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bitchinbarzal · 2 years ago

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rotwm series: penthouse — william nylander

based on penthouse by kelsea ballerini

We moved to a place with a view off of eight avenue after we said I do And we watched cars of bachelorettes, 2 AM cigarettes, and traffic headed downtown And the interstate was so loud, there was a lot it had to drown out

When the two of you had finally decided to move in together there was so much back and forth on where you wanted to live.

“I like where I live now, the boys have a park!”

“They’re dogs will” You laugh, looking at the two puppies who are none the wiser.

“But Willy there’s a park like right there” you moaned, pointing out the window of the apartment you currently stood in.

He rolled his eyes at you before he turned to the real-estate agent and said “We’ll take it”

You smirked and he stuck his tongue out at you playfully “I love you” you jester and he smiles “Yeah, whatever makes you happy baby”

Your first home was a luxury apartment, as high as you could go on King Street West. Willy could walk to Scotiabank if he needed — not that he ever would.

You didn’t hear the noise from the ground, you were too high up but you would sit on your balcony together watching all the tourists throughout the seasons, the drunk early morning stumblers and the walks of shame.

You were so close to Gardiner Expressway which proved to be loud and very useful in drowning out your arguments. The arguments which quickly ensued once you’d moved in together.

It drowned out the constant back and forths, the “you’re not supporting me!” And the “You’re never here!” Fights.

The ones that left you sobbing and Willy throwing something around out of anger.

That by the end of the night you were sitting on the balcony, staring out to the city with a dog in your lap, your face still blotchy and red from crying when William would slip out the glass door and take a seat next to you before kissing the side of your head and say

“I love you and I’m so sorry baby”

We played the part five nights, but we were never there on the weekends, baby We got along real nice, but when I left town, did you hate me?

You hated going to these formal events. You and William both agreed they were a waste of time, that it was all show for the stakeholders.

You would put on black tie outfits and smile while listening to them drone on about stupid things that you weren’t really interested in.

Brendan always pushed the idea that the boys being in relationships always sold better to the public and so that’s why on a Tuesday night you stood by Williams side and smiled along as he spoke to team sponsors.

But that’s where your time ended in the company of the maple leafs. You didn’t go to the games anymore, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d stepped foot inside the family box at the arena or when you’d seen a game in person.

You didn’t go out to celebrate with the team. Willy sat in a corner booth sulking and mumbling something about you staying home with the dogs.

One day, the curtain started coming down You changed the second we were moving out I guess wrong can look alright When you're playing home in a penthouse, baby 'Cause we were playing home in a penthouse, baby

It hurts putting shit in a box And now we don't talk And it stings rolling up the welcome mat Knowing you got half

Four years into your relationship you asked Will “Should we look for a house?”

He was hesitant, not sure if it was a good idea is what he said to which you replied

“To move house or to move with me?”

Thus started the downfall.

You began looking at houses behind Willy’s back and he could sense something was wrong. You were pulling away from him, whenever he was home you weren’t.

“Baby, what’s going on?” He asked one night as you got ready for bed.

You stilled, looking in the mirror with your toothbrush still in your mouth before you spit it out and turned to him in your bed, shirtless with his arm flexed behind his head.

“Nothin’ my love, why what’s up?” You mumbled, climbing into bed and resting your hand on his chest.

“I Just, i feel like you’re not really here anymore is all”

“Don’t be silly Will, I’m right here”

You found the house. It was perfect.

Willy also had that same idea. Will hadn’t ignored you when you said you wanted a home, he was trying desperately not to let you slip away and so he went on a mission to find you a house.

He would buy you anything, do anything to keep you.

But when Willy got a call saying the house had been purchased he was disheartened. He wanted that house for you.

To add to the utter heartbreak he felt, when he returned home to start another night of scrolling through houses online he found you packing up boxes in the living room.

“W- what are you doing?”

You looked up, lip between your teeth and you said

“I can’t do this anymore Will”

I kissed someone new last night

But now I don't know where you're sleeping, baby

We got along real nice, until I wanted out, now I know you hate me

You didn’t have the right to be upset and you knew it. But that didn’t stop you from laying in bed and crying when you woke up from your night out.

You kissed someone at the bar last night.

The kiss lasted all of three seconds before you broke it off, gagged and almost burst into tears.

Your friends were worried when you said you wanted to go home “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I want to go home! That’s not my boyfriend and I don’t want to kiss him!”

The all stared at you with sympathy “sweetheart, willy’s gone”

It made you think, was he sleeping with new people? He had to be. There’s was no way superstar hockey player William Nylander wasn’t using being single to his own advantage.

Your fears were somewhat confirmed when you saw the team out one night in downtown Toronto.

Your friends had seen them and were trying to keep you apart only for Rasmus to approach you at the bar

“Hey”

You gave him a soft smile and told the bartender to add his drink to your tab “Hey Sandy”

“Haven’t seen you around”

“That’s what happens when you break up Ras, you stop hanging out with his friends” you mumble softly.

He smirks “I thought we were friends y/n”

You didn’t reply, simply sipping on your cocktail before you said “Is he with someone new?”

Rasmus’ eyes softened “don’t do this”

“I shouldn’t ask, I left but I just really wanna know if the girl on his lap means something”

Sandy can hear the emotions in your voice, he looks back at Will and the girl in his lap.

“I can promise you right now he’s imagining she’s you”

I just bought the house that we saw

You said it was wrong

I wanted it all along

You moved in.

The house didn’t feel like home. It was just a house. It wasn’t what you thought it would be and you knew what was missing.

The sound of little paws tapping on the flooring, hockey bags dropped by the front door and a warm left side of the bed.

You messed up and you knew that.

You went months sitting in the cold empty house wondering about the what if’s.

You were sitting in your bed one night watching a movie when the doorbell rang. You hoped whoever it was would leave, it was late and you weren’t expecting anyone.

They didn’t and instead the pounding only got louder.

You threw on a hoodie and trudged down the stairs, ready to cuss out whoever was on the other side of this door. You threw open the door and gasped lowly.

There will stood on the front step, hands in his pockets while the wind and rain were not doing favours for his hair.

“Will-“

“Can I come in?”

#rotwm series #william nylander imagine #william nylander x reader #nhl imagine

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

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We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast fic

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junova · 4 years ago

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↬ 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐭 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

abstract: the one where steve finds your love letters.

pairing: au!steve x fem!reader

word count: 3K+

warnings: cussing, fluff, angst, crying, slight self-deprecation.

[author’s note]: hey guys! i’m really new to the writing scene so kind words are appreciated! srsly just testing my writing style out and wanted to just post something to motivate me to keep writing. hope u like it. <3

also thank u ari for the inspo and that bomb ass album that saved twenty-twenty. now we just need biden to get elected.

ps. don’t forget to vote! <3

Stevie,

First and foremost, I want you to know how proud of you I am. You have become the man you’ve said you become, the one I always knew you would. You have finally seen what the rest of us see.

A good man.

The soul you carry within you shines brighter than I’ve ever seen. Just for that only, I’m thankful for the time we’ve spent together. Maybe one day, I’ll be brave enough to tell you this without hiding behind the comfort of this notebook. She won’t spill my secrets, fortunate for me.

Some days you have no idea how badly I want to tell you. I think it’s on the days I discover a new fleck of green in your eyes or maybe when you show up to class with a cup of coffee for me without request.

More. More. More.

It’s selfish of me, that much I know. More days than not, I would say you give too much of yourself away. Always wanting to appease everyone, you, Steven Rogers, the bridge to making the people around you happier than they walked in. Even when Bucky drags you into his nonsense bullshit, you say yes without hesitation.

I’ve got not a a clue on how you continue on, how you still remain you when you tend to spread yourself so thin. Who watches out for you? Who cares for you? Who loves the almighty, selfless Rogers?

For me, it’s much easier to pretend you carry too much on your plate than to deal with the rejection I would receive from you. You’re just too good, more than I deserve. More than I would be willing to take. I know I couldn’t possibly give you what you deserve but, I hope that one day you might see me differently. You would see me more than the light I’ve painted myself in.

Even though the shade is lovely, I want to be deeper. Deeper into you on a level which only seems unattainable at this point.

A forever friend. To be in your life, just as a friend, is an reward in itself.

But someday I hope you would love me in the same way I do. It’s all a love struck girl could do. Hope for the best, bet be prepared for the downfall.

With much love, your forever friend.

Tearing the page away from the binding of the overfilled notebook, dispensing it in the first empty drawer you could find, you abandoned the feelings as soon as the pen’s ink bleed out dry.

“You know it would just be easier to tell him how you feel.” You peaked up at the sound of her voice, before realizing she was looming over you, watching your write the letter.

Your supposed, secret letter.

“Nat, please. No.” Opening the drawer, she grabbed the letter but was surprised with just how many she found.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve written about him multiple times?” You sank in the soft, plush material of your seat hoping that just maybe it would begin to swallow you whole. Hopefully, fast enough were you wouldn’t have to endure the rest of the conversation. One you had been trying to avoid, for the past three years.

“It’s nothing Nat, just forget it.” Just like a Romanov, she couldn’t leave it alone. Even if she tried it was laced in her blood to see any little thing through.

“You really shouldn’t wait so long. A window might close for you, much sooner than you think.” With a curious eyebrow lifted, you felt your breath leave you.

“What does that supposed to mean?” Steve certainly deserved the best and you knew it was only time for him to figure out you would never be enough for him.

“Peggy Carter.” Peggy.

The one girl of a sea of many who had been enamored by Steve. He never really seemed to spend anytime with the women who vied for his attention, but Peggy was surely different than the rest.

Even if Steve was oblivious when it came to the advances everyone would make on him, he saw Peggy. Considering she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, she intimidated you. God, did she ever.

On numerous occasions she and Steve had gone out, and even though he assured you they were just friends you were starting to believe he was only trying to protect your feelings. As a friend.

He had never cancelled on you once for her and he would tell you if he had started to date someone, just like he had before.

Even though the entire three years you’d known him he only had one serious girlfriend and after eight months, the pair broke up and even now he still didn’t budge on why they broke up.

“Steve can do whatever he wants with her. He’s a single man. He’s gone out with her before and he’ll probably go with her again.” Then Sam was the next to speak up, dismissing the total bullshit spouting from your mouth.

“Can’t you see he doesn’t want to? The damn man follows you around like a goddamn puppy.” Okay, when did he even come in here?

“God, fuck, no he doesn’t. He would have said something by now, he’s had three years and it’s been nothing but radio silence.” With an all knowing smirk, Sam proposed a new concept into question.

“It has been three years. So, have you ever said anything to him?”

Shit. Fuck you, Wilson.

“W-Well, not exactly.” Sam didn’t have to say anything in response. You knew he was right and you hated it.

Your unwillingness still stood for you, there was just no way he actually would reciprocate your feelings.

“Listen, I think it would be really good for the both of you to air everything out. Peggy is sinking her claws in him and it isn’t too long before they get stuck. Just talk to him.” You nodded silently, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever have the courage to.

—

Emptiness.

It’s all you seemed to feel today. Following you around was a dark cloud, looming over you. Wishing you could be anywhere but your own body. Nothing in particular happened to make you deserve the feeling you were granted with. It just so happened to be one of those days.

From the moment you got out of bed — or rather stayed in bed until four in the afternoon, you felt like anything you would have done just didn’t feel enough. The feeling was fleeting, never staying for more than a day or so, but it made the day drag on. Never ending.

Your muscles sore, body aching from the lack of activity your presumed. Or maybe you had built it in your head too.

Thankfully for you, Nat was busy helping Bucky move into his new place the entire day. She asked if you wanted to help, but mentally you didn’t feel you would be useful for anyone. Simply, telling her you would hang back, claiming you had another an essay to write.

Which you did, you weren’t completely lying, but there was more than your sour mood to blame for your dismissal of social interaction.

You hated to be that girl, the one who needed the presence of men. Specifically, the company of one very beautiful, blue eyed one.

His absence in your life the past few weeks felt heavier on you than you thought it would. You knew from Sam’s intel he had been hanging out with Peggy more and more. He said the two of them were getting close, mercifully sparing you the details.

You hated it’s you’d become. A girl so damn struck over a boy who was giving his attention elsewhere. Upset you were though. Before even if he was busy between classes and his internship at the gallery, he would still text to check up on you.

Now, it was nothing but radio silence letting you draw conclusions on your own. Very, very dangerous territory for you to travel to.

Steve and you are just friends. Get. Over. It.

You thought you’d be alone the rest of the Saturday, especially since it was nearly midnight. Figuring Nat was staying over at Bucky’s and Wanda leaving earlier in early hours of the morning to see her boyfriend for the entire weekend.

Then, an incredibly drunk Steve stumbled into your quaint apartment, the thoughtfully sweetness in him blubbering out with the alcohol flooding through his system. It was like he was on overdrive. More than ready to crash at any given moment.

You had enough when Steve started shamelessly raiding your kitchen, but you remained on the couch attempting to maintain some distance between the two of you. He had a history of being incredibly handsy whenever he had bit too much to drink.

Stumbling his way over to you, almost tripping on the rug, until he was basically cuddling up to your side. His arms latched tightly around you, pulling you into him. Not spared a choice, not that you’d want one.

The security of being wrapped up to him wasn’t something you ever grew tired of. You don’t think there would ever be a time you would ever be capable of turning him away.

“I’ve missed you. It’s been too long.” His soft tone, penetrating the tiny resistance you held towards him. “Me too. I was starting to think you disappeared on me, bubba.”

“Never.” His iron grip holding so tight like he was afraid you’d slip right through.

“Is everything alright?” Trying to pull from him, but Steve seemed unable to let you go. You whispered in his ear, caressing his back.

“I think so.”

“Here, let me grab you cup of joe and some water. Okay? I’ll be right back.” Leaving him a kiss on the cheek, before heading him into the kitchen.

If you had been around him recently, perhaps you would be more in tune with how he was feeling. Then the guilt sept in.

“Sweetheart, do you know where the phone charger is? It’s not by the recliner.” You heard him shout, trying to stop your heart from hammering into your stomach.

Just make him some coffee, sober him up, until he crashes.

Steve always seemed to be a lightweight and somehow whenever he did decide to drink he always found himself routing his way into your home. You thought it was simply for accident alone. The bar he frequented at was only a few block from you.

The past few times he would just stumble into your bedroom, immediately passing out in your soft, silky sheet. Now, he seemed to have more pressing matters at hand.

“Check the drawers, Stevie. I think there’s one you left around here somewhere.” You grabbed the filters and the grounds out, brewing the coffee. Soon, with a black cup of coffee and a water bottle in hand you took note of just how quite he was being.

He was never this silent and it was freaking you out.

“Are you sure you’re o-”

Just like that.

Fuck.

Hunched over, practically on his knees, he read over the endless letters you wrote about him. Confessions never meant to be seen by him. You lost track of how many you had written over the past few years once realized how irrevocably in love with him you are.

He didn’t realize you had found him and you were suddenly paralyzed. Unaware of your presence he continued to read through them and his expression was unrecognizable. One you’d never seen from him before, and you didn’t quite know how to react.

No. He wasn’t grimacing nor did he seem to be elated either. He just stood there just like you, afraid what would happen next.

What did this mean for the two of you? Your entire relationship was purely riding on whatever happened next.

Softly, with a gentle hand, he sifted through them all like he was looking for something specifically. Steve let them fall to the hardwood floors as your shaking hands could no longer support the weight of the dainty coffee cup he had actually sculpted himself.

The glass shattering everywhere, several pieces making their way towards him, thankfully not fiercely enough to penetrate his skin.

Truly, you had never been more sorry than when he looked up at you with tears in his eyes. Threatening to spill over. Because of you.

You didn’t have to be told, you already knew.

Carefully, Steve stood up making his way over to you around the shattered mug. Still you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Simply just watching him until he was right in front of you — more silent than you’d ever seen him before.

“Those were about me. Weren’t they?” You nodded having no reason to lie other than to protect yourself from a rejection you been hoping to spare yourself from.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. Or at all really.” Your resolve dropping instantly when Steve took a step further gripping by your hips, pulling you closer.

“Why not?” He questioned you, again. Almost like he needed a verbal affirmation of every secret he had just read.

Unintentionally, stealing your soul served for him on a silver platter.

“I know how you’d feel about me, Steve. It’s not how I want it to be and it’s okay.” You remove yourself from him, traveling to the other side of the living room. Suddenly, the apartment seemed suffocating with him in it. “I’m fine, Steve.”

Hearing him sigh in frustration only furthered your immense feeling of being a burden to him.

You’re just one more obstacle he has to deal with.

“One of them dated back for over two years ago. Two fucking years.” His harsh tone, piercing through you like a knife.

