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camspam · 4 years

Note

Headcanons on what might happen in a Minecraft Story Mode AU where everything's the same, except Jesse is a child (somewhere between 5 and 10, everyone else remains their canon ages) going through all these adventures. We can even assume Olivia and Axel adopted and co-parented Child!Jesse at the start of the story. (Oh, and make Child!Jesse female)

My girlfriend and I actually have an RP on this! But I won’t be using female!Jesse, sorry, since my Jesse uses he/them pronouns and that’s what I’ll be using ::) So unless there’s a very explicit reason as to why Jesse has to be a certain gender, I’d like to stick to my one! But of course, you can imagine all this stuff with female!Jesse if that’s what you wanna do

(Also note that some of these headcanons are technically @arizaluca’s!)

-If we’re taking a bit more of a Minecraft logic view, people in their world grow up as normal until they reach a certain age where they ‘stall-out’ and age much, much slower. When they stall-out varies from person to person, but is usually well after puberty. Greying hair usually comes from stress rather than old age.

-Jesse stalled-out at five.

-Axel and Olivia found Jesse alone in the woods and were unable to ever find their parents, so have taken them on as their honorary baby sibling. At this point, they’re rather certain it would be a good idea for them to never find their parents.

-Aiden bullies Olivia and Axel, but he’s not cruel enough to be a prat to a five year old.

-Gill sneaks Jesse candy when no one’s looking because he’s a sucker for little kids.

-They get Reuben a little saddle and Jesse rides around on him because everyone else has Big Long Legs and they struggle to keep up sometimes

-Petra doesn’t let Jesse accompany her to her deal with Ivor, ‘cause, you know, not really a kiddo thing. But they are one of the first people to find out she was scammed out of a diamond when she goes searching for him, and so hurry off to be A Good Little Bean and get it back for her.

-Ivor is incredibly unimpressed (and somewhat baffled) when a tiny five year old storms up to him while he’s in the middle of reciting his Evil Speech and calls him a meanie for stealing from their friend

-Petra goes back for Lukas and Axel and Olivia take Jesse to speak with Gabriel

-Because Lukas froze and Jesse’s too small (and also were more likely to be plucked up by Axel/Olivia and taken straight through the portal), both Petra and Gabriel are sucked up by the Witherstorm.

-Jesse stays behind with Lukas to fortify while Axel goes to Boom Town and Olivia goes to Redstonia.

-There’s no swordfight in Soren’s library, considering Jesse can’t even lift a sword and Petra isn’t there. Because of this, Ivor doesn’t attack and trap them, and even hears of their plan for the Formidi Bomb. Considering he’s low on ideas himself, he (very) reluctantly decides to tag along.

-Jesse does not like the Grindr.

-They do quite like Soren’s Wool World, though. They end up taking a nap there ‘cause everything’s so comfortable and squishy and they’re exhausted.

-Olivia loses a game of rock, paper, scissors, shoot and ends up being the one to go out to find Soren in the Enderman suit. Ivor has disappeared somewhere.

-Soren takes a quick liking to Jesse. Jesse really likes his singing and dancing. Soren appreciates that.

-Soren and Ivor’s reunion is as awkward as you would expect it to be.

-Ivor takes the Formidi-Bomb.

-He only takes one half of Ellegaard’s armour and one half of Magnus’.

-They find both Petra and Gabriel without their memory. Jesse is upset when Petra doesn’t recognise them.

-Ellegaard and Magnus both survive but are badly injured. They stay behind in the cave while Axel takes the Amulet to lure the Witherstorm.

-Jesse tries telling Petra stories to jog her memory. It doesn’t really work, but she takes a really quick liking to them because of it.

-While they’d been rather grumpy with him for most of the adventure, Jesse slowly takes a liking towards Ivor as they travel to the Farlands. Ivor (and he will never ever admit this) also starts to take a liking to them.

-Ivor gets the cake so Jesse can eat, before staying behind to fend off the witch.

-Jesse ends up alone on the maze wall, but thankfully avoids danger (mostly because of Olivia having a bow and arrow and saving them their amazing fighting skills) and is able to meet up with the others safely.

-Jesse, Soren and Reuben end up stuck together in Ivor’s lab and figure out the puzzles bit by bit- mostly because of Jesse having a good memory (Soren was a little busy being nostalgic)

-Hearing about the Order from Olivia and Axel and all the stories, Jesse practically regarded them as superheroes. To find out they’re frauds is... disappointing for them.

-Ivor adjusts a few things and is able to give Jesse a little set of Baby Armour (tm).

-Ivor goes up into the Witherstorm to destroy the Command Block- instead of staying put like they were supposed to, Jesse and Reuben hop on and end up going with him.

-To say this gives everyone a heart attack is an understatement.

-Ivor’s knocked away and Jesse, riding Reuben, grabs the Weapon to give it to him, only to be grabbed by tentacles.

-Reuben falls.

-Jesse destroys the Command Block.

-They don’t understand why he wouldn’t get up.

-Ivor stays for Jesse.

#will add more later!!#probably #mcsm #mcsm au #kid au #mcsm jesse #kid jesse #mcsm headcanons #headcanons #keeperixx #kid headcanons #mcsm ivor #dadvor?#dadvor

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

The Man That Came Back

Thanks so much to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian, my wonderful betas

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, it’s free, easy and means so much!

---

For the next part of their plan, a heist needs to be pulled off in the fanciest bar on Saturn. And Buddy knows exactly how Juno can disguise himself, much to the delight of Nureyev

---

“Captain, all due respect and everything but that’s got to be the most ridiculous idea I ever heard.”

Buddy gave him a more than slightly exhausted look over the building plans she was studying on her comms screen, “You know, darling, it would be incredibly helpful if that wasn’t your response to every single plan I put in front of you…”

Juno gave her one of his scowls, the ones where he pouted a little and scrunched up his face, where he knew he was being unreasonable but was going to be stubborn all the same, “Well, let’s just say this one tops the whole damn lot! I don’t even...how...how do you even imagine I’d be any good at this?”

Buddy seemed to be tuning him out for the most part, eyes returning to her screen as the floorplan of the bar rotated slowly, exactly where their marks would enter, meet and most likely leave plotted out in glowing lines, “From the data I gathered on you, same way I know not to send you to any job that may, for some unknown reason, take place in a seafood restaurant owing to your allergy to shellfish. I like to know my crew, young lady, their likes, dislikes, the skills they boast about...and the skills they don’t. Keeps things smooth, interesting and us alive.”

Juno had very little reply to that, still choking on the embarrassment he was hiding behind annoyance, “But...what kind of database has that on file?”

“No database that I’ve ever heard of, darling, but you are aware that your high school yearbooks are also digitised and on file, easily accessible in the archives if one has no more information than your name?”

Juno stalled at that, turning somehow redder, “And that was relevant when hiring me to be a space pirate, was it?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Buddy raised an eyebrow, tracing a new glowing line onto the screen with her finger, “When I am inviting someone new into my family, everything is relevant. Would you pick a sibling or cousin so carelessly, if you had the chance to do so?”

“But…” Juno screwed up his face even tighter, clearly recognising he was trapped in an unwinnable argument but unwilling to go down without a pointless fight, “Of all the jobs, why did it have to be this?”

With a flick of devastatingly manicured fingers, Buddy blew up the plan into a hologram between them and spoke as if to a small child, “The view offered by that position is unparalleled, you’ll be able to see every table as well as the entrances to the bathrooms and the kitchens, thereby covering every possible means of escape for our mark and you can provide a fitting distraction at a moment’s notice.”

“Yeah, yeah, I read the plans before I came in here,” Juno waved away her hands patiently pointing to what she was referencing on the miniature, translucent version of the Saturnian wine bar, The Albedo, “I get your point, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I grant you that,” Buddy allowed, “Look, Juno, I’m not asking for talent worthy of a Saturday night stream, you just have to be functional. Enough that we can pull off what should be this very simple and problem free job. Put away that scowl of yours and have fun with it, if you can.”

Juno groaned irritatedly and stared at the still revolving plan in front of him. A simple job. Place themselves within the bar, watch the exchange of the stolen goods between their marks then wait until they leave and re-steal it right from out their back pocket. Boom, details on where the last piece of their little puzzle was hiding, where the book was. Snatch it up before anyone else could find it and not have to pay the exorbitant price their mark probably did. Don’t rob the shadowy, organised crime seller of the information who had security coming out of their ears, rob the poor idiot who bought the thing.

Easy. But it sure as hell didn’t have to be fun.

“Just do me a favour,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Please put minimal crew members in earshot. And for the love of all that’s holy, not Vesper.”

“Brown butter old fashioned please. With a cherry, if you have one to hand.”

A good alias was like stepping into a different skin, Nureyev had always been taught. Everything you were became less than a memory and this new personality took over completely. If you didn’t believe it, then your mark never would. It had to be complete. It had to be total. You essentially needed to die, for as long as required.

Nureyev still held true to that belief. But sometimes, on a job as easy as this one, he didn’t think it beyond the realm of possibility that your new identity may just happen to have the same favourite drink as you did.

He leaned against the bar and waited for his drink, allowing his eyes a pass over the scene. The bar was comfortably full without being a press of warm bodies in evening wear, just a generous handful of couples and groups at tables or standing with him at the bar, showing why Saturn was considered to have the most eccentric style of the solar planets. The headdresses were towering, the frills were voluminuous, the skirts were miles in diameter. Nureyev was starting to feel a little overshadowed in his simple black suit with gold embellishments set into the silk. The drinks poured out billows of dry ice and came in every colour on the spectrum apart from the usual ones. The music was the only thing old school, classic, a simple piano played by a very talented individual on a small, circular centre platform. Nureyev smiled, it was funny how some things kept coming back into fashion. How old could seem new if it was just old enough.

And in amongst the noise, familiarity. Rita, dressed as a waitress, moving between the tables, chatting animatedly with everyone she brought drinks to so her rounds took about ten times longer than she needed to. Hopefully that slight, almost unnoticeable lump in the pocket of her trousers was the signal jammer, just in case their mark tried to call him some kind of backup or there was a tracker on the goods. Rita didn’t often come down on jobs like this, her place was usually back on the ship, but she’d been desperate to see the bar itself (it had apparently been the setting for one of the streams she liked so much) and besides, if the signal changed, the jammer would need to hunt it down to take it out and Rita was the only one Buddy trusted with that task.

Jet was posing as a patron, dressed in smart dark clothes with his hair pulled back rather neatly, looking like he was struggling with the drink that had been set down in front of him. Nureyev couldn’t blame him, the thing had glowing orbs in it that looked like alien eggs. Not that he’d be drinking much of it anyway, in his usual roll as the muscle, just in case things went south. Jet was always a strong, comforting presence when they went to task and Nureyev was really starting to appreciate it. Muscles were certainly something he’d lacked, if he could be said to lack anything aside humility. Speed and cunning he had but his wiry frame had earned him more than a few bruised ribs in the past when jobs had turned irritatingly sour and fists had come out. He’d learned how to avoid those sorts of outcomes fast.

Nureyev’s eyes continued along, taking in the electric blue lighting fixtures making them look like they were all underwater, sleek leather furnishings, glinting gold and jewels on necks and fingers and wrists. His fingers got that old itch in them but he stilled himself. After the prize was taken, perhaps, but certainly not a minute before.

But one thing unsettled him deeply about the whole situation. The one face he hadn’t seen. The one face he would know no matter what disguise or mask it wore, the one face he always looked for first. Juno Steel was nowhere his eyes could see.

Nureyev frowned. He knew Juno was supposed to be posing as an employee of the bar itself, Rita had worked hard forging them employment orders from the owners. He’d expected to see him behind the bar serving drinks and had gotten himself a little excited about flirting with him shamelessly. They’d had some fun experiences with that, playing around with their new personas when they were supposed to be strangers. Nureyev didn’t think that was breaking his golden rule either. He couldn’t imagine anyone not being attracted to Juno Steel.

But he wasn’t here and that was settling a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Too many unknowns. Too many, all centred around a person he cared about. Recipe for panic sparking through his nerves and poor decisions being made.

He tried to catch Rita or Jet’s eyes, tried to calmly and subtly convey the extreme anxiety raging behind his easy, playful bar patron’s expression. But at that moment the lighting shifted, swimming and coalescing on that centre platform. There was an old fashioned mic stand there now, clearly a shift in the entertainment to welcome the actual start of the evening. Though some glitzed up aspiring starlet caterwauling their way through some old Earth classics was hardly what he needed right now, when his boyfriend was AWOL in the middle of a mission. He ignored the gathering interest around the platform and scanned the available exits, head full of potential scenarios with the seller being tipped off somehow, grabbing Juno while everyone else was occupied, leaving him bleeding in the alleyways outside the bar…

Nureyev was halfway out of his seat, drink forgotten in front of him when an artificially amplified voice echoed through the bar room and stopped him in his tracks. No introduction, no preamble,

Just a soft, shy voice buoyed by the sweet piano music, a voice he knew well.

“The night is bitter

The stars have lost their glitter…”

Nureyev whirled his attention to where the rest of the patrons were focused, on the individual in the long, sleek red dress standing behind the microphone, his outfit simple compared to the others on display but so striking for that.

“The winds grow colder

Suddenly you're older…”

Nureyev knew he was gaping at him but he didn’t care. His curls were spilling out over the nape of his neck and forehead, looking so soft under the blue lighting. He looked otherworldly, like something fae and unnatural, glitter dusted over his bare shoulders where it would catch the light just so, the material of the dress shifting and spilling when he swayed to the piano. And his voice.

“And all because of the man that got away.”

Since when did Juno Steel have a voice like that?

If Nureyev had been able to tear his eyes away, he would have seen Rita standing towards the back of the crowd, jaw on the floor, eyes wide, hand having gone limp so a thin stream of neon green wine was dribbling onto the carpet from the bottle she was holding. He would have seen Jet with an eyebrow raised bemusedly, tapping his foot under the table, attention then caught by a man walking in looking more nervous than anyone out for a good time had any right to.

But all he saw was Juno. He was clearly shy at first, voice soft and small, his movements a little stiff. But as the song continued and the reactions from the crowd were clearly appreciative, he began to sway his hips slightly, taking his hands away from holding onto the mic stand in a death grip, letting them float at his sides as he sang. And he started to smile, soft and soulful like his song, full of wry bitterness and loss and longing.

