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dragonlights · 4 years ago

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So. I may have ended up Vomiting Out a short sleep-deprived fic of the scene in Season 5 Episode 7 where, for Sixty Blessed Seconds, Catra sits in Adora’s lap.

Not very good, i haven’t written in a while, and i don’t feel like i’m good at writing for Adora, but it was fueled by Love for the babs so y’know, enjoy.

“Come on She-ra, I know you’re in there” Adora breathed.

She just had to… focus.

Feel the power.

Breathe again.

Feel the confidence.

She felt a tingle drip up her neck.

Breathe.

The need.

Another tingle, warmth and light.

Feel the-

“oh, you almost had it!”

Adora screamed, just barely restraining herself from leaping out of the ship’s chair entirely. The cold of the metal sunk back into her fingers as she caught her breath and became- violently- aware of Bow’s presence.

“Will you stop distracting me?!” She shouted, exasperated- the lack of magicy, healy, glowy, day savingy, height addingy transformation wasn’t helping, and neither was Bow right then and there.

Though she did appreciate the support he always gave her, right now it was more of a distraction than anything.

“Sorry” He tried but failed to not laugh through his words, “but there was definitely some glow-y action going on there”

Before Adora even had the chance to let out a good, big sigh, Glimmer piped up from her right “Come on, Adora. You can’t let distractions keep you from transforming.” Her friend laid their hands on Adora’s and Adora’s exasperation waned slightly. Just slightly, though.

Easy for them to say. Glimmer was one part terrifying, brave, bull-headed Etheria-saving (sometimes dooming but that was just once.) queen and another part impulsive, sparkly (okay they were always sparkly), kind-of-everywhere but very affectionate and thoughtful hamster. Somehow those two parts of them lived happily together in their head and, frankly, Adora found it equally impressive and inexplicable.

Adora took another breath, wishing she had the concentration that, like, half of her friends seemed to be able to summon while not in life or death situations. When in a fight- or, really, any time the stakes were high- she was fine; better than fine, really- she could concentrate on a flea on a fox jumping over a dog. The rest of the time though, well…

“What’s going on?”

As soon as Adora heard that voice her mind was- blessedly- focused. It might be that she’d fought Catra enough times that she associated her with life or death situations, but… if she were being entirely honest, she focused around Catra even before their… falling out.

“Ooh! Are we messing with Adora?” Catra was- almost immediately, and with seemingly no effort on her part- leaping over the arm of the chair and landing- squarely, but remarkably softly- in Adora’s lap.

If Adora thought she was focused before, she definitely was now, but on all the wrong things. Well, maybe not the wrong things, per se, but… definitely not focusing on transforming into She-ra.

“Catra, do you have to sit right there?” Adora managed, a thrill racing up her spine that she managed to not let out into her voice. Somehow.

Catra smiled- smugness radiated off of every inch of her- and settled more solidly onto her lap. Adora tried to not focus on how warm she was- memories of curling up in winter in the fright zone coming to her unbidden, warmth and softness and bite and silence.

Before her thoughts could drift too far, Glimmer broke in with “Adora, concentrate!”

“Yeah, Adora, Concentrate” Catra mimicked, her voice drawing Adora’s attention again to the familiar, comforting, warm weight in her lap. She looked down at Catra just in time to catch the challenge in her eyes, and a tingle ran up her spine again- needles and pins and fire. That was just what Catra did to her, though.

“You can do it!” Bow encouraged, reminding Adora that there were still other friends here and that this was the wrong time to be paying so much attention to Catra- probably even the wrong time to be lifting her hands until one was supporting Catra’s back, and the other was resting just behind her knees. Almost as if a part of her- and no part of her wanted to do this at all, whatsoever- was going to carry Catra off so Adora could just focus on her because it had been so long since she could do that and really take her in and…

and then Catra was purring.

Purring in her lap and she could feel the faint vibrations against her chest making her heart flutter and…

and she put on a straight face and took a breath. She was supposed to be focusing on She-ra, not on the very-satisfied-cat in her lap who was warm and tested her and pushed her.

Fine, they wanted her to concentrate, she would. She would concentrate and show them- especially Catra- that she could focus even with all of them distracting her.

Especially with Catra distracting her.

Even with a tail in her face.

Adora took another breath- brushing the tail out of her face- and tried to focus.

She managed to, Glimmer and Bow’s breathing fading to the background- but not Catra’s.

Catra’s breathing- just like the rest of her- could never fade to the background for Adora. No matter what happened, Catra was always in the forefront, just a little bit in front of everyone and everything else. For a while, Adora thought that it might just be Catra being Catra- she seemed to get everyone else’s attention just as easily as she got Adora’s.

She’d noticed, though, that it wasn’t the same. Adora had what could be described as an obsession with Catra- not that she would call it that, of course, even though Catra definitely would. It wasn’t that Catra was in her thoughts at every moment, but… Catra had a way of getting under her skin, and of sticking there.

Even her warmth- sitting in her lap, purring, fur of her tail occasionally brushing against her arm- it penetrated into every part of her, filling her with warmth and annoyance and this need to fight and protect and challenge.

She held out her hand, trying to summon… something. Whatever it was inside of her that brought She-ra out.

Catra wasn’t making it easy though, that purring was distracting in the best and worst of ways. She might be able to ignore the weight in her lap- if it wasn’t Catra.

She might even be able to ignore the warmth- also if it wasn’t Catra.

The purring, however, kept reminding her that it was Catra. That Catra was there- in her lap, and that was a thought Adora made sure to not linger on for too long- and so warm and things were right. For so long they had been wrong, and they still weren’t perfect, but Catra was there and it gave her… something.

The warmth of where Catra sat started to spread. Catra was so close- she could feel her warmth, her softness, spread up through her, almost filling her. It really was right- in a way that things hadn’t been in so long, and in a way that made her just want more. It made her hatred for that Prime jerk swell for a moment before she shoved it back down- focusing instead of what it would be like afterwards. She wanted to not have to fight, to be able to take a break and catch up with Catra and just… be with her.

Adora’s lip twitched into a frown for a split second- she was supposed to be trying to focus on being She-ra, not the she-cat. She didn’t really feel anything though, nothing… tangible. There was something, of course, but it was so distant, and definitely not what she was used to when she had the First One’s sword. Every time she tried to think about it- focus on it- it slipped away, as if the very act of trying to quiet her breathing and honing in on the feeling made it skitter father away, like a nervous cat.

The whole time, Catra was in her lap- warm. There. Safe. For once safe and not attacking Adora and Adora wasn’t attacking her. Wasn’t almost getting crushed, or almost dying from a fall, or any number of things that must have almost killed Catra in her lifetime. How was she supposed to think of anything else except the overwhelming need to keep her there, keeping her here, with her, and make sure she stayed safe for once in her life.

A spark, a familiar-yet-unfamiliar spark poured through her, seeming to almost travel from Catra and out her arm. Catra’s warmth was grounding, and she would do anything to protect it, and protect Catra, and if only Catra could understand that then they could…

“This way!”

And like that, the feeling faded and Adora was groaning in frustration, and the conversation moved on around her. And, for a while, Catra didn’t.

Trying to avoid being too obvious- though obvious with what Adora still wasn’t entirely sure- she looked off away from Catra, even though she could swear she felt Catra’s eyes on her for a moment.

It took all her willpower to not meet the look, to check to see if she was right, but she managed.

Barely.

And when Catra eventually leapt from her lap, the warmth remained. Adora had the sudden thought that it lived in her now, and would never leave. Catra always did have a way of getting under her skin.

Even when it did, eventually, fade- in the wake of new danger, and another threat to deal with- Adora could swear she was just a bit warmer.

#she ra #she-ra #catradora #dragontalk #drabble #she ra spoilers #barely. it really is in the first... two minutes of an episode #but still

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himbowelsh · 4 years ago

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i take extreme interest in the bob characters’ flaws, especially winters. like in the series he is shown to really not have any faults or vices (as nix says) but i always try to think of what possible problems he has. like i think he really sucks at communicating most of the time, he never really gets deep with anyone in the series without it seeming short lived or distanced. he obviously cares about his men, but there’s a part of me that thinks he didn’t grow up with that much praise /part 1

or that he was given compliments like “you did great with x BUT you could improve on x and x” so his idea of personal conversations seem more professional or impersonal instead of genuine. or i think he may see everything too strategically and doesn’t take human emotion into consideration enough. like impulse decisions, he doesn’t get that sometimes bits of passion push you to do things, like guarnere being upset his brother died, or liebgotts hate for german POWs / part 2

because he is thinking about the bigger more rational picture of it instead of the deeper reasons for their actions. i’m sure he knows what’s going on, don’t mistake it for him being ignorant towards that, he feels like everyone else. i just think his is more guarded due to years of internalizing on his own part. dick obviously has an overwhelming sense of responsibility, he’s a natural born leader. so he puts himself aside because that’s what he thinks a leader should do / part 3

and to the people in dicks life who care about him, like nix who is at times over emotional and will share his thoughts and yell his problems out loud, they take dicks lack of forefront emotion to mean he doesn’t like him. when that’s the complete opposite, he’s putting his own emotions aside as a way to show he wants to be strong for nix and let nix know that his emotions are the most important thing to dick, so much so his inner thoughts and feelings can be pent up to listen to nix’s own

Ooof, there’s a lot to unpack here so I had to take a little while to digest it, but...

No doubt, Dick’s modest and restrained upbringing played a major role in the man he became. It definitely taught him humility, that working hard and quietly is better them being a showman. When you compare someone like Nix, with his Upper East Side upbringing, to Dick, the contrast is clear. It could come down to sheer personality, but Nix is outspoken and emotional, almost erratic with it at times. No doubt Dick feels things just as keenly, but he’s learned to keep it inside.

I have to disagree on your main point, though. I think Dick does understand emotions. He doesn’t let them influence his own decision-making, but he has a keen understanding of the people around him --- he wouldn’t be such an effective leader if he didn’t. He knows that Guarnere’s anger is motivated by grief, and definitely must have sympathy for him; but Dick is able to look at the situation rationally, and realize that Guarnere is putting all their lives at risk for the sake of his own vendetta. (Interestingly, Winters yelling at guarnere is one of the few times we see him lose control, even a little.)

During Nix’s mini-breakdown, he gets it. He doesn’t completely know how to handle it --- because Nix’s emotions are so wildly different from his own, messy and mercurial --- but Dick is there, a quiet support when his friend needs it. Compare this to how Nix reacts when he sees Dick is upset: he talks around the issue, offering semi-awkward reassurances that don’t really hit at the heart of Dick’s actual problem, but acknowledge it nonetheless. (Hall’s death is a great example. Dick is struggling with losing someone under his command; Nix can only assure him that the map they obtained will do a lot of good. This validates both Dick’s efforts and Hall’s sacrifice, offering Dick a small measure of peace.)

On the topic of Hall --- here’s a great example of how Dick understands people. Hear me out, here. He’s just dropped into Normandy, and his only companion is a scared kid he only kind of knows. It’s a bad situation. Both their lives are on the line.

A livejournal post from 2009 explains it best:

I can’t resist giving you this whole conversation, cause it so illuminates Winters’ character without being heavy-handed. Winters: “So you’re a radio man.” Hall: “Yes sir. I was, sir, until I lost my radio in the jump. I’m sure I’ll get chewed out for that.” Winters: “Well if you were in my platoon, I’d tell you you are a rifleman first and a radio man second.” Hall: “Maybe you can tell that to my platoon leader when we find him. If we find him.” Winters: “It’s a deal. But first, I need your help. Locate some landmarks to get our bearings. Keep your eyes peeled for buildings, farmhouses, bridges, roads, trees…” Hall: (laughs) “I wonder if the rest of them are as lost as we are.” Winters: “We’re not lost. We’re in Normandy.” Hall is clearly scared. But Winters, man… 1) makes conversation, which makes Hall feel more normal in this crazy environment, 2) reassures Hall that he’s not a screw-up, so he feels stronger, 3) calls Hall a “rifleman first”, which makes an excellent point and teaches Hall something, 4) by calling him a “rifleman”, focuses Hall on his identity as a soldier (as opposed to a technician), which might save their lives if they run into trouble, 5) enlists Hall’s “help” to distract him from his fear, 6) makes him laugh, and 7) reassures him that they’re not lost; that Winters has the situation under control. See that? It takes me longer to explain the awesome than for Winters to be awesome. That’s how awesome he is.

Winters’s approach to emotions is practical, but he gets them. He’s got a keen sense of how to communicate, and what works for each man. Actually, he works best one-on-one with the men, instead of stuck behind a desk. Other peoples’ emotions aren’t his problem.

You definitely hit on something when you say he puts his own emotions aside, though. That might be the core of Winters’ character flaws --- he represses his own feelings, always making room for others. There’s no doubt he’s got a blindspot when it comes to Nix (at times, he’s overly-tolerant, almost enabling Nix’s self-destructive behaviors); Nix is the closest person to him during the war. He sees Nix at his worst... but even when Dick’s really struggling, he doesn’t open up to his friend. Is he the sort of person who prefers not to share his feelings? Probably. Still, Dick rarely vocalizes what he feels, keeping it all inside. I could see him... as the sort of person to push aside what’s best for him to make room for other people. He lets them have center-stage, and his natural humility keeps him from claiming even the recognition he’s earned. He’s not the sort of person comfortable in the limelight. The only reason he advanced so far in the army wasn’t because he was pushing his own accomplishments, but impressing everyone else with his obvious skill and experience. In another setting --- say, a workplace --- Dick’s reticence might lead to him getting passed over for promotions or drowned out by louder voices. He doesn’t pursue what he wants, personally, only what the people around him need.

