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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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Obsidian | Two | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: You remember everything. The first time you radiated at garnet, feeling the power of the jewel rushing through you. Remember the energy pulsing at your command. And you certainly remember the face of the man who ruined your life. Then there’s Min Yoongi, the Chaotic who is the key to your revenge.

☾ Word Count: 10,945

☾ Genre: Urban fantasy, criminal/syndicate, strangers to lovers, angst, eventual smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, depictions of injuries after being beaten up (a named side character), explicit language, depictions of unhealthy/poor living conditions, mentions of murder, depictions of murder and broken bodies/dismemberment, violent action sequences, references to nightmare and hints at ptsd-adjacent memories/feelings, soci-economic commentary lmao, some confusing world building, mentions of weapons, scenes of a past betrayal/trauma.

☾ Published: June 13, 2023

☾ A/N: This took a little longer than expected to write, but I think I really like how this chapter turned out. It is a little bit heavier on the scene setting and laying the ground work for reader's position in this story and her past, as well as her function withing the Green Dragons. The third chapter is where things kick into high-gear and there's not really a moment with the foot off the gas once its starts, so buckle in besties.

Thank you to @theharrowing for being an amazing beta reader and assuring me that this isn't boring and that the pace is okay thus far, and for pointing out my accidental Dwight Establishing A Pee Corner in the Elevator reference.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

THIS FIC IS BEING RE-WRITTEN. PLEASE FIND THE NEW FIC HERE.

A name is a useful thing. You learn a secret name whispered across a table in a smokey room.

You wonder what you can do with the name.

Jimin is not a fun person when he’s angry. He is plenty of fun when he’s drinking at the bar or spares you a night out on his tab as a motivator and reward, but those nights are few and far between. You would much rather be seeing spinning lights at one of the clubs in the Crimson District than standing behind Montana under the thundering gaze of Jimin Park.

He isn’t mad at you. Well, perhaps he is a little bit for your rude interruption when he was talking to Agust. But right now, he’s mad at Burro, who is being dragged toward the front of the building where you think they’re going to shove him into a car. He isn’t dead, but he certainly no longer looks human. Swells of purple and red distorted his face, blood smeared across his face and in his eyes, blinding him.

It’s the worst you’ve ever seen your manager punished. Jimin has shoved Burro around before, but never like this. Never until he was dripping blood and drool onto the floor, orbital bone cracking under Jimin’s radiated punch and so disfigured that he’s unrecognizable.

The satisfaction is fleeting, scurrying away when Jimin turns that lethal stare toward where you stand in the door of the alleyway, waiting for him to address you. There is blood on his hands, staining his undamaged knuckles. You see the glint of emerald rings and feel his power ebb and flow. He flicks his hand and the blood wicks off, spattering the ground.

Outside, the air is balmy, sticking to you like a second skin. The sounds of slamming doors and the city echo through the mostly empty alleyway. It’s narrow, only wide enough for a single waste truck to back into and haul trash then drive straight out again. It smells like the wet scum that leaks from the air conditioning units rattling in the walls of windows of apartments above and like cat piss.

There’s a dark, Burro-colored stain on the pavement near Jimin’s shoes. He sees you looking at it and sighs, waving a hand casually. “Ignore that. Just another skid mark among many.”

“You’ve never punished him like that before.”

“Well, I’ve also never had a manager let a fucking Circle member kill a man that belongs to the armory, either.” You hum but say nothing, keeping incredibly still. It does not appear that Jimin’s sharp anger is directed at you, but you’re in no mood to risk it. “You’ll be seeing more of the Black Lotus at the bar. And some more security temporarily.”

You think of Agust and his cat eyes. “Why the Black Lotus?”

Jimin reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a silver box. You watch, his small fingers nimble as he flips the lit and slides out a cigarette. You hear the click of the metal container before he slides it back into his pocket and puts the cigarette in his mouth. Carefully, he brings his fingers to the end of the cigarette and you feel the tiniest pulse of energy as he snaps, sparking the end to life while he breathes in the smoke.

The energy used to light it barely registered in the jewels that Jimin wears. The emerald on his ring finger barely lights up - though it could be a trick of the light - but his other jewels remain dull and untouched. You know what it’s like to have that much power at your beck and call and the pull toward Jimin’s emeralds makes your palms itchy.

“There’s some shit going on with the armory.” Jimin blows out smoke slowly. It wafts upward toward the night sky and smells faintly of menthol. He takes a burnt-orange drag, blows it out again and shakes his head. “It’s complicated right now. I am interested in what the Black Lotus can do for us, and this is not a terrible in.”

“The Salib’s will be pissed.”

“The Salib’s weren’t around to witness it, were they? As far as they’re concerned, that man came into the bar and beat my manager within an inch of his life, killed Rollins and only managed to be stopped by a member of the Black Lotus while my light caste bartenders called me for help. Right?”

Lying is so easy. Jimin’s admission that he’s killed one of his own men and beat another one bloody comes easily. He isn’t worried about what you’ll think of him. You know he’s a monster just like the rest of them, but he’s a monster that you trust and that protects you. That protects your secret.

So you nod your head, blowing out a long sigh, accepting this tale that Jimin has told. He smirks around the cigarette in his mouth. “Good girl.” He gestures toward the door behind you. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t interrupt me earlier.”

“I apologize. It was rude and inappropriate.”

“It was. However, seeing as you managed to stop the fight, I’ll let it slide.” He takes a drag. “How did you, by the way?”

“How did I what?”

“Stop the fight.”

Digging around your pocket, you reveal the shatterwave. Jimin holds out his hand, palm upward. You drop the device in his hand, watching as he brings it up to eye level, scrutinizing it. Rolling it between his fingers, he presses the top of the shatterwave, releasing the high-pitched frequency. You both wince and you immediately feel sick as your own frequency is scattered by the sound. He presses it again and turns it off, but the ringing echoes in your ears.

“Clever.” He deposits the shatterwave in your hand. “Why not just radiate like a normal Radiant, hmm?”

“I didn’t need to.”

Jimin tosses the cigarette on the ground and crushes it beneath the toe of his shoe. You hear the crunch of gravel and the hiss of the embers as it dies. “Right,” he laughs. “Still on your little secret weapon bit.” You scowl at him and he raises his hands innocently, eyes full of mirth. “Hey, no judgment here. It helps me too.”

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re making the same mistakes again with Jimin. A powerful man who knows how to use his charm and allure like a weapon, Jimin is the worst kind of dangerous, disarming others with his flirtatious smiles and bedroom eyes.

Jimin isn’t unlike Seokjin. They both use the power of beauty and charm to cut down the competition and to install themselves in positions of power. But Jimin doesn’t have the ability to imitate empathy the way that Seokjin does. Even now, you can never tell what was real and what was imitation with Seokjin, the line between real and mimed emotion too blurred for you to follow.

You never have to worry about that with Jimin. Unlike Seokjin, Jimin’s mask cracks on occasion, the real Jimin bleeding through in moments of anger and desperation.

Still, Jimin has collected you all the same, keeping you safe and cared for like a coveted weapon. He asks you to do favors for him on occasion, trusting you to keep the secrets he doesn’t want his mother to know and to be his garnet knife in the dark.

But at least you know Jimin is using you. It’s a transactional relationship, but for once, you’re in the know instead of being led like a whipped dog on a leash, looking at its owner with nothing but love and devotion.

You never want to be a dog again.

“Come on,” Jimin murmurs, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s close the bar and get you home for the evening.”

Jimin does exactly that. He stands near the front door, arms crossed as he watches his men clean up and lockdown the bar. You close out the register, scribbling the very small sum made for the evening before letting yourself into Burro’s office to lock the normal cash in a safe. When you come out, you offer Jimin the zipped bag of profit for the night and he surprises you by waving his hand.

“Split it with you and the kid. For the trouble.”

For the trouble is another way of Jimin saying as your reward. It also means for your silence and for your continued loyalty. It isn’t hard to understand the multiple meanings of Jimin’s words. Jungkook bows and thanks Jimin numerous times, still wide-eyed and nervous around the Primus of the Green Dragons.

As second in command, Jimin’s power isn’t just in the glittering gems on his fingers and ears. He has influence among the Crown Cities and is a prominent member of the ruling body of the Armory, second only to his mother. The thought of the Green Dragon’s Dominion sends a shiver down your spine. While her son has taken a liking to you, she has not.

Despite protests, Jimin sends one of his men to escort you home. The walk isn’t far and you do it alone for most nights. Sometimes Jungkook is heading in the same direction to meet unnamed friends of his, providing you safety in numbers. You always have the protection of your hidden emerald, though you rarely have to use it.

Living in Market Town has given you enough experience to know what streets to take home and what groups to avoid. The Nulls tend to be more courageous the closer you get to home and farther away from the pockets of stores where Nulls and Radiants alike shop. For the most part, though, you slip through the shadows until you make it home.

Home is a giant, living thing. The Breathing Wall isn’t the real name of the towering complex with thousands of windows and thousands of residents. It was named something official long ago when the building wasn’t sun-bleached concrete and dotted with balconies spilling with life. Towels over railings, clotheslines drifting in the breeze, plants poking through the railing, rainwater catchers. Every porch facing the north was bursting at the seams, the apartment begging to be relieved of the cramped, teeming life inside.

Having an apartment alone in the Breathing Wall is a rarity. Your neighbors hate you for it, whispering snidely as the family of seven packs inside tiny walls, hissing when they pass you on the stairs. You ignore them in favor of keeping your head down and keeping your senses alert.

Murder is no stranger in a place like this. It thrives in the overcrowded halls, neighbors killing each other over too much noise, residents going missing only for their neighbor to knock down their shared walls for more space. The community is the administration in the Breathing Wall, and you know that you’re on borrowed time before someone decides a girl living alone in a building so desperate for space is a worthy target.

Inside your unit, you stand in the darkness. Silver moonlight shines in patches through your grime-encrusted sliding glass door. You’ve welded it shut, not wanting anyone to be able to get through it. It’s a simple home with a single mattress on the floor, a table with uneven legs and a mismatched chair, a fridge that hums loudly, and a tiny bathroom where the water is as likely to come out brown as it is clear.

It isn’t much. In fact, it’s nothing compared to the life that you used to live. You try not to think of the differences, especially knowing that you’re better off on a thin mattress with a lice risk than in bed with the snake that haunts your dreams.

There is no evidence of that life now. None of the fine clothes, none of the crystal glasses. There isn’t even a mirror in the bathroom to look in when you flick the light on, though that had come later, when you couldn’t stomach looking at yourself after.

After.

In a way, it feels like your life is split into two parts: before Seokjin and after Seokjin.

The before is memories that you try to keep under lock and key, stored away only when the information is useful for Jimin’s errands. Thinking about before, when your sheets were softer than clouds and your bed kept warm by rough but gentle hands is too painful. It reminds you of your stupidity, of your willingness to be used.

The after is filled with its own misery. Shadowed by paranoia wherever you go, keeping your head down and trying not to cause too much of a fuss. Becoming the punching bag for people who think you’re a Null or light caste.

At least you’re in control. Or some crude imitation of it.

Dinner is hot and fresh courtesy of Jimin’s guard - Alec - walking home with you. He was more a symbolic presence than anything, his Green Dragon crest turning away anyone whose eyes lingered too long and the sapphires drilled into his knuckles letting others know where he was on the caste. Even with sapphires, you could have sent him through several buildings.

Freezing water douses you in your shower. It reminds you of the water crashing down in the market today after Agust’s sabotage. Eyes closed and letting the metallic-scented water rush over you, you think of Agust. The shape of his eyes, the doll-mouth. He’s still an enigma to you, and you can’t help but roll the words he said to you around and around again.

Call if you need.

Agust’s voice had been like velvet when he offered. Surprisingly, you believe that if you called him, he would answer. It feels a little silly to trust a stranger - and a Dominion of the Black Lotus of all things - but somehow you think that if you told Bolero to call his boss, Agust would show up in a floral shirt and a smirk pasted on his face.

As though you can scrub away the images of him in your mind, you furiously rub your skin with soap. It does nothing but lather poorly and leaves you feeling raw and sensitive when your scratchy sheets scrape over your skin after laying down in bed.

Around you, the world is loud. You can hear the family fighting on the other side of the wall that your bed is pushed against. Mira’s voice is shrill and high-pitched, overpowering her husband's soft, rich timbre. Their kids are silent, trained in the art of their parent’s battles.

Noise echoes out in the hall too. Slamming doors, heavy footsteps, voices rising and falling along with the occasional blare of music as a door opens and shuts. The entire world is awake and bursting at the seams as you lay alone in bed, looking at the cracked ceiling where a tiny spider has built her web.

Falling asleep in a building full of bodies that never stop moving and people that never stop living is hard. You live in the center of the noise, always consumed by the constant hum of the building. And yet tucked into the corner of your mattress with the faint smell of mold and clutching your emerald close to your chest, you manage to drift off, waiting for your alarm to wake you the next day.

A dogwood-scented breeze twists the curtains of the bedroom. You wake up to a loud crash from somewhere in the house, feeling dizzy and disoriented as you fumble out of bed, limbs heavy with sleep. Morning light shines gold through the window, painting the mostly white bedroom in a shower of warmth.

Shouts and thudding footsteps echo on the other side of your closed door. You ease your way toward it, trying to piece together the sounds of chaos and glass shattering. There were four additional people in the house beside you and Seokjin, and by the thudding feet, you know there’s more now.

Seokin is nowhere in the bedroom and you pulse lowly, reaching your energy outward with slow-reaching awareness to map out the house. You feel the shiver of power from the garnet on your ring, bracelet, and jewels encased on your incisors like bloody fangs.

Seokjin is in the living room surrounded by dark caste Radiants. You don’t know why he doesn’t rip them apart and obliterate them with his onyx that’s permanently fused to his ribs. He is a walking skeleton of power that cannot be stolen, and yet you feel no throb of inky, dark power from him.

Your home is full of sapphire, amethyst caste Radiants, and a single emerald caste that you know is Riya. Riya’s energy is flaring as she makes her way toward the silent onyx that is Seokin at the center of the fray. You cannot tell which energy belongs to Dol and Laurent but you taste the crackling vibration of amethyst jewels and you hope it's them.

In your sleep-addled brain, it takes a moment to realize you’re under attack. Your mind races as you bolt for the door, gathering power in your hands as you do. It seems someone has discovered your private home, tucked away in the farthest reach of the Kim territory in Millenia. Few people know about this place, meant to be a safe space for you and Seokjin to hide, to keep away from the violence of your world.

When you step into the hallway, you see the black kraken of the Achilleos family sigil and snarl. So they have made their move on you, seeking the thorn in the side of their family. It’ll mean war, of course. You belong to the Primus of the Kim family, the most powerful lineage of Radiants in the Crown Cities.

You are untouchable.

The woman in the hall runs at you, energy crackling at her fingertips like lightning. You don’t blink, dropping down into the thrumming power of your garnet jewels and pulsing. The throb is deep and you feel the shiver in the hall as your power explodes toward her, catching her hard and sending her backward. She hits the wall with a thick crunch and falls limp, limbs twisted the wrong way and eyes staring, but not seeing.

If you had the power of onyx, you would have blown her apart. The urge to caste drop is always there, the dark jewel nipping at your feet and begging to be used, taunting you: Try it. Try me. Reach for me. See if you can do it.

There are more important things than reaching for power just out of reach, though. Like speeding through the halls, skidding to a halt to peer at a pile of bleeding limbs and shattered bodies. You avert your eyes when you see that Dol has a head, neck, and middle section but nothing else. His blood is on the walls, death on canvas. You vaguely make out Laurent next to him, though there is no face to confirm it’s him. Just a feeling.

Emerald power shivers in the house. You run toward it, a moth to the flame. You cling to the feeling of Riya’s energy, begging her to keep fighting. There are dead men and women belonging to the Achilleos family as you clear the east wing of the house and launch over the railing, landing hard on the first floor.

Wood splinters beneath the weight of your energy. You radiate higher as you approach the living room, two amethysts swiveling to meet you. You barely think about it as you breathe in the weight of the grand foyer behind you, thrusting your hands forward and throwing the entire room at them. Unlike the woman in the hall, they’re ready for you, wood and glass and tile shattering against their shields.

Momentum is everything in a fight between Radiants. You keep your energy flowing like a river, manipulating the power from the garnets as you radiate and turn your energy into hard, red glass that’s sharp as daggers. It’s a trick rudimentary dark caste Radiants learn as children, shaping their energy into solid form.

The red shards rain down on their shields as you approach. You don’t stop your assault, the red daggers forming faster than they can follow. There isn’t much distance between a sapphire and amethyst on the Jewel Caste, but the skill difference between an elite garnet and a decent sapphire is worlds apart.

Radiating feels like nothing else in the world. It is power rushing through your veins, like an uncontrolled dam break, water drowning everything in its path. When you were a child, this breaking of the dam into your power would make you sick - many Radiants get sick from the after-effects until they learn to control it.

Now, you let the power of garnet explode outward. You shatter their shields, red splintering against blue. Panels of wall rip back and fly into the living room with the force of your explosion. This time, the garnet shards you form hit their targets with wet, meaty sounds.

What you find inside the living room makes you stop.

Seokjin stands in the middle, arms linked behind his back. The people surrounding him don’t have him captive. He is surrounded by a mix of the Achilleos Kraken’s and Kim Red Claws, standing in a semi-circle and facing you. He is unharmed and passive, watching you with glittering dark eyes.

Riya is on her knees, head facing the ceiling. Her nose is bleeding and there’s a gash on her forehead, and her lips are parted. Her breathing is ragged and from where you stand, you can hear that there is fluid in her lungs, the phlegmy gasps of air hinting at internal bleeding.

Terror squeezes your heart. Riya is only sixteen years old, face round with youth, shaking as her lungs squeeze out air. Filling with blood and fluid. Not healing. Dark hair sticks to where she bleeds on her forehead and her clothes are damaged and stained.

You look at Seokjin who does nothing to help the girl kneeling on the floor, frozen in place by the thrumming power of an amethyst radiant. Eyes darting back to Riya, you take a single step toward her and Seokjin hisses, making you come up short.

“There she is,” Seokjin announces. His eyes are dead set on you. “There is the woman who killed Chrisoula Achilleos.”

You pause, mouth falling open. “I- what?”

You did kill the Dominion of the Achiellos family, but under Seokjin’s orders. Under instruction from the Kim family and with their consent and love. You - you did it for him. Seokjin looks down his nose at you and suddenly, you feel very much like a roach beneath his shoe, recognizing that look before. It’s the look that the Primus of the Red Claw gives someone before he’s about to put them in their place.

Or send them to their graves.

��Admit your crimes and we’ll let her live,” Seokjin orders you, eyes flicking to Riya. There isn’t a single look of concern on his face for the girl, who is now coughing wetly. Blood-tainted spit comes out of her mouth, frothy. She has minutes. “Confess, traitor.”

“I…” you’re at a loss for words, looking back and forth between the girl you’ve taken under your wing and the man who you love. Who loves you. Who loves Riya like his own blood. “Jin, what are you talking about?”

There is no flicker of emotion there. Seokjin looks at the man standing closest to Riya, and you see the decision on his face before he says the words.

“Kill the girl.”

Your scream shatters a thousand worlds.

Most mornings, you wake up screaming long before your alarm goes off. On the bright side, there are so many people in the Breathing Wall that making a little extra noise isn’t so bad.

Gray light filters in through the glass door. You spent a few minutes laying on your sweat-soaked mattress, heart beating hard enough that you feel it in your stomach, making you sick. A shiver rushes through you, muscles clenching as you try to stop it. Sweat makes the back of your neck and the small of your back sticky, sleep shirt clinging to your skin as you slowly roll over.

Memories turned dreams plague you every time you shut your eyes. Sometimes the memories are out of order or distorted, like watching a holoscreen with a broken transmitter, splitting the image and playing warped images. Sometimes, like this one, they are in perfect order, so real that it feels like you're back there in that house, waking up to an empty bed.

Dreams don’t capture the real horror of it. The brightness of the blood and the sound of bones cracking doesn’t quite translate in dreams, but you remember it nonetheless. Can picture the exact shade of pink the foam in Riya’s mouth was. Can see the sickly pallor to her olive skin. Can recall the exact blank look on Seokjin’s face as her neck cracked, severing her spinal cord.

As long as you never let anyone that close, you know you will never have to scream like that again.

With sore limbs and popping joints, you pull yourself up from the floor. Opening a cabinet in the kitchen, you reveal a small, pitiful wardrobe. Though it isn’t much, you do utilize the laundry mat down the street that the Green Dragons own free of charge, meaning your clothes are nicer and softer than anyone else waiting in the line at the always-packed community laundry on the first, tenth, and twentieth floors.

At the center of the thousands of lives in the complex is a stairwell, hollowing out the middle with a dizzying circle of stair after stair. There are two elevators of course, but you’re as likely to get stuck inside of one for two days as you are to find one working. You remember the time you had to share the cramped space under flickering lights and a neighbor whose name you didn’t know who kept urinating in the corner.

Life in the Breathing Wall is constant. You press yourself to the wall of the staircase as you begin the descent down fifteen flights, rolling the stiffness from your shoulders. It’s a good way to get the blood pumping in the morning and now you’ve done the journey enough times to not get sore, but it’s still a task.

More than once you stop on the stairwell to press out of someone’s way. People carrying furniture, baskets, bags, and groups of kids move in a tangled flow up and down the stairs. When you get to the bottom, the lobby is filled with a line of people watching the arrows above the elevator go up and down, hoping that the car comes down soon.

Stepping over a woman selling crystal bracelets that she asserts will tap into one’s ability to radiate, you end up outside in the hot breeze. The city has not yet made the full turn to autumn, but the wind promises something cool in the future. For now, it kicks up dirt and sand from the dry landscape just outside of the city's edge.

Behind you, the complex is a wall of movement. You leave it behind, starting on the road and narrowly avoiding a rumbling vehicle towing a trailer of junk. Morning sun bakes the top of your head and the pavement as you navigate to the subway, flicking through the text Jimin sent you overnight.

Hoseok is stepping in as manager for Montana. Stop by these places to order replacement furniture for the bar.

Relief that Burro isn’t coming back relaxes your shoulders. You have no idea who Hoseok is, but you hope he is even a third better than Burro when it comes to competency. Still, you’re not overly thrilled to be waiting for the creaking of the subway as it wobbles on tracks, lighting flickering on and off above you.

The train car is only moderately busy today. You manage to find a seat next to an old woman who could be sleeping or dead - you’re not really sure and you don’t want to check. Leaning your head against the metal wall behind you, you let your eyes fall shut as the car rocks back and forth, gaining speed as it heads to its next stop.

Around you, everything fades to dull noise. You’re tired, frowning when you start thinking of your dream. Your memory. It was a particularly vivid one, etched in your mind permanently. You’re unsure if it’s better or worse to dream of things in such detail.

Memories will kill you one day, you think. You were haunted by memories of your early childhood before meeting Seokjin for years, and now you’re plagued with him. The man who takes up the space of most of your life, the face you see when you go to bed, the voice that whispers to you in your dreams.

Above you, the speakers on the train let out a loud chime and declare what station you’re at. Eyes fluttering and adjusting to the light, you squint and lean forward, elbows pressed to the top of your knees to support you as the car slows down.

This stop is cleaner than the last. There are transportation robots patrolling on the landing, stopping and ensuring that people know where they’re going. You see sanitation workers changing trash receptacles and here, there are train schedules and maps displayed across a dozen screens that are hung up over the escalators to the city above.

Aurora is a wealthy district, with cleaner air and better infrastructure. Here, the buildings are all in neat rows and decorated with shining sculptures and gardens with flower arches. Patrol robots roll down the wide sidewalks and cars hum by, moving slowly in traffic.

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel like you’re in another world when you visit the wealthy districts. Even the building style here is different, opting out of tall skyscrapers for white brick villas and single-story shopping malls. Here, people stroll on the streets walking their dogs. Here, there are no overwhelming holographs advertising body modification and simulated sex.

