the car to find the secret love of my life. Maybe if I’d told him how I felt, this wouldn’t have happened. I don’t really know how he got kidnapped, but maybe if he wasn’t thinking about last week, then maybe he could have focused on the case. The last thing I told him was that I needed to tell him something and that he shouldn’t laugh. What if he got kidnapped because of me?

“Guys, did you find him?” I ask over the radio.

They’ve been radio silence for twenty minutes, and I’m starting to get really worried.

“Come in. Did you find him? Over,” I try to be more professional, but I still get no answer. “I’m coming back there.”

I don’t give any more warning before booking it into the deserted farm. I have already called 911, and they are sending a team to assist as I run. They’ll see the cars and the footprints leading to the back of the property, so they will know where to go. Plus, I told them that they needed to kind of head back until they see a barn. When Penelope pulled up the map, there was only one bard on the entire property, and I know that is where Spencer is.

“Spencer!” I call out as I get closer to the barn.

I hear some shuffling and some kind of commotion coming from the back, and I wrap around the barn until I see him. Spencer is on his feet, and Tobias is on the ground. Spencer shot him dead when he had the chance, but I am just so relieved to see Spencer is alive.

“Spencer!” I yell and basically run into his arms.

He’s clearly hurt because when I make contact with his skin, he whimpers in pain and pulls away from me.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay? The ambulance is on its way,” I inform.

The ambulance gets back there at exactly ten minutes from the moment you saw him. Spencer is given medical care as soon as possible, but I need to stay to make sure he is okay emotionally and mentally. I don’t know what he went through here, but I know it’s going to mess with his mind. He’s been given Dilaudid which can do a number of things to the body.

Hotch allows me to ride in the back of the ambulance with Spencer, and I am so grateful he sees how worried I am for him. Spencer rolls his head to the side so he’s looking at you just as the back of the ambulance closes.

“Hi, Spencer,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks.

“For what?”

“For not calling you back.”

“Don’t be sorry, Spencer. Just focus on getting better, okay?” I chuckle tearfully.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me?” he asks, getting sleepier.

“It can wait. Please get better.”

I can’t possibly tell him I love him now, not when he’s been through so much already. I’ll always love him, and that will never change. So I can tell him now or in a week, and it’ll be the same three words that will pop out of my mouth. May as well do it when he understands what’s happening because then he will be lucid enough to tell me if he loves me back.

I have a feeling he might, but that’s for another day.

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faelune-home · 4 years ago

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(fanfic) “how the guiding light wavers”

(A/N: I’ve had this in the works for a few weeks now. I first brought it up in this long post I wrote to establish character stuff, but this is the work that will finally make me feel a bit more secure in writing for my miqo’te girl. I’m aware it all sounds convoluted and bizarre to fixate on a name like this, but it was something that bothered me, and I’m the one actually doing the writing for my own character, so I do hope that this fic finally makes writing easier.

But alongside the name stuff, it’s also a larger look at where Fhara is emotionally throughout Shadowbringers I suppose. A little bit of where she’s come from and where she’s been so far and where she stands before entering Endwalker, so there’s at least a little bit more to this fic than just name shenanigans. XD

Name shenanigans and heroic title woes and legacy musings. All wrapped up in a complicated bow. Aha. I’ll probably do more Scion interaction focused additions on Fhara’s woes and worries later, especially since I had some in the original fic only to remove them as it was getting way too wordy, but this is the main meat of those feelings here and now.

Strong spoilers for the ending Stormblood patches and Shadowbringers, more so 5.0 and then just fleeting mentions of patch stuff. Set after 5.3.

Word count: 4760

Ao3 link)

When she set out from her home for Eorzea’s shores, she had a goal; to become a hero, and make her name known across the world. To be known as someone great and powerful, with monsters big and small bested at her hand, yet also someone kind and helpful, saving people and making their life a little bit easier. A lofty goal, but one she figured could be done, one small step at a time. After all, every adventurer started small.

Little did she know that her forays in Eorzea would grant her her desires, at a much faster rate than she anticipated; she joined the Scions, with their close ties to the city leaders and their own aims to protect the realm, and in gaining a reputation as a primal slayer, became known as a fabled Warrior of Light. A type of hero normally assigned to legend. It was everything she could have wanted and maybe even more than she could handle. It was a heavy title, but one she wore proudly, all while continuing as she had originally planned.

Yet as time passed, the weight grew heavier. There was still pride and joy in doing the right thing for the sake of others, protecting the innocent from those that would do them harm, but at some point, in the midst of the fighting, torn between Ascians and the Empire, despite doing the same thing she always did, her thoughts would wander to her original purpose in undertaking this grand adventure.

To become a figure of whom stories would be told, for those stories to return to her home and inspire the younger children, much like the old tales had inspired herself. To teach them to do good, to do better, to help others, to be brave, to be kind. An idealistic idea but one she held fast to. And by all accounts, fighting under the Warrior of Light title aided her even further in another aspect of her plans; to allow her to step back from the world once all is done and know peace when she hung up her bow and settled down.

When she set out from her home, she was ‘Fufu’; an old childhood nickname she’d long outgrown in her village, with the exception of her aunt, repurposed for her heroic exploits until the Warrior of Light title seemed to do the job better. Then in Eorzea, in the comfort of those she came to call a second family, she could be Fhara again. And it was nice, comforting even. To know that others knew her as more than just her heroic title, and that the Rising Stones could feel like a home so far away from home.

A home that was always filled with the sound of laughter or chatter, always someone socialising with a friend or partner, or busy working, the Rising Stones had all the energy and joy within its walls that she knew from her home, even with all the group had been through. To find that joy stripped out, the halls empty of people as her dearest friends collapsed into lifelessness and everyone else was left to fill in for their missing teammates…

For Fhara, it left her with no-one. But the Warrior of Light still had work to do.

The Warrior of Light had faced down conquerors, defeated dragons, set free thousands from the shackles of tyranny. But Fhara had never been alone in her feats, always with her companions at her side, or standing strong behind her, keeping the way clear for her, ready to back her up.

The Warrior of Light would go on to face Zenos that day in Ghimlyt Dark, the whispered tales from young inexperienced soldiers speaking how she almost pushed him back single handedly, with the famed Azure Dragoon jumping into the fray to assist her. In truth, Fhara stood alone on that battle field, facing a barely weakened, Ascian possessed corpse, the collapsed figures of her resistance comrades strewn behind her, she kept going until she herself blacked out under mysterious circumstances, only surviving by Estinien’s timely arrival.

Her recovery in Ishgard started her thinking, mixed in with the anxious waves of the mysterious caller’s words. The Warrior of Light would ever be revered for their acts, but as a single entity. Whereas Fhara, while capable on her own, worked best with a team, with her friends by her side. Working out a plan of attack together, or simply knowing they were there with her gave her strength. Yet standing on the field that day, the only thing giving her the strength to fight on was the desire to protect others, for if the Ascian controlling the fallen crown prince made it past her, Eorzea would no doubt suffer.

Then a stray thought...what gave her the strength to start doing all of this in the first place? What was her drive to begin with? It seemed so long ago…

‘Fufu’ had come all the many malms from a small village on the outskirts of Thavnair to become a hero, one that would have bard songs made about her for the sake of children’s tales. But the Warrior of Light had ultimately taken on that role. So what was the point of continuing to call herself ‘Fufu’ to the public? Was it just a habit by that point? A desire to hide herself behind an identity that both was and wasn’t her? After all, it was a nickname that had long been associated with her, and in the absence of any other ideas for an alias to call herself - oft teased as she was for her poor imagination for naming things - she had fallen to the easiest idea of her old childhood moniker.

Maybe it was time to move on from such childish notions? Her thoughts were neither bitter nor certain. The questions merely buzzed in her head as she left them unanswered.

She left the city with her golden hair cropped, a request asked of Jandelaine, met in passing before she left Ishgard behind her.

“It is a shame,” he’d said at the sight of her shorn twintail, the other loose from the hair tie, matted with blood and dirt, “But I can tidy it up and it’s like it never happened. A return to beauty and grace, just say the word.”

She could’ve kept it the same, and continued on as normal. But instead it was all gone. Because maybe a fresh start was what she needed?

~*~*~

The First was not a fresh start. At least not one Fhara was expecting. A land on the cusp of destruction, perpetually bathed in an unnatural eerie light, the people hunted by Sin Eaters, suffering either death or a torturous transformation in turn. She very quickly learned how terrifying, how desolate some corners of the land of Norvrandt could be, and she could well understand why, if people were living in such conditions.

Her first port of call in the strange new land was the oddly familiar gleaming tower, a recognisable pillar even against the hazy glowing sky. And within was the enigmatic Crystal Exarch, ready to greet her with open arms.

She had mixed feelings about the Exarch, on many points; having Called her friends and left their lifeless bodies back on the Source in an uncertain state, or even that Calling them was an accident in itself, since she herself was meant to be the target gave her no end of frustration toward the man. Even then with the knowledge that he hadn’t intended to summon the other Scions, the idea that he had wanted her to act alone in saving the First was one Fhara couldn’t help but balk at.

Of course she was willing to help, she couldn’t stand seeing people suffer while she knew she could do something. But to think she would be able to handle the work singlehandedly was pure folly. In that way, perhaps it was a small relief then that she had the Scions to help her, unintentional was their presence on the First. Even with the uncertainty surrounding their summoning and the state of their separated selves, she at least had her friends and teammates with her.

However it was his first impression beyond his summoning mishaps that stuck with Fhara and kept her uneasy around the man; no sooner had she arrived at the gate, he had welcomed her past his wary gate guard, quick to introduce her and settle her into the Crystarium. A warm welcome for sure, and not one she was ungrateful for, however the mix of familiar and unfamiliar in the man’s demeanor made her cautious.

That he knew her so well, so casually referred to her as ‘Fufu’ before she had even introduced herself, how comfortable he seemed while using it - hand waved away as him learning it from old records stored within the Tower, a name used in tandem with the Warrior of Light title, although it reignited her recent troubled thoughts on her public identity - while she knew nothing about him, that not even his own people could say much of him did nothing to ease her. Every factor together had her wanting to keep the Exarch at arms length. She would do as he asked - save the First, bring back the Light, prevent another Calamity from decimating the Source - and in return, he would return her friends’ home. That was all that was needed.

Of course, things would never be that simple.

In a land ravaged by Light for 100 years, a Warrior of Light was considered a heathen, a villain that had doomed them all. Instead, the people hoped and prayed for a Warrior of Darkness to be their hero. And so Fhara, with the starlit sky returning in the wake of her arrival, would become that hero.

Fhara didn’t want to say she hated it, however the dizzying speed with which the title and the stories spread was a shock to the system, moving even quicker than her reputation as the Warrior of Light had grown on the Source. She couldn’t blame the people for their enthusiasm, especially when the hero of legend’s arrival coincided with the return of the night after a century without.

She didn’t hate it. But she found herself seeking the comfort of her closest friends more often than she used to before. She knew they weren’t looking at a grand hero, but just Fhara, who stood up to answer the call. And they stood with her. As the days would pass on the First, rarely was she without a Scion by her side, only truly left alone in the comfort of her inn room, and even then, the wayward spirit of Ardbert was a presence she didn’t resent.

The days would pass, and the night returned across the land, and beyond the walls of the Crystarium, away from the crowds of people that would revere a hero, through pixie flower beds and dense forests ever shaded from the skies, and into desert ruins of a civilisation long lost-

“Welcome aboard, Ryne.”

Fhara had seen the young Oracle struggle under the weight of her legacy, the expectations of her duty to protect and act as a beacon of hope for the people of Norvrandt, while also living in Minfilia’s shadow by virtue of her name and powers. Fhara could empathise with the young girl, having long known the feeling of so many people relying on her and her own more recent doubts that she could live up to those hopes. She kept trying all the same, as she knew the Oracle would as well, for it wasn’t in Fhara’s nature to give up if she could do something.

But now, seeing the newly christened Ryne standing with a fresh air of confidence about her, her only nerves being about doing a good job for the sake of the team and helping relinquish Amh Araeng from the grip of the Light, Fhara was proud of the girl for her new lease on life.

Yet also a tiny bit jealous, that all it took was a name and a declaration to do better by herself for the girl to suddenly be brimming with courage, whereas Fhara fretted and frayed and languished under a gifted moniker, calling herself by her childhood name and then acting as though it were her only option, that she had no other choice...but was it always that simple? To just announce to the world you could be born anew yet still the same person?

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the solution Fhara was looking for, but it was an idea towards a resolution for her woes. After all, she wasn’t trying to begin fresh like Ryne, Fhara just wanted to be Fhara, as she always had been. It was just trying to express that to the world at large.

It was only when the Light she had been capturing within herself finally overpowered her and left her weakened and stumbling, sitting at death’s door, did it finally seem to become clear to her. So rarely before had she gotten so close to death that she had never thought so closely about what she would leave behind, or who would remember her and how. The people of Norvrandt knew the Warrior of Darkness, Eorzea knew the Warrior of Light and the Scions knew Fhara. And if she died that day that would be the memory she would leave behind.

Yet she realised, lying in her inn room, she didn’t want to just be remembered as a hero under a title, or by a name that most of her nearest and dearest scarcely used. She wanted to be remembered as Fhara, at least if it were possible.

She’d certainly made the attempt to introduce herself as such during their travels across the realm, but with how quickly people came to know her as the Warrior of Darkness, she feared that her attempts were being drowned out. However before their ascent of Mt Gulg, as the crowds gathered from across the land to assist them, she found that they knew her as Fhara, and they would talk to her, and they wished all the Scions the best of luck. And among a small few, the Warrior of Darkness was not a title solely attributed to her, but to all of her friends.