“Every trick of his you're on to

But, fools will be fools

And where's he gone to?”

And then suddenly his eye was on Nureyev, picking him out in the crowd, narrowing the space between them to nothing until they could have been alone in his room back on the ship, voices hushed, lips brushing. And Juno’s smile quirked slightly, enough pin Nureyev to the bar, his breath coming out in a long, quiet exhale. He would make his dear heart sing for him, once this was done.

“The road gets rougher

It's lonelier and tougher

With hope you burn up

Tomorrow he will turn up

There's just no letup the live-long night and day…”

Nureyev could have fallen to his knees in that moment, with how deep and sweet his voice became, drunk without a single sip of his drink. But then Juno’s eye caught his again and slid pointedly over to a table in the shadowier corners. Their mark and the seller. A thin brown envelope being passed under the table, barely visible.

Nureyev went scarlet. Not one of his more professional moments.

He refocused, taking his crystal glass in his hand and sauntering over, like he was just looking for a better view of the stage, an easy thing to feign now Juno’s hands were resting on his chest in a gentle pantomime of heartbreak that was so very distracting. The mark was just getting up, clearly eager to make a quick exit. It was amateurish in the extreme, a millionaire really should have some more self awareness.

It was the simplest thing. Bump into him, the drink cascading over them both. Apologetic pleasantries, outraged exclamations. Pat ineffectually with a nearby napkin. Slip the envelope from the inner pocket and replace with a blank to mimic the weight. Pretend to only just notice that you have just swilled one of the richest men on Saturn and bid a hasty, flustered exit. Child’s play, as smooth and silken as when he’d first mastered the maneuver at thirteen.

Nureyev allowed himself a self satisfied smile, once he was out of view. It was good to know that some things would never go to rust.

He headed back to the stage, stopping to gently tip the wine bottle in Rita’s hand the right way then claim it for himself, taking a seat directly in front of the stage before tipping it to his lips, eyes fixed on Juno, a self satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Ever since this world began

There is nothing sadder than

A one-man woman looking for

The man that got away

The man that got away.”

There were a lot of rules when it came to working jobs, false facing, slipping on alibis like a second skin.

But no one said you couldn’t have fun.

Later, much later, Juno’s voice was raw and breaking from a full night of singing and the noises Nureyev had been drawing from him for the last three hours.

Considering his work done for now and smiling smugly, Nureyev let him fall back against his bed, curling around him and pillowing his head on his broad chest. There was still glitter clinging to his skin that would likely end up on Nureyev and refuse to budge for days but he couldn’t make himself care about that right now.

“Oh my god…” Juno was still panting, chest heaving, heart hammering against Nureyev’s ear, “I mean...oh my god, Nureyev…”

Nureyev chuckled, pressing a kiss to the warm skin beneath his head, “I rather enjoyed it too, dear heart. And I did say you’d be fairly rewarded for your performance, didn’t I?”

“I thought you meant you were gonna buy me a drink or something,” Juno laughed breathlessly, hands coming up to stroke through Nureyev’s soft hair, sort out where it was matted at the back from their efforts, “Not that.”

“Well, I did say the reward would fit the quality of your performance...and that was pretty spectacular.”

He heard the blush in Juno’s voice rather than saw it, he was far too comfortable in his current position, “Ah...I mean, I was alright. Just something I used to do when I was younger.”

“Oh?” Nureyev’s interest was sparked but he hid that. Juno spoke about his past so infrequently, even with all of their lengthy conversations before they’d fallen back into bed with each other. It was clearly still a wound and Nureyev had no desire to poke it.

“Yeah,” Juno continued on, “My brother was always in the school productions, even though it was always kind of crappy and the sets were junk and most kids' parents wouldn’t even come, he still lit up when it came back around. And because it was better than sitting on the curb waiting for him for hours, I signed up too. He was the real talent, Ben could sing, dance, act...everything. I could carry enough of a tune to get shoved into some minor roles but...whenever I sang, even if it was just a few lines, he’d go crazy applauding for me and grinning a mile wide. Really, I was just doing it to see him smile. I knew it made him happy when I joined in.”

Nureyev smiled gently at that, hand reaching out to entwine his fingers with Juno’s, “I’m sure he’d have loved to see you sing tonight.”

“Oh, Ben would have laughed his ass off seeing me up there trying to be all femme fatale,” Juno hummed, holding Nureyev’s hand just as tightly, “But...yeah. It was hard not to think of him while I was up there.”

“And...what would he have made of the man drinking wine and watching you all gooey eyed, hm?”

“That asshole?” Juno cuddled Nureyev closer with his free arm, “Nah...he’d have liked you. He’d have realised you’re good for me.”

Nureyev buried his face in the crook of Juno’s neck, feeling a burst of delight in his chest at that, at the idea that he was good for someone.

And that someone was good for him.

#jupeter #tpp #peter nureyev #juno steel #juno can sing #juno poses as a lounge singer #Nureyev...enjoys it #the penumbra podcast #tpp fic

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border-spam · 5 years

Text

Troy HC dump

These span all eras and are valid for the Troy I write , some are 18+ so read more at your discretion:

Hugely into any puzzle / collection echo games (think puzzle and dragons), and uses them to relax very often in private. Finds puzzle games really destress him and help him sleep. Has spent an insane amount of money in them.

Keeps his own personal coffers and the amount he spends wouldn’t even be noticeable against his almost infinite wealth , but he’d be intensely embarrassed if anyone found out how much God King Calypso spends on gatchas.

Hair is naturally very thick, his iconic hairstyle was originally born out of frustration after going for a bandit mohawk, realising how much work that was going to be every day, then swiping it all forwards and hoping for the best.

Has v little torso hair but does pluck the patchy little bits he grows for the aesthetic, bitch.

Incredibly hygienic for a Pandoran, but more so with his oral hygiene than anything else. Had to keep a rigorous cleansing routine for the first few months after his jaw mod and just kept it up from then on.

Understands a huge amount of different languages, but not fluently. Leda taught him the basics of a lot of language cores and he can understand and read a lot relatively well. Cant speak or write them though, and keeps this skill close to his chest.

He’s intensely clever and realised early how useful it was to understand what sponsors were saying to each other in “private” by using another language during meetings with the twins. He’s turned having his intelligence underestimated so often into a weapon he wields with great skill.

His hand writing is atrocious. He can read it fine, but not even Tyreen can half the time. Almost proud of having his own shitty shorthand code he can use for notes.

Can count the amount of times he’s worn underwear by choice on his one hand since adulthood. Didn’t have any on Nekrotafeyo, and fuck it. Freedoms comfortable and let’s you have very low slung pants.

Very low slung pants are very good at distracting possible competitors/business partners enough during interactions to either cause them to slip up, or underestimate his cunning again. Either works fine for him, he gets attention, and the upper hand. Win win.

Snores really bad from a combo of mods and compromised respiratory system. Modded tongue tends to slowly extend the deeper his sleep gets, and he’s woken up with it over his eyes before. Will completely deny he snores, only Tyreen has heard it and she’s clearly lying, right?

Did most of his own piercings and barely flinched. Full on SOBBED after he pierced his nips. Sat on his bathroom floor for an hour waiting for the pain to pass while strongly second guessing his life decisions.

Gets extremely emotionally invested in classical music / soundtracks and falls asleep listening to his fave playlists often. Has nicer dreams when he does than if he doesn’t, and also feels like it helps boost his creativity while working. Doesn’t know why.

A combo of keeping his neck covered under the collar, and the scarring on his throat, has left it hyper sensitive when uncovered. A caress will instantly have him snapping viciously or melting into a gasping mess of goosebumps and shivers depending on who’s hand it was.

Super comfortable with nudity, his self esteem issues are focused on his body’s layout and the self perceived damage/disfunction of it, nudity doesn’t come into play at all.

That is, as long as his bracer is on. What’s under the bracer is the one part of his body he would be terrified of showing to someone he valued in a vulnerable situation. Any COV worshipper stupid enough to think just because they can touch him naked means they could try and touch under the bracer is going to really miss their hand afterwards ( if they are still alive to miss it ).

Would love to be able to play a musical instrument well but he’s struggled with any he tried before as only his existing hand is dextrous enough for one. Would really appreciate and treasure someone with the patience and kindness to teach him, but knows that would mean dropping the God King persona, and can’t justify damaging their reputation just for something that would make him happy.

Gets recognised instantly regardless of how he dresses or looks, which he loathes. There is no way to hide his height or build, let alone the markings on his face. Really misses being able to just wander and explore like he could in the COV’s early days.

Really, really, really loves food, but his ill health means he can’t eat the way he’d like and often has to avoid foods he wished he could eat more. God King Calypso is known for being exceptionally choosy about the food he eats. In reality, Troy just can’t trust a lot of the overly rich food he’s served.

Massively enjoys cooking in his Sanctum when alone, and would treasure doing so for anyone he sees as a friend. Has, very rarely in the past, and loved seeing how surprised they were that he’s not useless at it.

Solely drinks alcohol to get drunk, can’t really taste beer very well and doesn’t enjoy most spirits. He’s a functional alcoholic but would deny he relies on it or other drugs (he absolutely does) and blows off concern from medics as it being something he chooses to do, not needs.

Wishes he could smoke Pandoran weed but wouldn’t risk the damage to his weak lungs, tends to make tea with what he grows in his ship, shares it with Tyreen a lot. She can’t touch plants, so he has no problem doing the green thumb work and sharing with her when she needs to relax.

Unless their dad had thought it to them or they saw it in an echo show, then the twins had no grasp of basic social do’s and don'ts when they reached Pandora.

Troy would have no problem sitting in a merger meeting picking his nose while Tyreen scratched her ass in front of board members. They learned a lot of their social skills the hard way, having been asked to please, please stop by priests and saints.

Has never won a burping competition against Tyreen in his life. Is genuinely irritated by this.

Can’t dance. Can strut and pose, has a great sense of rhythm, just cannot for the life of him do anything dance wise. Please don’t ask him to it will end in tears (his).

Savant with numbers, sees them as patterns like his dad did. Thought everyone could till he met people on Pandora. Gets aggressively frustrated with anyone who he needs to explain his process for reaching a mathematical conclusion to, because they never get it.

Complete idiot tier for animals. Likes them a lot, just doesn’t know what any of them are and no one is in a position to correct him without risking embarrassing the God King publicly and having their neck snapped.

Calls everything he sees a Skag. Rakks? Flying Skags. Bullymongs? Arm Skags. Skags? “Those bitchin lil’ mouth dudes.”

Really enjoys art and has a beautiful defined style with spray paint. Dumbs it down for propaganda, but his Sanctum is filled with canvases that are experimental colour and line pieces. Very much likes working with holy iconography but tends to only illustrate Tyreen this way in his own time..

Spends a lot of hours in the Mechanicum and knows a lot of the Tinks in higher leadership position by name. Likes to talk engineering with them and feels comfortable enough to drop a lot of the God King persona and actually enjoy the conversation.

A Troy who’s excited and interested in a discussion is all twinkling eyes and gentle, eager smile. He often has to remind himself to shift back into persona mid conversation, and it can be quite.. sad.. to see him go from so clearly happy, back to an icy, scathing asshole.

Incredible at lying but cannot bluff for shit. Play any card game with him and he has instant facial tells (squints and sticks his tongue slightly out the side of his mouth when looking at his cards). Doesn’t understand why he could never win against his dad or Tyreen, probably never will.

Would never wear his reading glasses publicly, thinks they completely destroy his overall aesthetic and lines of his face mods. Won’t accept his’s wrong about this from anyone, though he personally likes how much more like himself he looks when wearing them in private.

Tyreen was so sick of seeing his ass crack, she was the one who suggested the overly tight belt that became part of his outfit. All his pants that are the right length are far too wide in the waist for his narrow hips. He could just get fitted ones now, but the low slung waist line + belt combo is part of his look at this point.

Incredibly high pain tolerance for almost everything, says he barely felt the tattoos and genuinely means it. The constant pain from the bracer and damaged shoulder joint has let him numb to most other relatively low levels of pain.

Is an amazing kisser as long as what you enjoy is the threat of being consumed alive. Troy’s mouth is a self designed weapon, verbally and physically, and he’s never been in a position to learn to use it tenderly. Doesn’t let worshippers choose to kiss him when bedding them, and is aggressive with it if he chooses to kiss them.

Would love to learn how to be tender from someone who cared for him and he felt safe enough with to allow his persona to slip and be vulnerable with, but as the years go on and the God King becomes more in control, Troy has become resigned to the fact that it’s something he will never have.

Very self conscious about his hygiene and showers usually twice daily if he can. Everything on Pandora is covered in sweat and filth, and he can’t risk getting infections considering the amount of open ports along his body. Really enjoys scents and has a surprisingly large collection.

Gets highly irritated with public displays of affection. Intensely, soul crushingly envious.

This gets dangerous late God King era as he becomes more and more violent. People have learned to be extremely careful to not show affection to each other in viewing distance of him at all, or risk losing a limb. Or worse.

Sex drive only gets higher as time goes on. For the first few years he much preferred pleasuring himself rather than interacting with the squalid heaving masses of followers throwing their bodies at him, but by the time of the God King era in later COV years, he can’t stand touching himself anymore. He doesn’t want to touch his body, and the God King is more than happy to let others praise it nightly instead.

Sleeps with huge cushions he brushes off as being for comfort, but deep down he knows its because their weight and pressure helps him not feel so alone.

Squints a lot and is known for scowling, but it’s mostly due to terrible headaches, not eye sight issues or his mood. The dark eye makeup helps with the glare a little but he’s noticeably paler than his sister due to the bright sun causing them more often than not and him preferring to stay in the shade of indoors.

Has kept every single thing given to him out of kindness. Will keep sugar packets if someone brings him a coffee with one out of concern for him looking tired. If he feels it was done because they like him and not out of respect for his title, he will keep anything he’s been given.

Most of the people who gave him these tiny things he’s kept.. well.. they aren’t around anymore (no one he’s gotten to know well chooses to stay very long ).. but he still likes to look through them sometimes when he needs to be reminded he’s possible to like.

The collection looks like a little box of trash to anyone else, but bar his old jacket his father made for him out of one of his own that he still keeps hidden away, it’s probably his most treasured possession.