Clean. Curated. Calm.

There are so many worlds within the sprawling city of Diade. Each district looks so entirely different, like they’ve been pulled out of a simulation and dropped onto the map. If you look into the distance, you can see the great towers of Civ looming like knives. Adjacent to them on the other side of Market Town is Pulse.

You choose not to go to Pulse. Ever.

Citizens glance your way when you pass them on the street. Everything here is so pristine and built with neat lines. Even the clothes on those who walk by are geometric and linear, seams pressed, flat stitching in comparison to your pants that don’t fit quite right and have mysterious stains and the shirt that looks like the idea of red more so than the color.

Utopia. The word jumps out at you as you turn down a shopping district filled with clean-looking clothes and stoic art displayed behind glossy windows. It stands right on the edge of Green Dragon territory, rolling to the coast where the sea salt sprays against the cliffs.

Just a little south and you’d be in Viper territory. The thought makes you shiver and move a little faster, keeping your head down. The Manoban family hates you as much as the Kim family and it’s best to keep away from their sneaking eyes and vipers.

At the first shop, you’re nearly denied at the door. You flash the small Green Dragon charm shoved in your pocket and the woman relents and mutters an apology that doesn’t feel very just. Even as Jimin’s envoy, she watches you warily as you point out pieces of tables and stools to replace the old ones. She takes down the order and sends you on your way.

It’s much the same at each place Jimin sends you. A wary are you lost followed by forced tolerance. Jimin might be the refined prince of the Park family but any respect and niceties reserved for people who matter aren’t wasted on you. You don’t mind - you’re not here to rub elbows or ask for any favors, so winning the affections of the elite isn’t at the top of your to do list.

If you had to do it though… you try not to think about it as you skip back to the subway, checking your phone for the time. Your next shift starts soon, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do with a bar with bare minimum furniture. Still, Jimin didn’t say that the bar was closed, so you know you’re expected to show up regardless.

A group of people dressed in tight fitted clothing, harnesses and LED accessories get on the train with you. Your eyes ghost over their tattoos and the hint of body modifications, lips twitching. They’re the kind of people that Seokjin liked the least, rich enough to spend their money clubbing and sweating out drugs in underground basements and raves. You always thought it was a bit hypocritical, given it was his clubs and drugs they indulged in.

Such hypocrisy used to be your life, though. The big names of the city, building the perfect little system to keep them at the top while frowning at the bottom for being at the bottom. Jimin is a part of the machine, of course, and so are you. But to try to escape the machine is to die, so you’ve tried to hide yourself in a small part, a useless cog that no one cares about.

When you get off the train to drop yourself back into Market Town, you can’t help but look over your shoulder at the group. They’re giggling at a glittering holo on someone’s phone. Looks like an entertainer of some sort, maybe someone that they’re going to see in Pulse.

The doors shut and cut your vision off. There’s a loud announcement that the subway is leaving as the car rolls back for a second before shooting forward, carrying the strangers away from you where you’ll never see them again.

Setting sun paints Market Town spilled-blood red. It warms your face as you stick your hands in your pocket, moving along the streets flush with people heading toward the shops and stalls and strips of businesses. Anxiety prickles your skin as you get closer to work, the weight of the night before weighing down on you. Surely the Salib family has already burned down the establishment in retaliation. Or perhaps they’re waiting and you’ll die a fiery death on your shift.

Montana is still standing when you turn the corner. The usual members of the Night Sphinxes lean on the cracked walls of their buildings and smoke clove cigarettes. You eye them more than usual as you head up the walk, waiting for one of them to ask you a question. Waiting for them to push off the wall and come across the street.

They don’t. You warily push the door open to Montana, a new sensation tickling the back of your neck. You know Agust is in the bar before you see him sitting on the only stool left in the building. Jungkook looks at you from where he’s leaning on the bar listening to whatever Agust is saying. He nods in greet as you stand at the threshold, staring at Agust’s back.

He’s broader than you remember from the night before. Today he’s in a white t-shirt that he fills out nicely. His shirt is tucked into jeans, showing off a narrow waist that looks dainty compared to a trace of muscle you can see through the shirt.

Slowly, you head toward the bar. You give Agust a wide berth, keeping your eyes trained to him as he speaks softly. You can just barely hear the low notes of his voice as you get closer, the tingling in the back of your neck increasing.

When you enter Agust’s vision, he grins in your direction. His eyes are glittering, his smirk crooked and deadly. There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you want to shiver. Instead, you clench your muscles, fighting the rippling reaction of whatever his gaze inspires and head to Jungkook.

Ignoring Agust, you ask Jungkook, “So we’re just gonna work with half furniture and…” you look around. It’s just Agust sitting at the bar with his gaze pinned on you. “A single patron.”

“Jimin said the new manager would be in tonight.”

“Great.” You glance at Agust. “What’s he doing here?”

“He is holding up his end of the agreement. I said I would offer protection and damage control for what happened with my man last night.” Agust gestures to the bar. “Services rendered.”

“You’re going to single-handedly stop the Salib’s if they come bursting through that door?”

His lips twitch and he looks down at the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m equipped.”

There is little doubt in your mind that he is. Instead of answering, you throw him a dirty look before heading toward the back, giving some lame excuse about going over finances while you wait for the new manager to arrive. In truth, being near Agust with the static feeling on your skin makes you anxious.

If Jungkook has any qualms about entertaining your new guest, he doesn’t say anything. He goes back to saying something about sports, voice vanishing as you move into the store room and to the office tucked away near the emergency exit.

Water drips from the ceiling in the office, making it smell dank. The air is cloying and you slide a broken cement brick in front of the door to keep it from closing, letting out the stale air. It’s not a well-kept office and there are papers, inventory orders, and cups everywhere. A computer console sits in the corner, orange light blinking to indicate it's in sleep mode.

Instead of powering it on and going straight to trying to weed any of the mess Burro has left behind, you start cleaning up the office. If you’re going to get a new manager, it might do well to start with a clean office, especially if he’s anything like Burro leaving you to manage the bar most nights.

While you clean, you never lose the sense of Agust’s presence in the bar. He sits at the back of your mind and awareness like a candle, flickering and warm as you shove things into a trash bag. You still don’t understand why his existence presses down on you the way it does. Curiosity almost sways you to go out and talk to him. Learning where your curiosity gets you keeps you where he can’t watch you.

After an hour of picking it up, the office looks better. You haul the bag over your shoulder and toss it into the overflowing dumpster in the alleyway. You pause, staring into the night. City sounds echo down the alleyway, reminding you of just yesterday when you stood outside talking to Jimin. Burro’s beaten and bloody face flashes in your mind, a new reminder that as much as you like Jimin, he’s still deadly.

Inside, you sense the arrival of other people. You lock the door, focusing on the shape and feel of their energy for a moment. Two emeralds and something strong but a little scattered, power like a lightbulb. It’s not a common feeling, but you suspect you know the reason for the flickering energy, walking to the front of the bar and slipping through the door.

Jimin is leaning against the bar with a single elbow, grinning lazily as another man you don’t know speaks to Jungkook. Agust is still sitting where you left him, his hand on his glass of whiskey. At your arrival, his ochre eyes settle on you and don’t move. You want to squirm under his gaze. Instead, you wipe your hands on your pants and approach Jimin and this new man, eyes flicking between the two.

The stranger is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice about him. His dark hair is a little long, gelled back elegantly to reveal smooth skin, and a long, narrow face. His ochre eyes are focused on Jungkook, sparked with interest as he stands easily with a hand tucked into his suit pocket. His face is delicate and reminds you of the fresco paintings you’ve seen in Aurora.

When he speaks, his voice is playful and warm, rising and falling with a hypnotizing cadence as he says something to Jungkook that makes the younger tuck his chin to his chest and blush, shaking his head. It puts you on edge, this man who looks at Jungkook with glittering eyes and a hungry smirk.

Jimin turns to look at you and smiles. His eyes crinkle at the edges, his genuine happiness easing your alarm as you lean on the bar, palms pressed flat to the top of the sticky surface.

“Thank you for running all those errands,” Jimin says, reaching into the coat of his jacket. Today he’s in pink silk, a startling color that flushes his face full of color. He looks good, an emerald dragon brooch pinned neatly to the lapel. “Hoseok will be doing that shit from now on and you can return to your duties as expected.”

With nibble fingers, Jimin flicks a neatly folded band of bills at you. You don’t move at first, staring at the wad of money. Jimin sighs and rolls his eyes. “You earned it. Don’t think I don’t know you haven’t been running this fucking place.”

Bowing at the waist you take the offering from him. Your eyes flicker to Hoseok, who regards you with interest. There is something about him that puts you on edge, the flickering energy of a Chaotic crackling against your nerves like electricity.

Hoseok extends a tan hand to you, grinning. It’s a disarming grin but you still feel on edge, reaching over the counter to shake his hand. It’s warm, long fingers gripping firmly. You get the sense of a flickering flame, the feel of the color red. Like you, but broken. Stranger.

Carnelian, you think as he pulls his hand back. He’s a Chaotic who radiates with one of the stones that’s not on the Jewel Caste. You let go of his hand and stare. It’s so unusual to meet someone on the Chaotic Caste, whose energy radiates in unexpected and uncontrolled ways. You only know a single Chaotic and she’s as dangerous as she is helpful, her power uncontrolled.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hoseok says. He seems honest, leaning on the bar. “I’m sorry you had to deal with poor management before me. You can understand Jimin’s predicament, though, having to please Burro’s father. You won’t find the same failures with me.”

“Good to hear.”

Carnelian is a dark color on the Chaotic Caste. It’s hard to decide whether he has the potential to be stronger than you or not, which is the problem with the Chaotics. While Chaotics are technically Radiant, their power is different and manifests in ways that don’t touch the same frequency level as the traditional Jewel Caste.

From your limited understanding of the Chaotic Caste, most Chaotics are relatively weak. It’s difficult to use stones like carnelian and tourmaline, the contents and frequency of them are not as easily accessible as the other gems. But there’s limited science suggesting that those who use the stone on the Chaotic Caste have great ability, manipulating energy and stones that are more unforgivable.

Your eyes drift to Agust who watches with muted interest. Perhaps that’s why he is so hard to read. He doesn’t feel like Hoseok, who sparks with energy. Agust feels like an oppressive buzz, like he is a dam holding back a wave of power unfamiliar and strange. It’s rare to meet one Chaotic, let alone two back-to-back.

Hoseok sits on the stool and peppers you and Jungkook with questions about the establishment and its patrons. They’re easy questions - good questions, even. Your wariness doesn’t quite leave, though Hoseok seems nice enough. It could all be a facade - most likely is a facade - so you remain diligent, answering his question neutrally and watching the way his eyes slide to Jungkook in a way that makes you bristle.

Agust is silent through the exchange, lifting his finger for a refill. Jungkook takes care of him. Agust’s eyes flicker to you again but you don’t meet his gaze, wishing he would stop. You’re unsure why he’s so fascinated with you but his gaze makes you nervous. Makes you pick at a splinter on the bar until Jimin tuts at you, muttering something about destroying his bar further.

Jimin dismisses himself when Hoseok asks Jungkook to give him a tour of the building and walk him through a day in Jungkook’s life as a bartender. It’s an obvious ploy to get Jungkook to himself, turning Jungkook blossom pink as he leads Hoseok toward the back, your eyes zeroed in on them and for any sign that Hoseok means him harm.

The door swings shut and you strain your hearing, listening to Jungkook’s soft voice as he takes Hoseok to the office you just cleaned up. Agust chuckles behind you, low and throaty. You ignore him, letting your energy expand to keep a pulse on the two men out of your line of sight.

“You’re protective over him,” Agust notes. “Cute.”

“Loyalty isn’t cute. It’s the bare minimum.”

“Most don’t know the true value of loyalty.”

You turn over your shoulder, throwing him a cursory glance. He’s leaning on his elbows, hands laced in front of him. It’s hard not to look at his fingers, long and rough, knobby at the knuckles like they’ve been broken a few times. “And you do?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Still unsure why.”

“My man destroyed the bar and put you all in danger. I’m here to ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Why you though?”

His lips twitch and he raises a brow. “Why not me? I told you I was equipped.”

“You’re the Dominion of the Black Lotus. Is this not beneath you?”

“A lot of things are beneath me.” You catch the innuendo in his words and look away. “This is not one of them. Consider it an act of good faith on my blossoming friendship with Jimin.”

“So you’re kissing his ass.” He shrugs a shoulder and sips his drink. “If you think he’ll buy it, you’re wrong. Jimin might seem like he’s swayed easily, but he won’t give you whatever it is that you want just because you flatter him a little.”

“You wound me. As charming as I can be, that isn’t what I’m here to do.” He chuckles and begins to trace the rim of his glass. Again, your gaze goes to his long fingers. “You can put the claws away. I can still work for what I want while being genuine.”

Again, you’re reminded of the similarities between this man and Seokjin. Charming, playful. A master with words, revealing truths and intentions only when it suits them. You know that’s how you fell for Seokjin’s machinations for so long, unable to realize that sugared half-truths are more dangerous than lies.

You grab a rag and rub at the sticky counter furiously, as if you could scrub away Seokjin’s grinning face from your memory. “I bet you’re getting used to what you want just like the rest of them, hmm?”

His eyes darken, finger tracing the rim of the glass coming to a stop. You can’t help but admire his hands. There’s something brutal and delicate about them at the same time, made to create art but hardened by the need to create violence.

“I’m not in the Armory,” Agust says darkly. “What I get, I work for.” He lifts his chin a little, eyes zeroed in on you. “Never mistake my motives and intentions for those who belong to the Armory.”

“Then what do you want?”

It takes him a minute to answer. He lifts the glass to his lips and drinks the rest, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. You stare at the smooth canvas of his neck, the urge to bite down on it suddenly taking over.

“I want what I’m owed,” Agust finally answers, setting the glass down on the bar. Again, his eyes are piercing. “You should too.”

Your heart skips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, Agust gives you a meaningful look, a strand of dark hair falling in his face. “I’m heading out for a smoke and a walk. Call me if you need.”

“I don’t even know how I would do that.”

With a satisfied grin, he pulls his phone out and taps on the screen. You feel your pocket vibrate, your hand flying to it and pulling it out. The holograph flashes a message from an unknown number, but it’s obvious who it’s from.

Now you can call.

“Did Jimin give you my number? Why do you have my number?” Agust pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and shrugs, spinning on his heel and walking toward the door. You hear the snap of his fingers and the small pulse of energy as he lights it without a lighter or match. “Can’t you just deal with Hoseok? He’s the manager.”

“I mean it,” Agust says, voice soft. He gives you a final look. “Call me if you need me.”

Questions unanswered, you watch as Agust exits the bar, the door slamming behind him. Behind you, the TV drones about some accident in the Bluffs. You tune it out, mind racing with questions surrounding the one very confusing, dizzying Agust.

He has to be somewhere on the Radiant or Chaotic spectrum. You ponder it when Jungkook and Hoseok come back through the door, talking amicably about art. Jungkook seems enamored, eyes wide and hands moving as he describes something beyond your skill to understand with digital art, but Hoseok is tuned in, umber eyes bright.

Hoseok sits down at the bar, leaning on a hand. His attention turns back to you and you find yourself dodging the usual questions: Do you have family? What did you do before this? What are your hobbies? After his third attempt to get you to open up, Hoseok gives you a bit of a knowing smile tinted with something you think might be sadness before he stops his prying.

“Where’d the troublemaker go?” It takes you a second to realize that Hoseok is talking about Agust. “Out for a smoke?”

You nod. “Are you familiar with one another?”

“Vaguely. He and Jimin are working on some business ventures together but it’s best to keep my nose out of those sorts of things.” Hoseok gives a lop-sided shrug. “He’s dangerous, but I’d prefer him to be the kind of dangerous on my side, you know what I mean?”

You do know what Hoseok means. You were that very danger that the Kim’s liked to keep by their side like a trained hound until they needed a scapegoat. “I suppose,” you offer instead. Your eyes drop to the carnelian bracelet hidden under his jacket sleeves earlier. “Carnelian?”

He smiles. “Chaotic. Does that make you nervous?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “Just surprised. I only know one other Chaotic.”

“Ah, well I’m much better company than Agust, I assure you.”

A pause. Your eyes snap up and you tilt your head. “So he is Chaotic?”

“Is that not who you were talking about?” You shake your head. “Ah, well. Not like it’s a secret exactly. He is a Chaotic, but he keeps whatever he’s radiating at pretty close. I’ve only seen him go down to carnelian, so who is really to say. I saw him use an amethyst once, though.”

“Chaotics can’t use jewels. Can they?”

Hoseok shrugs. “I’ve never been able to grab a hold of a garnet or any of the like colors. But I can certainly feel jewels around me, sort of like a battery that is just out of my reach. Rumor has it that someone strong enough could, though.”

“And you don’t know how strong he is?”

“Strong enough to matter.”

You hum but say nothing else. Strong enough to matter is a good enough answer in this city. Especially among the Armory families and the Circles.

Hoseok is nice and eager to learn. You and Jungkook begin walking him through different drinks after he admits he’s never been a bartender before, but would like to know what to do in the event that either of you are unavailable. It’s different. Good, but different.

Agust returns but sits in the corner of the bar with a tablet, the blue glow on his face making him haunting. A group of young patrons eventually stumbles in, loud and slurring as they head to a booth. You see Agust look up at them, his dark eyes assessing them before catching the dragon tattoos and the green colors. He resumes whatever it is he’s doing, uninterested.

He looks at you occasionally, of course. You sense it when his eyes land on you, making you fidget. You studiously ignore him, refusing to give in to the urge to look up at him. You want to ask him questions, though, about him being a Chaotic and to see what he knows about you.

Over and over his words echo in your head: I want what I’m owed. You should too.

What does this man you’ve known for barely two days think you’re owed? It unsettles you. But tomorrow is an off day and you know just the person to visit for information, though you’re less than enthused to pay her a visit.

Purple smoke and the smell of vanilla and cinnamon cloy the air. The smell clings to the shag carpets and the tapestries hung over the walls, swaths of colors and patterns dizzying in the dim light. You take a seat in a purple crushed velvet chair, the springs creaking in protest under you. The air is thick with the dramatic smoke drifting from the small gap between the curtained hallway, making you dizzy.

Letting a little energy out, you radiate around you, clearing your air and keeping it perfume free. Azi has a flair for the dramatic, keeping the lounge to her little seer den dark, cold and full of incense that smells strong enough to give you a headache for the rest of the day.

A man sits across from you, looking around the room, fingers fiddling in his lap and teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He has no energy signature - a null - and he’s dressed in a wrinkled business suit, forehead slicked with sweat despite how cool it is in the room.

People from all over the city come here to the trenches of Market Town to find Azi’s hole-in-the-wall. It is a haven for fortunes not yet told, and questions that need answering. Thousands of souls cross the threshold to ask her their most coveted questions in exchange for a glimpse into the future, a comforting hand to guide them, a way through the uncertain.

It’s absolute bullshit, but you don’t go to Azi’s for fortunes whispered across jewel scattered tables. The jewels are fake, of course. Azi isn’t as stupid as to allow that much power on the table, but the nulls don’t need to know that, and most of the Radiants who visit the secret-collector of the Green Dragons can’t tell which jewels are real and which aren’t.

The velvet curtain opens, sweet vapor drifting out like fog. Azi sticks her head out, her silver hair braided over a shoulder. Her ice-gray eyes flicker to the man waiting on her and he stands, rubbing his hands against his wrinkled pants. Her attention flickers away from him and lands on you, her brows rising as she assesses you, crows feet intensifying as she squints.

“You wait,” she says to the man who begins to head toward the back. His mouth drops open, crestfallen as she looks at you with a frown. “Come on.”

The man sputters but Azi silences him with a sharp look and he sits down immediately. You don’t blame him, the older woman’s gaze can cut diamond. It’s hard to tell how old Azi really is. Lines by her eyes crinkle in the low light when she scrutinizes you in the hazy backroom where she does her readings, but her skin is otherwise flawless. Her cheekbones are angular, her face all shadows and edges in the low lighting of the room. Some of it is cosmetic, shadow applied to her brow bones to make her seem intimidating.

Azi doesn’t need the dim room, sharp features or fake jewels scattered across a linen-covered table to be intimidating. She fills the room with her energy, letting it radiate around her as she takes a seat and leans back, drinking you in as she taps a ringed finger on the table.

“Well?” she prompts. “I have clients, as you saw.”

Instead of answering her, you lean back in the seat and look around the room. It’s been a few months since you’ve visited Azi but the den looks mostly the same. Deep purples and reds, glittering beads hanging from the ceiling to cast refracted light on the walls, candles that provide very little light flickering atop every covered surface and shelf in the room except the table between you.

Behind her is a swath of crushed velvet curtains. They pull against a hidden, open hallway, the air current sucking them in. You wonder if she knows it gives away where two jeweled guards hide, but you’re unconcerned. Azi works for Jimin and though you’re not her favorite patron, it’s better for her to have the favor of someone Jimin’s fond of.

“You do know I can’t actually see the future, right?” she sighs. “You’ll have to tell me why you’re here if you want an answer.”

“Just taking it in, Azi. It’s been a while.”

“Nothing here changes. Spit it out.”

She’s cagey. Unusual for someone normally cool and unbothered. You file that away for later, intending to find out why your presence has visibly disturbed her.

“The leader of the Black Lotus,” you offer, gauging her reaction as you ask. “What is he?”

Silence. There is a flicker of confusion in her eyes and her mouth twitches before she schools her features and shakes her head, relaxing her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve met him once or twice and I know he’s recently had an interest in some Green Dragon business.”

“What Green Dragon business?”

“Ask Jimin.”

“Perhaps I will.”

She smirks. “If you could, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe I just missed your presence,” you sigh. You lean your head to the side, cracking your neck, momentarily distracted by the satisfied pop in your left shoulder. You let your eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the brief respite in your tight joints before you open them to see her staring at you intently. “I just want to know what kind of Chaotic he is.”

“Don’t know. Keeps it close, I hear. Some say he’s radiated at opal in front of them, others say tourmaline.”

“Chaotics don’t radiate at multiple colors like Radiants.” She lifts a shoulder, hand poking a jewel absently on her table. It’s one of the fakes, but you can feel the buzz of her sapphires on her rings and wrist. It slides under your skin like an itch you can’t get to. “What do you want for it?”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “I don’t have any information to trade.”

You think about seizing the sapphires on her hands. You could do it if you wanted. Could reach out mentally and seize control of her jewels and drag her over the threshold to hell. But Azi thinks you sit at emerald and thinks she holds the power in your Jewel Caste dynamic, so you let her think that, letting your frustration coil like a snake in the grass.

“You have a tell when I offer something you can use.” You reach into your pocket and pull out the wad of cash that Jimin gave you at Montana. It hurts to throw it on the table, thinking of all the things that you could use it for instead of this. “I don’t need change.”

She debates. Looks at the cash and then you before shaking her head. “I’ll give you the single thing I know in exchange for a single favor at my time, place and discretion.”

“No.”

“Then no deal.”

“I’m not pledging myself in service to you without knowing what the deal is or the risk. We aren’t friends, I don’t do you favors. We make even trades. A placement on the caste isn’t equal to any favor any time.”

“I’m not offering you the color of his caste. I don’t know it, but I know something that might lead you there.”

“Take the money.”

“No.”

Fighting the urge to drop into her sapphires and give them a tug is difficult. Your instinct to strong arm her and make it hurt for what you want is so strong that you almost do it. But patience and playing your cards close to your chest is a new, learned instinct. It’s pride that makes you want to show her force. But you know the moment you do it, your secret is hers to sell.

It’s an uneven trade. A piece of information that might help you with no indication before agreeing what it’s actually worth. Your favor at any time and any place is quantifiable as a limitless reward for what she knows. If you agree and she tells you something easily discoverable, you’ll be more the fool for it.