It was nice. A reassuring gesture that her efforts were noticed. Even as she stumbled her way to the deepest depths of the seas in pursuit of Emet-Selch - keenly aware that if she failed, she would be dooming the First and her fellow Scions along with her - she held onto that knowledge. After all her worries, it was an odd source of courage for her, bolstered by her desire to survive, and the understanding that she wasn’t alone in her duty.

Altogether her feelings gathered, and in the face of death and her desperate wish to live, and her wish to be known for more than her heroic tales, she made her decision. She’d never been afraid to make the first step before, not even into the unknown. She’d come all the way to Eorzea on a whim and a want, and faced almighty foes more powerful than herself with nothing more than the determination to protect those that could not fight back.

If she lived through this fight, she would cast aside her anxieties, and take that first step again.

~*~*~

Fhara wasn’t the type to call meetings, she was the type to attend someone else’s meeting. And yet the majority Scions were gathered in the Rising Stones, with the miqo’te standing at the head of the pack, nervously shuffling her feet. What few Scions that weren’t accounted for were assured to be updated afterward.

She ran her fingers through her hair, no doubt to calm some nerves, although the action drew the attentions of the group members that had only seen her sparingly during her otherworldly adventures; since last they had seen her, she’d left for the Crystal Tower with a short crop, still wearing her tattered and torn bard coat, an uneasy smile on her face as though more to reassure those around her than because she genuinely felt like her hopeful self. Yet each time she returned to report to Tataru with updates, she was a brighter figure, with a spring in her step as she relayed the progress on the First, and her hair would grow out slowly to the feathered bob she now wore. It wasn’t quite the cute twintails they’d known her for when they joined, but she looked all the more confident nowadays with it.

She finally started, with a loud voice, albeit one that cracked as though there was still some anxiety holding her back, “I have something I want to say. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long while now and that I want to be clear on moving forward.”

Any mumbling between parties silenced immediately. Fhara’s tail flicked at the now heavy hush, however some encouraging gestures from the figures at the front most row - some few nods and a thumbs up here and there - allowed her to continue, “Thank you for being here. Truthfully, some people here already know what I’m gonna talk about. But I’d rather make it clear to everyone now. This whole thing might sound rather silly to some people, that I’m worrying over nothing. Some of you might even say that if it means so much to me, then it’s not such a trivial thing. And I appreciate that, I do.”

She hesitated, ears suddenly flattening. “To cut out a long story, when I came to Eorzea, and when I joined the Scions and became known as the Warrior of Light, I told everyone here they could call me Fhara. It’s who I am after all. But outside where people would know the Warrior of Light better, then they should call me ‘Fufu’. That’s still technically me, it's an old name I was called as a child. And it’s the name I chose for travelling because...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that I wanted to separate my private life, if I ever chose to return home, from my adventure life. But lately with everything that happened and with a lot of the dangers getting so much bigger than even the Warrior of Light I just started to worry about who I really was and what I was doing.”

“Like how? You seem the same to me?” Aenor spoke up, ignoring the disapproving nudge from her frowning sister.

“I mean, I hope I do,” Fhara smiled, although it was more wistful looking than pleasant, “I never tried to pretend to be someone I’m not, no matter where I was or who I was with, or what name people called me. But I started thinking I was getting lost with myself, like people were seeing two different people with me.” Her tail flicked again. “I should say now, I don’t hate being the Warrior of Light. A lot of people try to project that I’m frustrated with it or that I could be doing better with a title like that, but none of that is true. I don’t hate it. But it’s hard. People have big hopes and expectations for me when they treat me like that, and I’ll always try to reach them, but it’s not always easy to do alone. So truly, I’m forever grateful to have you all with me at my side.”

Casting a glance over the Archons and the twins, Fhara continued, her voice somehow smaller, “But when the Callings happened, and then everyone else here was stretched to take over the work, and this place was left empty so much, I...well, as senseless as it might sound, I felt alone. But I still had a job to do, but doing it alone was hard. Because everyone else knew this brave warrior that could handle anything, and I didn’t feel like that at all.” The quiet admission brought about guilty whispering rippling through the group, until a sharp cough from F’lhaminn hushed them again.

“T’was never our intent to make you feel as though you had no-one to lean on,” the older woman said, “Especially during such a time when our own were falling out of commission. But then it was precisely such a time that we all struggled to balance the work that needed to be done, and to fill the gaps left behind. If that struggle left you without support, then that would be our failing, and for that we would owe you our sincerest apologies.” The mumblings rose once more, letting out a small chorus of “sorry”s and “‘pologies”.

Fhara gave the woman a grateful nod then added, “I understand, I do. And I didn’t say that to call out anyone here, but I won’t deny that a lot of people across the realm talk about me in such grand ways because of the work and feats I’ve done, and it’s hard to feel like I’ve lived up to their stories. In that sense, being on the First kind of helped; it was a fresh start where I could try again to do the hero thing, but in a lot of ways, it wasn’t, because the same thing that happened here on the Source happened there. People needed a hero, someone to help them, and I just became the Warrior of Darkness to answer that need, and that’s what most people knew me as. But it still gave me a chance to try and start afresh with myself, and now I feel better about where I stand. And I want to bring that feeling and those certainties back here.”

She didn’t mention Azem. Though the suggestion that Fhara may be related in some way to that Ancient had brought her more hazy feelings, she had insisted that none of that mattered. The final insistence had brought her here now, to her certain decision. She was herself, and she didn’t have to worry about being anything more.

She let in a deep breath, steeling herself as she said, “The Warrior of Light is here to stay and she’s the one that will go down in history, and I can’t change that. Not everyone in the world will know the real me beyond the heroes tales, and I can accept that. But at least on some level, I can try to let them understand me. And that can start with a name. A name can be lost to time, so I get that people in the future will never know Fhara. But the people here and now can, and that’s all I want.”

With a final, certain nod, she declared, “So from now on, I’m Fhara. Not just inside these walls, but outside them as well. It took a lot more words to say that than it probably should have, but I hope you all understand it now.” Uncertain of how to finish her speech, she took the skirt of her purple dress, already wrung tight by her nervous hands, and gave a bow. There wasn’t an immediate response. It took another glance at the twins next to her, giving her comforting looks to ease the tension in her shoulders, until another voice spoke out from behind the group.

“‘At was a lot of words to get the message out, but it looks here that it meant a lot to ye to make it sure as sure fer us lot,” the crowd parted, and Riol nodded, looking satisfied, “I think I’ll speak fer us all when I say message received loud and clear.” Fhara’s eyes started to water as she looked around to assurances and smiles, and possibly unnecessary cheers from what sounded like one of the Boulder brothers, but it was acceptance nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she sniffed, trying not to actually cry, rubbing at her face, “I mean it. This all probably sounds really ridiculous and I’m overthinking everything but-”

“There shall be none of that,” Y’shtola interrupted, “None of that self-doubt at least. We’re here for you no matter what decision you wish to make for yourself. You of all people deserve the support, and we are all the more glad to provide it.”

Fhara’s ‘Thank you’ caught in her throat, all she could do was nod. The larger group dispersed, individuals coming up to give her more reassurances and words of comfort as they passed before continuing on to their work. Urianger took G’raha aside for a word, both men departing to Dawn’s Respite, leaving the rest of the archons and the twins by Tataru’s desk with Fhara.

“So that’ll be a weight off your shoulders then?” Alisaie asked. Fhara nodded, letting out a heavy breath and slumping forward with the effort.

“I was more nervous for that than I thought, and it was just in front of the other Scions. But I’m glad. I feel like that is a step towards feeling more like myself, even if I never really strayed from that in the first place...I think.”

Thancred let out a thoughtful hum, looking over her suddenly tired frame. “I’ll say you never changed much, but I can see the ease it’s brought you now. Although if this is you after telling people that knew your little secret, how will you be with others, I wonder?” He ignored the peeved expression from Alisaie next to him as he brought it up, especially when Fhara’s face became a picture of concern.

“Oh, we’ll probably have to tell the Alliance leaders. Or do we? Is this an official thing I have to report on? Is there a process for this?” Fhara asked, eyebrows furrowing. Was there more work needed in this decision that she hadn’t thought of? Was there paperwork?

“Not to worry, I can get some official missives written up and shipped out in a jiffy,” Tataru stated, giving Fhara a bright smile and a thumbs up. Fhara returned it with a relieved look of her own, and the receptionist hopped onto her chair and set to work.

“Honestly, knowing diplomatic types, we could just use your name normally as though it's always been used, and rather than risk a faux pas, the Alliance leaders would just go along with it anyways,” Alisaie suggested with a wry smile.

Alphinaud shook his head at the suggestion. “While I don’t doubt that that is possible, sister, I would prefer if we erred on the safe side and actually updated the Alliance. We don’t have to make a large fuss over the matter for Fhara’s sake, but at least informing them of the change would be better for the Scions’ standing with them in terms of open communication.”

Alisaie rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Of course, brother.”

“At the very least, Lyse is already familiar with you personally,” Y’shtola said, addressing Fhara once more, “Even should the rest of the Alliance falter or take time to adjust, she would be able to take charge on the matter and make the adjustment easier for all. You needn’t worry about being left alone to handle this.”

“Yes, that’ll help,” Fhara smiled, however her eyes then dropped to the floor, a worrisome look on her face once more.

“Thinking now about how many people I’d need to update or inform, it feels daunting already. I’m questioning now why I thought the whole alias thing would be a good idea.”

“Really now, it’s beginning to sound like you’re thinking of telling the whole realm. You’re going to worry yourself like that,” Alisaie huffed. However she then added with a softer tone, “You said it yourself that you won’t be able to change everyone’s perception of you. Many will know the Warrior of Light, and some few will know Fufu. The odds of you coming across every familiar face you’ve ever known after this will be slim. But if it does happen, you don’t have to explain yourself in any great detail. All anyone needs to know now is that you’re just Fhara.”

The words, simple as they were, brought a warmth to her chest. And surrounded by her closest friends, those that had been with her for most of her journey and through thick and thin, the idea of continuing on into the unknown ahead of them didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Just Fhara...I like that.”

And that was all she needed.

#My writing #ffxiv fanfic #fufu faelune #fhara laali #my wol #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #stormblood #Shadowbringers #fanfiction #ffxiv writing #how do titles work #fic titles i mean #i mused real hard for this one ahaha

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i-growl-growl-growl · 6 years ago

Note

Could you do a reaction where the boys see that their lover commited suicide because of their acts?

Since the unit for this request isn’t specified, I will go with the 127 members, however, I hit the maximum limit on tumblr for text boxes for this post so Jungwoo to Haechan will be done later if you’d like. Also, if you want the rest of the members (other than 127), feel free to request for more in the future! From what I assume, the “acts” you mention are their yandere deeds. Correct me if I’m wrong!

Sorry if it was really long, I got carried away with a lot of the reactions…especially with WinWin’s…If you don’t mind, I wrote scenarios to go with it!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of suicide, blood, self-harm; please do not read if you are uncomfortable with this topic. Please do not be influenced by the character’s decisions in the imagine, this is pure fiction. GRAPHIC!

Taeil

When Taeil came home that evening, he expected to see you, chained to the bed and sleeping alone. But when he soon found that you were nowhere to be seen, he freaked out.

He went out on a rampage, looking in every nook and cranny of the house the two of you shared. You weren’t in the closet, definitely not hiding under the counter, why the hell weren’t you hiding in the pantry like last time?

Suddenly, Taeil snapped to his thoughts. The bathroom.

As he tore though the hallway, Taeil tried to think of all the ways you could’ve escaped from the chains on the bed. Taeil had punished you last night, but he didn’t think it would affect you that badly.

Storming into the bathroom, he saw your unconscious body on the cold tiles. Taeil’s sleeping pills had been scattered everywhere on the floor and you were without a doubt, dead.

Devastated, Taeil tried to shake you awake as if you would open your eyes and laugh at him and say it was a stupid joke. But it wasn’t. This was all real.

Taeil fell to the floor and cried, hugging your corpse like a teddy bear. It was too much for the boy to handle, despite him being the source of your pain.

Many questions ran through his head as he embraced your dead body. How did you escape those chains? How did you find those pills even though he was the only one who knew where they were? Not to mention, those pills were locked up like diamonds in a safe.

Left with questions unanswered, Taeil was confused but beyond heartbroken that he had driven you to your breaking point. But unlike the time you ran away in the mall, you had ran away forever.

Johnny

You had gone missing a few hours ago. It was after Johnny finally agreed to take you to the movies after being well-behaved for the past four months. Of course, he should’ve expected you to use the bathroom excuse and make a run for it outside. Sadly for him, Johnny didn’t think that far ahead and sat in the dark theater, wondering when you would come back. It shouldn’t have taken that long to have changed a pad, right?

Only then did Johnny realize how foolish and stupid he was for letting you go. How far could you have ran away? And how much time did he have left to find you?

Unfortunately for him, the headlines of the newspaper the following day had in bold letters, “Drowned Girl found by the River; Suspected Suicide.” By then, Johnny clutched tighter onto the paper and took a deep sip of the coffee in his hand. Rather than feeling sad, strangely, he felt angry.

He was angry that you didn’t feel fulfilled by his unending love towards you and chose to escape that by following the route of suicide. He was upset that you didn’t even bother to talk to him about your problems, though he never would’ve listened and continued to hurt you. But most of all, Johnny was furious that you thought death was the only way to escape from this love.