Just my thoughts, and thank you so much for sharing yours. Anyone else who wants to chime in on Winters’ flaws is welcome!!

#richard winters #meta #band of brothers #hbo war #dick winters #Anonymous

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writing-the-end · 4 years ago

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WS Chapter 57- The Calm Before

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Time for war! Or at least, first some good old reflection, tying up loose ends, and preparing for battle! Y’all ready, the end is coming near, I can’t believe we’re only three more chapters away from the end!

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Selene belongs to @to-dem-stars

Mentioned: Star belongs to @thatonewannabedragon , Perri belongs to @hyperfixatingparrot , Pierre belongs to @cabbagesenpai , Kai belongs to @the-cheshirefox , Storm belongs to @stormjay0 , Abyss belongs to @abyssvoidsstuffs , Bre belongs to @mintyhotchocolate (if there are any I missed lmk)

The first nether portal appeared just before the sky began to grey with the morning sun. Star was on guard at the time, and they quickly alerted the entire camp of the impending attack. The grounds scrambled to life, grabbing blades and falling into battle stations.

At the top of the rise, above the campground, the wanderers sit together. Watching the sun rise and a few more nether portals appear. Nothing has come through them yet, leaving a sense of nervous waiting across the overworld. The entire land holding it’s breath, waiting for the first move.

A brush of wind flutters behind the wanderers. Brushing through Avon’s wings, playing with Red’s hair, and tugging on Ecto’s scarves. Jessie hops across the three heads, settling into Ecto’s hood. She looks over her shoulder, before resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“It feels like just yesterday we first met one another.” Red whispers, looking up at the other wanderers. He giggles. “I’m pretty sure Avon’s way to say hello is by pointing her trident at your face.”

“Ecto was the one that immediately started fighting me!” Avon reaches over and bumps Ecto in the shoulder. Jessie chirps, disturbed from her nap in Ecto’s hood. “You nearly jumped to your death.”

“I would’ve survived. It takes more than that to get rid of me.” Ecto laughs. She goes quiet a second, a weak and warm smile easing onto her face. “Thanks for coming back for me, both in Area 77 as well as the nether.”

“Of course we weren’t leaving you behind, you’re our friend! We stick together.” Red’s voice is laced with disbelief. It was never a thought to leave Ecto behind. She’s the most clever, the funniest. She’s a part of the team. “And look at what going through that portal has given us! So many friends, from a completely different world!”

The three look out, seeing Scar and Doc trading items. Potatoes for potions. Grian, Iskall, and Mumbo hunker low, Iskall and Mumbo with their hands on levers and Grian with his elytra ready to fly. Xisuma and Ren stand near the rear, arrows nocked and ready to fire.

“We’ve seen a lot as well.” Avon whispers. “Not all of it good.”

All three grimace, thinking of their homes. The empty skies of the End, the frozen wastes of the desert, the ghostly coral of the sea. But Ecto isn’t going to let them linger on the bad, not when so much good has happened as well. “I got to see the ocean, see a mesa.”

“The Nether, a woodland mansion. Two different worlds full of incredible builds. We saw so much.” Red adds.

“And we did it together. We fought a bit-” Ecto and Avon look to each other, and laugh, “A lot, maybe. But I wouldn’t have wanted to go through this with anyone else. Or even alone.” Avon sighs. She learned a lot. And...the struggles are worth it, to find good friends. People like Red, and Ecto.

They turn back, noticing the purple rifts shifting and changing. Blue wings open wide before them, and Perri lands on the hill. “They’re here. There’s people… they look like you guys. And I swear… I feel like I saw someone that looked like me. They’re waiting for more to come through. Maybe they’re waiting for you guys?”

The time has come. Everything they’ve done, everything since that first scent of brimstone on the sand of Red’s ocean, has led to this. Avon takes off, Jessie following after her. Ecto slides down the hill, pulling out her sword. Red sprints after the taller two, catching up by jumping into the moat and swimming down the canals.

The three pop back together, surrounded by hermits and other members of their world. Red squeezes between Tango and Impulse, noticing the vial of redstone at the flame haired hermit’s hip, the comparators in the hands of Impulse. He can still see the golden scars from falling into the rosepit. Where the totem healed over his wounds, slowly fading away.

Avon flourishes her trident, looking over her shoulder. Over the huddle they’ve got. “The nether has arrived, and as you can see… they’ve got a lot of weapons. I don’t think they’ll hold back. To the hermits- don’t forget that death is permanent in our world. If you start to get overwhelmed, fall back immediately.” Avon notices Red’s eyes, and offers an easy smile and a nod. “And try to be as nonlethal as possible. We’ve got some pretty persuasive people here. Show them that creation is a lot more fun than destruction.”

“Now that, us hermits can get on board with.” Scar laughs, Perri and Abyss nodding in agreement.

What Avon doesn’t notice as she directs the overlanders to their battle stations is that Red swiped one of Tango’s vials of redstone. He watches the dusted ore glimmer and glitter in the glass vial, and pops it open. A few hermits as well as Pierre notices Red’s tongue stick out as he pours some of the redstone out. A coy grin is shared across all three.

Ecto also notices, but makes a point to keep Avon busy. She wants to see this as much as anyone, and she knows Avon will take it away from Red if she sees. Avon turns to appoint Tango and Impulse to their pitfall trap, but Ecto grabs her and points out where Kai was struggling up a tree.

So when Avon notices the flecks of red in the kipling’s hand, pinching the redstone onto his tongue, it’s already too late. She leaps across the huddle to snatch the vial, but she’s half a step too slow.

A zinging sensation strikes across Red’s body, zapping from her tongue, all the way down her tongue and across her limbs. Toes and fingers curl and Red swears he can feel electricity course through every muscle and vein within him. Red’s black and orange locks stand out and his eyes widen. He jolts upright, causing an uproar from those watching as his tongue sticks out. Ecto laughs the loudest, with Avon groaning on the ground as they both see the redstone circuits completing themselves in his mouth. After a minute of electricity coursing through his body, numbing his tongue, Red manages to talk. He sets the vial down, patting it back in Tango’s pocket. “Tastes spicy...but also vaguely sweet?”

The laughter howls across the battlefield, even Red and Avon eventually joining in. Red has been attempting to taste redstone for almost as long as the wanderers have been together. Of course on today, of all days, he finally gets his wish.

The army sobers up, remembering the battlefield they stand on. Seeing hermits huddled together, fingers antsy on triggers and hips laden with totems of undying. Red pats his own pocket, feeling Fred nestled close to his heart. The other overlanders from their world are scattered about. Fighters like Kai and Storm at the forefront, Star in the center with their fists of hardened bedrock and Pierre’s fire charged redstone. At the back, Abyss pours some of Bre’s potion over her arrows. Beyond the moat, Perri waits beside Selene with her menagerie of health potions. And a crossbow- just in case the worst happens

“Who do you think is going to be the first-” Ecto’s question is answered before she even gets to finish her sentence. A flaming arrow careens from the center of the nether army, followed by a roar from Blu’s voice. Red blocks the projectile with a wall of water, steam rising from the extinguished arrow. Avon rolls away, commanding to return fire on the incoming army while Ecto dives into Red’s water. Swimming higher, to the crest of the wall. From there, she begins to pelt the invading force with cactus.

Two armies clash. The ragtag team of builders, wanderers, and everyone between against an army honed for death. For destruction. They’re outnumbered three to one, but they have an advantage- clever minds.

From the air, winged and elytra adorned warriors let loose arrows to disperse the army. Trying to be as least lethal as possible. Storm and Grian peel away, avoiding a fire charge shot at them. Singed elytra wings smoke, but Grian doesn’t hesitate to dive bomb the army. He tips his bucket, water pouring out over the crow.

And from there, Red slides in. Armored hellspawns flee from her, her whips of water and splashes of waves. The water singes their heated skin, incapacitating them. Red is measured with every strike. Just enough to hurt, but almost never enough to kill. She squeaks when a hulking hellspawn braves the water, potion effects swirling around his massive form. Water resistance potion, a hellspawn design like their flaming weapons. Red scrabbles back, but the rushing water continues to push her forward.

“No you don’t!” Etho shouts, before the sound of a cannon fires. A fire charge careens over the water, so close to Red that his cheeks turn rosy from the heat. It knocks the hellspawn off his feet, allowing Red passage further into the throngs of soldiers. Towards his inverse. He turns, seeing Etho and Pierre high five. Red gives a thumbs up, and chases down a squadron that attempts to flank from the side.

But the squadron has stepped into the desert. Into Ecto’s domain. She whistles to gain the group of flaming forms’s attention. They stop charging, staring at Ecto as she moseys around the sand. Digging her feet through the grains, kicking up the sand. She gives a sideways glance as they charge her. A slick smile crosses Ecto’s face, and she digs her feet into the sand at her side.

The sand collapses, the hellspawns with it. Trapping them deep in the pits, arrows flying out haphazardly. One arrow is snatched, Selene appearing in a flash above the pit of angry soldiers. As quickly as she appears, she disappears, handing the arrow off to Avon as she swoops low. Selene overs a smug smile, one hand still behind her back. With a snap of her fingers, she disappears back into battle. The tip is still flaming as Avon tips to her back and shows the flame to Jessie. The little dragon’s purple eyes glow, watching the flame. “Time for you to learn to breathe fire, little one.”

Avon tosses the arrow to the side, the blaze cascading down into the clash of swords and blast of traps below. Jessie and Avon land atop a large portal, the baby dragon mimicking Avon’s open wings. But when Avon launches her trident, it’s not the only projectile coming from the dragons.

A purple flame spits free, crashing into the hellspawns from behind. Knocking them off their feet, purple acid flames stinging at the army’s toes. And while the hellspawns are hopping free from the acid, Star reels back her fists and punches them. Sending the flaming foes head over heels into the grass. She turns to Avon, sticking out her tongue and giving a thumbs up. Avon only smiles, and imitates the gesture.

A crack is heard over the battlefield, yellow and green sparks wisping into the sky. Everyone turns, looking to see who caused a totem to break. Perri runs from the safety of the camp, aiding Kai as she helps a limping Scar from battle. She pushes her own totem of undying into his hands, laying him out and letting Perri heal his wounds.

The overworld was winning. Keyword ‘was’. The distraction, the sudden reminder that they are battling for their lives, it was all the nether army needed to gain an upper hand. Ecto scrambles up to Avon and Jessie, sweat beading across her forehead. “I...I think they figured out we aren’t shooting to kill.”

Red rises up, aided by a wave of water. “They’re using it against us. We can’t let our friends die.”

“We need to deal a blow to the hellspawns. Hit them somewhere it’ll hurt.” Avon whispers, holding Jessie and watching as the front line collapses. Lava is poured over water, turning the canals into bridges for the nether. Etho and Doc are arguing over a redstone contraption, each flick of the lever leading to no reaction by the machine. Perri holds onto a wounded hermit, one hand wrapping wounds while the other shoots her crossbow. Life and death, good and bad. Dark and light.

Inverses. Ecto snaps her fingers. “Where are we?”

“We? We’re in a plains biome.” Avon pitches her trident, trying to aid their friends.

“No, not ‘we’,” Ecto motions at the three standing atop the portal. “The other ones, the other we! They’re the idiots running this whole thing, if we go after them, we can collapse this whole operation. It’s the easiest, most direct way than just throwing bodies into some battle.”

“I haven’t seen Blu since the first arrow shot.” Red states. “But they have to be here. We just have to find them.”

“Then we find them.” Avon states. “And one way or another, they will be stopped. Let’s go, wanderers. One last time on the run.”

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

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Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Additional Warnings: Graphic depiction of torture, graphic physical violence, captured/kidnapping, major character death

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 5,133

Tag List: @prisczero, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @unoriginal-username15432, @halussali, @shrimpmsg,

AN: And it all goes downhill from here, Ladies...

Chapter 51: Begin

“I can’t stand you crying. I want to cry instead, although I can’t.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Seoul – Samseong; Gangnam District South Korea

9:45 AM

Jungkook was three steps from heading to the insane asylum.

One step represented each day that he hadn’t been able to track Eden down.

He barely heard the words of comfort that Jimin was giving him. He knew that it had something to do with it not being his fault, but how could it not have been? He hadn’t heard from his wife in three days, assuming she got wrapped up with family affairs and was too busy to check in on the first day. The second day had him concerned that she’d gotten hurt. By the third day, Jungkook was at his wit’s end.

Only to find out that she’d been snatched up before she ever got the chance to leave for Daegu. He shouldn’t have put her second to his job. He shouldn’t have let her leave their house to go to the train station alone.

He shouldn’t have let this happen.

The image of Eden’s beaten form in the video clip was branded across the forefront of his mind. Hoseok was angry, determined to track down the Jade Fang members who’d done this. Jungkook was angry that they were still part of the equation. They should have been eliminated years ago.

It wasn’t like they weren’t aware of what Im Changkyun was capable of. They’d seen the vicious things he’d done while they were Jade Fang members themselves. He didn’t think it was necessary to attend district meetings, feeling the rest of the bosses were beneath his standards of proper mafia leadership. Hoseok was his only equal and it appeared that he continued to see him as such.