Azi has been nervous, though. Her energy vibrates high, ready to launch if she needs it, and the two men behind the curtain are shifting back and forth, listening. You can’t tell if she’s nervous to see you or nervous to ask you for the favor. It’s possible that it’s both, but the queen of secret selling asking you for an unnamed and undated favor is a desperate ask in her position.

She’s in trouble of some sort, you’re sure. Still, you pick the cash up off the table and shove it back into your pocket, relieved that you can keep a hand on it.

“Limitations,” you tell her and she glowers, opening her mouth to speak but you cut her off. “No murders and nothing that could directly harm Jimin.” You stretch your hand over the table. “Square?”

Azi hesitates, rolling the offer around as she works her jaw. She’s irritated, but she leans forward and grasps your hand. Hers are soft and strong against your callused fingers. “Square.”

Dropping her hand you sit back in the chair. “Spit it out.”

“The leader of the Black Lotus calls himself Agust-”

“Azi, I fucking swear-”

“But it isn’t his real name. His real name is Yoongi.”

Yoongi. A softer name than you expect, yet it somehow fits him. A man hard at the edges and maybe a little sofer on the inside. Pretty, but lethal. It certainly suits him better than Agust, but unless his name is his most prized possession, it doesn’t do you much good.

“How valuable is the name?”

“Jimin doesn’t know it.”

“Has Jimin asked you for it?” A nod. Huh. “And you didn’t ask him for a favor?” A shake of her head, which means Azi is under the assumption she needs a favor out of the regulation of the man who holds her leash in the future. “The person you came by the name from?”

“Died in your bar, I believe. Something about a member of the Black Lotus fucking his wife, which wasn’t true.” Azi smirks. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

Yes, you think. A man turning up dead after knowing Agust - Yoongi’s - name at Jimin’s bar where Yoongi’s bannerman had been drinking is unsettling, but you can’t imagine what the specific motive is. Yoongi made it clear he was keeping on Jimin’s good side for something business related and Azi’s confirmation of them working together reinforces that. But why kill a man who knows his name as his new partner’s bar?

Annoyed at Azi and unsettled by your new puzzle, you walk toward Montana for your shift, footsteps heavy. A dying sun chases you all the way to work and vanishes beyond the horizon as you open the door, entering to see Jungkook and Hoseok working in tandem behind the counter. There are a few patrons enjoying drinks, even. Sitting at the newly delivered furniture you ordered on Jimin’s behalf.

In the back corner of the bar in his newly claimed booth, Agust - Yoongi - looks up at you. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and ripped jeans, boots kicked up on the bench across from him. He lounges against the back of the side, eyes shining as he grins at you like the two of you share a secret.

Yoongi. You think of the way the pretty name suits the very pretty man as you ignore him once more, heading to the bar to greet a smiling Hoseok and blushing Jungkook.

Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes off of you for the rest of the night.

THE JEWEL CASTE (from least to most powerful)

Light Caste

Diamond Citrine Aquamarine Jade Rose

Mid Caste

Peridot Topaz Turquoise Ruby Smokey

Dark Caste

Emerald Amethyst Sapphire Garnet Onyx

THE CHAOTIC CASTE (in general, from least to most powerful)

Opal Quartz Tourmaline Carnelian Obsidian

GLOSSARY

Circle - Lower gangs who are not in the Armory Chaotic - Those who vibrate at the frequency of stones outside The Jewel Caste. Some Chaotics vibrate at a higher frequency than Radiants. Dark Radiant - Those who vibrate at the low-colors and high frequencies Jewel Caste - The order of least to most powerful vibrational jewel frequencies Light Radiant - Those who vibrate at the lighter colors and lower frequencies Mid Radiant - Those who vibrate at the mid-colors and medium frequencies Null - Those who don’t vibrate at the same frequency as the jewels and cannot radiate Radiant - Those who vibrate at the same frequency as the jewels and thus can radiate Unjeweled - A radiant who doesn’t have any jewels on them to help radiate

#yoongi smut #suga smut #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #mafia yoongi #minors do not interact #minors dni

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 7 months ago

Text

What To Do When They Dig You Up, Part 1

okokok, so I got inspired by this super fucked up (affectionate) fic by @tavina-writes, and with permission, I decided to start on a sequel. I'm posting it in chunks as I finish them in hopes that it will be enough to make me, you know, actually make it to the end of this thing.

warnings: past branding and abuse, ptsd and panic attacks, discussion of fucked up self-image, public humiliation.

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“You don’t want to be here today,” Meng Yao murmurs as he guides Nie Huaisang out of the throne room, leaving their mutual master pacing in front of the throne with a sharp grin like a tiger expecting a feast.

‘What could possibly be different about today compared to any other?’ Nie Huaisang wants to ask, but does not.

The hallway is colder than usual, making his face and wrists and back throb hot, and he sinks into the pain, barely aware of Meng Yao’s gentle hands on his shoulders and the act of putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s not until Meng Yao lets him go and opens a door that he realizes he has not been taken back to his master’s bedroom.

“Yao-ge?” he asks, and his voice sounds as alien to his own ears as the chill of the hall.

Meng Yao presses his mouth into a thin line, glancing back the way they came. “A-Sang,” he says carefully, having long stopped calling him ‘Gongzi’ because hearing the old title had made him retch more than once. “Do you trust me?”

‘What kind of question is that?’ Nie Huaisang wants to ask, but does not.

Nowadays, Meng Yao is always the one who puts him back together after his master takes him apart. The ebb to the flow, the pull to the push, the carrot to the stick.

Nie Huaisang does not know the rules to this new variant of the game he has been trapped playing ever since his escape failed.

He has never asked either, afraid that his one respite will be stripped away, either by Meng Yao reporting on him or simply by his master’s whim.

At least Meng Yao seems to realize that he has pressed a raw nerve, because he shakes his head a little. “Nevermind. Just… stay here for now, alright? Will you do that for me?”

Nie Huaisang manages to nod and steps into the room, and the door swishes and clicks closed behind him.

The room is sparse on furniture, and still cold.

He is starting to wonder if the cold is part of him and not something to do with the palace.

There are robes draped over a chair, heavier ones than the gauzy things his master likes to see him in. They don’t fit exactly right, the hems just a little short at his wrists and bare ankles- and he knows who they must belong to.

“Thank you, Yao-ge,” he mumbles to the empty space around him, then layers them against the chill.

There is a barred window that is the only thing of interest.

He pulls a chair over and tries to sit, then winces and decides on the cushions on the floor instead.

All he wants to see is the sky, anyway.

—

The Nightless City has its name for a reason. Even as the true sun vanishes, there is enough light from the fire pits and the many lanterns that he can only see the very brightest stars.

He has heard noises on the other side of the door; running feet and low but urgent voices. But none of them have been Meng Yao, so he has mostly ignored them, too intent on savoring the most peace and quiet he’s had since-

A flash and the sound of a small explosion jolt him out of the light doze he was drifting into, and he lurches to his feet and stares up through the window at the flare for what seems like ages before his mind finally registers that it’s not a Wen flare.

And then there is another.

And then three more from a different direction.

Soon there are dozens, in multiple colors and sect symbols, and behind him, he can hear the chaos in the hallway briefly rise, then abruptly cease.

When he starts laughing, it seems like it’s coming from outside himself, from a non-existent other person in the room. Only when the laughter gradually morphs into tears does the feeling slowly gather in his chest, pulling inward from outside him.

Even that has faded by the time a fist hammers on the door, leaving him completely numb as he turns to face the intruders.

They are wearing the colors of his sect and the one in front at least has a proper saber, but he doesn’t recognize any of them… another note on the very extensive list of reminders of just how long it has been since his one and only ill-fated attempt to escape this place.

The man in the lead looks him over -barefoot, hair loose, borrowed robes- and his lip has already started to curl in disgust before his gaze focuses needle sharp on the horrible mark of ownership that covers half of Nie Huaisang’s face.

“Zongzhu has us spread out looking for you,” he says, clearly irritated to have been given such a ‘useless’ task when he could have been doing something of actual importance.

Nie Huaisang does not snip back at him.

Nie Huaisang keeps his head down and follows the small knot of mixed soldiers and cultivators, and doesn’t respond when one or another pushes him out of annoyance at how slow he’s moving. He realizes they’re taking him back to the throne room and dread begins to well up from his stomach into the back of his throat.

It is nothing like the dread he has lived with every waking moment previously, thick and sticky and weighing his whole body down as though drowning in wet clay. No, this dread is sharp and so cold it burns its way through his body like the winters back home, leaving his nose and fingers and toes prickling and his lungs feeling like he has inhaled needles.

The door opens and his escorts move aside.

His brother is staring at him.

So is everyone else gathered in the throne room.

The dread cracks and shatters under the gush of mortification that floods down his throat, leaving him so dizzy that his legs refuse to hold him.

All Nie Huaisang can do is kneel, head down, as the crowd -people he knows and people he doesn’t and so many people, people, people- erupt into gossiping, some whispering and some not bothering.

Within moments, it all blends together into a dull wordless sea of noise, which he thinks might be his mind’s last desperate attempt at preserving itself under this final assault on the barest shred of dignity he has left.

Was this intentional?

Is it another layer of the game?

Does that matter?

Trembling and struggling to just keep inhaling and exhaling air, he decides that it doesn’t.

He lost.

He lost, he lost, he lost, he has been losing ever since he proved himself too pathetic to get out of this on his own.

He says nothing in his defense- does not apologize, nor beg- because what good would it do?

His brother has to despise him, as he's practically an embodiment of his worthlessness as a Nie now.

Marked for ownership by their most hated enemy; a grotesque mockery of everything their sect -their family- stands for.

At best he can probably hope for exile... much more likely is that the stain on their name will be removed directly.

A heavy hand comes to rest on his back and he involuntarily cringes, curling in on himself even more. His brother’s voice cuts through the dull roar around him and in his head, but he can’t understand the words.

More murmuring, then-

“Out. Now!”

He doesn’t mean to jump at the snarled command; doesn’t mean to recoil as some long-forgotten sense of self-preservation suddenly flares to life from under the piles and piles of ash that Wen Ruohan had made of his mind. The way his head jerks up like that of a startled deer is completely involuntary.

They are alone. And his brother… is angry.

Angry, angry, angry, so angry.

But not… but not at him.

The other big hand lays Baxia down on the cold stone floor then comes to rest on his face, broad palm covering the inner swirl of the brand and thumb covering one of the flames that extend over his nose in a way that is hot, but -for once- not painfully scorching.

“Didi. Who. Did this?” his brother asks, a deep rumble like the sound of a rock fall that threatens to become a whole avalanche.

It should be an easy answer, and yet it takes him once, twice, three times to manage to get his voice and mouth to form the words “Wen Ruohan did it himself.”

Da-ge’s eyes narrow. “No one else?”

He doesn’t know what Da-ge is searching for. For him to lie?

The dread starts to creep back in. Is this a test? Is he failing? Will he be exiled or executed after all? Should-

The hands on his face and back tense briefly, then gentle, and so does Da-ge’s expression. “Nevermind,” he says. “We’ll talk about those things later.

And then Nie Huaisang finds himself swept into a near-bruising hug, the unblemished side of his face pressed into Da-ge’s shoulder.

Oh, this-

This-

His breath hitches in his throat, and then comes out as a sob.

—

There is a banquet.

Nie Huaisang does not go, instead remaining holed up in the new room he has been given for as long as the logistics of breaking down what remains of the spoils among the Sunshot participants will take.

He has yet to find anything suitable for covering his face, and though he has already embarrassed himself and his brother by appearing in front of some of those allies, there will be… others attending, and he wants to put off having to be seen by them as long as possible.

Someone leaves him food and wine at the door.

That’s good enough.

There is one thing he needs to do, however, and once it is late enough that he can be reasonably sure he won’t run into any revelers, he silently slips out of his room.

Just his luck that Da-ge and Xichen-ge are walking down the hall just as he exits, but they are fortunately too distracted to notice him, talking urgently in low tones.

“-and my answer is still no, Xichen. I will have enough to deal with looking after my flesh and blood brother.”

“Mingjue-xiong-”

He decides he does not want to know what they are discussing, and continues on his way.

The last time he saw Meng Yao was when he was being hidden away from whatever -likely Wen Ruohan’s death- was happening in the throne room.

He has heard that Meng Yao has finally won legitimization.

He just wants to see for himself, that’s all.

—

Of course, he hadn’t expected to immediately be placed on the same level as his half-brother, but Jin Guangyao had hoped for… something more when his father had decided to officially declare their familial relationship.

Something more than continuing to be the hands that conducted the dirty work to keep others clean.

Something more than a private -public- joke to be snickered at as his family got deeper into their cups.

Sitting on his temporary bed, he sighs and rubs his face. At least Nie-zongzhu hadn’t picked any especially tumultuous arguments… not with him, anyway. That’s a good sign, considering…

He wishes A-Sang had been there. He understands why he wasn’t, but nonetheless, he wishes A-Sang had been there.

He hadn’t been present for the reunion of the Nie brothers in the throne room, having been carrying out his father’s demand elsewhere, but he had heard about it by eavesdropping on the eavesdroppers, and he just wants to know if-

-no, nevermind.

He will check up on his once-charge in the morning, once things have settled and he doesn’t have to worry about being bitten by a certain protective guard dog of a brother.

He finishes shedding his boots, and is just about to blow out the candle and settle under the covers when there is a soft -very familiar- pattern rapped at his door.

Surprised, but not unhappy, to hear it, Jin Guangyao gets up to answer it and offers a smile to his visitor.

#mdzs #sangyao #ruosang #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie sect #not tagging wen ruohan 'cause he's dead #but his actions haunt the narrative #fanfic

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narukoibito · 2 years ago

Note

Ginny was captured in DH for the wip game

OH this one! Ok, so this was an idea I had where during the war, Ginny was captured instead of Luna. After the war, Harry stayed away from Ginny because of his guilt. Then it's a whole Ginny is a target for a resurgence of Death Eater activity; Harry becomes her bodyguard. They end up in a safe house (forced roommates) and possibly only one bed.

I uh maybe should take this off the list of my wips because I don't think it'll ever see the light of day. I forgot about it entirely before this game! Also I thought of this in 2020, but @takearisk-ao3's The Path From You has a lot of the same tropes/themes I would have wanted to explore, and she is doing a much better job of writing this story than I would!

But here's a snippet of the only thing I wrote for this:

“Ginny. Ginny!” She feels something shaking her, but it seems so far away. “Ginny, please!” The jostling increases. She feels her head lull, the movement reverberating to her brain, and she makes a noise of protest. She’s so tired, her limbs so heavy, and all she wants to do is fall into the beckoning darkness. “Ginny, you can’t go to sleep, Ginny listen to me—!” A flicker of something, the desperation in his voice, sparks a light in her. With great effort, she forces a heavy eye open, her vision blurry, but slowly focusing on the familiar, striking green eyes. Oh. She lets her eye close, feels the fight start to ebb away, because despite his voice, he doesn’t realize that seeing him has the opposite effect because she knows she’s safe.

As for what happened to Ginny in the Malfoy house? Uh, I hadn't thought that far, but she certainly suffers from PTSD.

Feel free to send me more WIP asks!

#wip game #harry/ginny #hinny #captured in DH

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unicornpopcorn14 · 3 months ago

Text

Tw: panic attacks, typical skk hostility, ptsd, descriptions of pain and injuries, hospitals and fear of them

(2/2)

Ring…

“What is it, boss?” A peeved sigh resounds through the call, “Can’t I have one moment of piece after my strategy literally saved the entire worl-”

“It’s Chuuya-kun.”

Dazai expectantly pauses, taking a second to ask, “…What about him?”

“He seems be in some sort of distress. I suspect it has something to do with his ability.”

Dazai must be hearing the frantic beeping of the heart monitor. It’s the only reason he doesn’t doubt or ask Mori any more questions.

Shuffling immediately disturbs the line’s transmission, “I’ll be there in five. No, make it two.” Quick taps are audible on the other end, Dazai’s breath controlled but fast, “Are there any marks forming on his skin?”

“No. And he is awake.”

There is a relieved sound at the other end of the line. Not quite a sigh, but a sound all the same. He doesn’t slow down. “Good. Do not hold him down if he starts rampaging or screaming. The infirmary’s just a staircase away for me.”

Mori counts the seconds on his watch. A particular tick marks the second minute since Dazai accepted the call. And immediately, the door swings open.

Dazai feels the strain in his chest disappear the moment he takes the sight of Chuuya, writhing in his bed, flinching every time Mori approaches, and breathing so quickly with eyes so wide they might as well just pop out. The cardiac monitor is panicking, wailing in the room like a terrified bystander, trying to help but isn’t.

He has to hold himself back from sprinting to the bed, taking hurried steps to where Mori had just been standing, the man stepping aside.

Chuuya doesn’t see him, eyes fixated on something far away. Dazai’s own eye widens at the breathing mask attached to his face-

“Shi- Why is the mask still on? He’s clearly having a panic attack.” He catches himself before he slips up in front of his boss, immediately going forward to remove it. Chuuya whimpers, closing his eyes, gripping his thin hospital gown. Dazai shakes his head, keeping contact to Chuuya’s face even after the mask is yanked off, trying to nullify the source of his partner’s dread. It doesn’t work.

“I’ve tried to remove it.” Mori answers the forgotten question, “He wouldn’t allow me to touch him.”

“Chuuya?” Dazai calls, and Chuuya is aware enough to open his eyes at his name. That, too, doesn’t help. In fact, it makes things worse. The tension returns tenfold, quickens his heaves. He’s staring at something beyond Dazai, terrified, and the brunet follows his line of sight in hopes to get any explanation-- only to find his boss standing where he had been, and nothing around him that could’ve-

Wait.

Dazai’s furrowed brows raise as his eye pierces through Mori, “This isn’t an Arahabaki issue.”

It’s definitive, not shrouded in the desperation of trying to understand. He lets go of Chuuya’s face, and cups his clutching hand instead. Observing, he takes one step aside, blocking Mori from his partner’s view.

Chuuya’s grip loosens a fraction.

Thought so. His own hand tightens.

“Boss, you have to get out.” He speaks without turning around, voice grave.

The physician blinks, “His condition isn’t stable. He has to be monitored-”

“Mori-san, it’s you.” Dazai faces him, eyebrow fixed in its flat stance, “You need to get out. He won’t calm down otherwise.”

Dazai speaks in measured words, but he knows Mori can easily pinpoint the panic in them, stewing and aching to be free. It makes him feel bare.

Mori stands still for two seconds too long, before he closes his eyes, “Very well.”

The door swings shut, and Dazai doesn’t miss a beat.

He clicks a button on the heart monitor, freeing it of its distress. The room falls into silence, save for the shallow breathing Chuuya can’t ebb away. Climbing onto the bed, Dazai does what he knows will help, taking Chuuya by the shoulder and carefully maneuvering him till his ear is over Dazai’s heart, a bandaged hand leading the head of auburn closer with a hold that can easily be broken out of.

Dazai breathes, slow, each expand of his chest felt by the one pressed against it. Chuuya nuzzles unconsciously, clinging to the warmth his gown can’t provide. He clutches the white of his shirt, listens to the beating heart beneath, and tries to ground himself.

It takes a long while, and Dazai is patient through it, till Chuuya is finally able to take a full-fledged inhale. He’s still shaky, his breath still catches between each heave, though it’s marginally better than before.

Dazai decides he won’t let Chuuya go until he’s pushed away.

“Chuuya.” He’s satisfied when his partner hums in a weak response, speaking steadily into bright locks, “Chuuya, do you know where you are?”

Chuuya nods groggily against him, “I-Is he-”

“He’s gone.” Dazai confirms, “Mori-san left the room.”

Chuuya nods again, and it’s apparently self-soothing, because he repeats that three more times than necessary, “Shit…” He heaves, processing what happened. Dazai waits.

Then Chuuya’s hand, the one gripping his shirt, shoves him back a little, “Why did you come?” He pushes him again, teeth gritted, “What brought you here?”

His weak fingers are still grasping the white shirt, so Dazai doesn’t draw away.

“Rude.” He says, then a faint smile manifests, “Mori suspected Arahabaki was breaking loose. Turns out it was just Chuuya being a little bitch.”

Chuuya strikes him this time, squarely on his ribs, making Dazai lose his balance momentarily, “You’re the fucking reason this all-”

Dazai’s hand slips downward, right where the dark wings have sprouted, and Chuuya jerks with a wince. The brunet steadies himself at once, this time positioning them so he can see his partner’s face, and squeezes his arm in silent apology.

Chuuya’s wince continues to tighten his features, scrunch his eyes. Dazai’s expression falls.

“You’re aware he’s our most trusted doctor, right?” They are the highest assets for the mafia, which is why nobody is allowed to handle them in such vulnerable states but the boss himself. It’s logical.

“Yes.” Chuuya voice breaks, like he doesn’t believe it. Like he remembered someone else who held the title of most trusted doctor to him barely a week ago. “Yeah…”

Dazai’s lips thin, “What would help?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. It’s only to prevent getting blared with a false alarm a second time.”

“What, ‘cause your heart dropped or some shit?” Chuuya rolls his eyes, typical frown etched to his features, “Give me a break…”

Dazai stays silent for a second, aware of what he’s getting himself into, but determined enough to face it all the same,

“Would staying with you during treatment help?”

Chuuya scoffs immediately, “Ohoho, Dazai Osamu, owning up to his mistakes? That’s fucking rich.” He mocks in a rasp, then his face falls, “The answer is no, shithead. You’re probably trying to get a kick out of my misery.”

Dazai sends a hollow smile, “Chuuya, believe it or not, this room is as much of a nightmare for me as it is for you.” He says, which is only half the truth. The room he’s talking about is at the other end of this same hall. Still, he gets slight jitters from any infirmary room in general, so it can’t be too bad to lie about this, “Actually, it might be worse, since it isn’t particularly associated with an individual, but the room as a whole.”

He sends Chuuya a challenging gaze.

“Really?” He can see the gears turning in Chuuya’s little brain, and the exact second he falls for the bait, “Fine, then. You’ll have to stay here whenever Mori-san enters. Let’s see which one of us breaks first.” He grins wearily.

“Aw, Chuuya, literal trauma bonding?” Dazai shakes him in excitement, “You flatter me with your proposals.”

“Agh- fuck off, you fucking dick!” Chuuya growls, pain coloring his voice. He hits him. He doesn’t shove him away.

Dazai is beginning to wonder when he’ll shove him away.

He stops with a pout, “Chuuya is so mean. Why is he the only one dying?”

His partner grimaces as he speaks, breaths heavy, “Because I should’ve thrown you at Godzilla when I had the chance… but my dumbass wasted that golden opportunity.”

Dazai perks up, and his eye sparks with an exclaim, “Oh, this is a dream come true! I’ve been waiting for the day you admit that you are, indeed, a dumbass!” He smirks, “For your knowledge, this has been recorded in audio evidence, video evidence, and soon-to-be written evidence when I get home.” He takes out his recorder, then points to the security camera.

The redhead’s face scrunches in confusion, “What the fuck? Why do you just carry a tape recorder around?”

“I believe the question should be: why don’t you?”

Dazai snickers when Chuuya sends him an unimpressed look. It morphs into faint surprise when the latter bumps his head back on his chest, just as Dazai’s tried to ground him midst his frenzy…

“I still don’t forgive you, by the way…” Chuuya says blearily, anger clear though sincerity clearer, “I never will.”

Dazai reluctantly presses his nose on top of amber hair while he stares at the bed, suddenly reminiscent and solemn. He cups the hair from the top, brushing it on one motion, as his darkened eye closes…

“Wouldn’t want you to…”

←Part 1

Skk angst scenarios that live in my head rent free tho I have no time/courage to write them as a whole fic (Part 2):

Tw: Ptsd, implied/mentioned torture, panic attacks, iatrophobia (fear of doctors)

Decided to put Chuuya through it this time . Enjoy :>

(1/2)

Chuuya wakes up from corruption the first time (after all the events of SB) and finds himself in a hospital bed.