#troy calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #my writing #my hcs

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 4 years

Text

sour undertones - klaine oneshot

AN: this work is based off of a piece of fanart by animateglee

words: 1723

summary: Kurt finds Blaine’s diary and is surprised at what he finds there. Blaine thought it was good at the time, I mean, he got an A in creative writing from Miss Eavesbridge once! (quarantine fic)

The days have been long for the both of them, and it’s not like he was snooping, really, he wasn’t. He was bored.

Ever since the lockdown had started in New York, Kurt felt like he was going to go mad. His apartment with Blaine was only small (despite their success and newfound fame, prices to live in the city were still ridiculously high) and there was only so much they could do in such a tiny space. After multiple different jigsaw puzzles and games of monopoly and other miscellaneous things that didn’t involve sitting around and scrolling through Instagram, he was starting to go a little bit crazy.

It was also hard for them - they were different types of people; Kurt was an extrovert… and well, Blaine… not so much. For Blaine, it was much easier; he would happily sit around at home all day keeping himself busy doing nothing much at all.

But Kurt, he thrived on socialisation, on meeting new people, new faces and interesting personalities. He was growing tired. So he wasn’t surprised when he found himself searching through the shelves and bits of storage in their tiny home, not really knowing what he was looking for.

He found lots of old things knocking around in their draws - a photo album of their first year together as a couple, and smiled as he looked through the miscellaneous memories that had been captured and saved, something to hold onto for all their lives. The receipt from their one of their many dates, a recipe book Kurt had given to Blaine one year for his birthday in their old loft in Bushwick, and Kurt was a little offended to find it hidden away in a random draw next to their bed, but then he decided to search some more.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t seen it before, but it was a beautiful thing, a notebook with a leather covering and writing on the front, stuck on with different clippings of letters from headlines of newspapers, and Kurt laughed to himself as it reminded him of The Burn Book from Mean Girls. A guilty pleasure of his, if he was being honest.

However, this expression changed as he opened the notebook. He saw on the very first page, ‘property of Blaine Devon Anderson’ scribbled messily onto the parchment. Around it was lots of different doodles and hearts and other little drawings that made Kurt smile. Then he turned the page, realising what he was actually looking at.

15th March 2011

Dear Diary,

Kurt’s eyes widened as he recognised the date. That date was special to them. He recognised it, even more so, when he read the words ‘I kissed Kurt today!’ in big, capital letters, confirming why it was so special to them. That was when he burst out laughing, deciding to read on. Half of him felt bad for reading through his husband’s diary from nine years ago, but dammit - they were husbands! It was healthy to have some secrets in a relationship, he thought. Reading again, a big smile lit up his face.

I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am right now. I’ve been so oblivious all this time, and only now I’ve realised how much I appreciate him. I can’t believe that this might turn into a real thing soon! And hopefully, his feelings are the same. I mean, they would be, wouldn’t they? He did kiss me back. Twice. Anyway, I think I love him. He’s beautiful, and his eyes are so blue…

Kurt was aware that his face was probably lit up like a Christmas tree, but he didn’t care. His now-husband had written about him in his diary on the day of their first kiss. He was allowed to be happy.

“Kurt?”

It was only then that Kurt closed the notebook abruptly, jumping up from where he was sat on the floor against the bed, dumping it on the floor and turning to face Blaine, who had now walked into the room.

“What are you doing?”

Oh god. Kurt looked suspicious. He was fully aware of that. He was trying to wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers (even if they weren’t allowed outside, didn’t mean his fashion game was going to falter) and his eyebrows were raised up far too high as he tried to keep a sense of nonchalance about his aura but failing.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” He smiled. The tension in the room was suffocating. He shouldn’t have been nervous, really, he shouldn’t have, but Blaine was standing there looking very worried and curious and Kurt wasn’t ready for whatever would happen next.

Blaine frowned, moving closer to Kurt.

“You’re acting weird. What’s going—”

He paused as he realised the notebook on the floor. He looked at it, sitting there, then back at his husband, whose eyes were now comically wide, and they stared at each other incredulously.

“Kurt, I swear to fucking god—”

Kurt broke the tension by letting out a giggle, deciding teasing was the best way to go about this situation. He bent down and picked up the notebook from the floor, and continued to read the page he’d been reading, but out loud to Blaine this time.

“So, my soft but scratchy lips tasted exquisite… the sweet flavour of starburst fruit gums but also the sour undertones of orange juice, along with the sweet promise of love?” He burst out laughing. Blaine scrambled towards him, trying to snatch his old diary out of Kurt’s hands.

“Kurt! Give that back!”

“Why… are you talking… about our first kiss… like it’s a fucking Michelin star meal?” Kurt marvelled, between fits of laughter. Blaine was trying to grab the notebook but Kurt made sure to keep a hand on his chest, preventing him from stealing it back.

“Kurt… please! I was excited!” Blaine shouted, exasperated.

That only made Kurt laugh harder, running away from Blaine who was now getting closer to stealing the diary back, so he jumped up on the bed.

“No! I have a right!” He screamed, jumping down from the bed and now running around the apartment, trying to find another excruciatingly cringe-worthy piece of writing to read out to his very embarrassed husband.

“When we pulled back, I stared into his piercing blue orbs… what the fuck are orbs?” He joked, collapsing onto their couch, reading some more, “and I was so dazed, the only thing going on in my mind was Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, then he said, in the softest, most beguiling voice—” he broke off his reading again, trying to understand Blaine’s writing, “sorry… Blaine? Why are you using such descriptive words? This sounds like a fucking fanfiction!” He laughed, then continuing, “he said we should practice,” he raised his eyebrows as he noticed Blaine was watching him at the end of the couch with an exaggerated pout on his face.

You’re so mean,” Blaine whined, he fucking whined, and that was when Kurt started to feel bad.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” He apologized, “but you’ve gotta admit, it is pretty funny.”

“You’re making fun of my sixteen-year-old self’s writing skills,” Blaine said, the pout on his face still prominent, “Miss Eavesbridge gave me an A for creative writing in English at Dalton once!” He said, referencing their Eleventh Grade English teacher.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry for making fun of your creative writing skills,” Kurt laughed, affectionately, pulling Blaine onto the couch from where he was sitting, untangling his folded arms. “Although I don’t think this would be creative writing since it actually happened.” He cross-examined, stroking his hands through his husband’s hair. He was so grateful that Blaine had loosened up on the gel now, moving away from the brick-like hair he had five years ago. He loved stroking Blaine’s hair.

Blaine groaned in annoyance at Kurt’s display of his pedantic trait but obviously appreciated the attention, nestling his head into Kurt’s neck, wrapping his arms around his husband.

“You’ve embarrassed me.”

“That’s what marriage is for!”

"Rude.”

“You’re cute.”

Blaine looked up at Kurt then, lifting his torso so he was fully on top of his husband, holding himself up by his hands. “I can’t believe you found my old diary. Although I am sorry that I described our first kiss like a Michelin star meal. It’s just— it was special, you know? And I wanted to remember every bit of it.”

Kurt’s face was glowing. He was so in love with Blaine, every day his love grew stronger. As he looked into his hazel (Kurt laughed to himself as he thought of the word orbs) eyes, he wondered how he had become so lucky.

“It was special. Do you want to recreate it?” He replied.

Blaine hummed appreciatively, “mmm. Sounds like a good idea,” and leaned in for a kiss. They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in, Kurt’s hand cupping Blaine’s cheek, eyes closed.

When they broke apart, they stared at each other for a while, when Kurt mumbled, obviously quite dazed, “Any sour undertones of orange there?”

Blaine groaned, dropping his head back down onto Kurt’s shoulder, “That honestly sounds so fucking disgusting. I can’t believe I ever wrote that.”

“Well, actually, you said you wanted to remember every moment of our first kiss, but you actually got a bit of it wrong in your writing.” Kurt acknowledged, picking up Blaine’s old diary again, “you see, here you wrote that I said we should practice, but I actually remember quite clearly that you said that.”

Blaine frowned at this, grabbing the diary out of Kurt’s hands, reading out loud where he had written that.

“he said, in the softest, most beguiling voice, we should practice. Huh. I did get that wrong. Guess my mind was so dazed all I could think about was Kurt, Kurt, Kurt.” Blaine said, quoting his diary entry.

Kurt burst out laughing at that, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s neck, pulling him in for a short kiss once again. “You’re such a dork.”

“But you love me anyway.” Blaine smiled.

“Of course I do. And I know you love me too.” Kurt replied, pressing their lips together again. He loved his beautiful, ‘I-got-an-A-in-creative-writing’, beguiling husband. And he wasn’t going to see the end of this story in a very, very long time.

AO3 link

#klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #quarantined!Klaine #married!Klaine #theyaskedmeto #one-shot #complete #Rated G #Less than 5K #submission

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theyaskedmeto · 4 years

Text

sour undertones - klaine oneshot

read at ao3

words: 1723

AN: this was inspired by a piece of fanart by animateglee, go check it out!

summary: Kurt finds Blaine's diary and is surprised at what he finds there. Blaine thought it was good at the time, I mean, he got an A in creative writing from Miss Eavesbridge once!

The days have been long for the both of them, and it’s not like he was snooping, really, he wasn’t. He was bored.

15th March 2011

Dear Diary,

“Kurt?”

“What are you doing?”

Blaine frowned, moving closer to Kurt.

“You’re acting weird. What’s going—”

He paused as he realised the notebook on the floor. He looked at it, sitting there, then back at his husband, whose eyes were now comically wide, and they stared at each other incredulously.

“Kurt, I swear to fucking god—”

“Kurt! Give that back!”

“Why... are you talking... about our first kiss... like it’s a fucking Michelin star meal?” Kurt marvelled, between fits of laughter. Blaine was trying to grab the notebook but Kurt made sure to keep a hand on his chest, preventing him from stealing it back.

“Kurt… please! I was excited!” Blaine shouted, exasperated.

That only made Kurt laugh harder, running away from Blaine who was now getting closer to stealing the diary back, so he jumped up on the bed.

“You’re so mean,” Blaine whined, he fucking whined, and that was when Kurt started to feel bad.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” He apologized, “but you’ve gotta admit, it is pretty funny.”

Blaine groaned in annoyance at Kurt’s display of his pedantic trait but obviously appreciated the attention, nestling his head into Kurt’s neck, wrapping his arms around his husband.

“You’ve embarrassed me.”

“That’s what marriage is for!”

“Rude.”

“You’re cute.”

“It was special. Do you want to recreate it?” He replied.

When they broke apart, they stared at each other for a while, when Kurt mumbled, obviously quite dazed, “Any sour undertones of orange there?”

Blaine groaned, dropping his head back down onto Kurt’s shoulder, “That honestly sounds so fucking disgusting. I can’t believe I ever wrote that.”

Blaine frowned at this, grabbing the diary out of Kurt’s hands, reading out loud where he had written that.

Kurt burst out laughing at that, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s neck, pulling him in for a short kiss once again. “You’re such a dork.”

“But you love me anyway.” Blaine smiled.

#this was meant to be way shorter but oh look! it grew #quarantined!klaine #glee #klaine fanfic #klaine fic #elsie writes #kurt hummel #klaine #blaine anderson #quarantine fic #klaine oneshot #glee fanfiction #fic: sour undertones

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idealisticrealism · 4 years

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Hello! I hope you are doing fine. So I read the new chapters of Into Flames and ... oh boy, oh boy... I'm not gonna lie, when I read chapter 3 my first reaction was similar to the one Remi half-expected from Weller: a psychopath creeping into the house where Sawyer was sleeping with a knife. And, I am not gonna lie again, I was a bit puzzled about Kurt's reaction in chapter 4. His sister and her son were sleeping in that house. And Remi just decided to go there and threaten his father after (1)

Oh, ReviewerAnon. I freakin love getting to hear your thoughts on this story. And funnily enough, I literally thought of you the very day before you sent these Asks, wondering if you were still reading along, and I was so excited to see the notifications show up less than 24hrs later. Given the length of your messages-- not to mention the undoubtedly very long responses I will be giving to your questions/comments about IF-- I’m going to put the rest under a Read More so people don’t have to scroll past a huge block of text. But to any of my followers that are reading IF, feel free to read this and even add any thoughts you might have, bc there might be some interesting (and spoiler-free) things for you to discover if you want to look below the cut :)

So I read the new chapters of Into Flames and ... oh boy, oh boy... I'm not gonna lie, when I read chapter 3 my first reaction was similar to the one Remi half-expected from Weller: a psychopath creeping into the house where Sawyer was sleeping with a knife. And, I am not gonna lie again, I was a bit puzzled about Kurt's reaction in chapter 4. His sister and her son were sleeping in that house. And Remi just decided to go there and threaten his father after a two sentence discussion with Weller. Determined to get an answer Weller hadn't gotten, in a way he never dared to. It made me uncomfortable. So I gave it a couple of weeks and thought about it. And in some way it made sense. Because she loves him and she realized that he could never be a whole person again until he got an answer that would allow him to put the past behind him. And he would never get an answer because he could never put a knife in that man's throat and demand it. And the past and that man would continue to hunt him. The same past and man that had pushed him to almost take his own life. So she does what he can't do and he accepts it because he understands it comes from a place of love and more importantly because he feels it in his bones that he would never have an answer in any other way. Or at least that's how I saw it.

Oh man. I have so much to say about this and I hope it’s going to make sense. Firstly, my immediate response to you not liking Remi’s actions was “Nooooooooo” because I’m always sad when someone doesn’t enjoy something in my writing. But I’m so delighted that you actually gave it the benefit of the doubt and thought about it from different angles rather than just dismissing it as a poor writing choice, and honestly the conclusion you came to is pretty much exactly what I was going for! But to say a bit more about it, because I can’t help myself lol: firstly, though we haven’t had much opportunity to see it in either fic, Remi is fiercely protective of kids (even while having very little idea of how to interact with them), given her history with the orphanage and Shepherd’s parenting etc. Literally from the moment she heard his story about Taylor in the cave, she knew that she would have gotten the truth out of Bill by any means necessary if she had been in Weller’s shoes, and would also have made Bill pay dearly for it. When she discovers at the safehouse that Bill is practically within reach, there is no question for her that she has to do this for Weller. Not only does she love him and want him to have closure, but she feels that she owes it to him to do what he can’t-- to her, Weller saved her, showed her that she wasn’t just the irredeemable monster that Shepherd had created; but she also knows that her darker side is exactly what is needed for this, because only someone who was a little bit monstrous could do what was necessary to get the truth from someone like Bill. By doing it herself, she ensures Weller will get the answer he so desperately wants and needs, all without ever tainting his soul or his conscience. Did a part of her also almost hope (even as the thought terrified her) that doing this terrible thing would make him turn his back on her once he learned of it? Honestly, I think so, even if just a little bit. Because yes, she loves him, but she is still half-convinced that she is the very thing he needs protecting from, not to mention that she is insecure as hell, and if he left her now because of this, that would be easier to bear than him leaving her later bc he just ‘lost interest’ or fell for someone else or whatever.