Divine Intervention prevented Jungkook from leaving the house that night and storming the stronghold of the Jade Fangs alone. He would have burned every single one of their businesses down; he was determined to do so. Jimin escorted him home that night and there was a parcel waiting at home for Jungkook. His brother made him a drink and when Jungkook opened the package, he collapsed on the floor and cried until he could barely breathe.

It was a gift Eden prepared for him for his birthday – a handmade model of his dream car. Seated in the car were miniature figures of Eden and himself. He didn’t remember passing out. He didn’t remember Jimin tucking a blanket over him. He could only remember Eden’s face, smiling as they shared breakfast together the morning she was taken.

“Jungkook-ah,” called Jimin, pulling Jungkook out of his inner musings. There was concern painted over his brother’s face and he took a breath, waiting for him to continue. “I think we’ve covered everywhere here.”

Jungkook said nothing. Instead, he pulled out the small notebook he carried with him and scratched out Gangnam from the list. For two and a half days, they combed every single section of Gangnam they could. There was a part of him that knew that the Jade Fangs wouldn’t be so arrogant to hold her hostage in their former territory. But there was also a part of him that could reason Im Changkyun doing something so ridiculous as a form of “poetic justice” against them.

To him, the Golden Jackals never disbanded.

“What about the others?”

Jimin sighed, leaning against the driver’s side door of the car. “They’re hitting the other areas. Hoseok called in some favors from the other district bosses to let us through.”

All Jungkook did was nod. There was something off about this whole situation. Very off. There shouldn’t have been a single obstacle in the way of the other district heads when it came to taking over their territories. Yongsan and Gangnam were completely up for grabs; Hoseok said as much. Jungkook could only guess that Changkyun’s influence prevented them from stepping a single foot into their turf. He more than likely was determined to get Hoseok and the others back so they could do a mass district takeover.

“I don’t like that Tae Hyung went off by himself,” he suddenly said, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, “I don’t either.”

Jungkook frowned. “He still hasn’t checked in yet?”

“No.”

He didn’t want to prod any further. Jimin was probably more worried about Taehyung than any of them. While it was unsurprising that he went off on his own, it was unlike him to not have checked in by now. Taehyung wasn’t a morning person, which was why they all knew that he hadn’t slept while he was on the hunt.

Then again, none of them were really sleeping.

A soft ache throbbed at Jungkook’s temple. He pressed a hand to his chest, taking a small amount of comfort in feeling his wedding band dangling from the necklace chain. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle not knowing what was happening with Eden.

“Hyung, I—”

“She’s fine, Jungkook-ah.” Jimin’s words sliced through his own, as if he’d already predicted what he was going to say. When he met his brother’s gaze, he saw the reassuring smile tinged with just a hint of worry. “If I know her, she’ll make them regret the day they decided to take her.”

“Not before I do.”

Suddenly, Jimin and Jungkook’s phones chimed simultaneously – indicating they received a message. Both looked at their phones immediately and Jungkook felt his heart rate escalate. It wasn’t a matter of him losing hope as seeing the message renewed his vigor.

It was from Taehyung.

Taehyung: I found her. She’s near Namyangju in Gyeonggi-do. Somewhere in the Industrial District. I’m heading back now.

Jungkook looked at Jimin the same time he did. Without uttering a word, they flung the doors open to the car and hopped in. Jimin fired up the engine and punched it, speeding out of Gangnam. Jungkook stared at his phone as more messages came through from the others. It didn’t take him long to figure out that they were closer to that location than everyone else. It was a half an hour drive, traffic willing.

They’d get there first.

10:17 AM

Namyangju – Gyeonggi Province South Korea

Jungkook felt like it took them a hundred years to get to their destination. With every mile marker they passed, it brought him one step closer to finding Eden. One step closer to bringing her home. He clung to the smallest shreds of his willpower not to scream at Jimin to drive faster. They didn’t need to get into any kind of accident before they reached her.

Jimin swung the car into an empty street, the desolate district eerie even in the morning light. Jungkook tumbled from the passenger side, all but tearing his seatbelt from his body in the process. Jimin called after him, but he paid him no mind. His legs ate up the ground as he ran headlong into the central area of the decrepit buildings.

No one lived in the abandoned sections of the province anymore, but the government hadn’t bothered with tearing it down. His hope began to dwindle, realizing just how expansive the district was. It would take them hours to find her at this rate.

Resisting the urge to scream, he slowed to a jogging pace before stopping altogether. Running around blindly without a single clue as to where to look would get him nowhere. They were just wasting time. There was even the chance that the group would up and relocate themselves before they could even have a chance at finding them.

Eden would be lost forever.

He heard Jimin run up behind him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Jungkook did his best to tether his scattered thoughts, chasing away the worst possibilities from his mind. He needed to calm down and think.

“There were a few cars parked near the back,” he said after catching his breath, “we might need to go up top to get a better idea of where they might be.”

Jungkook nodded, pointing straight ahead. “I’ll head to that building down there. Text me if you find anything.”

Just as he was about to take off, Jimin grabbed him – halting his movements.

“No, we stick together.” Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but Jimin’s glare quickly silenced him. “If something happens, we won’t be able to do anything alone. We’re stronger together.”

While he wanted to argue, he knew that his brother was right. Even if splitting up would help them cover more ground, there was a good chance that they wouldn’t have a way to defend themselves if they got caught in a sticky situation. Jungkook did his best to push down his mounting impulsivities. Charging in blindly was foolish and would most likely get them killed.

“Alright, Hyung,” Jungkook said, relenting, “let’s go together.”

Not wasting another moment, they tore off down the center of the district – eyes rapidly searching in every direction their necks would allow them to turn.

10:32 AM

Minutes crept by at a snail’s pace.

Jungkook did everything he could to keep his head together. There were too many horrifying images playing rapidly in his head, like a flipbook that ended in blood splatters. Jimin stayed at his side, matching his pace as well as his fervor. Every so often, they would stop to peek into various buildings. They climbed up to higher vantage points to get a better lay of the area, dipping off to resume their search.

Everything looked so dead from the inside out.

A scream tore through the vast emptiness, causing Jungkook to trip over his own feet and he came crashing to the ground. Jimin was immediately beside him, grabbing him by the arm and hoisting him back up. Jungkook’s heart pounded double-time in his chest; it hurt. A cold sweat broke out over his skin and he couldn’t stop his body from trembling, even though Jimin rubbed small circles on his back.

“E-Eden,” he barely managed to croak, his legs shaking to the point where it was difficult to stand. Jimin continued to hold him up. “That was her!”

The sound was close.

Jimin said nothing. He continued to guide them along the path, turning around corners until he heard his wife scream again. It was even closer. They were almost to her!

He felt his brother release the hold he had on him and Jungkook involuntarily sagged against the side of a building. He didn’t know where they were or how deep into the district they’d gone. Jimin’s expression was focused and if he was feeling any sort of turmoil, it never showed. Not once.

The building they were pressed against was yellowed from age and neglect. Numerous cracks ran along the sides and bits of paint were peeling back; some pieces flying away from even the slightest gust of wind. The window had a long crack running from an upward angle to the corner of the pane; dirty and smudged. Jimin wiped a hand across the bottom to get rid of the dirt so he could see inside. Jungkook sidled up beside him to peek in as well.

He could feel Jimin’s vice-like grip on his shoulder, pinning him in place. Jungkook’s vision blurred momentarily before regaining focus, zeroing in on the image of his wife strung up like some animal. There were a few lackeys around and appeared to be bored – as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen. Jungkook felt the muscle at his jaw throbbing viciously as he clenched his teeth, grinding them in anger.

He wanted a gun. He would have emptied a clip into every single one of them.

Jungkook tried to move, but Jimin wouldn’t let him go.

“Hyung!” came his harsh whisper, but Jimin shook his head roughly.

“Wait, Jungkook,” he hissed back, finally letting him go, “just wait.”

“I can’t, dammit!”

“You can and you will.” Jimin’s words were final. “We don’t even know what kind of weapons they have in there. If Changkyun’s willing to play dirty like this, there’s no guarantee that his men won’t fill us full of holes with guns they obtained illegally.”

Jungkook wanted to protest, but he knew that Jimin was right. They needed to assess the situation fully before making a move. If they ran in there blindly without understanding what they were up against, there was a chance that Eden would die in the crossfire.

“So what now?”

Jimin continued to look through the window and he could see the wheels in his head turning. Strategy was his strongest suit so Jungkook did his best to be as patient as possible. A handful of seconds passed before he turned to meet his gaze.

“I’m going to go in from the front.”

“What?!” Jungkook gave him an incredulous look. “That’s crazy. Are you crazy?!”

“Shut-up and listen to me.” Jimin turned to look back through the window. “I’m going to draw their attention to me. This window is loose so as soon as I get them to chase me, I want you to go in and grab Eden and then get the hell out of here.”

He didn’t like this plan.

“There’s ten of them, Hyung. Maybe more. You can’t outrun them all.”

Jimin grinned, still peering into the building. “I can try.”

Jungkook grabbed his shoulder. “Hyung!”

He felt his arm being yanked off abruptly, causing him to take a step back. Jimin cast an icy glare in his direction.

“Do what I say.”

He wanted to protest again. He wanted to tell him that this was suicide. They should wait for the others. Wouldn’t that have been the smart thing?

But if they waited too long, then they may miss their chance. The Jade Fangs could probably swarm them, call for more men, and then overtake them completely. Jungkook knew that the plan was the best option they had right now.

It didn’t mean he had to like it.

Without waiting for him to agree or even disagree, Jimin turned and ran down one side of the building. He rounded the corner and disappeared on the other side, leaving Jungkook alone to wait. There was a distinct feeling of dread sweeping over him, telling him that there was danger to watch out for. But wasn’t that obvious? Didn’t they understand that, knowingly showing up to this place?

This was unavoidable.

A loud bang rang out inside the large interior. Jungkook peered over the bottom of the window, craning his neck as best he could. Light flooded into the dark space as he watched Jimin’s shadow stretching along the floor. All the men inside turned around, grabbing what weapons they had near them to launch an assault. Jimin immediately dispatched one of the lackeys close to the door before turning to run away from the building. All but two gave chase.

Now!

Jungkook thrust the window open, causing it to break further from the force. He leaped in through the opening and charged forward. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction caused by his entrance, Jungkook barreled into the man closest to him – taking him down with a swift grappling throw. The man landed on his head; a distinct crack heard from his skull smacking into the concrete.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of silver, and he dodged at the last second. Whirling his body around, he jumped back with his arms extended out as another man tried to hit him with a metal bat. Jungkook bobbed and weaved out of the way, moving just out of reach at the last possible moment. Pivoting on his back leg, he waited for the man to try to swing at him again before catching the bat in his hand and pulling it toward him. The man slid on his heels, the distance closing rapidly. Jungkook aimed a kick straight for his stomach and sent him flying.

He brought the bat down over the man’s head for good measure.

With the two men unconscious, Jungkook swerved around and ran toward Eden. He did his best to avoid looking at her injuries, not wanting to distract himself from the most important task he had: freeing her. As he looked at her restraints, he did his best to concentrate on her face. She was semi-conscious, the noise bringing her out of whatever fugue state she was in.

“J-Jungkook-ah?” She coughed. “Y-You shouldn’t be here…”

“Shh,” he admonished, his eyes flicking over her bindings, “save your strength.”

His hands moved with lightning speed, fidgeting over the ropes and chains binding her as she hung from a large hook attached to the ceiling. When he finally managed to loosen the ropes, he lifted her up by her waist so he could untether her from the hook. Her arms dangled limply around his neck; the chains clamped around her wrists jingling together with the sudden movement.

Her body lacked the strength to keep herself upright and she nearly collapsed to the ground. Jungkook held fast to her, moving her arms over his head so he could undo the chains around her wrists. He could tell she’d lost weight and she seemed almost a shell of who he knew her to be. He focused on getting her to safety – choosing to smother his fury into the pit of his stomach.

“Go,” she whispered as he held onto her, “get out of here.” She coughed again. “Leave me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” he snapped, draping her arm over his shoulder as he held onto her waist, “now come on.”

Jungkook wouldn’t hear anymore of this nonsense, even if it was coming from the woman he loved. She was barefoot, but there wasn’t any glass on the ground. If she didn’t think she’d be able to walk, he’d carry her on his back and dare her to say otherwise.

Shuffling toward the entrance, he could hear men yelling in the distance. But it sounded like it was getting closer. Jimin was circling back, probably to make sure that they’d gotten out. If they could hold out a little longer, the others would come and then they could cause a big enough scene to get the hell out.

Just as he reached the entryway, he turned to make sure the two men he’d dealt with were still on the ground. Satisfied that they weren’t going to be getting up anytime soon, he turned back toward the exit.

A shadow moved from the corner. Eden saw it before he did. Jungkook shuffled to the left. He was half a step short.

The pain didn’t register at first. All he could focus on was Yoo Kihyun who was now directly in his path to freedom. It wasn’t until he saw the older man take a step forward that Jungkook took a step back. But not of his own freewill. He was forced to step back.

The knife in his gut pushed him to move.

Eden screamed but he barely heard it. Jungkook nearly dropped her, but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to fall. Not in front of him; her captor. A chilling smile painted over Kihyun’s face as he tilted his head, peering into Jungkook’s eyes. It was like he was asking him what his next move would be without having to say it out loud. For a split second, Jungkook’s vision blurred.