“I know. I should have told you.” You whispered, wishing you could disappear into any abyss that would take you. Deeply wishing you just didn’t have to endure for the rest of this conversation. Wishing you could have stopped him from opening that stupid drawer. “I tell you everything, but I just couldn’t bring myself to speak about this. Look at how you’re reacting? How could you blame me when every fear I have about this is justified?”

You really should have kept those elsewhere, not your open, public living room.

“Because it’s us. I’m always here for you.” He was still crying through broken words and you didn’t know why. Almost like you had shattered his resolve and his control leaving with it.

“Not lately. You’ve been otherwise occupied.” Suddenly find the plant in the corner of the room. It certainly weren’t trying to distract yourself from the insatiable cerulean eyes.

The breathtaking british woman wasn’t even here and as soon as she was brought up — there was a wall. Seperating, you from whatever was between the two of you.

“This isn’t my fault. You never said anything. How was I supposed to know you feel that way about me?” He tried to make his way towards you but you just stalked off in the other direction. Circling around the living room like a coward.

“It didn’t matter though, did it? You found someone perfect for you regardless of how you feel.” God, you wish he would just leave so you could let the dam break.

“No. You don’t get to do that. Since the moment I met you I only had eyes for you, but you never seemed like you were interested. So, I dropped it. Okay? You never left me a crumb to think you would ever want to be more than just friends.”

“You were my best friend. You still are. No matter how I felt, it could never outweigh the need I have for you to be in my life.” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Trying to figure out what was next for the both of you. Steve always had to initiate and this time was no different.

“Peggy told me tonight she wants to be exclusive.” His confession washing over you like a ton of bricks. Crushing you.

You really couldn’t have any ill feeling towards her, she was just doing what you lacked the courage and the tenacity to do.

“But I didn’t really know what to do.” He took quiet steps towards you, not wanting to spook you. He voice not no longer held the a warmth of teddy bear, but a man on a mission rather took over.

Steve kept quiet until he had you backed up into a corner, no escape route in vision for you.

“’Cause there’s this other beautiful woman, absolutely breathtaking — and I just I really needed to know how she felt. If I had known before, I never would have gone anywhere else.” His hand caressing your soft, plump lips. Pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb, sending you into a frenzy.

“Then, I just wanted to forget about everything until Sam called me. Three beers deep, when he told me of a drawer filled with letters I should take a look at.” You could feel his breath on you, temple pressed against yours.

“I just need to hear you say it. Just once.” Taking it a step forward, intertwining your finger with his own.

“I love you.” It was all he needed as he sealed his own affirmation with a sweet kiss, inking your lips with all of his love.

#for the love of god let these tags work :/#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #college!steve rogers #au #mcu #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction

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utsuhan · 3 years ago

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💥 COLLISION, 💤 SLEEPING, 🥞 PANCAKE, 🎭 MASKS, 📏 RULER, 🌈 RAINBOW, 💓 BEATING HEART ( ahem ), 💚 GREEN HEART

headcanon meme here !

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

is all an acceptable answer ? seriously speaking though, hanzo works through emotions in a very unhealthy way, and saying he has trouble dealing with them is the understatement of the century. if you were to have me at gunpoint though, i think the hardest emotion he’s confronted is guilt ! he has a lot in his past that he feels he needs to make up for: not just him nearly killing genji ( though of course, that is probably the biggest thing in his mind ) but his role in the clan’s downfall, disappointing his father, failing to honor his mother’s last wishes, just about everything else in his life that’s fallen apart. while emotions like grief or embarrassment are very quickly turned into anger, guilt makes him uncomfortable because he only has himself to pin the blame on.

💤 SLEEPING - do they fall asleep easily? what helps them sleep?

ABSOLUTELY NOT, hanzo is practically awake 24/7. he struggles with a general reluctance to sleep some nights and insomnia that tests his sanity others. if he feels safe and comfortable enough, he takes medicine to help him get to sleep. otherwise, he’s a very light sleeper who will startle awake after hearing a single footstep in the hallway. aside from his medication, nothing really helps him get to bed other than the company of trusted people. when he’s really restless, physical activity is his go to method of tiring himself out as much as he can: push ups, target practice, walks outside !

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

hanzo grew up eating a fairly traditional japanese diet, and so he doesn’t really eat western breakfast foods ! he finds that a bowl of rice, egg, and soy sauce, along with miso soup and barley tea, is the best start to his day. he can definitely be persuaded to make a more typical american breakfast though. he likes pancakes and avocado toast.

🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

yes, to a certain extent ! initial impressions of hanzo can range from quiet, cool, grumpy, or a snobby asshole. it’s very hard to get a read on him because his demeanor leads most to believe he isn’t a very expressive person in general. nothing could be further from the truth ! he is much softer with children and young adults than he is with people closer to his age, though he struggles with more precocious and sassy personalities. generally, you don’t really realize that you’re close to hanzo until he starts laughing at your jokes or participating in some light banter with you. his general demeanor of stern discipline and aloofness remains, but he’s far less inclined to just shut down whatever nonsense you’re going on about.

📏 RULER - is your oc well educated? where did they get their learning from?

absolutely ! hanzo was educated by several private tutors, the best that money could buy. a few actually taught his father in his youth and others were fresher faces that had made a name for themselves amongst the higher class. he did officially attend a private institution from the age of six to eighteen with other children, but his presence in lessons was sparse. he made few friends because he mostly kept to himself, and the majority of his learning happened within shimada castle.

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

this is hard, if only because hanzo tries not to dwell on the past too much. it gets very tough for him to reflect on the happier memories of his childhood / adolescence because it reminds him of how little he has left in the presence. he would probably tell his younger self to treasure the time he has with his family and with relatively little weighing on his mind. in his youth, feeling the pressures of expectations was certainly not a small struggle by any means, but current hanzo would take that over the guilt and remorse he has to live with any day.

💓 BEATING HEART - what gets their heart racing?

romantically ? plenty of things ! hanzo is so touch starved and repressed that even looking at him a certain way will elicit a reaction. the easiest way to get him flustered is touching him, no matter how innocuous the contact, or flirting with him. pet names, compliments, all are sure to get his face turning bright red.

💚 GREEN HEART - what things make them feel comforted? hugs, kisses, food?

hanzo likes being near the people he loves, even if he’s comfortable in solitude as well. hugs are definitely a big one too. his love language in terms of giving is acts of service, but his preference in receiving include physical touch and quality time ! his dragons are another big one, they comfort him in a way that not much else can, and they make sure he’s safe and feeling okay in his worst moments. as they are, to a certain extent, reflective of his current internal state, you can generally tell if your actions or general presence are helping or hurting him.

#弓 ` 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 ‚ study.#miqhtyfine #shakes this @ you #deep dive on h/anzo like :)#nothing i haven't talked about on d/isc tbh BUT STILL #it's 11 pm and this is more important to me than my schoolwork

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burning-clutch · 4 years ago

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Totalitarian Transgressions

Cross Posted on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30377121 Warnings: none Phic phight bay~bee! -.-.-.-.-.-.-

Danny hums as he flew about Clockwork's lair. Ever since the events of his evil future coming back to haunt him Clockwork had seemed to have taken a rather unique interest in him, to say the least. Danny had come to see the ancient ghost as something of a mentor and Clockwork himself seemed to grin just the tiniest bit when Danny had come to that conclusion.

Today the ancient ghost of time was going through some of his history lesson with him, but of course with him being in the ghost zone having a little add in about the people and nations that did populate Mexico in the age of the Mayan empire, and where they ended up after their downfall was an interesting addon to be sure. Though Danny couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t do him any favours from his teachers to add that in his report.

“And given their ties and warship to the moon and sun, circles were something of a sacred item that soon only could be used when giving praise to their perceived gods and goddesses.” Clockwork explained as Danny examined a small image before him as the temples were shown to him in their former glory through Clockwork’s power.

The ancient ghost was happy to help and found it amusing with how Danny always tried to move about his lair hoping to catch a glimpse of some such things he wasn’t supposed to and turning it into a game of sorts in a way.

Danny would move from screen to screen hoping to see some going ons and Clockwork would swiftly flick his hand and change the images on the screens to show whatever topic he was going on about. It was a funny thought to think that the boy could really do something or find something that Clockwork did not foresee.

But, alas. The boy was rather oblivious if he were, to be honest. And it made what he was about to find all the funnier to the ancient ghost.

As Danny flew through the lair, and over to a nearby table with a book on Parah Dark. It had a black and green cover with a flame and the symbol he had used in the front. The symbols he had used when he led his armies. Danny looked over his shoulder to Clockwork and grinned when he saw the ancient’s back was turned.

With a little pause, he made a face as if he were trying to look away from the book all the while side eyeing it. He flicked the book open and eyed the contents. It seemed a chronological order of what led to Pariah's crowning, his feats while the king and his eventual downfall.

It was near the bottom of the list of events there written in a more modern looking script and a newer ink if the deeper and richer colour were anything to go by, that Danny saw something of interest. The entry seemed to tell about when the dark king was released and Danny himself had helped to lock him back up.

“Ah, I see your eyes have wandered yet again.” Clockwork drawled out in amusement appearing in an instant next to his charge with a bright and amused smile on his lips. “Though I do doubt that bit of history will do you any good in your hopes to get an A”

“Well you can’t blame me for being curious,” Danny argued, crossing his arms and giving the elder ghost a pout.

“No, I suppose not.” Clockwork agreed.

“I thought it was the Ghost Writer’s job to keep track of this stuff, not yours.” Danny wondered as he turned his attention back to the book, flipping through its pages and half skimming its contents.

“Ah, yes, you are correct in that. This however is for my personal records.” The ancient says, flicking his wrist and turning to a bit of passage about Pariah's ‘upcoming’ period. He lets out a small hum of his own matching Danny’s own in tone and pitch, earning a small annoyed glare from the halfa.

Danny sighs and eyes the page the book was stopped on curiously. He skims through a bit and blinks as he reads, re-reads and reads again the same paragraph. The book was told from Clockwork’s point of view if the first person narration is anything to go by.

It was of course my duty to act as an advisor and mentor to the king. Narcissistic though he may be, he had usurped Vassel the dreadful in hopes to quell the niche that have been gathered together. Though while Vessel had hoped to bring all under a solid rule with an iron fist, The Drake king hopes to allow autonomy through similar methods.

Though breaking apart these lands will only lead to destruction and desolation he seems determined to brush aside my council in favour of his own morality. Though the lands of the realms are tied to the king and in effect he will drive himself mad and become a pariah king if he refuses to listen. I shall notify the court of ancients to begin work on a suppressant.

At least Vassel had the common sense to at least listen to his mentor even if he ignored me after.

Danny blinked and turned to face the ancient ghost curious about the words he'd read. "Wait, you tried to mentor Pariah Dark?" Danny practically yelled out.

"Indeed, it was through my wisdom that he, Drake at the time, was able to take the place of Vassel the terrible, or as he was called upon taking the throne Vassel the iron king." Clockwork drawled out dully, though his eyes shined in amusement.

"Wait… you mentored both those guys then? And now you're mentoring me. Huh, guess I should feel honoured then. Looks like you've only taken past kings as students. You really like me then huh?" Danny asked with a lopsided grin filled with teasing.

"Well of course I like you. Your company annoys the eyeballs, it makes things so much more interesting don't you agree?" Clockwork chided back before imitating the eye roll that was shot his way from the teen.

"Really? Isn't that childish?" Danny chastised with a raised brow and a huff.

Clockwork changed to his toddler form, a grin on his face as he took the teasing of his charge in stride. "Not at all," he says simply.

"Really?" Danny asked incredulously.

"But of course. A sign of maturity is knowing that something is childish and not caring about doing it anyway." The ancient said smirking.

"Ugh, and you trained two of the previous Zone's kings." The teen sighed out in mock exasperation.

"Yes, and why do you think that is that makes you special then?" Clockwork prompted.

"Cuz ya interfered with my future?" Danny half guessed half stated.

Clockwork shook his head as Danny turned back to the screens seemingly losing interest in the discussion at hand. "That is partly… but I have only taken up mentoring kings of the realms before you. There have been but fourteen kings before you."

"Huh, guess that makes this extra special for you to take me then. Is the other part cuz' I'm a halfa?" Danny wondered frowning as the screen he was trying to catch a glimpse at changed back to show him only a Mayan temple.

Well, it seems. The boy didn't want to accept his responsibilities just yet. That was fine, he merely needed to plant the seeds of the idea in his head.

It was sometime later when Danny was laying in bed that a thought occurred to him. "It's funny… only kings. Heh, well jazz does say I'm a royal pain in the ass…." Danny blinked and his eyes widened suddenly.

"Damn it clockwork! That's such a roundabout way of insulting me!" He complained to the glowing stars on the ceiling knowing full well he would be heard by the ghost of time. "Jerk!"

Back in the zone Clockwork sighs deeply and resists the urge to facepalm. Daniels obliviousness seemed to defy even the timestream….

-.-.-.-.-

Total word count 1357

Complete

#Phic Phight #phic phight 2021 #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Clockwork #Mentor fluff

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nelliebrookstone · 4 years ago

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( BRIANNE HOWEY, 29, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER ) * hey, i’m looking for the office of ELEANOR ‘NELL’ BROOKSTONE. they’re the EMPLOYEE who’s known around the office as THE BURN BOOK, if that helps ? not to be a gossip, but i’ve heard that they’re SUPPORTIVE but PETTY, is that true ? i also heard that they’re the one who CRIED IN THE BATHROOM BECAUSE SOMEONE TOOK HER YOGURT. anyways, here’s the coffee they ordered.

Greetings Earthlings, my name is Asha I am simply a fellow human from planet earth looking to hang out with my cool friends at the Build-A-Bear. I’m excited to be here! I have more information on Eleanor (nellie if you know here, nell if you don’t) below the cut! If you give this a lil like I’ll slide into your exclusive tumblr DMs to plot!

So, who is Nell? Well let me tell you. As far as most people know, Nell is a former Masters Model turned Head of Talent Management for models. She’s a mix of sweet Alabama charm and scary dead smile energy, and she always has a compact for you to borrow in her purse. Most people know she always has a perfect french manicure and knows most people by first name. You might also know she recently divorced Parker and is no longer using his last name, please do not call her Mrs. Carson she’ll cry in the bathroom and then leave you a bad yelp review. You’re not even on yelp, you say? She’ll make one for you and then leave a bad review.

But like a curated Insta, this ain’t it folks. So buckle up. (I say this dramatically but tbh she has had a pretty stable life)

Nellie grew up in a smallish town in Alabama. If you ask her, it wasn’t small at all. But it certainly was compared to large city centers, and definitely compared to New York. It was the kind of town where everyone knew your business, and Nellie had a lot of business.

She was a teen queen! Head cheerleader, student president, shining volunteer of the county and Lady Alabama of 2010 (not to be confused with Miss Alabama, but if you ask her it’s basically the same thing). She was very involved in her community and her parents were well known in the area for their construction company. Everyone loved her that she was like the golden child of the town.

It was a great, privileged life! Her parents got married young, had a bunch of kids, and had the means to care for them! Her parents also have a very genuine love story, still passionate about each other years later. She and her sisters (all five of them) have always wanted a life like their parents’.

The one difference between her and her parents remained her desire to roam and see the world. She wanted to travel, or at least live in a place where she could meet new people from new places. Moving to New York seemed like a great place to get some experience, though if you ask her mother she probably got the idea from some dumb TV show. She did. It was a lot of shows. And a lot of movies. There were a ton of romantic comedies that TRULY shaped this desire.

she started sending in applications to various schools in New York. She was an honor list student with a lot of extra-circulars and passion to be at these places that shown through on all her apps. She got many a rejection, the one from Columbia was the hardest. It was the worst thing that ever happened to her at the time, so you can imagine how her life must have been.

She DID get accepted to NYU for Public Relations! CHEERS ALL AROUND! She was so excited. She was gonna see the world and be a big city bitch 10/10. In college, she was quickly involved in everything from various clubs, to sorority, to trying to get involved with the community. It didn’t work out as well. New York was just such a different town...in that it was...big. And she wasn’t used to that.

But she did meet a funky guy named Parker Carson! And they fell in love! And here is a short synopsis of their relationship:

they met at a department store. Parker looked a little lost in the dress shirt area so she helped him pick out an outfit and the rest was, as they say, history.

they had a great relationship at first, full of love and passion and fun times. he had a pokemon tattoo, she used to play pokemon snap. what a team!

but really, they had a great time together...which led them to get married real early. In fact, for Nell, this was even a little late. She thought she’d be married with kids by 23.

a lot of little things led to their downfall, but it can be boiled down to not fully understanding what it takes to live with another person who doesn’t mesh with your lifestyle. A big issue for Nell was kids. She wanted them, right then and there. He didn’t! No one’s fault, but it seemed to be a block they couldn’t get over.

they’re divorced now. it’s fresh. she’s got a lot of conflicts about it. She cannot believe she is divorced before 30. she cannot believe she doesn’t have kids by now. She is under the impression she’s run out of time for everything, which is not true at all but it’s how she feels. She’s none too fond of the man at the moment.