As for Weller’s reaction-- despite their grim nature, he sees her actions for the gift of love that they are, sees her taking the burden of doing ‘evil’ onto her own shoulders in order to both heal his old wounds and prevent him gaining new ones. And honestly, when he learns of it, I don’t think her going into the apartment with Sarah and Sawyer gives him even a moment’s concern-- firstly, he knows she would have used as little force as possible with Bill, because he knows her and knows that she’s not needlessly cruel, and also that she cares what he thinks of her, so there would have been no doubt in his mind hat she would have been very restrained in her approach. He knows, too, that with her level of skill, Sarah and Sawyer were bound to never even know she was there. And if by some unlucky chance they did discover her, it would probably all be fine-- Sarah knows and trusts her and so would listen to what she had to say, and Sawyer was little enough that he would believe pretty much anything that this gentle and pretty lady said, especially if his mom was also awake to say she was Uncle Kurt’s girlfriend. (Btw let’s not forget Bill would be rendered unconscious the moment he made a peep, so it’s not like either of them would walk in on him squealing like a stuck pig with her standing over him covered in blood and holding a knife).

But aaaanyway TL/DR; Remi Briggs would do anything to protect Kurt Weller from literally any form of harm, regardless of the cost to herself, and Weller recognises this and would never turn on her for doing so, even if she did it in a way that others might condemn. He just accepts her and finds his own ways to protect her in return, because that’s what you do for the people you love.

A question here: why do you think he never threatened his father for an answer when he was sure about what he had done? Why didn't he put a gun to his head? He must have thought about it. Perhaps, when it came to that man Weller would always feel like a 10-year old boy with no power over his paternal figure? Helpless and hopeless?

Oooh boy, time for a fun fact: my first idea for Weller’s ‘dark secret’ wasn’t that he tried to kill himself. It was actually much like what you said; sometime when he had grown into a tall, broad-shouldered teenager who almost physically rivalled his father for size and was no longer paralysed by his fear of him, he was going to finally snap, attack his father and threaten him with a gun to get him to tell him the truth about Taylor. Then, either he would have the sudden realization that he had also become a violent monster just like his father and immediately back off, or Sarah would unexpectedly appear and interrupt the confrontation, following which Weller would run off and enlist and basically banish himself to the other side of the world in shame/to protect her and others from himself. When I thought about it, though, I decided that him actually going through with something like that didn’t really fit with the image of Weller I had in my head (even a traumatised and angsty and hormonal teenaged Weller) so I changed the plot to have him nearly kill himself instead. The subtext of that moment, which I never actually explicitly wrote but was definitely there in my mind, was that the reason he nearly killed himself and then later ran away to the Army was because he wanted to kill his father, wanted to attack him just like I described above, and was so horrified by that urge-- and by the belief that it meant that he truly was his father’s son, just another violent monster like Bill-- that he ran as far and fast as he could and then focused his entire life around helping people (as much as one can while in the Army... though that’s a political debate for another time), trying to stamp out or at least outrun that part of himself. Obviously that’s a level of complexity that you guys never really received bc I never actually told you-- but actually as I write this, I actually now know exactly where and when I will include it in the future. So I guess you did just get a teeny spoiler there haha :P

Anyway... Chapter 5 was AMAZING. I love how much she loves Weller and I'm so glad that she just went ahead and said it. I love that it is important to her that he knows that she feels the same. What a difference a few weeks, a good man, and the generous love of that man can make to a broken person... Remi has come a long way. I also LOVED the interaction between Emma and Remi but I kind of also wanted a glimpse of Remi's thoughts on the necklace and what Emma's gesture meant to her.

“What a difference a few weeks, a good man, and the generous love of that man can make to a broken person”-- Yes!! You have literally captured the entire theme of FTA and IF. I started writing FTA purely because I wondered what kind of person Remi would have become if she’d met Weller earlier. The assassination attempt by Orion was a turning point in her life, one that (in canon) drove her back to Shepherd and to the ‘dark side’. But if it had led her to Weller instead, and to the side of good... what else would change, not only for her, but for all of them? Exploring that in IF has been awesome, partly because I get to right a lot of wrongs, but also because I get to take two traumatised people who have suffered a lot in their lives and let them start to heal together, and just be happy and stupidly in love?? The whole thing is pure bliss, both for them and for me lol

Also I get what you mean about wanting to know Remi’s reaction to Emma and the necklace, given that we never got to really see it bc that scene was all from Weller’s POV. I will do my best to address it someday, and I think I even have an idea of where it could happen....

The tattoos in chapter 6 were indeed EXTRA but they are drunk in love so go ahead with all the grand dramatic gestures...

Dude, you have no idea how hard I fought with myself on that one. The sensible side was all “Laura, no, it’s so lame and over-the-top! Don’t do it! Everyone will roll their eyes and be unable to take you seriously ever again!” while the fluff-loving little fangirl in me just repeatedly cried “But I wanna!!” Which was clearly enough argument to convince me, given the sappy romantic that I am lol. (A decision that was helped along by a little encouragement from the ever-awesome @chibinoyume). And as it turns out, people seemed to enjoy the whole tattoo thing, thankfully! I think the fact that these two are clearly very much in the ‘Honeymoon Phase’ helped out there, as did the fact that the tattoos could technically be viewed as a reminder of their journey/survival rather than just specifically of each other. But man, I wish I could have gotten to write Remi’s indecision as she paced around the spare bedroom for a couple of hours trying to decide whether to tattoo herself or not lol. Because (much like my own little internal debate haha) she wanted to do it, but felt that she shouldn’t want to do it, and was also nervous about the reaction if she did. But anyway, I may very well end up writing a oneshot of that moment someday. We’ll see.

Chapter 7 was so much fun! Thank god for shared bathrooms and extra doors and kudos to Remi for claiming what obviously belongs to her. She loves him and he loves her and good for them for not holding anything back. Life is too short and they wasted a lot of years already without love in their life.

I agree completely!! These two have both lived so much of their lives in emotional isolation-- I mean, yes, Weller had Sarah and Sawyer and Emma, but like I said earlier, he had deliberately kept his distance out of fear and shame, and then by the time he started to realise that he wasn’t his father, he was so used to being far away that I think it just made sense to stay that way. So when he and Remi found each other and experienced that deep sense of connection for the first time, they might have shied away from it at first, but once they accepted it, no one was ever going to be able to make them let go. They are each others’ person, and always will be, even if they both get afflicted by insecurity at times!

Also hell yes about the shared bathrooms!!! I know I could have written it that way regardless, bc I’m the author and I can do what I want, but having reality actually back me up on it was amazing lol. I’m pretty sure you asked several weeks ago what the bedroom/roommate situation was like at Quantico and I couldn’t tell you back then, so I’m glad I finally got to share the answer with you haha!

And although I am sure other readers are ready for team bonding and first friendships (at least for Remi), I am here for Mayfair. Mayfair is an absolute queen and has shown more caring and love for these two than their parental figures ever did. I am now gonna go ahead and selfishly say what I would like to see: I'm here for both of them (together and separately) having a heart-to-heart with Mayfair. I'm here for Remi sincerely saying how much she appreciates everything Mayfair has done for them, although she owed her nothing. I'm honestly here for them to send Mayfair flowers and chocolates and maybe a new scarf. I want grand gestures! One of the greatest failures of the show, in my opinion, was the lack of healthy relationships between people of different generations. It's pathetic that almost every person over 40 turned out to be a villain and every single parental figure (except Emma who we saw for like 2 seconds and Bill Nye) failed miserably their children (I am not even going to talk about killing Mayfair). Our relationships are not just with people of our age, our friends or siblings. We have important relationships with our parents, our aunts, our older colleagues or friends and we often turn to them for love and advice and encouragement and maybe to get yelled at for doing stupid things. Why on earth could we not have that on Blindspot? The team is great and everything but Mayfair's relationship with Weller was amazing (and I guess her relationship with Patterson and the others, if they cared to elaborate on time and not after death). So please please more Mayfair in the story... (They will have weekends off at some point, right? And they will need protection. A safehouse, right? I am sure Mayfair can have a beachhouse or a lakehouse or a house on the top of a mountain where they can go spend the weekend safely because Mayfair is the head of the NYO and she has to have extra security, right? I will pay money for a Remi-Mayfair talk about her relationship with Weller and how it has changed her but also confiding to her about what kind of future she sees with Weller after Orion is defeated.)

This is a really interesting point, and I honestly hadn’t noticed until now just how many of the older characters turned out to be absolutely awful, or if they weren’t, got quickly killed off. I will forever be bitter about Mayfair’s end (I held onto denial about her death for so damn long, sigh) and that was one of the things I wanted to rectify in this story. Mayfair is an amazing part of the team and an incredible character in her own right. Though with that said, I honestly hadn’t planned for her to be in the Quantico-based chapters much at all, purely bc she’s a busy lady and NYC is several hours away, but after getting your asks I had an idea for a very Mayfair-focused chapter and I think you’re going to enjoy it a lot. Well, I hope so, anyway!

Finally, with the way these two are behaving I'm half expecting a marriage proposal and a yes before the question gets fully asked and I will be like "I mean yeah... it makes total sense after 6 weeks together..."

Hahahaha I love that you would be on board with a Reller engagement already! I get what you mean; they’ve been A Lot lately, especially bc of all the uncertainty of their changing situation, but I think once they settle into Quantico life they’ll tone it down a notch lol. Plus, it definitely is still early days, and there’s a lot that these guys have to figure out before they could get to that point! I can neither confirm nor deny that a proposal will happen by the end of the fic (mostly because I legitimately don’t know yet lol-- I have about 20 chapters to write before we even get near to the end, so I’ve got lots of other things to be focusing on for now haha). But with that said, if I do include one, I hope it’ll be done in such a way that it makes you go “Yes. This is right. This is exactly how it should be.” And if I don’t include one, I promise I’ll make it very clear that they’re committed to each other regardless ;)

My friend, you are crazy talented. Insanely talented. And I can tell how much you enjoy writing this story. So kudos to you and here's to many more chapters of Remi and Weller (and Mayfair...) This message is waaaay too long but I wanted to write for a few weeks now and finally I had some time to write down my thoughts. I hope this is okay. Stay healthy and safe! ReviewerAnon

Oh man. Honestly, the fact that you have so many thoughts and feelings about this story is one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever received (although you saying I’m insanely talented is definitely another huge one!!!). Thank you so much for taking the time not only to read my work, but to think about it, to analyse what you feel about it and why, and for coming here to tell me your findings! You’re right, I do absolutely love writing this story and inhabiting this world with these characters, just as I love sharing that world with you guys! I truly hope that you continue to enjoy the journey, and that you will feel comfortable to continue sharing your thoughts about it. And of course, I hope that you are happy and well in whatever corner of the world you inhabit, just as I am in mine!

Until next time x

#Blindspot #Blindspot fanfic #Into Flames #Reller #reviewerAnon #ask #this was amazing aaaaaaaaaaahh #sorry for the word vomit lol #as you can see I can discuss this story and this pairing endlessly haha

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edelwoodsouls · 4 years

Text

all roads lead - ch. 4

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 2,380 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 5,

Chapter 4: WATER

Stiles has always been a creature who thrives on certainty. On logic. Control. Knowing the variables, knowing the future. Knowing what truly lies in people's hearts, their motivations, their secrets. Knowledge is power is control. Until the nogitsune. Now chaos hums in his bones, in the thrum of his heartbeats. He knows the two aren't so different now. Control is just an illusion, a sliver of rock above a sea of chaos that will drag you back under no matter how hard you cling, and isn't afraid to let the rocks claw you to shreds on the way down. The only true control is instigating the chaos. Still, not knowing where the future will lead is something that sits heavily in his chest, the beginnings of panic that Stiles is oh so used to, but still makes his fingers shake after years. His father went out to make a phone call, still shaken, eyes still glistening. Make yourself at home, kids, he'd said, eyeing Malia with renewed curiosity now the dam has burst. So naturally, Stiles headed for the showers. Four days on coaches across the country coats him in a greasy film, and he desperately needs the rhythm of the water against his skin, the liminal space that seems to exist only in showers, giving him a moment to breathe. He turns the heat as high as it will go, watches his troubles eddy and fall from him into the drain. Being here feels like curling up by the fire, beside Malia, watching as Peter plays the piano tucked in the corner of their apartment with the exagerrated motions of someone overly skilled for the piece he's playing. It's a false comfort, he knows, one he should think twice before allowing to smother him. But he's so tired. The weeks have leeched all the fight from his bones, and this place, Beacon Hills, his father, have reminded him of the days when childhood was something still permitted to him. Stiles has never had a shower so good in his life.

Whilst Malia takes her turn, Stiles stares at himself in the fogged-up mirror. His hair has grown out (when was the last time he cut it?); his bones jut out at awkward angles from his too-pale, shadowed skin (how often has he been eating?). He looks like a man possessed. Has he looked this bad since he actually was? Malia pokes her head around the shower curtain, and he's surprised to see a delighted smile on her face, eyes glinting in that mischevious way that never quite leaves her. "This shower is fucking brilliant," she declares. "I never want to leave." Me neither, a small, too-loud part of him whispers back. Instead he just grins back at her and flicks water from his hair at her. She squeals, vanishing behind the curtain. A moment later, the shower head is turned directly at him, spraying him once more with startlingly hot water. John finds them ten minutes later, deep into the most intense water fight of Stiles' life. The towel tucked around Stiles' waist is soaked, the walls slick, the shower half-heartedly continuing to spray from the bottom of the tub. The two of them are crumpled beside it, chests aching so hard from laughing that the room spins. His father, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression as he takes in the chaos, just sends them into another bout of giggles. "Hey, dad," Stiles says, still gasping, pulling himself up over the lip of the tub and bringing Malia with him. John blinks, something unnameable flitting across his features, gone in an instant beneath a sheriff's poker face. Or maybe a father's one. "I thought you might want a change of clothes," he says, holding up a stack of clothing in between his hands. His eyes look anywhere but the two of them. "Then we should have a talk. I only have clothes for a teenage boy, though..." His eyes drift to Malia's face. She stares at him with the unnerving edge of a coyote's challenge, then extends a hand out for the proffered clothes. Stiles tries, and fails, to imagine Malia in a skirt - the thought is nothing but funny.