Releasing the hold he had on Eden’s arm, he grabbed a hold of the knife and pushed back – pulling the blade slowly from his gut. Kihyun blinked in surprise at him, watching as he drew the older man’s arm away from his body while still holding his wife fast to him. Again, Eden screamed, but this time she moved with whatever strength was left in her body – arms reaching out in a feral manner.

She scratched her nails across Kihyun’s face, forcing him to reach up and cover his cheek. Jungkook stepped forward, pulling the knife completely from his stomach, before spinning it in his blood-soaked fingers to grasp the blade’s handle. Kihyun stumbled backward a step and Jungkook quickly closed the distance, plunging the knife directly into his shoulder and aiming a kick to his knee. He waited for him to hit the dirt before pulling Eden quickly behind him.

He didn’t have to express the need for urgency.

They both disappeared into a nearby cluster of reeds.

10:45 AM

Blood wept from the side of Jimin’s head as he rounded the corner of a building. He held onto a rusty metal pipe, clutching it at his side. He knew one of his ribs were broken, if not two, and there was a good chance he very nearly sprained his ankle hopping over a broken-down car to avoid being clobbered with a length of chain. He quickly did a tally in his head, making a note that he was able to knock down four of the eight that were chasing him. Two of them he tripped up along their pursuit and the rest were now trying to comb the nearby streets in search of him.

Hearing Eden’s scream forced him to double back toward the building where he’d left Jungkook. It wasn’t the sound of agony. It was of outrage. Something must have happened. He needed to get back to them and quickly.

Jimin wiped some of the sweat and blood from his head, spitting at the ground. Once his heart calmed down, he tried to ascertain his whereabouts. Just two buildings over and he’d be right back where he’d started.

Come on, Park Jimin. Calm down and focus.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, eyeing the screen. It was from Yoongi.

Yoongi: We’re almost there! Where are you guys? Give us a landmark!

Taking a moment to breathe, he turned his head in every direction to try and gauge a decent landmark for the others to follow. There was a cluster of blue barrels far away from the abandoned buildings, just toward the edge where a large field of reeds were. He quickly texted him back, letting him know the location.

He slid the phone back into his pocket, gripping the metal pipe in both hands. Now he just needed to get back to Jungkook who, he hoped, had Eden in tow.

His phone buzzed again; this time in succession. Someone was calling him.

Dipping into a nearby building, he hunkered down in a shadowed corner to look at the phone. It was Jungkook. He answered.

“Jungkook-ah?”

“H-Hyung…”

Jimin could tell something was wrong.

“Where are you?”

“T-The…the reeds…”

He had to refrain from cursing. There were reeds in every direction. He took a breath to calm his nerves.

“What else do you see around you?”

There was a pregnant pause and he wondered if something was happening with the call.

Jimin-ah?”

It was Eden. His heart practically jumped into his throat.

“Oh, thank God he got you out. Are you alright?”

“Never mind that. Jungkook’s hurt.”

He could hear the frantic tone in her voice. Jimin tried to smooth his voice out in a way that would help take the edge off for her.

“Okay, just breathe. Can you tell me where you guys are right now?”

“I can’t really see anything. The reeds are so thick.”

“Can you see any barrels around you?”

“Hold on.”

It was only a few seconds, but Jimin felt like he was losing years off his life as he waited for her to answer.

“I can see some blue ones. But they’re far away.”

He resisted the urge to smile. They weren’t that far from his current location.

“How far?”

“Several yards. They’re across that dirt path.”

“Okay, good.” His side screamed at him from the position he was in, but he ignored it. “I want you to meet me there, okay?”

It sounded like she was about to sob which unnerved him.

“Can’t you just come here? Jungkook’s hurt badly and I don’t have the strength to carry him.”

Jimin hissed quietly to himself. I told him to be careful… He took a breath. “Alright, I’ll come to you. I’ll be there soon.”

“Hurry!”

Ending the call, Jimin slipped out the back of the building and made his way around the next bend. Part of him wanted to throw the pipe off in a different direction, hoping the noise would distract others away from his path. But if they got flanked, he’d need a way to defend Eden, Jungkook, and himself. Especially if Jungkook was as hurt as Eden claimed he was.

This isn’t good, he thought, tearing through the back alleyway and heading up the side of the street to disappear into the thicket of reeds.

10:57 AM

Even though he knew he’d only traveled a few blocks, it felt like he’d been moving for miles. Each turn he made, Jimin thought he was getting more and more lost. Every so often, he’d turn his head to look over his shoulder and spy out the buildings – making sure that he was still on a straight path to the others. He heard some of the other men shouting at each other, trying to figure out where they’d gone, and each of these times, Jimin would pause so that he didn’t give away his position.

Just as he was about to resume his search, he heard a distinct shuffling sound off to his right. It was close.

“J-Jimin-ah? Is that you?”

It was Eden. She sounded exhausted and halfway to the underworld, but it was her. Jimin quickly darted in the direction of her voice, parting the reeds in front of him as he went.

A lump of ice dropped in his stomach at what he saw.

There, cradled in her arms, was Jungkook. A large blood stain blossomed from his shirt and he saw Eden pressing his jacket to his stomach and putting pressure on the injury. She was crying, doing her best to keep her sobs nonexistent so they didn’t alert the others of where they were. She looked up, relief and despair battling for dominance over her features. Jimin dropped the pipe in his hands, his legs slowly carrying him toward Jungkook just as he spit up blood from his mouth.

“J-Jungkook-ah,” he stammered, collapsing to his knees.

Despite the obvious pain he was in, Jungkook flashed him a smile full of blood-stained teeth. “H-Hyung,” he managed to get out, albeit garbled from a mouthful of blood, “what took you so long?”

Jimin didn’t have the energy to snap back. He felt like part of his soul just left him completely. His eyes roved over Jungkook’s body, trying to figure out the cause of his brother’s current state. He lifted his gaze to meet Eden’s.

“What happened?”

“It was Kihyun,” she said weakly while brushing some of the fringe off of Jungkook’s forehead, “he came out of nowhere and—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook interjected, causing them both to focus on him, “Hyung, get her out of here.”

Another piece of his soul was pulled away.

“W-What?”

Eden shifted him in her arms, clinging to him in desperation. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Yes, you are.” Jungkook reached up to his neck, grabbing the necklace and popping it off in one quick motion. He smeared blood over his skin and clothes, holding it up for Eden. “Take it and go.”

She emphatically shook her head and Jimin could tell that even doing this was zapping her of what strength she had left.

“You bastard,” she muttered, curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, “how can you expect me to leave you? Huh?” Eden lowered herself, pulling him against her body to hug him close. “Till death do us part, remember?”

Jungkook did his best to wrap an arm around her, coughing more blood out and staining her shirt. “…and this…is where…we part.”

Eden shot back, looking down at Jungkook as tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his cheeks.

“J-Jungkook,” she stammered, her bottom lip trembling as her voice shook.

Again, he smiled up at her. “I love you, Eden.” He grabbed her hand and placed the necklace inside her palm, closing her fingers over it. “If…if I’m reborn, let me love you in the next life too, okay?”

Jimin could hear his own heart shattering in his chest.

“Hyung…take her and go.”

“But Jungkook-ah—”

“Please.”

Tears leaked out of Jimin’s eyes. It took everything he had, but he stood up and crossed over to where Eden was. She continued to hold onto her husband, refusing to let go even as Jimin tried to pull her up and onto her feet. She fought him but even she knew that she didn’t have the strength to keep it up. Jimin held her against him and they both gazed at the satisfied and peaceful expression on Jungkook’s face. He nodded to them, mouthing for them to go.

Jimin turned, hauling Eden with him as she wailed silently into the crook of his shoulder.

I’ll come back for you, Jungkook. I won’t leave you alone out here...

11:05 AM

He knew that it was only a few minutes since he watched Eden and his brother leave. In those few minutes, Jungkook believed it was several lifetimes. In those few minutes, he thought back to everything that led to this very moment. All the choices he’d made, the road he’d traveled, and the people he’d traveled on that road with along the way.

He regretted nothing up until that moment.

The only thing he knew he would have to repent for would be leaving his beautiful wife behind alone. They’d had a few chapters written in their life together, but they were pages filled with hopes and dreams for an uncertain future. Life never gave guarantees. The only certainty for life was death. It was the same for everyone.

The sun was reaching its peak over the skies. There were very little clouds littering the pale blue blanket above him and he wasn’t sure if it was the bright light that was making it difficult to see or something else. Jungkook lost feeling to the lower half of his body nearly two minutes earlier.

Again, he coughed and more blood sprayed from his mouth. Tears brimmed his eyes, slipping from the corners to seep into his ears.

My brothers…

Jungkook could feel his eyelids growing a little heavier with each passing second, but he forced them to stay open.

Eden…

But the darkness began to creep around the corners of his vision, blurring out the light until it was a faint glow in his line of sight.

He wanted to keep feeling the warmth of the sun on his face until the very end.

…until we meet again.

24 notes · View notes

the-jennnster · 6 years ago

Text

I don’t put down books often

I’m the kind of reader who sits down to really read a book, who will gobble up a good novel in one sitting, who has to be told to stop reading.

But today I started Bill Konigsberg’s The Music of What Happens, and I think that changed.

I met Bill, actually. He came a local literary festival and, because not many people showed up, we actually got to have a discussion about his work. He was funny, insightful, and had great stories. He was legitimately curious about our thoughts as readers, on both this book and his past works, and he seemed to really love being up there and talking to the maybe seven people in the audience.

I’ll admit, I’ve never read anything of his before. I remember seeing Openly Straight in my school library as a kid, never realizing what it was, but after falling in love with books like Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda and What If It’s Us (both by Becky Albertalli, with Adam Silvera working with her on the latter), I thought The Music of What Happens would be similar and just as enjoyable.

I started it today, at about ten o’ clock. I finished one of my exams super early, and pulled out a book to read while I waited for my classmates to finish (it was a small class, and there was the promise of a round of Cards Against Humanity with six other animation students with anime obsessions and dirty humor).

I immediately loved Jordan. He reminded me of myself in a lot of ways.

Quiet unless he’s with his friends, a writer nervous but still eager to share his works with people he cares about, just enough emo to garner jokes about his darkly-colored wardrobe, enough acne and self-esteem issues to be trapped in endless daydreams of finding someone but knowing he stands no chance.

I got absorbed into the story, enjoying the goofy antics of Max and Jordan as they tried (and often failed) to make an old food truck into a culinary masterpiece, learning more and more about each other, running off to have little adventures, and just generally being goofy kids.

The major conflicts of the book, however, don’t stem from the food truck itself (though it most certainly is a conflict).

[Spoilers below the cut.]

Max is struggling to deal with the aftermath of what he’s slowly realizing was his own rape (he’d initially thought he’d just had a really shitty first time, which... he had, but it’s so much more than that) and Jordan is trying to take care of his mother and keep their house, which they’re about $5,000 behind on.

I’m about three hundred pages in, not quite finished, maybe a hundred out from the end.

Up until this point, Jordan and his mother have had a decent relationship. It’s far from perfect, as they’re both still dealing with the aftershocks of his father’s death four years prior, but it’s alright. She’s loving, she’s very alright with his being gay, and, aside from a few moments here and there where she leaves him to his own devices (which, you may be arguing, he’s almost a senior, he doesn’t need constant adult supervision, but... well, we’ll get to that), she’s there for him.

She did have a gambling problem, his friends do make some jokes about his mom being a little crazy, and Jordan and Max’s “meet cute” was thanks to the fact that Jordan’s mom had a bit of a meltdown at the farmer’s market and impulsively offered Max a job (as she felt like she couldn’t handle it), but overall it’s fine. They have a good relationship for a mother-and-son, especially with all the possible issues that could arise out of the things they’ve gone through.

But there is one little thing that caught my attention, a red flag, if you will.

At one point, Max points out that Jordan’s mother often treats him as if he’s the adult, as Jordan is the one responsible for making money, buying groceries, and ensuring bills get paid (after his mother let the mortgage go for several months). Jordan brushes it off by saying “I’m sure everybody’s relationship with their mom looks weird from the outside.”

That made my stomach pitch, just a little. Reading that interaction, having that pointed out. It was familiar to me, a conversation I’d recognized not from one I’d had with others, but from one I’d had in my head time and time again.

I kept reading, certain that it would just be nothing. As Jordan said, people have different relationships with their moms.

And then he went grocery shopping. Shit had been going down with the food truck, he and Max were in a bit of trouble, and Jordan just decided “fuck it, I’m going to get some healthy food because Mom said she wanted to turn her life around and get healthier”. He got home, and his mom immediately brushed it off. She dismissed his trying to help her, and when he tried to argue, she snapped.

She never hit him. She never threw anything, or threatened him, or even said she hated him.

In fact, this was the scene:

She takes a bite of her Twinkie, and a twinge of something goes through my chest. “That crap will kill you,” I say.

She exaggeratedly lies back and rolls her eyes back into her head like she’s becoming a corpse. “Well hurry up Twinkie,” she says.

“Mom,” I say. “That’s so not funny.”

“Oh my God!” she shouts and I am stunned frozen. “I get it! You’re perfect. I’m a total fuckup. I am so far below acceptable and there’s zero chance that will ever chance. I get it, okay?”

The energy in the room shifts, lightning fast. Dorcas barks and scurries out the dog door, like she feels it. I stare at my mom with my mouth open. Words do not come out. I don’t even have a coherent thought of how to respond to that.

