#a bit of a return to reality - we’re once again focusing on the elite and their woes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

everlasting-deluge · 5 years ago

Text

When We Were Young | 01

↠pairing: park jimin ⇆ reader (female) ⇆ kim namjoon

↠genre: angst, romance, song fic, Ex-lover!Jimin, Ex-lovers!AU, Childhood Love!AU, (kinda) Sugar Daddy!Namjoon

↠warnings: mention of disturbing subjects (Ex. suicide attempt, depression, anxiety), profanity

↠words: 5k

↠A/N: I’ve got the inspiration for this work from the song When We Were Young by Adele. This is the first chapter of the serie. I focused on character’s inner world rather than the outside one. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this work too, so don’t be afraid to send me some feedbacks.

➸ Nothing could prepare you for this fateful and haphazard encounter with him. He was there, right in front of you, looking at you with the same yearning that had been in your eyes for years now. Were you ready to face him? Were you ready to know the cause of those sleepless nights and your wet pillows?

❈ | Moodboard | Masterlist |

One, two, three, four… Ten.

Ten seconds of eye contact was what you needed for recalling the owner of those eyes, those beautiful soft dark brown eyes. They once looked at you with love and care, promised you the world, made you feel safe and complete; now, however, you could only see panic bolting in them.

He was confused, his eyes had widened only for a split-second was clearly hinting that; but his stiffened posture caused by him trying to restrain his emotions made you think something else was in the equation, another factor that needed to be added.

It didn’t really take you long to find that missing element, just following where his eyes were drifting away to. It was simple but also crushing; like, the elephant in the room suddenly decided that it was fed up with only sitting there. So instead, it started to jump on your newly healed heart with its tons of weight. The haphazard stitches became undone, and the blood leaked out from the wounds.

If your heart was like how it used to be, then there should have been no problem with carrying the weight. It had carried all that love for years. That cursed burden called love which brought you nothing but, supposedly, “never-ending” storms that ended with a grave silence.

Jimin was sitting at the table on the rightmost row, which your table was a part of as well; like you, the night view of the city on their right was presented by the huge windows kissing the ceiling from all the way down to the floor.You two could see each other’s faces clearly—against your own liking.

The beautiful lady sitting across from him was the reason behind the hesitation buried in his actions— you were assumming her beauty from behind; she had this perfect posture and a milk-white skin exposed by her back-revealing dark red velvet dress. You could hardly detect her voice speaking to Jimin among muffled background noises of the restaurant. Her voice was like her dress: velvety.

She then giggled, probably expecting him to react the same way, but Jimin was too absorbed by your presence to notice her request. Your whole being was covering his senses like a delicate lace curtain. He could rip you off only with his bare hands and come back to the real world, getting out of your mesmerizing shade, but he didn’t want to; the tulle brushing his face was leaving a funny tingle on his skin. He enjoyed seeing the world brokenly behind the little gaps between embroidery patterns. And everything else looked white, innocent-like. In that whiteness, he forgot what he’d done to you, what he’d done to you two’s “we”. His mind wandered among odds. Could he use “we” with you ever again? He’d considered the possibility for thousands of times before, but he had never dared to want more than he deserved. He could not be greedy; he had no right to be so. But if he had had the courage, he would have searched you everywhere; and when he had found you, he would have never let you go ever again. He did once, and it had almost cost him his life. Almost…

You saw him flinch as he trailed his gaze down, piercing his eyes away from yours. His girlfriend must have held his hand on the table. He smiled softly to her but softness didn’t reach to his eyes; the panic was still evident in them. The lady didn’t notice though, or she pretended to not to. In anyway, you could see that she had this huge impact on him. It was strong enough to not let him show his emotions towards you. This didn’t bother you, however; not like how it did in the past at least.

“____, are you okay?”

You wondered how you looked like through the eyes of the person sitting on the chair right in front of you. Rude, uninterested? A kid who had a focus-span less than ten minutes? You tried to read his expression, but it gave you nothing more than plain concern.

You hated it.

“Yes, I’m okay Namjoon. It was a tough day at the office, ’s all. Thank you for your concern.”

You smiled at him and returned to cutting the delicious-looking steak on your plate—which, maybe, had costed a full shopping cart of food that could serve you for a month. You weren’t paying, so you kept your mouth shut and tried to enjoy what’s given to you. You appreciated it, really. If it weren’t for him, you would never come to this kind of luxurious place, or eat costly meals in tight and revealing dresses combined with a pair of killer high heels. It simply was not in you; you weren’t suitable for these kinds of things. They were too much for your lifestyle shaped by the incomes of you and your parents’—which won’t fill a nutshell compared to Namjoon’s current earnings.

You told Namjoon what you’d felt about how he preferred to live his life. You didn’t want him to quit it altogether, of course not; but you asked him to tone it down a little and respect your boundaries when he was with you. He said that he would do anything for you; he said only you mattered to him, but you knew him better than that. The reflection of you in his eyes was someone else. And she was a complete stranger to you.

She was someone who enjoyed parties, getting social and talkative; she was fond of getting dressed up and minding her manners. The present you in front of him was just an empty shell he can fill up with his desires and standards. You were just a potential to him and nothing more, only waiting for someone to actualize you. Whenever you showed your distress about the whole thing and refused to do as you were told he would say,

“You are beautiful ____, but your own eyes are helpless when it comes to seeing your true beauty under this… Well, neglected layer. You can be so much more, love; you have the potential to be so. We just have to find the real you hidden inside and when we do, I assure you, you’ll feel better. Let me help you, ____.”

Yesterday, you two had planned tonight’s dinner date. While you two had been planning, you’d emphasized that you wanted it to be simple and casual. You’d asked him to come over to your place and prepare dinner with you; you’d thought it would help deepen your bond, plus it would be cute to mess around a little in the kitchen. You just wanted to see him in his “casual” habitat. It’d been two months since you two start dating, but you knew nothing about him other than general personal informations, his family being an acquaintance of your family and him having enough money to spend like there’s no tomorrow.

Namjoon had promised you a calm and sweet dinner, only you two in a romantic atmosphere.

While you were dreaming about how this date would have been like if he’d just stuck to the plan and had kept his promise, like a cuckoo clock warning you about the passing time, the waitress startled you when she asked if you needed anything else. This made you look up from your glass half filled with red wine and see the painful reality. You two were not alone, neither casual, and were far away from your definition of a sweet romantic dinner. And the privacy… You’d rather not think about that.

“No, thank you. We’re fine.”

The waitress smiled and with a small nod she left you two to your own miserable night.

You fixed your gaze on Namjoon after looking around and thinking how you ended up in there. He was wearing a black suit and his hair was styled nicely, granting him a sharp-look along with the glasses he wore. Everything on him was screaming money and power, everything on him was matched with his aura; he owned it all. Nothing looked out of place, unlike you. You were stiff, unnatural. People would immediately understand that you were not a part of this world; you were unsuited, not born for this. Yet, Namjoon has claimed that he saw something in you that no one ever did, including yourself. He believed that you belonged to where he was standing, the world of elites; he believed that you belonged to him. But you have never been his or someone else’s and you were never going to be. You belonged to you, and you were sick of pretending like someone else. You’ve never wanted to be better. You were enjoying the life plenty with this version of you.

You’ve missed wearing baggy and comfortable clothes when you went out; staying at home, settling on your little counter beside the window (which had an amazing view at this time of the year) and reading your favorite book on there while drinking your calming tea.

Ah, you’ve missed the autumn in Busan; you’ve missed riding your bike to the beach and watching the sun set bit by bit until it submerged into the sea completely, as lines and colors mixed all together and formed the starry sky along with the moon. You’ve missed the autumn in Busan with him. You’ve missed Park Jimin.

And now, he was right there, a few meters away. You’ve always dreamed; what if you saw him again, what if you had a chance to talk. What would you say?

I’ve missed you,

I still love you.

Come back to me…

Just the possibilities themselves were enough to make you nauseous. Whenever the thought corossed your mind, something warm would emanate your heart at the spot; welcoming and familiar… Then his face would appear in your head. Untouched and eternal… As if the cruel time made him an exception and let him pass without giving his youth as an exchange.

The Jimin in your head was young and full of love. He was smiling ear to ear. In contrast with his widening smile, his eyes were getting smaller. You’d loved to see him smile; you would feel instant relief when he showed his pearl-white teeth to the world and blessed the living.

You’ve always thought you would feel the same way when you meet him again, the emotions from the past would flourish and wind your heart with their arms like a poison ivy.

The first taste from the poison would always feel pleasant and heavenly; but when it found its way through your veins and swam in your every cell, it would kill you gradually. Even though feeling the slow-coming end, you would still try to cherish every little piece it’s given to you. Even after all that pain and darkness, you would still feel grateful for all those memories he made with you. But the worst part would always be the time when you realize that you still carved it. Because once you tasted it, it just felt… right. As if it should have been there from the start, as if it was your part you’ve been missing all this time.

The emotions were there still, along with the poison itself; but you weren’t.

The fog in your head was thicker now, concealing the last remaining pieces of who you used to be. The shared laughters, glances, words… Everything was now swallowed by The Fog of Remedy. You’ve done this to yourself, you needed to forget if you wanted to heal. And this was what you’d wanted from the start: to forget.

You’d never thought at some point of your life you would want to get rid of those meaningful memories… to get rid of him. You’d wished not to do so. You’d wished to keep them with you so that the Jimin in those scenes can stay young and hidden. A Jimin had never gotten the touch of Time; a Jimin never gave up on you and what you two once had… You’d felt like that was the only connection you had with him: The old rusty memories smelled like fresh daisies, just like the time when you two went to the forest for your second anniversary.