His eyes are hazy as he tries to scan the room, blurred by anesthesia. It's all white, frantic shadows casting along. His own breath is loud, clouding the mask he's wearing. The urge to go back to sleep is strong, but he clings to consciousness, tries to make sense of things-

He chokes when he spots a figure in a white coat leaning over the bed.

It's a man- dark haired and soft-voiced. And because he can't see past the length of his arm, he's faceless.

The heart monitor's beeps are frantic and grate on his senses, and Chuuya can't even twitch. The oxygen mask has turned translucent, the clouds stiff and condencing faster than they should. He can't breathe- he can't-

"Chuuya-kun. You're in Mori's infirmary, my infirmary. There is nothing to fear."

The faceless figure says, and Chuuya wants to believe it, so he tries to squint his eyes, make out any features, but it's impossible with the heart desperate to beat out of his chest, the labcoat and latex gloves towering over him.

"Chuuya-kun, can you hear me? It's okay. You are safe."

He knows he should be. It's his boss, the man he'd pledged his loyalty for. He knows there is no reason for him to think otherwise. There is no threat of him getting dissected, torn up, burnt, or tied down like some monster but still-- still...

He's terrified, he's so fucking terrified and he can't help it.

#is this kinda ooc? maybe #skk platonic intimacy nothing will ever make me hate you #also Dazai please learn some communication skills #skk angst series 🩸#bsd #hurt/comfort #bsd fic #bsd fanfic #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #skk #soukoku #tw panic attacks #J's post #J's writing ✍🏽

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

Text

A Grave Life Part Sixty Eight

Previous Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone has a good week 💖

...Oof, guys. Final chapter. This has been... A Journey. I mean this fic is over 100K words now. I’m.. I have been writing this fic for two years? Like this is honestly one of the stories that got me into writing fic consistently again. So...Thank you for reading, thank you for sticking with me on this truly wild ride, like it has been...Insane. Thank you thank you thank you.

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, mention of injury, cursing, mention of PTSD, angst, fluff Summary: “We’ll just need you to sign these forms, Mrs. Graves,” I heard, and was startled when a clipboard was passed to me and not Eugenia. It was the first time that I’d heard myself referred to as such by anyone that wasn’t Percival.

I finally understood why Percival was always at such a low ebb when I was in the Medical wing. I couldn't be drawn out of that room for a blessed thing— food, sleep, nothing. I kept wary watch, untrusting of everyone that trickled in to check on Percival. I technically had no reason to be— I’d placed the same enchantment on the door as had been on our apartment door, so anyone entering under any disguise would be revealed to be false in a matter of seconds.

I wasn’t alone in my lingering. Piquery dropped in frequently, between Congressional hearings to find out how he was doing; Eugenia also spent days there with us, fussing with the staff and pestering them to find out how soon Percival could be moved into a more comfortable environment.

“We’ll just need you to sign these forms, Mrs. Graves,” I heard, and was startled when a clipboard was passed to me and not Eugenia. It was the first time that I’d heard myself referred to as such by anyone that wasn’t Percival. I felt Eugenia’s eyes narrow at me as I took the clipboard, eyeing the forms before signing them and passing them back. The nurse hurried out of the room, seeming as wary of the frosty atmosphere as I was. I leaned back in the rickety old chair I had taken up residence in, turning my attention back to Percival.

He was healing well, at least. The swelling on his handsome face had gone down; he’d been awake for a little while the day before, and we’d spoken for just a few minutes before he’d drifted off to sleep again.

“When precisely did that happen?” Eugenia asked after a moment. I sighed softly, scrubbing my hand across my brow.

“Just before he left for the assignment.”

“...Elkton?” “Yes.” Eugenia was quiet for a moment longer, and I lifted my eyes uncertainly to her. She was gazing at me with an indecipherable expression. I pressed my lips into a thin line, turning to look back down at Percival, marking the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“And that… That man didn’t know?”

I shook my head, “There seem to have been details that Percival omitted when he was speaking with Grindelwald, like our marriage… Or the fact that he calls me dearheart and not dear. Things that he knew would raise alarm bells for me.”

Eugenia hummed thoughtfully; I could see her nodding in my periphery.

“Breadcrumbs,” She mumbled.

“Quite.”

We fell into silence after that. -- “Perhaps he’d be best at your apartment.”

I was surprised that Eugenia was entertaining the idea at all. I shook my head a little bit.

“He needs familiarity right now— and I’ve no doubt that he’ll know Grindelwald has been to the apartment. I think he’ll be better at your home.”

Eugenia bristled at the name, but she tipped her chin up a moment later.

“If that is to be the case, then I must insist on your staying as well.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Graves—”

“He will need you close by, and I still have my own obligations to uphold.”

I hesitated before nodding a little bit, “I can get some clothes together— I think Percival and I ought to stay in separate rooms for the time being.”

Eugenia’s head tipped to the side a little bit, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“You’ve already spent so much time apart.”

“He’s been hurt, Eugenia, he’s still healing. I don’t want him to feel like I’m crowding him. I’ll be nearby if he needs me there, but I don’t—” I stopped myself, taking in a shaking breath as my worry welled over. I couldn’t quite say what else I feared: that Percival would ultimately push me away, that what had happened was just too much for him. I would understand it if that was the choice that he made; so much had happened, and while I would be there for whatever Percival needed, I couldn’t fool myself into thinking that everything would simply fall into being the way that it was.

-- Eugenia put me up in the room beside Percival’s.

It was a nice room— there was a large four-poster bed and a large window that overlooked the street. It was different from the room that I had been put up in the last time I had been wounded and sent to convalesce in Eugenia’s home.

The first few nights were quiet enough— Percival was still worn out; he was sleeping more often than not. When he was awake during the day, he was either trying to read the paper (focusing for too long still made his head hurt; he’d been quite heavily concussed) or asking me about cases that he’d missed.

The two of us spoke about what had happened to ourselves very little; I didn’t feel right asking Percival to ask what had happened, and Percival didn’t ask what had happened with me so much. It was clearly something that neither of us were ready to broach.

The fourth night, I woke up with a start. I felt cagey, like I was being watched. I glanced around, spotting a figure looming in my doorway.

“Perce?” I asked softly.

“...I can’t sleep,” He said after a moment; his voice was thick and hoarse with disuse. I pushed myself to sit up before I reached out, patting the bed beside myself to urge him deeper inside. He walked in slowly, looking toward the window a little bit before he climbed into bed. I saw him wince just a little bit before he settled down beside me.

I rolled onto my side to look at him. He stared up at the ceiling in silence; I could see his eyelids fluttering in the darkness.

“...What did you do today?” He asked after a few moments.

“Talked to Matilda.”

“How is she?”

“Better. Tired of desk duty.”

“...She’s as impatient as you used to be.”

I smiled a little bit.

“Thomas doesn’t want her going back to work so soon, though,” I added.

“I understand.”

I was quiet as Percival shifted to face me. I held very still as he reached out, resting his hand on my cheek.

“...What’ll you do tomorrow?” He asked. I shrugged a little before I turned my head, brushing my lips along his palm. I didn't want to move things too quickly and scare him off, but I'd missed the easy affection that he and I used to have.

“I don’t know,” I murmured, “Your mother said that Ermentine will be stopping by for a little bit.”

Percival hummed, skating his thumb along my cheekbone. I felt my eyelids flutter, my stomach flipping at the tender contact.

“She’s been asking to stop by to see you,” I added.

“She’s plenty welcome to,” Percival murmured, “So long as she doesn’t bring another damn duckhead.” -- Apparently I laughed so loudly that I woke up Eugenia.

It started with sleeping in the same bed together. It was always Percival in my bed; I was too scared to go into his bedroom, I didn’t want to push. But waking up at Percival’s side was more than enough of a start.

He started to receive visitors in Eugenia’s parlor: Tina, Queenie, Picquery, Ermentine. Piquery rarely brought work (though Percival did pry for details); he spent his waking hours in the parlor, too. He began to read for longer hours at a stretch. We began to go for daily walks when weather would allow. We walked closely to one another, but we weren’t quite up to cuddling with one another as we had before he’d left. -- “Where did he send you?” Percival asked.

It was late; I was nearly asleep; Percival was curled up beside me under the covers.

“...A No-Maj boarding house,” I mumbled, “He hid my wand under one of the floorboards. Practically ripped the place apart when I accio’d for it.”

“How long?”

“Weeks.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“...If he did, I can’t remember,” I admitted, opening my eyes a little to look at him. He was watching me closely. Percival was quiet for a few moments, eyes wandering my face.

“We should begin looking for a new home,” He said after a few moments.

My brows furrowed.

“What about the apartment?”

“...I don’t want to go back there,” He shook his head, lowering his eyes and taking hold of my hand, “And I want somewhere that we can build our lives together the way we planned.”

I intertwined our fingers, my love for him welling over. I nodded, dipping my head and pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles.

“I think your mother’s beginning to get sick of us, anyway,” I teased, smiling.

Percival’s lips quirked with a small smile.

“Perhaps a little,” He agreed. -- We knew that Eugenia wouldn’t stand for our being too far away— and given all that had happened, we didn’t want to be terribly far from her, either.

Percival and I found a home in the same neighborhood as Eugenia’s. It was one that I insisted was far too large for the two of us. Percival wrapped his arm around my shoulders and nodded, looking around what we had been told was a good third guest bedroom.

“It may not always be the two of us,” He said, “And in time, we may need more room. Would you rather we have to look for that now or...When it’s more difficult for you to move things around?” He arched an almost teasing brow at me, and I had to fight down a smile.

“If we move in here, your mother is going to think that we’ll have an army of children,” I argued; I couldn’t stand to beat around the bush on this any longer. Percival smiled, brushing his lips against my forehead.

“Perhaps not an army.” -- Our days weren’t always easy. We did still fight, sometimes— Percival wanted to return to work at Congress; I wasn’t ready for him to get anywhere near his old files. Percival wanted to go back to the apartment and pack things up; I was insistent that we could hire people to pack things up for us. I hadn’t been back there in some time, and I had no intention of going back.

There were nights when the both of us were wracked with nightmares; we had woken one another up with our whimpers, our tossing and turning. Those nights were the longest, and the most quiet between us— we would wake up and just hold the other until the shaking would subside. More often than not, neither of us would be able to fall back asleep. -- “It’s a mansion,” Matilda said flatly.

“I warned you that it was too big,” I said, shutting the door behind her. I waited until she had hung her coat up before I hugged her tightly. Matilda wasn’t the hugging type, but she granted me this, patting my shoulder twice before letting me lead her into our sitting room.

“Percival’s idea?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“...It’s his first day back,” I answered stiffly, pouring a cup of tea for Matilda.

“I see.”

I could feel Matilda eyeing me, and I glanced over at her, arching a brow.

“Thomas didn’t handle my first day back well, either,” She offered as she took the saucer. I sighed, sitting across from her and toying with the pendant around my neck (Eugenia had given it back the day Percival and I had moved out, with a small smile and a warning that she never wanted it handed back to her again).

“I’m handling it fine,” I grumbled, sliding the pendant back and forth on the chain. Matilda eyed the chain before her eyes lifted to mine, unconvinced.

“How’s it been for you, then?” I asked. Matilda shrugged, looking down into the cup.

“It’s been…Familiar. I thought that being back in the office would be more difficult, but— Well, perhaps the month of desk duty wasn’t such a bad thing. It let people ease into the idea of my being around them after what’s happened. I think Graves may have the same experience.”

“Well, the two of you can discuss that when you come over on Saturday. And Thomas and I will discuss how ridiculous the two of you are.”

Matilda arched a sharp brow, lips twitching as a smile threatened to break through. -- “...Are you going to ask?”

“Hm?” I tore my eyes away from where his wedding ring sat on his finger. It was odd— we’d been married for months, but it was still a new sight. Percival offered me an amused little smile.

“We don’t have to tip-toe around it,” He added, sitting down beside me on the bed.

“...Alright,” I huffed out a breath before taking hold of his hand in mind, intertwining our fingers, “How was work, then?”

Percival ran his thumb along my wedding band, looking down at our hands, and I wondered if the sight of mine was as foreign to him.

“It was… Interesting. The department seems to be walking on eggshells.”

“There’s going to be an adjustment period, Perce,” I reassured softly, turning my head and looking up at him.

“...The President wants to know if you would be open to testifying in front of Congress in regards to Grindelwald’s case.”

I was quiet for a moment, fighting the urge to snap that she could ask me herself.

“I’ll consider it,” I said after a moment. I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to relive everything— I didn’t want to remember any more of it than I had to.

“Take your time,” Percival nodded. I glanced up at him, smiling a little when I saw him watching him.

“What is it?”

“I missed you today,” He admitted, “Is that odd?”

“No,” I chuckled, shaking my head, “I missed you, too.”

He smiled and leaned in, brushing his lips gently across mine. I sighed softly, raising my free hand to his face and cupping his cheek. I had reveled in each of Percival’s kisses since I’d gotten him back.

“We should get going,” I warned as I reluctantly leaned away from his kiss, “We’ll be late for dinner at your mother’s.”

“She’ll understand.”

“She’ll be displeased— and she’s liable to turn up to make sure everything’s alright.”

Percival grunted as I stood. He held onto my hand, and I frowned, watching him.

“What is it?” I asked softly.

“...Thank you,” He said.

“For what?”

“Being so damn stubborn.”

I grinned, unable to help it.

“Do you ever wish I wasn’t?” I asked. Percival shook his head a little bit.

“I used to,” He admitted, tugging me a little closer by my hand, “But I would not want you any other way, dearheart.”

Tag list: @myplaceofheavenorhell ; @britishfajita ; @terrainhead ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @rvgrsbrns ; @maaaaryx ; @remmyswritings ; @flostvs1508 ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @paintballkid711 ; @knightsimp; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @tardis-23 ; @lunadegitana ; @recklessworry

#A Grave Life #percival graves x reader #percival graves imagine #Percival graves/You #Percival Graves/Reader #Percival Graves x You #WOW that's it guys

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reyeslonestar · 4 years ago

Note

Question what are some things you wanna see in season 3 of lone star? Character development, plots, anything

I want to see Tonya Kong write every episode. that's all. thanks for asking!

sadfkja I joke, I do have other ideas, but that is definitely high on my wish list! i'm gonna go through by character and talk about what I'd like to see for them, so this is gonna get quite long whoops...

the main thing that I'd like to see overall, though, would be evidence of an overarching season plan or arc - it doesnt necessarily have to be a plot that stretches through all the episodes or anything major, but I'd love them to have plotted out the season before they start. from watching this season and then reading interviews after the finale, they dont appear to plan many things from the start and end up throwing in ideas as they go along. if they plan it from the start they can foresee how theyre going to affect character development more, and they can have a bit more balance in the types of episodes they have, so that the season is less insane and more naturally ebb-and-flow with a few light episodes to break up the drama.

okay, onto the characters! just going to do this in billing order for simplicity's sake. customary reminder that these are just my own opinions and thoughts, and this is more of a wish list than a realistic expectation.

if you want to search for a specific character, ctrl F for one of these terms including the dash at the start:

-Owen

-Tommy

-TK

-Grace

-Judd

-Marjan

-Paul

-Carlos

-Mateo

-Nancy

press “j” to skip the whole post.

-Owen

okay so I'd love to see them actually develop his character. Owen has been given a lot of backstory with lots to play with development-wise, but to me it feels like the show never goes anywhere with it. he's got a lot going on what with 9/11, feeling responsible for the fates of his fellow firefighters, the codependence of his relationships etc. I'd like to see him go to therapy and see him grow some self awareness and seek to manage himself better, rather than all his screentime devoted to him being a hero when other characters have the situation handled. it would really show him as a good leader if he drew on the skills that his team has and refer to them for advice/ideas. realistically he is the main character, so I'd like them to develop him like one.

also, I kind of love the chief role for him? I think it would suit him really well. but it would drag him away from the 126 and split up the dynamics too much so it would make for bad tv and I wouldnt actually want to see that. good for his character though.

-Tommy

I love Tommy :) just wanted to say that.

so obviously Tommy's got a lot of grief to handle next season, and I don't want them to shy away from that. I want it acknowledged and processed. (I'd also like a little bit of seeing the twins' grief too, because they're also suffering a massive loss). maybe something with Judd helping Tommy learn to manage her grief with his own experience of losing the original 126, encourage her to go to therapy, plus Tommy, Grace and Judd all feeling the loss of Charles together. after all, Grace and Judd were his friends and they will be grieving too.

I'd also kind of like to see Tommy have something outside being a working mother. obviously we're going to need to deal with that a lot especially now that Charles is gone, but I feel like she's been assigned the Character TraitTM of being the working mum and I'd like to see them give her a hobby or something. idk. and give her a night off with Grace or something. give her something just for her.

-TK

okay so I think theres a fair likelihood that theyre going to return to looking at TK's addiction next season which im not averse to. I think him struggling with his sobriety would be worthwhile to see for his character and to show that its not a straightforward path, plus it makes sense with all the insane stuff they've thrown at them in s2. however, Id like to see it in the context of his friends and family rallying around to help and support him and show him that he's got people to rely on, and that he's allowed to rely on them, plus the support of his AA meetings and therapy. I also need them to lay the groundwork for him struggling, so putting in signs of him deteriorating so the situation makes sense. this storyline doesn't need surprises to be interesting or good, and frankly it shouldn't have any.

as for him and Carlos, I definitely want to see them househunting! I'd like to see the combination of househunting/Carlos with Tommy's kids/Grace and Judd having their baby have an impact on their perspectives regarding their future and spark that conversation (like, looking at houses with more rooms and thinking about kids, future, marriage etc). I think that maybe one of them, probably TK, or maybe both of them those boys have way too many parent issues having anxieties about being a dad could be an interesting way to add tension without being too drastic, and then that can be resolved in a way that reassures them of their relationship and reaffirms their strength as a couple. the talk about the future would also lay the groundwork towards a proposal at the end of s3.

-Grace

grace :) my love :)

I could watch episode after episode of Grace kicking ass and saving people over the phone. I'd love to see an episode set there? like, some kind of story within the call centre with all the handlers having to resolve that between them, but also tie in the first responders, so we see the fire team, the paramedics and Carlos all working but we only see the bits that Grace and the other call handlers hear, if that makes sense? also an actual Grace/Carlos team up where they are coming in from the different angles with different amounts of evidence and figuring out the best way to solve something together. plus I'd like to see her maybe get some recognition for being awesome at her job, maybe another handler coming to her for advice on how to solve something.

of course we've got the baby Ryder on the way, and I want that to go comfortably and smoothly for her. she deserves that. lots of wholesome excitement for her and Judd from the whole extended firefam, baby shower, gifts, the full works. pamper grace please.

-Judd

judd4captain2k22. please.

yeah I know its not gonna happen, but I loved judd stepping in as captain this season and I'd love to see that continued with him taking more leadership, and Owen deferring to him for advice/council in a work environment rather than personal life. maybe set up a long term idea about judd being a captain someday.

he's gonna be a dad :') so what are his anxieties about that? why were they putting it off before? was it related to his PTSD? he's got lots of people relying on him now, how does that make him feel? what if his kid loses him? id like to see him still using therapy as a tool to help himself deal with everything. lots of meaty questions to dig into there :D

-Marjan

I'd quite like to see more of her balancing her daredevil nature with the impact of that and realising how much danger she puts herself in sometimes. or on the flip side, maybe the team is dealing with a really dangerous situation and they utilise her fearlessness to save people. her relationship with social media could also come back? but bring in the development they gave her this season, and her Firefox presence is more serious, less flippant?

I think that theres now a space for her to explore her sexuality/romantic experience now that she hasn't got her engagement with Salim as a kind of failsafe. maybe she wants to put herself out there and date, but thats really daunting as shes never really had to do that before? personally I think this could tie in really well with a self discovery/exploration regarding her sexual orientation, but I doubt they’d go there with her, so thats just my headcanon.

-Paul

I want them to draw on Paul’s observational skills and perceptiveness more, especially on calls and in emergencies. I remember someone (sorry I cant remember who) pointed out that he would have been a great character to centre the arsonist plot around in terms of noticing the clues etc, so id love a storyline that revolves around him dealing with an emergency like that. I also really want a Carlos and Paul friendship so maybe them collaborating on a call to solve something, that’d be cool.

can we give Paul a girlfriend please. if im not complely insane, there was a reference to someone in like,, 2x04?? someone who put mayo in his sandwich? idk I havent checked (edit: it was aioli in his banh mi! thank you @meneatyoghurt), but if there is someone can we show him having a fun and loving relationship please. I dont need there to be any drama. just them having fun on a date or something.

-Carlos

so I know that some people are keen to see him in his police role more but I really don't need much of that. on calls with the 126 I'd like to see him be the officer in charge more, but I don't need police-exclusive storylines. I've talked about it here if you want to know why.

the only area that I'd like to see would be in the direction of reform/addressing the flaws of the system, and I think they can do that on a personal level for him, because he and Mitchell need a chat. if they'd gone with her decision in 2x08, he, Mitchell and the bank robber would all be dead, and I think thats gotta have some impact. also the fact that he was suspended for trying to preserve life. theres a lot they could work with there and maybe have him thinking about how he can do good and how he can effectively protect and serve. not to mention, the opportunity that would provide in terms of addressing his relationship with his dad and how he maybe sought approval by pursuing a police career?

also I’d like him to learn that he doesnt need to accept blame/preemptively put blame on himself and that he doesnt need to apologise when someone else hurt him. kind of want to send him to therapy. kind of want to send all the characters to therapy. but yeah, him learning that he can accept apologies and understand that he doesnt have to make people feel better for hurting him. hes allowed to be hurt and feel pained about it. and that can tie into his relationships with Mitchell, with TK and with his parents.

I think I mentioned most of the tarlos stuff in TK’s section, but I wouldn't mind at least one instance for them where we see it all from his perspective instead of TK’s.

finally ive mentioned above how i’d like a team up with Paul on a scene and both of them figuring it out together. I'd also like them having a friendship outside work, just the two of them, bonding over books and being relatively sane people compared to the rest of their friends.

-Mateo

Mateo is so sweet. I loved 2x14 and the recognition he got, more of that please! also theres still so much I want to know - one of the more consistent things they set up for him in s2 was his faith, so I want to know more about that. what's his relationship with religion and God? he's pretty isolated from his family so how does he feel about that? is his religion something that helps him feel connected to them? maybe the church helped him find a community when he first came to the states, before he got settled with the 126, and he finds reassurance in faith that God is looking after his family while he cant be there? I think maybe there's scope for a conversation between Marjan and Mateo about that, about that distance and caring for their families through faith and prayer.

also, if he's still with the horrible firehouse, I'd like to see the other firefighters being won round by his resilience and stepping up to look out for him, and someone backing him up against the captain. Mateo is used as the butt of the joke most of the time, but I'd also like to see a bit more acknowledgement of things like losing his house and the bullying hes going to get more of from this firehouse.

-Nancy

I think that her speech to Tommy in 2x14 was really telling, and I'd love to see them expand on that a bit more. first on the loss and fear of losing her friends and coworkers, but then also on her hopes and aspirations - she said she wants to be a paramedic captain so lets see her working to take her exams and qualifications, and showing initiative on scenes etc.

id like to see more of her being integrated into the 126 group. she and marjan turned up to the hangout together, so lets develop that relationship more. I would love it to be romantic but I'd also love to see that as a friendship. but also her forming bonds with others in the group as well as more of her and TK being a chaos duo. I love that they stole the ambulance, more of that insanity please!

I think thats it? if youre still reading, youre insane and I appreciate you a lot! honestly im open to all sorts of things in s3, this isnt a prediction or anything, its just stuff I think would be interesting based on where the characters are now.

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whumpingcrow · 4 years ago

Text

Pt. 12 "It's Already October?"