"Thanks, Mr Stilinski," she grins at him, wolfish, and bounces out into the hall, letting her hand brush Stiles' for a brief second as she passes.

Then it's just him, and his father. Alone. Silence stretches, and eventually John backs out into the hall and turns away so Stiles can get dressed.

"She's certainly... a character," his father's voice rises eventually. He's looking off distantly down the hall in the direction Malia left.

Stiles snorts. "That's certainly one way to describe Malia," he shrugs.

"And is she...?"

"What?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Stiles almost slips over on the floor again. "No," he says vehemently, then stops. How can he explain to his father the utterly entwined connection the two of them have? Siblings doesn't run nearly deep enough (and he thinks most people would frown on naked water fights with siblings at this age). Friends, family - all of it falls short. Society would like to describe them as significant others, simply because normal society deems romantic attraction the highest form of love. But that's something neither of them have ever considered, never would. What they give each other is infinitely stronger, infinitely more empowering. "She's the closest person I have," he says eventually. "We've been through a lot together."

An understatement if ever he heard one.

The clothes he tugs on are soft and warm, far too large for him. Scott's clothes, he realises. Half of him wants to snuggle in closer to them, smell the familiar scent of his old best friend. The other half riles at the smell of another alpha, at the thought of taking his clothes, invading his home.

"So you and Melissa," he says, voice oh so light and casual. His father flinches, turns around instinctively- and stops. Stiles has pulled on most of the clothes, but the tshirt is still half over his head, his chest still clear to see.

Considering how painful it was when he got it, he forgets about the tattoo over his heart far too often. Simple black lines, the symbol of his pack emblazoned forever in his skin, the only scar his body would let him keep. To a layman he supposes it looks like a sharp, angular S, but Peter's love of tradition and meaning, combined with Stiles' own magical training, mean he has learned to read runes like English.

"Eihwaz," Peter had declared when he'd selected the rune as his symbol. "The yew tree. Stability. Endurance. Irreversibility. Perseverance."

And wasn't that the thing that held their little family together? Despite all the odds, they had survived. They had found each other. They had weathered irreversible change and chosen to plant roots, to seek stability, knowing better than most how easily it slipped between their fingers.

In the end, it had done very little to save Peter's life. But here Stiles was, here Malia was, still persevering.

Stiles shoves the tshirt down over the tattoo, and his father's eyes blink away.

"Me and Melissa," he says slowly, as if the ground might crumble with a single word.

"Dad," Stiles says shortly, cutting across. "It's okay, really. You don't need to make any excuses. It's been a while. I'd be surprised if you'd survived this long alone."

And doesn't that just kill the mood.

"Stiles..." his father's tone immediately sets him on edge. "Why are you here? After all this time, why now? Did you want to come home? Did you... did you have a choice?"

Were you kidnapped or did you leave?

Why is he here? To reconnect with his father? To inform Derek and Laura Hale of their uncle's passing? Is he just searching for a reason to keep moving, a direction, a goal, or else he'll shut down and never move again?

"I wanted to come home," he says, and right now it's the truth. "As for choice, it's not that simple, and-" he breathes slowly to ground himself, to calm the swirl of thoughts in his head. "I'm not really ready to talk about it. But, I was hoping... I was hoping we could stay. Find our ground again. For the longest time I've felt like I'm falling, and finally here..."

It feels like home, he doesn't say, but oh how he wants it to be true.

"You're welcome to stay, Stiles," his father says, so quickly a small light flickers to being in Stiles' chest. "You and Malia both. We have a couple spare rooms. But to all the world, you're missing."

Ah. Crap.

"I need to take you to the station, do a full report. You're a minor, so there's a whole bunch of hoops to jump through. As the sheriff I have a certain amount of pull, but there are gonna be questions."

"Not just for me," Stiles cringes. "Malia is from Beacon Hills, too..."

His father nods in consideration, like he's just the corner of a puzzle he's been wrestling with for a while. Stiles really doesn't like that expression. "So she is Malia Tate. I thought she was, though it's been a few years."

The world stops. Stiles isn't here, but somewhere far away. The buzz of electricity in his ears. Blood leaking between his fingers. "You can't send her back there."

John looks up, surprised by the vehemence in his voice.

"I mean it, dad. Don't even tell her dad she's alive. He gave up any right to her when he sent her to Eichen House."

"Stiles..."

"Do you know what they did to her in there? Do you want to know what nightmare you've sent 'problematic' cases into? When we found her, she was-" His voice breaks. He doesn't want to remember the blood of that night, the wild look in Malia's eyes, so driven by animal terror she hadn't even recognised him or Peter.

None of them talk about that year, when Malia left to find herself and came back more lost than ever before. That night, more than anything, has kept him away from the west coast entirely. He's managed this long to keep Beacon Hills and Eichen House separate in his mind, distanced by time and trauma, but how far is it really? An hour's drive? The thought of Malia locked up there again makes something inside him cold with fury.

He won't let it happen, no matter what he has to do.

John doesn't say anything for a moment, clearly mulling over the information - too much - Stiles has just let slip. "I'll do what I can," he nods eventually. Stiles lets go of a breath he hadn't realised was burning his lungs. "I can pull some strings. I can respect your boundaries - up to a point. Eventually you're gonna have to talk to me about all this. Where you've been. How you and an asylum escapee are so close. Or you can talk to a therapist, at least."

The idea of a therapist attempting to untangle the utter clusterfuck of his brain makes Stiles smile.

"And you have to go to school."

He says this like it's a punishment, but Stiles suddenly, unexpectedly relishes the idea. He'd graduated early last year in New York, bored of school and pretending to be dumb just to stay at a regular pace. But the thought of being given something to fill the yawning chasm of time he's found himself with is a good one.

Malia won't like it, but she doesn't like anything involving written words and human social cues, all of which fester inside the halls of a school.

This is their chance, he realises. To live like normal teenagers. To meet people their own age, make friends who aren't pack. To play lacrosse and go iceskating, worry about inane things like homework, and clothing, and - just maybe - college applications.

"Of course," Stiles nods along. "Thank you, dad."

His father gives him an awkward, one armed hug, quickly lets go again. "How about I show you guys your rooms, that way you can get settled while I get started on dinner."

"You, cooking?" Stiles gasps in mock horror.

"Hey, kid, I am now a gourmet chef, I'll have you know. No more charred black fry ups or greasy take out. I'm on the straight and narrow."

"I'll see it when I believe it," Stiles grins.

"You will," John says earnestly. "I like to impress when it's my turn to cook - I'm doing shepherds pie today. Scott and Isaac'll be back from lacrosse practice in a couple hours, and Melissa finishes at six. Dinner at seven?"

Scott'll be back from lacrosse. In the excitement of finally seeing a road ahead of him, he's forgotten the small problem of the supernatural. Does his father know? Does Melissa? How long can he and Malia mask their scents living under the same roof as an alpha?

How the hell did asthmatic, wouldn't-harm-a-fly Scott McCall become an alpha anyway? The idea of Scott with blood on his hands like Stiles makes the world feel entirely wrong.

And who the hell is Isaac?

He manages a smile that's probably more a grimace, though his father doesn't seem to notice the difference. "Dinner at seven sounds great. But, uh, Malia and I only need one room."

"Are you sure?" John looks unsure. "I have two-"

"We sleep together." Stiles' tone leaves no room for discussion, a little too much of that alpha agression showing through. He relaxes immediately, hoping to glaze over the moment. "We both have pretty horrific nightmares. So unless you want screaming at 3AM, probably better for us to just stay together."

He can see his father is hardly convinced. John Stilinski is the sheriff of a town where tragedy is commonplace. He's seen trauma in all its shapes and sizes. He understands it all too well, how it makes an enemy of everything other. Malia and Stiles' closeness isn't simply a bond of friends or pack. They've been through things too awful to imagine together.

It's them against the world. Even against John Stilinski, if needs be.

But his father nods, once, firmly, and that's that.

#teen wolf #fanfiction #stiles stilinski #malia tate #sheriff stilinski #own work #morgan writes

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aintnouseofpretending · 6 years

Text

Many Years Away

Mr D (John Deacon) x Tomboy!Reader x Mr M (Brian May) Time Travelling reader AU imagine

You're a college student in 1973, that also works as a session musician—guitar and bass—and a part-time music instruments store clerk. One day you and one of your friend—also a session musician, are ringed to come, just in case needed,

At the end of the taping, you're asked to stay by one of the producers and watch over the small band that's going to tape last, the band is named Queen. Because it's only been recently they start to record regularly in the studio, you've never met them, and you used this opportunity to finally see them,

They absolutely amaze you, a brilliant performance you've never seen or heard before. And hell, you've never been more eager to introduce yourself to the future big guitarist and bassist of the group, learn a thing or two of their techniques,

Both Brian May and John Deacon still astounded you with their plays as you go home. You wish to catch them again soon because you didn't make the good first impression—Taylor thought you were a guy from your gestures and "uniquely progressive” fashion choice, as he said it, insults you whilst he’s at it. And lady luck stays for the night; the studio ring you the second time, you actually got to play both guitar and bass—showing off your dynamic and fluid skill, and at the same time when Queen is already there,

Nothing beats the feeling of getting your skills recognised by fellow guitarists; quickly you, May, and Deacon become friends. Ever since then, you might not get called, but you always come to the studio just to see Queen recording and learn more from May and Deacon,

Also because you took a deeper interest in the men themselves,

You're getting closer and closer to both of them to the point that you're expected backstage on their every plays—gigs, but you purposely use an incorrect term to piss off Taylor,

One day, though, you can't come to the next one because you've got to do your thesis—much to their shame. So Taylor jokes; "Listen to our cassettes if you miss us, love." Despite receiving a couple smacks from your guitarist best friends, in the end, they agreed, whilst they listen to your demos,

Though there's a slight issue; you can't listen to the cassette of their debut album without feeling slight headaches, every damn time, as if you're not supposed to do it. At first, when you bought it, you think you're just a bit stressed or under the weather, so you force yourself and listen to the cassette till its finishes, but it always happens; and the headache become increasingly painful the more you try to listen and go through the album,

Of course, you never told them about it, because of; 1, you listen to them live when they're taping each song, listen to them rehearsing, and you always feel normal. 2, you'd rather endure the spinning effect than telling them the truth that you might pass out listening to it. Eventually, you are angered by the mysterious symptoms, you chose to keep forcing yourself and listen to their album before they're back,

And you actually passed out. It frustrates you to lie to May and Deacon about that; so you listen to them very seriously when they rehearsing after they came back. And of course, nothing happens to you, despite the fact that they played the songs that are in the cassette,

When you're about to completely accepted that maybe you have a rare case of not being able to listen to any processed sounds ever again, something strange happens; both May and Deacon suddenly looks very old for a split second,

And that didn't stop; the more you spend time with them, stranger things keep on coming. It's no longer just May and Deacon, all of them will change into the old version of themselves, but there's one more bizarre thing that earns the crown of the odds and curious,

You feel like you didn't belong there. As if all this time you're put in that world by accident, but you fit in for some reason, whatever happens to you refuse to tone down. You hallucinate something of neon and colourful but dark and grey world, sky-high buildings, technologies you've never seen but more familiar as if you've known it since birth,

You try to hide it, despite almost getting yourself fired, and worst; dropped out when you're about to graduate. It’s also not helping that whenever you see May and Deacon, they keep on growing older. You're absolutely sure you have Schizophrenia—but you don't think it's known wide by the public yet. Wait, how would you know?

Your unusual demeanour eventually brings May and Deacon knocking on your door. Of course, in the end, you can’t lie, especially to May that catches you doing it in the speed of light, and there’s no other way but be honest,

After telling them, you aren't even surprised that the episodes' become milder so abruptly. You took the opportunity to analyse it, find out what's wrong. Nonetheless, you're glad everything is back to normal... Except it didn't, the imagery is back and even more vivid than before,

You're thankful May and Deacon is there to aid you. Finally, in one of your episode, it’s like the last puzzle piece was finally put in your mind, you remembered; you were from 2039. "2039? What are you talking about, y/n?" May asked.

"I-I think that's the year... Where I came from..." You answered, "all the hallucinations make sense... I... Might've been dreaming all this."

"Or it's simply one of your absurd images. That means nothing, y/n. You're here. You're real. You're not a time traveller."

"What if I am? And I have to go back?"

"Otherwise the rest of my life will be agonizing."

If you were any more out of your mind, you might miss that. But neither of you chose to mention it further, seeing you so out of your zone. May soon escorted you home safely. Just like before, when you tell him or Deacon about it, the visions become blurry before it gets even crystal clear,

But you knew all along, you're not from there, and when the gears' start working, your clock is ticking, and the images from where you came from has stopped completely. You don’t feel right being there at all, you can see the dream is about to end, and it’s inevitable,

You enjoy the rest of your stay, never have you stopped saying you're grateful to meet them, to hang with them, to be best friend with May and Deacon. On your last day, you make excuse to throw a goodbye party till morning—that you're actually going somewhere for a bit to meet your relatives after graduating. Spoiling each member of the group,

You didn't expect for May to come back after the party ends, and he saw you deteriorating into neon lights as the sun is rising. He tried to stop it from happening, but it is the end. You tell him; "Dream or not, please be happy and live your life. Remember me. I'll miss you, May."