How could you have been so cruel to leave him alone? But not all hope was lost; who said death could separate the two of you?

Taeyong

“Y/N! Y/N! Open the damn door!”

You were currently hiding in your room, Taeyong furiously knocking. Your parents had left on a business trip and thought you were old enough to take care of yourself on your own.

Unfortunately for you, a crucial thing your parents didn’t know was your psycho ex-boyfriend, Taeyong, somehow found out with his stalkerish ways and hunted down your location. He had barged in through the window of the second-floor hallway with a small pistol in his hand.

“Y/N! If you don’t open up the damn door, I’ll blow it down myself!”

His yelling was only making the adrenaline in your body accelerate and your heart thumped louder and louder. Any second longer and Taeyong would come in and kidnap you.

Your dignity and survival was at stake. You were sick of Taeyong coming into your life and running it like a madman. Taeyong wasn’t even normal, he was insane!

The long curtains were just at your reach. Grasping onto the thick fabric, you tried to make a rope out of it. If you were going to die, you weren’t going to let Taeyong get to it first!

As Taeyong continued to bang on the door, you threw up your makeshift rope onto the poles of your bed. Thank goodness your parents had insisted on a canopy bed to make your room more “grand”.

Tying the “rope” onto the bed and giving it a firm triple knot, you held your breath as you tied it around your neck. You felt your throat slowly closing up and suffocating you.

Taeyong never blew down the door. He finally punched it open but he was much too late. Your dead body hung up from the curtain rope on full display.

He felt tears spring up to his eyes as the thought of you dead finally struck him. Taeyong walked closer and closer to your hanging corpse. Grabbing your chest, he tried to listen for a heartbeat or a pulse. But alas, he couldn’t find one.

“No…no…NO! Y/N! Please tell me this is some awful trick! You’re not really dead, right? No! Please wake up! I’m sorry!”

Through his quiet sobs, Taeyong fell to his knees, the pistol popping out of his jean pockets and onto the carpet.

“I can’t live without you…”

Yuta

Again. This happened again.

The same creepy letters were coming to your locker. But there wasn’t much that you could do to escape that. You just transferred to this school and your parents (guardians) didn’t want to move again after finally settling into your new home.

There weren’t many suspects that you could rat on. You were the new kid and that kinda meant you were an easy target. You still hadn’t made friends that could’ve supported you through this and track down the stalker.

Weeks went on and the letters became more and more graphic. Eventually, photos of you changing, walking to school, eating at a cafe, or even brushing your teeth were included with each and every one of them! It was a surprise you still hadn’t found out the person considering there was a signature at the bottom of each note.

You fell into great paranoia and depression. It hurt to even move, fearing for your life that the stalked would be there and ready to take a picture and document it on who knows what. What made it the absolute worst though was the threats included at the bottom portion.

If you find out who I am and report me darling, don’t be surprised to attend your mother’s (or guardian’s) funeral.

Love you too,

xoxo N.Y.

N.Y.? There were multiple people with that name. Nina Yoshima. Nicholas Yen. Nancy Yerevas. Noah Yackley. Nathan Yakish. Who on earth was it?

This drove you into a frenzy. Soon, rather than counting down the days for school to end, you counted down the days to die. Why?

You were going to end your life. You had it. This was too much for you and it was becoming so overwhelming. So you did it. When your parents left you on your own for a family emergency, you released carbon monoxide into the air, quickly killing you.

Nakamoto Yuta. The very boy who bestowed this tragic fate unto you. And now he had to pay, seeing the news flash with your suicide all over the headlines. He hadn’t meant for it to go so far like most yanderes, he just wanted your attention and for you to notice him!

He grieved for his mistakes and refused to eat and drink. Locking himself in his room, no one saw him ever again, lounging in the back of the classroom with a juice box in one hand and a pen in the other.

Doyoung

Doyoung had heard about your death through the school’s gossip. He was absolutely heartbroken, knowing that he had crossed the line when he fought with you about your friend group. His jealousy blinded him to the point where he took action; he killed your younger friend Renjun out of rage.

You were terribly upset about that and cursed Doyoung out. For that, he slapped you hard on the face and threatened to shoot you too with the gun in his hand. But to his surprise, you grabbed onto the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight into your chest and your white blouse started to stain with the crimson blood.

Collapsing to the floor, Doyoung looked at you in horror. As he stood there, internally panicking, he soon realized that you were mumbling something.

I will never, in all my days, forgive you, Kim Doyoung.

So here he was with his friend Kun, at this cheap frat party. Scratch that, it was Kun’s party and only God knows how wealthy his family actually is. They’re too busy bathing in hundred dollar bills to even keep track of the damn bills!

Even though it was probably the biggest party of the whole school year, Doyoung couldn’t bear to see the drunk boys and girls dancing the night away. He tried to walk out into the balcony, but was faced with a gang of youngsters, smoking some weed. The smell was suffocating and hurt Doyoung’s eyes, so he went to the only place he knew where he could find solace.

The bathroom. Doyoung locked himself up in the cold bathroom. He sat on the toilet and buried his face in his shaking hands. The memories of your suicide haunted him to this day, even though it was over a year ago.

He sobbed and sobbed over and over again. Doyoung called out your name numerous times and screamed out of agony in the bathroom until someone knocked through the door and asked him to shut up.

Doyoung would have one of the hardest times out of all the yanderes to recover from your suicide in my opinion because of his personality. He seems to be a yandere who is sadistic, but a true softie when you actually get hurt. Your death took quite a toll on him…

Jaehyun

Jaehyun had walked into his art studio, ready to paint you again. You were posed on the sofa, lying so still that anyone could’ve mistaken that you were dead.

Only this time you were. You had stabbed yourself to death with the knife Jaehyun had you pose with. So imagine his horror that his art model and lover was dead and surrounded with blood.

But in the beginning, Jaehyun truly believed that someone had broken into the studio and killed you. Because of this belief, he tried to trace down as much evidence as he could, mainly because he didn’t want to think that your suicide was your doing. Jaehyun wanted to hope that rather than it was his fault, it was someone else’s evil deed.

Eventually, Jaehyun gave up and declared to himself that your death was indeed, a suicide. From there, the disasters began.

He didn’t expect you to resort to something so drastic like suicide, especially when the night before, you seemed surprisingly cheery, willing to cook dinner for once rather than mope around in bed. In fact, there was no sign of despair and to any stranger’s eyes, it would seem like you were a loving couple rather than a helpless girl trapped in a relationship with a psychopath.

The shock would consume Jaehyun up and it wouldn’t be until a few days later when he embalmed your body since he didn’t want to bury you that it truly hit him that you were gone.

And to think that it was all his fault that pushed you to the brink of life and death. Jaehyun would be devastated and bedridden with guilt. Even more so, he would be ashamed to feel like he was the very person who took away the girl he wanted all to himself.

During this mourning period, Jaehyun would fall into a great depression. He would take out his anger using his art until it drove him crazy. Jaehyun wouldn’t be able to focus or bear the memories of you dying. So he packed up everything and left the country, off to a new land for adventure and a new life in America.

WinWin

I will use WinWin’s real name (Sicheng) for this reaction as it is much more fitting for the scenario.

Sicheng was the son and heir of a powerful and influential company in Tianjin, China. He was spoiled rotten as a child and was used to having things his way.

So when you entered in the building as a new intern on that fateful day, he was practically bursting with excitement. Sicheng had never been exposed to many people when he was younger and most of the employees working at his father’s company were in their 40′s and 50′s.

Young and fresh-faced, you were a new person and a new friend to Sicheng. You fell for his smooth talk and innocent eyes like any normal girl would. He had his charms and quirks that intrigued you, deeper and deeper into a trap you couldn’t escape.

About two years had passed since the two of you had become couple when Sicheng placed that diamond ring on your finger and asked you to marry him. You, being completely unaware that your sweet and gentle boyfriend would show his true colors later, accepted without hesitation.

It was only on your honeymoon did Sicheng begin to reveal his cruel and manipulative ways as a yandere. He pressured you to always be by his side as he was insecure about his persona and wanted to make sure that you would never leave him.

But this new lifestyle had become unbearable for you. Constantly calling WinWin every hour. Texting him every twenty minutes a long summary of what you did. Mindlessly waiting in your shared room, locked up with a key and the windows shut with steel shutters.

You tried to take every opportunity that came your way to run from his clutches and escape. But he was always two steps ahead of you. He planned out your every move, took your passport, and any possible weapons that you could’ve wielded. Sicheng didn’t even let you cut a damn apple without his supervision. And half the time, he did it himself, afraid that you would hurt him.

Unable to carry the weight of the relationship, you took the route that seemed like the only way out; suicide.

Sicheng had to bring you to banquet outside, much to his dismay. However, this may have been the only way for you to vanish from him for good. So you walked in, ready to inhale the flashing cameras and the reporters shoving microphones in your face, questioning your latest disappearance.

When Sicheng turned his back from you to talk to some of his father’s clients, you made a break for the window. But the champagne you had drank beforehand wasn’t sitting well with you, intoxicating you so you couldn’t think straight.

Rather than finding a height that would be decent to jump from and still live in your six-inch heels, you ran for the balcony on the ninth floor of the hotel. Without a second thought, you threw yourself off the building and smashed onto the concrete, sealing the deal.

The ruckus outside certainly drew some attention on the inside as the reporters clamored in to see what had just happened. And there you were, dripping with blood all over your nice ballroom gown and several broken limbs.

An ambulance was called and Sicheng began to freak out. The next 24 hours was him pleading the doctors to save your life and to do everything they could to help you live, even if it was just a bit longer. But it was no use. You were declared dead as an “accident” until Sicheng’s own mother demanded for an autopsy to find out the truth. She had always known her own son was a bit insane in the head, but the elderly woman felt something sinister was lurking around.

Several weeks later and your apparent “accident” was changed to a suicide after the official autopsy. Signs of trauma and depression were found as investigators dug deeper into the mystery of your sudden death.

All over social media, it was absolute madness. Articles read with Sicheng on the front cover with suspected abuse, finally drawing the attention of the authorities to bring Sicheng into custody. However, with the help of some connections and his great acting, Sicheng managed to be released within a few hours and was “confirmed innocent”.

Surprisingly, your suicide was just as shocking for Sicheng as it was for the media and the people around him. But slowly, after people began to forget about the whole scandal and your death, the Dong’s company was having some peace and quiet.

Yet it wasn’t at all peaceful in Sicheng’s heart. It still didn’t click in his mind that the only reason you jumped off that balcony as a last resort was because of him. He continued to blame your death on well…you.

That still didn’t stop Sicheng from mourning your loss. As much as he hurt you emotionally and mentally, he loved you from the bottom of his heart; he just didn’t know how to express it. His days were soon filled with tears and exhaustion.

_ _ _

And that’s it! I hit the max number of text blocks for the post so I’m sorry about that. I’ll continue on another post if you’d like!

Edit: For some reason the “read more” button after the trigger warning isn’t showing, so I’ll try and get that fixed.

#suicide #trigger warning #self-harm #yandere nct #nct yandere #kpop yandere #yandere scenario #yandere reactions #yandere jaehyun #yandere taeyong #yandere yuta #yandere winwin #yandere imagines #yandere taeil #yandere johnny #yandere doyoung #tw: suicide #tw: self harm

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t-hotland · 6 years ago

Text

Fright Night (T.H)

Frat!Tom x Reader

Requests Masterlists Tag Lists Wattpad

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Frat!Tom convinces you to go to an old-school drive in horror movie festival with him and shows you a side to him you haven’t seen before.

Word Count: 2.3K - I’m really sorry if the Read More doesn’t work 💕👑

Fright Night was the festival that everybody on campus looked forward to all year round. Where everyone gathered on the fields huddled in blankets with piping hot drinks in hand to keep themselves warm while they sat for countless hours; catching colds while watching various horror films all night long. It was something you’d never had an interest in participating in, until that night.

“You know it’s going to be fun,” Practically singing a tune to his own words Tom watched you from across the room. He’d been propped up on your doorframe for what felt like an eternity, daring you to go out with him on the scariest night of the year despite the fact that you had already told him countless times that you just wanted to stay inside.

“I don’t like horror movies, Holland,” You all but growled as you continued to stare at the laptop screen perched upon your lap.

But not taking the hint, Tom continued to smirk as he took steps into your dorm-room before taking a seat at the edge of your bed, “I’ll protect you if you get scared, darling,”

Trying to fight off a furious blush at the intensity of his gaze, you grew flustered and grabbed the first thing you saw before launching it in Tom’s direction though it did little to settle the giddy nervousness you felt when you caught him looking at you like that.

Of course, you knew that it didn’t mean anything - he looked at almost every girl in that way, teasing them with his eyes and words but never acting on them unless he really wanted to. It was a frustrating cycle you had been prey to too many times since meeting Tom Holland and had long since decided you were never going to take anything he said seriously again, sick of being disappointed when it became apparent that his words were meaningless.

Afterall, the two of you weren’t friends, not really. You shared one class with him and your dorm room was relatively close to his, meaning that whenever he didn’t understand a concept in your lectures he would almost always be at your door asking for help and of course, you almost always gave in to him. But besides the long nights you would spend trying to explain the complicated details of the things he didn’t understand, the only other time the two of you would really talk is on the short walks from the dorm rooms to the lecture halls, which was where he had first proposed the little outing to you.