CW: PTSD themes, nightmares, insomnia, dishonesty about mental state, past noncon/dubcon mention, past abuse mention, emotional abuse, panic attack, tics/tourrettes, food mention, slapping mention, injury mention, blood, self harm (explicit), razor mention, bondage mention, drugs/alcohol (explicit), August is sort of in this one, oblivious caretaker, party setting, halloween setting (Let me know if I missed anything!)

(Note, as a general warning these two upcoming chapters are going to be pretty graphic with descriptions/intensity of the situation, and I really want to reinforce that I prefer if these stories are viewed by 18+ readers, and is read with discretion <3 -Crow)

The last time that Elias had talked to Allen, he had promised that things were going to start getting easier, that the pain and the fear would ebb and it would all begin to feel ok very soon. Elias was beginning to think that he had a different idea of 'soon' than Allen did, because he wasn't feeling like it was getting any better. If anything, it seemed like it was only going to keep getting worse. His nightmares were so violent and often that he didn't even put in effort to sleep anymore, he simply stayed up after the first time he was jolted out of his sleep. After that he would always sneak out of the room around Tyson and busy himself with something until he woke up as well. He was constantly tired, sure, but it was ridiculously hard to convince himself to close his eyes and force himself back into a nightmare once he was already awake. It made him feel incredibly ashamed, but he was getting rather good at hiding how much all of it was really wearing down on him from Tyson, how he wasn't allowing his injuries to heal, how he was always terrified and exhausted. Except that this didn't exactly go in his favor, because he was acting so good that Tyson decided he could go back to work.

"I'm not working the full shift, so I'll be back before you even know it. You'll probably sleep the whole time, won't even know I'm gone." He smiled at Elias, who was sitting at the edge of the bed watching him get ready. "If you need anything, you can call Leo or Allen, or me if you don't wanna call them."

Elias nodded, only out of obedience, he didn't want to bother anyone by calling them in the middle of the night. He could deal with it himself, just like he always did. "You look nice in your scrubs," he said, to deflect the attention off of himself, "like one of those hot doctors from that show."

Tyson laughed and flopped onto the mattress next to him. "Yeah? This pale blue really brings out my eyes, huh?" He melted as Elias laughed, the sound of it was light and, if he dared to think, happy. Maybe he was gonna be just fine, he seemed like he was doing alright so far. He was hopeful, and the fact that he was about to leave Elias alone all night and he was alright enough to be laughing had to be a good sign, right? It was ironic, but it seemed like Elias was less nervous about the whole situation than Tyson was. With a small sigh, he reached over and smoothed out a wrinkle on the sheets and mumbled, "I'm gonna miss you."

At that, Elias turned his gaze away from him, trying not to let his upset that he was leaving show. "You'll be too busy to miss me." He insisted, forcing as much humor into the sentence as possible.

"I highly doubt that." Tyson pulled him against his chest, kissing his cheek gently. When he thought about having to stand up to leave, dread filled his chest and weighed him down enough to stay put. He tried not to think about how someone might break in, how they might take Elias away from him again, how he would be powerless, so far away. August was in jail now, he reminded himself, Elias would be ok.

"You're gonna be late, Doctor." Elias teased him, pushing him away playfully. He smiled when Tyson sighed heavily and stood up, looking him up and down.

"Ok... I'll see you in the morning. Promise you'll call someone if anything happens?" He waited for Elias to nod, then grabbed his bag and turned to the door.

He only made it a few steps before he heard Elias stand up, his voice small and scared as he breathed, "Tyson, wait."

"Hm?" He looked over Elias, who had his arms wrapped around himself and looked like he might fall over any second. He was silent for a long time, squeezing his hands tightly around the materiel of his shirt, looking like he was too nervous to say what was on his mind.

"I love you," he finally muttered, "that's all. Have a good night."

Tyson grinned at him and crossed the room again to kiss him. "I love you too. Get some rest."

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

Whatever movie was playing on the TV was boring, Elias couldn't seem to focus on it. He had been sitting on the couch the majority of the night, smoking weed every time he felt uneasy. He got up a few times to double-check that the door was locked, just to make himself feel a little better. It was painfully lonely without Tyson, without the simple knowledge that there was someone else in the house with him. He debated calling him, just to hear his voice, but he didn't want to take him away from his work. Then he wondered if maybe he should call Allen, that he might have some advice about being alone. Really he felt like he just needed someone to talk to, someone to tell him that he was doing alright.

"Everything you're doing is wrong," August was sighing, shaking his head disdainfully. The disappointed glare in his deep blue eyes could've killed Elias, made his chest ache so painfully every other injury he'd ever gotten from August paled in comparison. August was a monster, a sadistic devil of a man who's main goal seemed to be causing everyone else around him misery. So then, Elias found himself wondering time and time again, why was displeasing him so upsetting? Why did Elias feel like he was crumbling to pieces without his approval? "Tyson's too soft on you. But you know that, of course, don't you sweetheart?"

"I'm trying to do what you taught me it's just...he doesn't care. I don't know what to do."

"Yes you do. You've got to be punished, my love." Just like always, his voice was disgustingly honeyed, even as August grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the ground. Elias didn't even see him grab them, but there were the ropes again, tight around his wrists as always, and Elias couldn't move, and he could see the glint of the razor inching closer to his skin.

"August please God, no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please I'll do better!" He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, August was going to slice into him again and he couldn't handle anymore pain.

"You know you need it, Elias. Remember, it's to help you be better. Don't you want to be better?" His voice was sweet, almost caring, even with the corner of the razor digging into his skin.

Elias didn't remember falling asleep, but all at once he was bolting off of the couch and gasping in frenzied breaths, looking around the dimly lit room for any sign of danger. He was alone still, there was no one with him. As soon as he realized it was only a nightmare, he blindly reached forward until his hand brushed the glass pipe on the table. He didn't waste any time pulling it toward him so that he could get high again. Even though the smoke made him cough, he felt like he could breathe a little better the foggier his head got. He checked his phone, disappointed when he saw Tyson hadn't checked up on him yet and that it would still be hours until he got back. Without meaning to, he thought back to the nightmare, what August was saying. His subconscious August, at least.

Would he feel better if someone hurt him? Would it make him stop lying and hiding what he was feeling if he just got into trouble for it once? He knew Tyson wouldn't ever lay a hand on him, and August was long gone. But the more he lingered on the idea, the more he realized how much he needed the pain. His anxiety only began to worsen again as he dwelled on it, so he stood up and tried to busy himself by cleaning up. It helped for a bit, he was mostly distracted enough that he didn't think of the nightmare or the idea of being punished, until he got to the bathroom.

He was paralyzed the second he saw the large straight razor sitting menacingly on the shelf of the medicine cabinet, similar to the one August had used on him. He could feel the sharpness of it without even touching it, he was familiar with the sting and the burn that came when it was dragged heavily against his skin, he remembered the dull soreness of the injuries when they started healing. What he didn't know was how it would feel to hold it, though, he had never been allowed to touch it in that way. He wondered how heavy it would be, if it would be cold or not. His hand was trembling as he reached out and picked it up, his breath bated as he looked it over. It was so god damn sharp. If someone were to hold it to his skin and just ruin him, he imagined it would probably be like pushing a reset button, like he would be brand new when it was all over. At the thought, he set it down and pulled his sweatshirt off, not even bothering to look at himself in the mirror, grabbing the razor again once his shirt was on the floor. There was nothing he wanted more than to cry at the dangerous thoughts running through his head, but at the same time this felt like the only option. He placed the razor over the healing cuts on his forearms, taking a few ragged breaths to gain some courage.

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

Tyson felt bad when Elias flinched awake as he crawled into bed with him, he seemed to be sleeping so peacefully. He looked lost and scared as he sat up, squinting through the dark at Tyson.

"Just me, love. I was gonna come sleep with you for a bit, is that ok?" He asked him, finding his hand on the blanket and brushing his fingertips over it.

Elias's shoulders dropped back to relaxed and he moved closer to Tyson, allowing him to pull him against his chest as they laid back down. "How was work?" He whispered.

"It was alright. How was your night?" He rubbed up and down his back, trying not to be bothered as he felt his spine underneath his hand.

Elias was silent for a while, then he cleared his throat. "I missed you a lot. It was lonely here."

"Yeah, I bet. Did you sleep well? I mean, before I woke you up."

"Uh...yeah, sort of. I stayed up late though. Watched a movie." He snuggled closer to Tyson, against his bare chest, sighing at the warmth.

They talked for a little longer, until Tyson was too tired to stay awake, and then Elias just stayed close to him and listened to him breathing for a long time. He couldn't fall asleep again, mostly because he didn't want to wake Tyson up if he had a nightmare, but also because he couldn't get comfortable with all of the new cuts on his arms.

There was a lot more blood than Elias was expecting, and he was too shocked to move for a second as he watched the red ribbons stream down his skin, and then a sort of sick calm washed over him. He didn't remember it feeling this relieving when August did it, but, God, did it feel like a breath of fresh air. So he just kept going, and soon he was covered in blood, like he was used to, and he turned off the light and sat at the bottom of the shower for awhile until the bleeding stopped.

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

After the sun started to shine through the curtains, Elias slipped out of Tyson's arms carefully and made his way to the kitchen, busying himself by making breakfast. He made himself some coffee while he waited for the french toast to cook, then he began to cut up some fruit. It felt odd to hold the knife after hurting himself the night before, and he found himself shaking slightly. He was doing everything he could to stay busy, he felt like if he stopped moving he would sit down and fall asleep, and he couldn't handle another nightmare. He didn't want to see August anymore, he wanted it to really be over, and when he was dreaming about him it was like actually being around him again.

"That smells amazing." Tyson remarked as he came into the kitchen. Elias jumped hard, nearly dropping the knife that he was holding.

"Jesus," he huffed, trying to breathe so his heart would stop racing, "I didn't know you were awake."

Tyson sighed as he leaned against the counter, looking around at all the food. "I just woke up."

Tyson looked so good, his dark, curly hair was messy, his face was still tired and he was shirtless and his voice was gruff from sleep. Elias set the knife down as carefully as he could and walked over to him, wrapping his arms around his torso and hugging him close. "Well, good morning, then."

"Good morning. How long have you been awake?"

"Oh, uh...I um..."

"Did you go back to sleep after I got home?" He pulled away from Elias and inspected his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, but he couldn't really tell if it was from lack of sleep or the healing bruises. Tyson knew he was getting thinner from holding him, but now that he was looking at him harder, he could see it in his face, too. He frowned as Elias shook his head, then placed his hand over his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Elias choked out, fearful over the disdainful look on Tyson's face, "I tried to, I just couldn't...I just didn't wanna have another nightmare-"

"Hey, it's ok, love. You've got nothing to be sorry about."

Even though his voice was nothing but sweet and loving, Elias turned away from him with a frustrated sigh. "For fucks sake, Tyson!" He groaned, grabbing the counter to steady himself. "I'm fucking up so bad why cant you just, like, fucking yell at me or something!?"

Tyson was shocked at the outburst, gawking at him for a moment, left speechless. He was angry at him for not being angry? Allen had been similar when he first got back, tried everything he could think of to get the people around him to see that he was bad, that he was deserving of pain, but that stopped for the most part once he realized that the people around him were safe and wouldn't hurt him even if he wanted them to. He could see Elias shaking where he stood and he felt helpless in that moment, like there was no way he could comfort him.

"Elias," he said softly, stepping carefully toward him, "you have been through more pain and fear than anyone should have to deal with in their entire lifetime. I can't imagine how hard it is for you to adjust after that, and I'm not going to punish you because you're having a hard time."

Suddenly, Elias burst into tears, caving in on himself as his shoulders shook in sobs. "You don't understand! I'm so...I need...I need you to fucking...! God fuck Tyson!"

"Baby calm down." Tyson moved to grab his shoulders in some attempt to soothe him, but Elias turned and shoved his arms away, stumbling back from him. "Elias, please-"

"Shut the fuck up! Shut up Tyson, stop being so fucking nice to me!" He covered his face as he cried, sinking down to the floor with a thud. Tyson sat down across from him, hands to himself, and watched as he began to rock back and forth a little.

"I love you Eli-"

"Stop it! Please stop it!"

"-I love you so much and you're not doing anything wrong."

Elias only got more hysteric at that, his breathing so quick and labored that Tyson was worried he might pass out. When Elias began to tic and hit his injured hand against the ground, Tyson grabbed his wrist to hold him still. Elias fought harder, screaming to be let go, for Tyson to "stop fucking touching him!" and thrashing in his grip. He wasn't going to calm down, not like this, not on his own, and he was hurting himself, so Tyson had no other choice. In one quick movement, he slapped Elias across the face.

He felt bad instantly, of course, but Elias grew still, apart from his body trembling and his shoulders rising and falling with his labored breathing. He looked up at Tyson, fear etched into every detail of his face. After a few seconds of silence, he dropped his head down and took a deep breath.

"Th-thank you," he breathed, his voice just as shaky as his body, "thank you, Tyson."

Tyson shook his head, fighting the tears in his eyes as he stood up. "Come here."

Elias slowly pushed himself to his feet, sniffling a few times and trying to steady his breathing. He stiffened when Tyson grabbed his shoulders, only bowing his head further in submission. He fought the familiar dread he usually had when August was only just beginning a punishment, when he knew he was going to be weak and broken and near death in a moment. Logically, he knew Tyson wouldn't hurt him as bad as August would, but after being hit, his brain went right back to that same fearful, trained head-space.

"Look at me, baby," Tyson whispered. When Elias shook his head and grew even more tense, Tyson took a step toward him. "Eli, angel," he cooed, tilting his face up until he grudgingly made eye contact. "Are you ok?"

Elias nodded eagerly, eyes still wide and terrified. "M'ok." He insisted. Tyson knew it was just because he thought it was what he wanted to hear, he could still see the fear and the pain written on his face.

"I'm so sorry I hit you. I won't do it again." He wiped the tears from his face as he spoke. His cheek was red from where he hit him, and Tyson's heart sank further. "I love you so much, Elias, I never want to hurt you. Ever."

Elias forced a small smile, nodding his head. "It's ok. I love you." He flinched a fraction as Tyson stooped down to hug him, then melted into his arms. He closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths. He counted to ten, then pulled away and cleared his throat. "Your breakfast is gonna get cold."

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

Tyson couldn't be sure if it was just because he had been hit earlier and now wanted more than ever to please him or if he genuinely wanted to, but he was surprised when Elias insisted they go to Leo and Allen's for the Halloween party they'd been invited to. When Tyson brought it up, it was mostly just to let Elias know that they were thinking of him, that he had friends who wanted to see him, he wasn't expecting him to want to go. Initially, Elias was just shocked that it was already Halloween, had he been with August for that long...? Had it already been almost two weeks since he'd last seen him? He tried not to act too bothered about how much it shook him up, realizing he'd completely lost his sense of time lately. But once Elias said that he would love to go, Tyson gladly agreed, promised Elias that if it got uncomfortable or overwhelming they would leave. Elias was amused with Tyson's makeshift costume, his tight red shirt and cheap devil horn head band. He looked ridiculously attractive, and here Elias was in his oversized hoodie he'd been wearing for days and an added jacket, his hair and face were both an absolute mess. He felt ugly, not that he didn't always feel like that lately, but as long as Tyson was distracting him he wasn't really thinking about it.

The party had a lot more people than either of them were expecting, the house was buzzing with conversation and music and loud laughter, and Elias was instantly intimidated. He reached for Tyson's hand and stood close to him, looking down at his shoes as he was guided through the crowd.

"Hey! I didn't think you guys would come!" Someone was saying. Elias looked up for a split second to see it was Leo, who was grinning ear to ear. Elias was envious of his carefree happiness, and he wanted to sob when Tyson let go of his hand to hug Leo. "How are you, Elias?"

He flinched at the sound of his own name, snapping his eyes up to Leo. He hated being addressed like that, like a person, because every time he could hear August pounding it into his brain that he was less than human, that he wasn't important enough to be spoken to, that he was only alive because August allowed it, because August wanted to use him, because he was a punching bag, because he was a sex toy, because-

"I'm fine," he choked out, forcing a tight smile. "Do you have any booze?"

Leo frowned at him in confusion, then looked to Tyson for some sort of explanation. When he only responded with a simple shrug, Leo turned his attention back to Elias. "Uh...yeah. Yeah, it's in the kitchen."

Elias thanked him and turned away from them both, weaving through people until he found himself in the kitchen. Only a few people were in there with him, one of them being Allen, who looked just as uncomfortable as Elias. He was wearing a tee shirt and bow tie, which was the most low effort costume Elias had ever seen. He would have laughed, if he wasn't so hell bent on getting himself drunk so he could handle being here.

"Hey," Allen said, smiling a little, "I didn't know y-you were here."

"Yeah, just got here. Ty's with Leo." As he spoke, he poured himself a shot of tequila, holding his breath so he wouldn't tic and spill it. He threw it back, gagging on the taste, on the memories of August forcing him to take shot after shot of the burning drink because he was more fun when he was drunk, he was told. "What are you supposed to be?" He asked. Allen's eyes were on him as he filled up the shot glass again, then grimaced as he set it down and reached for something to chase it with.

"Oh, I dunno. I've n-never really done this whole Halloween party thing." He shifted his weight, chewing his lip. "What about you?"

Elias didn't answer him, shaking his head. "Can we please go somewhere quiet? This sucks."

Allen laughed, "yeah, it does, huh? Wanna go sm-smoke?" After Elias agreed, Allen took his hand and led him out to the backyard. There were a few other people, but they were dispersed enough that they found a place far away from everyone quickly.

"Tyson hit me today," Elias said suddenly, looking at the ground as he smoked, "I can't even remember why. I just...I just remember I was on the floor and he hit me."

Allen was shocked into silence for a moment, then he took a deep breath and leaned against the wall they were standing at. "Was he mad at you?"

Elias felt on the verge of tears then, couldn't speak over the lump in his throat. "He didn't seem mad, he said he was sorry after. I think he just...I think he just felt like hitting me."

Allen shook his head. "No, Tyson isn't like August. He wouldn't just hit you because he wanted to." When he looked up at Elias, he was surprised to see his cheeks wet with tears and a tight frown on his face. "Hey, it's ok, Elias. It's ok."

"No, it isn't. I'm so fucking exhausted." He dropped his head into his hands and fought the sobs shaking his shoulders. "I can't sleep and I can't eat and I feel like I'm fucking up every little thing-" he froze up when he felt Allen's arms around him, holding him tight. For a second he was stunned into silence, then he really began to cry.

"You're gonna be alright," he was saying, "right now, you're in the hardest part of it, but it's gonna get better." He pulled Elias closer as his weak, broken whimpers shook his small frame. He didn't remember ever being in this much despair, sure, he was confused and scared and hurting, but for the most part he was just relieved that he was safe. How long had Elias been back, a week and a half? When Allen had been back for that long, he was focusing on trying to get his life back together, trying to mend relationships and himself and feel as normal as he could. Elias seemed to be breaking apart over and over again. August must've been so cruel to him.

When Elias slowly stopped crying, he pulled himself out of Allen's grip and took a deep breath. "I um...I'm gonna go get another drink. Thanks for uh, talking to me."

"Yeah, of course. Let me know if you need anything." Allen watched as he stood up and limped back into the house.

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red-talisman · 4 years ago

Text

More random unbetaed “human guardian lion!!Jiang Cheng working on rebuilding Lotus Pier’s wards with his siblings while everyone has PTSD and they don’t know what’s coming in the plot.” Please don’t take my description of energy work here as any kind of accurate representation of any Chinese tradition. ( ´･ω･` )

[Portrayal of PTSD symptoms and allusion to past child abuse.]

_______

“You ready to head out to the lake?” Jiang Cheng asks when he clears the last bite from breakfast.

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “What?”

“The lake, you idiot. We need to figure out where the flows of energy are so we can map out the new construction, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

His tone is strange. Jiang Cheng frowns, and even Jiang Yanli looks concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you getting sick?”

“No, no, I’m not sick. But, uh. Today’s not good for me?”

Jiang Cheng sets down his teacup harder than he intends to and kindly pretends he doesn’t see Wei Wuxian’s reflexive twitch for a sword he doesn’t even bother to wear anymore. “What are you talking about? What could possibly be more important than this right now?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” says Wei Wuxian, getting to his feet with a smile that makes Jiang Cheng want to punch him because it’s so obviously fake, “but I’ll make it up to you! I promise! I have to go, but good luck!”

“What the fuck, Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng yells at his back. “Wei Wuxian!”

“Let him go,” Jiang Yanli says quietly, putting a hand over one of Jiang Cheng’s.

“A-Jie, what the hell is going on with him? Why wouldn’t he - does he not care?”

The thought sounds so ludicrous out loud - Wei Wuxian has never been anything but loyal in word and deed to the sect, especially his siblings, especially their sister - but with the gods-forsaken war finally over and all the sects agreeing to an unspoken pause in politics while they lick their respective wounds, what could possibly be more important than this?

"You know that’s not true,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, very gently disapproving, and Jiang Cheng flushes, because he does know that perfectly well. “I believe that it might...be a shadow he carries.”

“A shadow?”

“The kind that causes people to wake up at night.” Her glance at Jiang Cheng reminds him that she’s one of only two people who can calm those nights when he wakes with a swinging fist or a scream in his throat, or those days when a memory is particularly loud and he has no idea how much time will pass before the memory lets him go again. “I think he carries more from his time in the Burial Mounds than he’s ever admitted to us, and then he went straight into the campaign...”

“Then why won’t he tell us?” Jiang Cheng demands, confused and, yes, a little hurt, because if they can’t rely on each other, who else can they rely on? The sect is rebuilding but they only have each other. (Right? What does it mean if their brother doesn’t trust...?)

“Breathe, a-Cheng,” says Jiang Yanli, and he gasps out a sudden breath, unaware that he’d been holding it. “Our brother is still here with us. He just needs time. Things will get better.”

“Right,” he says, more to himself. “Right.” A few minutes in silence pass as he waits for his traitorous heart to stop racing so fast for no fucking reason. “I’m going to the secondary eastern dock. Where will you be?”

“I’ll be speaking with the weavers in the main courtyard about cloth supplies, and then I’ll be speaking with the doctors about the plans for the infirmary here in the hall,” she replies calmly, not at all perturbed by his need to know.

“Right,” he says again. “I’ll be back before lunch.”

Jiang Yanli smiles at him and pets his hand before letting it go. “I look forward to it.”

The eastern docks are a short distance from the center of Lotus Pier, located just far enough around a curve of the lake’s shore that the noise of hammers and saws and loud conversation is dimmed but not silenced. (He doesn’t like being near the Pier but hearing only silence. It makes his mind start racing, and that fucks up his sword forms.) Only a few people are around, too busy to bother their sect leader with more than a passing nod. He approves. Clearly they have their priorities in the proper order.

Jiang Cheng sits cross-legged at the end of a dock, still sturdy despite the charred edges, and closes his eyes, lets his palms lay relaxed over his knees, allows his breathing to slow. It’s easy to find the warm glow of his golden core turning around itself deep in his chest, and although it’s felt odd in ways that Jiang Cheng can’t quite put into words since Baoshan Sanren somehow miraculously recreated it, he’s never been able to find anything actually wrong with it.

He follows the flow of qi from his core and through his meridians, and soon he feels the whispers of qi which aren’t his own like small tributaries coming together to share waters. It starts with the wooden planks beneath him and their lingering memory of living as a tree. Then it’s the gentle ebb and flow of the water beneath that, a cool murmur that hints at the larger, heavier pool that permeates Yunmeng’s larger system of lakes and rivers. Below that, the earth sits heavy and cool, endlessly patient as the years pass it by.

It takes a golden core to feel so deeply into the world’s flows of qi, and even cultivators struggle with it. Jiang Cheng himself has never been able to do it outside of Yunmeng: the farther he is from Lotus Pier, the harder it is, and the few times he snuck away in Gusu Lan during indoctrination to test himself, he didn’t feel anything at all. He always figured it’s some weird quirk about having grown up running half-feral around these lakes along with the bone-deep certainty that he would one day become their human lord, as his father and his father before that had done. For whatever reason, since the war ended, it’s been easier than ever to sink into Lotus Pier’s invisible network.