You're back to 2039; a college student that works in a guitar store and a session musician. You saw the Cassette you bought yesterday and listen to with your grandma's old radio; Queen's debut album. It might've been a dream, you've discovered the legendary rock band Queen because of your grandma, and had been listening to them nonstop since then; maybe that's why you dream you're a time traveller after listening to '39, Brian May is your guitar hero after all,

Not to mention you're going to be one of the session musicians to receive the honour of working with him next week. "Big fan, sir." You say after you're introduced by the producer. He asks to see you perform before the others come, and you’ve never been this nervous in your entire life, even more so because of that damned dream,

"Perfect. Sounds just like yesterday..."

"Thank you, sir. You're a very big influence on my entire career."

"Just call me, May. We're going to work together again anyway."

You pretend to ignore the last bit and says; "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I respect you too much to just call you like an old friend, sir."

"But we are."

"Whatever do you mean—?"

"Were you not to told me you're from 2039, how would I be here? Specifically picking you? Let alone wrote '39? You even play, dress, and worked as a session musician, exactly like that day. It's already impossible to forget, now it feels like we're still in that awful studio, taping, the way you cannot seems to stop calling it. Annoyed Rog so much he throws his sticks at you. How many times was it?"

"... May?"

"You've missed many of our plays. John misses you, y/n. And so am I. Much more than you can imagine."

End?

+ ———— - ———— + ———— - ———— + ———— - ———— + ———— -

There’s a high percentage that I will write this since I’m a sucker for a love triangle and slow-burn romance, and because I have lots of fun coming up with this Imagine!

By the way, feel free to request imagines, especially that involves Tomboy Reader, but of course it doesn’t close to just that particular genre, I also open for another spectrum of readers as well! Don’t be shy to be specific! I will fulfil it since I really need something fun to do amidst studying for upcoming exam @_@

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siranghae · 6 years

Text

Hide and Seek (m)

Word count: 4,413

Content: Jimin smut

A/N: only three days left before Halloween! Are you guys excited?? I was really in the mood for a little Halloween scenario and watching Dope for the 3 millionth time definitely was an inspiration for this haha. Hope you like it ;)

“A sexy nurse costume? Really?!”

You pull down the hem of your dress with a red face. “I wanted to try something different this year.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, his eyes locked with yours. You can tell that he’s having a hard time not looking down. “Okay, but for real - who convinced you to wear this?”

You step into his apartment, trying your best to keep your legs covered - as if that’s even possible. “N-nobody, okay?” Stupid Jungkook and his terrible ideas for Halloween costumes. You can still see his mischievous grin that he gave you as he pointed at the picture of the platinum-blonde haired woman with boobs bigger than your self-esteem. You promised yourself to kick him in the face as soon as possible - without accidentally revealing your ass to seven guys that basically acted like prepubescent boys who’d never seen a girl before in their lives.

“Was it Jungkook?” Taehyung asked from behind you as he follows you into his kitchen. It’s a mess in there, as usual, but a few skeletons managed to find their way onto the walls. It surprises you that he even put up any decorations in here at all. “You know you shouldn’t let him manipulate you like that, Y/N.”

You open the fridge and lean forward, scouring the shelves for a bottle of tequila. When you realise that your dress creeps up your thighs like this, you leaned back with a jerk. To avert attention from you, you say: “It’s not like your outfit is much better. I mean, what are you even supposed to represent? A student? A fuckboy?”

Taehyung straightens his bow tie. “I’m a detective,” he responds with a smirk. “Looks good, right?”

“Did you forget to buy tequila? Or did you just not read my texts?” You turn around and pout. “Also, holding a magnifying glass does NOT make you a detective. If you didn’t have that, you’d look like a schoolboy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Firstly, I do read all your texts, but everyone else voted for vodka. Secondly, if you shade the others like this I’m going to kick you out.”

“I’m just being honest!” you protest, as he pushes you out of the kitchen into the hallway. You nearly trip over your own feet. Why did you decide to wear high heels again? “Wait, don’t tell me they all dressed the same way as you.”

“You’ll see, you’ll see.” He opens the living room door for you and bows. He chuckles when you roll your eyes at him.

“Y/N!”

Three voices scream your name at the same time, and before you know it a pair of hands grabs your face. “Jungkook, don’t you fucking dare ruin my makeup.”

The boy chuckles. “You came in the outfit! I knew you’d look great in it~” The playful look in his eyes is so provoking, it takes you all your willpower not to throw one of your shoes at his face. “Happy Halloween, noona-”

“Stop calling me noona, kid,” you sigh as you look around the room to find the sources of the other two voices. Soon, you notice Hoseok and Jin, both beaming smiles at you. You wave shyly as you pull down your dress once again, and again when you step towards them. They saved a spot for you between them - how sweet. “Happy Halloween, guys.”

Hoseok pats the free spot next to him. “You look great, Y/N!”

Jin nods, though his eyes never stray away from your face. You’re grateful for this politeness and quickly sit down. “Thanks Hobi.”

That’s when you finally see him.

Park Jimin.

You hesitate for just the briefest moment when your eyes meet. His dark, piercing eyes that seem to stare directly through everything, these honest eyes that make you so uncomfortable. You swallow, quickly looking back at your two friends to see if they noticed anything. Fortunately, they didn’t. Not that they would have any reason to believe you and Jimin were anything but friends.

You knew better, however.

The first time Taehyung introduced you to his flatmate wasn’t really the first time you met.

Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, you can still feel his gaze rest on you. It’s almost as though you can feel his gaze grab your body in places where not even Jungkook would dare to touch you, no matter how shameless he is. Your heart skips a beat when you imagine him, Jimin, doing this to you.

“Y/N?”

You jolt up, finally realising Jin has been staring at you for a while. “Hm? What did I miss?”

He looks confused for a moment, but then repeats his question. “What do you want to drink?”

“Drink? Oh! Oh. U-uh…” You bite your lip, not able to think of an answer at all. “I’ll get something myself.”

Jin looks even more puzzled than before. “I was about to get something for myself too, so it’s-”

You stand up while pulling your dress down again, even more aware of how much skin you’re actually showing. You press your thighs together, waddling towards the dining table like a penguin - a penguin wearing a sexy nurse outfit with hearts on your nipples. Just great. You grab a cup with shaking hands, pouring yourself some vodka with lemonade. You don’t even like vodka. Fucking Taehyung. Not only was he the reason that Jimin was always around, he didn’t even do what you asked him to. What a great friend.

You almost choked when you turned around. When had Jimin gotten up from his seat? When had he gotten this close? You tried to step back, bumping into the table. He smiled too casually for a situation like this, his eyes slowly moving down your curves. “Happy Halloween.”

“Hey J-Jimin,” you stuttered. When he didn’t say anything back, you moved away from him as quickly as possible. How no one had noticed that you were a big mess around him for the two years you’d known each other for, you had no clue. Perhaps it was because the only one that acted strange was you. Jimin, on the other hand, never got nervous around you - or anyone for that matter. Even when he giggled his iconic giggle, he exuded confidence. He was too aware of how he made you feel for his own good.

Perhaps that’s why he was cocky enough to brush the back of his hand against your ass as you passed by him.

“Sheesh, Y/N, your face is really red.” Jungkook. The kid grinned an evil smile as he sat down on the armrest next to Jin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you snapped. “What I’m more curious about is this: why are you dressed as a cop?”

Jungkook clapped his hands. “Ooh, you know what I’m supposed to be! See Tae? My outfit was a way better idea than yours.”

“Shut up, Jungkook,” Taehyung laughed.

You looked at the other boys’ outfits - avoiding Jimin on purpose. “I guess it does fit the theme of professions, but let’s be honest: you’re nothing like a cop.”

“Whaat?” Jungkook pouted. “I totally am! I like superheroes - superheroes are like cops.”

You facepalmed. “Whatever you say, Jungkook. Whatever you say.”

He crossed his arms, though Jungkook wasn’t really ever insulted. “You and Jimin are probably hardest to recognise! Namjoon is obviously a hotel porter, Yoongi is a military officer, Hoseok is a race car driver and Jin is a doctor - but you two? No clue.”

“I’m obviously a nurse!” You protested, pointing at your outfit before realising that you’d never seen an actual nurse who was dressed like this. “And Jimin…”

You hesitantly looked at him as he sat down next to Yoongi. You weren’t sure what he was supposed to be, no, but whatever it was, he looked stunning. His fake glasses framed his face perfectly, and his white button-up shirt revealed his delicate neck. For some reason, you wanted to pull him closer by the black tie he wore to complete his outfit.

When you didn’t finish your sentence, Jimin raised an eyebrow - accompanied by a subtle smirk. “I’m an office clerk.” He straightened his tie as he said it, somehow with such confidence that it made your knees weak. The look in his eyes is nearly identical to the one he gave you the ‘first’ time you guys met. Even though it’s been so long, the same tension is in the air, an electric current between you two that only you two seem to have noticed.

“See? Y/N thinks it’s unconvincing too! Just look at her face.” Jungkook sits down on your lap, and for once you’re glad about it. He pats your head and sticks his tongue out at Jimin. “You should’ve bribed her sooner.”

You frown. “Bribed me?”

His eyes widen. “Oh right, you have no clue! Well, after you mentioned in the group chat that you liked tequila, Mister office clerk went out of his way to get a bottle! Isn’t that right, Jimin?”

“Yeah I did.” You can’t believe how shamelessly he says that, without a hint of secrecy. He bought something for you - the only person he’s not friends with in the whole group. You glance around at the others, but no one cares. Except for Jungkook, maybe. “Wait, lemme get it for you.”

He reaches for his bag, but before he can take it out, Jungkook claps his hands together and stands up. “Guys, you know what we should do?”

“We’re not going trick-or-treating again,” Yoongi groans.

The boy squints. “Whaat? It went really well last time! I got tons of candy.” He grins a triumphant laugh and sticks out his chest a little bit. Fucking Jungkook.

You chuckle. “Yeah, because you fit right in with the ten year olds.”

“Look, I just wanna know if you all wanna play hide and seek, okay? No need to be jealous of my candy-collecting skills.”

“Are you serious?” you scoff, crossing your arms in protest. “That sounds like-”

“I’m up for that.”

You frown, turning your head towards the sound of the voice.

It’s Jimin. Of all fucking people.

“Yeah, me too!” Hoseok says, as Jin nods along to his words.

“Really, guys?” you despair. “Are we really going to do something Jungkook proposes?” As your last resort, you look at Yoongi and Namjoon. You know they won’t betray you. They’re just as level-headed as you. “Yoongi? Namjoon?”

It’s like the world has turned against you. Yoongi just shrugs. His expression says it all: at least it’s not trick-or-treating. Namjoon, on the other hand, hesitates a bit. “Sorry, Y/N,” he says, smiling apologetically.

“Traitors,” you mumble under your breath. “Okay, fine. You win, Jungkook.”

The youngest boy does the superman stance with a big, annoying little grin on his bratty face. “I knew you’d give in, noona~” Somehow, Jungkook always manages to convince his friends to do exactly what he wants - you wish that were you. Not even a sexy nurse costume is enough to convince them otherwise. “I’ll be it this round!”

You groan, pulling your dress down once more. “Where are we even supposed to hide? There’s no-”

But it’s too late- Jungkook has already started counting down from fifty. You want to protest, tell him that fifty seconds is too little time, when you notice everyone else has gotten up. You bite your lip, hesitating just the tiniest bit - why did you give in, again? - and then run after the six boys as fast as you can.

“...thirty-nine… thirty-eight…” you hear Jungkook mumble as you run up the stairs towards Taehyung’s room. Would hiding under his bed work? It’s the only place you could think of that iss even remotely clever. You saw Namjoon and Yoongi ran into the kitchen just now, and you can see Jin open the bathroom door. So no one else has thought of your idea yet. You can’t help but get a bit excited - until you notice that both Hoseok and Taehyung leg it into the latter’s room. Fuck. You stop, looking around as you panic. Either you can hide with them, and risk getting found sooner because they’ll obviously take the best spots, or you can try… no, you won’t. Never in a million years would you want to be found in Park Jimin’s room. But what else can you do?

“Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…”

That’s when you notice it - another door, slightly ajar. You’ve never seen it open before. In that split second, you run towards it, right as Jungkook reaches the number five in his countdown.

“I’m coming~” the young boy shouts, right as you pull the door shut behind you.

“Phew,” you sigh, triumphantly smiling. This is an amazing hiding spot. Jungkook would never look in a room that he thinks is locked, and besides, it doesn’t even have a door-handle. He’d have to pry it open, which isn’t something he would even think of, if he even considered looking here an option to begin with. Got you now, you think to yourself. It was kind of fun to get revenge on him. Finally the tables are turned for once. You turned around, wondering what this room really is. You have all the time in the world to find out, after all.

You nearly scream when you bumped into something - or rather, someone.

“Y/N?” a voice whispered.

It is too dark to see a face, but it doesn’t take you long to realise who it is. It can’t be Jin. Or Taehyung. Namjoon. Yoongi. No matter how much you want it to be Hoseok, it isn’t him, either. You would even be content with it being Jungkook, but even this last resort isn’t an option.

Fuck.

You step back, almost bumping into the unlocked door and revealing your hiding spot in the process. Maybe that would be better than being trapped with… him.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck?” Jimin whispers. You feel his breath against your cheek - he’s that close to you. Closer than you ever let him get to you.

“Uh…” you bite your lip. “I-I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here, that’s all.”

He stays quiet for a moment, which makes you incredibly nervous. You regret all your decisions you made today. “Well, we can make this work.” You aren’t entirely sure if he’s talking about hiding with someone else, or about you being so close to him. “But do get away from the door, please.”

You swallow. You’re pretty sure that he’s just saying that to get closer to you, but you don’t really have a choice. Slowly, you take a step back, , doing your absolute best not to brush up against him. Being this close to Park Jimin is something that makes you so terribly self-conscious - which is only made worse by the fact that you’re wearing a dress that barely covers anything. That’s when you remember - the dress. With one hand, you attempt to pull down the back of your dress. You shiver when the back of your hand touches him. You pray to God that it’s his stomach, nothing lower than that.

Then you feel it.

You reflexively pull your hand away and then step back without thinking, which only makes you get closer to him. Your whole face turns red when you feel it again, this time poking against your ass. This can’t be happening. When you turn around, the fabric of your dress brushes against him once more, and he utters a quiet moan. “What the fuck, Jimin?” you snap, trying to keep your voice down. You can’t believe that he has an erection - even just thinking about it makes you feel strange. You can feel his eyes on you in the dark, and in that moment you decide you’ve had enough. “I’m leaving.” You take a step forward, your hands reaching out to push the door open.