But listen! Nellie is a fun girl! She’s got a lot of ~zest~ for life and likes to do new things and try new places. She’s also just as comfortable spending the day at home on the couch with everything she needs within arms reach. She seems like someone who would be into partying but that’s really not her scene. She’s a brunch girl, a drive-thru movie theater girl, and an all-day 90 day fiance girl. She has an addiction to cherry cokes and always misses her stop on the subway because she gets distracted listening to her music and zoning out. She cries a lot during sad AND happy movies and can’t eat pork because she once knew a pig named Babe (no relation to the famous babe). Her favorite animal is the octopus and she volunteers with the homeless shelter every weekend.

All of this doesn’t really come across in her work persona. She always seems like she’s extremely put together and very good at what she does. She’s quick, snappy, and not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a master at the backhanded compliment and is the master of the delayed burn (you won’t know you’ve been roasted until she’s down the hallway). She has a very charming way of speaking with a thick southern accent and tons of sayings that no one knows the meaning of, but sometimes that Nice Southern Girl smile comes out and you know she would be stabbing you if such an act were socially acceptable. Despite this, Nellie doesn’t think she’s a mean person.

But I’m sure there are MANY people who think she is. Because...sometimes she is! No one is perfect, and she definitely has a reputation of being a major pain in the ass if you’re on her bad side. Nell remembers EVERY slight against her. Oh, she remembers when you commented on the amount of emails she sends. She remembers when you mentioned that you thought her font type was a little too bold. She remembers it all...and stores it in her mental burn book.

This also happens often because she is...pretty sensitive. And because she’s going through a divorce, which is NOT what she had planned for in life, she’s like a stubbed toe away from a full cry every day. She’s started to invest in waterproof mascara but it’s not working out. She really DID cry in the bathroom over her yogurt. She also came back the next day and wrote a VERY angry letter on the fridge titled ‘to the person who likes to take things that don’t belong to them, I hope your mother knows she raised a THIEF.’

As petty as she can be, she’s also a great person to have in your corner. If you’re a friend, she will fight for you to the end. She’s very loyal and will often drop whatever she’s doing if you need her. She can be very generous, no expenses spared to lift up someone she loves. If you’re a friend of hers, she’s a great friend. The kind you can call at 2 am when she’s dead asleep and she’ll still come help you move out of your shitty ex’s apartment.

Basically, Nell is a whole lot of things. Not all of them are great. But she likes to think of herself as a good person that cares about other people. She generally is! She’s also fairly good at having heart to heart conversations, and isn’t afraid to own her mistakes if she’s not still upset about the issue. But she’ll also try to ruin your career if you steal her yogurt. Fun!

I’ll add more as I think of it, but for now I’m here for all the plots. Best friends, enemies, the person who caught her crying in the bathroom, the person who caught her angrily scribbling her name on all her yogurt, you name it!

#masters.intro #oh man this is a mess I'm not cool enough for intros

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ttttaehyungie · 5 years ago

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 2

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘ genre | angst, exes au

☘ summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘ word count | 5.6k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ warnings | none

☘ a/n | ngl this update is coming later than i intended 🙈🙈 life has been pretty demanding on me lately butttt here we go!! chapter 2 😌 as always, thank you all you lovelies for reading, and let me know what you think 💕

The blare of the alarm pierces straight through the pleasantry of slumber and has you fumbling blindly for your phone. It’s right there on the bedside table. You refuse to open your eyes to the morning light that streams into your apartment. Finally, your searching hand finds the coolness of the device that's vibrating away angrily where it sits. Within a few attempts, swiping with your eyes still stubbornly closed, you get it to shut up. Rolling over, you snuggle further down under the covers, basking in the cozy warmth.

Beep. Beep.

Of course the moment of peace is not meant to last. The five-minute snooze duration on your alarm provides but a temporary respite. You groan.

But you kick the covers off, letting the cold morning air be what shocks you into alertness. Remaining in bed is really tempting, sure.

Thank god you love your job enough to overcome the daily inertia of getting up.

You shiver a little as your bare feet hit the chilly floor. Pulling the oversized shirt that is your staple sleepwear closer to you in an attempt to retain some body heat, the thought of purchasing a fluffy robe is beginning to look less and less impulsive and more and more justifiable as a necessity. With the lack of said fluffy robe, you rush to the bathroom in search of the comfort that's found in standing under the warm spray of the shower.

Your daily morning shower always gets you sufficiently awake, or enough for you to at least be in the right state of mind to make your cup of coffee that will wake you up entirely. The coffee machine had been a splurge at the time of purchase. But it’s established itself well enough within your morning routine to be considered an investment at this point. Sipping your coffee- with cream and no sugar- in between your daily make-up routine has your insides all toasty and warm.

The hot beverage exponentially increases in importance on rainy mornings like these. It’s nothing too drastic, just a light drizzle. But it makes the concrete jungle that you live in feel extra cold, and in more ways than just in temperature. The lack of lush greenery and the stiff silence of the people rushing about to get on with their hectic daily lives often leaves the city atmosphere feeling gray and dreary.

But you can’t complain.

Not when you’re one of the exceptional cases that gets to do what you truly love. In fact, being surrounded by the robotic throngs that drag themselves to the towering skyscrapers that house these big fancy corporations of blah only makes you even more aware that what you have is something coveted.

Working as a museum curator definitely wasn’t your childhood dream. But your college days had awakened the deep passion for art history that had laid dormant in you for years.

And now, here you are. Living in the big city and working for a prestigious museum. Who would have imagined that small-town you would have achieved all of this?

You absolutely love it. This little space in the world you’ve carved out is yours. You’re chasing after your own dream and living out your passion.

Maybe that’s one thing you should be thankful for from the breakup. Being thrust into singleness had left you helplessly untethered at first what with the abrupt upheaval of all the plans you’d initially laid out.

But perhaps it was what you needed. You needed to be an individual. You needed to know what that individuality meant. And your self-exploration, free from just chasing his shadow, brought you to discover your interest in curatorial work.

Which, in turn, brought you to the city.

The very same city that the breakup had happened in.

The fates truly have a sense of humor, pulling you back to the place which was once the site of heartbreak and tragedy, but is now the launchpad for your ambitions and self-actualization.

Or, much more plausibly, it was not the fates but a matter of practicality and statistics. It’s a big city, housing multiple big-name museums. It’s only natural that the city would become the base for you to build up your career once you completed your post-grad studies.

Once upon a time, when things were still a little too raw, you’d sworn off this place entirely. The city was simply too filled with memories, both good and bad, of him.

But that line of thought simply couldn’t hold up for too long. After all, by that same logic, your own hometown would have had to be boycotted as well.

Through your extended reverie, your hands- well-seasoned to the movements they execute daily- had finished your simple make-up routine. One final spritz of setting spray, and you release your now damp hair from where it sat bundled in the towel atop your head. As you absentmindedly blow dry your hair, your thoughts wander off on their own once again.

Your decision to move out to the city was one that was made in full knowledge that Namjoon was still here. This city is not affectionately termed the city of dreams for nothing. As an aspiring writer and a boy with a city soul, it was the most natural progression of events that he chose to remain in the city after graduating from college. Living in the city made it convenient for him to meet up with his editor and publishing company.

Or so you’ve heard from Hoseok. It’s been years since your break up and neither of you have reached out to close that awkward distance that rifted between you. Anyway, when you were moving out here, you figured that in a city as big as this with such a dense population, there’s little chance that you’ll actually bump into him.

Okay. You apologize to whatever deity it is out there for your earlier dismissal of the fates. Now that you think about it, they truly exist, and boy do they have a sense of humor.

Who would think that even in a city as large as yours, you’d still manage to run into him? And not just once, but a number of times now.

The first time, it was in a diner just two streets down from the museum that you had planned to go to for lunch. That is, until you spotted him through the window, chatting with a companion, his tanned skin and dimpled smile the same as always. Suffice to say, your lunch plans changed.

Then on a quiet afternoon in the museum, your little workplace trio had slipped out together for a coffee break under Yeri’s insistence. Apparently, the new cafe down the road served an oat milk latte that was to die for, or at least good enough to drag you and Soo-eun out for.

Turns out the cafe’s reputation had reached Namjoon’s ears too, because there he was, seated by the window with a mess of papers filled with his scrawly handwriting. The choice of seating was so… Joon. He’d always justified his fascination with people-watching by claiming it to be an essential part of his creative process.

Thankfully, this creative process seemed to be going well for him and took his full attention, allowing you to slip into the cafe unnoticed. A true feat, really, considering how animated Yeri gets when she’s chatty. With your oat milk latte in hand- also this damn drink better be so good it brings you to your knees on the first sip given the things you’ve had to endure to obtain it- you’re ready to make your swift escape from this risky situation.

As Soo-eun pushes the door open, you steal a leftwards glance. Your heart stills for a second. A pair of familiar, striking eyes is trained on you, and they widen just a fraction upon being caught. You can feel your own features making their own reflex reaction as the shock runs electric through you.

The awkward eye contact is forcibly broken as you follow after your friends, refusing to acknowledge the moment the two of you just shared. That was all it was- a moment- but it felt like time came to a standstill the moment your eyes met.

This freezing of time seems to be recurrent in your run-ins with Namjoon. The next time you see him is when you’re riding the subway home. Your pubescent years had seen Namjoon shooting up in height. You can’t forget the countless times he’d had to stoop down for you so you could press a chaste goodbye kiss to his cheek. What an inconvenience it’d been.

But what a convenience it is in this scenario. His head, though bent over a book, towers over the rush hour crowd squeezed into the carriage. With his height, you’d spotted his presence within mere seconds of him boarding the train.

The shock that had jolted through you had you dropping your eye gaze and ducking your head, letting your hair fall as a shield to conceal you. And it was a pretty effective one, as your surreptitious monitoring revealed that he was none the wiser to your presence.

However your next challenge comes when it’s your stop next and he’s standing right by the exit. As the train pulls into the station, you pray hard that he returns to his book and remains sufficiently engrossed in it for you to make your escape. Keeping your gaze on the ground, you worm your way around the crowd, mumbling out ‘pardon me’s.

Perhaps that was your downfall, was what alerted him to your presence. You’re stepping out of the carriage and so close to sweet, sweet relief.

But something brushes your arm just as you’re passing by him- a hand maybe? Your breath catches. Time halts. You steel your nerves. Ignore it. Just keep walking.

As the whirring of the blow dryer switches off, so does your unrestrained recalling come to an end. Downing the last of your coffee- now barely warm- you bring it to the kitchen to wash away the dredges the same way you wash away the thoughts of Namjoon.

"One more week, everyone!" Yeri cheers, as she turns her chair, swapping her cushy flats out for some black heels. That can only mean one thing- she’s headed for a night out.

"Have fun, Yeri," you say.

"Fun? What is that? At this point in our timeline, all I know is the hustle, babe."

You glance meaningfully at her shoes.

"Happy hour drinks with one of our patrons so I can secure the loan on this piece that you listed as absolutely essential," she explains in response to your pointed look.

"Ok, ok. Go work your magic."

She smirks. "That’s right, trust me to be your resident miracle worker."

"Just make sure it comes on time, please. The exhibition spatial plotting on this one looks intense," Soo-eun pipes up quietly.

"Hey, where’s the vote of confidence in our heavenly trio?" Yeri says.

"I mean, we’re good at what we do, but exhibition design never gets any less stressful."

"Don’t worry, Soo-eun, we’ll deliver an excellent exhibition as per usual," you say, instilling in them the confidence that you genuinely feel when working with this team. "With Yeri’s charisma in securing the loans on the pieces we need, coupled with your eye in exhibition design, it’ll be great as per usual."

Ever since that first exhibition you’d all been thrown together for, the synergy between the three of you was undeniable, both to yourselves and to your other coworkers who were mere witnesses of it.

"And not forgetting your taste in selection of pieces too, ____. See, there’s the vote of confidence I was looking for," Yeri says. She applies a fresh coat of her merlot red lipstick and inspects her appearance in her compact mirror. Deeming herself presentable, she gets up from her desk, handbag casually and stylishly slung on her forearm. "Ok, I’m off. TGIF, everyone! Don’t stay too late working on those descriptions, ____."

You hum in response, your eyes glued to said descriptions that were only half-written at this point. Maybe a weekend working overtime is in order.

"Oh! Don’t forget, we’ve got brunch with Dong-In tomorrow. He really enjoyed your company the last time," Yeri says, as if she read your mind. There goes your overtime plans for the weekend that you were mentally pencilling in.

"Right. You make sure that you don’t get too wasted and miss brunch tomorrow."

"Hey, it’s a strictly professional drinking session tonight."

"Mmhm, but I’m sure you’ll find a group of friends for drinks after the meeting. When have you ever missed a night out on the town on a Friday?"

"Touche."

You smirk when she concedes. You love Yeri with all your being, but she’s a party girl at heart and you know her well. "Text me when you’re up tomorrow."

"Will do, babe. I’ve really got to run now or I’ll be late and lose you your art piece."

"All the best, Yeri!" Soo-eun calls after her.

"Thanks, and all the best, Yeri!" you echo.

Sinking back in the plush of your desk chair, you return to the write-ups and sigh.

"Just one more week, ____. Like you said, we’ve got this," Soo-eun encourages.

The next day begins much like the previous, with you fumbling for your alarm in your sleep-addled state and groaning when the five minute snooze duration passes way quicker than what five minutes feels like.

You go through your usual morning routine- shower, coffee, make-up, hair- but can afford to chill out with nowhere to rush to. Weekend mornings are to be savored for their unhurried pace. Getting up is a pain, but you relish the quiet, unbroken serenity of the mornings enough to haul yourself out of bed, even if you don’t have work to head out for.

To be frank, you’re enjoying the peacefulness of your morning so immensely that when 10am rolls around and there’s still no sign from Yeri that she’s awake- you’ve done your due diligence, you’ve dropped her at least five texts and multiple calls to check if she’s alive- the temptation to just ditch your brunch plans grows harder to fight.

Well technically, it’s Yeri’s brunch plans… So if she doesn’t wake up for them then it’s not really your fault, is it?

Dialling her number one last time brings you to her voicemail- Hey, it’s Yeri! If you’re hearing this, it either means I’m busy, asleep, or ignoring you. Just leave your message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Unless I’m ignoring you, in which case, … *beep*- and you smile as you find your scapegoat.

[10.07am] ____: hey dong in, mornnn, i don’t think yeri’s awake

[10.07am] ____: soooo i don’t think she’ll be making it to brunch at this rate

[10.08am] ____: should we take a rain check on this?

Your phone buzzes a little while later.

[10.11am] Dong-In: oh damn, ok then.

[10.13am] Dong-In: catch you another time?

You know that you should feel bad, but you can’t help the joy that washes through you at the prospect of being able to just stay home. Homebody tendencies die hard. Being conscious not to sound too happy, you type a reply quickly, letting Dong-In know you’ll check with Yeri when she’s free next.

The sudden freeing up of your day has you giddy with excitement. With your hair up in a bun and hitting play on your favorite Broadway musicals spotify playlist, you set about tidying your apartment as you sing to yourself. The mess in your apartment has been steadily accumulating in your neglect as a result of the busy schedules at work. But it’s gotten to a point where even you can’t stand it. And more importantly, Hoseok, with his particularity on cleanliness, is coming to visit next week.

When your apartment’s sufficiently clean, you make breakfast with whatever leftovers you can muster from your depleting food supplies. Consuming your pathetically pulled together breakfast omelette that consists of the last egg in the fridge and an overripe, almost-mush tomato cements the next item on your agenda. It’s time to go grocery shopping.

You’re midway to the grocery store when your phone buzzes in your pocket in quick succession as if provoked.

[12.18pm] Yeri: BINCH did you not go to brunch??

[12.18pm] Yeri: duDE

[12.18pm] Yeri: !!!!!!!!

[12.18pm] Yeri: ____ i s2g

[12.18pm] ____: well good morning to you too

[12.19pm] ____: you were dead to the world

[12.19pm] ____: i called you at least eight times and dropped you multiple texts

[12.19pm] ____: why are you coming at me this way huh

[12.19pm] ____: anyway i told dong in to postpone

[12.19pm] Yeri: ok oK too much shouting for this hungover bij

[12.19pm] ____: yeri it’s all over text…

[12.20pm] Yeri: typing in caps makes it shout in my head alrite

Yeri’s drama queen antics are truly one of a kind. It has you rolling your eyes, but you smile. Well now that she’s awake, you figured lunch and a hangout could substitute for your cancelled brunch plans. And of course, hungover Yeri is always in need of tender loving care. Your grocery shopping plans can always wait.