But people can change, just like how emotions do. Now, the pain in your heart wasn’t the result of those never ending nights you’d kept thinking about where you did the wrong, where you shot the last bullet. Now, it resulted from your overwhelmed state caused by none other than Park Jimin sitting a few meters away: You were glad for seeing him once again; you were angry at him still looking like how he stayed in your thoughts, young and ethereal; you were sad for thinking how you two ended up like this at the very end; two strangers once shared a single heart.

‘Jimin, you bast–’

You irked with the sudden coldness on your hand. Getting your head up from your gold engraved plate, you looked at the culprit of the goosebumps on your arms.

Namjoon was holdings your hand as if it was made of glass. The hold was gentle, and when you’d gotten used to its temperature, it felt warm. He had the same gentleness in his face, too. When you met with his eyes, however; his gaze intensified, making you feel vulnerable and small. He was a man who got the power of money always beside him, but he himself, too, possessed a great strength that made people feel weak under those sharp eyes.

You’d used to compare his eyes with Jimin’s. They differed greatly from one another but also somehow found a way to shine as if they belonged to the same person.

Namjoon’s eyes were a lot more defined than Jimin’s. They were heavy with the given responsibilities at such young age. Namjoon tasted success earlier than most did; but like any other thing in this world, it came with a price. Probably, he’d not had the chance to do most people did at around his age: like not thinking about the fact that actions he took constantly monitored by people who waited eagerly for his demise, or enjoying a single freaking normal dinner date with his girlfriend, etcetera, etcetera…

But even so, sometimes his eyes had this familiar shine in them. You had seen it when you two met for the first time and you had seen it before in Jimin’s eyes too. Namjoon had smiled at you when you two exchanged your names, and that was the moment you had decided to leave the past behind and try to move on. Maybe that familiarity in his pupils had urged you to take a step forward, or maybe you’d been fooled by it just to see that familiar shine was a delusion of your longing for Jimin.

You had let go of the strings and let the destiny do her job; no more playing the blind, playing “the victim”. This had led you to accept your parents invitation to meet with their close friends—who were wealthy and had a handsome and also successful son at your age, according to your parents. Now here you were, sitting across from him with a title always came before your birth-given name:

Namjoon’s girlfriend.

Namjoon’s hand was still on yours. You briefly smiled at him, which led him to do the same. After making sure you were okay again, he lifted his hand and returned to his meal. You were going to do the same– No; you had to do the same, but something was urging you to look at Jimin’s eyes. You wanted to look at them, The Present Jimin’s eyes to see if they were how you remembered, longed them to be. You wanted to be sure they shimmered the same way they did years ago. So you obeyed to the little voice and lifted your head up, but inside you were praying that he was minding his own business so you two didn’t lock eyes. You closed your eyes for a second; after exhaling, you lifted your head to look straight ahead.

Jimin saw your closed eyes and got worried a little. You were not okay, possibly his fault. He wasn’t expecting you to look at him directly; but you did, and he forgot how to breathe. You were still beautiful, as if the time had stopped just for you. Your eyes, lips, nose… Every inch of you drowned him in nostalgia. He remembered how he’d looked at you and you’d looked back at him like you two were the only beings in the universe. He remembered how he used to kiss you starting from your forehead to your chin. If the mood was right, he would slowly nibble at your little sensitive spot just under the right ear, and from there to your neck. Soon after, he would keep going down to ravish your whole body.

He tried to recall how your lips felt like on his skin. You would kiss him gently when you had to wake him up from his slumber, and he would groan to protest. He would smile into the kiss, make you giggle to. He loved your laugh and every sound you’d make whenever you opened your pretty little mouth. From your most heartfelt laughters to your sexiest moans, he remembered them all like yesterday. He missed them; he missed you.

And your eyes… Your eyes that held the galaxy in them. They had never left him, always looking with lust in his most private dreams. The eyes used to brighten his darkest nights… He focused on your eyes solely with a hope to see the beautiful Milky Way in them, but what he’d seen broke his heart. The galaxy was gone along with the warmth always melted him on the spot. The stars were now replaced by meteors wandering aimlessly in the void. Your eyes were looking lost; they were focused on his eyes but somehow it felt like they were trying to see something behind them, something placed way deeper. Jimin could see pieces of hope scattered in your eyes, barely shining but still there. Seeing this, he once again remembered the grave sin he’d committed. He should have never left you. He did this to you, and he never hated himself more than this very moment.

Jimin’s strong gaze made you uncomfortable, but you refused to look away. You needed validation, a proof that the man you were looking in the eye was your Jimin. You tried harder, looked deeper; but, the feeling never came. You couldn’t see him; he was not there anymore. He was someone else, like how you were. Life has been harsh for you both, forcing you to change. You’d done your best to hold on, you were sure he did the same, too. Because that’s how life is like, adapt or die.

Suddenly, Namjoon’s loud voice tore your thoughts, as keen as a fine knife.

“____, tell me what is wrong?! Just don’t avoid my questions anymore, please. I need to know why you’re crying.”

‘Crying…? What?’

You touched your cheeks; they were indeed wet. It was hilarious how you didn’t notice your own tears pouring down. They were visiting the corner of your lips and then reaching your chin. Out of curiosity, you licked the liquid. It was salty, of course; but you tasted something else, too. It tasted like disappointment. Then you realized that the liquid escaped from your eyes, was actually the poison itself; it was pouring out of you, not finding any more cell or joint to fill up. It was spilling out of your eyes. You used to wonder how it would look like in real life, an image of tar was always in your mind; but this transparent form of it had never once crossed your mind. It was looking exactly like tears, taking you aback.

You were sure, however; you knew that it was the poison. You were feeling the fullness inside of you, organs crushing in the fluid surrounding them. Especially your heart was finding it hard to work properly, your lungs were almost giving up. You were full and now it was spilling. One drop fell down to the red tablecloth—like any of the other thing in the restaurant, you guess it was an expensive piece. Looking at the wet spot on the soft fabric, you came back to your senses and without giving it a chance to spoil your makeup any further; you grabbed the nearest napkin and pressed it to your cheeks and eyes, careful not to ruin your mascara.

“I’m sorry Namjoon. I’m as surprised as you are. I don’t know what happened to me. It’s just… I think I got overwhelmed for a second there. I’m sorry. I’ll be okay once I go to the restroom, excuse me please.”

As you were making your leave, he grasped your wrist and didn’t let you stand up. You gasped. He sighed and spoke,

“You have nothing to apologize for, I should be the one to do so. I’m sorry for rising my voice; it was stupid of me. I was just- I was just worried. From the moment we came here, your mind has been somewhere else. You barely said anything and just got lost in your thoughts. You sure you okay? If you want to, we can leave now. Just say the word, I’m here.”

After finishing what he’d thought to say from the moment he had realized something was off, Namjoon closed the gap between you two over the table. He stretched his right arm towards the torn napkin piece stuck to your left cheek, wet from your tears. His fingers gently brushed your skin as he picked up the piece. You couldn’t help but notice the unnecessary contact he displayed. You were not uncomfortable because of his touch, no, but because of your heart speeding up despite the ivy surrounding it. And this was causing an intolerable pain deep in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to feel something.

You held your breath until he took his seat once again, thinking t it would help you calm down. It was your first time seeing him this compassionate. You muttered a thanks and then left your table, heading to where the restrooms were.

The restrooms were placed at inner left corner. Men and women both were using the same entrance and then separating their ways. You stopped at the common entrance for a second and looked back, seeing Namjoon checking his phone. Then you felt someone else’s gaze over you; sliding your eyes a little to left, you saw Jimin looking back at you. He, however, didn’t give you enough time to interpret his expression; facing the lady sitting in front of him and saying something. You saw his lips moving but couldn’t determine the words. Leaving him like that, you continued to walk further, finding the door for ladies and entering.

As expected, the restroom was also high quality. Looking at the crystal chandelier swinging from the ceiling, you once again found yourself doubting what the fuck were you doing there. This was simply going overboard. Deciding on finishing as quickly as you could manage, you stood in front of the big mirror placed above the sinks. It was embellished with gold leaves around the corners; the taps were also gold.

You swore under your breath and turned on the hot water. When the temperature was right, you placed your hands under it. That felt refreshing. At that moment you noticed your shaking hands. You squeezed them slightly to stop them. With the water, it looked like it worked; they were not shaking anymore. You wanted to splash some water to your face but the damn makeup was holding you back; since you had left the table in a hurry, you forgot to bring your purse with you.

A sign made its way throughout your mouth as you turned off the running water. Looking at the mirror, you thanked Namjoon for buying you a quality mascara, or else it would be ruined by now after all that crying. Actually, you thanked Namjoon for a lot of things: The dress you were in, this classy restaurant he brought you and paid for all those expensive chef’s specials… But most importantly, you thanked him for helping you gain your life energy back—though at some point he didn’t know where to stop. He was one of your coping mechanisms; you relayed on him to make you forget. He was the one who helped you create The Fog of Remedy; maybe he was the fog itself. You didn’t know for sure. However, denying his impact on your life would be something only a fool would do. You were not a fool, certainly not, and this simple fact was the cause of why you hated yourself.