“Would it kill you to wait for me every once in a while, Y/N?” He’d huffed at you, striding to keep up with you as you made your way to the lecture hall without him.

“You were being too slow,” You’d called behind you, not looking back as you saw your own breath mist in front of you, a tell-tale sign that it was too cold to wait around. It was only when Tom nudged his shoulder against yours and almost send you flying across the icy sidewalk that you’d bothered to look at him, whirling around to throw him an icy glare and immediately noticing the amused expression on his face as you tried to stop yourself from falling over. “Shut up,”

“You’re welcome by the way,” He’d stood smirking as he held the hot cup of coffee out to you as a peace offering. Mumbling your small thanks while staring at the ground, you’d quickly taken the cup from him before continuing on your walk to the lecture hall, still desperate to get out of the cold. Tom had easily fell into step with you and began talking about nothing in particular until the thoughtless small-talk which you had since grown accustomed to led onto the topic of the infamous Fright Night Festival.

“So you’re going to be my date, right?” You’d rolled your eyes and muttered one sarcastic agreement or another, before pushing through the large double doors of the lecture hall and flopping down in your seat, not for a moment thinking there might have been an ounce of seriousness in Tom’s words.

“Come on, you know it won’t be any fun without you there,” Hugging the pillow you’d thrown at him to his chest, he tried to catch your eye as he shot you the look of an injured puppy, his deep brown eyes trying to burn into yours.

You could feel yourself melting under his intense gaze and as much as you tried not to, eventually you gave in. Sighing, you moved your laptop to the side and met his gaze head-on, determined to sound strong in firm in your words so you could have some kind of internal win while simultaneously being weak.

“Just one film,”

Immediately, a huge, victorious grin broke out across his face and he jumped from the bed, lending you a hand as you climbed out from the covers of your bed, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Already regretting your decision, you allowed Tom to lead you from the dorm rooms and across campus, passing countless numbers of people in costumes and even more people who weren’t, all the while he continued to hold your hand in his. It was only when you got onto the fields that your interest was finally peaked, spotting various cars parked left, right and centre all across the open space with the occupants all laughing and joking inside, not making a move to drive off and park somewhere else.

And while you tried to ask Tom what was going on, he only responded by tugging you faster in whatever direction he felt like moving in, telling you, “You’ll see,” and leaving you with more unanswered questions. It was only once Tom stopped and stood next to one car in particular that he finally decided to face you, a huge smile beaming on his face as he stood proudly next to the vehicle.

“It’s a drive-in theatre!”

Amazed by how excited he seemed by the idea, you found yourself laughing as Tom unlocked the car and held the passenger’s door open for you to climb into. Seconds later, he joined you, all but jumping in his seat as he shuffled around before covering your lap in a blanket and grabbing coffees from the backseat.

“How’d you know I’d say yes?” You couldn’t help but ask, taking a sip from your coffee and immediately noticing that it was exactly the way you liked it.

Tom said nothing and instead proceeded to fiddle about with the radio until it was on the right station for the movie’s audio to be blasted through when it finally began, ignoring your curious gaze as you watched him. Yet you couldn’t help but watch him; you’d never seen Tom act like this before. You’d seen him with his friends, forever the cocky playboy who toyed with girl’s feelings and did what he wanted, consequences be damned. Hell, even when you spent your nights tutoring with him he was always overly confident despite only having you as an audience to ‘show-off’ for.

But never had you seen Tom seem so excited over something like he was as he sat in the car beside you. With an overly excited grin spread across his face that he didn’t even try to hide and his eyes practically sparkling with joy like an anime character, you couldn’t help but stare at him and wonder why he didn’t show this side of him off as much.

“Tom?” You mumbled softly though he didn’t even look up from the radio at the mention of his name. Instead, he hummed distractedly as he continued tuning the radio until he was eventually satisfied that he had landed on the right station. “Why did you bring me here tonight?”

When he looked at you this time, the eager, almost childlike innocence that had previously lit up his face was gone, now replaced by his all too familiar smirk while his eyes bore deep into yours, “You know you’re the only girl for me, Y/N,”

Rolling your eyes and feeling slightly disappointed by his words, you turned to look at the blank wall of the university where the movie was about to start playing, not seeing the way Tom’s face fell when he realised he’d obviously said the wrong thing.

“What film are we watching anyway?”

“Annabelle” As soon as the title left his lips you turned your head to look at him so quickly Tom feared you may have given yourself whip lash, though the panic-stricken look on your face quickly became the main priority. He could barely hear what you were saying as you began muttering under your breath before clawing at the door like a deranged, captive animal desperate to be back out in the wild but knew that none of it was good.

Yet despite your best efforts to leave the car, you quickly found that it was a pointless endeavour as Tom had, at some point, turned the child-lock on all the doors and windows of the vehicle, already having anticipated that you would try to make a break for it at the last minute.

“Open the damn door, Holland!” You practically cried while you kept hold of the silver door handle. But Tom didn’t listen to your request, instead he wrapped his arms around your waist and dragged you away from the door, fighting against you the entire time until you were sat in his lap with his arms acting a straight jacket around yours so they couldn’t move or fight back against him.

“I told you I would protect you, didn’t I?” You didn’t dare to look at him, feeling as if you had never been this close or intimate with another person ever, let alone Tom. And yet despite not being able to see his face you could tell that his words weren’t laced with the smirk that you had come to hate so much, instead his voice was calm and reassuring as he held you against him without making a move to suggest that he was going to let you go anytime soon.

All you could do was nod your head, practically frozen in place with fear coursing through every fibre of your being, now more terrified that you’d make a move and embarrass yourself even further after your small breakdown than you were of the actual movie.

“If you really don’t like it I’ll take you back to your dorm room, deal?” This time you shifted slightly to look at Tom and saw the concern in his eyes as he looked up at you, genuinely concerned about your wellbeing. You offered him a small, uncertain smile and a nod of your head which he mirrored with his own before the speakers in the car came to life as the beginning soundtrack of the movie began to play.

Facing the big, previously blank wall where a projector now had the film on display for everybody to see, you instinctively tensed up, only really relaxing as Tom began absentmindedly brushing the pad of his thumb across your side in a soothing manner. Slowly, as the film played on, you found yourself relaxing into his chest, only moving as jump scares came up on the screen.

And each time they did, you would hide your face in his shoulder and his arms would wrap around you and hold you tightly against himself until he deemed it safe for you to turn around and watch again. This happened numerous times and it was only after the seventeenth time that you brought your face out from behind his shoulder that you realised that there was no awkwardness in your situation. Sitting this close to Tom and drawing comfort from his touch was something that you easily got used to and as that realisation dawned on you, it almost scared you more than the creepy doll flashing up on the screen.

Almost.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tom found himself whispering despite the fact that nobody but you could hear him after noticing you’d somehow managed to zone out during the film. Instantly, you were snapped back from your thoughts and turned to look at him, giving him an unconvincing smile as you looked from his eyes to his lips and lingered there for a moment.

Maybe it was because of the close proximity between the two of you, or the fact that you couldn’t escape Tom’s intoxicating scent from where you were sitting, but in that moment, you found yourself yearning to kiss him in a way that you had never wanted anyone before. Practically hypnotised his lips, you barely noticed as his hand sneaking up until it was cradling the side of your face and tilting it so that your mouth was mere inches away from his but not touching, not yet.

“God, you really are something, Y/N Y/L/N,”

And it was those words that pushed you to do it because they meant something. You could hear it in his voice as he spoke them that he meant every syllable, not like when he talked to you with that damn smirk on his face because they weren’t the kind of words that he’d tell just about any girl.

So, you made the final move and connected your lips to his, relishing in the feeling as he pulled you impossibly closer to him as if you were his lifeline. And you clung to him just as firmly, not wanting that moment to end because it was so impossibly perfect.

“I think we should go back to the dorms now,”

My Tag Lists are Open. Please give me feedback 💕👑

Tags: @smexylemony @tomshufflepuff @gingertalksshit @embrace-themagic@positiveparker @gendryia @carlaimberlain @spideyyypeter @sleepybesson @micki-smiles @double-leo @xxxxdelenaxxxx@iluvmesomemarvelndc @nerdyboii711 @bellagrayson-wayne

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anubisidianjackal · 6 years ago

Note

Ablutophilia: I’ll write our characters making love in a bath or shower ((Should probably tag hybridafterdark for this))

Smutty Drabbles Meme - Volt (Accepting)

🐺 💎 🐺

Ace wasn’t sure when they’d gotten like this, heated breaths mingling together, his back against the wall, claws threaded into his fur, his head forced up with claws gripping roughly at his hips as teeth nipped roughly at his throat and groans being drawn from his muzzle. He could barely think, mind disoriented from the pleasures he received as he could barely keep a train of thought going, aside from Volt coming to visit him and evidently being agitated with some deep-seated yearning to spend time with the Jackal. He’d mentioned something about his day being stressful, but Ace didn’t think to pry into it when Volt had requested in such a sweet tone to be with him. “ I know this is sudden, Ace, but… I just need a distraction. I’ll tell you about it later.”

That was the only clue he had, and all the canine needed. “ Let’s go take a shower together, we… haven’t done that, have we? Heh… I’ll wash your fur and quills, give you some TLC to help you relax. Sound alright, love?”

The soft tone he used, the reassurance, it was taken pleasantly by the hybrid as they walked hand-in-hand to the bathroom together. He glanced to the other, deciding they could get a quick rinse in the shower before settling into the jacuzzi and just let the heat take away the stress. He turned on the water, pulling back to allow the water to heat up before moving over to the jacuzzi and filling the tub as well. The questioning gaze he received could only get a smile out of the jackal, chuckling softly to himself as he left the unspoken question unanswered. He decided to, instead, undress and quietly urge Volt to follow his lead. What he wasn’t expecting was claws sneakily sliding up underneath his top and a warm body pressing into his back. “ Volt…?”

No response. He figured the shorter male was just taking his time and reminding himself of everything that made Ace who he was, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth, claws threading through the fur of his belly and enjoying in the shiver it drew out of the jackal. Ace could feel how tense Volt was, standing there for however long he needed. The faint trembling of his body, the way his hands were tremoring as well… It worried the jackal. Had something happened? Was he needed without his knowledge, and left Volt alone to suffer something unspeakable? Ace wasn’t sure if it was something he could have helped with in the first place, and it bothered him. Knowing Volt was so unnerved, and there was nothing he could say or do to ease his mind. Setting his jaw, Ace slowly raised his paws to place them on top of Volt’s own and unintentionally startled the other male. “ Hey… Let’s get undressed. That way, you can… get closer to me, without clothes in the way.”

A slight nod against his back, Volt pulled away and the pair undressed. Ace tested the waters, tail raised and wagging idly before he stepped into the heated waters and allowed them to cascade over his body. His fur laid flat, absorbing the waters and making him look a little more slender than he was as he tipped his head and enjoyed the warmth flooding past his fur. Volt was soon to follow, Ace stepping back so his lover could enjoy the stream of water as well. He’d never fully taken note of all of Volt’s body, most time being covered up and hiding his scars or deformities like they shamed him. But Ace just thought they were more signs of beauty for the hybrid, each mark telling unspoken stories of the hardships Volt went through in his past. And his beauty was always undoubted in the jackal’s mind, slowly wrapping his arms around the other mobian to pull him close and press a soft kiss to the base of Volt’s ear.

He could feel the tremble, hear the hitch on his breathing. He loved it, the way he could get the other male to melt under his claws. His lips were a little more active, teasing Volt’s ear more actively as slender digits stroked over the scarring over his hip. The throaty moan was heavily appreciated, the way Volt pressed back against him and his muzzle gained a soft pink barely seen through his fur… “ You’re so beautiful, Volt…”

Ace had to speak it aloud, admiring Volt as the hybrid could only smile somewhat bashfully and too distracted to properly respond in a way that wouldn’t include stammering as the jackal continued in his conquest to melt his beloved. One hand trailed up, skilled digits finding and teasing nipples that left Volt breathless as the sensory assault continued. The hybrid could only let out gasps, whimpers, and moans of need as every nerve-ending was lit on fire with the pleasure he received. “ A-Ace…!”

The jackal could only shudder at the call of his name, loosening his hold on Volt and allowing the other to turn in his arms. Those smoldering, lusty amethysts were staring at him with the utmost love and desire that Ace had ever seen before the taller of the two found himself pinned against the shower wall being lavished in returned affections. The way that Volt’s sheath could only so prominently show off his arousal, the way that Ace so easily drew the hybrid to this state… Volt wanted to return the lavished adorations to get Ace into a similar state of disarray. Oh, right.

This was how he got into this position. Not like he minded, but damn was Volt good at retaliating with pleasure. Ace only stopped them with a disgruntled sound in his throat to gently push Volt back, the mobian in question confused and concerned for a few moments. That was, until Ace kissed him with such a passion to leave him breathless and dazed as the jackal shut off the shower and led the hybrid into the heated waters of the jacuzzi. Ace looked like a siren, sinking into the waters and glancing over his shoulder with a sultry expression that sent a jolt of desire and yearning through the hybrid’s body as he was quick to follow. Ace pushed himself back, gesturing at Volt with a come hither and a coy smile on his lips.