[12.20pm] ____: anyway your personal postmates is on its way to you so ‘hungover bij’ had better be grateful

[12.20pm] ____: see you in 20

[12.20pm] Yeri: ok i take it all back I LOVE YOU YOU’RE THE BEST

You get to Yeri’s place and it’s unexpected but not surprising that Soo-eun’s the one who opens the door to let you in. It makes sense, a weekend hangout would simply be incomplete without her. Plus, the task of nursing your hungover friend is not something to be taken on alone.

"Soo-eun!" You wrap an arm around her in greeting, which she returns.

"Hey, ____," she responds. "Yeri’s in the shower but she should be out soon."

"How bad is it?" you ask, releasing her and heading to the kitchen.

Soo-eun trails after you. "It’s been worse. And food will make her hangover better."

"It’s a good thing you’re here. We need your voice of reason to mediate the dumbass squabbles hungover Yeri and my impatient ass will undoubtedly get into."

Soo-eun simply laughs at your antics, shaking her head. She's well-accustomed to her role as peacemaker by now.

Another voice rings through the kitchen area where you stand with Soo-eun. "Wow, the disrespect! Breaking and entering into my house to gossip about me?"

Yeri enters, her usual bouncy ringlets now hang limp and wet, creating a damp spot over her chest where it sticks to her oversized t-shirt. In contrast to her usual self, hungover Yeri forgoes style for comfort.

"Case in point," you say. Before Yeri can bite back a response, you interject with a raise of the takeout bag in your hand.

"Hmph. I will forgive you this time. But only because you come bearing peace offerings."

"Only because you think with your stomach, you mean."

"Okay my hungover brain doesn’t want to argue anymore. Just want food."

With that, the three of you are crashing on the couch while Yeri takes liberal bites of her burger. The fries get split amongst you, picked at sporadically between your playful gossiping.

The upcoming exhibition- that's opening in a week, wow, where did all that time go?- is a pretty big one, and the three of you have been slogging it out for months now. At this stage of the project, having a weekend to kick back and relax has become a true rarity. It makes you treasure the time together even more.

But in that vengeful manner that time seems to get when you're enjoying yourselves, the afternoon slips by when it feels like it's barely even begun. Outside the looming windows of Yeri’s loft apartment, the sun is beginning to set. The tv is playing but it’s the equivalent of a murmur, just ambient noise as the three of you soak in the coziness of physical closeness.

None of you wants to shatter the quiet calm that has settled in like a blanket over you, but someone has to. And that someone is you.

You lift your head from where it rests on Soo-eun’s shoulder. Your light jostling causes Yeri to lift her head from where it lays on your lap.

You sigh. "I’ve procrastinated grocery shopping for the entire day. And the fridge isn't getting any fuller the longer I stay."

Yeri whines and plops her head back down onto your lap, pressing down forcefully to keep you from getting up.

"Or we could all go to the store together," Soo-eun says. Yeri's head pops up at the suggestion.

"Idea! Let's go!" she says, scrambling up from her reclined position across the couch. "You brought me Arby’s, it’s only fair I do groceries with you."

You turn to Soo-eun, but she’s replying before you can even ask. "I suggested it, of course I’m ok with it."

"Fine," you huff, but they both know it’s feigned annoyance. All three of you are as clingy to each other as the next is. "You can come along. But we’re only buying the necessities. Only. Necessities."

Your basket is full of non-necessities thrown in by Yeri. You really should have made a shopping list.

While Yeri is busy perusing the next aisle, Soo-eun removes the bags of chips Yeri had thrown in (because ‘this is a necessity! You never have any snacks when we crash at your place, I’m just thinking ahead for our future hangouts!’) and places them back on the shelf it came from. You smile at her gratefully.

Yeri returns with another armful of snacks.

"Yeri," you groan. "I came for fresh produce, not this. I already had an overripe tomato for breakfast. I’m not up for eating junk food as sustenance for the rest of the week."

"Well you could have had a nice fresh meal if you didn’t skip out on brunch. Poor Dong-In, I can’t believe you cancelled brunch with him."

"Hm," you say, walking ahead down the grocery aisle, "if you feel so bad for Dong-In, maybe you shouldn’t have overslept on us then."

Yeri chases after you to dump the snacks in your basket. "You could have just gone without me. He’s a nice guy, y’know."

"No way, that would be too awkward. What would we even talk about? We’re so different."

"You’ve only met him twice. Who knows? Maybe he belts out Broadway songs in the shower just like you and you can finally find the Phantom to your… Opera."

Walking just behind the two of you, Soo-eun’s laughter, though hastily masked by a cough, could be heard.

"It’s Christine. And if you’d watched the musical, you would know not to wish Phantom on anyone," you say.

"Whatever! I’m just saying, it takes more than two meetings to know someone. Give him a chance, ____."

"Wait." You freeze mid-step. You turn to Yeri. "Are you trying to set me up with Dong-In?!"

Yeri’s eyes roll in exaggerated exasperation. When she’s done, she folds her arms and her body language sends a loud and clear, "Duh."

You frantically pull your phone out from where it sits in the pocket of your jeans. Swiping quickly to read your text conversations with Dong-In in the light of this new information, you’re absolutely mortified by your lack of awareness and worried if you’ve come off as brash in your ignorance.

"Does he know? Am I the only one who’s unaware?!"

This time, it’s Soo-eun that pitches in. "Even as a third party, it was pretty obvious Yeri was trying to matchmake you two. So… sorry, ____, but it’s just you."

You sputter.

"It’s alright. Your obliviousness is part of your charm," Yeri says.

"And," Soo-eun cuts in before you can retort, "you have no obligation to feel anything for Dong-In. So if you’re not interested in him that way, you just aren’t."

Yeri huffs, but agrees. "She’s right. But- now that you’re finally aware- give him a chance alright?"

As it turns out, you never get to give Dong-In that chance. With the exhibition launching in less than a week, it's a crazy sprint to the finish-line, and your days are simply too packed to think about anything other than preparing for the exhibition.

The exhibition itself has a short lifespan- it'll be open to the public for a relatively short period of six months.

But accompanying it is a series of open lectures meant for public education of the arts. Yeri, who is simply amazing at patron relations, managed to rope in guest lecturers for the next few months. But the museum thought it would be an excellent idea to have one of their own resident curators to helm the first of the series of lectures.

And it was an excellent idea. Just not for the curator who had to take it on. And that curator would be you.

Sitting in the first row of seats in the auditorium, you try your best to refrain from looking back. You can hear the buzz of the audience behind you as they stream in. It sounds like a sizable amount of people. Looking back would only spook you out further, so you focus your attention on the index cards in your hands, running through your main points again and again.

You take a deep breath in, and heave it out in an attempt to release the anxiety built up in your chest. A warm hand gently pries your right hand’s nervous grip off your index cards.

"____," Soo-eun says. She's smiling assuredly at you when you look up at her. "You'll be great."

From your left, Yeri gives your shoulder a light shove. "Yeah. You've got this, girl!"

"We've seen the amount of effort you've put into this. It'll pay off," Soo-eun says.

Their words breathe a deep sense of confidence in you. After all, they're the ones who had to bear with your stress and they're the witnesses to consecutive late nights you've pulled in the office to get your script and slides done. This particular iteration of the script was a product of not just your work, but their benevolence and hard work too at editing and proofreading.

Squeezing Soo-eun's hand in yours in a bid to get rid of the jitters, you nod at them.

"We've got this," you say.

The clock hits time and you walk on stage, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and focusing on not- oh god forbid- tripping over your heels. The nerves are still present as you take your place at the podium, but you ignore the way your hands tremble ever so slightly.

You greet the audience, capturing their attention, and begin your presentation. And as you begin talking about your subject matter- the topic you've spent months researching and studying- the nerves melt away and your passion begins to take center-stage in your mind instead.

You're so immersed in the topic that you're just going and going, and soon enough you've reached the end of your script and the ‘Q&A’ slide is up on screen. Applause fills the auditorium, and you smile, genuinely pleased that people seem to have enjoyed your presentation. In the corner of your eye, you see Yeri cheering, and Soo-eun shoots you two thumbs-up.

"Thank you." You bow slightly. "I'll open the time up to the floor. If anyone has any questions, you may feel free to ask them now."

You scan across the auditorium, looking out for questions, when-

Time freezes in that way it always seems to whenever your eyes meet. Seated somewhere in one of the middle aisles but off to the right of the auditorium, long limbs crossed one over the other in his black slacks, Namjoon's eyes are wide as yours catch on him as if encountering a snag.

Oh. My. God. What is he doing here?

Peeling your eyes off him, you skim across the room again. Thankfully, a few hands are raised now and you take their questions, offering yourself a means of escape. But your attention is split and it takes intentional effort as you forcibly will yourself to look at anything but him.

"Okay, I'm afraid that's all the questions we have time for. But I'll be around with some of the other curators for a couple more minutes if anyone has any other questions about the exhibition," you say, gesturing to Yeri and Soo-eun, who wave at the public.

As the audience disperses, you walk off stage, hoping he'll just quietly leave.

No such luck, apparently. From your peripheral vision, you see him coming over as a few other members of the public come up to you to thank you for your lecture.

"Hey," he says, and the familiarity of his warm tone hits you like a punch in the gut, "um, you did a really good job today."

As if your break up hadn't happened the way it did, as if the numerous awkward encounters hadn't taken place, as if it didn't hurt you right now just seeing his face properly after all these years, you put up a front. You smile at him diplomatically.

"Thanks," you say. Your tone is kept even, professional. "How did you find it?"

"It was great, really. I've come to a couple of the museum's exhibitions, but this is the first lecture I've attended."

"Yeah, it's a new thing we decided to introduce for this particular exhibition."

"It's great, yeah. Gives more depth and insight to the art pieces and really makes the whole thing come alive when you see it from the curator's perspective."

You nod. "Nice. That was our intention."

"Anyway," he pauses and runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, "how have you been? It's been a long time."

You bite back the scathing remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. It's almost too enticing to finally let him have it after the years of torment he'd caused you after your break up. The torment that still lives in you, muted under layers of numbness that you've buried it under. Did he even feel the pain in the same measure that you did?

"I'm good." You're tempted to leave it at that. But there's just something in his eyes, something... like a plea? that makes it impossible for you to be cold to him the way your past self imagined you would be. "I've been living in the city for a couple of years now. I'm working in the museum as a curator, as you can see, and yeah, life has been good for me."

Before you can stop yourself, you find yourself reciprocating his question. Ultimately, you can't deny your burning curiosity at what he's been up to. "What about you? How have things been for you?"

"I finally got published a few years back," he says, and you nod as if this is new information to you. Truth is, on your summer break back home that year, your eavesdropping ways had brought the news to you as you heard Hoseok congratulating him on his breakthrough. He laughs lightly. "My life has kind of just revolved around writing, getting inspiration from different sources to write, then writing more. If it sounds really mundane, it's because it is."

"No way." You shake your head. "You're living your dream, Namjoon. Wasn't it always your ambition to be a published author?"

You regret it almost immediately, bringing up the past. Anything to do with the past is dangerous territory. Hell, having a conversation with him that's more than just polite small talk about cursory topics devoid of personal details and emotions (i.e. a conversation like this one) is dangerous territory.

He murmurs something, and you’re certain you mishear him. "You remember."

"Pardon?"

"No, I was agreeing with you. Yeah, it is."

In the background, your slides click off, and it pulls you out of your conversation with Namjoon.

"I think I've gotta go," you say, pointing to the podium where Soo-eun collects your belongings. "My friends are waiting for me."

"Oh!" Namjoon says, turning to look at where you're pointing. "Yeah, don't wanna hold you up any longer. Thanks for your time today."

He turns to go, and you can't help the nagging discomfort at the way things are left hanging between the two of you.

"Hey!" you call. He turns back. "Do you want to do dinner? Hoseok is coming out for the weekend, so do you want to hang out, the three of us? We're going to the diner two streets down from here."

Funny. Didn’t you avoid this diner to avoid Namjoon the last time? Again, it seems the fates truly have a sense of humor.

Namjoon's eyebrows raise in surprise, but it's momentary and quickly replaced as his features soften into a grateful smile. His dimples appear and you hate how, even after all these years, it still has the power to wring your heart out.

"That sounds really nice, actually," he says.

"Is seven ok for you?"

"Seven’s good. I'll see you and Hoseok then."

"See you," you say and he nods. This time, he turns to go for real.

As you watch his retreating figure, you wonder if you really made the right choice, opening the door for him to re-enter your life after all these years.

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buckleyirondad · 5 years ago

Photo

2. In The Hands Of The Enemy “Pick Who dies”

Peter has to choose who to save, Morgan or MJ.

AO3 Link

It was dark.

Michelle couldn’t see a thing, even when she strained her eyes.

She tried not to concentrate on that, or the rapid speed of her heart, instead she curled her arms around Morgan, who was tucked up against her chest, fighting through hiccupped sobs.

The truck took yet another, sudden turn, and Michelle’s shoulder collided with the interior.

She bit down on her lip, hard, ignoring it.

Morgan cried, “Mimi...”

Michelle brushed a hand through her hair, shushing her, “Yeah?”

She sniffled, “Is Petey coming?”

“I think so.”

Morgan sucked in a sharp breath, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Michelle hushed, “But I’m here, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

It had been a normal day, up until they were snatched and tossed into the back of a truck.

Michelle picked Morgan up from Kindergarten, like every other Friday. She loved doing it, it was calm among the chaos that was her life - with most of her time devoted to exam season, that was hurling towards her, and the constant lingering worry, that came hand-in-hand, with loving a superhero – picking her boyfriend’s little sister up, was somewhat normal.

Then it took the worst possible turn.

They started their usual walk back to Peter’s apartment, hoping he’d be finished picking up groceries for May, by the time they got there, and they could head off together to the Ice Cream Parlour.

Michelle had felt uneasy, halfway through the journey. She’d mindlessly pulled Morgan closer and walked faster.

She didn’t have a sixth sense like Peter, but she did have something he didn’t, and that was common sense.

She’d noticed, in the corner of her eye, two men, on the side of the road – dressed, head-to-toe, in black individual suits. She didn’t want to be labeled as paranoid, but in the movies, that would be a red alarm, and it was.

The general public knew that Morgan existed, but her family never shared photos of her, and she didn’t appear at events.

Pepper dealt with the press, and people snapping the occasional picture. It would get harder when she started school, but for now, they had it under control; the staff, the parents, and even the kids, at her Kindergarten, were incredibly understanding.

Tony and Pepper believed she deserved anonymity, she was too young to understand the downfalls of being in the public eye, but she could decide, what she wanted to do when she was older.

Michelle respected that.

Still, even with all those precautions, Morgan was still a target.

Thinking on her feet, Michelle had diverted, down an alleyway, pulling Morgan along, while scrambling for her phone.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Before she could press her panic button, they were grabbed.

They never even saw the faces of their abductors, it happened, in a flash.

They took her phone.

There was only one thing she could do – protect Morgan.

The truck came to a halt, and voices followed, joined by the unmistakable sound of doors closing.

Morgan shifted, “What’s—” She sounded so young, she didn’t deserve this, “What’s going on?”

“We’ve stopped—”

The doors at the back were thrown open, with heavy hands, the hinges squeaked.

Michelle jerked, cradling Morgan’s head close to her shoulder, shielding her from potential harm, while trying to adjust the bright light beaming in.

A man barked, “Get out.”

Michelle swallowed the lump in her throat, and slowly, slid forward, climbing out onto the solid ground while holding onto Morgan, who intuitively locked her legs around Michelle’s middle.

Michelle looked ahead, trying to paint of picture of where they were.

They were surrounded by abandoned apartments, there were signs, explaining that they were ready for demolition.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Michelle turned, and as soon as she saw him, her heart leaped, into her throat.

It was Mac Gargan. Weapon smuggler turned murderer.

He was involved in Peter’s infamous ‘ferry mishap’ that Michelle had heard about, a few times.

Also, in the five years when the universe was half empty, he’d managed to escape jail, and he hadn’t been seen since. Tony was looking for him, considering he had an obvious distaste for Spider-Man.

He stood proud, with a smirk, “Hello, hello, hello…” He sang, “Nice to meet you.”

Michelle bit her tongue, staying silent.

She studied him.

Gargan had a long jagged scar that snaked around his eye, which was bloodshot. He laughed humourlessly, motioning to it, “Admiring the view, sweetheart?” He asked, “You’re never gonna guess who’s responsible for this?”