He was a good person; generous, kind, thoughtful (sometimes way too much thoughtful). He knew what you’d been going through at the time when you two first met. He’d been aware that someone else had your heart with them. Even though he was far, far away, his clutches hadn’t been letting go off you. But he still had accepted to see you, be with you. You told him numerous times that you wouldn’t ever love him like you did for Jimin, that he would never be The One despite how much effort he put in it. And all he’d said was he knew all the consequences and was still accepting you no matter what. He was the one who has suggested to date; he was the one who had chosen you; but still you could shake off the feeling of you taking advantage of him. He was giving you so much, but all you were doing was crying over a man who left you five years ago. You were feeling bad for not returning his love back to Namjoon; it was getting swallowed by the black hole within you, that dark abyss of self-hatred.

Namjoon truly was a good man; he deserved more than this, more than you.

You were still looking at the mirror, lost in thoughts and the memories embedded in your eyes. The sudden opening of the door made you jump, testing your reflexes. They were still working, good.

The woman who had entered the room looked at you, as surprised as you are. She then closed the distance between you two in a second and whilst doing so she spoke, concern was leaking out of her mouth:

“Oh mine, did I scare you, honey? You look like you saw a ghost. I know I’m old but I don’t plan to die anytime soon.”

She laughed, her voice echoing among tiles on the walls. Seeing your panicking face, you not knowing how to answer back; she continued softly to save you from the burden.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t control my strength. It happens sometimes when you come to this age.”

As she kept coming closer, you found it easier to examine her features. She was an elderly woman, probably in her mid-fifties or even older than that—you’d learned to not to judge a book by its cover, especially in this world. Her gray tinted hair was made into a decent bun; her eyes were as clear as still water despite her age, emphasized with a subdued make up. Her untouched wrinkles were looking like holding so many memories, like they had so many stories to share.

You loved how she looked so naturally stunning. Her dioptase and diamond necklace and earrings were completing the pine green dress she wore. Everything was in place, everything was complimentary. She was doubtlessly from the world of elites; she owned it all as if she was born for this—just like Namjoon.

“I’m okay, really. I was just lost in thoughts, that’s why I reacted so absurdly. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Her eyes directed at you were as if they were looking into your soul, but not hastily. They had this motherly tenderness in them, the kind that would make you want to cry on her shoulders for hours as she pats your back rhythmically. Her gaze felt more like she was checking you out if you were okay as you claimed to be. But then they narrowed, had she found something?

“You don’t look okay, young lady. And I’m sure that’s not just because of that little incident we had. Now tell me, are you okay?”

Tonight for once, you wanted to be honest. You wanted to be true to yourself, so you looked straight into eyes of the beautiful woman standing in front of you; smiling sadly,

“No… No, I- I’m not okay.”

You fought to stop the building tears, but it was a futile attempt. They ran, and you chased.

You always hated being a burden to people around you. Even when the time Jimin had left, you’d lived everything inside, suffering silently. The storms must not reach the others, just you. But now, you were crying… in front of a complete stranger. Not knowing her name, her age, her job… But this vagueness calmed your heart, freed your emotions. You were vulnerable, and that was okay, for the first time in your life.

You saw here blurry form hesitating over whether to hug you or to let you be, at the end she put her hand on your arm and rub it comfortingly. It did wonders, and you thanked her.

“I’m sorry. It might not look like it, but actually I’m not the type to burst into tears in front of people. The things happened today finally started kick in, I guess. I’m sorry again, and thankful as well.”

She smiled sympathetically, showing her adorable dimples. It warmed your heart.

“It looks like a personal matter, so I won’t meddle any further than this. But I do want to give you an advice, if you can accept this old lady’s habit came with age.”

You nodded slowly, giving her the cue she needed to continue.

“To me, it looks like you have too much weight. You might think you need them all, but believe me, you don’t. Once you sit down and think you’ll see it too-the unnecessary weight you’ve carried all this time. You need to throw them down to rise. You’ll soar like a bird.”

“Your sky might be still dark; but when you pass the clouds, the moon and the stars shall brighten up your darkest nights. So trust me, just let go. Because if you continue to carry the weight, it will drag you down further; and when you pass the line, the naked branches of trees sharpened like knives will be there, waiting for you.”

The lady was frowning now, exposing the deep wrinkles around her eyes and between her eyebrows. You looked at her with round eyes. You wanted to deny, to once again start play the blind; but she was right. She was right ‘till the fucking end. And you were frightened, confused. Noticing the face you were making, she grabbed your shoulders and gave them a fine squeeze. Her action made you return to reality. You had to make a choice, and you had to do it as soon as possible. The weights were not only dragging you down, but the people around you too. For their sake, for your own sake. You had to cut their ropes immediately, free yourself from that burden.

You thought about the first thing had appeared in your mind while listening to her. The seeds of the idea were already had been sown from the beginning, but not until now you realized their roots caging your heart in. It sounded wrong, stupid; but you’d decided. You were going to do it no matter what the consequences will be. It was your life, your call. And broken hearts were inevitable. You had collected the shreds before, you could do it once again; nothing was new.

You smiled, her glassy eyes shining under the soft yellow light of the crystal chandelier

“Thank you so much for your advice, ma’am. I’ll keep it in my heart.”

“In your heart…? Aren’t you a peculiar one.”

She chuckled softly.

“I think I have to return now, someone’s waiting for me. Thank you once again and have a nice evening.”

You smiled.

“You too, young lady.”

You left the restroom after that, saying goodbye to the woman and the chandelier. You were now at the common corridor, the mind full of thoughts. You were looking down while walking, not noticing the person standing on your way. You bumped into them, fortunately you were not hurrying to return your table—not really looking forward to it, either. Your head hit their chest; it hurt more than you would anticipate. You didn’t look up yet, but their muscles were something; they didn’t feel that buff, more like an athletic body.

The person you bumped held your upper arms with their two hands, forcing you to look up. And you did, but you regretted. You’d blinked a few times to adjust the blinding white light coming from the back, you were looking like an idiot, probably. Who could blame you, though? The fucking quality fluorescents were to blame, not your eyes fell victim.

He moved his head to left—The person was a man, you’d figured it out that much—blocking the light burning your eyes. The more your eyes focused, the more strongly you wished to vanish. Your brain was screaming at you to run as far as you can, leave the country, burn your phone, get a new ID, start a life away from all of this. However, it was too late, he had his claws on you now; there was no escape.

You saw his moving lips but his voice wasn’t reaching you. You tried to focus with all your might on what he’d been saying . You caught a few things, but your brain refused to put a meaning into them. Jimin was looking at you worriedly now, you felt his fingers going deeper on your flesh. The pain worked, you once again started to hear, the voices of people speaking, forks and knives grazing the porcelain… But you had to focus on him, so you faced him properly this time; only one word spilling out of your mouth:

“Park Jimin… “

His eyes widened for a split-second; then they melted with affection, softened and sparkly. He was dazzling.

His red plump lips opened slightly—the redness was caused by him chewing them out of stress, no doubt. He spoke, his silky voice caressing your ears and leaving red blossoms behind.

“Hello, ____”

↠A/N pt.2: Hellooooo!!!! I’M BACCK!!! I’m sorry, this took me ages to post but I’m satisfied with the outcome and I hope you are too. This is my longest post so far and it’s only the first chapter. I’m planinig to make this serie two chapters long. I’ve already started to write the second chap. My uni’s starting so I’m not really sure how long will it take me to post it, but I’ll try to finish it asap. Thank you so much for reading. Have a nice day!!! 💜

And if you like it please like or reblog so that I can see!!!

128 notes · View notes

doedipus · 8 years ago

Text

Seasick Off the Sword Coast

The campaign went on hiatus for a couple weeks over the summer, and I’ll admit, I got restless pretty quick. I ended up writing a couple of... short stories? scenes? vignettes? based on events in the campaign to keep myself busy. This one takes place during the sea voyage from Athkatla to Waterdeep.

This was written a while after the session where Coy transitioned, however, at the time in the campaign neither the players or their characters knew what was up. I decided to use female pronouns for her in the narration, because I’d feel awful for knowingly misgendering someone (yes, even a fictional character, shut up :P), but the characters still see her as a dude and refer to her as such.

Anyway, I’m posting this because it might give readers a better grasp on the characters than simple greentext-style notes would. As usual, content under the break.

Constanza had never been to sea before, and after the last week, she never wanted to go to sea ever again. The gentle rocking of river boats and ferries she’d ridden before were nothing compared to the interminable and often violent undulation of the open ocean. She’d been plagued by terrible seasickness through the whole voyage. Behind her illusion, her usually rust-hued skin had taken a turn for the green, and she was having trouble keeping her meals down. While the rest of her companions had long since found their sea legs, Constanza still struggled to keep her balance. During the brief calm moments, she was filled with deep pangs of inferiority. She kept to herself, and barely left her cabin.

These sorts of moods were hardly uncommon for her. Growing up, her sister Lou was always by her side when Constanza needed her, and would always have a corny joke or amusing story that could take the edge off for a time. Since she’d left, it had become harder and harder to push past the voices telling her that she was less than or unworthy of their respect. Nowadays, she tried to focus herself on her faith, praying at a makeshift altar, or trying to parse the hefty tome her superiors had left her with. Self-help was a pillar of the church’s outreach, and sometimes they had the right ideas. It certainly offered many distractions she could focus on instead.

This morning, she was meditating on the story of Saint Fripp of Neverwinter. Fripp had been an acolyte of The Late Allfather Emerson the Immortal during the early days of the church, when Ascension was something that was still a serious area of study among the church elites. The ultimate goal of the church had always been to reach a state of open dialogue between them and the Great Ones, for knowledge and power, but they had never succeeded in the way they wanted. Emerson once saw a vision of a humanoid metamorphosing into a Great One, a process that came to be known as Ascension. His description of the process seemed incomprehensible and gruesome, but he and his followers were willing to sacrifice anything to be closer to their god.