She sighs dramatically. Herstrionically. “Forget it,” she says. “Forget I said anything. I’m not me, okay? I’m not myself. I don’t remember the last fuckin’ time I was myself but it was no time in recent history.”

She closes her eyes, throws the remaining bites of her Twinkie down on the plate in front of her, and stands. “Excuse me. I just need to--” And she walks away toward her bedroom. Moments later, I hear her door close softly.

That is what made me put down my book.

In fact, typing that up, it was probably the first time I read the scene with a clear mind. Reading it initially, I likely only got so far as “I’m a total fuckup” before my mind went blank.

If I had been in Jordan’s shoes... I would’ve been holding back tears. I would’ve been gritting my teeth, grinding them to dust to keep myself from reacting. I would’ve felt sick to my stomach, with a massive knot coiling in my gut, stealing my appetite (actually, I do feel that). I would’ve felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under me, as if I’d been pushed from a cliff and was free-falling, landing in icy water, desperately trying to swim to the top (I know how to swim, but suddenly, I can’t remember, it’s too much, the water’s too cold, I can’t feel my hands, and it’s everywhere). My mind would’ve been racing a mile a minute, telling me to prepare for the worst, bracing me for sharp words or yelling. I would’ve flinched when she put the Twinkie down and flinched again when she closed the door. The sound of the dog’s nails scraping on hardwood would echo in my ears unbearably, my hands would be shaking for hours (they were). I would’ve gone to bed feeling like shit, feeling like it was my fault, blaming myself for the blow-up, telling myself to get myself together before she comes to apologize.

Because she always comes to apologize.

She comes to stroke tear-stained cheeks long after it’s over. She comes to crawl into your bed and whisper “I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I’m such a mess, I shouldn’t have done that” until the knot returns and your ears swim. She comes to say “If you had just done what I’d asked” and “I should be a harsher mother, I never follow through on consequences”.

She comes to remind you that, despite what she does, she can always do more.

And she never realizes a word of what she’s saying.

I read that part, and I went back to all the times my own mother has done the very same thing. I put down the book and pushed it away while my hands shook and my stomach roiled, waves crashing in my ears as I tried to block out the memories that purposefully faded each time the sun rose on a new day.

I left the book on a table behind me and went to a computer, playing mindless games from elementary school (she wasn’t like that then, she never yelled) until muscle memory and quick-fingered strategy ruled my mind, pushing it out.

I was still shaking when I got on the bus at one o’ clock, too sickened to get lunch before I left, only wishing to curl up against one of my best friends’ shoulder and ask her “You know how we were talking about too-real stories the other day?”

Because that’s what this was for me.

It was too real.

I’ve read my fair share of “too real” in the past, in fanfictions like “Dirty Laundry” or “my blood is upon me” that tackle the carefully barbed biphobia of family members who “love you despite what you are”.

But those I counted on. Those I planned on. Those I went into saying “I’m reading this to know I’m not alone, to know that there’s a way to live around it, to know that there’s a way to solve it.”

But this... Jordan and his mom... it side-swiped me.

I’ve been home nearly two hours now, and I still have yet to eat (actually, that’s a lie, I had a Klondike bar, because that’s how I cope) or continue the book thanks to the pit of anxiety in my stomach, because I was so surprised by the familiarity of that situation that it took me totally off-guard and threw me back into things I cared not to remember.

I love this book. It’s amazingly well-written and tackles concepts besides “being gay”.

But please, I’m begging you.

Know what you’re getting into when you read it. Rape (never portrayed explicitly, though discussed) and a borderline-bipolar/abusive mother are at the forefront of this book’s story.

Don’t get side-swiped.

#the music of what happens #bill konigsberg #bookblr #emotional abuse #bipolar parents

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tedxtcnks-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

Tonks Family Values 3/3: Edward Tonks

Meet me at the beach tonight.

Butterflies birthed from nervousness brought a feeling of uncertainty in both Sofia and Griffin. The note had been simple and while they each had a reason to not show up, they both had a reason to show up. It was dark by the time Sofia had managed to make it to the beach, curiosity of whether or not the other had waited for her kept her walking forward.

“Hola.” A smile came upon her lips as she heard the heavily accented greeting, it was simple but perhaps it meant something. As she carefully made her way over towards where she saw Griffin standing, the outline of a blanket and a basket caught her attention. Had it been at any other time of day, it wouldn’t have been so hard to imagine a picnic on the beach but with only the moonlight to keep them company, it made her wonder.

It was under a watchful moon, that Sofia and Griffin spent more than five minutes together. As the waves crashed onto the shore, laughter from the two of them challenged them for control of the noise around them. For their part, the clouds made sure to stay away and allow the stars to shine brighter on a possibility between two unlikely strangers.

Phone calls were expensive and letters took far too long to get anywhere. Impatience had never worn well on Griffin and impulse was a foreigner that he wished would leave him alone in moments of weakness. He knew it was dumb to continue to think of a girl that he had only spent a few days with and yet, his thoughts continued to travel back towards her and the bakery. They both had known that nothing was the likely outcome of their exchanges during his visits and while they tried to make it work in the weeks since his trip, it wasn’t the same. While the culture, the food, and the people had all been exciting and fun, spending time with her had been the better part of his short trip. It was a tease and torture that he couldn’t simply leave the next day to see her and return weeks later. He wasn’t in the right career to do that and while his personal feelings screamed to be paid attention to, the need to help out his patients outweighed everything. She was just another girl...

The rainy weather that greeted Sofia as she walked out of the airport with a man she had only become familiar with over the phone, could have been taken as an indication of how the whole visit could go. Yet, she held strong to the belief that she had momentarily left her home for someone that mattered more than they should have would therefore make sure that she had a good time. It was a surprise put on by Griffin’s father, who was convinced that he had managed to get his son the best birthday present he could.

Their meeting place wasn’t anywhere extraordinary, the apartment that had seen the Griffin grow had welcomed her and though she felt the urge to explore, the need to hide was almost immediate. Griffin was early and had heard the front door open. “Hey dad, did you I thought you said you were only going to go get milk.” Familiar butterflies sprung free within Sofia and it was a wonder that she hadn’t already gone to search out Griffin. Vaguely, she heard Griffin’s father call him over and the time that it took for him to reach them seemed like hours though it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two.

Her family would tell her that she was making a rash decision but the feeling of warmth that engulfed her as she hugged Griffin told her otherwise. After all, why would she leave someone that made her feel special while being utterly ordinary?

The day of his twenty-fifth birthday brought various wishes of happiness and health while the search for cake took the forefront in others. He hadn’t been expecting the small party and though company of his friends along with his family were appreciated, it was Sofia that he needed to spend time with. Two and a half years had passed since she had made the move to England and began to work in a bakery by their apartment, two years that had seen the creation of beloved memories. It had never dawned on Griffin how hard it may have been to get her all alone, someone always seemed to materialize when he’d lead her out of a room and into one that had seemed empty. In the end, he had locked them in the bathroom with someone already rushing them to hurry up. It was a strange place to just talk but it was the only source of privacy.

“Sofia, believe me I never thought we’d be doing this in the bathroom but life has played wilder games with us. Um, okay, so you are the most amazing person that I have met and the time we’ve spent together has been so crazy in the best of ways. You moved here for me when I was considering the same.... I love you so much and this isn’t at all what I wanted to say but you know I’m not really that great with words....” Confusion had momentarily danced across he features as he spoke and it was only as he tired to get down on one knee that realization seemed to hit her. “Will you marry me?” In place of a ring was a locket he had bought for her months before, a small piece of paper sat inside with the question on it. Later on, he would blame the loud music for not hearing her initial yes when in reality it was fear for the worst that had kept him grounded before allowing him to fly high with glee.

Autumn decorated the Cathedral as Sofia pulled up on a car her father had rented for the wedding. The idea of having it in England instead of back home had at first been a problem with how widespread her family had gotten and yet, they all managed to come together like in years long gone. Familiar butterflies filled her stomach as she stepped out of the car and took her father’s hand, a year’s worth of planning had all been leading up to the moment when she say he I do’s. She didn’t quite remember the walk up the steps or the opening of the doors, the stares of people they both held dear disappeared and for a moment Sofia felt at a loss for words. At the end of the alter stood Griffin, smiling and waiting for her to finish trailing behind flower girls that seemed to be taking far too long.

The moment her father let go of her hand and she found herself standing next to Griffin brought a smile onto her lips. It all seemed incredibly long while somehow feeling shorter than it needed to be and it seemed all too soon she was facing Griffin with tears in her eyes as they waited for a second. “You may now kiss the bride.” The words rang in her ears as she leaned kiss that would begin the next chapter in her life.

“Griffin!” Fear colored her shout as she waddled towards the door frame. Though she had been there for the birth of her nieces and nephews, it was entirely different being the one carrying the baby. They were ready, she knew that they were ready for what was going to happen but it didn’t keep fear from rushing through her. How long did she have before the baby would be there? Would they make it to the hospital in time? Questions screamed themselves at her while she rushed out of the house in her pj’s and a flustered Griffin behind her. Thankfully, she was at least calm enough to remember where the car keys were.

Pain far beyond anything that she could have expected rushed through Sofia as the nurses urged her to push when the next contraction began. Strength that she hadn’t been aware she possessed promised to stay with her as she closed her eyes and heard the nurses begin the countdown as she pushed. Fatigue ushered the words of defeat while the nurse closest to her told her that she could do it and would do it. The next push would be the one, but then again they had said that a few times already. While she wanted nothing than to just give up, the rush of adrenaline that came with the contractions saw her push once more. Surely this one would be it.

When the cries of a baby began to fill the room, a tired smile came upon Sofia’s lips. It was Griffin who cut the umbilical cord before the baby was properly attended to and brought back to a tired mother.

It was in the arms of the woman he would realize was his mother that he heard his name for the first time. “Edward Tonks.” Simply but seemingly perfect for a child that had all the possibilities in the world.

#tonks family values; Edward #and that's a wrap on this for the tonks #maybe in the future I'll actually write out the wedding for Griffin and Sofia Tonks

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ambiengrey · 7 years ago

Text

Loitering Ch 4

Summarized for your convenience: summary.

<-previous

the need to know

“Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

The ever-increasingly cold breeze nipped at the sides of his face, combed his fringe back from his forehead – a blur of white tipped black in and out of his peripheral like a phantom, a spectre only there when he wasn’t looking – as he marched up the driveway; fists clenched at his sides, steps determined and unfaltering.

By the time he’d reached the ornate gates and pushed them aside, he’d stopped thinking up excuses with which to explain his presence to whoever opened the door.

Not for the first time either, did he find the ease with which the gates parted for him suspicious, and in the same vein he shoved the thought aside, again; no desire to dig too deeply into what that might suggest.

Just as before.

And before…

Only one purpose stuck at the forefront of his mind as he trudged up the way, eyes focused on the looming wooden doors of the manor – imposing and impressive.

For the first time it occurred to him that, he’d never been as in awe of the manor as he might have been – by the time he saw the outside of it, glittering windows in the sparse Gotham sunlight, big brown doors, balconies and dense, flowering shrubs, sprouting creepy crawlies like veins up the walls, he’d already spent a night inside.

He’d never glimpsed the splendour from afar and paused, gaping up at its grey stone walls, stunned to silence by its majesty. Not only for the look of it, either, but for the legacy it carried.

Jason could actually respect the latter. Could understand the origin of the daunting weight settling on his shoulders whenever he approached the estate and had to look up to see the high rooftop, the castle-like cornices adorning the manor like a crown.

He had to wonder if he was the only one under the invisible pressure – as the lowest, most unforgivable, treacherous, wayward son, adopted though he’d been, of Wayne there was?

Were a million Wayne-eyes, ghostly apparitions in the windows, trained on him whenever he sauntered down the driveway – piercing gazes narrowed; judging, disapproving of him, and wishing him away by sheer force of will?

Perhaps that was why he loitered, rebellious by nature – a nature not of theirs – to taunt them back? To shuck off the heavy weight of their gazes and drop it at their own doorstep, only to stay defiant in their sights as long as he could manage rather than skip away, lighter than before, or enter, even, into their midst, free of their scorn – but – where they could not see him anymore…?

What was a rebellion worth when no one was looking?

That was only a rambunctious child playing pretend by himself.

Jason was no longer a child.

…

He did not come to be defiant, either, though.

Not this time.

It was his own fault he was so out of the loop.

He’d spent the last few weeks in a safe-house, perfectly determined not to set foot outside, where the world was steadily turning shades of molten gold and yellow ochre, deep dark brown, burnt umber and bright orange tinged red against a backdrop of dreary forever-grey.

Only when he could finally hold it no longer – a desperate, burning desire to know a fire kindled in his belly – and it was plain they were never going to find him, he was too well-hidden – and they, perchance, too busy to try – did he at last leave the safety of his nest, determined in his task.

He had to know.

If they’d been too late.

If they’d been at all.

If all his effort had been in vain.

He could feel the hope inside, wishing it hadn’t been for nothing, though he had no courage to voice it or even properly think it.

Jason couldn’t dare to hope.

Not when it involved him.

There had been no hope for Jason himself, after all – in a warehouse, a gazillion miles from home, bruised, broken and bloodied. Betrayed.

…A lot of b’s going on.

…

—Shit.

When had it become a joke?