The hybrid was quick to move, dipping into the heated waters and moving closer to his lover as their lips melded into another mind-blowing kiss that left them both breathless and dazed by the time it had ended. Ace raised a clawed hand to stroke and lovingly nuzzle at Volt’s jaw before a soft yet endearing growl escaped him, soft purring escaping the hybrid in turn. They stayed like that, limbs tangled together as they shared soft little kisses of passion and gentle nuzzles as they got lost in each other’s eyes. The love and adoration they felt for one another reaching a new point as they grew closer in solitude, in each other’s embrace. “ I love you…”

Their words mingled together, speaking together before soft chuckles escaped and kisses resumed. Ace carefully changed their positions, Volt’s back pressed carefully to the siding of the jacuzzi’s walls as Ace settled between his spread thighs. The hybrid’s breath hitched, head tipping back as fingers wrapped around his forgotten need, sliding up and over the tapered tip to garner uncontrollable tremors from his body. Soft moans and whimpers left Volt’s lips as Ace continued lavishing his throat with kisses and nips, those dexterous fingers teasing his erection and leaving the hybrid breathlessly pleading for more. “ P-Please, Ace… Don’t… D-Don’t tease me.”

The jackal smiled against Volt’s throat, his opposite hand trailing down past Volt’s sheath to teasingly stroke and press against the ring of muscle that relaxed at his touch. He slid a finger inside of the hybrid, a gasp ending in a hissed breath escaping him. Ace felt claws dig into his fur, carefully pumping his digit inside of Volt’s inner walls and curling it slowly before brushing past a bundle of nerves as he worked drawing a startled cry of bliss from his lover’s lips as it drew out into a loud moan of desire. Volt’s legs spreading wider for his partner, mind distracted with growing pleasure and barely even noting the second digit sliding inside and stretching him further. The bathroom was a cacophony of moans and short cries of pleasure from Volt’s lips, amethyst eyes unfocused and glossy with his thighs quivering helplessly. His inner walls gripped Ace’s fingers, his breathing ragged as he was kept teetering on the edge of orgasm and kept lingering with a desperation for more.

Three fingers spread him open, preparing him for the main event of the night, preparing him for the undoubtedly mind-blowing sex that would drive him to a mindless orgasm to leave him breathless and chanting his lover’s name. The mere thought got a harsh shudder to wrack his body as his claws kneaded and gripped the edge of the tub, looking up as Ace withdrew his fingers and loomed over him. He felt so empty, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was filled with something that would leave him satisfied for hours to come. A smile on his muzzle, he raised his arms that felt heavier than they should to wrap around Ace’s shoulders and pull the other just that much closer. Their noses pressed together very gently, the flushed faces, the desire and yearning burning in their eyes… Chaos it was beautiful.

He was drawn closer, feeling safe in those arms with his face buried in the fluff on Ace’s chest, legs wrapping around his lover’s waist and clung to the other with some renewed eagerness. His amethyst hues were wide, lips parted in a gasp as he felt himself getting pierced by that tapered head before slowly lowering onto the thick girthy cock impaling him inch by inch. A pair of throaty moans rang out in the eerie silence as claws gripped his hips before a stray caress stroked along his scarring and his body jerked with a short cry of pleasure, tightening around Ace’s arousal and drawing a groan from his love. He was enjoying himself, it seemed, driving Volt to a new high of pleasure as he buried his face into the jackal’s chest and quivered helplessly while Ace drove himself deeper into the heated inner walls clinging so deliciously to him. He didn’t stop until he was hilted, Volt loving the sensation of being speared and filled to the brim as he finally loosened his grip to catch his breath. Heavy panting, soft grunts, and the soft sound of the water was all they needed. There was no cause to speak, capable of expressing their feelings without words.

Ace slowly pulled back, a whine drawing out of Volt’s throat before it was abruptly changed into a moan as the jackal thrust his hips. Quiet splashing, moans, gasps, and growls soon echoed as Ace found himself a pace that was neither too slow, nor too gentle. A dance of their bodies, focused on instinct and the rhythm of their movements as he listened to Volt’s voice as he sang for his lover in such a way that sent jolts of pleasure along his spine. A throaty growl escaped Ace, gripping Volt’s body as their hips rolled and his knot grew. His ears twitched, the sound of the water lapping over the edge and splattering over the tiled floor. He couldn’t care less of the mess, wanting only to feel Volt’s body close to his own. To claim him. To mark him. This was his partner, his boyfriend, his lover, his mate. He loved this beautiful mobian with every fiber of his being, wanting to keep him close and make him happier than he could ever be.

“ I love you so much, Volt…”

His words were met with hearty cries of pleasure, moans and whines that caused Ace’s heart to flutter. He could tell how close Volt was, being kept so long at that edge, sitting, teetering, so close to breaking and letting the world know who was pleasure him this way… It drew Ace closer to that point of sitting on the blade’s edge. His thrusts were erratic, rough, quick, growls and moans mingling with cries and pleas. Grip tightening, Volt arched into the jackal as he threw his head back and let out a desperate scream of a pleasure that left his mind blank and body tense, inner walls gripping that cock that brought him to his bliss. Several thrusts later, knot buried deep inside of the pliant body as Ace tumbled after Volt with a howl of pleasure as he brought Volt close and both were left in the afterglow of their pleasures. Bodies trembling, breath caught in their throats, hearts hammering in their chest before they melted into the heated warmth of the jacuzzi. Volt was the first to regain some form of motor function, snuggling closer to Ace as he was settled in the other’s lap for the foreseeable future and he was content with that.

The way their voices mingled when they had called each other’s names, it was something that got them both to feel as if they had gotten even closer than before. The couple slowly looked to each other, gazes locking for several seconds before their eyes fluttered shut and passionate kisses were shared, leaving the two content and satisfied in one another’s presence. They were happy, and that’s all that mattered. Volt couldn’t even remember what bothered him, and that felt like an accomplishment to Ace not like he would verbally admit as much.

#hybridafterdark #💎| Talking to the Devil {Asks}#💎| Jack of All Trades {Volt}#💎| Breaking the Mask {Volt&Ace}#💎| Sinful Delight {Sinday Meme}#💎| Behind Closed Doors {NSFW}#//LongPostCut #Drabble #💎| The Owner { Ace }

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all-about-wannaone · 7 years ago

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Did Ongniel die?

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This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we discover the facts into the burning questions; What happened to Seongwoo? What happened to Daniel? Did Ongniel die together? How about the rest? What is their story?

Before I get into it proper, I just wanted to say a few words about the music video. It was definitely a little more on the mature and depressing side of Wanna One, with a key feature of its genre meaning to capture a slice of life. It starts off simple, showing the close knitted bonds of orphaned kids and how they stuck by one another even as they grew up. However, after some plot twists and turns, Wannables ended up with a very much confusing and uncertain ending between the two main characters, Seongwoo and Daniel (aka Ongniel is Science). Nevertheless, it was still a music video that managed to tug on heartstrings and definitely gave the audience a feel-d trip.

[Theory and story will be under the cut because oh boy, this is one lengthy post]

Now, we shall get into the story of the music video proper and I will try my best to link this to the prologue of the Beautiful music video, which was released 4 days ago.

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It all starts off with a family of 4 moving from their homes and they have 2 sons, Cha Seongwoo and Cha Daniel. Unfortunately, Daniel ended up being left behind after trying to retrieve the soccer ball that Seongwoo had dropped, hence ending up in an orphanage where he met the rest of the boys, except Minhyun. Considering how Minhyun were friends with the rest of the orphaned kids in the main music video, I guess it is safe to say that Minhyun was also an orphan, but got adopted, and never lost touch with the other 9 boys.

Fast forward in time when Wanna One have finally grown up to become teenagers and adults, Seongwoo is seen to be staying with his mum and is currently employed as a construction worker, who studies hard for his course to become a policeman and also meets Minhyun in the process (which we see later on in the video). Despite the time that had passed, he was still pasting “Missing Person” posters all over the streets and even the boards of the police post, by placing a picture of Daniel as a child.

As for the other boys, Jihoon became a professional boxer in training while it’s clear that the the rest have become those who take care of the gym (as we see Jaehwan with a toilet brush and Daniel with a mop) but Daniel is also one who takes up various part time jobs, as he works as a storekeeper in the convenience store as well. Later on, he’s seen to be admiring a motorbike that he happened to come across, and even takes a picture with it with a wide smile on his face, clearly determined to work hard and pay for the bike.

However, due to fate and pure coincidence, Seongwoo and Daniel happen to reunite while they were working hard to paste their respective “Missing Person” posters, since it started raining and they needed shelter. There, it cuts to them sharing a tight and heartwarming embrace, before they catch up with one another (as seen with them spending time on the roof and walking back home together in laughter and smiles). Daniel also shows Seongwoo the bike that he wanted and I assume that Daniel used his hard earned money to buy it, taking it out for a ride almost immediately and jumping around in glee when he had made the purchase.

Soon, Seongwoo gets a notification from the police force, saying that he has been accepted and so has Minhyun, which resulted in them hosting a celebration for the two as a form of congratulations. Unfortunately, this is also the time when things are not going as great as they seem to be. Jisung accidentally lands himself in a fight, in which Jihoon ended up being the sole defender of the group and ends up with a broken arm due to being severely outnumbered. And just when one thought it could not get any worse, Seongwoo so happened to stumble across the scene and becomes an object of blame, in which he sacrifices his job and gets arrested by Minhyun, just to protect his friends and the badly injured Jihoon, who was quickly sent to hospital with the help of Daniel and his motorbike.

As expected, Seongwoo loses his job as quickly as he attained it, and went back to becoming a construction worker while Daniel had no choice but to sell his motorbike to get the cash needed to bail Seongwoo out of jail. In addition, Daniel has absolutely no choice, but to become Jihoon’s replacement in the upcoming boxing match and trains hard, practicing with the coach as well as Jihoon, who monitors him and teaches him, all the way until the actual match itself.

It’s not certain whether Seongwoo and Daniel’s different endings were within the same timeframe but this is my guess from this point onwards, especially since I like to keep things optimistic. :’) It is possible that when Ong fell from the site by accident, he had landed in hospital and did not die, which explains why Daniel still got up, despite the fact that he was on the losing end of the stick, not wanting to give up for the recovering Seongwoo, especially it had only been a short time since they reunited as blood brothers and Daniel was probably motivated by the fact that Seongwoo was still alive.

Another guess, sadly, would be the fact that Seongwoo and Daniel perished together, as implied by how the scene faded to them being little kids again on the railway track, before walking together down the horizon to a certain destination, which in this case, refers to heaven. It’s unclear when this might have taken place, but it is still a possible implication.

Nevertheless, there are still many questions left unanswered, which would explain all the theories later to come. For now, this mystery would remain unsolved, unless YMC releases a true movie version, but I’ll open this to the floor. :) If anyone would like to give your input or ask me anything about the theory at all, don’t hesitate to drop me a comment, something in my askbox or even my DMs. :) I might be a little slow in responding, but I am curious to know what you guys think about it as well! ^^

Before I end this off, I just wanted to let you guys know that I am halfway through my national exams! ^^ Just 16 days more and my requests will be OPEN again! :) Hence, do keep looking out for this space and until then, toodles and I will see you all again soon! <3

Questions?

Check out my other stuff here!

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his-honey-bee-blog · 7 years ago

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A/N: Keep in mind that this was written by two people, and then touched up by me. We took turns, so both of us wrote for each character. I'll try to make it as consistent as possible, but it's midnight, my man. Sorry for any inconsistencies... This is also our first fanfiction together, so bear with us T^T We wrote it on a very loose plot....

AU: Soulmate AU where if Person A gets injured physically, the same injuries show up on Person B

Requested: No

Genre: Angst, but it gets fluffy at the end

Trigger warnings: Torture, but not bad

Summary: Castiel and Dean are soulmates, and have to find out the hard way when Crowley finds it necessary to kidnap the angel and try and torture the location of the boys out of him.

Unanswered Prayers (Destiel)

After being kept in the dark for so long, the dim light of the small room he was being kept in was enough to trigger an intense headache. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut a few times before he was able to take in his surroundings, his eyes adjusting to the sudden lighting change. The walls were stained a desaturated yellow, from years of going uncleaned. He raised his eyebrows when he noticed the whiteboard on the wall opposite him. Was this an office building? Or perhaps a school... He didn't have the time to decide, as the door opened abruptly and the room filled with a few figures, and he tilted his head as he recognised the figure closest to him.

"Well, what do we have here...?" Crowley's accented voice rang out. Cas could vaguely remember the smell of chloroform before waking up in this room, and his only clue as to what happened after was that he could feel slight pain in his wrists, arms, and legs. "Castiel, my sweet. Its certainly has been a while, hasn't it." The demon's question was spoken more like a statement. He knelt down in front of the angel, who felt vaunerable when he noticed the binding symbols written on the whiteboard. "Are you finally going to talk?"

"I have nothing to say to you!" Cas spat. "Now, now, Cassy," Crowley clicked his tongue condescendingly, "You know I don't like you keeping secrets from me. You can tell me where the Winchesters are, or I can kill you. Whichever is most convenient for you, I suppose."

Castiel's expression hardened at his words, his jaw clenched. He didn't know what he should do, what to say. If he didn't tell Crowley where they were, he'd probably kill Cas on the spot. They'd definitely try to torture it out of him, as well. But if he did tell... Castiel decided that telling him would be worse; he didn't know his motives, and for all he knew, Crowley could very well be wanting to kill them, too.

Cas knew the boys would be looking for him, so was there any point in telling Crowley? "Last chance, feathers," Crowley held an angel blade to Castiel's neck. "You wouldn't kill me. You dont have any information yet..." He said breathlessly, trying to sound brave. "Ah..." The suited Brit backed away. "Learning from moose and squirrel, I see. You know, your little boyfriend is a bad influence, Castiel."