He prodded her forehead, with his finger.

“Your boyfriend.” He howled, “Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Her mouth dropped open, “You—”

He interrupted, “It wasn’t easy finding out.”

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip, “Toomes?”

“Bingo.” He applauded, “It took a while, a few…untraditional techniques, but he caved, in the end.”

He buried his hand, in his pocket, drawing out Michelle’s phone.

He barked an order, “Passcode, now.”

Michelle hesitated.

Gargan’s snapped his fingers and one of his goons stepped forward, a gun raised.

Gargan jerked his thumb in Morgan’s direction, “Passcode or her head?” He shrugged, “Guess you have a preference.”

“1-0-0-8.”

The gun was lowered, and Gargan sneered, “Thank you.” He stepped aside, “I’m gonna give your little boyfriend a call, then we’ll have a catch-up.” He pointed to his guards, “They’ll take you where you need to be.”

Michelle looked at them.

They were emotionless, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their mouths set in a determined line. Michelle’s eyes hadn’t properly adjusted, to the outside world, but the main difference, she could see, between the pair, was one of a few inches taller than the other.

One of them grabbed her arm, pulling her aside, “This way.”

The other chipped in, “Don’t try anything.”

They were led into one of the buildings and up the staircase. It was, at least, twenty stories high, but Michelle refused to put Morgan down, not for anything.

Her stomach twisted, churning violently, the closer they got to the roof. Stepping out onto it, sent a chill up her spine like she’d stepped over somebody’s grave.

The taller guard, watched them, like a hawk, not letting them out of his sight.

The other was a chatterbox and wouldn’t shut up about how hungry he was.

Gargan stepped through the door, after a while, wearing a valiant smile, “Peter’s on his way.”

Michelle stood straight as she slowed her breathing, “He’ll stop you.”

“Well, darling, he sounded scared shitless, so I doubt it,” Gargan cackled, he dropped her phone and cracked it, under his heel, “He won’t be long.”

He spun around, muttering to his chattering goon, “Take her.”

Michelle shuffled back, “What—”

The man sped over, manhandling Morgan, attempting to drag her out of Michelle’s reach.

“Mimi—” Morgan tripped to keep a grip on Michelle’s shoulders, “Mimi!”

“No—” Michelle pleaded, “No, Morgan!” The taller man grabbed Michelle’s flailing arms, holding her back, “Let me go! Morgan!”

Morgan kicked and screamed, “Mimi—"

Michelle turned her attention to Gargan, “Look do whatever the fuck you want to me, Gargan!” She yelled, “Just don’t touch her.”

“You’re not making the decisions here, Missus.” He tutted, “I am. If you don’t want accidents to happen, then you’re going to have to listen to me, and so is she.”

Michelle erupted, “She’s five!”

“I don’t care.”

Michelle slowed her breathing, “Morgan—”

Morgan sobbed, “Mimi…”

“Look at me.” She hushed, “You’ve gotta stay still—”

“—I’m scared.”

Michelle stopped fighting the grip around her, “I know, but you’ve got to be super quiet.”

Morgan stilled, “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“See. That wasn’t too hard.” Gargan nodded, to his men, “You know what to do.”

Morgan was marched over, to the far left of the roof, near the edge.

Michelle was taken the same way, leaving a good, eight meters, between them.

A heavy thump cut through the silence, nearby.

Gargan ran to the edge, peering over, “Oooh...” He twisted, rubbing his palms together, “We’ve got company.”

Michelle bowed her head, “Oh, Peter.”

Peter leaped over, clearly jumping over from the building opposite, he landed, down on his knee.

Gargan brought his hands together, in a singular clap. “10 out of 10 for effort, but the landing was a solid 4 out of ten 10.”

Peter stepped up, with a look, in his eyes, that Michelle had never seen before.

The fury written across his face should have been enough to make Gargan falter, but he stood, strong.

Morgan cried out, “Petey!”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Stop this…” He snarled, in Gargan’s direction.

“No.” Gargan held out a hand, “Backpack now.”

Peter swung it off, tossing it over.

Gargan caught it, with ease, “And the rest.”

Peter shrugged, “I’ve got nothing else.” His poker face wasn’t half bad, but Michelle knew him too well.

Gargan raised his hand.

Morgan’s shriek tore through Michelle’s head, she turned, “Morgan!”

The guard was dangling Morgan, over the edge.

Unconsciously, Michelle stepped aside, but stopped, when something cold was pressed against her temple.

Peter’s face contorted, “Stop!”

Gargan took out his gun, pointing it in Peter’s direction, “The rest.”

“Okay…” Peter removed his web-shooters, throwing them aside, with shaking hands, “Okay.”

“Good boy.”

The gun, against Michelle’s head, was lowered, and in the corner of her eyes, she watched as Morgan was pulled back.

Morgan’s voice broke, “Petey!”

“It’s okay, M.,” Peter said gently, “I’m here now, everything’s gonna be alright.”

“Oh, don’t lie to her.” Gargan mocked, “That’s just mean. I’ve been waiting for this day.” He kept his gun raised, “I’ve wanted to kill you, for some time, but then, Thanos beat me to it. How envious I was. Now, you’re back, and I get to do it again! I could tear you apart, limb by limb, or perhaps, drown you, on the same route the ferry was that day.”

“I take full responsibility for what happened on the ferry.” Peter threw his hands out, “But this has nothing to do with them!”

“Oh, yes it does.” Gargan took a step closer, “Because, I’ve had time to study you, Peter Parker, and if I’m right, killing you, will never be enough.”

Michelle closed her eyes, she knew exactly where this was heading.

The guard’s arm tightened around her front, and she was dragged up, off the ground, her feet scraped across the surrounding wall.

She couldn’t help but look, at the drop that awaited her.

One firm push and she’d be gone.

Morgan was in the same position, and her panicked screams would haunt Michelle, no matter what happened next.

“No!” Peter shook his head frantically, “Stop this, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan let out a harsh whisper, “Choose.”

Michelle’s eyes were on Peter.

He was acting strong, but it was all a front, inside he was crumbling.

Peter’s voice wavered, “What?”

“Choose which one dies, or both of them will.” Gargan held a hand back, “Your mentor’s daughter or the girl of your dreams.”

“Kill me!” Peter cried, with zero hesitation, “Kill me and be done with it!” Peter’s chest, rose and fell, with rapid breaths, “Please…”

Michelle hated that Peter thought laying down his life was the ‘fix’ to the situation.

Gargan shook his head, “That’s not the decision I gave you.”

Peter thumped his fist off his chest, “Please, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan looked at his watch, “It’s their time you’re wasting.”

Peter lunged forward, pushing Gargan’s chest, “You can’t do this!”

It dawned on Michelle, later than it should have.

Peter wasn’t only fighting, he was stalling.

Michelle had spent months getting to know Peter’s family, and surprisingly, they’d become part of hers too, even Tony Stark.

Of course, they were coming.

A dark thought crossed her mind.

She knew they’d speed over, as fast as possible, but there was a chance, it wouldn’t be enough.

She was being held, off the edge of a roof, with Morgan.

They didn’t have time.

Gargan pushed Peter back, “Both of them?!”

Peter retched, a hand on his stomach, “No!”

“Then pick!”

“Please, please, I’m begging you.” Peter’s throat cracked, “Take me instead, kill me, torture me, I don’t care!”

“You’re keen.” Gargan chuckled, “They must really mean the world to you.”

A pause.

“Choose.”

“—Stop!”

“Choose!”

Michelle coaxed, ignoring the drop below, “Peter—”

Peter ignored her, “Please!”

She tried again, louder, “Peter!”

He darted his eyes over but looked down.

“Peter, look at me.” She begged, “Hey, loser! Look at me, please!”

Tears welled in his eyes, “MJ—"

She softened her voice, “Listen.”

He shook his head.

She calmed her voice, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not—"

“It is.” She nodded slowly, “It has to be.”

Peter tilted his head to his shoulder as a sob tore through him.

“I love you—” She stammered, “More than you know—”

“I—” Peter pressed a hand to his chest, “I love you, too.”

Gargan waved his gun around, “Ah, young love.”

Michelle’s breath caught, “No—"

“Shut up!” Peter clenched his fist, “This is—”

“Peter!” She cut in, “Stop, just—just look at me, nothing else—” She stammered, “Nothing else, just me.”

“MJ—"

“It’s not your fault, any of it.”

Peter’s shoulder slumped, he momentarily looked to the skies, for a miracle, but he looked back to her.

“Let me go—” She managed a weak smile, for him, “Please.”

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto her.

“So…” Gargan trailed off, “Who will it be?”

Peter muttered, with a cry, “MJ.”

Gargan tapped the back of his ear, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Peter gasped, “Michelle.”

Michelle’s feet raised, off the wall, and before she knew, she was falling – she didn’t expect it, to be so fast.

She never hit the ground.

Strong metallic arms looped around her, “What?” She looked, but there was nothing there, despite being able to feel it.

Tony’s familiar voice spoke up, “Need a lift?”

“Stark?”

The familiar red and gold flared into view, as Tony’s suit became visible, “The one and only.” He flew down, guiding her down onto the sidewalk, he retracted his mask, “You okay?” He asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I think so, how—” She studied, “How did you do that?”

“Retroreflective panels, Harley’s idea.” He said, “Pretty neat.”

“Yeah…”

“Still got a few bugs.” He shrugged, “It works better with planes.”

She stepped forward, throwing herself around him, in a hug.

“Oh!” He curled an arm, around her.

She stepped back, “Sorry—That was—"

“You were thrown off a roof.”

“I was—” She yelped, “Oh, My—They’re gonna—They’re gonna think I’m dead.”

“Not for very much longer.” He pointed, “Rhodey’s got a clear shot.”

Michelle whispered, “He made him choose.”

“What?”

She peered up, “It’s Gargan…”

Tony’s cheeks turned grey, “Oh…”

“He made Peter choose, between me…and—”

“Morgan?”

“I had—I had to convince him—” She blurted, “To—choose me.”

Tony sighed heavily.

“He was fighting against the whole thing—” She explained breathlessly, “But, but it had to me, Morgan is wor-“

“Let me stop you right there.” He cut in, “This isn’t about worth, MJ.”

“It had to be me.”

“No. It shouldn’t have been an option, in the first place.” Tony squeezed his hand around her arm, “If you hadn’t convinced Peter, to choose you – he would have fought against it until the inevitable happened. Do you realize how incredibly brave that was, of you?”

“I guess.”

“You saved Morgan, and you knew where that was going to lead you.”

“I had to—” She sniffled, “I love her, and Peter, he’s just..”

“You and Morgan, mean more than the world to him."

“I know.” Michelle fumbled with her hands, “Can you take me up?” She asked, teary-eyed, “I—I need to see him.”

“Of course.” He stepped forward, locking his arms around her, “Hold on.” They flew up, fast. It wasn’t a fun experience, but it was less vomit-inducing than swinging with Peter.

Michelle could see Peter, knelt on the ground, cradling Morgan, in his arms.

Gargan’s goons were unconscious, laid face-first, with their arms sprayed behind them.

Rhodey was standing, his gauntlet raised in Gargan’s direction.

Gargan's smirk dropped, as soon as he set eyes on Michelle.

Peter didn’t look up, his face was tucked against Morgan’s shoulder.

Tony touched down, carefully helping Michelle onto her feet.

Morgan lifted her chin, she hiccupped, “Mimi?”

Peter sat up straight, to see, his throat cracked, “I—” His lower lip trembled, and his words were lost.

Morgan leaped out of his arms, “Daddy!”

Tony retracted his armor, catching her mid-run and hoisting her up, into his arms, “Oh, Thank God.”

Michelle swayed forward, uneasy on her feet.

Peter gradually got up, into a standing position, he stared at her.

She sprinted forward and crashed into his chest, tangling her arms behind his back, cradling him close.

“You’re—” He nestled his face against her shoulder, “You’re not—"

“I’m here, I’m okay.” She ran her hands, up and down his back, “I’m alive, nothing happened—"

He sank, in her hold, “I’m so sorry—"

“You did the right thing.” She stood back, laying her hand on his cheek, “I promise, you did.” She nodded, “I love you, so much—"

“I love you.” He pulled her back in, “I never want—”

She shushed him, “We’re okay.”

#whumptober2020 #no.2 #in the hands of the enemy #pick who dies #marvel #spideychelle #petermj #michelle jones #peter parker #morgan stark #tony stark #irondad #mcu fanfiction

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justjessame · 4 years ago

Text

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Sanctuary ~ 5

I couldn’t help - once we finally managed to pull ourselves free from the bubble we would forever be able to create around one another and force ourselves to leave the cottage to forage for food in the village proper - glancing up at my husband’s profile looming above me. As familiar to me as my own, but now with the sharper angles of age, wisdom, and - with the painful tug of loss that twisted inside of me that I knew he too felt deeply - grief, he also bore a hint of the unknown and strange.

“You know that I can actually FEEL it when you sneak those glances, don’t you?” My teeth met my lower lip to hold back a peal of laughter. “I swear, your eyes hold as much heat as your body.”

“Keep talking like that,” he tugged on our linked hands and pulled me ever closer, forcing that laugh I’d been keeping prisoner from him to escape. “We’ll never make it to the village and we’ll starve.” He growled, or perhaps it was a groan - both actually - and shook his head as he stole a lingering kiss that promised us both a greater treat than any sweet thing I could find in any shop on any realm.

Our first stop, since I wanted to show off my gorgeous husband and introduce him, while also finding out how Michael was - was the bookshop. A part of me feared that the village would have been dealt heavy damage from Thanos’ Snap - that the people I’d come to grow so fond of would have been rendered gone - as gone as our, but those thoughts would do us no good.

Opening the door after taking a deep breath, Caroline saw me before I had a chance to see her - or rather she noticed Loki first.

“My but you’re a tall one,” I giggled and her eyes fell to me. “Praise be,” she came out from behind the counter and pulled me into a crushing hug. “Michael told us that you were fine, that you were simply away taking care of your own business, but -” she was sighing and relaxing as she held me and swayed. “All that alien nonsense, we were lucky, but the rest of the world wasn’t -” she pulled back and her smile was tinged with sadness. “Thank goodness you’re back and looking so well.” Loki was standing next to me and she took note of it. “I’m guessing that he might be a reason for that blush on your cheeks.”

“A little,” a wink and her grin grew. “Caroline, I’d like you to meet my husband, Thomas.” Loki held out his hand and she took it easily enough, making me think that she didn’t equate him with New York at all. “Tom and I,” his free arm wrapped around me and pulled me close. “Well, we’ve moved back to -”

“To forget to call your grandfather,” Michael’s voice chimed from the doorway. “Come here,” I turned and saw him grinning with the sunlight glowing around him like a halo. “Come give this old man a hug, Margaret.”

Pulling free of Loki and Caroline, I was wrapped up in Michael’s warmth - more familial and paternal than the parents who raised me, than He Who Remains, more even than Frigga and Odin - letting him soothe me in a way that not even my husband could after the pain and loss of our realm, people, and yes - our little one.

“Shhh,” he hushed me, while his embrace felt less restrictive and far more comforting than Caroline’s crush had, his face pressed into my hair. “I know, I know.” And somehow, some way, I knew he did.

We - Loki, Michael, and I - had lunch in a quiet place that I loved, which I knew from experience would allow for some discretion while we spoke.

“It’s gone?” His eyes had gone wide as we waited for our food, Loki - whom he had no issue calling Tom and didn’t actually show signs of flinching even though I knew he saw past any illusion my husband was casting - had told him about Asgard. I couldn’t. Not when the loss of our home and people was so closely aligned to the loss of our son.

Michael sat back. Taking in the idea that an entire realm - one of the Nine, if you only went by Asgardian legend, but he knew that there were far other planets, timelines, and on and on it went - could be erased. Even after what he knew Thanos had done, what he had witnessed, knowing that Asgard could so easily be wiped away was something terrible and hard to process. We could commiserate.

“Yes,” Loki nodded, pulling his hands back when our server returned with our food. “Thank you,” he offered to the young man, and I smiled as Michael took note of his manners. Waiting until we were alone once more, he noticed that neither of us were taking up our utensils. “What? Have I done something improper?”

“Not at all,” I assured him, touching his hand gently. “I think you surprised Michael with your lovely manners, darling.” Winking at him with a grin, I turned back to my own lunch. “Asgard is gone,” eyes on my plate, I sighed. “And this is home to me, or it was at a very dark point.”

It was Michael’s turn to reassure me, again. A soft touch on my hand, but I didn’t look up. “It’s still your home, Sigyn. Always.” Swallowing down the pain of memory, why I’d been in this very village before, and why we were back - I waited for it to pass. “I’m guessing this isn’t going to be a short stay?”