Dammit.

That had been the entire point though, hadn’t it? To be funny.

Hopelessly funny.

Why would this time be any different?

Why would there be any hope for the Repla—

—but.

Hell.

He didn’t want to think like that, either.

Best to just not think at all.

Better simply to act.

He was good at that. Impulsive, sure – on occasion, he wouldn’t deny. But, more often than not he liked to consider himself a bit of a strategist.

He liked to plan it out. Assess the situation.

Contemplate every possible route.

Weigh one outcome against another. Evaluate the consequences.

Pick a path.

It only ever seemed impulsive, to everyone else.

Except when it actually was.

Maybe this had been, just a little.

Because shit. He was thinking about it now – wavering.

He stopped abruptly, hand raised inches from the door, frozen more than halfway through a motion that would have undoubtedly caused a hollow echo reverberating through the halls inside.

He very suddenly found it hard to breathe – consequences flitting through his mind, a sickening fear spreading its fingers through the fiery want to know, oddly unafraid of the flames, seeming instead immune and intent on smothering them.

What the hell was he doing?

Almost thankfully, he was spared having to answer that thought, when the door to his right – not the one beyond his raised left fist – swung unexpectedly open.

For shit’s sake he actually jumped.

A little, dammit.

Only a little – and why the hell not? He was on edge. Even fricking Nightwing would’ve pissed his panties. Probably.

“Barbie,” he very nearly croaked, his throat was so dry.

Not that she was any kind of Barbie-doll – in the sense of long-legged and tanned (though she had been that before, still kind of was), platinum blonde and baby blue-eyed with a red-lipped smile and a freaky fashion fetish for all things neon pink.

The nickname just kind of fell off his lips, habit now more than anything else because he knew it annoyed her – or maybe it was just the way he always said it – plainly spiteful and obnoxious – because at present, she didn’t have her eyes narrowed at him, no twitch at the corner of her – sometimes red, actually – lips in response to his address, which had been decidedly devoid of the usual tone.

Part of him was a little too surprised to see her, because he actually hadn’t – not like this – since his return from the literal grave.

In hindsight he should probably have expected her presence though – she shared in Dick’s sentiments that they were all somehow family in some form or another, though she’d never been considered a sister. You don’t lock lips with your sisters, after all (—Dick).

The pointedly-being-ignored bubble of hope in Jason’s chest swelled a little at Barbara’s presence, naively thinking if she were here then probably his replacement was, too, and they had found the idiot, after all.

It was a fleeting feeling, however, because Jason noticed almost at once the swell around Barbara’s – blue, in fact, and bespectacled – eyes, one part sleep-deprivation, one part resultant of too many tears, made doubly obvious by the red rims around those blue orbs, and little scarlet veins adding to the evidence of exhaustion as they criss-crossed their way through the white.

The bubble in his chest seemed fit to burst with strain – of fear and disappointment this time. Had they been too late? Had he been too late?

Was this Barbara mourning another dead Robin…? Had she come over to…comfort Grayson, probably, who would be a blubbering mess after losing another brother – and Alfred (oh, Alfred), and…and Bruce.

Did his little—

Did his replacement have a glass case with a tattered uniform to match his own?

What did his plaque say?

A Good Robin.

…

Another Good Son.

Jason bristled, and then felt a little ashamed for it.

If Tim was dead – and it took every ounce of his being to not just assume the worst based on Barbara’s eyes alone – well, then…

Shit.

And being jealous would be petty.

“Jason,” she said, and Barbara’s tone was a practised calm. Jason realised she’d sat there for all of ten seconds before she’d spoken.

Sat. There.

Confined to her wheelchair.

…

Maybe that had been part of his surprise at seeing her, even though he’d known about it. Still.

Talia al’Ghul – Batman’s baby-mommy and Jason’s…whatever the hell she’d been (saviour, mentor, mother-figure, friend, person-thing) – had kept Jason well-appraised of the Bat-family’s fortunes and misfortunes once she’d dipped him in a healing Lazarus Pit that either returned his mind to its former – albeit teenage – glory, or screwed with his sanity – the toss was still up on that one.

It was how Jason first learned of his replacement. And of the new, suspiciously quiet Batgirl that resembled her mentor so much it was stomach-curdling – to anyone she crossed paths with anyway.

And, of course, of the Joker and his still-beating black heart, still-breathing lungs, even though he’d murdered Batman’s Robin – and then some.

There hadn’t been any vengeance for Barbara either, though, granted, she hadn’t died like he had.

Still, Joker’s bullet could very well have done more than to paralyse her. Jason had idly wondered at some point, if she had died as well, would Batman have been driven to revenge after all? At the loss of a second partner?

Would Commissioner Gordon have avenged his daughter if the Bat would not?

His daughter who also just happened to be Batgirl.

Would they have done it together – for his daughter, and for his long-dead son?

Would Babs have come back from the dead, too?

…Babs.

Dickiebird called her that.

He might have lost it, Jason mused, if Joker had killed the always-assumed love of his life.

It would have broken him, afterward. Jason knew that much. Knew about Dick’s reaction to the thought of Joker hurting Tim, and knew about his reaction to him hurting the Joker to the point he was basically dead – if only briefly.

Dickiebird wouldn’t survive another loss of control like that. He’d be drowning in misplaced – because there’d be nothing guilty behind that madman getting what he deserves – guilt.

And dammit.

If Timmy was dead, Jason was doing it himself.

If Timmy was dead…Jason’s eyes very fleetingly flickered to the second floor windows, as if he could see Dick standing there. In the middle of his room, fists clenched, lips twisted, teeth grit in a snarl – the picture of hopeless frustration, bound by the Bat’s cruel, unfair sense of morality ingrained in the marrow of his bones.

Don’t fret so much, Dickie. I’ll make sure at least one Robin gets the justice we all deserve.

“I assume you’re here to see Tim.”

“No,” he answered at once, Barbara’s voice snapping his gaze back to her and his thoughts from its morbid revenge-takings.

Her eyes did narrow at him then, lips thinning as she regarded him, and Jason cringed inwardly at the quickness of his answer.

“No,” he repeated more slowly, more calmly. “I was just—” but no, he had no more excuses, but no desire to actually explain his presence either. “I don’t want to see him,” he settled on instead, firmly, because it was the truth.

He only wanted to know. He had no desire to see.

“Wait,” he started, only just realising what he was saying – what she was saying. “Ti—the replacement is…here?”

Barbara leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping at an armrest. She nodded slowly, after a second, ducked her head, “Yes.”

There was very little relief in her tone. It sounded more ominous than anything else.

“And, he’s…”

“Alive,” she supplied, which told him absolutely nothing.

Nothing good, at least.

Their once more littlest bird was not okay.

Jason’s bubble of hope had disintegrated entirely.

“I…” he started into the silence. Kid wasn’t dead, at least, but he wasn’t alright either. Jason didn’t need to know more than that. He certainly didn’t want a catalogue of the little bird’s injuries – physical, mental, emotional, and/or whatever shit else there was.

He was not okay. That was enough.

Apparently, there was vengeance to be had, after all.

“Got to—” he was going to finish that sentence with ‘go,’ and then leave very determinedly, but—

“Sorry, I’m ready now, we can—holy crap, you’re Jason Todd.”

“No kidding,” he replied, eyes narrowing, fingers twitching with irritation.

Stephanie Brown was – more the Barbie-doll personified than Barbara – an ex-Robin, too. Cut from the same cloth of abundant “recklessness” as Jason himself, apparently. It got her fired before it got her killed, and then she died, anyway – only she didn’t – and now she was Batgirl, which…the Dark Knight either had no say about, or didn’t actually mind, after all.

Truth be told, Jason should admire her tenacity or something, but at the moment all he could manage was annoyance.

Stephanie was Tim’s ex-girlfriend – and apparently he had Dick’s same penchant for staying friends with exes – and he was upstairs, somehow not okay, and she was down here smiling.

There was a bounce in her step as she appeared behind Barbara’s wheelchair, a lightness to her tone, a pleasant curve to her lips and a happy glint in her – completely different form Barbara’s – blue eyes (even if they were also obviously freshly dried of tears).

It grated at Jason’s skin.

Jason couldn’t imagine even Dickie – who was more often than not considered the sole definition of happiness, for shit’s sakes – smiling while their little—

Dammit.

His. His – as in Dick’s – little brother was somewhere upstairs, not okay.

“Wow, that’s one intense bat-glare,” she remarked suddenly, blinking at Jason before she leaned a little towards Barbara, “Or is that just his normal expression…?”

The corner of Barbara’s lips quirked up into a little smirk, briefly, but she didn’t reply. Stephanie didn’t seem to actually want an answer anyway, though Jason didn’t give her chance to—

“Don’t compare me to him,” he snapped, and then felt stupid, because it sounded childish.

The girls didn’t reply. Instead, Stephanie said, “I assume you’re here to see Tim, and Bruce.”

Barbara shifted in her seat.

“No,” Jason scathed, harsher than he would have if she hadn’t mentioned Bruce.

Stephanie frowned and pursed her lips like she disapproved of that about as much as Jason had of her smile.

“Well, you—”

“—should,” came, quietly, with the swing of the left-sided – from where Jason stood – door, enough to reveal a short, half-Asian girl, dark hair pulled back, her eyes dark brown and peering up at him as she curled around the door, a tattered-looking book Jason couldn’t see the cover of clutched to her chest.

Damn, Replacement – apparently Dick really was rubbing off on the kid – who else was going to jump out of the woodwork just to see him?

Huntress? Batwoman? Catwoman? Wonder Girl?

That last one actually seemed likely.

And then, none of them did – as secret identities went, the three Batgirls were the only ones in the know. Jason was only mostly assuming. And yes, he was just going to collectively refer to them as the Batgirls now, for ease of monologuing – though he knew Barbara went by Oracle now and Cassandra, that was her name, had passed on the mantle to Stephanie.

She was stationed mostly in Hong Kong, according to Jason’s intel – no longer Talia, as a side – but Jason had glimpsed her flitting across rooftops, either patrolling or searching for Tim – or both – the past month. Two.

…

Almost three.

…

…His stomach twisted just thinking about it, so he stopped.

Cassandra Cain was a weapon, Jason had thought, watching her work, too curious not to, even though he really hadn’t had the time – his lead had already been old by the time he picked up the trail and getting colder by the second. Still, it was him, so it was worth it.

Pretty Bat was lithe and agile enough to rival Dick – flexible in a way few of them truly mastered – and tall, despite her lack of actual height, fierce and commanding enough to rival Bruce – invoking fear with little more than a look.

She went by Black Bat, Jason had heard, which, he’d thought, was only a little redundant since bats were already black – or so went the general assumption, anyway, but who was he to criticize, really? He went by the colour of his hood. Not technically, but if you didn’t know the history there you wouldn’t think anything else.

“You…want to.”

It took him a moment to realise what she’d said.

His arm had come down from the door at some point he didn’t remember, and he clenched his fists at his sides now, so tight the leather of his gloves squeaked with the strain.

“Like hell I do!” he snapped, glaring daggers at her.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Hey, no need to be such an a—”

But Barbara’s hand came up, almost lazily, and Stephanie cut herself off, just as Jason turned his glare back on her.

“Let’s just go, Steph,” Barbara said, tone dry. “Jason’s a big boy. He knows what he’s doing. And I’m late, besides.”

She regarded him over the rim of her glasses, and Stephanie didn’t hide her scowl either, grabbing hold of the wheelchair’s handles. Cassandra made no move to help, and Barbara’s fingers curled securely round the armrests as Stephanie made to wheel her right down the porch’s steps.

She only made it so far as the first edge before Jason had come round to the front of Barbie’s perch, fingers reaching for the armrests, only just not touching them as he met Barbara’s gaze, “Let me…”

She didn’t seem surprised in the slightest, though Stephanie had halted the chair a little abruptly. Jason chose to ignore that. Both of that – all of that, really, he needed no remarks on his behaviour. It was the decent thing to do and that was it.

He had no doubt Stephanie and Barbara had probably done this before, or else strong little Cassandra might have jumped in – not that Jason knew enough to assume, but she was a Bat, it seemed to go without saying. Only, he was there and doing nothing, plus Barbara seemed peeved at him, which sucked for some reason, and he didn’t know how else to apologize for whatever the hell he’d done this time.

Gaze unwavering, which only served to make his skin crawl, Barbara released the armrests and brought her hands up, making room for him. Grip sturdy, he gave Stephanie a quick glance before they lifted the wheelchair in tandem, hovering it just enough to move it smoothly over the steps and place it safely down on solid ground again. Jason kept his eyes on his hands, well-aware of Barbara’s on his face.

Leaning a little forward put her face inches from his own, still bent forward as he was, and Barbara’s hands came back down to settle on his wrists, squeezing slightly. He flinched, looking up at her.

Her eyes looked hazy, but serious, through the glass, and her deep red hair framed her face, spilled over her shoulders in waves of fire and blood.

“Thank you,” she said, so low he didn’t think the others could hear, and Jason’s brow furrowed – she couldn’t mean this. “For what you did for Tim.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he replied, just as quiet, if so much more strained, before, jaw firmly set, he made to straighten, intent on forcefully plucking his arms from her grip, but she let him go without protest and he stepped back, trying to remember how to breathe.

Stephanie gave him a pensive look he pointedly ignored, even as Barbara turned her gaze away, started pushing herself in the direction of the car. “Let’s go, Steph, Alfred shouldn’t be long.”