Wei Wuxian, of course, almost never had any trouble tracking the flows of qi outside of himself, regardless of location. But Jiang Cheng breathes through that thought, ruthlessly reminding himself that the only people who would dare measure them against each other anymore are dead and that a skill carried by his brother is a skill that will strengthen the Yunmeng Jiang Sect as a whole.

He still has his brother and his sister. They are the Yunmeng Jiang Sect and the Yunmeng Jiang Sect is them, and they will be strong, they will be, and their waters will drown any fire that dares turn its heat towards them again.

He repeats this to himself over and over until the words turn into nonsensical sounds, and he keeps repeating them anyway.

“This is all you got?” Wei Wuxian asks during lunch, tilting his head at Jiang Cheng’s rough brushstrokes of green ink overlaying the darker lines of the geographical map.

“Yes, asshole, and you wouldn’t be complaining if you’d actually helped me,” Jiang Cheng grumbles over his rice.

Instead of whining like a child or wailing like Jiang Cheng had threatened his virtue, Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow with uncharacteristic darkness. “Fuck you,” he snaps, and it feels so much like one of his mother’s unexpected slaps to the face that Jiang Cheng is shocked right out of his irritation.

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli gasps.

They watch silently as their brother jerks back, stares between them, and finally lets out a long, shaky breath.

“...Sorry.”

There’s an awkward silence before Wei Wuxian clears his throat and pastes on a smile. “Well, what’re we waiting for? Let’s see how far we can get with the feng shui before we realize we have to find someone who actually knows what they’re doing with it, ha!”

“No, no one else,” Jiang Cheng says decisively. “If one of the architects says we have to move something out of physical necessity, fine, but I don’t want anyone else knowing how the arrays work.”

“A-Cheng, it wasn’t a traitor who brought the Wens,” Jiang Yanli reminds him, but Jiang Cheng is shaking his head before she finishes her sentence. He’s not sure how to explain that even the thought of someone who isn’t one of his siblings seeing into the soul of Lotus Pier’s rebirth makes Zidian grow warm on his finger.

Wei Wuxian puts his hands in the air in a conciliatory gesture and says, very seriously, “That’s fine, but then we’ll have to figure something out in case there’s a situation that requires someone who isn’t one of us.”

If all three of them are incapacitated, then they’re probably fucked anyway, Jiang Cheng doesn’t say. But then again, there is no sect without disciples, and if he expects his disciples to be loyal, then the sect must be loyal to them in turn. “Fine. Yes, fine, you’re right. But not now. Maybe...maybe some of the senior disciples. But not now.”

“Not now, then,” Wei Wuxian agrees without a fight, and reaches out to run long fingers over a curl of green ink. “Let’s talk arrays that could blow an army up into the Jade Emperor’s throne room instead.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #yunmeng trio #guardian lion jc #this whole fuckin ficlet series is eating my brain #jukebox fic

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elisaphoenix13 · 4 years ago

Text

Claws Of Blackened Memories

When he opened his eyes, it was dark in the room. That wasn't what had him on edge though...something just didn't feel right. He sat up to better assess his surroundings and that was when he felt it.

The unmistakable weight of a shock collar.

He panicked. Even though he knew it was pointless to struggle and try to get it off, he still tried. He yelped when he received a shock for his troubles and then flinched away when hands started sliding up his body. They weren't the warm, strong hands he was accustomed to...no...he knew these hands and it terrified him. They were smaller, cold...and when he looked up, he found himself looking into dark, manic-filled eyes. He tried to scream at her or get away, but to his horror he couldn't speak or move.

Had his rescue been a dream? How long had he been in her clutches? Was his mind so broken that it tried to soothe him with images of his family in a desperate attempt to hold on to the last sliver of sanity he had? If so, he couldn't decide if it was cruel to do that and then bring him back to this nightmare, or if it was crueler to not give him any kind of serenity in the first place.

He supposed his mind was doing him a favor. But how long had it been now? Another few weeks? Months? Had they given up looking for him? Had they looked at all?

Had Quill given up?

"Isn't this easier? I can make you feel so good." Her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he finally managed to move enough to kick her away.

"Get off of me!" He yells.

Bad idea. The mania in her dark eyes intensified and she pulled out the remote to his shock collar and flipped the switch and the pain that followed was excruciating. His skin was already tarnished and burned and the strong currents she sent through him was making his neck flare up with a vengeance. He screamed from the pain and mentally begged for release. For oblivion.

He wanted to die.

As if the electrocution wasn't enough, he was being yelled at. She was screaming his name and then...it started to sound warped. Started to sound male.

"Scott!"

He startles out of his dream with another scream and shaking violently and he jumps away when he sees her standing over his bed.

"Get away from me!" He yells and starts grasping at his throat to try and get the collar off again.

"Grab his hands. He's hurting himself." A voice cuts through his panic and his eyes widen when his wrists are grabbed and pulled away from his neck.

"Nonono! Take it off!" He sobs out.

He could hear someone talking to him but he was too worried about the pain. He just wanted it to stop, but whenever he struggled to free himself, it was all for naught. When some light finally fills the room, he looks around the room with his heart still pounding and finds that the one holding his hands is Bruce. Stephen was next to him and looking back at him after turning on the bedside lamp and then frowned.

"Scott." The sorcerer repeats gently. "You're home. You're safe."

Scott continues to tremble as he takes in his new environment. They were still in their pajamas and it was still dark out, but he was home in his own bed. The dream...the nightmare...was so real--

"I am?" He finally whispers and relief courses through him when Bruce finally releases his wrists.

He held them close to his chest and pulled his knees to his chest in an attempt to make himself smaller. He saw Emir pacing by the bed, agitated from not being able to see whatever was scaring his human, and by his door he saw Cassie. The poor girl looked hurt and was on the verge of tears and that's when Scott realized the woman that was standing over his bed was actually his daughter.

He had yelled at her.

"Scott...how long has this been going on?" Stephen asks, pulling the thief's attention back to him.

Scott flinches away minutely when Bruce leans closer to inspect his neck. "...since the first day Quill was gone overnight after I came home." He admits with a whisper.

"Two years?!"

Stephen and Bruce look at each other and then Bruce opens the first aid kit that Stephen gives him. Scott flinches violently when the alcohol wipe touches his neck, but after being told that he had scratched himself quite a bit and that it was necessary, he endured it. It burned like hell and he wanted to cry again but he didn't want to worry Cassie anymore.

"Does the dream reoccur every time you go to sleep?"

Scott swallows and winces from the pain. "Just when Quill is gone."

Stephen nods and mutters something to Bruce who nods and gets up with the first aid kit and leaves the room. The sorcerer then gently takes Scott's arm and pulls him off the bed and leads him out. Emir follows diligently as Scott is led up to the penthouse (after Stephen tells Cassie to go back to bed), and the thief hesitantly climbs into bed when they get to the master bedroom. Stephen had to do a bit of climbing to get in the middle of him and Tony, and then it turned into a tight fit when Emir insisted on sleeping next to Scott. Athena grunted a little grumpily but laid her head back down once everyone was settled and Scott curled close to the tiger.

He miraculously slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

When he woke up the next morning, he and Emir had the bed to themselves and the bedroom was void of the couple that slept in it as well as the babies and the wolf. Scott got out of bed tiredly and when he opened the door, he was met with quiet conversation between Tony, Stephen, and even Sam.

"PTSD." Sam says softly. "I honestly thought he was just used to Quill sleeping with him when I saw how tired he got whenever he was gone...I never thought to check."

"None of us did." Stephen sighs. "He didn't think to tell any of us either. We all have our nightmares, but this is extreme."

"Can you talk to him Sam?" Tony asks.

"Maybe as an on-site counselor, but I think he should see a psychiatrist. Does Quill know?"

Tony sighs. "If Quill knew I'm pretty sure he would never leave."

"I'm not crazy." Scott mumbles.

The other three look up at him and watch as he descends the stairs with Emir.

"No one said you were." Sam says. "You went through a traumatic experience. You were taken and held against your will for weeks and on top of that, you were tortured."

"You were also very sick when we finally found you." Stephen adds.

"How did you even know I was having a nightmare?" Scott asks quietly.

"Victor woke me up." Stephen says. "Then you were...shouting so loudly that when Bruce and I came to check on you, you woke Cassie when we opened your door."

Scott sighs and sits on the couch, making sure that Emir doesn't bother the sleeping baby in the swing. Most of the kids were at school, and Valerie was coloring at the coffee table quietly with her usual cartoons on. Stephen sat next to Scott and gave him a look once he got his attention again.

"We had Friday send a message to Quill. He's on his way home."

Scott frowns. "Why?! He has responsibilities--"

"The Guardians can take care of it. Right now, he needs to come home and be with you. Your nightmares are so bad that you're hurting yourself because they linger when you wake up."

Scott couldn't argue with that. Last night wasn't the first time he had clawed at his neck in an attempt to remove a non-existent collar. There was even one night he was trying to escape from Kate in his dreams that he fell out of bed and woke once he hit the floor. Even though he had these nightmares every night (or every time he closed his eyes) when Quill was at the station or out in space, Scott knew he still needed to sleep.

Scott stayed up in the penthouse until Quill returned the next afternoon. While having someone nearby helped, he still woke up in a sweat and it took getting some light in the room to chase away the remains of his nightmare for him to go back to sleep. The second the celestial got home, Tony, Stephen, and Sam sat him and Scott down and told Quill why they asked him to come home early.

He was glowing by the time he was caught up.

"Can Diana take me back? I'm going to kill that bitch again!" He growls and Scott looks at him in surprise.

"Again?"

Tony winces. "I'll spare you the details...but she's not going to take you again. Did no one tell you?"

Scott shakes his head. "No...I didn't know."

"That alone might help, but you should still see someone." Sam says.

Quill's light ebbs away and he looks at Scott. "I'll keep my outings to the station. I won't go back up until you show some improvement.

"What about the Guardians?" Scott sighs.

"They'll be fine. You're more important right now."

After Tony told them he would find a psychiatrist for Scott, Quill took Scott and Emir back down to their floor and to their room. Both Emir and Flynn were happy to join them in bed and the second Scott's head hit the pillow, he went out like a light. With Quill there, he slept all the way until the next morning without a single nightmare, and when he woke, he was still curled against the god. Quill hadn't left even though he had clearly been awake for at least a couple of hours. He just readjusted himself so he was on his back, but kept Scott tucked into his side when he turned on the TV. It was something he usually did when they were having a lazy day. Today was going to be a lazy day of comfort.

"Feeling better?" Quill asks softly when Scott stirs and lays his head on the celestial's chest.

"A little." Scott answers honestly. "The nightmares...they always feel so real. I can feel the pain so vividly...her touching me…"

Quill frowns. "Scott...she can't hurt you anymore. I personally made sure of that."

Scott could only nod. It did help a little knowing Kate was dead, but he still avoided dark-haired women whenever he went out alone. He didn't even know he was doing it until Cassie pointed it out when the two of them were out grocery shopping one day. It was instinctive. When he tried to go down an aisle a brunette woman was in, he froze up and a wave of panic overcame him and he had to turn around and avoid the aisle until she left it.

"Could you…?" Scott whispers and motions to his neck.

"Yeah."

Quill wills light into the hand of the arm he had around Scott and gently places it on the younger's neck. Once Scott feels Quill's powers soothing the pain and mending the damage he had dealt to himself a couple of nights ago, he relaxed against his husband and turned his attention to the tv.

He really hoped therapy would at least help with the nightmares.

#antlord #scott lang #peter quill #stephen strange #sam wilson #tony stark #ironstrange #mama bear au

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placesyoucallhome · 4 years ago

Note

Phanes - Does your character lust after someone? Thalassa - What is your character like when angry? Thanatos - What is your character’s relationship with death?

Phanes-

Ruhka scoffs, but it's a weak, unsure thing. "I hear tell thas' how it works fer most other people, but I ain't so charmed right off th' bat like tha'. Gotta work harder fer attention if yeh want it from me."

It's true that Ruhka doesn't particularly fall for people in that way, there's no 'oh I wanna fuck them' instant eros arrow through the chest for him. He doesn't start feeling that sorta certain way about people until he knows them more personally, that's just how he's built. That said, he's met quite a few new people recently! Quite a rarity for him, all told. And maybe there's one that's got him warily curious, that he wouldn't mind seeing again. Soon, hopefully.

Thalassa-

"Me? Angry? Nah, whad'ya wanna see me angry for?" He grins and shakes his head, "Ain't a thing worth writing home about 'm sure, after all, how much damage could I possibly do? Hmm?"

Cold. Very, very cold. Sure there's a few hair trigger topic that'll have him lash out quick and hot, but it settles into a very cruel and silent anger after. Often he'll come back around on his own after a time to burn it off on his own, if it's a minor offence. If he's truly angry, he's someone else entirely, detached and efficient. If he gets pushed that far, it takes quite a lot to get past that again, if it's possible at all. But he really, really isn't opposed to murder either.

Thanatos-

"Death? Oh yeah I used to work fer them, wonder how they're doin' these days..."

*obnoxious laughter*

I'm joking (kinda), actual answer under the cut-

Cut for TW reasons, obviously, you'll get that with topics around death.

Ruhka's always had a problem with suicidal ideation, it's not something I bring up lightly or without reason, but it is a comorbidity that came with his C-PTSD. He's familiar with it, but while it ebbs and flows to eat away at him, a lot of the sharpness has dulled to a hollow after all these years.

In a way he's made his peace with his own death already, he has for a while now. Nowadays he doesn't really try to, but he doesn't try terribly hard to not, either. But if he found himself dying, he likely wouldn't be too put out, at least so long as he wasn't really given time to dwell on it, he likely would if he had a day or more to wait.

It isn't really a good way to be, and to a point Ruhka can recognize that, he knows most other people aren't like this, but the only coping mechanism he really has is to not stop long enough to have a stray thought about it. And drinking, which also isn't a great coping mechanism but what's he gonna do in Eorzea? It's not like he can get a therapist and medication. There is a small part of himself looking for a reason to live instead of die, but he keeps it close and protected at all costs, it's really the last he has.

#Q'ruhka #TY!!!#and also sorry!! that last question is a bit much #it's an understandably touchy subject #The whole 'working for death' is a bit of 'whole fucking thing' that I'm not qualified to explain #something something accidental death cult something #kinda a joke #and if nothing else Ruhka loves to run jokes to the absolute grave #(like I do hah)

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finleyjayne · 4 years ago

Text

Break a Leg Chapter 3: Take Two

A/N: Thank you for waiting so long for this chapter. There were so many choices that had to be made as to where I wanted to take this. I decided (with the help of my best friend who is so done with this story that it’s not even funny) that this was the most honest option. Let me know what you think! Also all songs referenced are linked via their names/first reference if unnamed.

Series Summary: After your accident, everything in your life changed. Your shared dream of being on Broadway with your best friend, Amanda, was over. But just because YOU don’t think you want the same things in life doesn’t mean that your friend won’t see through you. Taking matters into her own hands, you end up at an audition you’re sure that you’ll fail since SHIELD Theater Company is known the world over for typecasting. And you don’t fit any of your typical actress types. Little do you know that the company’s new writer - nihilistic, pessimistic, and resident drunk; Bucky Barnes- is looking for someone out of their normal choices.

Series Warnings: Guys, this is based on my own experiences within the Acting community after gaining weight and height after an accident. There will be fat-shaming, mentions of eating disorders, unhealthy expectations, unhealthy coping mechanisms, also like bias based on looks.

Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Warnings for this chapter include but are not limited to: Swearing, Angst, eating disorder (if you squint), unrealistic audition process (because I can), PTSD dreams, Anxiety attack, Hurt/Comfort, dance injury descriptions, Amanda almost getting her face punched.

Word Count: 2,336

The familiar feel of gathered tulle whispered around your legs as you float across the stage. Your feet burn with the tiny movements that pushed you across the stage. The choreography was new, but you already knew it by heart. After all, you have been dreaming of playing this role ever since you had seen the show all those years ago. The steps sped, and as you approached the leap of faith, That leap would pull on the fly lines. You knew something was wrong. There was the slightest of whirrs from the top left pulley, pulling you up short.

"Why did you stop? You have the fly lines on, It's step, turn, turn, and leap." Your director yelled from the darkened house.

"There is something wrong with the left pulley." You say back. "It's making a funny noise."

"That's just the way of pulleys, Y/N. Let's run it from the top of the number, this time with the fly."

"I really don't think so," you mutter as you take your place in the side wings. Amanda meets you there. She hands you a water bottle, which you sip from as the interlude plays.

"You can do it. Trust yourself, Y/N."

"I trust myself just fine. The person I don't trust is the rigging guy who is currently snogging his girlfriend instead of paying attention to his job."

"It's going to be fine, Y/N." She says, rolling her eyes and pushing you towards the stage for your cue.

As the dance progresses, you stop focusing on the steps and just feel the movement. You really were the fairy: light, agile, and completely ethereal. You take the two turns perfectly and leap off the stage and into the audience. You feel yourself relax as you swing above the seats, being lifted higher until you were suspended in the center of the stage. You continued to dance, then something went wrong, there was a hard yank from that left pulley. It unbalanced you, pulling taut as the secondary line went slack. As more of your weight was given to it, a loud grinding and a high-pitched ping echoed over the sounds of the music as you fell to the stage floor. Before anyone can do anything, you fall.

Your jolt out of your sleep suddenly, an invisible weight pressing on your chest. Your heartbeat is blaring in your ears as you fight to breathe. Shivers raking up and down your body. Unable to move even the tips of your fingers as tears blur your perception of your dim room. After what seems to be hours of laying there suffocating, your breathing turns into sobs. You are finally able to move, though, as you roll onto your side, trying to curl into the fetal position, a scream echos into the silence. Your busted up leg sends phantom pains through you, cramping and pulling with unnatural tension. It was a charlie horse from hell, and you rationally knew that most of it was fake.

Amanda runs in a few seconds later with a pink aluminum baseball bat, looking around for the disturbance, when she finds none she turns to you. "Y/N, what is it?"

You just stared at her, unable to move as phantom pain shot up and down your leg. Memories of blood and bone hide behind your eyelids, torturing you with every blink.

She stares at you for a few minutes before slowly setting the bat down. and coming to hold you. "It was the dream again, wasn't it." She cradles your head, maneuvering you as carefully as she can into her arms. "Hush now, it's okay. We are here, that is the past. You don't ever have to fly again. Rehearsals will all be on the ground for your new show. All you have to do is a little choralography. It will be fine. You won't get hurt."

Her reassuring calm, paired with her arms stroking up and down your back, are a balm to your terrified mind. Your sobs ebb. Taking a few deep breaths, you sit yourself up, pulling away from her, immediately feeling guilty for waking her this early. "thank you, 'Manda. It really means a lot."

"It's the least I can do when my best friend is struggling. Now, why don't you take a nice hot shower? I'll get breakfast started, and then we can head over to Rijah's before your audition today."

"Sure," you say noncommittally, you didn't really feel like eating, but you knew it would make her feel better to see you fed before she sends you to the sharks again. "Would you like to play live-action barbie today? I mean, you did say that today's audition would be special," you ask her on her way to the kitchen.

"I think you should wear that cute new swing dress—the one with the pink halter and the black skirt. Go light on the make-up. Doe eyes," she called from the kitchen.

"Okay. Are we going to be meeting with our agent today or is this another one of those, he gave you a list and expects us both to be there sort of deal?" You ask, wincing as you try to distract yourself from the pain as you rub the cramps out of your leg.

"Well, it's kinda just one audition today. I know you don't want to go back, but I was promised by Steve that if you show up, they will listen to you--"

At that, you were up and in the kitchen. Staring your friend down in your scanty sleepwear. "Please don't tell me that I'm auditioning for Stark's Theater again. I mean, he already kicked me to the curb once. What makes you think that he won't show up just to kick me out again?" You sneer, half-naked, and ready to punch her in her too pretty face.

"It's not Stark's theater troupe anymore, he has taken a back seat this year, leaving Miss Potts to handle more of it while he moves into the movie industry. You will be fine. Like I said, Steve has been nagging me all year for your contact details so he could offer you a personal invitation. I told him that you would go if you wanted. I mean, I'm still going to make you go with me to the building. Remember, you promised that after last year, you wouldn't pass up a chance to sing for anyone. Not anymore. Especially with your boss being as chill as he is."

The fight drains from your shoulders as she uses your own words against you. You are still annoyed that she is taking you to an audition for SHIELD, again, though. Stomping back to your bathroom, you slam the door. "Why do my friends always take me at my word?" you ask yourself as you hang your head over the sink basin. Taking a few more deep breaths, you push down your new-formed audition anxiety.

Fixing yourself up and packing a set of exercise clothes for your rehearsal later, as well as your repertoire binder, resume, and pair of ballet slippers. It hadn't taken long to get into something after reapplying yourself. Even though the show you were in at the moment was a two-day ballet in the park for little kids. But it was something, and it paid enough to put it on your resume.

You hurried in the shower, letting the steam take away more of the tension from your body as you scrubbed yourself. As the water starts running clear of bubbles, you close your eyes, envisioning an alternative ending to your dream. In your new version, Bucky, your unconventional knight in shining army, that handsome man who had come to your rescue all those months ago, comes and catches you before you are flown too high. He takes your hand, pulling you close, his breath whispering across your face as his blue-grey eyes stare into yours. He leans forward, your lips part… Amanda is shouting from the other side of the door that breakfast was ready before you finished the thought.

With a different kind of sigh, you pull yourself out of the cooling water, and back into real life.

Amanda and Elijah have once again outdone themselves with their song choice for you. You couldn't help but laugh as they put their top three options in front of you, Better from Little Women, If You Knew My Story from Bright Star, and I'm a Star from Smash.

"So what's the cut time Amanda?" you ask, paging through the three songs.

"They want the whole thing." Amanda and Elijah said in unison. Amanda looking at you with barely withheld excitement, and 'Rijah with his usual sophomanic way.

"They want the whole song? or they want all the different cuts prepared so they can choose?" You couldn't believe that they would want a whole three-minute song. That just seems overboard.

"The whole song. Steve asked for it personally. " She said, smiling, "This is going to be it, Y/N! This is going to be it! We are finally going to be in an acting company together! I can feel it! Now sing the songs. Let's see which one will fit best!"

Your heart beats fast in your chest. The whole song, they wanted the entire song. No one wants the complete song. Sometimes they don't even want the entire song at a callback. You couldn't help but stare openmouthed at your best friend. What exactly was going on today? You hadn't felt this many emotions in a single day since last year.

Before you can really contemplate which god had decided to smile in your direction, Elijah starts playing the introduction for the first few bars of Bright Star. Even then, Elijah has to repeat the intro twice before Amanda finally pinched you back into the moment. Immediately you jumped into it. Hazily stumbling through the first two measures before Elijah stopped playing.

He looked at you, annoyed. "Y/N, if you ain't gunna sing, don't pretend like it."

You shook yourself at the reprimand. "I'm sorry. If I get to sing a whole song, can we do something else? Better is an excellent power song, but it is very repetitive. I wanna give them a show. Something that will wow them. But I don't want to give off the vibe that I am still butt-hurt over last year. I want to show them I can take the initiative and work hard."

Elijah smirked, "Okay, what about weekly volcano press? It has some of the same stuff, and kinda rounds out what she did to improve. Also, you can play with all of your different character voices."

You give him a funny look, "What do you mean? And isn't that song like 8 minutes long?"

"You know what I mean. Don't act like I haven't been paying attention to you over the last three years! You sing with different timbres and weights for each character when you are helping Amanda with her practice. Sometimes I feel like I need to check and make sure you aren't switching out your vocal cords for every character."