“No,” Loki answered for us. “No, not a short stay.” His fingers met my other hand, and for once I had someone on both sides offering comfort and strength. “We plan on making this our home for the rest of our lives. If -”

“If?” Michael’s tone was laced with curiosity and challenge. “If what precisely?”

“If you’ll have us,” my eyes rose, finally willing to meet his again. “I know that my husband’s past isn’t easily forgiven and that my loyalty to him isn’t easily understood -”

Michael studied me - us - for a few moments. “I don’t know your husband,” my throat tightened painfully. “I know you. If you trust and love him, then I’m more than willing to give him a chance.” The air felt like it might be coming back into the room, but he wasn’t through yet. “However, if you go back to your former ways -” his gaze seemed to burn into Loki’s. “I’ll not have a single issue with calling up those twats that run amok in her garden, do you understand?”

“Absolutely,” Loki agreed, and somehow our lunch continued on.

Michael insisted on taking us, and our shopping, back to the cottage. He seemingly couldn’t get his fill of time in our company - mine, Loki corrected when we arrived home. We restocked the pantry while showing Loki around, introducing him and refamiliarizing myself with the village and the people who had shown me so much hospitality when I lived among them before.

He came inside with us, and admitted that he’d kept my cottage from growing into disrepair while I was away - even with the aura of magic that I’d added, some cracks of age were bound to push their way through.

“Made sure I kept it aired out,” he sighed, sitting down in his spot and gladly accepting a cup of tea. “Just in case, you know.”

“Just in case she popped back in?” Loki was teasing, light and easy, and it eased whatever lingering tension attempted to creep back in. “We’re lucky you thought to do it,” he pulled me onto his lap, having taken my chair for his own once I brought the tea back for Michael. “Thank you.”

Michael was back to studying us, how we interacted and how Loki - since he KNEW me- behaved around me. “You aren’t much like you were in New York, are you?”

I waited for it - for Loki to stiffen. For anger, or shame to rear its ugly head and for his sharp tongue to snap lash out and draw blood. Yet it didn’t happen. Instead he sighed, quietly, and then moved his head so that his face was closer to mine, inhaling in my scent - it seemed to give him strength.

“New York seems a lifetime ago,” voice quiet, reflective. “I’ve tried to push it to the past, to act as if it wasn’t me at all.” His arms, the embrace that I’d grown so used to grew a touch tighter. “It was like a fever - and as a Frost Giant, a fever is incredibly dangerous to my thought processes.” I listened, curious and enthralled. Loki hadn’t truly discussed it with me, I hadn’t brought it up. Better, I thought, to rush forward instead of pulling it apart to learn from it. “The idea of Asgard’s throne, a throne I’m sure Sigyn told you I’d been brought up to think I had every right to, it never honestly pulled at me. Not until -” He shifted slightly and sighed. “We married and as I said, it became like a sickness. The throne, ruling over our people as King in Odin’s place.”

He was right, I realized. Loki hadn’t shown a single urge to rule until we wed, then as I started fearing that we weren't having luck at becoming parents, he started to obsess about becoming ruler.

“Thor, my brother, being chosen over me was a blow that cut me far deeper than it should have.” I heard the pain of their reconciliation and now the loss of not being able to rekindle it in his words. “It grew, the heat of it, the fever. Thanos,” Michael’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead and Loki nodded. “Yes, Thanos was the one who backed my bid for Earth’s downfall. It was madness. A fevered madness that I couldn’t seem to fight. It’s not an excuse, truly it isn’t. I’m simply telling you why I don’t seem like I did in New York.”

Michael sat on the information for a moment while I did the same.

I never considered that Loki might have been infected by something foreign, some illness, but it made sense. Not from a standpoint that I needed to give him an excuse so I could love him - I loved him regardless. It had never made sense to me that he had become so insistent on being King, on ruling in Odin’s place - even before the Allfather was ready to step aside - and even when he’d been jealous of Thor’s attention to me, he NEVER faltered in his affection for his brother. The rage he’d felt when Odin chose Thor - the rage he felt when he wasn’t made ruler - it made little sense then.

And he was correct. A fever in a Frost Giant would do horrible things to their bodies and minds. Burning from within, the havoc would be indescribable. It would render any chance of Frigga or me pulling him free from the clutches of madness useless.

“I think having Sigyn with you makes a difference too,” Michael broke past my puzzle breaking. “Of course, I think she could calm the most savage among us.”

Loki chuckled and held me closer. “On that we most certainly agree.”

#loki #loki x sigyn #loki series #alternate universe #after avengers end game #mention of smut

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allycryz · 4 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

This is less a WIP and more a...needed to get an idea out, not sure if I will complete it. But the idea is that Cid and Nero eloped in their early twenties, this scene is when Cid is defecting for Garlemald

Rated Mature for sexual content

tagged by @elveny and @kunstpause

tagging any who want in!

It's many things.

They don't see him when Cid is there. They think the Garlond boy married down, for all the ways Nero soared up through the ranks.

Every time, Nero lays waste to his husband. Takes him apart with mouth and hands, with ropes and bites and making him beg. Except that Cid will just look at him in that awful, understanding, patient way after. And hold him as if he were the one who needs the aftercare.

It's what happens to Midas but Nero is not so delusional to think that's the only reason why. By the time that nasty piece of business comes to a head, they've drawn their ideological lines. Freedom through technology means very different things to the both of them.

Nero throws open the door of their house and finds the sight he dreaded: Cid, packing the few things of his left here. His couch at the workshop has seen him far more this year than the lavish bed they bought in a fit of newlywed passion.

"Running?"

Cid goes rigid but does not turn towards him. "Give me a headstart before you report me."

"As if I would miss the opportunity to see your downfall." Nero stalks over, turns him around. Stands at his full height to tower over the love of his life.

It is effective as it ever has been--which is to say, not at all. Cid pushes past him and to the chest of drawers. He starts to follow, to snarl and threaten more-

Ice runs through his veins instead. Frost seizes his limbs, coating it as if he'd fallen into the lake near their honeymoon cottage.

The ring. The damn ring he forged for Cid after weeks of designing and planning and acquiring the correct material. It's on Nero's nightstand with a datapad. He does not want to read whatever message is written on it for him.

They both wear their rings on chains. Engineers can't afford losing fingers. And easier to pick up company for one night. (Unless they're picking someone up together.)

This is not that.

He stalks towards it. Seizes it up and thrusts it at his husband. "If you want to get rid of me, you're going to have to divorce me or kill me."

Cid takes a long, steadying breath. Refusing to lose control, damn him. "I didn't think...you would want to come."

Maybe. Maybe if Cid had asked before and not as an afterthought.

Maybe not. With Cid gone, people might actually see him. Not that they ever saw Cid either. Not really.

Nero watches the flicker of hope die in the other man's eyes

He grabs Cid by the collar of his shirt and hauls him forward. Kisses him with everything he has, searing himself into Cid's skin. No matter where he goes, who he ends up with, he will not forget Nero.

Cid kisses him back, the bastard.

#ally writes #angst #lemon #(more of a lime really)#cid nan garlond #nero tol scaeva #cid x nero

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kingofthewilderwest · 5 years ago

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One of the major flaws of HTTYD 3 in comparison to its predecessors is how childish the movie felt. The first two movies had the occasional joke but were still extremely mature in their storytelling. Have you read the article "Dreamworks execs have an incredible reason for why their films are unpopular" ? It came out a year after the second movie, and explains why they dumbed down the third.

It’s an interesting article and I’ve always thought there was some truth in the opinion: to their detriment, DreamWorks’ latest films haven’t focused on the creatively wild, often more mature spark that made things like How to Train Your Dragon, The Croods, Rise of the Guardians, Megamind, or The Prince of Egypt quality films. As the article writer notes:

Animated films, if anything, attract a much broader audience of older children, teens, and adults than they ever did in the Eighties and Nineties. Ironically, DreamWorks’s own films in the 2000s played a significant role in expanding the public’s perception about animated features. Now, DreamWorks is betting against its own history as they try to get back on track.

That said. Many of the earliest DreamWorks productions have a somewhat mature appeal to them, but I feel like DreamWorks has long played the game of wide audience appeal commercialism. For a period of time, they balanced their “artistic” or “venturesome” films against their “safer cash” films. The fluffier Turbo was released just one year before HTTYD2; Kung Fu Panda 3 and The Boss Baby were released a year apart, too. There was a sense of balance, letting the fluffier, probably more kid-appealing films earn money, while allowing them to take risks on more unique ventures. I’m not sure if that was their actual strategy, but regardless: balance of maturity. (And for the record, calling some DreamWorks movies “fluffier” is not intended to be an insult; I myself love their Mr. Peabody & Sherman).

And I think the reason I was so hardcore on board the DreamWorks train is that, whether it was an ill-conceived mistake (Shark Tale) or a big “what the fuck” (Bee Movie) or feeling somewhat adult (Antz), DreamWorks was willing to take those risks. DreamWorks was willing to be quirky. And DreamWorks was willing to put heart into everything; Mr. Peabody & Sherman definitely has heart to it, as does Home, as does Turbo from what I remember (only saw that one once).

I feel like advertisements for Trolls and The Boss Baby is where my friendship circles started to feel less enthused about DreamWorks. At that point, I saw some trust failing for DreamWorks’ creative direction - that DreamWorks was dumbing down their movies for children rather than making fluff family films with heart. The key phrase is “dumbing down.” There’s a huge difference between writing children’s stories and dumbing down for children. And that’s what this article writer was calling out, too.

Ghibli movies are written for children. Disney 2D animated films bring awe to children. How to Train Your Dragon understood that lots of its audience members would be children. But you breathe life into a quality story that children and adults can enjoy! Making a bunch of crappy jokes dumbed down to children is stuff like... at its worst... Norm of the North. When you’re making something shoddier, with half-assed fart jokes, because of an implicit idea children’s media doesn’t have to be as quality... because children allegedly aren’t going to notice quality... that’s where we run into problems.

Now, I’m not going to say whether or not I think DreamWorks has actually begun dumbing down its films. I know that’s the impression in my peer group. I know that’s an impression I’ve felt inside my heart, too. But I haven’t seen Trolls or Trolls World Tour or The Boss Baby so I can’t judge. But I think it’s safe to say there has been a gradual shift over time. And that escalated post-2014, where we got this from DreamWorks execs:

…the company's slate changes are more realistic/in-tune with the evolution in changes in the box office market as the 2012-2014 film challenges were tied to films which skewed older right as the box office began to see changes whereby animation demand was increasingly skewing younger as kids began to age out of the genre earlier. While we view the ability to reduce P&A as more difficult given the need to advertise to two distinct groups (kids and moms), the combination of both cost reductions in production and a younger skewing slate, do position the slate better in our view.

And my impression is it’s escalated lately (but I only have a small sample size of films, so I take what I say with a grain of salt). I remember during the NBCUniversal acquisition in 2016, fans feared DreamWorks would lose its sometimes mature, sometimes quirky heart. That the company would be in a downfall state for quality.

I had hoped that HTTYD3 might be a bastion against efforts to commercialize with cash-easy, not-as-heart-ful “kid” appeals. THW grossing a lot of money could help leadership remember that diverse audiences, not tiny children, can and do watch animated films - 3D animation’s just not a guaranteed success because it’s a more saturated market. It could at least let the tradition of some DreamWorks gutsier creative films perpetuate.

And I do think that THW doesn’t have as many problems as, say, The Boss Baby probably does, when it comes to “kid-specific appeal”. I feel like the tone in THW has a middle ground. THW was never going to be as dark as HTTYD2; DeBlois made that clear since the release of HTTYD2; but I do think there might have been an effort to lighten tone in places (ergo the large number of gag jokes that cluttered the film). There’s absolutely mature ideas inside THW: the concept of parting ways with someone you love because it’s better for both of you... that’s meaty... that’s something that even adults grapple with. Hiccup’s flashbacks with Stoick have the simple but in-depth storytelling mood I know of the How to Train Your Dragon brand. So I would phrase it as it’s not a case of complete dumbing down so much as it is some imperfect tonal choices and plot focuses (too much spotlighting on the Light Fury romance, for instance, and not weeding out an excessive amount of jokes... that again... cluttered the film). The first two HTTYD movies feel like carefully honed storytelling, capturing the essence of what their story needed. The third needed tonal and content reorganization. The presentation of stakes and plot progression weren’t on par with the first two films. The Hiccup-Toothless separation didn’t pack a hard punch to me because the steps we took to get to the end weren’t the tonal footsteps we needed.

There’s a reason I charged to theatres the weekend Abominable released (mind, this was before the map controversy over the film came out). I was hoping Abominable could be a DreamWorks film with art and heart. And you know? I think that Abominable was one draft short of being *INCREDIBLE*. The problem is it was one draft short. It stayed superficial instead of diving into the meat. The plot pacing was slow because we didn’t get into the meat, the characterization felt awkwardly paced and whiplashy because it didn’t get into the meat, and the humor felt childish rather than taking full advantage of things like character relations. But the inside heart - the inside potential - of Abominable is monumental. It’s still not a bad film! If they’d gotten that next draft, Pearl and DreamWorks could have had a piece on par with Megamind and The Croods. I absolutely believe that. If I had time, I would rewrite Abominable in fanfiction and show how much potential this thing had.

DreamWorks is no longer a young studio exploring whatever the crap it wants because it’s the new guy finding his voice or rebelling against the other voice. DreamWorks is an established powerhouse. And with establishment comes a certain degree of safety-playing and standardization of content. I don’t expect we’ll get as many wild tone shifts as Bee Movie (11/2007) to Kung Fu Panda (6/2008) or How to Train Your Dragon 2 (6/2014) to freaking Penguins of Madagascar (11/2014).

That’s not to say DreamWorks does or doesn’t make quality films. I admit I don’t have high hopes on some things like The Boss Baby 2. I do have my fingers crossed for The Wizards of Once; I hoooope that DreamWorks can treat TWOO as they did HTTYD... something with simple, powerful, overflowing, artistic heart.

Who knows. Guess we’ll see.

#httyd 3 criticism #httyd3 #httyd 3 #How to Train Your Dragon 3 #THW #The Hidden World #DreamWorks #analysis #my analysis #awesome anonymous friend #ask #ask me #Abominable #Anonymous

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barkadasesh · 4 years ago

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"SOMEONE WHO BELIEVES IN YOU"

Jack and Jill were good childhood friends. Their path crosses at the wide woody and wild forests for the very first time. They became friends since then - they treat each other as a family, not by blood but through souls. They had a lot of ups and downs and memories to cherished together yet after some few struggling years, both completed their studies and went apart and take their own paths.

Jack, once called the good boy, achieved his dream profession. It is one of the most diverse and versatile field at engineering - mechanical engineering. And hell yeah! It was really a once in a lifetime career where he designs power-producing machines as well as power using machines. He became one of the most famous mechanical engineers in New York and it provides him strong annual salaries. Despite of being at the highest peak of success, he just continuously frittered away his life and his fortunes taking up an immoral habit of practices such as alcoholic beverages, cigarettes, drugs and he is also a well-known womanizer committing sexual immorality.

At the other side of the globe, jill worked so hard to be able to put forth effort toward a certain goal. And that is to own a vast hectare good for a farm not just for herself but also for the whole community. The planet needs nutritious and affordable food and that requires thoughtful and intelligent people to grow it – and that’s her! She believes that this world needs someone like her. In the fullness of the time, she set specific goals and standards so she can work out her farm. And in just a month of dedicating lingering, it is sufficiently good, enjoyable and successful to repay her effort, trouble and expenses.

Early in the morning, Jack was awake by a loud snooze from his high-pitched alarm clock telling it is already 7 o’clock in the morning. “Argh! Yeah, I know I know!” He scornfully covered his annoyed face by his malleable squared pillow. “Aish! Could you please give me another five more minutes?” He exclaimed resentfully. He slightly crumpled his eyes while yawning stretching his arms wide open before he turned off his blatant clock. He went back lethargically like he is pulling of his king-sized bed. He lie down once again on his crib but as soon as reach the climax of his fantastic dream, a very rambunctious bang from his door makes him stood and jumped out of his cradle. “Now what?” he said ostensible. “Son! I think you should stand on end now.” It is his dad who summons him on the other side of his bedroom’s entryway. “Come on dad, can you please knock?” he responded annoyingly while scratching his head. “Come on son! It is already 7 o’clock early in the morning. Are you just going to take a load off and fucked up the rest of your day today?” “Yeah, whatever dad!” He no longer waited his dad to counter his immature reply then he shut down the door then started fixing his self for another sunrise-to-sunset working day.