“Y/N, please…” His groan sends a shiver down your spine. One of his hands wraps around your stomach, and he pulls you back into him.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, though you don’t fight him. Why aren’t you trying to fight him? What’s gotten into you? “We can’t-”

He groans again when you try to turn around in his arms. “I’ve had enough of your fucking games,” his fingers press into your stomach, making you feel a burning sensation inside. Your body responds out of habit, remembering a moment just like this one when you don’t want it to remember. You can’t believe how heavily you react to the thought of what he did to you so long ago.

“W-which games?” you stutter, trying your best not to think of anything. His hand moves down, making you swallow in anticipation.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” He grabs your dress and pulls it up ever so slightly, uncovering more of your thighs. “I could’ve told Taehyung so much sooner. But I never did. I thought you’d tell him one day, so I waited. I told myself that you’d realise you can’t hide it forever, too. I’m done with waiting for that time.”

Your dress is up to your stomach at this point, pressing against your breasts. His hand slides down until it reaches your panties. You gasp for air, but your lungs betray you. “I-I didn’t know you still wanted me, Jimin.” It takes you every ounce of strength inside of your body not to moan as his hand finds its way between your legs.

“You didn’t know, huh?” he growls, his voice suddenly husky and dark. He brushes his lips up against your neck. It’s so familiar, you can’t believe it has been so long since the last time he did it. Not that you think about that in the moment - every nerve in your brain is busy processing the way this makes you feel.

“You don’t see how I look at you, huh? How badly I want to push you up against a wall and fuck you every time you’re close to me? Really, Y/N? You’re a fucking liar.”

You moan as his wet tongue moves across your neck down to your collarbone. He still knows all of your soft spots, finds them so quickly that you can’t even prepare for it. No matter how hard you try to avoid the memories, they are like ocean waves that try to drown you. You put your hand around his nape and close your eyes in a weak attempt to stop you from experiencing this much desire. This only makes you picture things that he’s done to you before that no one ever has. “F-fuck…”

That’s when he starts to move his hand between your thighs. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters into your skin. “I knew you’re just as impatient as me.” He pulls down your collar, revealing your breasts to him. He bites his lips at the sight of them. “I can’t wait to slam into your little pretty ass.”

“W-wait, what if Jungkook hears u-us?” You say as you remember your surroundings. You attempt to push Jimin away, but he doesn’t give in.

Jimin spins you around, making you cry out in surprise. His hand finds its way to your mouth faster than yours. When you look into his eyes in that brief moment, your heart stop beating. He looks at you like his prey. A wild, hungry look deprived of any empathy for you “I don’t care,” he says, right before he puts your nipple into his mouth.

You groan into his hand. Trying to calm yourself, you put your hands in his hair. The way his tongue plays with your sensitive skin makes you almost faint from pleasure. He’s gotten better, something you didn’t think was possible. Every time you slept with Jimin in the past, you were left breathless, numb, in delirium. What you’re feeling now doesn’t even compare.

The hand between your legs dips into your warmth - first with one finger, then two. Your mind goes blank from how he pleases you, and you pull him even closer to you. “Please fuck me,” you moan in desperation, your fingers shakingly trying to hold on to his hair. You can’t wait for him any longer.

He pushes you up against the wall with such force that you bite into his hand. A groan escapes his mouth, and he bites his lip to stop himself from making more noise. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he says as he removes his hand from your mouth. “You’re so fucking hot.” He briefly kisses you, messily and longingly with too much tongue, making you almost choke. After that, he lifts your ass up with one hand. Playfully, you pull his tie, making him come even closer to you. He licks his lips and reaches for his zipper, finally undressing himself. The way he takes his pants off is impatient and clumsy, but when he’s done, the look in his eyes is serious. In one swift gesture, he moves your underwear down just enough to uncover you before he thrusts himself into you.

His hard cock stretches you out around him as he goes all the way into you, showing his impatience. It hurts so much more than you remember, making you frown deeply as he stops moving. He breathes heavily, not used to how tight you are. You move your hips up slightly, trying to accomodate for the pain, which just intensifies the pleasure you feel. Jimin gasps. “D-don’t move,” he moans into your neck, and he shivers.

“Hm? I can’t hear you when you’re whispering,” you joke, even though you’re not doing much better yourself. Teasingly, you move your hips again, making him mutter a swear. “You fucking tease,” he growls as he pulls back, readying himself for another thrust, and another, and another. “I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

Your bodies seem to fuse together as he slams his erection into your warmth. As you wrap your arms around his back, he changes his rhythmic movements, which catches you off guard. He quickly presses his mouth against yours, swallowing your moan in the process.

That’s when you hear footsteps.

You’d completely forgotten that you weren’t by yourselves. Hearing Jungkook’s soft humming makes your heart jump out of your chest. You dig your nails into Jimin’s back, trying to make him stop - but he doesn’t. He looks into your eyes with a devilish expression, the kind of expression you’ve never seen him bear. It’s like something has taking him over - an animalistic desire that he can’t control.

“Jimin,” you mouth, hoping that he’ll come to his senses.

Inch by inch, he grinds his length into you, all in an effort to make you moan. You open your mouth, about to succumb, but you press your hand against your lips. You can still hear Jungkook, inches away from you, moments away from catching you in the act.

You don’t want to know what happens if he opens the door.

Your eyes roll back into your when you feel Jimin’s finger press against your clit as he fucks you rhythmically. Your legs wrap around him, which only makes him go deeper inside of you. You can’t believe that you haven’t made any sounds yet, because every part of you wants to scream out in pleasure. Every breath you breathe sounds like a moan. You press your mouth against his neck and bite into his delicate skin. When your teeth sink into him, he nearly whines, and he can’t help but make a strangled sound.

“Found you!”

You freeze, waiting for the moment the door opens. Every millisecond that passes makes you more anxious, until you’re about to burst. He’s found you.

“Was I last?”

You hear the muffled voice, coming from down the hall. Taehyung. Two pairs of footsteps echo through the hall, down the stairs, as Jimin slams into you once more. You try to listen, but at this point you can’t focus on anything but his cock sliding in and out of you.

Jimin puts his tongue on your nipple again and plays with it, as you focus on the muted sounds of the boys downstairs. You can’t hold back much longer - by the look in Jimin’s eyes, he’s close too.

You moan into your hand right as you hear Jungkook call your name. You tighten yourself around Jimin’s cock as much as possible, anticipating your climax, and as Jimin thrusts into you again, your vision goes dark, then colours purple, blue, orange. You feel his body slam into you a few more times, carrying you through your orgasm before he, too, climaxes.

“There you are!”

Jungkook crosses his arms when you enter the living room, followed by Jimin. You prayed a million times that you wouldn’t blush, but it was in vain. Your makeup is smeared too, but your nurse costume is good enough of a distraction for them to not realise.

You sit down between Jin and Hoseok as fast as you can, trying not to look directly at anyone, though you noticed they both look confused. “Where were you?” Jin says, more oblivious than you ever expected him to be. “Jungkook was getting tired of looking for you two.”

Jimin straightens his tie in that moment, smiling nonchalantly. “We were hiding in the cupboard, but Jungkook is too stupid to notice that it’s open.”

“Heyyy that’s not fair, hyung!” Jungkook protests. “You were cheating, okay?! Besides, what were you even doing for all this time? I called your names several times. Why didn’t you realise it was done?”

You open your mouth, but close it again before you said anything. What could you even say? It’s not like you’re good at coming up with excuses. Otherwise you’d have told Taehyung an excuse about Jimin and you a long time ago. When you glance at Jimin, he furtively smiles. Maybe he’s not that nerve-wrecking after all. You smile back. “We were having a very interesting... conversation about something,” Jimin says, and shrugs. It’s a miracle that you don’t start laughing.

“A conversation? About what??” Taehyung asks, tilting his head to the side.

The look in Jimin’s eyes tells you everything you need to know. “Oh, nothing important. We’ll tell you about it later,” he explains, winking at you. “Let’s just say it was a lot of fun for now.”

What you wouldn’t do to play hide and seek again.

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emotionalgirl101 · 6 years

Text

Question | Chapter 4

Words: 2,709

Genre: college au, angst, fluff

Pairing: SKZ x reader

Summary: Your best friend, Minho, had been refusing to introduce you to his other group of best friends for months now, with no explanation as to why. One night after getting drunk after work together, he gave in to your pleas. Oops.

Warning: Contains mature content (such as coarse language, violent themes, etc).

A/N: Wrote this surprisingly quickly! I hope my fellow MyDay’s enjoy this chapter, too! Already started chapter 5!~ I’m thinking of adding text message chapters in here as well. What do you think?

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You weren’t really hung over. You were just drowsy. You felt a headache developing, but there was no throbbing pain. You knew if you had pain killers in the next few minutes, you’d get the better of it.

You woke up in Minho’s red jumper-like shirt. He often wore it over his white hoodie, but seemed to have decided to sacrifice it for your sake. It came down to the middle of your thigh. Modest enough. Although, the neckline exposed your collar bones. Neither really weighed on your mind. You were still rugged up in Minho’s bed, admiring your newly adorned sweater paws. It was your favourite thing about wearing his clothes. Something that had happened on occasion.

You weren’t surprised to find Minho’s side of the bed cold, as you saw lat his alarm clock read 11:36am. Thank god you had done all your shifts for the week. You could enjoy the fact you got to sleep in. You noticed Minho had put the covers on his side back in place, tucking them in at your side. You appreciated those little things he did for you. He knew you did. It went without saying,

You were reminded of why you’d woken up when you heard raised voices through the wall. Your now sober mind able to distinguish the voices of those speaking. A skill you were grateful that your drinking self had acquired over time.

“YOU’RE the one who’s going to wake her up! I didn’t make a noise! YOU were the one that was loud when you dragged me away!” The voice was Jisung’s. You recognised the annoyed tone after the playful banter from the night before. There was a quick reply, your brain not even having to register Minho’s voice. Recognising its various tones was practically a reflex now. “Why were you even going in there in the first place? Huh?” You could just visualise his arms crossed over his chest. An action that usually accompanied his turn voice.

“I need to grab my charger which you. stole.” Jisung emphasised the last two words. “Once I realised she was still asleep, I stopped moving. She’s cute when she sleeps…” You could tell the last part wasn’t meant to be a vocalised thought by the way his soft voice faded out. You slightly blushed at the compliment. It wasn’t everyday you heard yourself spoken of like this. You didn’t read too much into it, preferring to follow the conversation.

“You could’ve just asked. me.” Minho matched, “Let her sleep. She had a long shift last night.” You heard footsteps move away from the other side of the wall. A second set followed not long after. You decided to stay in Minho’s room a little longer, partially to spare Jisung any more flack from your best friend. For the most part, Minho’s sheets were just too damn comfy.

Wen you finally emerged, about twenty minutes after the small-scale altercation that took place outside your door, your eyes lit up at the aroma wafting in the air of the kitchen. “PANCAKES!” You squealed, rushing to hug your personal chef, Minho from behind. In the short amount of time you had known each other, this boy knew you like the back of his hand. All your quirks and what makes you tick. Even your favourite hangover cure; buttermilk pancakes.

“My hero.” You inaudibly mumbled into his back. He chuckled, probably guessing what you had said. “Morning, little one.” He teased, giving you a side-on hug so he could make sure he didn’t burn your precious pancakes. Woojin looked over from the other side of him, leaning over his chopping board and innocently waving at you, not realising he still had his knife in hand. “Morning, Y/n. How did you sleep?” He asked, returning to the task at hand.

“Well, thank you.” You beamed, not minding in the slightest that he didn’t look up to see. You whipped around to see Seungmin pouring over a book, concentration unwavering. That was until he felt your eyes on him. “Noona!” He grinned, sitting up to focus on you. “How’s the hangover.” You smiled at the sweet boy, despite full knowing he was teasing you. “Non-existent, thank you.” You winked. He nodded, mildly impressed. “Can’t say the same for some of the others” he chuckled, returning back to his pages.

Seungmin had reminded you to ask Minho for pain killers. You tugged on the boy’s shirt sleeve. He reached into his left pocket with his spare hand, pulling out a sheet of the drugs. He had anticipated your every move. Man, this boy was good. “This is why I love you.” You hummed nonchalantly. You turned on your heel, heading back to your sleeping quarters from the previous night. You decided to finished the water that was on your bedside table to wash the pills down. You grabbed your phone, unplugging it from Minho’s spare- well, actually, probably Jisung’s, charger. No notable notifications. You left the room, charger in hand.

You went straight to where you remembered the living room to be. You passed through the kitchen without a word, straight to the couches, occupied by the other six boys.

Jeongin was on the floor, leaning on the coffee table, and eyes glued to the tv. He was gaming on his console. You recognised the game as Fortnite, rolling your eyes by instinct. Chan was sitting on the couch on the right-hand side. He was reading the newspaper, a fact that surprised you to say the least. Further along, the end closest to you, was Felix. His arm was draped over his face, covering his eyes from the incoming sun. He occasionally moved it to check Jeongin’s stats, then returned to his previous state.

On the middle couch, the one that faced the tv directly and the one you were standing behind, laid Hyunjin. He was groaning ever so often, drinking water, then letting his gaze wander to Jeongin and his game, or covering them with his hand. He and Felix were obviously the ones Seungmin was referring to.

Changbin was on the couch on the left, that mirrored the couch Chan and Felix were on. He had his headphones in, eyes closed, basking in the sunlight from the window his couch was up against.

You were about to leave to search for the owner of the charger, before you realised he was there all along. His cap, with hoops on the left side of its peak, had successfully hid him from your initial survey of the room. His light hair came out from underneath in soft peaks. He was on his phone, sitting on the floor and leaning his back on Hyunjin’s couch.

You moved swiftly between Changbin and Hyunjin’s couches, taking a seat beside Jisung. He looked up, breaking into a smile from his blank expression. “Good morning, Noona.” He smiled, looking into both of your eyes without blinking. You smiled softly, partially forgetting why you’d sat there in the first place. Not for long, though.