"Elijah is right! Here! Sheetmusic! She places her tablet on the piano. And it can be a test on Steve's word. If they don't stop you, you know for sure that Steve will keep his words as a director."

You tilt your head back and forth, deliberating, "I don't really want to be petty Amanda."

"Y/N, when in all the years I have known you have you ever chosen not to be petty?" Amanda says, arms crossed over her chest, hip cocked.

"To you never, to everybody else, I try to be considerate more than petty," you meeting her attitude with sincerity.

"Suuure." Elijah and Amanda share an eyeroll.

"Whatever. If you really think that this song would be best, then I will take your advice. However, with my track record, it will end up blowing up in my face," you resign with a sigh looking over Elijah's shoulder as you scan through the score.

"Don't give me that Bullshit, Y/N/N. You will do fine. It's not like I haven't watched you play around with this song. You could probably do it in your sleep." Amanda gave you one of her signature I-know-you-know-you-can-do-this looks. Taking her phone out and pointing it at you. "Now, sing the damn song!"

With a sigh, you straighten back up. You knew they wouldn't let it go. "Fine, but if this becomes a repeat of last year. I will reevaluate our friendship status. Lead the way, Elijah."

Amanda hadn't been lying when she said that you had the song on lock. You breezed through the voice changes. Flipping octaves, effortlessly changing registers, and adapting tonalities. By the time the seven minutes were over, you were slightly winded. Your chest heaved lightly as you were filled with that after-performance high. You knew there were a few places that you hiccupped, but you had a good thirty minutes, and they were easy fixes.

Looking up at your small audience, you should have expected the smug smiles that spread on their faces. Amanda gave you a smirk. "Is there something you would like to tell me?"

"I don't want to tell you shit. But you were right. It is a fun song." You turn to an equally smug Elijah, "can we go over the troll verse again? I messed up the lyrics. And then I'd like to drill the last part where Clarisa comes back to face Braxton. Those quick transitions are a bit different than the Sutton Foster recording, and I don't want to be psyched out either way."

"Whatever I can do to help you," Elijah says, turning back to the piano.

"I'll go print the music for your rep binder." Amanda practically squealed, running out of the room, phone in hand.

You shake your head, refocusing on all of the things you needed to refine before this would work.

|Next Chapter|

Tag List: @cavillanche @buckys-broody-muffin @tossacoin2yourwitcher @star-spangled-beard-burn

#Break a Leg #Writer!Bucky #Actress!reader #Acting Troupe AU #bucky x reader #Marvel #Bucky Barnes x Reader #fins writes #I am trying #finally updating #fins' fic recs #fins reads #fins' recs #fins recs fics #fanfiction #so good

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honeylikewords · 4 years ago

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b , d , t with Santi please

Yes! Absolutely!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

I actually made a whole big, long, goofy post (with screencaps and citations!) about why I think the film actually frames Santi as a paternal figure who cares about children and longs to be a father himself, so, yes! I do fully believe that Santi does want to be a father and have kids!

I’m a little biased, but I do really think that part of Santi craves and is missing in his life is a sense of purpose and belonging in a group; he tries to fill the gap a family would hold in his life by reuniting his old teammates, only to realize that what he’s looking for can’t be supplied by these men and their jobs, the old life they used to live.

I imagine Santi is, whether secretly or not-so-subtly, rather jealous of Frankie for having a wife and kid. He has dark, unkind moments when he thinks to himself that, of the two of them, he, himself, deserves to be the one married, deserves to be holding his own little one in his arms, and doesn’t understand why Frankie gets to enjoy that where he doesn’t. Santi is quick to shake these thoughts off, though, fully aware that such a thing is ridiculous to think; the world is wide enough for both men to be married and become fathers in their own times, and that his loneliness need not manifest itself as bitter jealousy over his friend’s happiness.

Of course, that jealousy was at its worst when he was still single and living alone in Colombia, wracked with frustration over his job and the course of his life, the stress of feeling like he’d failed in all his endeavors and was growing too old to find a new meaning, a new course.

Once he moved back to the U.S., though, and fell in love with his current beloved, the anxiety over his potential for starting a family began to ebb. He’d found someone who truly loved him, who wanted him around, and who shared his hopes for the future: a love to last all their lives and a family of their own.

Still, I think Santi is sometimes plagued with worries about his past, and whether it will affect the prosperity of his future; what if there are stragglers of the Lorea empire hunting him down? What if his PTSD influences him so drastically that he’s a bad father? What if his shot knees mean he can’t bend down and pick up his child as they run to him?

He airs these anxieties to his lover over time, and each time, she takes him in her arms and reassures him that he will be a good, loving, gentle father. She’s seen him with other children. She’s seen him at his best. She’s seen him at his worst. And he remains steadfast, kind, and stable, even when rash fears and haywire anxieties grip him. She knows he’ll be the best father a child could ask for, and will always be improving upon himself, working to be even better.

Over time, and after many repeated conversations about it, and constant reassurance that it’ll be alright, Santi starts to believe that it’s possible; someday, he’ll be a father, and, if he’s lucky, it will be with the woman he’s lucky enough to currently call his girlfriend.

And while they may not be planning on having one any time soon, Santi still finds himself wandering through the baby clothes section when out at the local Target, and can’t help but imagine a tiny little person with his sweetheart’s eyes and his curls wearing the adorable little “crabby in the morning” t-shirt (with, of course, the printed illustration of a crab) he sees hanging on the rack.

He may just sneak it into the cart to buy and save for a hopeful later date.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?):

Santi is often very laid-back about dates, but in his own way; he likes to always be the one paying (it’s never worth it for his beloved to try and haggle with him to split the bill or let her pay; he is insistent that he cover it, always), and while he’s fine with the occasional visit to a dive bar to see live music or get some beers, he’s grown away from finding activities like that fun and has shifted into some pretty “tame” date ideas being the ones that excite him most.

He gets thrilled at the idea of going to the museum (if he’s told there’s a geology exhibit on, he’ll be there in a heartbeat) for an evening, or taking a visit to the theatre to see a show, though he’s not going to sit for a musical. He prefers standard plays, not musical theatre.

He likes going to the movies well enough, but he’s not really into action films or war movies, surprising as that may be; show him a good, like, period drama set in the 60′s to 80′s and he’s all over it. He loves business dramas and the occasional gangster movie, but he likes them to be more low-key and thrilling, with the tension building slowly and the threats being subdued, waiting for the moment to strike.

He’s also a sucker for comedies from the 80′s, and has a particular affinity for This Is Spinal Tap.

Oftentimes, he likes to stay home and cook dinner with or for his sweetheart, taking care to make a new dish that will excite, or one he knows is a special treat for her. He loves to make rich, chocolate and fruit-based desserts, too; one of his favorites is a dark chocolate mousse with pomegranate seeds sprinkled on top. He loves feeding it to her bite by bite and watching her smile at the flavors and at his sweet gesture, and when she’s full, he’ll lean in for a delicate, chocolate-tinged kiss.

Santi is also very, very fond of using his hands to touch and to hold her, so he’s not opposed to spending the evening in and giving her a massage as part of the date, or cuddling on the couch and working her shoulders while they catch up on shows he’s been unable to watch while at work. He likes The Office, but sometimes it’s just too easy to watch, you know?, so he’s gotten interested in more witty or fast-paced shows like The West Wing, Arrested Development, and, a surprise favorite from across the pond, Detectorists.

Nothing makes him happier than having his girl lay her head against his chest as they rest on the couch, comfortable in one another’s arms, and feeling her drift off to sleep on him. He loves knowing that she trusts him that much, and feels that safe with him. Plus, if she’s asleep, he can put on his secret indulgence show: America’s Next Top Model.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?):

Santi has tons of interesting stories about the work he did while on his tours around the world, but he actually gets more excited to talk about history; stuff he wasn’t present for but has read about, researched, taken a personal interest in. He loves tactical history and watches an embarrassing number of historical documentaries, so if he gets asked anything to do with that, he’ll be chattering for hours.

He also likes having conversations with his girlfriend about music, particularly band history or about how he doesn’t like a lot of modern music (and then she immediately pelts him with comments about him being a “crotchety old man” and shakes a fist, croaking in her best old man voice a surly “darn you kids and your hippity-hoppity musics!”, which Santi rolls his eyes at), but he also loves to hear her opinions about music. Especially if she has wildly different tastes from himself; he loves walking in and hearing her listening to one of those medieval covers of a popular song, or coming into the kitchen to find her working on something with a theremin album blaring in the background.

They also talk a lot about political issues; it just seems to come up often, and they’re both very passionate about trying to do what’s best for their communities and for their countries. They tend to have very similar stances about their beliefs, but can come to disagreements about how to put those selfsame beliefs into practice and policy. Thankfully, they’re both very willing to listen to one another, especially Santi, who genuinely takes pleasure in watching his beloved talk energetically about what she feels is just and right.

It’s also common for them to relay various stories from their day jobs, particularly if they or a coworker did something embarrassing. Santi got a job as a school counselor back in the U.S., so he loves to tell his beloved all about the teacher’s lounge drama.

“And so Gillian-- you know, the semester-long sub they got to fill in for Becky, who had to go on maternity leave?-- yeah, her, so SHE gets caught stealing bottles of glue from the supply closet and it’s not even for, like, huffing the fumes; she’s some kind of scrapbooking maniac, apparently? That’s not even the weirdest part--”

Honestly, though? They love to talk to each other about anything.

Santi considers his partner his best friend (followed closely by Frankie, but, ya know, the missus takes precedence) and he wouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with her if he didn’t like talking to her, or didn’t find their conversations stimulating. She makes him laugh, challenges his thoughts, introduces him to things he’d never have found on his own, and just... is pleasant to be around.

And, sometimes, at the end of the day, that’s all you need: someone who is pleasant to be around, and it doesn’t have to matter what you’re talking about, so long as you’re together.

Santi knows he’s lucky enough to have just that in her.

Thanks for asking about Santi; I just adore him!

Send Prompts From This List!

#messages #anonymous #gif warning #santiago garcia

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csa-survivor-confessions · 5 years ago

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? may i ask what fawn response is?

It's part of our stress and arousal responses as in the Fight/Flight Response. I’ll put some excerpts from our articles on these topics here:

Informational Article: Fight, Flight, Freeze & Fawn

We’ve all heard of the “Fight or Flight Response”. When looking at the physiology this is the sympathetic nervous system response. The sympathetic nervous system is part of the autonomic nervous system, the involuntary functions of the nervous system. It is the way our bodies handle input that we read as fighting and/or a threat.

The spinal column starts the process sending the starting signals. Then amygdala recognizes the threat and sends to the hypothalamus which triggers the making of hormones in the pituitary gland. The main hormone involved is Adrenaline, Cortisol & Norepinephrine.

All four responses are essentially involuntary, though the ability to soothe them can be managed. Which one we use is a combination of three main factors. The first is what is advantageous in the situation, for example, a person around your size you might be able to fight while a fire it’s less to just run away from. The second major factor is our own genetics/nature, as kids, we are generally predisposed to different responses. Last main response is as adolescents and adults what did we normally do as kids, we tend to go back on what “worked” as a kid, trauma tends to make the response more ingrained and harder to be able to adapt.

......

Fawn:

Fawn also called the “please”, “feign” or “submit” response. This is essentially just doing what the assaulter or abuser wants you to do. This isn’t a response that happens with many kinds of stimuli like an earthquake or fire. It only happens when someone is being assaulted or abused. It is often the victim trying to be exactly what the abuser wants them to be. It is a survival response like the other three, it’s an attempt to avoid being hurt and to try and often get affection/love from the abuser. The Fawn response is pretty mostly seen in children as this response is not seen in most adults due to the way the brain has developed and the social development. Though a version of this can be seen in long term abuse of adults in domestic violence situations.

This can happen with things like being kidnapped or bank robberies but is super common with abuse victims. Children and long term victimization often experience some degree of a Fawn response. With long term abuse, a victim may have a Fight or Flight Response at first but if the assault continues the victim may end up falling into this later.

Trauma bonding & grooming plays a factor in this as the abuser creates feelings of love and connection. If the abuser is a parent or other family member victims generally really want to please and be loved. Gaslighting and in general being taught something is “normal”. Like I said above genetics/natural inclinations also do factor into this.

Connection to arousal states:

Informational Article: Hyperarousal & Hypoarousal

Hyper and hypoarousal are the two dysregulated states of the autonomic nervous system. These states are connected to the Fight-Flight-Freeze-Fawn/Fold response. “Fight & Flight” are states of hyperarousal, “Freeze” is a split response and “Fawn/Fold” is a state of hypoarousal.

Arousal refers to the level of stress and type of activity our central nervous system is under. It describes the way these reactions affect our physiological states, affective state, social function and neurological function.

Hyperarousal is an extreme state of stress that is congruous with the Fight or Flight response and some aspects of Freeze. Our brain-body system is running on overdrive, and we are seeking out active ways to handle our situation. Hypoarousal is the opposite, our brain-body system is running low, and we experience a level of a shutdown. This is connected to the fawn/fold responses.

When looking at trauma this is important to understand as arousal and nervous dysregulation is a symptom of (C)PTSD and key to how trauma affects us in our lives. Childhood trauma especially can leave people with an inability to healthily shift between arousal states. Healthy arousal levels are important in maintaining physical and psychological health.

When we cannot regulate our nervous system we are locked in either hyper or hypoarousal. This leaves us with persistent stress and when presented with stressful stimulation we cannot process it. It also leaves us open to re-traumatization when higher stressors are present.

.....

Sequence Model:

The Next Model follows a 1-7 labelling process and describes the patterns of how we shift between them. It can also help us understand how trauma and extreme stress are needed for the dissociative states. This model also breaks down the fight-flight-freeze-fold/fawn states related to more general arousal states.

Arrest & Alert: Associated with curiosity. A state of arousal where our thoughts can wonder if we are open and able to think clearly but aren’t focused.

Stiffen & Orient: Associated with focused attention, interest and preparedness.

Asses: Associated with intense interest, friendliness or repulsion.

Approach or avoid: Associated with pleasure and displeasure. When here we get that instinctual need to either involve yourself in an experience or to leave. This is the first time we see a split in the responses to stress. Our nervous system acts on these instincts. We can start to have involuntary movement, but there is still involvement of the higher brain and control.

Fight-or-Flight: This is where we start to experience intense activation of our nervous system and when we hit this point on the continuum we are in a survival state. Fight-or-Flight leaves us in a state of fear or anger.

Freeze: We experience this generally when Fight-or-Flight is not effective and that pattern is thwarted. When we freeze our emotional state is usually one of terror to the point our body locks up.

Fold/Fawn & collapse: Our nervous system collapses, and we are feeling helpless to escape a threat.

*note depending on stimuli that are acting as a stressor you may not truly experience fight-flight and automatically freeze or if you’ve experienced trauma that left you dissociated you might automatically fawn/fold.

5-7 are the emergency survival states and our implicit procedural memories become activated and the conscious thoughts take a back seat to subconscious involuntary processes. We move from awareness of danger and fear to outright terror and ending with the most basic and last-ditch survival mode of collapse.

Specific Autonomic Nervous System Reactions.

Phase 5: The fight-flight response is associated with the sympathetic nervous system and the endocrine system, specifically adrenal glands. This arousal level gets us ready to mobilize and meet the threat. Our muscles get ready to move and our minds try to figure out how to leave or fight the threat. Because our body is trying to escape physically and survive. Our body suspends the digestive system and prioritizes activation of the cardio-pulmonary system muscular activation. Our mind tries to take in our environment via our sensory systems (sound, sight, etc) and plan how best to get away from or stop the threat. Other thought processes shut down and the memory encoding system is affected. This is a hyperarousal state

If the threat is not resolved, and we have not escaped, we move out of phase 5 into phase 6, freeze. When we get here our sympathetic nervous system intensifies the hormone and neurotransmitter cascade. This level of activation keeps the body on high alert, but because we can’t fight or escape, our muscles clam up and our brain stops trying to take in our environment or plan an escape. We lose our ability to react. The memory encoding worsens and dissociation starts to intensify. Phase 6 is an overlap of hyper & hypoarousal.

If we start to believe we are in mortal danger or the threat is continuous and inescapable we move into phase 7: fawn and fold. Dissociation becomes extreme and everything starts to collapse including our; metabolism, memory, respiration, circulation, digestion and we become exhausted. We can either fold into ourselves enough that we might stay frozen or we may become hyper-compliant to the person who is hurting us or the activities we are forced to do. Implicit memories are strong here. The key to phase 7 is our minds and bodies have ceased trying to process the world outside and suspend some functions of homeostasis.

The shutdown process is controlled by the parasympathetic nervous system via the vagus nerve. The parasympathetic response is more intense than normal and due to the situation, the sympathetic response has not been able to ebb naturally. This can leave our internal feelings and physiological reactions disconnected and contradictory inside of us.

Phase 7 is the state of trauma and causes most of the long term damage. States 5 & 6 are part of trauma and will continue to be experienced but, stage 7 will always leave us traumatized. Stage 7 is the essence of trauma, the inability to move out of stress and helplessness. It is also the state that facilitates the fragmentation of self as it’s the strongest dissociative response and the split of the physiological process.

Hope This Helps,

-Admin 1

#ask #info #fight flight freeze fawn #hypoarousal #childhood trauma #trauma responses #trauma #Anonymous

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iron--spider · 6 years ago

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Worried that Tony Stark is going to die in Avengers: Endgame? Do you want proof that he logically shouldn’t and the citations needed to die on that hill in the event that the powers that be do the unthinkable? Well step right up, fans and friends, because @whimsicalethnographies and I have compiled everything you might need, from canon quotes to future promotional appearances, that prove Tony Stark is not destined to die, and if they do kill him, they are ignoring the path that they laid out themselves and are thus causing his character arc to fail.

Here we go:

Canon evidence

“Don’t waste your life, Stark”

“A man with everything and nothing”

Both of these quotes are referencing family. Yinsen was referring to his own loving family, and Tony revealed that he didn’t have one (of course it’s hinted that this is Pepper—she’s supposedly his frantic text when they’re first attacked—but he doesn’t explicitly have it or her yet). Yinsen’s sacrifice was not for Tony to become Iron Man. It was for Tony to have a life, to have a family. What he didn’t have in the beginning and what he wanted to stay alive for. Tony ultimately fulfilling Yinsen’s true wish for him to stop isolating himself and make a family would be the most satisfying way for Tony’s story to end.

Yinsen is able to die peacefully because he has family that has already passed, and he wants to see them again. There is no way Marvel can properly parallel this because Tony’s family (the ones he genuinely loves anyway, other than his mother) are still alive, or still in the future (his children). If he dies he will leave everyone behind. The love of his life will still be here, and he’ll never be able to have children. If Pepper is pregnant, this is even worse. He will have a child, as he wanted to do, as he was looking forward to doing, but he will never meet it. This is especially cruel.

This would be a gross subversion of Yinsen, and ruin any meaning the character actually had in Tony’s life. He wanted him to be more, to have more, and to Yinsen, more was a family who was waiting for him.

In IM3, a little boy in a restaurant ominously whispers, “How did you get out of the wormhole?” It’s heavily implied that that line is entirely in Tony’s head as he’s descending into a panic attack and represents his fear of the unknown, and his fear of how he’ll handle the unknown, essentially finding the man behind the Mandarin mask who is coming after the people he loves AND fear of what he’ll do if he doesn’t have his armor to protect him. He obsessively spent a year(ish) building suits (of questionable quality) to keep that unknown away. By the end, he’s faced *that* fear, the fear of who he is without the suits. His anxiety/PTSD shifts from that point to Thanos himself, but he doesn’t yet have a face or an actual explanation until Infinity War, even though the magnitude of it is ramped up in Ultron by Scarlet Witch using the power of the Mind Stone. This is the start of facing an unknown, and if it follows the narrative comparison, coming out on the other side victorious, better, and stronger as a person. Rising above and moving on, not dying in the process, continuing to carry the self-inflicted weight of the entire universe.

“A famous man once said, ‘we create our own demons.’” Dying when he comes into contact with and defeats his true demon—“my only curse is you”—is not giving Tony his good ending.

An article on Iron Man 3, arguably the most important movie in Tony’s arc https://filmschoolrejects.com/finding-the-place-of-iron-man-3-in-the-marvel-cinematic-universe/

“Tony is defined by his desire to set arms down and leave war behind; Steve is defined by his inability to do the same”

“If Marvel really wants to give Tony the ending he deserves, they’ll let him live. Fans will continue to push their predictions down the pipleline until they eventually come true, but the arc laid out for Tony, starting in Iron Man 3, is clear. He needs to let go, but he can’t. The conclusion of Tony Stark’s arc isn’t death; it’s learning to pass responsibility on not to an army of robots, but to the people he trusts. After ten years, Tony Stark deserves his time in the sun.”

Tony’s PTSD - it would be a punch in the face to those of us with anxiety/PTSD/OCD who identify with him. He's got one of the most realistic portrayals of mental illness in film, and the powers that be acknowledge that, and it would SUCK for a company like Marvel to rip it all away when he's almost to the point of letting go of the responsibility he's carried—rightly or wrongly, because Thanos would still be collecting those stones even if Tony had never been in that cave—since the beginning of his story. Dying? That's not letting go. That's saying "sorry you went through all this, it sucks and then you die, because it really was all YOUR responsibility and you have to suffer to fix it."

In Ultron, Helen Cho says Tony’s “bulky metal suits will be left in the dust”. Tony says that’s “exactly the plan”. He wants to retire. He wants to be able to stop being Iron Man so he can live his life.

“Isn’t that why we fight? So we can end the fight and go home?” Tony in Ultron. None of this has ever been continuous for Tony. He’s consistently been heading towards his future goals and fighting when he has to—he gets derailed because he feels it’s his duty to step back in. He does not seek out the fights, and he doesn’t necessarily want to be a part of them. He wants to make his life and that’s where his narrative is heading. If it doesn’t make it there, it fails. He fails.

“Maybe I should take a page out of Barton’s book. Build Pepper a farm, hope nobody blows it up.” “The simple life.” “You’ll get there one day. “I don’t know. Family, stability...the guy who wanted all that went into the ice 75 years ago. I think someone else came out.” End of Ultron conversation with Steve. Tony wants to settle down, buy a farm for Pepper (representing retirement and the start of his family). He is the one, out of himself and Steve, that is actively seeking to “tap out” of the fighting life so he can be with Pepper, and start a family. Steve says “I’m home” when he hears the soldiers chanting.

Wedding conversations in Civil War, Homecoming and Infinity War. The amount of mentions this has is huge. It would be a major hanging thread if it never happens.

The original plan was for Pepper to be pregnant during CW, however this was changed to put Tony in a darker place. They are going for Dad-Tony eventually, and that wasn’t conducive with where he was in CW. Yet.

Happy has been carrying “that thing” since 2008. Would they really do that to Happy/Jon Favreau, perhaps the other father of the MCU as he directed Iron Man—have him carry the ring for 10 goddamn years just to cut that storyline off with no resolution? Happy deserves to see this man-child he’s chased around forever get married and settle down.

Specifically, “Wong, you’re invited to my wedding.” It would be a terrible subversion if instead he goes to his funeral.

And per the writers (who also wrote the CA movies),

Markus: Things always shift in the writing, but I think we all knew where it was going and it was a matter of how best to get there so that it feels most satisfying or most earned. What was that adjustment process like? How much did the script have to change from when you were breaking it in 2015 to when they went to film it? Were there big things that you had to account for that you just hadn't had any idea about? Markus: Because of the other movies? No. I don't think there was anything massive that we had to change gears for. There were things that became better because of the value that the other movie had acquired. https://www.etonline.com/how-the-avengers-endgame-writers-arrived-at-the-most-satisfying-ending-possible-exclusive-123477 That would be an absolutely collosal shift to wipe it away entirely

The baby conversation in Infinity War. Why set all this up so blatantly if they weren’t going to use it? For a cheap emotional rug pull? Tony wants children, not just another set of his genes in the world.