Same time of that busy day, Jill woke up early before daybreak to get ready to grind for another productive day at his hustling farm. She ascertained that she will be doing good today in managing all the works in the land for its maximum fertility. So that, when the crop ripen, they can orderly harvest it by hand, combine or mechanical pickers. “Today is the day to lead and guide ‘em in caring the crops!” She exclaimed. “Good morning Miss J!” greeted by Juan, a young maintenance and repair boy who is responsible for upkeeping the farm. “I did tighten the loose fences.” he reported. He is sharp as tack in many kinds of labor that’s why Jill trusted him so much. “Wow! Job well done, Juan!” she complimented. “Day by day, you’re doing better. Keep it up, kiddo!” She smiled at him then proceed at inset.

“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU JACK?! YOU’RE NOT GIVIN’ A DAMN TO YOUR WORK ANYMORE!” YOU ARE NOT LIKE THAT BEFORE. YOU WERE ONCE THE MOST SENSIBLE AND WELL ARTISAN BEFORE!” shouted by Jack’s officer-in-charge directly to his frowning face with a sharp glare towards his boss. So obvious that he is suffocated by the scenario. “I apologize but I think you cannot feasible this project anymore. You are fired.” “You can’t do this to me freaking old man.” He rebuttals. “Yeah we can. Why not?” giving him a smirk before walking away from Jack. “Let us see if you will survive that fuckin’ stupid project without me and my power.” he mumbled as he left the company. After he got fired, he recured from life-threatening vices. And that’s how he spent his life. Days, weeks and months had passed and his life is becoming worst until he loathed his continual nonsense practice and decided to have an out of town to take a break to a place with a peaceful ambiance. He immediately packed his things up and started driving.

“How I wish I could be that young good child again.” he bleakly chuckled as he lay down on his bed at vacation house. “Oh well, gonna spend these weeks with a chill.” he sighed and head to nearby coffee shop. “1 Caffè Americano, please. Thank you!” then he handed they payment. “Kindly wait for a moment at this table, sir. Thank you!” and the polite barista guided him to his table. As he sat down while scrolling through his smartphone, he suddenly heard a gleeful voice from the counter. “Good morning, Miss J. I’ve been waiting for my fair-haired customer today!” “HAHAHA, still a facetious young boy. Please give me a Blonde Vanilla Latte.” she replied with an over the moon. “Aye! Aye, Miss!”. Unexpectedly, Jack was surprised to hear the voice, he known it very well. He peeked at the lady waiting at the counter and he is more wonder-stricken to saw who it was. “Jill?!” he exclaimed aloud. “Jack? Its been years! Hey how you doing pal?” giving an expressions of pleasure as she saw and walk towards the directions of Jack. “Oh well hi. You look gorgeous right now. You are no longer that crybaby girl just like the old days.” he responds with an unbelief tone. “Uhm, I am already a mechanical engineer. Didn’t you hear some news and articles about me? I am one of the most popular identity at New York.” he continued. “Ooooh! Cool! Well, here I am. I already owned and managed a farm in this town. Wanna come and take some visit? Guess you’re on a vacay?” said by Jill with a convincing tone. “Farm? What an inferior profession. But, sure! Lemme see your farm.” stating it with full of indignity.

Jack offered a ride on their way to the farm. “So, tell me, what are you doing in a place such as this, your majesty?” he asked while looking directly at the uneven surface of the road. “Oh well, I found my purpose here. I enjoyed here. That’s why I stayed here for good.” respond by Jill without even looking at Jack. “Purpose, eh. What a concept?” “Yeah! Purpose. The reason or feeling of being determined to do or achieve something. If you dig deeper, through that purpose I am capable to make others happy. Spending time as much as possible with them to make this world a better place.” Jill explained with full of hope. “Corny! What we have here in this world is nothing but an unfair system and toxic people around us. You had to trust no one. Because in the end of the day, you only have yourself.” Jack looked at Jill like he knows what’s right. “In the end of the day, it is you who will believe in yourself, in what you have, and in what you can do. Because no one was truly concern about you. It’s you, all by yourself. If I were you, you should take my advice. I’ve been there.” he continued. “Well, I cannot blame you with that. You had a good point anyway. Now tell me, what are you doing in a place like this Mr. Engineer?” A moment of silence enwrapped inside the car between the two. “I’m having a break.” he started. “A break? From what?” inquisition of Jill while sipping on her coffee. “I am on my downfall as of this moment.” obviously averting the dialogue. “Come on, spill it. I can lend an ear, just like the old days back then.” Jack too a deep breath then started to tell the whole story. “It was really a fantasy when I achieved my dream profession, which is to be a mechanical engineer. All my life, I worked hard for it. I spend my whole life for it. Yet, the worst part of here was when I started to lose from track. I used to take vices such as alcoholic beverages, multiple boxes of cigarettes and drugs. I also used to be involved in multiple times of wrong relationship full of immorality. I became a womanizer and a heartbreaker. I no longer find my purpose. It seems that I am living my own selfish ways. Little by little, my life was ruined. And now, I don’t have any idea on how will I started again from the very beginning, on how will I fix everything. And yeah, that’s how my life went.” He narrated hopelessly. “I see. I guess that was really a sad ending. But, you know what, despite of what had happened to you, there’s still hope. I guess you just need to take some time to evaluate yourself and to check something out from those painful experiences. And yeah, you’re right when you told me that at the end of the day, you only have yourself. My tip, take this opportunity to heal, my dear friend. You have to help and lift yourself up. And don’t you worry. I am still here to believe in you. I know you can do that and become the better version of yourself. You just have to be patient and work it out.” Jill recommended believing that she can convinced Jack. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll try.” “Don’t try, do it.” And again, silence engulf inside the car between them.

Days and weeks had roll down, and Jack follow all the tips and advises of Jill. He started to evaluate his self. Separating right things that gives value to his life and surrendering negative habits that deteriorating his life. He also cut off his connections to those ladies that leads him to sin. Jill helps her to brings out the best in him, finding his purpose and creates a better vision. Then, it started his life to change from nothing to something, from zero to hero, from better to best.

"You know what, dear, sometimes, we don't need to have a luxurious life and luxurious things just to make ourselves happy. I had realized that sometimes, what we really need is someone who will believes in us and respects us. And, thank you for being one, Jill. Because of you, I found my purpose and I had a changed life better than my life before. I know God allowed us to meet again intentionally so that I'll be no longer slave to sin. You are just not a friend, but a family who truly cares. I owe you so much. How can I pay you for this?" Jack asked Jill." Pay it forward, Jack. Just pay it forward. Do to others what I have done to you." and Jill gave her sweetest smile. Few months later after their encounter, Jack went home." Good morning dad! I miss you!" he hugs his dad so tight that seems to be the first time." Dad, I just want to ask for forgiveness for what I have done before. I promise to be better this time. I love you dad!" Then, Mr. Johnson hugged him back, "I am so happy you're back again, son. You're forgiven." After that day, his relationship with his dad was restored and Jack was now back right on track. He spent his life doing the right things, multiplying his self to others. And that's how he made his own legacy.

(Short Story by Claire Montero)

#BarkadaSesh #StayConnected

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wordsablaze · 5 years ago

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you’re in my veins (and i cannot get you out)

Most people think witchers are too sharp and bards are too soft but most people don't know anything because Geralt and Jaskier manage to settle on indefinitely weaving their lives together...

A/N: title is from 'in my veins' by andrew belle and it's an angsty song but this is fluffy bc i just needed some fluff in my life and i'm so soft for these idiots being soft for each other-

Witchers are weapons.

It's in their unnatural nature, their mutations, their enhanced ability to fight the monsters that most people can't even begin to fathom in their wildest nightmares.

Witchers are powerful, dangerous, fearsome, not to be messed with under any circumstance.

Unless you're Jaskier.

Because Jaskier is not like most people.

Jaskier takes one look at Geralt and decides that the brooding figure in the corner will make for the finest company.

Decides that piercing eyes and unnatural hair are something to be respected, admired, used as inspiration for ballads.

Decides that the tales about a butcher are wrong and that he's personally responsible for changing people's views.

Decides that travelling with a witcher is more exciting than the bread in his pants - although that particular decision is understandable.

Geralt is used to a sharp life, a life filled with sharp claws and sharp insults and sharp weapons that act as an extension of his sharp self.

It’d taken him years to become accustomed to the sharp tricks of mages, the sharp transactions of fearful townsfolk, the sharp smell of being alone.

And then Jaskier quite literally saunters into Geralt's path and his life is suddenly filled with softness - soft words, soft tunes, soft hands, soft looks, the soft scent of flowers and sincerity .

And Geralt doesn’t always know how to react to so much softness, doesn’t know if he's meant to accept or reject it.

Jaskier makes the choice for him.

He sticks around and sings nothing but praises and washes all the entrails out of Geralt’s hair without asking. He invites himself into contracts and talks enough for the both of them and feeds Roach sugar cubes when he thinks Geralt isn’t looking. He refuses to stay behind and adds spices to their food and never fails to throw a wink Geralt’s way during a performance.

And Geralt?

Geralt begins to accept it.

He begins to like it.

It’s alarming how he falls into the pattern of looking forward to Jaskier’s softness whenever they split and how he finds a strange comfort in being reunited with said softness.

He doesn’t know how to convey that to Jaskier, but he tries.

When Jaskier all but drags him to royal events, he grumbles but rarely refuses, even if he’s persuaded to forgo his armour. When Jaskier repeats the same verse over and over and over in attempts to perfect it, he patiently tunes it out instead of interrupting. When Jaskier stops complaining about being tired and goes quiet, he lets them take a break or stop for the night.

And he knows Jaskier is correctly translating his actions because for all his endless charm, the bard has one particularly bright and soft smile reserved only for those moments, for Geralt .

And it’s not by any means an easy process but eventually, Geralt shares his own soft smiles with Jaskier.

And Jaskier?

Jaskier melts .

He briefly stops whatever he’s doing every time Geralt smiles at him, whether it’s walking or eating or complaining or singing, although he’s professional enough not to let it ruin performances.

It’s equally hilarious as it is endearing.

But it’s also worrying.

Geralt worries that becoming soft will be his downfall, it’s the only reason he’d ended up with a child surprise after all, and he worries that his sharpness will hurt Jaskier, will corrupt the softness that surrounds him in everything he does.

And then he’s pleasantly surprised when Jaskier not so softly wishes a painful demise upon a rival, and again when he none too softly sings away the reputation of an innkeeper who’d insulted Geralt, and then again when he far from softly shatters his lute over the head of a mage during their monologue.

And again and again and again and again .

Until Geralt is forced to admit that Jaskier may be soft but he is not limited by his softness.

Until Geralt starts to believe Jaskier in that if a bard can be soft and yet sharp at the same time, then maybe a witcher can be sharp and yet soft at the same time.

Until Geralt realises that the only way he can truly harm Jaskier is if he keeps trying so hard not to.

Jaskier waits patiently for Geralt to set aside his sharp misconceptions and start accepting that truth and as soon as he does, things change.

Not drastically.

But Jaskier becomes more inclined to drape himself over Geralt when he’s tired, more inclined to press himself into Geralt’s side when he feels threatened, more inclined to braid flowers into Geralt’s hair without even noticing he’s doing it.

And Geralt?

Geralt craves it.

He keeps telling Jaskier he doesn’t need anyone but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want anyone - no, not anyone , he wants a very specific someone , a someone that freely gives himself up to Geralt for some reason.

He keeps telling Jaskier that he doesn’t want anyone to need him but he thinks he might need someone to need him, a specific someone that always needs him and looks to him for safety and causes warmth to spread inside Geralt’s bones.

As much as he tries to deny it, Geralt is fond of Jaskier.

It might be a little more than just fondness but he’s not sure he’s ready to admit that.

So he does his best to make sure Jaskier knows how much he’s appreciated.

He indulges Jaskier’s whims of buying new fruits and desserts that they don’t necessarily need and allows Jaskier to ride Roach if he’s upset or tired and occasionally offers his input on a new song.

He stands behind Jaskier at banquets so nobody can attack him and he all but growls at anyone who dares insult him in taverns and he may or may not turn a blind eye when Jaskier gets into sharp fights where he’s the sole survivor.

And Jaskier?

Jaskier adores it.

He lives for it.

There is nothing in the world he loves quite as much as Geralt’s soft ways of expressing affection.

Sure, his capacity for verbal indications of emotion is close to non-existent and often becomes infuriatingly difficult to decipher, but Jaskier is mostly willing to overlook that because everything else usually makes up for it.

And the two of them settle into a rhythm in which their lives are irrevocably intertwined and even the worst of pain can’t pull them apart because apologies will always eventually tumble from their lips until they find forgiveness.

They settle into a rhythm where Geralt uses his swords to softly protect Jaskier and Jaskier uses his charm to sharply protect Geralt and everything they do is linked back to one another in some kind of way.

Their rhythm takes root in their hearts and their minds and their very blood because Destiny or not, the two of them are undeniably connected in a way that so few souls are and although they’re very different, their connection is implicit.

So it almost comes as a surprise when, one day, after Yennefer and Ciri have retired themselves to bed so they can not-so-secretly practice how to throw hexes, Jaskier curls himself into Geralt’s side and whispers a soft, sleepy “I love you”

and instead of humming quietly in response or pulling Jaskier closer and placing a kiss on his forehead as he usually does, Geralt softly whispers back, “I love you too.”

Almost.

me? writing a fic about a designated chatterbox and only giving him one line of dialogue? more likely than you think... but anyway, hope you enjoyed :)

thanks for reading! masterlist

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cupsofsuga · 5 years ago

Text

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ ☕️} NOTE - a faint trigger warning for jungkook’s part! there’s some heavy violence in there! again, viewer discretion is advised!!

{ 💐} ANON ASKED - ❝ Hcs abt yan! Fanboy! Bts with their idol! S/o publicising their relationship but he ends up getting a ton of backlash from their s/o's fans? ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

the flashes of the camera and the sensitivity of his shattered self-image left alone to be toyed with wasn’t exactly seokjin’s idea of a happy future

all he ever craved was to just bathe is his bewitchment with his youth

he’d do just about anything to hold the past in his grasp just once more

jin swears he can still imagine fidgeting with the shrivels of orange peels as you two try to speak over the lunchroom chatter or how you two fell asleep in willow trees, ignoring the fact that your face will potentially be on a milk carton by the time the sun rises

but, the glimmering fate of fame had snatched you away with its colorful patterns and it’s facade adorned with glitter

and this eternal ache within jin’s chest has cunning ways of slithering into his bloodstream and gripping his heart with its tenacious grip on a day-to-day basis

he can feel the magical, youthful soul he fell so deeply infatuated with start to depart from its host just to be replaced by the molded personality this company you signed with assigned for you to wear

and nothing makes him more livid than these money-hungry freaks that bark and yap at you like dogs and have no formed concept of respect

like that one humid july afternoon where, once again, paparazzi pried into one of your café dates and ruined the blessed day

yes, jin did take part in ruining the day by socking one of the men in the nose and shattering their camera on the pavement, but it was totally their fault!

all has been forgiven, anyways!

but, it wasn’t until he caught sight of you falling under the spell of these master manipulators and found you beginning to alter the vision of yourself did jin finally snap

this life is not for you, nor is it for him

you two were supposed to spend your days in a claustrophobic studio apartment with two cats, not dressing yourself with cheap smiles and blinding your vision under the burning spotlight!

so, this leaves you waking up the lavender-scented sheets lied in an unknown place

the faint pitter-patter of pots and pans echoed from down the hall of the place you’ve now deemed as your childhood home

jin sits in the kitchen, cooking up breakfast for you and humming a tune, daydreaming of fairytale-induced future that is held for you two lovers

now, you both won’t have to worry about the heavy burden of fans, paparazzi and all of that! you two can finally live in tranquility!