Saint Fripp was born without eyes, but Emerson granted her true vision. Her eyes lay on the inside, and her insight earned her a permanent place at Emerson’s side. When Emerson received the Revelation of Ascension, she was first to volunteer to corrupt her very being in the name of progress. Early on, much progress was made, and though her veins became hardened from the injections, and her left arm quickly became necrotic and unceremoniously slid off in the night, she made amazing leaps and bounds in her mind, receiving vivid messages from the beyond at a frightening frequency, and the new arm that emerged from the socket had almost as many digits and also a nice tan.

As the procedures continued, though, she began to experience difficulty focusing on the world around her, and took to wearing a tall brass cage over her head to keep herself inside until she was ready to make a final leap. On the two hundred fifty-fifth day of treatment, she was found unresponsive in her quarters. The pair of aids responsible for her care quickly fetched father Emerson. When they returned, her body was bloated, barely even recognizable as herself, and something was moving underneath the surface of her skin.

Emerson suddenly grasped his head, screeching in pain. A vision had struck him! He was consumed by the smell of fresh blood and raw meat, surrounded on all sides by what felt like flesh, tightly pressed against his body, suffocating him. His only instinct was to dig. And dig. And dig. He frantically clawed at the moist tissue for what felt to him like hours, until he hit a smooth brass wall. He turned, and dug in another direction, before coming to another wall. His prison of meat was itself completely encased in brass. The walls closed in on him, and as they began to crush his body, he violently snapped back to reality.

“The cage!” he yelled at his companions, “We need to get that blasted cage off her!”

The three rushed to the side of the bed and tried desperately to remove the heavy metal apparatus, but the corpse of their dear friend had expanded in such a way that this task became difficult. They tugged with all their strength, but it would not budge. One of the aids suggested sawing off her head to remove the cage, but Emerson shot him a glare that could melt adamantine. The struggle continued for an hour, until with a final exertion, the cage popped off, sending an aid reeling.

When they had caught their breath, they noticed that the writhing in the body had ceased. A great cascade of blood and viscera suddenly burst forth from what was left of Saint Fripp’s nether regions. Among the carnage lay the remains of a squid-like creature, about the size of a forearm, with seven tentacles, and a transparent mantle. Inside the mantle was a multitude of eyes, with a wide range of iris colors and pupil geometries. Human eyes, elven eyes, orcish eyes, and though they weren’t mentioned in the holy texts, Constanza liked to think that there were tiefling eyes in the Stillborn Mantle as well. Good media representation was so hard to come by these days.

The story was sometimes brought up as a cautionary tale about exploring unknown aspects of church doctrine, but Constanza thought that though Fripp had died, her exceptionalism had taken her from a nameless beggar on the streets to a life dedicated to knowledge and adventure, recorded forever within the sacred texts. She hoped she could one day make a similar contribution, but for now, she could only stare intently at the puke bucket beside her bed, and try to hold in her half-digested dinner.

A knock on the door to her cabin nearly broke her concentration. The door creaked open, and Greg poked his head through the crack.

“Connie, we’re all going up to eat breakfast, are you coming?”

“Ask her if she wants us to just bring her something down here,” Lucas mumbled from behind the door.

Part of her wanted to take him up on that offer, but the rest of her was determined to look tough at all times.

“N-no, that’s okay. I’ll-” She heaved a bit as a swell passed under the ship. “Ughk... I’ll be up in a minute.”

Lucas peered around his boyfriend. “Are you sure? It’s really no problem for us, or anythi-”

“I’m fine. Really.” Constanza cut him off before he could finish.

“Okay then. Uh, see you in a few, then, I guess...” Lucas looked a bit hurt as he rounded the corner and went up the stairs. Greg followed after him, hand-in-hand.

Constanza returned to her morning ritual, finished the Tuesday set of prayers, and prepared to reapply the brand of binding to her left shoulder. Left arms held a special significance in the church ever since Saint Fripp’s sacrifice, and were believed to be the most blessed limb. As such, all casting was done through that arm, and the limb could easily fill to burst with arcane fallout. The brand allowed some of the energy to filter out into the ether. After the skirmish in Amswater, Constanza suspected that it was the only thing keeping her arm attached anymore. Other initiates often complained about the pain of applying the brand, and were reluctant to use any spells at all, in case they had to reapply it later. Other initiates were also usually not tieflings, and Constanza barely felt a thing as she pressed the red-hot iron firmly against her skin, counted to twenty-three at a reasonable pace, and then quickly plunged the iron into a nearby bucket of seawater to cool it off. A rush of pins and needles shot down her arm as circulation returned. She flexed her grip a few times to test the strength in her hand.

Having completed her morning rituals, she laboriously hoisted herself upright, pausing briefly as blood rushed to her head. She briefly checked herself out in a mirror to make sure that her illusory avatar was working correctly, blinking a few times, and trying out a variety of facial expressions. Satisfied, she wobbled out the door, and onto the deck.

Her eyes stung as they slowly adjusted to the morning sunlight. She pulled her coat tight against her body to protect herself from the frigid marine air. Squinting, shivering, and utterly unsteady, she hurriedly made her way to the cabin where her companions were gathered.

Most of the floor space in the main room of the cabin was taken up by a long wooden table with benches on either side. Most of the gang was still in their rooms, it seemed, and the only people at the table were Greg and Lucas. Constanza waved awkwardly to the pair as she entered. They both waved back. She started towards the pantry.

Lucas called after her. “Hey, Constanza, Coy’s passed out in the pantry. Can you do your thing again and wake him up?”

The pantry was a large closet off the main room. The shelves on the walls were full of jars of preserves and honey, and bottles of brightly colored potions and exotic booze. A chest lay in the corner that stored cuts of dried and cured meat, wrapped in sheets of thin paper. In another corner, a cabinet stored cutlery and cups. Hanging from the ceiling above the chest was a hollowed out bovine carcass held in gentle repose. Its insides were stocked with bread, vegetables, cheeses, and other perishable produce, kept fresh by the enchantment. The sight was more than a little macabre.

Taking up much of the floor was Coy the titanic dragonborn, curled up in a ball, with Akim slumped over her. A handful of empty bottles were scattered on the floor around them, and they appeared to be deep in slumber. A small puddle of noxious drool seeped from the dragonborn’s mouth, and had begun to corrode the floor a bit.

Constanza gingerly shook Akim awake. Ages ago, a popular church had spread propaganda about tieflings being sexual predators by nature, and a non-negligible portion of the population still sincerely believed them. So, she tried her best to avoid interacting with children in public, lest she be accused of trying something unspeakable. Even though she knew that Coy was perfectly fine with her being around Akim, it still made her uncomfortable. The boy yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

She tried to wake Coy in the same manner, but she remained dead to the world. It’s not like that had worked any of the previous times, either, but it was worth a shot. Constanza felt down deep inside her being for her natural mana reserves, and concentrated as hard as she could. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead of words, a loud BOOOONNNNG filled the room. Akim apparently thought this was the funniest thing ever, and began giggling uncontrollably. The feathers on Coy’s head and neck stood on end, and her reptilian eyes snapped open. She sat up and looked around the room, obviously dismayed about something. Akim hugged her, and her expression grew a bit less severe.

“We’re, um, about to eat breakfast,” Constanza explained.

Coy stared off into space for a moment.

“Do you mind moving? I can’t reach the cow from here.”

No answer.

“Coy? Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yes! Yes, is fine!” Coy shook her head a bit and stood up, towering over her companion and the child, and hit her head on the ceiling with a dull THUNK.

“Cyka blyat!” She quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, and glanced down at Akim nervously. Akim mimicked her action before continuing to giggle. Holding hands with Akim, she ducked out of the pantry and took a seat at the table. Constanza pulled a mostly-whole loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese from the cow’s empty chest cavity, and a knife from the cabinet, and joined them.

A few others had filtered into the mess hall in the meantime. Rolen had taken a seat opposite Lucas, and the two glared wordlessly at each other, while Greg tried to avoid eye contact with either of them. Escrima had decided to sit on the other side of Greg, adding to his obvious discomfort. Escrima fidgeted a bit and mumbled something under his breath about “antipodes.” Constanza took her place at the table, sliced off a bit of bread and cheese, and passed the food and knife down the table. She ate quietly, mostly just trying to keep her mind off the nausea.

After a time, the door of the cabin slammed open, and Graham strode in with a big, goofy grin plastered across his face. He shouted, triumphantly, “Lady Catarina! I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss! Please accompany me below decks posthaste!”

The outburst caught Constanza by surprise, and she stared blankly back at Graham for a moment. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Come on, Connie, I found something amazing in the hold!” Graham had a hard time maintaining his facade of dignity through his excitement.

Constanza hoisted herself off the bench, took a moment to balance herself, and wobbled outside after Graham.

“It’s an amazing find, my lady.” Graham assured her as they crossed the deck, “It even has all the pieces, too! Top condition!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Graham. What exactly did you find?”

“Just wait and see!”

The pair descended the stairs to the lower levels of the ship, and stopped outside the door to Graham’s room. He opened the door with a flourish, and indicated towards the cot in the center of the room. On the cot was a dragonchess board made of polished walnut, each plane stained the appropriate color. The full set of pieces was laid out on the board, ready to play.

“Wow, Graham, where’d you find this?” Constanza was in awe. “It’s a beauty!”

“It was in a chest down in the hold. We found it when we were looking for a place to put Coy’s diamond last night, and I thought ‘My, I bet Lady Catarina would love to hear about this!’” A pause. “Would my lady be willing oblige a request for a rematch?”

“Any time, Graham,” she replied, “Maybe it’ll help distract from this awful seasickness.”