'Cas, this isn't the time to get flustered..' He thought to himself, struggling to not romanticise on what would happen if Dean WAS interested in him... He craned his neck up to look at the King of Hell, his eyes filled with nothing but hate for him. "Why do you even need to know, anyways?" He spat cynically, "What more could you want with them?"

"Well..." Crowly mused calmly, "maybe, it has to do with the fact that all of you idiots have tried to kill me several times, tried to destroy hell, and you all annoy the shit out of me!" His voice escelated in attitude and loudness as his sentence went on. His screaming wasn't helping Cas' headache... "Now..." Crowley cut deep into Cas's arm, who couldn't help but scream. "Tell me where the Winchesters are!"

=(^._.^)=

"Shitfuck!" Dean gasped in pain and looked at his arm. There was a giant scar...? He didn't understand where it came from... "Sammy! Go check dads journal for anything on unexplained scars." Sam furrowed his brows, before opening the bag he usually carried the journal in. "I'll see if I can figure out where Cas is. Maybe he can help."

In the few hours Sam had been researching and Dean had been trying to reach out to Castiel, several more cuts, bruises, and burns appeared on Dean's skin.

"Huh." Sam chuckled. Dean looked up, annoyed that Sam could laugh in a situation like this. "What is it?"

"Well, it says here that it's either an angry entity trying to mark you, or..." Sam laughed again, before he could continue. "Spit it out, asshat!" Dead growled, frustrated. "Or it's your soulmate. Say they got a bruise on their leg, the same bruise would show up on yours"

"Must be an angry entity, then." Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't have a soulmate." Sam rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that, Dean."

"Why are you rolling your eyes?" Dean asked accusingly. "Oh come on, Dean! What if this has something to do with Cas?" Sam said, a serious look on his face. Dean scowled, not wanting his younger brother to see him hopeful for something like this. "The hell are you implying Sammy!?" Just as he finished his sentence, he felt another sharp pain on his leg, before watching his jeans slowly soak up his blood from underneath.

Dean didn't want to admit it, and it was a horrible thing to think... but he hoped that it did have something to do with Cas... the thought of the angel being his soulmate gave him a rush of excitement in itself. But, this was Dean... "It's not Cas," he scoffed, "it can't be. I mean, an angel and a guy like me? Come on, Sam." Sam shook his head and clicked his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes held... was that sadness Dean detected? "Dean, there are so many things I could tell you about your worth, but there is no time. Jhink about it! It's been how long since Cas last showed up? If it is him, and he's getting deep cuts on his arms..." Dean didn't speak as he grabbed a bag that he keeps packed, in case of emergencies. His jaw clenched, he looked at his brother for a few seconds before leaving the room, finding that no matter how much he prayed in his head, there was no answer. "Cas!" He resorted to yelling, "You need to get your feathery ass over here! It's important!" He stood in the hallway, panic rising when Cas still didn't show up.

"Sam! Hurry up and see if you can track the GPS in his cell pho- SHIT!" He cut off hus sentence as another strong pain arised in his jaw, a purple bruise quickly forming has he spat blood on the floor.

=(^._.^)=

Cas swallowed the blood that flowed into his mouth from his ripped up cheek; Crowley had sicked one of his "munchkins", as Dean called them, on him. Let's just say that steel-toed boots don't agree with high speeds and faces.

"I'm not revealing their location." He scowled, nostrils flaring as he was forced to ignore Dean's prayers, the symbols drawn on the whiteboard preventing him from teleporting to his side, as he so badly wanted to.

"Well, that's just going to make my job more difficut, Cassie. You know this hurts me more that it hurts you." Cas was punched again, this time, on the other side of his jaw. 'Dean...' he thought to himself, 'I need Dean...' Cas tried to push the thoughts back, but the more prayers he got from his hunter, the more the thought that they weren't safe was embedded into his mind.

"Crowley..." Castiel said in a defeated tone, "There is no point In holding me hostage like this. I will not tell you Sam and Deans location." Cas didn't want to fight anymore, but he knew he had to. He had to fight it for Dean. "Well that's just too bad, Castiel. You said it yourself: I'm not letting you go until I get what I want." Cas let his head hang; he had never felt more pathetic. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me..." The angel said, fighting back tears. "But I will not let my friends get hurt due to my reckless actions."

Dean groaned again, plopping in the passenger seat of the Impala, rubbing his jaw. "Sam! Hurry your ass up!" He yelled, as his brother decided, fuck it, I'll leave the door unlocked. Sam slid into the driver's seat of Dean's 'baby', before speeding away, the green dot on the GPS not landing too terribly far from where they were.

"Why's he at an elementary school?" Sam questioned, as he looked at Dean, who was currently examining his face in the rear-view mirror. "Fuck if I know," his face scrunched up with worry and confusion that he wouldn't admit vocally, "but it doesn't smell good. Especially when I'm getting random injuries." Sam shook his head and snorted sarcastically, "Tell me about it. Do you want to know more about that soulmate stuff?" He asked, hopefully lightening the mood. "Amuse me." Dean said emotionlessly, his cheek feeling like a raw potato. "So get this; apparently, not everyone has a soulmate. Your other half has to compliment your personality. You know, person A keeps person B calm, stuff like that. Which means not everyone has a perfect compliment, I guess."

"Cas, if you're listening... I want you to know we tracked your cellphone. We think you're in trouble... Hang in there, buddy." Dean prayed to him again, complete ignoring his brother's information. "Hey, what's our, uh.. ETA?" He asked his moos- I mean brother. "It should be about five minutes. He'll be fine, I promise."

"I know." Dean stated, trying not to to show the worry in his voice. "Even if he does get hurt like this, he can use his angel mojo magic to fix it."

"You mean his Grace?"

"Yeah, whatever."

=(^._.^)=

"Well, looks like your boyfriend isn't planning on showing up to the party. That's too bad. We were just going start to have fun!" Crowley left a cut on Cas's stomach, seemingly just enjoying himself now, as he knew the angel wouldn't say anything.

Just as cas was about to let out a yelp of pain, he heard yelling outside the door. Was that Sam...? A strong leg kicked down the door, as Dean growled. "Don't you fucking take a step, Crowley."

"Oh look, it's Rocky and Bullwinkle. Glad you could make it." Crowley mused. It didn't take long for Dean to make it from the door to Crowley. Getting close to him felt like getting close to Hitler; that son of a bitch deserves to pay, and he had the tools to make him. Dean immediately shoved Crowley against the whiteboard, smudging the symbols drawn on them. "Calm down, lover b-"

"Calm down?" Dean yelled, "You want me to calm down?!" He loosened his grip on Crowley a bit, before slamming him into the whiteboard again, harder this time. He pulled out his gun and pressed it up to Crowley's stomach. "You know very well that your silly gun won't kill me."

"No," he tilted his head, leaning in," but it'll hurt like a bitch." He told him, before imbedding two bullets in the demon's abdomen.

Crowley let out a pained grunt, as Sam ran over and untied his friend. "Sammy! Take Cas home. I'm not finished with douchebag, here." Dean said, not taking his eyes off the weak king, as he let him drop to the floor. "This isn't going to stop me Dean! You know I can make you pay for what you've done! I've got more time on my hands than you!"

"Thats funny," Dean chuckled darkly, "because I don't think you're gonna be able to find us for a while." With some Latin, Dean was able to send Crowley and his restrained men back to where they came from. After it was all over, Dean walked back to the bunker. He didn't bother calling Sam. He needed time to think. "Lover boy..." he muttered to himself. "Cas is just a friend." Dean tried to convince himself of this, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the butterflies in his stomach. When reached the bunker, he hesitated to walk in. He wasn't sure what to do.

Inside, Cas sat next to Sam, trying to gather up his words; Dean hadn't come back to the bunker yet, but Cas was sure of what he saw. "Sam." The aforementioned swung his head around to look at the angel, who hadn't healed yet. He hummed a noise, wordlessly asking what was up. "I'm guessing that you're wondering why I haven't healed myself yet... and I will admit the reason why if you'll give me advice." Sam flashed a knowing smile, leaning forward in his seat. "Go on...?"

"I could have sworn that when Dean walked in, he had identical injuries to mine... Are you familiar with the soulmate phenomenon?"

"Are you asking me if you and Dean have such complimenting personalities that you're spiritually connected?"

"If... if that is the way you would prefer to phrase it."

Sam put the book he was reading down, and turned to face the angel completely. "Yeah. I honestly think that you're perfect for each other. And yes, he felt like he was decked in the face three times." Castiel looked down at his hands, smiling to himself.

Cas thought of all the things he wanted to say to Dean. About how much he loved him. Suddenly, they both heard the bunker door open and slam shut. "Cas. We need to talk." Sam took that as his que to leave, but before he did, he gave cas a thumbs up. "Let me see your arm." Dean commanded, his voice strong but his face telling a different story. Dean took his angel's arm and set it by his. They had the same exact scar. He looked at Castiel's jaw. Same bruises. "Cas, I..."

"Dean, I already know. Sam and I... We already discussed this."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it, as he was lost for words. Luckily, Cas had been formulating a plan since he saw Dean walk in with those injuries.

Cas looked up into Dean's eyes, the same stoic expression on his face... but Dean saw something different in it. His eyes held an emotion that Dean couldn't read. Cas stood on the tips of his toes and leaned close to Dean's face, before whispering something in Enochian and planting a soft kiss on Dean's jaw, where the bruise was the darkest and the swelling was at it's peak.

Dean stuttered, stumbled over nonsense words. Cas smiled at him with adoration, seeing his face now healed as he ran his hand down Dean's now blood-free forearm.

"C-Cas, I-"

"I think you're perfect. In every way. I don't care if you don't think you're enough, or if you feel that you can't trust anyone other than yourself. You're more of an angel in my eyes than I am in everyone else's. I understand if you don't feel the same, but I'd like to inform you that when you're near, my stomach feels like a beehive with all the business of feeling you give me. I-"

The angel was cut off with a quick kiss on the lips from the hunter in front of him. "I think you're great too, honeybear."

Dean found something he thought he would never again. Not after Lisa. He looked at Cas and saw the person he wanted to be with for the rest of his life, the person he knew would accept him no matter what. That's what he's always seen. He would do any thing to protect Castiel. This was it. This... This was love. His train of thought was cut off by Cas wrapping his arms around Dean's neck to pull him closer, passionately kissing him. Cas has been waiting to do this ever since he had pulled Dean from his damnation. Dean was surprised at first, but melted into the kiss and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. This wasn't just some fling, or a one night stand. This was real, and it was more than Dean thought he deserved.

Cas cared about him more than anyone ever did, and he didn't want to lose the one thing that made his life worth living. They pulled away when the need for air became too high. "Dean..." The angel said softly, looking up at Dean with the sweetest expression. "You will always be important. Dean I..." He sighed, "I thi- I know that I love you."

For the first time since Dean could remember, his emotions overwhelmed him so much that it effected him physically. He let his head fall for his forehead to touch his angel's tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. 'Castiel: my angel, my love...' he thought, 'I could get used to that.'

"I think that counted as a prayer." Cas smiled widely, his gaze landing on Dean's feet as he intertwined his fingers with his soulmate's. "Well shit," Dean chuckled, "now I just sound clingy."

"I'm fine with that, Dean," he whispered, "I'll come when you call. And if I don't, I know you will save me, too." They both snapped their head to the direction of the doorway, when they heard one certain flannel-wearing sasquatch clear his throat loudly. The quickly pushed away from each other, when they finally realised how red their faces had become. "No, don't let me stop you. It's not like I heard anything you guys just said." Dean was blushing profusely. Cas tilted his head, "Dean and I were just..."

"I know Cas. I'm leaving anyways. Dean, I'm taking the car. I'll be at the library doing reserch on how we can deal with Crowley." Immediately after the door closed, Dean tackled Cas to the couch. "I love you, my angel."

"I love you too, my hunter..."

A/N: They say that they never separated again, the cheesiness made them stick together and now they hunt conjoined at the hip

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chilly-territory · 8 years ago

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With lexbenedetto's kind permission, a scanlation of the long awaited chapter 43! Now I can say with certainty that Gangsta resuming isn’t just a dream!

The whole of vol8 (with extras): here

Some thoughts:

Well, first of all, it's back and now we won't have to stew in unanswered questions for an undetermined period of time! Yay!

I don't really know what I hoped to see in this chapter... I probably expected it to be... well, not really a breather but definitely less intense than what I got. My body wasn't ready, if I'm honest. Kohske doesn't pull her punches from the very first page, making the previous chapter seem almost trifle. Almost. In any case, the chapter conveys very well that what's going on with Marco and Constance is but a small part of much much bigger shit that's currently hitting the fan.

We get very valuable insight into Worick's soul, and I'll be honest, I've been waiting for it ever since I had confirmed that he's not quite who he projects himself to be.

So Wallace stayed idealistic even after witnessing Nicolas murder his family, and tried to become a sort of justice champion wannabe, a Robin Hood who fought fire with fire for the sake of Twilights. And then, at some point later, when he saw that he couldn't make a difference despite his efforts, he broke inside a little, deciding to go with the flow as long as the equilibrium of the city held instead of trying to change the system. It echoes what is stated in the novel nicely (so I'm now sure that when writing the novel, Kawabata Junichi had a lot of input from Kohske herself, in order to keep the main duo in character).