you two can finally be happy…

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

with an array of plastic bags containing all sorts of foods to feast on for the following week, you enter your humble adobe

and as you attempt to lock the door behind you with your pre-occupied hands, you mentally prepare yourself for the golden retriever of a man who will soon pounce on you with a wagging tail

but, this is not what occurs

with furrowed brows, you find the scrawny figure tucked into the couch while hushed sobs echo in the eerily quiet room

and you could’ve sworn yoongi waltzed straight out a renaissance painting with how undeniably immaculate the sight before you looked

small, cherubic face, feline-like eyes and glitter tears; all resembled a brilliant work of art that could leave one starstruck

but, that was not valid now, as you silently prayed for the glasses held in the bag as they tumbled to the floor once he stumbled over and clung onto you like a lifeline

you both sat on the floor, tenacious grip refusing to weaken as yoongi’s tears dampened your shirt

he’s had days like this before, where the man’s grip is inevitable and tears could just about flood the place

no matter how many times you reassure him with your sugary-pink voice that he is all you desire and crave, nasty trolls online still manage to crawl under his skin

yoongi is perfect in your eyes, but, every day he fails to see this

those poisonous comments mocking his height and weight or anything as little as the shirt he wore on a specific day all have clever ways of triggering the waterfall

he sees that he is not a good boyfriend, and you deserve somebody else

someone who isn’t just a nobody, someone who has worthy potential in this life, someone who could illuminate the galaxy simply with their smile

someone who deserves to stand by your side

but then you hold him in your warm embrace and speak words of honey, and alas, yoongi has found nirvana

although this isn’t the anecdote for his insecurities, to simply be held by you is such a privilege

and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

you remember vividly of those poisonous comments directed towards your lover

they gossiped and chirped about how you would be more satisfied with some actor you don't even remember the name of, which was the very first manifestation of the downfall

there is the guilt that seeps in your bloodstream and sheer rage that could crumble galaxies with its force

you confront hoseok, watching the pearl of his eyes glisten under your stare as you reassure him that the comments don’t differ your infatuation in the slightest

but, much to your surprise, the sensitive boy agrees

he shares no inkling of attention to the haters and instead mentions a cat café he wanted to visit later that day with you, eyes filled with stars and all

hoseok and his disturbing eloquence; a cunning distraction of the awaiting prophecy

having to dwell in the comments and opinions laced with fury and venom, you could practically feel their fire through your phone screen

and as days pass by, spending hours with your puppy-dog of a lover, you catch yourself agreeing with them

this must not be your fate, it can’t be...

you refuse to be one who lets others dictate your opinions, especially about something so valid to you

but, as time passes, opinions reeling within your mind, you find disgust in his touch and rage in his smile

and you fear what just might happen if you touch the revelation

a virus, a parasite, a burden, all of the things they told you, you believed!

and you bet hoseok refused to let this settle in

so, as you lie in your state of slumber, you are oblivious to the man before you who’s rage fills the room like smoke

an act of rebellion, the sun seeping into the night sky; entirely an inhuman act

he has become ruthless, spitting out insults and threats of their supposed death to the people who have wronged you two and had the guts to dare brainwash you into believing their filthy lies!!

your future alongside hoseok is inevitable and your infatuation is eternal, a love that is indestructible and legendary

always and forever, your love shall be sacred...

and as the computer light dims and hoseok crawls back into your embrace, he has found that sugary-sweet tranquility that rests within his heart whenever he lies in your presence

alas, hoseok has found warmth in the winter storm.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

a fairytale, a sunlit infatuation that burns

something holy that namjoon holds close to his heart

but, as these comments crawl like insects under his skin, his tenacious grip on your heart begins to weaken

every waking moment now is spent in eternal panic for the potential future without you by his side, all because of the demons that lurk in your comment section

the whispering and gossip, mocking namjoon of his place as your lover and how he was undeserving to have the privilege of standing by your side

insults hit him like bullet wounds and resemble a stake to his heart

and then the pit; the pit he despises so, so much returns and the loneliness sinks like lead in his stomach

the entirety of his childhood, the burdening comments of his father, the neglect of his mother, his money-hungry friends, every revelation of his loneliness returns once again

he is alone; so utterly alone that he spends his nights clinging onto your pillow, inhaling your flowery musk and crying out for his lover

you can’t leave him, you can’t!

you have to love him, just as much as he loves you!!

if he doesn’t have you then he has nothing!!!! can’t you see!?!?!

not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again notagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagain. don’t leave him don’t leave him DON’T LEAVE HIM

wobbling to his bedroom, he thrashes, yells and throws any item within his grip and shatters it against the wall

there’s the fury that resembles a fire-breathing dragon as he destroys his neatly made bedroom, cursing so loud that the housekeepers a floor down fear for his safety

namjoon cannot find sanity; he cannot find clarity in this moment of chaos

there are wars and disasters that take place within his mind and the pit within him only sinks lower with every passing second

finding his closet, he drops to his knees before the shrine kept hidden behind expensive suits and sobs

he cries for his lover, praying with whatever strength left in his body that you’ll never depart from him and your infatuation will never once weaken

namjoon falls limp onto the ground, curling himself into a ball and weeping out into the carpet

just, for now, he is eternally caught in the revelation of chaos

only your sugary-sweet, lavender-scented reassurance will rescue him in this warzone

you’re his savior, his knight in shining armor

he doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t love him.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

dressing in faux pearly smiles and hushing down your anger as the interviewer cunningly spoke words of poison to jimin was in every means an everlasting burden

fame was intended to be a gift, not torture

everyone would lionize you and bow down to you as if you were some all-mighty god who graced this earth, as satan’s contract listed

being an eternal victim of the microscope and listening as people barked and yapped perverted comments and words of envy, jimin resembles the sun in a cold night

throughout your busy schedule, the ephemeral moments spent with your lover were enchanted and served as a satisfactory breath of fresh air

i mean yes, there were those times where his possessive nature bled through the bandaids and fans concluded him as abusive, but, that wasn’t true!

these filthy opinions have little to none power over either of you… or that’s what you assumed

walking back into your changing room after a god awful interview, you find your lover nestled into the couch as his shoulders shake from hushed sobs

you find the screen plastered in front of him which played your previous interview, watching as the woman from earlier validate his horrible reputation and slyly agreed with the false accusations

without an inkling of a second thought, you rush over, cooing as he jolted from your sudden, but gentle, touch

those narrowing eyes, hushed words of gossip, insecurities laced with venom that resemble an ice prick to his heart had him powerless in his stance

and as you enter his tunnel of vision, he finds an oasis in the midst of chaos

jimin clings onto you as if your a life preserver in the ocean, a single star in the vast galaxy, an inkling of tranquility held in the state of a war-zone

you feel tears rest on your shoulder, the sharp prick of his nails on your back from his tenacious grip as you coo and comfort your lover of his sorrows

he pleads and cries for you to remain by his side and not to listen to their lies, and of course, you reassure him on your candied-voice that nothing they say could weaken your adoration

and even in the midst of a downfall, he has found nirvana in your touch

even in the midst of anarchy, jimin has found euphoria.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

taehyung meets with a chauffeur as his final period in school comes to an end, a gentle smile forming upon his face as he knows what follows

of course, being an idol and receiving a high income, you just had to coddle your lover in every possible way

he climbs into the vehicle, careful not the stain the immaculate black leather seats with his paint-splattered hands

the revelation of you spoiling him rotten due to your infatuation never fails to have taehyung blushing like a lovestruck teenager and melting into the seat before him

although he is alone, the buzz of elation that settles within his heart sends him into a frenzy for your love that he will soon meet face-to-face with

and as he’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone in the secluded area of the backseat, he stumbles across an article

there was a picture of you and him plastered on the front page with a cunningly negative title, sparking his frightful curiosity

throughout the pages, taehyung witnesses as the writer pick and prods at his self-image, claiming a boy who grew up with nothing surely was undeserving of living a second with a star

he is worthless, an obsessive freak, in every means a burden to his light

but it wasn’t true! they don’t know what they’re talking about!

you love him! why else would you send him a chauffeur for his liking!

this article… it’s all lies! it has to be!

taehyung soon feels his lungs collapse and his throat tighten, choking on the sorrows that build up in his stomach

an epiphany that he was soon to relish in, but, never in a million years would he be ready to face the reality that he doesn't deserve someone as undeniably perfect as you

he then brings his knees to his chest, screams like banshees that echo and reverberate in his eardrums

there’s heavy rain that flows down his cheeks, sobs that could shatter cities with its force and crumble galaxies to nothing but ashes

the silk heart taehyung possesses has been held in the grasp of a dying light, and he would do just about anything to feel the warm embrace of aphrodite herself

you love him, you must!

taehyung doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t…

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

jungkook sees these comments and he is livid

the explosion of his fragility, every particle of his very being now tainted

god, the things he’d do to get his hands on these scums who dared to assume they have the right to speak of you in such a manner

jungkook would be infatuated by their screams of agony as he plucks off their fingers one by one, a sadistic grin growing on his lips at the simple thought

oh, how they’d bleed and beg for mercy and apologize over and over for the heinous crimes they committed

and he’d torture them for eternity, days upon days of torment and cries in the blood-splattered shed

what a dream their pain would be

tears stain his phone screen as he scrolls through the venomous comments from a video taken just a few weeks ago

you see, your lover has a temper, and if you proceed to poke the bear, his anger strikes like satan had entered this very realm

and when that man spoke blasphemy about who your destined lover should be, jungkook blew up like a ticking bomb and proceeded to strike the man until he was nothing but a bloody pulp left on the sidewalk

and then, in the midst of these blood-induced fantasies, he hears it, the jingle of keys which could conquer any melody that exists

like some lovesick golden retriever, jungkook races to the sound to greet you

as you snap your coat undone, you’re suddenly engulfed into a tenacious embrace by the puppy himself

the calm after the storm, the light in the eternal abyss, jungkook has found what’s holy in this disgusting world

your sweet fragrance, gentle hair and ethereal caress; he had forgotten what he was upset about, to begin with

moving to keep you at arm's length, you find his eyes adorned with dreams

there’s infatuation swimming in his irises and petals within the lovesick smile plastered upon his face

all because of you, the single daisy in a winter storm

there are still tears that seep from his eyes, but, he’s come to the conclusion that they must be tears of joy

alas, jungkook has found euphoria.

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dirt-cup-draco · 5 years ago

Text

Jaskier x Reader- Nostalgia

If requests are still open. Can I please request Jaskier x female reader with the prompts “I’m worried about you.” + “Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.” + “I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.” + “I think I’m in love with you.” + “Please don’t cry.” Please and thank you!!!

A/N: I apologize for my iffy timeline

Jaskier belted out song after song, the few patrons in the inn listening intently. Geralt was sulking in the back, most likely wracking his brain over what to do next when it came to the striga. Jaskier knew that the witcher was going to be piss poor company because of the lack of details he knew involving the origin of the striga. It seemed everywhere they turned they were met with lies. Jaskier had his own theories but he kept them to himself, knowing that Geralt wouldn’t be welcoming any commentary.

To keep himself busy, and win their room for the night he put his vocal chords to work and played his lute with muscle memory that banished the need for him to think about what string came next. From the corner of his eye Jaskier saw the entrance to the inn opening up but he only smiled and danced about in his own fantasy. He hopped from one table to the next, the lack of customers leaving him with a grand stage.

He meant to connect with the new patron but he found the air knocked from his lungs, his foot missing his mark and his lyrics pitching high as he slipped from the table, falling flat on his ass and making a fool of himself. It didn’t matter however, his eyes still glued to yours as he gaped like a fish out of water, fighting for air. The crowd around him seemed to be in two different mood as some cheered at the theatrics, the other half booing at the slip up and his sudden lack of music.

You snickered beneath the hood of your cloak, retreating to the back of the room- the opposite corner from which Geralt sat. Jaskier found the Witcher had his eyes on him before shaking his head, a small and amused smile on his lips as he went back to pondering over his drink.

Shuffling back to his feet he tripped over them as he fell into the seat across from you. The crowd was already bored with him it seemed as some shuffled to their rooms, others asking for another drink and turning their attention elsewhere. The bartender had set two mugs of ale in front of you and you pushed the second towards Jaskier.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He asked voice shaking. “I-I haven’t seen you in-”

“Lets just say too many years,” You mused.

“I’ve been singing, traveling,” He offered, holding up his lute.

“The last few seconds of your performance speak highly of your reputation,” You jested. Jaskier flushed, studying every bit of you, as if he wasn’t quite sure you were here.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here... I’m just passing through myself. Geralt and I-”

“Geralt?” You questioned, head tilting to the side as you stared in curiosity. Oh, how Jaskier had changed since you last saw him; before he had left home. Your childhood friend, your sweetheart, had gone and become a man.

“My friend,” Jaskier replied easily and he could feel Geralt’s eyes on the side of his head. He looked to the bulky form of the witcher and gave a shrug. He had been traveling with Geralt for years now, if he wished to call him friend, he would and that was that. “I’ve made a bit of a career out of following him around, singing his praises and documenting his adventures,”

Your eyes flashed in excitment, your hand enveloping Jaskier’s. “Oh do say more,” You pleaded. “I’m sure whatever stories you have to tell far outweigh what I have made up in my own time,”

Jaskier was caught off guard. You had thought of him in all of these years? He couldn’t deny that he had found himself wondering about you in moments of loneliness, in the darkness of wherever he slept for the night. Not being able to refuse you, he began his tale of a bard who was too stubborn to leave a witcher alone.

Hours passed as you conversed. Jaskier had learned that you had left home months ago after the death of your mother and the last of your cattle after a horrific winter back home- now unable to support yourself in your hometown. You learned that he hadn’t ever looked back after leaving home, even if he did sometimes think of you, and he had been preforming to make his way through life. He’d met a great many people and left polarizing impressions everywhere he went. To some he was a joke, others a cheat. To a few, he was a lover.

And to the mysterious Witcher, he was a friend. For the past few years he had been following the man and writing songs of his triumphs and trials. To all of this, you only had one thing to say.

“I’m worried about you.” Your voice was lower than before, speech somewhat slurred as your fingertip circled the rim of your drink. The bartender had kept the coming and neither of you had been complaining.

“And why would that be fair maiden?” Jaskier flirted easily, waggling his eyebrows at you as he finished the ale in his hands, waving off the bartender when he arrived with a refill.

“Oh stop,” You scolded but there was a bashful look in your eyes that told him you didn’t believe his words. “The years have not been kind to me,”

Jaskier scoffed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Y/N you were always the most stunning girl back at home and I doubt that has changed,”

“I’m not as easy as the men and women you have come across in you escapades, Jaskier,” You narrowed your eyes, the compliments causing you to become suspicious of your old friend’s, your old lover’s, compliments.

“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.” Jaskier swore, hand held to his heart. He took a long breath and you could see the slight sway to his body even as he sat in his seat. Jaskier may not admit it but he was drunk. His hands gripped the sides of his chair as if it would keep him from toppling over. He hiccuped before declaring, “And! Just so you know, I think I’m in love with you.”

At this, you burst out laughing. “Old friend, I think the ale is starting to speak for you,”

“’S not!” Jaskier slurred, pouting. His hand searched for yours again and he brought your knuckles to his lips. “Stay the night with me?”

His lips were chapped against the skin of your knuckles and your thumb stroked the back of his hand affectionately. Even after years of being apart, you weren’t able to turn Jaskier away. You suspected that would be your downfall, yet there were worse ways to destroy one’s self.

Without a word, you guided him to his room and let his lips trail a path across your body, hands remembering the curves and dips that had once been so familiar to him. He sang your praises with breathy moans, the movement of his hips against yours reminding you why you’d loved him so all of those years before.

“Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.” Jaskier chided softly as you stood before him, Geralt a few paces behind the bard. The witcher was standing beside his horse, a scowl on seemingly both of their faces. They were on a schedule.

“I’m not holding anything in,” You stubbornly bit back but your eyes were quickly welling with tears as your goodbye failed you. Now that morning had arrived, you weren’t ready to part with Jaskier. Waking up with his face nuzzled against your naked chest, snoring softly, hair tussled, had woken up a part of you that you hadn’t thought had survived his first departure. You bit your lip and your tears began to fall, despite you wiping them away quickly.

“Oh darling, please don’t cry.” Jaskier pleaded with you, hands encircling your wrists as he pressed a delicate kiss to your trembling lips. “We will see each other again,”

“I think I’m in love with you,” You mimicked his words for the night before and Jaskier chuckled as you had, shaking his head and stroking your cheek.

“As much as I want that to be true, for the both of us, I think that’s the nostalgia talking. It’s nearly as bad as when the ale speaks,” Jaskier sighed, chest heavy as he hugged you, rubbing your back as you sniffled. He knew what you meant. He loved you too, loved you in a way that was different from anyone he had ever met. You were his beginning, but he wasn’t quite so sure you were his end.

Geralt grunted, a warning that he was growing impatient and Jaskier squeezed you one last time before releasing you from his arms. Your nose was rosy and your cheeks glistening with tears.

“We’ve got to stop saying goodbye like this,” Jaskier poked fun. “I’ll only be able to remember you crying when old age steals my mind,”

You laughed, even if it was watery from your breaking heart. “I will not keep you any longer then Jaskier,” You kissed him once more, leaving him something else to remember you by. Maybe it would bring him back to you one day.

For now, nostalgia was enough, yet you felt oddly hollow watching him jog after the Witcher who had gotten on his horse and began to trot away.

I think I might love you more than you know. You didn’t look away until Jaskier’s figure had disappeared from sight. Nostalgia wasn’t enough to keep him with you, for the bard didn’t look back.

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary

#jaskier x reader #Jaskier #witcher #witcher x reader #fluff #ask #request #anon ask #Anon

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