“Right…” and she wandered after Barbara, Jason’s gaze following them both for a moment – he hadn’t even seen the car parked off to the side when he’d approached the manor, too fixated on the doors.

That right there was an excellent display of his night-work skills.

Alfred was probably driving them home, but the car in question was much too expensive to be anyone’s but Bruce Wayne. Jason contemplated how not long Alfred would take and how fast he’d need to walk to get back to the gates and disappear without them passing him, when—

“Wait,” Cassandra spoke, not as quiet as she had before, but still as firm, and Jason, skittish as a cat for crying out loud, felt his shoulders twitch. The shorter girl – by at least half a head – skipped down the steps towards him, holding out her book, pointing one finger at it, “Read. Please.”

Jason snatched it only a little less politely than he could have, still a little irked, and read the title aloud, “Beauty and the—” he cut off, not only recognizing the too-large, slanted and half-crooked letters scribbled with a thick Sharpie, but the roughly bound book with its thick cover and curled pages as well. He knew if he opened the book there’d be a couple pages at the beginning in his own handwriting, the pencilled words probably faded and the paper yellowed with age, the rest neatly typed out on thick white sheets, finishing the story. “…Beast. This is mine,” he finished with a stunned mumble, before he gathered himself enough to demand, “Where the hell did you get this?”

“I’m afraid that was my doing…Jason,” came the reply, even as Jason looked up to glare at Cassandra – who had her head curiously tilted at him, but said nothing. She hadn’t been the one to speak; instead, the culprit stood just over her shoulder – tall and slim, and forever dressed in a neat black and white suit as if he owned absolutely nothing else—

Alfred.

There had been only the briefest of pauses before Alfred had said his name, as though he’d never hesitated, but that only made the absence of ‘Master’ all the more striking. Jason was no longer a master in the manor.

“My apologies, sir. Miss Cassandra expressed the desire to read to young Master Tim,” Jason only just managed not to twitch. “And as you might recall, Master Bruce has a large collection of frightening variety, but alas. None seemed appropriate for Miss Cassandra,” he smiled at her briefly, and only then did the girl taker her eyes off Jason to smile back. Jason would have shifted his weight, or looked at her properly when she moved, if he wasn’t so frozen. “I directed her to your collection instead…” Alfred’s weary eyes fell on the book Jason was unconsciously clutching with all his fingers, and rested a gloved old palm on the cover. Alfred didn’t look at him when he spoke again, but Jason couldn’t keep his eyes off the old man’s face – it had been too fucking long.

“I’m afraid I’d quite forgotten your penchant for rewriting library books in your own hand, before you could type them out. Cheaper than buying them, you used to say. More honest than simply keeping one. Practice, besides. And I believe, apart from your many Robin trinkets, your library card was your most prized possession.”

Jason couldn’t add to the conversation for the lump in his throat, though he did manage a weak nod. Alfred’s head came up and Jason lowered his gaze, no desire to catch sight of whatever disappointed expression Alfred felt fit to grace him with. The old man’s hand slipped from the book to straighten his coat.

“Do step inside, sir,” Alfred said, in that tone Jason had heard so many times as Robin and brooked no argument. “Before you catch a cold. For all that winter is on the rise still, the chill is hardly bearable.”

And then he was gone, stepping almost regally towards the car. He’d started it up and was backing out the driveway before the feeling returned to Jason’s fingers.

For all that he’d been “saved” from the streets and adopted by Bruce, was trained by him, had been his partner, his failure, had called him…Dad, on occasion…Alfred was the one who’d raised him.

A single one-sided conversation with the man and Jason had the same sickening churn in his gut that he had months ago – when he’d called Tim Timmy, of all the damn things.

“You’re more than welcome, you know…”

Jason’s head snapped up, a firm scowl on his face as he locked eyes with Dick, who stood on the porch’s first step. Jason shoved the book at Cassandra, not quite bothering for her to actually take it before he let go. For all her grace in a mask and cape roaming through darkness, the girl scrambled awkwardly to stop the book from falling. Jason had spun around to leave before he could tell if she’d managed.

“Wait,” Dick called, of course. “Where are you going?”

There was an itch between Jason’s shoulder blades. A quick, throbbing pulse in his neck. A twist to his stomach and his head ached. Honestly, he couldn’t care less where he went as long as he went away. But he thought of Timmy. Still not okay.

“Something I got to do,” he answered offhandedly, though his tone was strained, throat still dry, not certain why he was replying in the first place.

Though he’d started walking off, and not exactly slowly either, he could still hear Cassandra’s quiet input – to Dick – “The Joker.”

He quickened his pace, clenched his fists, and would have marched right down to the gates without falter, no matter what the hell Dick tried to say to stop him – dead or alive, replacement or not, Tim deserved a little justice; they all did – only—

Of all the things Jason thought Dick could possibly have come up with, this never even made the list, and hearing it Jason couldn’t do anything else but stop.

“Joker’s dead, Jason.”

next->

#jason todd #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #the joker #insert writing tag here #monday's fic is fair of face #since this is queued I'll come back to fix the links later

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panda-noosh · 7 years ago

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Could you do some headcanons for the paladins with an ADHD s/o where they get really frustrated when they can't focus or sit still and just listen for very long, don't have much restraint with emotions, and tend to be quite impulsive?

As someone with amental illness that not a lot of people understand, this was quitefun to write. A lot of raw experiences in this. Enjoy!

Shiro:

-I think he'd treat ADHD as whatit was – a mental illness.

-He wouldn't find it particularly 'cute' or 'amusing' when you gotirritated due to your lack of concentration.

-When you first told him about your mental illness, he would beshocked initially, as it was something he had never dealt withbefore.

- He would sit down with you and make you go over all of your littlequirks that you did whenever you were losing concentration or gettingdistracted. You'd tell him all of that and more, happy that somebodywas finally taking the time to understand you and the illness you hadbeen forced to live with.

-From that day onwards, Shiro would just kind of knowwhenyou were getting frustrated or distracted. He would grab your handand gently stroke his thumb over your knuckles, bringing yourattention back to the task at hand by doing so.

-As for your impulsive actions, I can see him getting quite confusedby them. As somebody who enjoys planning and always has to make sureevery little detail is planned out, he often finds your impulsiveactions quite difficult to keep up with, but that doesn't discouragethem. They just become part of your personality that he fell in lovewith.

Keith:

-Ifeel like he wouldn't be one to push your mental illness to theforefront of the relationship.

-He would help you through it, of course, but it was never thebig thing to deal with. Itwas just... who you were.

-You were very grateful for that. He treated you like any other memberof the crew and any other Paladin – any other person,whichwas something some people seemed to forget.

-Whenever you were getting distracted, he would notice right away. Hecould see you trailing off to look into the distance, the way youreyes flicked between the task at hand and another object in the room.He'd simply smile at the way you did it, before gently tapping youand bringing you back to the task.

-But as I said before, Keith would never,ever actlike your carer. He knew that the only person who can help somebodythrough a mental illness is that person themselves, and he's just thehelping hand.

-Reminds you to take your tablets most mornings.

-Finds your impulsiveness just – natural. Like, it's you who are. Hedoesn't see it as anything else than what it is.

Lance:

-Ican see him being very interested in it.

-As somebody who is easily distracted himself, I feel like he'd bequite shocked to hear that there is a genuine mental illness outthere that surrounds that aspect of somebodies personality.

-He wouldn't ask you a ton of questions on it, since talking aboutmental illness isn't an easy thing to do and he knows that, but hiscuriosity would eventually get the better of him and he'd let a fewquestions slip.

-He would ask you things like, “Are there specific things thatdistract you? Why do you find it frustrating? How are you sointelligent if you struggle in class? Why do you always have to moveyour hands?”

-You would answer each question truthfully, not wanting to lie.

-He would be so awareafteryou answer him. Like, he'd spot whenever your moving your hands alot, and he'd know whenever your becoming annoyed or whenever youreally wanted to concentrate but just couldn't.

-He'dbe the type of man to explain his day to you in detail as you two layin bed, mainly just to make sure you heard about everything thathappened just in case you happened to zone out through a particularportion of the day.

Hunk:

-LikeKeith, he wouldn't make it the forefront of your relationship. Heknew how difficult talking about mental health was for you, sobringing attention to it was not very high on his to-do list.

-You would tell him that you had ADHD, and he'd just kind of nod andoffer his help, but that would be it. He wouldn't force you to tellhim anything – he'd learn all of that on his own.

-After becoming aware of your mental illness, he'd watch you closelyevery now and then, trying to see the actions you did before you gotdistracted or before you got overly frustrated.

-He'd pick up on them pretty quickly, and be able to help in the mostsubtle of ways.

-He wouldn't want you to think he was trying to help, though. He'dprobably reach out and intertwine your fingers, to bring you back,and then act like he had just done it because he wanted to touch yourhand.

-Even though we all know that isn't the truth.

-He would probably be the best at handling your anger spells. I canimagine all of the other Paladins getting annoyed at you becauseyou're getting easily angered for no reason, and Hunk just kind ofglares atthem.

-Then he'll take you to the side until your calm enough to go back tothe task.

Pidge:

-Shewould take it quite seriously, but not make it obvious.

-You would tell her you had ADHD, and she'd be quite shocked eventhough she already had a hint that you did due to your actionsleading up to the moment.

-She would play it off cool, pretending like it was no big deal, whenin reality she was panicking because she didn't know how to actaround somebody with a mental illness.

-She thought there was a specific way to treat people who are mentallyill {I've neverrelated more to one of my own lines in my life}. Ittakes you having to tell her that you've been dealing with it for awhile for her to finally calm herself down.

-She'd be the worst with dealing with your impulsive actions. She'dfind them so shocking, and she'd never be prepared for them – butshe would always join you if you wanted her to. She never let you doanything impulsive on your own.

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zainapbaraketcaryl · 8 years ago

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#TransformationTuesday: Carol’s Rise Up on ‘The Walking Dead’

This #TransformationTuesday we’re focusing on ‘The Walking Dead’s’ Carol. From her evolution from background survivor to fan favorite and so much more!

It would be easy to write-up a feature onThe Walking Dead’s Carol (Melissa McBride) that included the words pragmatic and badass. But those who love her know that she is so much more than just those two adjectives.

McBride, who arguably knows Carol best, would agree. In an interview in June 2016 with Variety, she described her connection to her fictional counterpart:

I look at her, I don’t feel badass when I’m playing her. I don’t feel like she feels like a badass. These are all just heat of the moment decisions. She’s not a puffer, she’s not puffing out. She’s just like, ‘Oh god what I am gonna do? I got an idea, I’ll do this.’ She’s just Carol to me, I just love it. I root for her, I adore her because of that.”

In my very first feature here at Hidden Remote I discussed something similar in a feature all about what made Carol so relatable. How her fighting spirit was admirable in a world that had only ever taken from her. She’s immediately and repeatedly underestimated, it’s the opposite of who she is but it defines her as her own person. In that piece I specifically described it as, “[a] moment that Carol once and for all separates herself from who she was: she once was Ed’s battered wife, she once was Sophia’s mom. Now she’s just Carol. Just like the walkers were once someone.” And it’s a narrative point that’s made over and over again. It’s not that Carol isn’t who she seems anymore. It’s that she’s not what anyone expects. Especially when they think of a warrior or a soldier (or a lover) and her subversion of those tropes and deviation from the norm has earned her those titles in more ways than one.

Carol has consistently toed a thin line between showing both physical strength and emotional strength. Going from stoic to vulnerable in the blink of an eye (seriously she tells whole stories through her eyes!). It’s not an easy space to move between either. During her emotional breakdown throughout season six that culminated in her leaving Alexandria because she could no longer kill for her family (with absolutely zero appreciation for that sacrifice!) some fans were confused as to why she suddenly turned into someone who cries all the time.

The fascinating thing about Carol is how fluid her change is. It was always happening right in front of us from the moment she picked up the ax to rid her life of Ed (Adam Minarovich) once and for all. But the specific change we’ve seen in her emotional wellbeing has been the locus of an entire arc that’s been going on since all the way back to Season 4 in “Indifference” (S4E4). Perhaps more commonly known as the episode that Rick (Andrew Lincoln) literally makes the worst decision ever after Carol’s revelation that she killed Karen and David to protect the family. In that episode she tells a quarantined Lizzie (Brighton Sharbino), “You fight… and fight it. You don’t give up. And then one day, you just change. We all change.”

There are many different situations that have propelled Carol to this point. She doesn’t give up after she loses Sophia (Madison Lintz), she adapts. In fact Dale (Jeffrey DeMunn) makes a pretty airtight case that her choice to remain outside the discussion of what to do with Randall makes her complacent. And she lives with that still (most likely representing that “R” in the first name on her list of people she’s killed). And McBride has pointed to her choice to pick up a stick to fend of the hoard in the season two finale as her making a distinct choice to fight.

Since then she has done exactly what she has to do to protect her family with very little regard for the pain it has caused her. She tells Daryl (Norman Reedus) in “Consumed” (S5E6) that every version of herself – the person she was with when she was with Ed , the mother she was to Sophia, even the person she always thought she should be when things were good at the prison all got burned away – “Everything now just… consumes you.” And Daryl’s appropriate response was, “Well, hey… we ain’t ashes.” In fact, he spends that whole episode trying to convince her that she’s still alive, that there’s plenty to live for and she’s right there with him trying.