A heartbreaking story, made all the more painful by the fact that Worick obviously respected Monroe and I may go as far as to say that Monroe's being the person with a certain sense of justice he was (or rather, the person he projected until recently) was probably what helped young Wallace come to terms with the situation and stop going against the system, switching to supporting it as a member of the Monroe family instead. But he was betrayed by Monroe in the worst way possible, and it started a chain reaction, forcing him to betray Nicolas, Twilights as a whole and, to a degree, even himself. Miles, who Worick was rather close with, paid for the betrayal, but as they say, revenge is empty, and Worick is very much an empty shell when he thanks Georgiana.

Speaking of Georgiana, it was a pleasant surprise that her tough exterior hides a compassionate heart. Though the fact immediately makes me wonder why she's with the Corsica family when she doesn't seem to be prejudiced against Twilights and even keeps the dying Veronica in her brothel... Oh, and I even had this wild thought that what if she's Wallace's mother who he knows to be a prostitute. But no, upon closer consideration, probably no, she's probably just a compassionate woman he met along the way.

With Nicolas... ouch, it's painful to even watch him. The expression he wears is not much better than when his father abandoned him, only now he's not surprised and appears to have even waited for it to happen. That downer outlook on the value of his life he evidently had adopted after his father's abandonment and kept for decades since shows itself again, both in Chad's recollection and in Nicolas' own when he stares at his sword - and I'll be damned if he's not thinking about taking his own life on those pages, like he tried to after slaughtering Wallace' entire family. And that kind of hopeless despair is just... literally painful to watch.

On a side note, I wonder what those orders he's talking about are. Worick once told him that they had to keep the Monroe family unscathed no matter what... I hope that's not what Nic's referring to though.

Another thing to consider in that scene is Theo. He's kinda... unfathomable, to me. We know he can be ruthless (examining dying people, Twilights in particular, on a regular basis and not being able to help can harden anyone, I'm sure), and he's not above using opportunities to experiment on people without a second thought. But at the same time... he takes care of Nina, he runs a clinic that treats Twilights which can't be for profit because he barely makes the ends meet... and that expression on his face when Nicolas, in terrible pain from his seizure, intentionally knocked the downer injector out of his hands, wordlessly requesting him not to administer the downer and to continue Yang's surgery instead, was genuine as genuine gets.

So the question is, why did he say what he said to Nicolas about making a contract with him and basically using him as a guinea pig for his drugs? I have a feeling that while he does want Nic as his lab rat, that wasn't the whole reason. Maybe he also tried to give Nicolas something of a place to return (which would echo what Alex thinks about in this chapter), now that Nic lost it. Nina tried to prevent Nic from thinking about committing suicide by offering her presence, while Theo essentially tried to do the same, in his own rather crude way, but it's the thought that counts..

Now, Alex. The universal suffering happening in Gangsta didn't spare Alex either. From the wording of it, in front of the door she was about to make up her mind to never return to the Benriya again. Only to find what she found inside. Yeah. But Alex is a strong girl, she's not your wussy who'd run away with a tail between her legs from that. In fact, I think that Worick's note and the dead body of Miles he left behind will have an opposite effect on Alex. A normal girl would take the money and run, but I want to believe that Alex would cry it all out and then get up again, with new found determination to fight for her place to belong and the people she wants to belong with against all odds.

Who else is left... Ah, Chad and Gina. Our resident dirty cop is like Georgiana - tough exterior but a soft heart. It's not just the people he knows he worries about but all the Twilights, and I wish Ergastulum had more folks like him, but such people are few and far between, that's why those protests and Twilight hunts are happening in the first place. Gina's words to him, about not pushing what he wants to protect on others, sure were harsh. There's some truth in them, but then, what exactly could he do to prevent this whole shit? The ones at fault are clearly Daniel Monroe and Uranos Corsica. Especially Monroe. it's not like Chad could do anything about that.

I can see Gina's point about not opening the gate to her Colony. Yes, I can see it, but it makes it clear (if you still doubted it) that she's not the secretly compassionate, emphatic type, like Georgiana, Chad and even Theo to a degree. Ironically, she's more similar to Nicolas in having a certain beastly thirst for fighting, for violence, for cruelty. I'm hoping to see more of her to get a better feel of how much she may care for the guild, for the people she knows and for her kind in general. Oh, and seeing her in action as a fighter wouldn't hurt either!

Anyway, this was long, for which I apologize, but the story is so intriguing that the next chapter can't happen fast enough!

#gangsta.

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queen-of-deans-booty · 8 years ago

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Home- Part 1

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,221

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Summary: You thought you would never see your family home ever again. You thought that your unanswered questions would remain a mystery. But That all changes... today.

Author’s Note: Seriously guys, I am so sorry this wasn’t up today. I guess there was too much on my mind and I forgot. I will try and get better at posting these.

I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners.

This episode is more focusing on the reader and her past and I hope you guys like it. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

You still haven’t recovered from that bug incident but Dean was making sure you never lived it down. You’ve been enduring countless amount of teasing from the man until you threatened to cut his dick off, gluing it to his head because he liked to be a dick head. That got him to shut up and you haven’t heard a word about it since.

Right now, you were currently crashed at a motel for the night but you weren’t sleeping. As much as you tried, your body refused to let you sleep. You happened to borrow Sam’s laptop, doing some research on what happened to your mom.

You lived next to the boys until she died so you tried looking up the police record for it but without actually going to your house, you couldn’t do anything. You read online that it was selling and you wanted to go but with Dean finding cases left and right, it’ll be a while until you actually got a chance and by then, people would already be living in it.

A gasp brought you out of your thoughts and you saw Sam sit up straight on his bed. Dean was out cold but you frowned when you looked at Sam. You were always sleeping on the couch because you were the only one that fit well enough on it.

“Was it Jessica?” You said as you watched Sam’s head look at his brother and his chest rapidly breathing.

“What?” He jumped at the unexpected voice and looked over at you.

“Did you dream about Jessica again?”

“No, this time, it was something else. I had a dream of a home.” He sighed. You perked up. Maybe this was your chance to go to your house.

“What about it?” You bit your lip.

“There’s a family living there and I dreamed that a woman was trapped inside the house by a dark force and it was up to me to save her. It looked like she was calling out for me.” Sam sighed and shook his head.

“My house is for sale.” You said, completely off topic.

“What, it is?”

“Yeah, with you mentioning houses, I would like to visit mine. There’s so many questions and I don’t have answers to them. I want to go back there and see what I find, even if it is nothing.” You sighed.

“I’ll talk to Dean in the morning.” Sam laid back down.

“We will.” You smiled and closed the laptop. You set it on the coffee table and made yourself comfortable.

“Was that my laptop?” Sam asked into the dark.

“Maybe.”

Morning came along and Dean was on Sam’s computer while Sam was drawing on the motel notepad. You were sitting on Dean’s bed, thinking about your mom and what you might find it if you visit there.

“Alright. I’ve been cruising some websites. I think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali – its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas. Hey.” You looked up and saw him staring at you and his brother. You weren’t paying attention at all. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam said, looking at his drawing.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times. Any of these things blowing up your skirt, pal?” Dean waved his hand around, hoping Sam would see him.

“Wait. I’ve seen this.” Sam said, looking at his drawing. You didn’t know what it was but you were going to find out.

“Seen what?” Dean asked. Sam got up from the bed he was on and went to his duffel bag, searching through it. He grabbed his dad’s journal and you were curious to what he was doing. You walked over to him to see what he was holding. He was holding a picture of his family: his dad, his mom, toddler Dean and baby Sam in front of their house. He compared the drawing he drew and the picture. He drew a tree.

“Dean, I know where we have to go next.” Sam looked up, a bit startled at you next to him but he shook that off and stared at his brother.

“Where?”

“Back home – back to Kansas.”

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

“Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam walked to Dean and showed him the photo he had. With a nod from Dean, he continued. “And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Okay, look, this is going to sound crazy but…. the people who live in our old house – I think they might be in danger.”

“That is crazy, why would you think that?”

“He had a dream last night.” You said without thinking. Both boys looked at you and you looked at Sam, giving him an apologetic look.

“You had a dream?’ Dean scoffed.

“Look, it’s a lot more complicated than it looks. I had nightmares of Jessica’s death days before it happened. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this must mean something, right?

“I don’t know.” Dean sighed.

“Dean, come on, I lived right next door and my house is for sale now. I need to go back there to see what I missed. There must be something that I missed there. I have all these unanswered questions.” You explained.

“Alright, just slow down, would you? I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when…” Dean sighed heavily.

“When what?” Sam asked.

“When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” You stared at Dean, tears forming in his eyes but they refused to fall. You never knew their mom but you knew it was a sensitive subject for him.

“Dean…” You stepped to him but he backed up, shutting people out. That is what Dean did and that is what he is good at. But hell, if you were going to let that happen to you.

“Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.” Sam pleaded.

“I know we do.” Dean gave you a glance but sighed, putting his wall back up. Dean was very reluctant but you and Sam got him back on the road and he did it. He actually drove to his old house. You gasped when you passed by your house. You looked at it, standing proud as if nothing bad ever happened inside of it.

“You going to be all right, man?” Sam asked his brother.

“Let me get back to you on that.” He sighed, getting out of the car. You got up but you couldn’t stop staring at your house. It was like memories came rushing back to you because you could see 8-year-old you, walking home after the bus dropped you off.

“Y/N?” Dean said, bringing you back.

“What?” You looked at him.

“You coming?”

“You two go. That’s your house. I’ll be right next door.” You gave him a smile and he nodded, walking off with his brother. You turned back to your house and there you were again, skipping and walking home like you weren’t about to see your mom die. You felt your legs walk but you don’t remember moving.

“No, don’t go in the house.” You said to your younger self but she couldn’t hear you. You watched as she walked inside the house and closed the door. You bit your lip and slowly walked to the front door, gripping the door knob but never turning it. It was when you opened the door, you could hear your mom yelling for you. But you had to do this for her and for you. You opened the door and that's when you heard it.

“No!!! Stay away from my daughter!!” Your mom yelled as a man stalked towards her.

“Mommy?” You said, frightened. The man turned when he heard your voice and you screamed when his eyes weren’t normal. They were pitch black.

“No!” Your mom got out a bottle with maybe water in it but when she flung it at the man, it burned his skin and he screamed in pain.

Your memories were inching their way to the surface, one by one and you didn’t know if your heart could take it. Already it was hurting, as if your mom died yesterday and not 30 years ago. You walked into the house and looked up the stairs.

“Y/N! Get out of here! Go find John Winchester!” Your mom screamed to you. She was bleeding on her head and her arm was slashed from something.

“No, mommy! I don’t want to leave you!” You started to cry.

“Y/N!!” Your mom said again. The man who was chasing her came up behind her and slit her throat from behind. Your mom gurgled up some blood before she fell to the floor, sliding down the stairs, stopping at your feet. By now you were in tears, scared of the man who disappeared in front of your eyes.

The house was empty but in your head, you saw all the things that went wrong that day. You passed the stairs and walked into the kitchen where you saw pots and pans flung everywhere and broken glass from the glass table you had. Of course, this was all in your head.

You seemed numb on the spot but your feel dragged you to another room. The living room had chairs broken and some were toppled. A leg from one of the chairs was sticking out of the wall as if something threw it there really hard and it stuck. Your eyes became fixated on the blood stain on the wall. That was where your mom was hit in the head.

Your main goal of this was to go upstairs to the attic where you hid weeks after your mom’s death because that was your haven for a while until authorities caught you and sent you back to John. You slowly walked up the steps, careful not to step on the blood trails. None of it was there but you were seeing it all.

You looked around and saw that the bedroom door was open in your mom’s room so, you went there first. The door creaked as it opened and you saw your mom and 4-year-old you on the bed, reading a book.

“Y/N, this is the last book I can read and then you have to go to bed.” Your mom smiled.

“Okay, I will, I promise.” You said yawning.

“You know the story of Rapunzel, how she had miles and miles of long, blonde, hair.” Your mom looked at you but you were already curled up to her side, sleeping soundly.

You didn’t know you were crying until you tasted salt on your tongue. You turned away from the empty room and walked across the hall to your room, peeking inside. It was actually your nursery this time but you didn’t care.

“Oh no, baby, don’t cry. Momma’s got you.” Your mom picked you up and held you to her chest, rocking you. You were crying loudly but when you heard your mom sing, you began to quiet down.

“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better...”

You felt a hand touch your shoulder and you gasped, turning around to see Dean and Sam behind you.

“It’s okay.” Dean pulled you into his arms when he saw you crying.

“I have to know what happened, Dean.” You sniffled.

“I know you do.” He said softly.

“I have to check one more room.” You pulled away from his warm embrace and walked away from them, pulling on the string to the attic. You brought the ladder down and started to climb up, Sam holding the base for you. Dean followed you up to see what you were going to do.

You immediately went to one of the brick walls and took out your pocket knife, carving out one of the bricks.

“What are you doing, sweetheart? Want a momento?” Dean asked.

“No, my mom said that if something ever happened to her, she would hide a message in the walls for me, explaining it all. I don’t know what “explaining it all” means but I’m about to find out. You pulled the brick loose and looked inside, frowning at what you found.

“What is it?” Dean asked, going over to you.

“A note and a key, a car key.” You made sure nothing else was back there and placed the brick back. You stood up and put the stuff inside your jacket pocket.

“Are you going to read it?”

“When I’m not scared of the answer I will.”

Part Two

Masterlist // Series Rewrite Masterlist // Buy me a Coffee?