“Splendid!” Graham walked over to the chest in the corner of the room and rummaged around inside. After a moment, he resurfaced holding a hefty tome, and waved it about triumphantly. “This time, I have a secret weapon!” Constanza caught a glimpse of the cover. Beginner’s Dragonchess Manual, Condensed Edition. “I got this while we were back in Amn,” He explained, “With its help, I wager I can at least put up quite a fight.”

She giggled. “I don’t know, Graham. After the last game, I’m surprised you can even manage to fasten the clasps on your armor.” The room the two had shared at the Styx Oarsman had been equipped with a board. The first night the gang spent in that alien world had been terrifying and isolating. She and Graham found themselves unable to sleep, and looked for anything to keep their minds off their predicament. Constanza had attempted to teach Graham how to play, but... The man just wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing.

That night had been a strange one. Constanza hadn’t had much time to socialize with her companions before then, and just assumed that Ser Graham Broyer, Paladin would have no qualms about “exorcising” her if she ever gave him the flimsiest casus belli. Yet, when it was decided that he would room with her in The Cage, he didn’t put up a fight. He spoke to her with a genuine kindness, the same as he did to anyone else. He made her feel like any other person, which few felt inclined to do. Even many of those who could act with civility towards her and other tieflings in public would pitch a fit about sharing a room. Graham was a welcome change of pace.

They set about playing. Graham was certainly performing better than he did back in Sigil, though Constanza suspected that the rocking of the ocean was playing a large role. The game progressed at a glacial pace, with Graham stopping each turn to consult the manual for advice. His brow would furrow, and his eyes narrow as he spent all his mental energy reading and turning the pages. She found it rather charming. By the end of the game, Graham had captured a sizeable chunk of her pieces before he had gotten most of his own stuck in a corner, making for easy containment.

The second game progressed similarly, as did the third. At one point, Lucas brought them down some food, but hours had passed since then, and the bread and preserves sat on the desk largely untouched. During the fourth game, Graham went completely silent, and seemed about to lose his composure.

“Graham, are you okay?”

Silence.

“Do you want to stop for today, maybe pick the game up tomorrow?”

He sighed heavily. “...Yes, that might be best. I’m sorry, my lady, I can’t imagine this has been any fun for you, either.”

“Quite the contrary! I’m just glad to have a sparring partner again.” But you’re no Lou, she added in her mind. She and her sister had spent many a winter inside their wagon playing until it became too dark for Lou to see. Once Constanza got a handle on her thaumaturgy, the two barely slept at all. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon enough, Graham. Just try not to be so hard on yourself in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Lady Catarina.” He paused, apparently deep in thought. “You know... you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself either. Sometimes I can hear the things you say at night when you’re praying, and I feel awful. You deserve to treat yourself much better, my lady.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” she replied. She felt a lump in her throat as Graham’s words brought to the surface thoughts and emotions she preferred to keep bottled up. “I’m a monster, Graham. I’m no different from those orcs we slaughtered, or the minotaurs, or the naga. I don’t deserve shit! I wake up in the morning and wonder why you all haven’t come to your senses and just taken that hammer of yours and- and-” The tears came before she could finish her thought. She slumped over the bed, head in her hands, and sobbed.

Graham reached over the cot and grabbed her by the shoulders. She felt a pleasant tingling on her skin where the holy man placed his hands. “I mean it, Constanza! You’re a valuable addition to the party. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank the heavens that we ran into you in that tavern. I know the others feel the same way. When you lock yourself away in your quarters all day, we all miss you and worry about you. You don’t need to feel ashamed or hide behind that illusion of yours around us, okay? We can handle you, Constanza. We like having you around. I just wish you’d give us a chance.”

Constanza nodded weakly as Graham let go of her. She wanted to speak, to thank him and say so many other things, but she knew that if she opened her mouth, she’d just start bawling again. She tried very hard to regain her composure, with some success. She pulled her handkerchief out to clean her face off.

After a long silence, Graham cleared his throat. “You know, I think I might have another few turns left in me after all. What do you say we try and finish this match once and for all?”

She managed a more adamant nod in response.

“Splendid! Now, where were we...” He picked the manual off the floor and started flipping through it again.

The pair played through the afternoon and into the evening. She tried her best to give him advice, and Graham gradually became more confident in his moves. When the others called them up for dinner, Constanza felt more steady on her feet, and she realized that her nausea had lessened as well. The gang ate as hearty a meal as rations allowed, and spent the evening retelling tales of their exploits on the road before they’d met by lamplight, over glasses of mysterious beverages from the pantry. When Constanza went to sleep, she dreamed of dragonchess, and Graham, and snakes. Always snakes, slithering up and down her body, enveloping her in their firm, comforting embrace.

The next morning, she meditated and applied the brand, as usual. This time, though, she decided to drop her avatar. Maybe he was right. Maybe these people were different.

#dungeons and dragons #d&d #d&d 5e #creative writing

1 note · View note

bokuaka-4510 · 5 years ago

Text

Bokuaka: Weakness

hi guys!! I think i might post my bokuaka dabbles on here. I just started writing, so any feedback/ support would be appreciated!! Most of mine are multi-chapter stories btw.

Chapter 1:

The flashing lights were like a second home to Bokuto- the way they would always blind him when he was at the apex of his spike before slamming down on the ball and being rewarded with that satisfying crunch and throbbing in his hand.

Okay, so maybe he was a little bit of a masochist, but then again weren't all spikers?

"Bokuto-san!" a low voice shouts to him.

He knows that voice better than his own. How many times had he heard it, calling his name with the same pitch, same urgency, same tone, over the last few years?

Akaashi.

As long as it feels good. We'll be sure to clear a path for you.

Sure enough, even Bokuto could see the path in front of him, clear as light. Akaashi's perfect toss, spiraling higher and higher. His legs move on instinct now, tensing before catapulting him into a flying jump, powerful and natural.

The blinding lights.

He squints against them, golden eyes stalking the ball as if there's nothing else important in this world. For a split second it's just him and the volley, his oldest companion.

Then the towering wall appears- three giant blockers seeking to return his spike.

As if.

He glances at his destination- the spot tethering on the sideline, between in and out, on the opposite side of him and the blockers. Arm slinging back, building power and momentum, he waits until the ball is at its peak before smashing it down. Time frozen, Akaashi finds himself captivated once again at the sight known as Bokuto Koutarou in front of him: toned arms, lean body defying physics, attractive face set in determination.

Magnetic.

Tempting.

Enthralling.

Bokuto looks otherworldly, and Akaashi loves the view that leaves him feeling like he's stolen a glimpse of something belonging to paradise, something not meant for human eyes.

Crack.

The ball hurls towards the exact spot Bokuto wanted. A perfect cross-court shot.

Bokuto thinks it should be illegal for something to be so beautiful.

He falls back toward the hard wooden floors, back to reality, where complete and utter silence greet him.

Then, the room erupts into cheers, so loud, so deafening he can't even hear his own heartbeat, but fuck if this isn't what he lives for. Yes, yes, yes!

The crowd is chanting his name, as if he's some divine savior, " Bokuto. Bokuto. Bokuto," and he can hear the reporters struggling to grab his attention from the sidelines.

Cameras on him, fans chanting his name, the dull throbbing in his right hand, well, he's never felt happier.

"Bokuto-san!" he hears the familiar voice boom at him, and Bokuto spins around searching for Akaashi's eyes, always stormy green like an angry sea after a victory.

Instead, he's greeted by tackling hugs from his team mates, who jump up and down with the joy from the victory, riding out the high from their win. He glances up from their hurdle, only to find Akaashi's startling eyes, sure enough sea green, locked on his own. The pretty setter smiles softly at Bokuto, and the spiker finds himself reinvigorated. Untangling his body from the embrace of his team and offering them a light pat on the back as he passes them, Bokuto strides to his best friend.

No, not best friend. They were...?

He didn't know, only knew that best friend was too insignificant a term to describe what they had built the last 5 years together.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto exclaims as he draws near the other boy, a grin splitting his face.

Akaashi holds up a hand for him to high-five, but the spiker just grabs it before engulfing the shorter boy into a bone-crushing hug. Immediately, Akaashi is enveloped in Bokuto's familiar scent- mandarin, pine, and citrus.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Akaashi sends a silent prayer to the Gods, please don't let Bokuto-san notice.

"Akaashi," Bokuto whooped in that typical, loud voice of his, "we won! We won! That toss was fucking awesome! You're awesome, wow!"

Akaashi carefully detracts himself away from the embrace. Smiling at Bokuto with a light blush dusting his fair cheeks, Akaashi congratulates him, "Bokuto-san, you're the ace. You gave us that winning shot,".

Well, Bokuto didn't think so. He sucked at tossing and his receives were decent at best, but if Akaashi, who was the smartest guy on the whole wide world- no scratch that- galaxy, was saying that, then it had to be true. Right?

Roaring with laughter, Bokuto smugly grins at him before pointing to chest, which proudly bore the number 1 in a light blue color, " Aha! I guess you're right, Akaashi. I'm the best ace, aren't I?"

Akaashi nods solemnly, now ignoring their ace's words as he focuses more on catching his breath.

"... best setter," Bokuto finishes.

Akaashi eyeballs the spiker, unsure if he heard him correctly.

"What," he pants out, hands resting on his knees, "did you say Bokuto-san?"

"I said if I'm the best ace, then you have to be the best setter, right? Right? Because a good spiker is only as good as his setter?" the star beams at him as he tilts his head side to side, reminding Akaashi of an owl. He almost wants to shield his eyes from the brightness.