The reality of Carol’s inability to “feel it” comes when they get to Alexandria and she immediately takes the opportunity to go undercover. It’s a combination of disassociating from her very personal PTSD and that perpetually lingering little voice that sounds suspiciously like Rick that constantly tells her she doesn’t belong. She lives like that for just long enough that when she finally drops the homemaker act in season six, she crumbles to an absolutely heartbreaking effect. It doesn’t help that Morgan (Lennie James) foists his “no kill philosophy” on her to an abusive point. She was already cracking and while in a lot of ways he was just trying to help that’s not what she needed.

She’s lost. And that’s confirmed even more so when she faces her similarities with Paula (Alicia Witt) in “The Same Boat” (S6E13). Carol can no longer just be the person that protects everyone. She wants to maintain her humanity and no amount of hiding in plain sight or hiding in a – albeit odd and impulsive – relationship was going to fix it. She’s lost in Season 6 and it’s why she isolates herself in Season 7. Ezekiel (Khary Payton) even tells her she could, “Go or not go.” But Carol doesn’t feel present and so she chooses to be by herself. To push everyone away, insisting that Morgan tells anyone that might ask about her that she left. It’s only a partial really attempt to find herself, she’s able to be who she wants but she’s still kind of hiding from her own truths until she isn’t. Until she can’t.

Some would prefer the killer version of Carol over the emotionally broken woman but to love her is to love all of her. As we’ve watched her evolve on the show and specifically wending her way through again her very physical and emotional pain season seven, it’s once again brought to the forefront that she was made for this world. But that hasn’t come about without a huge sacrifice.

Carol has yet to share with anyone what happened to Lizzie and Mika (Kyla Kenedy) but that’s exactly why “The Grove” (S4E14) is such a fundamental aspect of her development. I’ve used a lot of quotes to illustrate her personal struggle but none are as significant or commonly misquoted as “Look at the flowers.”

The Walking Dead made a bold choice to kill a child as a mercy in that episode. Add to the fact that Carol of all people is the one forced into that position. It breaks her. It breaks Tyreese (Chad L Coleman) too and he tells her never to talk about it. And so overtime the moment has been distorted as something to cheer but fans of the show often forget that Carol is crying in that scene. That she cries when she faces off against Morgan in her conviction to kill the Alpha Wolf. She has always been vulnerable it’s just been years (for us anyway) that that’s the only thing we’ve seen her do. But Lizzie and Mika have had a lasting effect on Carol and her narrative as a whole.

When we catch up Carol and Daryl in “New Best Friends” (S7E10) after their emotional reunion, she sits in front of the fire and tells him again that she could kill if she had to but that then the last part of her would just burn away. The moment is so significant because Carol is very much being allowed the opportunity to express herself (but seriously Gimple I need to know what happened in between their reunion and their next scene together it was light out and then it’s dark, what did they talk about, tell me?!) and it’s to literally the only person she trusts with her heart (fight me!). It’s especially worth noting that she does so much more than cry in this scene, she finds her smile too.

It’s a catharsis that takes it’s full and complete shape until the next episode. While the hallmark of the beginning of “Bury Me Here” (S7E13) is Carol’s realization that there was definitely a reason that Jesus (Tom Payne) brought Rick and Co to the Kingdom, she knows what she has to do before she confronts Morgan and what she’s doing it for now. Even though she kind of sort of already made that decision when Daryl gave her the “husband going off to war” hug and then she very much looked like she wanted to follow.

The Carol we see in “Bury Me Here” is the Carol that has been waiting to be reborn for so long! And it was refreshing to see her finally take that step. It felt earned. Ben’s (Logan Miller) loss weighs heavily on everyone that episode, especially considering he asked to miss the drop to learn Carol’s awesome walker killing skills. But she doesn’t blame herself in the way she would have in the past. She’s not that mother figure anymore (seriously cash me outside how bout dat?) and she doesn’t need to show it by consistently rejecting children like the way she tried to push Sam (Major Dodson) away. She hasn’t been that person in a long time and she knows now it’s too painful a persona to adopt again. But that’s the thing, she’s done pretending. Being in the creepy house, reading romance novels allowed her to collect the pieces of herself. Daryl allows her to keep what she has left of herself by lying. But Carol knew deep down that Daryl lied to spare her.

And so when Morgan ends up telling her the truth about Glenn (Steven Yeun) and Abe’s (Michael Cudlitz) death it doesn’t break her. She reacts and her eyes once again tell the whole range of emotions she’s trying to suppress but it’s not because she’s afraid of breaking down anymore. It just reinforces what she’s now finally ready to do. And it’s a breath of relief for the entire fandom who have been waiting to mourn.

Her life is no longer this constant push and pull between what makes her human and what makes her feel like a monster. And nothing displays that better than her choice to sit down with Ezekiel and Ben’s brother Henry (Macsen Lintz) to help replant the garden, finally and truly injecting new life into that “Look at the flowers” arc.

This is not to say that Carol’s story is in any way complete. This has just been one chapter in an ever-evolving narrative that has finally been given some much-needed closure. She has so much more to do like kissing Daryl and we can’t wait see what that is a shower with Daryl!

That being said, Negan (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) better standup straight because the Queen is back and she will go to war to achieve the peace they all deserve! We’re looking forward to her at least hopefully rocking some awesome Kingdom gear in the finale!

#Melissa McBride #Carol Peletier #caryl

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idolizerp · 6 years ago

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LOADING INFORMATION ON NIGHTMARE’S VOCAL, DANCE NAM YURA...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 23 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 22 COMPANY: Koala T. SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): N/A INSPIRATION: None other but the old man himself for raising her with an impeccable work ethic, even if he hates the line of work his only daughter is involved in. It’s managed to get her this far, and if that isn’t something, she doesn’t know what is. SPECIAL TALENTS:

Can shove her whole fist into her mouth.

Take perfectly angled selfies with her feet.

Demonstrate various taekwondo moves.

NOTABLE FACTS:

Her father is a high ranking officer of the ROK Air Force.

Particularly skilled in sports as a child: Yura received her first rank black belt at the age of 15; outside of her martial arts focus, she dabbled in track and field as well as basketball.

Graduated from the Korea National Sport University with a Physical Education degree in 2015.

Knows a couple of the well-touted members of the performance demo group, K-Tigers.

Has her motorcycle license.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

Increased exposure of Nightmare as a whole through their sub-units. They’re not her cup of tea, but at this point, it’s no brainer that KTM is sharpshooting in hopes that something, anything, will stick and hit bullseye. Once it does, there’ll be relief in going back to the original game plan because that’s what Yura has become comfortable with. She’s been going with the flow since debut, and has no plans of going against the current for now.

Quit sittin’ pretty, because the rest of her members are beginning to make moves into other areas, while she has nothing more but Nightmare activities on her repertoire. Insecure? Hardly, when it only guarantees more free time, but the job description says girl idol, not girl idle, and she signed up for this to do something different, and not nothing at all. Can girl group members moonlight as stuntswomen? She’s beginning to consider it more by the day lately.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

To ride out Nightmare’s name until she has nothing more but her own to rely on, then fade out into the blissful obscurity that is life away from the stage. Being an idol has never been her first, center, or last resort, not when she’d accepted the offer only as a chance to weasel her way out from a restricted, rigid sort of life for however long she can. The idea of eventually being billed as an “action star” down the road started off as a joke-to-self, but with her athletic abilities and with her idol lookalike now cushy in the Chungmuro film industry, maybe it can amount to something a little more serious than that. Safe to say though Yura hasn’t decided just yet, and if all else fails, there’s no problem in working up to finally receiving her 9th rank in taekwondo and / or marrying the model air force officer Daddy Dearest will pick out for her.

IDOL IMAGE

Knifelike. That’s a good word. The proper word. Down to the teeth of something animal, the line of her jaw, to how her gaze can cut through crowds. Precision, glint, and edge all wrapped into two syllables. Being raised by a military man did her well in that respect, discipline with the square shoulders and a straight spine. Smoke and mirrors are nonexistent in the face of the cold, cold metal. She prefers to leave that up to the other members anyway, as the oldest, and the most unconcerned.

This translates on-stage to: a piercing gaze, sharp moves, a woman unsettled rather than some soft, wicked thing. Power and aggression in each pulse that is impossible to look away from. At the same time, it’s intimidation in spades that can create a sharp divide between themselves and the ones they want to draw in. Which is why show performances and variety appearances are two vastly different rodeos. It’s during the latter, free from dark makeup and costumes, when the comments resurface ( “From that idol group-” “You look just like her, she’s beautiful-” ), which, eerie sense of impostor syndrome aside, she takes without question. For the questions that are raised her way however, Yura keeps things pointed and to the point. Nothing more, nothing less, not because she’s shy, but she knows action always speaks louder than words. So where they cease to exist, she goes above and beyond in being a doer, be it through physical stunts or her avid participation in activities ( no matter how ridiculous ) without complaint.

Off-stage, there isn’t a lot of deviation. She talks little, works more, cruises the most. Doesn’t actively seek people, but takes initiative in leaving some bite of an impression, then doesn’t do much to keep them around. Desperation, hunger, for any of these things the others strive for ( fame, attention, money, love ) feel terribly insignificant; more distractions than direct pathways to a solid destination. Coming from a girl who’s only here for a good time, and not a long one, she’s fairly content with simply seeing this to the very end.

Some noted characters quirks include: Being inactive on social media ( to the point where even their manager has to remind her to post things come promotion time ), never seen to slouch or soften up, and seemingly having an odd aversion to skirts.

IDOL HISTORY

There’s little to life but family. Correction: family is all there is to it. Appa, oppa and baby girl in their well-to-do house in a well-to-do neighborhood in Haeundae-gu, contained and without contempt in the countless ways they mean the world to each other. Ironic, what with a wide ocean view from their windows and a patriarch who’d made a living solely off of flight, but one’s scope is always small from the start. Lullabies, plucked strings, film reels, none of these are woven into Yura’s childhood. Square and center in all early memories sits a round table made of dark elm. As plates were passed along, so were lessons. Shoulders level. Hands crossed over the lap. Chin at that angle. That’s my girl.

II.

A fine line exists between control and discipline. At first, she only learns this because she has to, but soon embraces it in body, mind and spirit. For over a decade, athletics is the forefront of her focus—not dream, mind you—and with the way she pushed forward, the chances of it becoming a formidable future were high. Pressure mounted, never all at once, but just enough for her to feel it with each passing year. Apparently love and passion is supposed to be part of the picture, but all Yura ever feels at the end of each match is the hard pounding in her ears and the wet sheen of sweat at her brow as gold is pressed into her hands. Devotion is practically sewn into every nerve and muscle, but it’s all it ever is. Skin-deep. Physical.

With age, the word “beauty” remains skin-deep as well. Puberty and good genes does wonders, but the pool of pretty people is only so wide. Overlap is expected in hindsight, then, but she doesn’t expect it to include her. The first time someone tells her, Yura admits she doesn’t think the same. The second, that she’s heard that before. It only multiplies and expands from there, with a dash of sweet talk and awe, to the point where it’s deemed fact for her. And of course, there’s the staring. Little does she know that this is only prep-work for what it’s going to be like all the time.

III.

Inertia stays for as long as one allows it to. Physics allows that much. A uniform, routinely life is fine for the first ten, fifteen, and even twenty years, but somewhere the monotony of it all brings out the first swell of exhaustion. Family, school, sports, then family again; with each rotation, the impulse is harder to fight. Indifference to losses by the first year. A switch to the Phys Ed. department by her second. Trysts found a dime a dozen by her third, through people, places. Positions. An early existential crisis, or a belated attempt at teenage rebellion? Neither actually, not even close. She just wants to move differently, feel what it’s like because it’s all starting to get a little old and she craves a change of pace. It’s that simple.

Luckily for her, the first opportunity wasn’t anything less questionable but a recruiting offer from Koala.T, who’d seen her face on the street in her post-graduated state and conjured the same thought that countless others have made. Of course, making an impulsive decision is always the easy part. Explaining it later that night would be the uphill battle none of the Nams would have seen coming.

IV.

No, she’s not the best. The important thing here is that she’s not entirely the worst, either—for someone who doesn’t have a single artistically inclined bone in her body, that’s not too shabby. Having physical strength, agility, and reflexes has its positives; channeling those assets into dancing, then continuing to improve with time has her getting favorable marks during trainee evaluations eventually. Singing ( to this day ) remains passably decent—so long her voice stays well within its lower range.

It helps that she’s not here to win, not when she’s led a whole twenty-something years dedicated to the idea. It also helps there’s no sweat in being watched, criticized with every blink of an eye. She’s been there too. Despite it all being intense and laborious like trainee life is touted to be, it’s the newness of it Yura marvels at. Everything else is only a matter of adjustment.

When the concept is first introduced, it’s perhaps the most emotion anyone has seen on her face because it’s so damn pretentious. Sopretentious Yura couldn’t help the small snicker that had escaped her lips at the time, incredulous. That this won’t sell is practically written all over, plain as day; then again, she’s not really here to sell anything, really, remember? Instead, she merely bites her tongue and simply goes along with it, because the code of conduct is to be grateful for even a sliver of the spotlight at all, irregardless of one’s intentions. She didn’t expect to come to this point, and not certainly this soon. So let’s take what we can get and make something out of it, shall we?

#id.bio #id.koalat #id.nightmare #id.lee sunbin

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