Series Rewrite tags:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat

Forever tags:

@crowleys-short-girl @maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja

Dean tags:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie

Other tags:

@jensen-jarpad @notnaturalanahi @deathtonormalcy56 @27bmm

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sohmariku · 8 years ago

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TOUMYU Q&A

I actually haven’t even finished the “Song Q&A” yet, but... let’s move on to the New Questions provided by the lovely @rz-jocelyn!!

As I started typing my answers I soon noticed it’s turning into quite an essay, so... I’ll be answering these bit by bit too!

1. How did you get into the Musical Touken Ranbu franchise? What was your first impression of it?

Long, long ago I saw some promotional pictures of the Trial Musical and immediately fell in love with the character design. However, this was probably during the time the performance wasn’t released on DVD yet, so… I didn’t take note of the title and completely forgot about it.

So, about a year ago I received a request to translate the Touken Ranbu stage play performance. Since the character design still looked appealing to me (and let’s face it, I’ll basically watch anything that has Sasaki Yoshihide in it), I gave it a try. The performance probably wasn’t love on first sight, but after re-watching it a couple times and working on the subtitles I completely fell in love with.

From there on I decided to give the musicals a try as well, because… I remembered wanting to watch them at some time, plus… I love musicals anyway. Started with the Trial performance, as none of the others were released on DVD yet and DMM was still a mystery to me. Well, I guess everyone knows how that ended… As I pretty much immediately decided to work on subtitles for the musical performances too! xD

First impression was… Um, I hardly remember. All I know was that I had a hard time adjusting to Kuroba Mario’s Mikazuki, as I had gotten so damn used to Suzuki Hiroki’s Mikazuki. (I probably still prefer Hiroki’s performance…) Other than that I just completely fell in love with Ryuji’s Kashu I guess… The story was good enough, the songs were catchy enough, the acting was on point & the fact they ended it with a live performance in the 2nd act was just adorable and something I’ve frankly never seen before. And yes, character designs… I love the designs so much! The costumes are too pretty!

Well, yeah… something like that. ^^;; (And then I started playing the actual game…)

2. Rank the musicals from the one with the storyline you liked the most to the one with the storyline you liked the least (you may include the Premium Live, Itsukushima Shrine and/or Shinken Ranbu Sai 2016 too if you wish). Why have you chosen to rank them in this order?

I’m only going to rank the actual musical and forget about the live performances for now… Although I’ve got to say I quite frankly enjoyed the little “storyline” of Shinken Ranbu Sai 2016. It gave me a real good laugh!

Anyway…

1) Bakumatsu Tenroden 2) Atsukashiyama Ibun 3) Mihotose no Komoriuta 4) Trial Performance

Bakumatsu Tenroden is in first place, because I frankly hadn’t expected to like it so much. This musical had so much against it, and yet I completely turned around and fell absolutely in love with it. First of all, there’s a switch in characters… But their designs didn’t feel as “special” as the Sanjo designs to me, and then I also barely knew anything about any of the Team Shinsengumi swords (aside from Kashu), as none of them had really made it into my teams yet. To make it worse, Hachisuka… If anyone had asked me who my “least favorite” Toudan was, well… I feel bad when I say this, but I basically disliked Hachisuke because of his choice of clothes. Gold armor, are you kidding me!? (I still don’t like the costume actually…) Then, I also barely knew anything about the Shinsengumi and what they stood for. So, that’s a whole list of reasons why this could be a potential disaster. Yeah, still, it wasn’t love on first sight… Nagasone and Hachisuka had to work hard to deserve my love, but… I eventually totally fell for them. (THIS SONG!!) Once you look behind Hachisuka’s ridiculous clothes, he’s actually quite an amazing character! I …I guess falling in love with Horikawa, Kane & Yasusada was a lot easier, they’re just move loveable… and I already loved Kashu anyway. (Plus, the Shinsengumi members themselves… I loved their dynamics!)

Atsukashiyama Ibun is in second place… because it is. I think in terms of storyline I enjoy Bakumatsu Tenroden, Atsukashiyama Ibun and Mihotose no Komoriuta quite the same, so this whole ranking… it’s on the nitpicky reasons. So, as I just explained I had a reason to put Bakumatsu Tenroden in 1st place. And I have a reason to put Mihotose no Komoriuta in 3rd place and a reason to put the Trial performance on the 4th place. (I’ll explain in a moment) Since Atsukashiyama Ibun is an improvement on the Trial performance, it has to rank higher than that one… and such only 2nd place was left? I have no particular reason for this I guess… not at this moment at least.

Mihotose no Komoriuta… It’s quite a change in storyline from the other two. The whole pacing and struggles they face… it’s different. I’ve heard some people thought it was boring, I actually really liked it. I didn’t feel bored at all and I welcomed the change in atmosphere. The whole reason I decided to put Mihotose no Komoriuta in 3rd place right now, is because of the plot-holes. There are so many questions left unanswered how it’s actually possible for them to do what they’re doing and how it really works! (I frankly hadn’t really given it much thought until someone else brought it up, but I’m a master in ignoring plot-holes…)

Trial performance comes in last place, because we have a more polished version (Atsukashiyama Ibun) and I’m just more likely to rewatch any of the other performances. Although, in itself it was a really good performance and it’ll always keep a special place in my heart. After all it was the first Toumyu I watched.

3. Storyline that you would change? Why?

If don’t think I’d really be changing any storyline, I’d only add to storylines… and most specifically to the storyline of Mihotose no Komoriuta. As I just said, there are a lot of plot-holes. I’m not sure if it would be possible, but it would be nice if somehow little scenes could be added that explain how everything they did could actually be pulled off and how, what and why History may have reverted itself by them doing so… But, the danger is the musical ends up really long and boring if you add all that, so… that’s possibly why it wasn’t in there in the first place.

But yes, I’d like to try and fill some plot-holes… because I hope people would enjoy it even more then!

#toumyu #2.5D BUTAI/MUSICAL ASK

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cinnamonbuneliza · 8 years ago

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Waking Up In Vegas

Write-A-Thon Day One: AU day (waking up in vegas au) John Laurens x Alexander Hamilton Words: 1540

i’m so excited for this week guys and i hope you are too!

originally, my disneyland fic that i posted the other day was going to be my au day fic, but i changed my mind last minute so here we have the waking up in vegas au!

i’m kind of tempted to make this into a series, but i’m not sure yet so let me know what you think.

the write a thon is going to be awesome. you can join in if you want! i just reblogged the prompt lists.

requests are open and i hope you’re all doing great xx

see you tomorrow for femaslash! day

The pounding hit him like a tonne of bricks.

With every tiny movement, he felt the pain intensify. He let out soft whimpers until he decided that the floor was where he would stay.

His freckly cheeks rested against the cool, damp tiles. John figured he must’ve passed out in the bathroom while trying to go to the toilet. And it seemed reasonable, because he’d woken up in weirder places after crazy nights out.

He opened his eyes slowly and let the light appear in his morning. He ignored his better judgements and sat up slowly, resting his head against the wall. He tried his best to ignore the pounding in his head as he took in his surroundings.

It seemed John had been right about the bathroom, but this wasn’t his bathroom. He couldn’t remember anything from the previous night… he wasn’t even sure if he was in South Carolina anymore, or who he was with.

He flipped through fragmented memories of the previous night. For moments, he saw his friend Hercules, and he had reason to believe that he had stayed the night at his house. But Hercules’ bathroom was warm and his house was comforting… this whole situation felt like some kind of unholy nightmare.

The weight on his finger was the thing that woke John up fully. The only jewellery he would keep on him was his mother’s necklace…

His hands flew to his neck and he let out a sigh of relief when he felt the secured clasp of the familiar metal. He relaxed, licking his dry lips.

He was still under his mother’s watch… that meant he was safe… but so many questions remained unanswered. Where was he? What was he doing here? What was the strange ring around his finger?

The door next to John swung open, revealing a shirtless man that looked a mess. Dark circles under his eyes hollowed out his face, making it look incredibly pale. He stumbled towards the sink, turning tap on and splashing his face with the warm water.

John stayed silent. Strangers had never been his friends… so coming face to face to this one in a strange place was not the way he wanted to spend his Saturday. Or at least, what he thought was Saturday. He wasn’t sure of anything right now.

He took a deep breath before deciding breaking the silence was the best thing to do in the situation. “Who are you?”

The man at the sink jumped, grabbing the closest thing to him (which happened to be a bar of soap), and pointing it at John. The soap slid out of his hands, landing at John’s feet. He felt around behind him, grabbing a toothbrush and holding it out in front of him.

“W-Who are you?” He replied, a red blush spreading over his cheeks.

John stood up slowly. “I asked first, so you should answer me first. I’ll ask again, who are you?” He asked, leaning heavily against the wall.

“My name is Alexander. Alexander Hamilton. I don’t know why I’m here. Your turn,” The man, Alexander, replied.

“Do you mind if I call you Alex?”

His question was returned with a glare, which John simply shrugged off.

“Well, my name’s John Laurens. And I remember leaving the house with my friend… but that’s the end of it. I don’t even know where we are now,” John stated, walking to the sink and checking his face in the mirror. He too carried a sleepless appearance, prominent bags staring back at him through the mirror’s reflection.

“Vegas. We’re in Vegas,” Alex stated, turning from the mirror and heading back out to the bedroom area. John raised his eyebrow, following.

“You mean like, casinos, strippers and creepy people in character costumes Vegas?” John replied, sitting on the edge of the bed where Alex had laid down on.

“No, I mean the Vegas where everything is rainbows and we’re all friends. Peace on earth, kumbaya!” he snapped, continuing to glare at John. “Could you just shut up for a few seconds? I’ve got a terrible headache.”

“So do I. We can complain about it together,” John stated, lying on the opposite side of the bed and staring at Alex. “What are your theories on last night’s happenings? I feel like my friend Hercules thought it would be funny if he set this whole thing up for me… I am surprised he didn’t find a girl though. Man, I would shit myself if I woke up next to a female.”

“I’m assuming you’re gay then,” Alex stated, picking up the room service menu on the bedside table and squinting at it as he flicked through it.

“Well, yes. I mean, I have experimented a little throughout my life, but I’m as gay as they come,” John stated, smiling proudly.

“Congratulations. I’m bisexual, but I have a girlfriend so don’t get any ideas,” Alex replied, putting the menu down and looking at John. “Personally, I think this is some kind of weird, reality TV social experiment. Or it’s a very strange dream. I hope it’s the second one. I’d like to wake up in bed next to Eliza… instead of being in this strange one.”

John scoffed. “At least you had a bed. I slept on the bathroom floor… or passed out there. I’m not completely sure honestly. All I know is that my neck hurts like a bi-“

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up before?” Alex asked, starting to go through the drawers in the bedside table.

“Well, you did continue the conversation so I had assumed-“

“You said your name was John Laurens, right? John “Jack” Laurens?” Alexander interrupted, looking at a piece of paper he had found in horror.

“That’s me,” John replied, sitting up and turning on the TV. “Why do you ask?”

Alexander gulped. Maybe if he didn’t tell anyone, it wouldn’t be real. “N-No reason. We should focus on finding a way out of here, don’t you think? Do you have any money?”

John patted down his pants, shaking his head. “While I’m as gay as they come, I’m also as broke as they come. I haven’t made a solid income in a very long time.”

“Productive. And I don’t have my wallet either, which means we’re pretty much screwed. You said you had a friend, right? Do you have a phone? Can we call them? Maybe they can-“

“Look, Hercules isn’t the best at dealing with hangovers. He mostly just sleeps them off. So, if he drank as much as I did, we’d find he’s pretty much useless to us now. Didn’t you say something about a girlfriend?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Of course! Eliza will help! But I am without a phone currently so unless you have yours…”

John sighed, taking his phone out of his pocket and passing it to him. “Here. Be as brief as possible. I don’t want an expensive phone bill,” He stated. Alexander nodded, dialling Eliza’s number.

It took three rings before she picked up. Alexander could hear her yawn, and he imagined he had woken her up.

“Hello?” She mumbled, yawning after she finished her sentence.

“Eliza! Thank the heavens. Listen, I’ve just woken up in Las Vegas with this other guy and I have no idea how I got here. My wallet and phone have disappeared, so all I have is you. All my hope is rested on you. Could you please come and pick me up? Or buy flight tickets or something. I promise to pay you back as soon as my card is returned,” Alex rambled, tapping his fingers against the bedside table anxiously.

“If I do any of those things, will you be quiet for just a second? This is a lot to take in first thing in the morning,” Eliza mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Who’s this other guy? Do you know him? Does he know you? Did you have some weird kinky sex?”

“What? Of course not. All I know is I’ve gotten myself into the worst situation possible. I’ll explain what I can when I return home. I love you more than words can say,” Alexander said, biting his lip. Had he had sex with this strange man he seemed to have accidentally married?

“I love you too Alexander. Stay strong, my love.”

The line went dead, and Alexander was left alone with the silence between him and John who was now standing by the window.

“The sky looks nice today. The clouds are round… and they look like cotton candy. It’s pure, don’t you think?”

An eyebrow was raised. Alexander went to John, standing next to him and staring out the window. Indeed, the clouds did look nice. Alexander’s eyes moved to John’s ring finger, staring at the golden ring that wrapped around his finger tightly.

They moved back to Alexander’s own hand and he gulped, seeing a similar ring on his own finger. He knew he had screwed up, but surely this man who daydreams about clouds wouldn’t notice. Surely, he would keep daydreaming.

Alexander decided it was best to dream the terrible situation away. Perhaps once he was home, this would all fade away and be nothing but a bad memory.

#john laurens #alexander hamilton #lams #john laurens x alexander hamilton #1000-2000

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