Except Bokuto's smile and praise speed up Akaashi's already racing heart. Akaashi tells himself it's from the intense match they just played, but even he scoffs at the blatant lie.

Akaashi can't help the genuine smile, the one only Bokuto can only lure out, that graces his face, "Huh, I guess so Bokuto. Maybe we're just a good team in general,"

Before Bokuto can even respond, the coach calls their names. Bokuto and Akaashi. They're the only ones left standing on the court. They head over to the sidelines where the coach and the rest of the team sit before coach congratulates them for winning the first game of the season.

Which is followed right by Coach ordering them to go do 5 minutes of suicides and 3 laps of dives for every mistake they made, which was, according to Akaashi's calculations, a lot. He stopped counting at 16. Of course, most of them were made by Bokuto, but as Akaashi steals a glance at the star ace congratulating the rest of the team, arguing with Kuroo on who stole the spotlight, ruffling the freshmen's heads in genuine affection, he discovered he didn't care the slightest about Bokuto's contribution to their punishments.

They won.

Bokuto was happy.

To Akaashi, those were the only two things that really ever mattered, though not in that particular order.

"Ah, Bokuto-chan," the Coach cuts in his gruff voice, "I think the reporters wanted to talk to you. Go head over to where Hoshiumi-chan and Ushijima-chan are. They should be almost done,".

Bokuto suddenly stands erect and offers the coach a mock salute, a crazy grin on his face. With a roll of his eyes, Coach pushes his player away, but Akaashi catches the ghost of a smile on Coach's face as he turns around.

"Try not to embarrass us too much, ok horned bastard?" Kuroo calls out behind Bokuto with his signature shit-eating grin that typically put anyone on edge.

But Akaashi has known the dark-haired boy for just as long as he's known Bokuto, so Kuroo scares him about as much as a kitten does. Bokuto must feel the same because he just sticks out his tongue at the seemingly menacing man. Akaashi's eyes trail Bokuto's disappearing figure, watching him high-five the two other celebrity spikers as they pass each other. Ushijima and Hoshiumi return to their team, taking a seat right behind Akaashi.

After a rather long (and bad, the Coach was not particularly adept at expressing positive emotions, Akaashi noted) inspiring speech by their sensei, the team heads out of the gym, talking and laughing amongst themselves, all of them in high spirits, especially after Ushijima quietly announces he would be attending post-game drinks with the team, courtesy of Heishi-san.

Apparently, miracles do happen.

In the middle of Hoshiumi's monologue (something along the lines of "Take that Hinata, you orange piece of crap! I scored 7 points in the second set. I hope you get sand between your ********* and spend all your ******* days getting **** by crabs. Akaashi started tuning him out after he learned four new expletives), Akaashi picks up on Bokuto's voice amongst the cacophony of noises in the auditorium.

It's not like he was diligently looking for the spiker. That would be ridiculous, right?

"-but my team rocks! Akaashi, he's my setter, and Kuroo and Ushijima-kun and Hoshiumi-kun and Heiwajima-kun and everyone else is crazy talented! They all make me want to be a better wing spiker," Bokuto raves. The reporter in front of him looks a bit star-dazed, pupils dilated and mouth parted open, as she continues her interview with the attractive rising star.

Akaashi briefly wonders if she's even paying attention to the conversation, but he honestly can't blame her. Akaashi spent five years accustoming himself to the glory of Bokuto, and he still has to remind himself not to drool when he sees him. Six feet of pure muscle, striking golden eyes, and sharp, handsome features make up the man known as Bokuto Koutarou. The elite spiker stands proudly as he converses with the pretty woman in front of him, completely oblivious to the effect he has on her. He's loved by all of Japan, and probably soon the whole world. Even the court adores him as it seems like the bright gym lights spotlight his lean, muscular figure, emphasizing the number 1 on his back.

Akaashi stares at his back, noticing the way the white jersey hugs his muscular frame a little too snugly, back muscles tensing and relaxing every time Bokuto moved or laughed.

Yeah, Akaashi thought, Bokuto definitely looks good in white.

It's the last he sees of Bokuto before they part ways.

0 notes

noprepracing · 5 years ago

Link

In the world of drag racing, you’d be hard pressed to find a current stage with more momentum surrounding it than no prep. With the speed, sound, drama, and variety of cars, it truly is a sensory sport to the extreme. And nowhere is all of that on display more than the hit TV show Street Outlaws: No Prep Kings. Combining huge payouts, larger than life personalities, endless story lines and controversy, the Street Outlaws spin off series has reinvigorated a passion for the sport and brought it back into the mainstream. But what all goes on when the cameras are off, when the spectator gates are closed, and nobody is watching the drivers’ every move? Exactly how much effort is put in by each team for just a two-hour episode? I went in search of these answers, traveling with driver Robin Roberts and his team for the season 3 finale in Ennis, Texas. I wanted a behind-the-scenes look into the world of Discovery Channel’s reality series. And in doing so, I quickly learned that while it may seem like all glitz and glamour on television, the reality is much different. As Roberts says, “If people knew everything that we have to do to come race, nobody would wanna do it.”

Part 1: Preparation It’s 3:40 a.m. on Wednesday morning, and my alarm is ringing. Filming doesn’t begin for another two days, but we have to be on the road by six, and I’ve got an hour drive ahead of me before I join the team just north of Kansas City. When I arrive at the shop, there are three crew members already pulling the rig out. I load up my bags, and we’re on the road five minutes early. Already running low on sleep and high on caffeine, we trek south across the endless plains of Kansas. We cross into Oklahoma at 9:55, and stop for fuel a little while later in Oklahoma City. We’re in the heart of 405 country, but it’s doubtful many of them are currently here. Like us, they’re already on their way to Texas. We are greeted in the Lone Star State soon after with road construction and heavy traffic. At 4:00, exactly ten hours after leaving the shop, we arrive at Xtreme Raceway Park in Ferris, Texas. Robin is already at the track when we pull in. The Chairman and CEO of Central Power Systems & Services, he has had business meetings in Dallas for the past two days. The plan for this evening is a late night of private Team 405 testing in preparation for the main event this weekend. Ryan Martin, Jeff Lutz, and Chris Poncia are already here. We’ll soon be joined by the likes of Big Chief, Murder Nova, Daddy Dave, Monza, Dominator, and Chuck 55. Although he lives outside Kansas City, Robin has been friends with Ryan and Chief for many years, and has agreed to be a part of their group for this season. The team unloads the 1968 Firebird, named High Voltage, in preparation for our first pass of the evening. The car features top of the line equipment from front to back. Sitting on a chassis built by Terry Murphy, High Voltage is powered by a ProLine 481x motor with twin 98 mm turbos. The transmission and converter are from Mark Micke at M&M Transmission. It has a Visner billet intake and throttle body controlled by a FuelTech FT600, twin billet Atomizer 700’s, a Quick Performance billet 3rd member, and QuarterMax shocks and struts. No expense has been spared in creating an elite no prep car. It’s here where I learn that the work on the Firebird has actually been going on for weeks. After returning home from the previous No Prep Kings event in Florida, the crew has to change the rods, and then find numerous broken gears that are typically difficult to replace. A call to Quick Performance and an emergency trip to their shop in Iowa ensue, and it appears everything is back in order. Then two days before we’re set to leave, there’s more bad news. “Ryan [Martin] called me Monday night about seven and asked me if I had the motor all back together,” says crew chief Allen Bruflodt. “I said, ‘Yeah, it’s all back together, it’s ready to go.’ He said, ‘Well, you need to go look at the heads.’ The set that were on his motor were cracked, and it was a brand new fresh engine from ProLine. So they called ProLine and told them what they found. ProLine started looking at the heads, and every single cylinder head that ProLine had on the shelf was cracked. So me and my boy jump in the truck, run over to Robin’s, pull the top of the intake off, start looking, and sure as shit, it’s cracked.” Allen says the crack is on the #3 cylinder intake runner, where a stud runs through. Short on time and options, he used thread sealer on the stud and put it all back together. For the time being, it was fixed, and when he fired it up that night, it ran better than it did before. Allen’s hope is that it stays that way through tonight’s testing, and for the finale. “We’re gonna run it tonight and keep an eye on it,” Bruflodt says. “I brought a bore scope with me, so we can see if that crack is getting bigger. If it does get bigger, tomorrow we’ll have a set of heads delivered to Ennis. If we feel like it’s going to be an issue before the race, tomorrow night we’ll put a new set of heads on it.” Even with all the work put in before leaving home, the team cannot simply unload the car and make a pass. It immediately goes up on the Pro Jacks, and the front clip is removed. The team looks carefully over the entire car, checking for anything that might have moved or come loose on the long drive down. The wheelie bars are attached. They fire up the car and spool the turbos, building a little heat in the transmission and torque converter. Finally, while it cools off, they do a final check on everything, add fuel, and check tire pressure. The hood and front clip go back on, the push bar and golf cart are attached, and we’re ready to make a pass.