And Pepper’s response; she doesn’t want children if he’s still Iron Man, for fear that he’ll be distracted, or something worse. If she’s going to have a kid with him, she wants him there. If the point was simply a baby, not a baby AND Tony, this is pointless exposition. Also, Pepper has thought Tony was dead at least four times: IM1, Avengers, IM3 and IW. Would they really make her watch it happen for real after that? Rob her of her family and make her worst fear come true, right in front of her eyes?

Tony as Odysseus - A lot of us—who've watched and identified with this character—realize that this is an Odyssey, not a Tragedy. Odysseus makes all kinds of mistakes while trying to get home, but he gets there, after 10 years. And then,

“As for yourself, death shall come to you from the sea, and your life shall ebb away very gently when you are full of years and peace of mind, and your people shall bless you. All that I have said will come true.” He makes it home. He got super lucky a lot of times, but he made it home, to his family. He found his everything.

“You’re a hard man, Odysseus. Your fighting spirit’s stronger than ours, your stamina never fails. You must be made if iron head to foot.”

Alternate translation- “You’re a hard man, Odysseus, stronger/ Than other men, and you never wear out, / A real iron-man.” (both quotes taken from starkravinghazelnuts, http://starkravinghazelnuts.tumblr.com/post/181064173168/so-i-did-more-research-about-tony-steve-and-thor)

Promotional

https://www.themeparkinsider.com/flume/201812/6461/ Tony Stark is heading up a new rollout in Disneyland parks. Speaks for itself, they’re making Tony have a very strong presence in the parks. Disney is for kids, kids love Iron Man, and they will be aware of his death and reminded of it when they see him and Stark Industries everywhere on their family vacation. Longtime fans will also have to deal with this. If they were actually going to kill him, why would they make his presence in the future of these parks so big?

“In California and Paris, Tony Stark is retrofitting two of his father’s Stark Industries sites into new hubs for training and innovation. Through partnerships with S.H.I.E.L.D., Pym Technologies, Masters of the Mystic Arts and the new Worldwide Engineering Brigade, The Avengers and their allies will forge new global campuses to champion the next generation of heroes.” We know Hank Pym hates the Starks because he feels Howard betrayed him by trying to replicate the Pym Particle. As Scott says, “Hank Pym always said you could never trust a Stark.” How does this work, unless there is something forward that allows them to establish a better relationship? This can’t be retrofitted to anything before a potential Endgame end.

https://youtu.be/0tW77VFKQC0 https://youtu.be/EVIu43xSeYY In the Ant-Man and the Wasp ride, they collaborate with Tony/Iron Man in their ride mission. You see him, they speak to him, and it seems like a new storyline. It connects to the Iron Man Experience’s storyline, the ride they already had there in Hong Kong.

https://www.playstation.com/en-us/games/marvels-iron-man-vr-ps4/ upcoming Iron Man VR game. It would be very morbid playing this game, from Tony’s POV, if Tony is dead.

That giant Iron Man statue for Endgame in Hong Kong (https://www.timeout.com/hong-kong/news/a-giant-4-5m-iron-man-installation-and-life-sized-avengers-have-taken-over-hysan-place-041219). Imagine coming across that thing if you just saw him die. It’s staying up until May 13th. Do they want it looking like a place of mourning? A monument with flowers and notes? Shit, that’s a spoiler in itself that I don’t think they want. It would also be incredibly depressing.

https://www.tmz.com/2018/01/12/avengers-4-wrap-party-cake-drops-clues/ Endgame wrap party cake. If Tony died, he would be on this thing. It wouldn’t even be considered a spoiler because Iron Man is literally the face of the MCU, so people wouldn’t look twice at it. But his absence does say something—that they didn’t think they needed to pay tribute to him here, because he is still around to pay tribute to later, if need be. This cake is implying different characters are in peril, with certain hands shooting up out of the ground. But Iron Man is only represented with his logo on the bottom, as are all the rest of the heroes. If he died, he’d be the centerpiece. More on this theory by starkravinghazelnuts http://starkravinghazelnuts.tumblr.com/post/180160474003/the-cake-theory-proposes-that-cap-nat-and-bruce

Cast quotes regarding Endgame

Gwyneth - (on a picture of her and RDJ) “you know I will be this guy’s Pepper any time he needs me” why would she say this if he’s dead? If he was dead and she didn’t want to spoil, she didn’t need to say anything at all.

And this wasn’t a one-off referring to playing opposite him, she was referring to Tony/Pepper, after an interview in which she said she was probably done, but would come back for a day if they wanted her.

Gwyneth again - https://www.etonline.com/how-the-avengers-endgame-writers-arrived-at-the-most-satisfying-ending-possible-exclusive-123477 “Pepper and Tony have had a real long journey together. She obviously starts as his dutiful assistant, and then the relationship evolves, and now this decade later they're married, and they have a child. Their relationship has evolved in all of the ways that great romances evolve.” Now, I always saw this as—Gwyneth was done filming when this quote was given. She was aware of the end of her character’s journey, so this is obviously something that happens at the END chronologically. Why would she reference something smack dab in the middle of the film, especially if it was just going to be erased by time travel/quantum realm shenanigans? She’s also wearing an engagement ring and a wedding band in some interview photos where she’s in costume. Plus, possible/probable spoilers…….Pepper is going to be suiting up as Rescue, which really knocks off the possibility of a mid-movie child for Pepper and Tony. It would be completely against her character to suit up and leave a kid behind, considering how much flack she gave Tony for his suits before, and how her hesitation to have a child hinged on Tony re-inserting his arc reactor. Plus, on a more emotional note, Gwyneth refers to Tony/Pepper as a great romance, and it is. But I feel like she and Robert combined would not be happy at all if the writers were to destroy this great romance by killing one of its members. That way it falls flat, it never finishes, it doesn’t get its rightful end. I feel like she and RDJ (who has significant sway over what happens to Tony) would argue against this happening. This is a great romance, and those end in happily ever afters. This isn’t West Side Story. This is a Disney movie.

Evans - https://youtu.be/bH0frwdtmXM (when asked to describe the movie in one word on GMA) “Satisfying. It’s like TV shows, the final finale—how many times do they stick the landing? How many times do you walk away saying that went exactly how I wanted it to go? This movie—I think they deliver, I think they really do stick the landing in terms of, you know—addressing the arcs and really finding a completion.” I think this definitely speaks for itself. The arcs are important and we know what they are. One of our main concerns is them tossing out the true endings to these arcs for cheap, cruel emotional shocks. If Chris says specifically that the arcs are addressed, then we know what that SHOULD mean for each character. Plus, saying “that went exactly how I wanted it to go”? I don’t believe any genuine fans want deaths. Especially fans with children. People who genuinely care about these characters want to see them succeed and live to reap the rewards. So saying it went “exactly as I wanted it to go” and that they “stick the landing” bodes well for things ending up nicely for our heroes. Nothing in his speech here screams death.

Hemsworth - https://www.digitalspy.com/movies/a27110673/avengers-endgame-chris-hemsworth-interview/ also uses the word cathartic. Nothing about Tony dying would be cathartic. It would be sickening and depressing and we wouldn’t get anything out of it.

Taika Waititi https://www.express.co.uk/entertainment/films/1082838/Avengers-Endgame-Korg-Taika-Waititi-Thor-Ragnarok-Avengers-Infinity-War-MCU-Marvel “They keep their cards so close to their chests, but from what I’ve heard, it wraps up everything in a really great way." “It feels like the fans are getting rewarded for hanging around for 10 years and watching all these films.” “Because the more you know about the characters and the stories and stuff, the more satisfying this film will be.” These feel particularly important. A reward would not be killing the biggest character in the MCU. And he mentions the fact that really knowing the characters makes everything more satisfying. We all know where Tony is heading, and what he wants. These quotes particularly point to Tony surviving, and maybe everyone surviving.

Scarlett - https://wegotthiscovered.com/movies/scarlett-johansson-calls-avengers-endgame-beautiful-valentine-decade-madness/ “a beautiful valentine to a decade of madness” Not ‘my bloody valentine’. A gift full of love for the people that have been here for ten years watching these characters grow.

RDJ - https://twitter.com/our_rdj/status/1118891286763798528?s=21 https://twitter.com/caplovesfondue/status/1118764023397249024?s=21 https://twitter.com/MCU_Direct/status/1119043210553249792 “I guarantee you that this will pay off. This Avengers Endgame, I’ve said it before, is our finest hour.” “The last eight minutes of that movie are maybe the best eight minutes in the entire history of the whole run of them, in a way. Because everyone’s involved. So I was delighted.” Both of these quotes, from the man himself, the man who loves Tony Stark with his entire being, do not feel like a Tony death at all. Because if we know Tony, we know what a payoff for him is. It’s getting the life, the family he’s been fighting for since the beginning. And as for the second one, logically, eight minutes does not feel like enough time to send Tony off in an out-of-left-field death. And I think our final battle will be longer than eight minutes. So I personally believe he’s referring to the wedding. He loves Tony/Pepper enough to hold their wedding in extremely high regard. He’s always delighted with Tony’s happiness and Tony advancing in his journey, especially with Pepper by his side.

“Cathartic” - https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/herocomplex/la-et-hc-avengers-endgame-press-conference-20190407-story.html said by the Russos at the press conference

“Satisfying” - https://www.digitalspy.com/movies/a27110673/avengers-endgame-chris-hemsworth-interview/ , https://www.etonline.com/how-the-avengers-endgame-writers-arrived-at-the-most-satisfying-ending-possible-exclusive-123477

“Earned” https://www.etonline.com/how-the-avengers-endgame-writers-arrived-at-the-most-satisfying-ending-possible-exclusive-123477 When you think about Tony, you do not think his death is earned at this stage, because so much is left hanging that his story has been calling for since moment one. What would be “earned” for Tony is him marrying Pepper. He has more than earned that. She has earned this wedding, too.

Misc (POTENTIAL SPOILERS)

Tony has sacrificed over and over and over again, in almost every movie we see him in. Doing it in Endgame would be a rehash of the same storyline, and sacrifice is not something Tony has to learn. He already knows how, he’s already willing. He needs to learn how to live. Bringing him to that realization at the end of it all would be the most appropriate route to take.

Iron Man 1 - he implores Pepper to hit the button, even though she tells him, “but you’ll die.”

Iron Man 2 - while it could be said he would be killed by the presence of the reactor itself, JARVIS explicitly says the use of the suit is accelerating the palladium poisoning that is killing him. Tony doesn’t stop. Part of this could be attributed to his reckless end-of-life attitude, but it’s clear from the Senate hearing—he wouldn’t have stopped

The new element is obviously something in itself. While the IM2 novel called it vibranium, this was retconned in CA, and then set up for more in Captain Marvel when it was revealed the project involving the Tesseract was called Project Pegasus, first called that when Fury dropped off Howard’s things at Tony’s mansion. Tony withstood the power of the Mind stone in A1 with the arc reactor, and then again in IW when Thanos unleashed the power of the Power stone on him and the suit merely blocked it. The suit is literally powered by the Space stone, much like Carol is, and for IM2-IM3, the Space stone literally powers Tony, which is more than you can say for a Mad Titan. Even Hulk doesn’t have the power of the Space stone behind him. You don’t hang a gun on the wall unless you plan on firing it later.

Also tied into IM2 - “if you could make a god bleed” … Tony is the only one to actually injure Thanos.

Avengers - Tony lays down on the wire. The arc set up by Steve’s comment is fulfilled when he flies the nuke through the wormhole. He knew it would probably kill him, which is why he tried to call Pepper.

Iron Man 3 - he sends his suit to Pepper first, when the “Mandarin” comes for him. Then in a deleted scene, he removes his arc reactor to save Harley’s bully, and nearly dies before Harley puts it back

Age of Ultron - Tony, despite wishing to go home and buy Pepper her farm, is willing to stay with Thor on the flying rock, even though he knows he could die, it’s his responsibility to fix this.

Civil War - this is a bit of subversion, as Tony is in a dark place and never needs to sacrifice his life. But as we saw in IM3, Tony IS Iron Man. And he’s willing to turn over power of Iron Man, which he wasn’t in IM2, to a higher power. He’s willing to give up his autonomy to keep the rest of the team out of jail and assuage his guilt (he’s starting to see the repercussions of bearing it all on his own). We can have discussions about who was right about which part, but Tony was willing to sacrifice a big part of himself.

Infinity War - duh. He got on that spaceship. He was planning on it being a one way trip (which incidentally, is why Pepper wasn’t keen on a kid). And then he took Thanos on one-on-one. And then, the look of despair when Strange gave up the stone to save him? He was more than willing to die.

Endgame - eventually, he will be willing to try, even if it means his death, because he’s always been willing to sacrifice himself. Remove that burden from his shoulders.

(It is interesting to note that the one time Tony is not in the position to sacrifice his life is in Spider-Man: Homecoming. When he is in the overseeing/mentor position, which could be his role in the MCU after Endgame, and when he’s starting to take up the role of “father figure”, which he should also be after Endgame, but to his own biological children as well. He is however, appalled and terrified at the thought of someone else, this crazy Spider-child who’s just a bit too much like him, being reckless and willing to sacrifice himself. Maybe Tony needs to take a bit of his own advice.)

The endings of the Iron Man movies are all tonally upbeat and to end Tony’s story for good on a “downer” note does not go along with his storyline --from starkravinghazelnuts http://starkravinghazelnuts.tumblr.com/post/181110494893/avengers-endgame-is-said-to-be-the-end-of-many-of

The Infinity Saga is Tony Stark’s arc. Every other character, including Cap, is ancillary. Every character is where they are because of a Stark. What happens to him will be the defining characteristic of the Saga, and it isn’t set up to be a Tragedy.

RDJ says the last eight minutes of Endgame has “everybody” involved, which would obviously include Natasha, who is extremely important. Which contradicts the reddit “leaks.”

https://twitter.com/stevcrogvrs/status/1118853707280601088?s=21 Chris Evans says if Steve had a choice, he would go back in time to be with Peggy. Since he was able to say this, there’s no doubt that it doesn’t happen, as the Marvel spoiler snipers would have switched from Mark to Chris and put five holes in his head before he hit the ground. This contradicts the reddit “leaks.”

https://comicbook.com/marvel/2019/04/19/avengers-endgame-hawkeye-black-widow-relationship-jeremy-renner/ Jeremy Renner also says Clint and Natasha’s relationship will last “forever”, which seems to underline their closeness and how much they mean to each other. All of this contradicts the reddit “leaks”, which describe a horrible thing happening to the two of them that wouldn’t ever actually happen if they were to stay in character. Plus, Chris Evans apparently called these dudebros out and straight up denied their “leaks”, so these “leaks” have no veracity either way.

When asked to draw their favorite characters, Anthony Russo drew Iron Man and Joe drew Spider-Man. The Iron Dad relationship is obviously going to be important in the movie, and it would bode well for these characters to get a good ending in the movie if they’re the very favorites of both directors.

RDJ is screening Endgame at his house for family and friends on Easter Sunday. Would he really ruin a holiday with a movie in which his character dies an unwarranted death?

There has not been a wedding in the MCU yet. What would be a better way to end the MCU’s first romance than with the MCU’s first wedding? We’ve had a funeral already, for a side character, and that was bad enough. Imagine how horrible it would be to witness Tony Stark’s funeral as the ending for Endgame. That does not seem like the kind of feeling the Russos want to leave us with. The wedding seems far more appropriate for a movie of this scale and importance.

The chess theory (courtesy of starkravinghazelnuts) — “The last piece to discuss on the chess board is the King piece. This piece is the game winner. Once your king is check-mated, the game is over, and your opponent wins, regardless of the score. The king chess piece is the piece you must protect the most and the one you cannot live without. Many experienced players may find themselves utilizing the king in an attempt to gain an advantage over an opponent, something weaker chess players are leery of doing. No matter how you choose to use your king piece, he must stay alive at all costs.” Tony and Thanos are the Kings on opposing sides. The king must be kept alive in order to win, which is why Tony should make it to the end of the film intact. Thor also literally mentions someone “playing an intricate game” and says that person “has made pawns of us” at the end of Ultron when discussing the Infinity Stones. http://starkravinghazelnuts.tumblr.com/post/181491397743/starkravinghazelnuts-quite-frankly-this-is-the

Two very important meta pieces by starkravinghazelnuts, who has essentially been funding my positive attitude for a while now http://starkravinghazelnuts.tumblr.com/post/182086909963/looking-back-over-everything-i-still-feel-really http://starkravinghazelnuts.tumblr.com/post/182017989478/i-agree-with-you-the-rhodey-show-sounds-good-but-i

https://fanfest.com/2018/08/16/the-russos-reflect-on-iron-man-being-the-heart-and-soul-of-the-mcu/ “I think, in a lot of ways, he is the heart and soul of the Marvel universe,” Infinity War co-director Joe Russo said during a video interview with Wired. “He’s a fascinating character, a character that we love because he is imminently flawed and we like characters that are challenging and express their humanity and I think Tony Stark does that as well as any of the characters. He started off as a narcissistic alcoholic and grew into a hero which, I think, makes him imminently relatable and signifies what the Marvel universe stands for, which is character first and the heroes are defined through the choices that they make.” The Russos love Tony. And you cannot live without your soul, you cannot live without your heart. No matter what you say about Tony, losing him to death would leave a massive, gaping hole in the MCU. Keeping him available to return is the safer bet in almost every regard.

https://youtu.be/f0Ai05cUQoM “If there were no RDJ, there would be no MCU.” - Kevin Feige. RDJ started it all, and Tony shouldn’t die, his presence should remain. He should be able to pop in and out as he sees fit. They know his star power and how important Tony is to the MCU.

https://www.newsarama.com/39526-rdj-as-iron-man-irreplacable-but-will-eventually-leave-says-avengers-infinity-war-directors.html “One closeup from RDJ is worth another actor’s entire performance, he’s incredibly gifted and insanely talented” - Joe Russo. May be a weak reason, but would they really...make him permanently lost to them? They’ve expressed interest in coming back. Would they really banish their most talented and lucrative actor to the darkness of a character death for a cheap shock?

https://youtu.be/5ljluGA4dQU (around ten minutes in) In the Jimmy Kimmel interview, they show the clip they’ve been showing everywhere of Carol’s meeting with some of the Avengers. Jimmy points out that RDJ isn’t in the clip, and he asks if that means something bad for Tony. RDJ says “No, no, no. Not in the slightest.” He could and probably is referring to the fact that Tony is definitely alive at this point, sure, but his attitude and the way he says it points to an overall confidence about Tony that bleeds over to the viewer. In fact, Robert’s whole demeanor during this press tour has been one of pure joy. He is having the time of his life, dancing and laughing, moreso than we have seen before. It could be a man enjoying his last tour with a very special group, but, somehow, I don’t believe someone who loves Tony as much as RDJ does would be this happy if Tony died. Especially if Tony’s death was unwarranted and out-of-left-field, which it absolutely would be if it happened. And this is in contrast to Chris, who has been, while not sad, far more reserved.

Some on-point thoughts from some of the few sane people on reddit:

“After Infinity War went out of its way to establish Thanos as a physical embodiment of Tony’s PTSD (“he’s been in my head for 6 years,” “My only curse is you”, *author’s note: see also above with coming to face an unknown fear like in IM3*), the idea of him ultimately defeating Thanos by killing himself is like... morally reprehensible as a message. I’d like to think Markus and McFeely would know better than that, but honestly, I’ve felt since Civil War that they don’t have the best grasp on his character. Edit: someone asked me in a PM to elaborate on this, so I’m just gonna go ahead and post what I wrote just in case anyone’s interested. Ok, this is gonna be kinda long, but I’ve been sitting on this for a while. so Iron Man 3 was the beginning of Tony’s new character arc that’s gone from phase 2 up till now. In phase 1, his whole journey was learning not to be selfish, and to be willing to put himself on the line to protect others. Avengers 1 completes that arc, and Iron Man 3 sets up a new conflict, where he’s driven entirely by his trauma from the events of The Avengers. He’s obsessed with protecting the world from threats beyond his control- we see it in Iron Man 3 with the house party suits being products of his anxiety, and in Age of Ultron with the Ultron program. He feels like it’s his responsibility to be everyone’s protector, and he’s desperately clinging to any sense of control he can still have in a world that he now realizes is much bigger than him. In Infinity War, he finds out that the event that left him traumatized was orchestrated by Thanos, and for the rest of the movie is driven by a single-minded need to confront Thanos directly and put an end to him, in order to finally be free of the PTSD that’s dominated his life for 6 years. By taking on that responsibility and ambushing him on Titan instead of reaching out to his support system (Steve + the other Avengers), Tony inadvertently puts everything he cares about at risk. In the context of Tony’s story, Thanos is his trauma- and Tony’s defeat on Titan is a direct result of his compulsive need to carry the burden of that trauma alone. So to then have him sacrifice himself to defeat Thanos in Endgame essentially sends the message that “yes, it is a good thing to bear that trauma on your own, and in fact, if you can’t see any other option, killing yourself is an acceptable solution.” It sends a horrible message in the context of the ongoing story, and it doesn’t tell us anything new about Tony as a character- we already know he’s self-sacrificing, it’s been his defining character flaw for four movies already. It’s just a really poor way to end his story.” — msg53

“This. Tony’s arc has been about letting go of his ego while learning to rely on others. His first step was handing Stark Ind. over to Pepper. He tried letting go with Ultron, but it failed cuz Ultron was just an extension of himself. Then he started seeing how being a mentor/father figure could help a kid in need of both (Peter) and the eventual next step should be family and real retirement while others defend/avenge Earth, once he’s done with his Thanos curse. Aside from Thor, His death would feel the most gratuitously out of sync with his journey of all the OG Avengers.” —VictorVonDoomBots

(special shoutout to cuddlebirb over there, consistently fighting for Tony rights)

The absolute nastiness to take out their main character, their cash cow, the one that started it all, when he’s got so much still hanging simply makes no sense. They would leave people with a sick feeling in their stomachs over this movie. People would not be happy with the turn of events, they would feel cheated out of a proper ending for the main character of the whole franchise. It would not be an event movie, it would be the movie that Killed Tony Stark. It would be tainted, and I don’t think the Russos want that. I know they say they think about their own reactions when writing these films, but they’ve gotta be smart enough to realize what a mistake this would be for the die-hard, longtime fans.

Plus, this is an ending to one generation and a lead-in to another. They don’t have Stan anymore to do their cameos, and some people will be on edge about whether to continue. Having RDJ hang around to do cameos and show up here and there to help the new heroes will put people in those seats for the upcoming films. His fifteen minute presence in Homecoming made many people go see the film that wouldn’t have otherwise. They need a hero that people know and love to remain a constant, even if he’s not in a starring role, and Tony Stark is the perfect person to do this. He always helped the younger heroes in the comics, and he’s already taken the mentor mantle with Peter. It’s a natural progression.

The amount of suffering that Tony has been through in the entirety of the MCU and in Endgame in particular, should lead to him finally getting something good in the end, a retirement where he gets to relax and let someone else carry the weight of the world instead of him, for once. Endgame will begin with Tony in extreme anguish, sick, hurt, sad and alone (save for Nebula). In the end, he should be healthy and happy, surrounded by the people who love him, with his future bright, full of possibility, and free of threats because Thanos is gone. That is simply good writing and good bookending. The writers shouldn’t be in the business of torturing Tony for torture’s sake. If he begins in such a dark place, he should end somewhere promising.

Happy’s behavior in FFH trailer. Tony is Happy’s best friend. Would the man be acting so chill, flirting with May, if his BFF just died? It is confirmed that FFH takes place minutes after Endgame. Plus, in a deleted Infinity War scene that featured Happy, Tony says that he and Pepper should set him up with someone. Would that someone be May?

Pepper is literally Tony’s endgame—he says it himself, “in the end, it’s always you.”

#tony stark #avengers endgame #avengers #marvel #endgame speculation #this is massively long but i think it really gets its point across #there is just way way too much pointing to his survival #robert downey jr #rdj

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