Part 2: Testing Ryan Martin is the first driver to make a test pass, then it’s our turn. After a quick last-second check of the tire pressure, Robin starts the car and pulls forward. ProLine tuning expert Jamie Miller is on the property, and he helps Allen line the Firebird up. The first test pass is only going to be to half-track, and Robin makes a very solid hit to the 330. Testing is officially off to a good start. Back in the pits, crew member Jeremy Raney begins adjusting the valve springs while Allen looks over the data from the run. Bags of ice are dumped into the transmission cooler, and fans are placed atop the engine in an effort to cool the car down. One of the nice things about testing is there is no schedule to follow. The crew can stop at any time to go watch the rest of Team 405 make their test passes, then come back and continue working. Optimistic after a good first hit, we head back for pass number two. Unfortunately, as happens so often in this sport, things don’t go as planned. After the burnout, it quickly becomes clear that something isn’t quite right, and the pass is nowhere close to what they’re looking for. They find out a nut has come off the line lock, preventing Robin from making a clean run. It’s nothing major, however, and everyone quickly gets ready for another try. It’s dark by the time we pull up for our third pass, and the warm Texas weather has cooled off considerably. Conditions are ideal for this run, and Robin makes the most of it. Watching from the starting line, we can all tell he’s absolutely flying, but it’s not until Allen receives the time slip from the tower that we understand just how quick it was. It’s a new personal best elapsed time for Robin, and while I’m not at liberty to divulge what it was, I can say with certainty that fans would be in shock. We’re all abuzz as we drive the golf cart down to the end of the track to greet our driver. Robin is out of the car, grinning already, knowing we were coming with good news. Allen hands him the slip, and it’s hugs and fist bumps all around. We know this is a car that can win the event. “The neat part is, once you’ve made some fast passes, and you get comfortable in the car, you can tell what a fast pass is,” says Roberts. “For me, I know that car is fast when I feel it dangling the front tires to the 1/8. And in that pass, it dangled ‘em the whole way. I just knew it was going to be a good run, and the time slip bore that out.” Spirits are high as the crew cools the car off and goes over everything again. The plan is to turn it up even more on the next pass. But as Robin warned me earlier, drag racing is like a roller coaster, where highs and lows are a normal experience. We’d already seen that occur earlier this evening, and it was a trend that would continue. As Robin prepares for his fourth pass, it is apparent once again that something isn’t right. This time the issues are two-fold: the trans-brake isn’t working correctly, blowing a fuse in the process; and a setting was accidentally changed on the dump valve. Robin shuts the car off, and we push it back to the pits. The joy from the previous run is gone, and the team is all business as they search for the source of these problems before making our final run of the night. In four passes, we’d experienced two exceptional runs and two mechanical failures. So it’s no surprise when the fifth and final pass offers a bit of both. As Robin attempts to stage, the car still won’t bump in. He gently rolls the car in and lights both bulbs, then begins to build boost as the light turns green. It’s a good, straight pass, one that will win a lot of races. But the staging issue negates all that, and it’s a problem that must be fixed before race day. Robin knows it’s imperative that the team stay focused, and not get caught up in the emotional roller coaster. “What I’ve learned in business is, you’ve gotta get your people’s mind right around you,” Roberts says. “When you do great, you can’t let that get in your head. And when you do awful, you can’t let it hold you back. You’ve gotta get over it quickly, and move on. That’s what I’ve tried to drive into our entire crew. You can’t allow yourself to get caught up in the moment of euphoria, and you can’t allow yourself to get down when you’re trying to keep moving forward.” It’s been a long day, and at two in the morning, we all finally have a moment to stop and eat. Robert Brown, a friend of one of the crew members, has graciously driven all the way from Arizona and offered to feed us this weekend. The aroma of spaghetti and three-meat sauce brings other teams like Murder Nova, Monza, and Dominator over to share in the meal. It’s a great way to end a night that was full of ups and downs. While the rest of the crew stays at the track, Robin, Jeremy and I head to our hotel. It’s nearly 4 a.m. when we arrive, and the front desk has marked us down as a no-show. Thankfully, the attendant gets us set up with rooms again, and because it’s so late, doesn’t charge us for the first night. After some quick showers, we get to bed at 4:30. We’ve been up for 25 hours straight, and it’s only day one.

The post Behind the Visor with Robin Roberts and Team High Voltage Part 1 appeared first on No Prep Racing NoPrep.com.

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

thrashermaxey · 7 years ago

Text

Goldipucks and the Three Skaters: Bubble Keepers

Just when you thought things couldn’t get even better for Bubble Keeper Week here at DobberHockey, it’s time for an unprecedented offseason Bubble Keeper edition of Goldipucks and the Three Skaters!

The Goldipucks concept is unchanged, with three skaters covered and one declared too hot (i.e., did unsustainably better than he should’ve for 2017-18), another too cold (i.e., did unsustainably worse), and a third “just right” (i.e., produced where he should); but this time the “too hot” player will be the one you probably shouldn’t keep, the “too cold” player the one you probably should keep, and the “just right” player one you can keep or let go based on knowing he should do about the same as 2017-18. Each skater also receives a 1-10 rating, indicating how hot (rated 7-10, where 10 makes him the most unsustainably hot and thus least appealing to keep), cold (rated 1-3, where 1 is the most unsustainably cold and thus most appealing to keep), or just right (rated 4-6, where 5 is the most “just right”) he was.

Our Bubble Keeper skaters are Nick Leddy, Bryan Little, and Brendan Gallagher. Can you guess which one, for 2017-18, was too hot (and thus probably shouldn’t be kept), which too cold (and thus someone you probably should keep), and which just right? Take a stab and then see if you guessed correctly.

Nick Leddy

Despite it being the offseason, there’s been steady buzz surrounding Ryan Pulock, who turned heads by posting 24 points in his final 40 games of 2017-18 then just last week signed a bridge deal that some see as a bargain. With many poolies penciling in the long highly-touted Pulock for a major breakout during 2018-19, the question is what’s to become of Nick Leddy? The short answer is………..……..nothing. He’ll continue to do much the same for the Islanders, and poolies.

As great as Pulock may have looked on the ice and in the scoresheet in the second half, he received over 50% of the team’s available PP time in a mere six of the 68 games he played, ending the season with a 35% PP usage rate. That pales in comparison to Leddy, who, despite Pulock igniting, ended the season at a 63.8% rate and with 14 PPPts, which is in line with his PP scoring average over his past three seasons. Leddy’s OZ% was roughly 50% (as it nearly always is), plus he had 17 secondary assists to 15 primary after a total over the previous two seasons of 34 primary assists and 33 secondary. Two minor diversions from the norm were his IPP was a tad lower than his customary 45% or so, and he saw his SOG rate tick upward a bit.

Leddy might not provide offensive production ala Drew Doughty, Alex Pietrangelo, Victor Hedman or John Carlson, but he’s still as much of a “the guy” type for his team as they are. I’d most closely compare him to Ryan Suter in Minnesota, whom poolies can count on for roughly 45 points each season, with a chance to rise to 50 if everything goes especially well. And just like Leddy has Pulock, Suter had Matt Dumba, who even after finally breaking out didn’t cut into Suter’s production or key usage last season.

Long story short, don’t let the Pulock hype convince you Leddy’s days as a 40-45+ point d-man are over. In fact, based on his rising SOG total, still steady PP usage and assist ratio, but smaller than usual IPP, he might due for a bit of a points uptick for 2018-19. Therefore, in 2017-18 Leddy was JUST RIGHT, and gets a rating of 4.5 to account for the possibility he could see a tad more points in 2018-19 and to underscore the lack of concern that should exist with respect to Pulock.

Bryan Little

Had poolies been told ahead of time that Little – who’d missed 23 and 25 games over the previous two seasons – would suit up for all 82 games in 2017-18 and the Jets would score 27 more goals as a team, chances are they’d have been thrilled at what likely lay ahead for him (and them). Indeed both those things came to fruition, yet Little managed only 43 points, or four fewer than he posted in 59 games in 2016-17! Are his days as a 55+ point fantasy contributor over? I don’t think so, and the numbers seem to back me up.

Little’s 5×5 team shooting percentage was 7.6%, or his second lowest since 2010-11; and his IPP, which had been above the “magical” 70% number associated with elite talent for four consecutive seasons, plunged to 58.1%, meaning that had it been his normal rate he’d have been looking at ten more points right there. While it is true his SOG rate was down and his share of PP minutes was below 50% for the second consecutive campaign, the fact that it was sub-50% didn’t stop him from tallying his customary one PP per every five games in 2016-17; and if he’d been at that rate for 2017-18, it would’ve meant another nearly handful of points.

Also, Little had a mere seven points in 20 games following the arrival of Paul Stastny, who’s now a member of the Knights. Moreover, no one was brought in to replace Stastny, suggesting the Jets are content to let Little go back to being second line pivot and he’ll benefit from the points to go with that role. Let’s also keep in mind that from 2012-13 to 2016-17 he cumulatively averaged 0.75 points per game, which, in that time frame, was higher than – among others – James van Riemsdyk, Mikko Koivu Ryan Johansen, Wayne Simmonds, Sean Monahan, Kyle Turris, and, ironically, Stastny. So we’re talking about a player who, although he’ll be 31 in November, has a proven track record to fall back upon.

Best to think of 2017-18 as a year to write off entirely for Little, and pencil him back in for 55 points or perhaps even more if he stays healthy and the Jets continue to fire on all offensive cylinders. This makes Little’s 2017-18 TOO COLD, and, in turn, him someone you should strongly consider keeping. In all, he gets a rating of 1.5 since his scoring total stands to rebound by 10+ points.

Brendan Gallagher

Montreal’s 2017-18 season ruined many a fantasy hockey player’s quest for a title, with nearly all players falling below expectations or, in the case of Shea Weber, missing a huge chunk of the season. Other than Jeff Petry, who clearly benefitted from Weber being out of the line-up, arguably the only other Hab who exceeded expectations was Gallagher, who, like Little, was able to avoid injury woes that plagued him in the past two seasons but unlike Little also established a career best in both goals and points. Naturally poolies are thinking Montreal can’t do much worse in 2018-19, and as they improve Gallagher will see his numbers rise even further, right? Not so fast.

For one, although Gallagher only had 23 assists (compared to 31 goals), his secondary assists rate was his highest since 2013-14, suggesting despite so few assists compared to goals he maybe overachieved in that area. And given his already high rate of goals, chances are if his secondary assists rate would drop he would not expect to get more goals or primary assists, which in turn means fewer points.

Gallagher also established a career high in IPP, which admittedly was a function of having to do more on his own due to playing mainly with subpar linemates like Charles Hudon, Paul Byron, and, before he was traded at the deadline, Tomas Plekanec. Well guess what – things in Montreal have, if anything, gotten worse and Gallagher will again likely have to be the offensive driver on his line and this time around probably won’t be so lucky as to see such a high IPP due to defenses focusing more on him, which in turn also should translate to fewer points.

Also, Gallagher’s personal shooting percentage last season (at 11.2%) higher than it’s been in any full season of his career and marked only the second time it was above 9.4%. And at the risk of splitting hairs a bit, his average shot distance was 25.8, up from 25.2 last year and 23.4 in 2015-16; so he was shooting from farther away yet more shots were resulting in goals. Together this data suggests he lucked into probably a handful of goals he shouldn’t have tallied.

Gallagher is unquestionably good enough to score 54 points in 2018-19, or even more as demonstrated by his 62 point scoring pace a couple of seasons ago. But the reality is he was unsustainably lucky last season and will once again be stuck on a bad – if not even worse – team and with linemates whom he’ll have to carry. That’s why Gallagher was TOO HOT in 2017-18; he gets a rating of 8.5 because it will be a stretch to see him score even in the 50s again during this upcoming season.

. . . . . . . . .

I hope you enjoyed this special offseason return of the Goldipucks column in honor of Bubble Keeper Week here at DobberHockey, and that it provided help in making your keeper decisions on these three players. Look for Goldipucks to start appearing again from time to time once winter rolls around. Until then, be sure to come back each Wednesday for your regular fill of Cage Match, with one more summer Cage Match Tournament coming next week.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/cage-match/goldipucks-and-the-three-skaters-bubble-keepers/

0 notes

fanficofmanyagenre · 8 years ago

Text

Family (4)

(1,528 words)

What am doing here? Sure being here with Emerald is amazing but I kind of miss my sisters. I don’t get as much as support without them but I can tell Emerald tried really hard to compete. It’s really sweet, actually. He pushes me hard but at the slightest notice of fatigue or pain and he stops everything. He even defends me from the other higher ups…I don’t know what I did to deserve this but I’ll do everything to earn it. Maybe even get him to notice me in another way…no what am I thinking, there’s no way he sees me like that! Maybe?

‘Bloodred.” Emerald said, snapping the other Gem back to reality. He was in a war room with Emerald and a few other Gems. They were reviewing intel gathered on a rebel position not too far away from the camp. Bloodstone thought he wouldn’t be needed, at least with the other high ranking Gems in the room.

“Y-yes sir! What do you need?” He asked shyly, trying not to blush. The other Gems scoffed, probably thinking about how stupid he looked. Emerald paid it no mind.

“Can you take a look at this? I want your opinion on the matter.” At this the other Gems looked shocked. How could an Emerald want the advice on battle tactics from a mere Bloodstone?

“Oh, well…” He stepped forward and analysed the hologram for some time. A small force was about a click away from their camp. As large as it may be, many of the Gems here aren’t trained. In fact, the majority of the camp was dedicated to supplies and munitions stocking. The number of rebels alone wouldn’t be enough to take the camp, unless they were highly trained. Why are they here though? They should have weapons by now, it’s not like they couldn’t have convinced a few Bismuth by now.

“It would seem it’s too complicated for him.” The Holly said with a smirk on her face.

“You need a Pearl; a Gem that knows her place.” At this Bloodstone furrowed his brow. He looked at Emerald who smiled softly at him in return.

“Go ahead.” Was all he said, ignoring the now annoyed Holly.

“Well sir, it doesn’t really make sense why they’re here. They have weapons and numbers, so this camp is a pointless target. Unless…” He paused for a moment before his eyes widened.

“What is it? Eureka moment?” Emerald asked, his smile turning into a smirk.

“They worked very hard to find this place and then get here; we’re far away from the front lines. But if they’re here for something other than supplies, they’re after the only other thing here; us.” At the end of his statement, an explosion went off in the distance followed soon after by more.

“Us?? Why do they want us?” The Holly exclaimed as the Gems frantically tried to organise themselves.

�� “They want to cut off the supply of troops from Homeworld!” Bloodstone shouted over another explosion, this one closer than the others. He froze, a thought crossing his mind. His sisters were in danger. He looked to Emerald quickly who gave him a single nod in return.

“Go. I’ll follow.”

The camp was chaos. Rebels had snuck past the perimeter and began destroying buildings. There was fighting everywhere, but most of the Gems stationed here weren’t fighters. Only the Bloodstones were the actual warriors. Bloodred ran as fast as he could to their quarters, Emerald close on his heels.

The building they used as housing was crumbled and smouldering. The field around the rubble was surrounded by fighting. The Bloodstones were using the destroyed building as a fall-back position but the Rebel Gems were still pushing forward. It seemed as if for every one Rebel that poofed, two Bloodstones went down with them. This proved Bloodred to be correct that their attackers were an elite unit.

Bloodred began running towards the center after a moment but was stopped by a sword swiping from the left. In an instant, he summoned his sword, clashing with an Amethyst blocking him. When she swiped left he parried the attack and swiped, poofing her in one hit. Before the gemstone could hit the ground, he reached down and bubbled it, moving on with Emerald.

Gem after Gem fell to the pair, cutting a line straight through to the group of Bloodstones. Their advance allowed them to regroup and push back the Rebels for a moment. Along the entire area there were Gems floating in green or multi-colored bubbles. There was a difference them and the Rebels. They didn’t shatter Gems, they didn’t even let them hit the ground. They weren’t murderers.

“What happened how many are hurt?” Bloodred asked the first Bloodstone he saw not fighting. Against the rubble there were injured Gems. Mostly bloodstones but a few workers as well. Some had their forms damaged, some cracked, and some moments away from shattering. Bloodred felt sick. His family was being hurt, killed! And these other innocent workers didn’t deserve this either. They didn’t even lift a finger against the Rebels, not once. None of them deserved this.

“They hit the supports. We lost at least 50 in just the collapse, more when they ambushed the ones trying to escape…shattered. At this rate, we’ve already lost near to 200…” She said grimly, her expression sad and angry. 200? How could they have already lost two fifths of their sisters? They had trained so hard to protect Homeworld’s beliefs, to not kill other Gems, only to be shattered themselves. Were they not good people? When he felt Emerald’s hand on his shoulder he knew. They were good people, but the Crystal Gems weren’t. What kind of good person kills their own kind to further their own cause?

“Bloodred!” Once again Emerald snapped the Bloodstone out of his thoughts, but he still wasn’t focusing. His whole world was breaking before his eyes. His family being shattered over and over, into smaller pieces. Now there was some ship in the sky. All the Gems were running. Wait, why were the Homeworld Gems running too, aren’t the ships on Homeworld’s? What about the wounded, who would help them? He looked up to Emerald, who seemed far away. The officer grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into a nearby broken building. Somewhere, deep in his mind, Bloodstone knew what was happening. Right now, he couldn’t tell you his name. He hugged Emerald tightly as the light became blinding, hearing a small and soft-spoken phrase before it happened.

“I’ll always be with you.”

When Bloodstone woke up, he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. It was dark and moving a little bit. He pulled back and it quickly dawned on him it was Emerald’s chest. With a gasp, he pulled away and shook his head. Why was he so close to Emerald? Wait, what happened? He stood and thought, the memories coming back slowly. Emerald was still asleep, so he decided to leave him. He walked outside slowly and froze at the sight. The field with all the fighting, the buildings ruined and still intact, the entire camp was empty. The ship was gone and what happened began to dawn on Bloodstone.

A purge. Elsewhere on Earth some other Homeworld base had caught wind of the attack, probably through a distress signal, and ordered a purge of the camp. No Gem could survive a purging, unless something concealed them that was incredibly durable. Emerald must have brought him into the explosives stockpile which was somehow untouched by the Rebels. The rest of the buildings weren’t thick enough to save anyone else. They were all dead. Shattered to dust and thrown into the wind. That means the Rebels, he officers, the workers, and his family. Tears began to well up in his eyes, realisation hitting him like a truck.

“Bloodstone…” Emerald said from behind him, having woken up as well. Bloodstone turned to him, tears already streaming down his cheeks. The taller male hugged him tightly, letting him sob against him. They both knew that now they only had each other. Homeworld forces wouldn’t expect survivors but if they did go back they’d be separated as they’re not the same.

“Emerald…I know you’ll probably hate me but I can’t keep going. I can’t keep fighting, n-not for them. Not for the people who killed my entire family. And not for the Rebels, either. They’re all murderers…they all kill for their goals.” He said having calmed down a little. Emerald smiled sadly down at him.

“I know, Bloodred. I know you can’t go back or join the other side, I can’t either. But trust me, I don’t think I could hate you if it would save my life. I’ll stick with you no matter what, all right?” Bloodstone was able to return the grim smile as he wiped his eyes, standing up straight. They began to leave the wreckage of a camp, never to return to the now haunted place. Neither side was safe from them, now. Both sides, all murderers, would be fighting the Bloodstone and Emerald and would regret it.

#Steven Universe #Bloodstone #Emerald #Hella Gay #Angst #Death

0 notes

shadow-silverman · 8 years ago

Text

Family