You outstretched your hand to the boy, his charger sitting securely in your palm. “I think this belongs to you.” You watched him take it from your hand, puzzled, as the other members groaned ‘hello’s to acknowledge your presence. Chan smiled at you from over his paper, and Jeongin waved at you with the back of his hand, not having time to turn around. When you looked back at the boy before you, you saw realisation wash over him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Please don’t tel-” Your voice cut him off, “I won’t tell Minho, don’t worry. I didn’t come out straight away, purposely to save you from his wrath.” You both chuckled. The moment was cut short.

“Pancakes!” Minho announced, a tea towel taking place over his forearm. He was acting as your personal waiter. You giggled at his antics, more so when he swatted away Jisung’s hand from the plate. “They’re Y/n’s.” He stated, matter-of-factly. Jisung pouted. “Hyung~”.

You had left the apartment at about 2pm. Minho dropped you home, staying at yours until he had to head to his shift at the bar. You had offered to wash his jumper, saying you’d give it back the next time you saw each other. Knowing you two, that could be as soon as tomorrow.

Too lazy to cook, you made instant ramen, a meal with minimal effort required. All you had to do was fill the water to the right height and time the cooking process. Soggy noodles would ruin it.

As you waited for the kettle to boil, you leant on the counter opposite, an angle at which you could glance at the calendar displayed on the back of your of your pantry door. You had completely forgotten your plans to meet up with Jae tomorrow. You had also met him through uni. He worked there for a brief time in your first year. You easily became friends, bonding over your mutual love of music. A thing many had in common at your age.

You finished dinner, which left you feeling fatigued. You weren’t usually one to have an early night, whether it was planned or not. You put on Netflix in the background, hoping the voices would provide the white noise you needed to fall asleep. You found yourself reminiscing on the night before. The thought of the boys laughter ringing in your ears before your eyes slipped shut.

You had woken up on Monday and gotten dressed, prepared to be on time to your catch up with Jae. Despite having plenty of time when the day started, it seemed to slip away from you. You were ten minutes late to the café, but Jae couldn’t have cared less.

His glasses were perched on his nose, his blonde strands kissing the top of the frames. You smiled at you. “Look who it is.” He smirked playfully, and wrapped you in a one-armed hug. An affectionate act you had grown accustom to when spending time with the older guy.

You only just noticed the tray of coffee cups in his other hand. You pointed at it, drawing his eyes to follow what yours were trained on. “I ordered. You change your order a lot-“ you cut in mid-explanation to correct him. “Or, you never can remember my order.” He nodded, with a small smile on his face. “Yeah, that. Jae needs help.” You couldn’t contain your laugh, and neither could Jae. He moved on after referring to himself in the third person, “ANYWAY, I grabbed you a hot chocolate, just to be safe.” You smiled, removing the cup from his grasp with a smile painted on your face. “Perfect~” you hummed.

“So,” you continued, sipping away at your hot chocolate. You were still leaning on the outer wall of the cafe. “What did you want to do today?” You could see he felt guilty about what he was about to ask of you. You were more curious than concerned. Jae could be bad, but he was never THAT bad. “I wanted to know if you’d mind running some errands with me? I have to go on campus and drop off some sample files to a friend.” You were blunt in response. “Seriously? That’s all? Why did you look so guilty? Of course I don’t mind running errands with you!” The sheepish look tainted with fear quickly dissipated from Jae’s face. You has scared him for a second there.

Jae was a post-grad at the Music Academy, not too far from the campus of your own university. It was only logical for him to go there, as he wanted to stay close with his family. He knew he’d probably need to move overseas at some point, so every precious moment with them was one he had to make count.

You arrived on the campus, talking about mundane things like work and life updates of mutual friends, following Jae subconsciously. You didn’t even realise you’d wandered into a music store. Record lined every inch of the store. They seemed to have gotten popular, again. They say trends repeat themselves. It made sense. The was a centre piece filled with CDs of old classics from around the world. Your fingers traced over the likes of Nirvana, Biggie, Crowded House. It was all music you grew up listening to. You had your mum to thanks for that.

Jae strayed from your side, presumably to go seek out his friend. You had explored almost every inch of the store, before deciding to go see what Jae was up to. He was at the counter, talking to the guy on shift. He was hidden behind Jae’s big head. You chuckled to yourself, then approached.

You didn’t look at Jae’s counterpart, mainly because he had his back to you by the time you’d approached the two guys. You felt a sense of familiarity, but chalked it up to Jae’s laughter that filled the space. The aforementioned boy turned to acknowledge your presents. “Done snooping?” He teased. “Shut up.” You mumbled, gently waking him. You looked at your phone, just because it was something to do. Jae’s voices brought your attention back to reality. “Y/n, this is-“ You were starting to lift your head when you heard the familiar voice of someone else. “Y/n.”

Your eyes locked with the tall brunette with soft hair, “Chan?” You couldn’t hid your smile at the surprise, and neither could he. Jae was confused. “You guys know each other?” His wrist flicked his finger from you to Chan, to you, to Chan. “Yeah. He’s friends with Minho.” You kept smiling at the boy behind the counter, proceeding to ask him probably the dumbest question you could have right then. “What are you doing here?”

Jae and Chan both laughed, then you realised how obvious the answer was. Working. I work here, remember?” He teased you. The facts just clicked in your mind. Chan said he studies at the Music Academy, working at the on-campus music store. Jae also dragged you to the same campus, which he also attends. He had taken you to said music store.

“Wow, I’m slow today.” You were saying it as more of a fact than a joke, but smiled at the reactions the other two had.

You didn’t stay long, give Chan a quick wave goodbye and a ‘see you soon’ over your shoulder. You left the store, and spent the rest of the day with Jae. The coincidence of seeing Chan only adding to the pleasantry.

The second one was also, in a way, your own doing. You went the campus library to try and sell off some of your old textbooks from the previous year. The money could always come in handy.

You stood at the main desk near the entrance, with no blue-shirt stuff member in sight. You scrolled through your phone, absentmindedly. A call came from behind you, circling around to your left, and then behind the counter. “Sorry to keep you waiting.Give me one second.” The staff member that had appeared before you had eyes down, finishing off something before tending to you. You smirked at Woojin, as he hadn’t really realised just who he was talking to.

“So formal. I could get used to this, Woojinnie~” You sung, purposely informal. He snapped his head up, and his face lit up at the sight of you. “Y/n! I forgot you went here.” He smiled, not afraid to admit his lapse in memory. This encouraged the same honestly from you. “I forgot you worked here.” His eyes creased, warmth and friendly radiating from him. He was a sweetheart. “What can I help you with then?”

Woojin wasn’t kidding when he said to go to him if you needed help. He knew pretty much everything, solving a number of problems you would’ve had if you hadn’t spoken to him sooner. Anything he didn’t know, he still fixed, having someone he knew able to solve the issue for him. The boy made your Tuesday a lot more bearable than you had expected.

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the-ash0 · 6 years

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surviving paradise ch 24-ride

“Raditz, report. You need to put out more fire.” Vegeta swore both at the static that answered him, and the blast from a laser hitting just above his hiding place. He changed channels. “Nappa, can you hear me?” More static, hardly discernible from the racket around him. But he could see the damn brute at the far side of the city’s leftovers, flying through the flames like a maniac. “Can anyone hear me?” Seriously, what the fuck?

Nappa had emerged from the little incident with the worms stronger than ever. Stronger even than Vegeta, to the Prince's ire. Zenkai, some had whispered, awestruck. Regardless of his strength, he remained a useless brute. Without constant supervision and orders, he was just a disruptive influence on the battle, attacking positions of little strategic relevance and getting side-tracked by anything moving.

Vegeta cursed once more, and seriously considered making a beeline for Nappa and hope for the best. He was dissuaded from the idea when a magma ball the size of his head destroyed what was left of the overhanging wall above him. The teen ducked and shielded his face from the shrapnel. Vegeta might be powerful for a Saiyan of fourteen, but that didn't mean he couldn't get hurt. After he weighed his options, he ducked and rolled away to a better shielded location, hoping to at least confuse the enemy on his position.

Which was, of course, pointless with his current shadow not even bothering to keep his head down as it followed. The tall alien shook its braid at him and indicated the faulty scouter on Vegeta’s head with a sneer. “More shoddy equipment. I suppose you forgot to check this scouter too, little Prince?”

Oh yes, of course this was all his own fault as well. Like both moons mysteriously getting destroyed before landing, or the fact that the enemy had obviously been notified in advance about their arrival. Vegeta snarled as he slipped between two demolished walls, then turned to confront Zarbon. “I don’t suppose you’ll trade me for a working scouter?”

The long-braided elite shrugged, arms wide and head thrown slightly to the side as he leered down; a beacon for the whole enemy army, from their heavy tank unit to heir hidden snipers, to see and point their weapons at. “I’m here to observe, not intervene.”

Of course, Zarbon didn't have to worry about getting injured by this level of firepower. But this overseeing that the elite was doing made it near impossible for Vegeta to get anything done. Frustration found its way to his tongue. “Fuck you too, pansy. Don't you ever get bored? Or maybe babysitting was just the job you dreamt of.”

Bullseye. The blank mask slipped to show a hint of the annoyance Zarbon must feel and probably had for a long time now. Oh; how rich. The creature didn't want to be here either. For all its tall tales spun in front of Frieza’s court, which Zarbon obviously did enjoy telling, the conceited long-braided fool didn't take any pleasure in actually being there to record it. That’s right— Zarbon was bored. Vegeta had hit the mark, and he had a good laugh for it. “All that talent, all that skill, but at the end of the day you’re just my little bodyguard to get me when I finally fuck it up, right Zarbon?”

The slender giant tisked, whipped his braid over a shoulder, and dodged a laser beam that would have done only cosmetic damage in one fluid motion. “I wouldn't be too sure I’d lend a hand even then.”

Oh, wouldn't you..? Vegeta sucked a breath, only now realising the meaning, the point of a babysitter. Zarbon wasn't there to record their failure. Or, perhaps he was, but that was hardly the main reason. The thought hit Vegeta, and it was an epiphany. “Zarbon, has a Saiyan ever died of space-worms?”

Zarbon gave him a puzzled look, but Vegeta was willing to test his theory with his life now, he was so sure. The prince straightened up; his eyes glued to Zarbon and scanned his reactions as he ignored the whistling bullets around him, recounting “On our first mission, I was the only one that had enough fuel and provisions to make it back home alive.” Vegeta stood, quietly, and waited for it while a trickle of sweat ran slowly down his back. Zarbon looked away, unnerved.

Vegeta pushed on, feeling more sure. “The second mission was a mess, but not really dangerous. The space worms... really sick, but I guess the only one in any mortal danger was Nappa. This place, this mission. Actual danger. But that’s ok, because you’re here with me, aye Zarbon?”

Zarbon snarled at him and then moved, one long arm swooped down. The mighty fist impacted mere inches from Vegeta’s face, against a projectile which ricocheted to their far left leaving a shuddering explosion. A rain of shrapnel followed in a moment of relative silence as it rolled off the two soldiers’ ki-shields.

Yes, that missile had been about to bury itself into Vegeta face. Yes, that might have killed him. Yes, Zarbon had protected him. “You are my baby-sitter.”

And Vegeta recognised it now, the annoyance, the little twitch of the elite’s eye. The young Saiyan had hit paydirt. Yet of course, the large alien denied it all. “I’m just here to have a good story to tell at the local comedy club. And I’d bet it’d be even funnier if the punchline is a dead Prince of Saiyans.”

“Right, well, in that case give my regards to Frieza. I’m going to hell first.” With a nervous grin Vegeta tossed his faulty scouter at Zarbon's feet. “Also, this junk is straight from dispense and brand new.” Next he turned and jumped to the air, heading straight to the location he’d last seen Nappa. There was a curse, and another explosion. Vegeta didn’t look back at his new meat-shield, he just laughed boisterously.

Maybe he was not going to die today. Maybe he could even keep his team alive. Although Nappa seemed to have gotten distracted once again and was nowhere to be found. Still, Vegeta saw one of his men under fire, and he dipped down to find Lekus. Not his first choice, but the elder would do.

“Try and keep up, babysitter.” he called out, then swooped down full throttle with little regard for his own safety. It was liberating. Vegeta could get used to this, especially the crescendo of curses that followed his every movement.

“Lekus,” he called out as soon as his boots touched soil. “I’ll be needing your scouter.”

The old man almost stood up straight, but crouched again quickly at the next near-miss. Vegeta sighed, sadly his immunity would not extend to the rest of his team. He walked over calmly to join Lekus where he hid. “Give it here, Lekus.”

“Damn, Prince. You know I’m fucked without my scouter right? Won't know what to do, where to go, where everyone is.”

“Right now, no one knows what to do. Give it here.” Vegeta held out one hand; he needed it more.

Lekus clicked his tongue, eyes running from his commander to the elite two steps behind him. After a moment he sighed, unfastened his red scouter, and offered it up. “Don’t say I didn't tell you so.”

With a grunt, Vegeta fastened the scouter on. When the earpiece to his ear, he finally heard the cacophony of voices, his whole team, panicking. Like he knew they would be. No matter, Vegeta could still fix it. “Shut the fuck up, losers,” he yelled over the noise, and cut them off completely.

After a moment, Nion answered, obvious relief flooding his voice. “Prince! Why are you on Lekus’s channel?”

Because we got fucked. Again. “Listen up, here’s the plan.” Vegeta just rolled over Nion's question, because none of that mattered. After he pulled up their positions, Vegeta quickly formed a plan. “I’m going to draw the tank’s fire. Nappa, get your ass back here, you’re attacking from the north to take them from the tail end.

“Nion, you take Papple and Jack and flank from the East, Twins, pick Raditz out of that pincer position he’s got himself locked in and follow him for a west flanker from the ground. We’ll surround them.”

When no one responded, Vegeta though they were already on it. All except Nappa, of course. “But that’s like a military operation. Working together.”

Vegeta did understand Nappa’s hesitance: It was not the warrior way. Warriors fought on their own, by themselves. “Well, today, we’re working together. If you don’t, then, if any of you by chance remain alive, I’ll kill you myself.”

It took a moment, but Raditz picked up the slack. “I for one am not embarrassed to be saved right now. I’m seriously locked down here.”

“That’s right, boys. We’re gonna do this the old-fashioned way. Come, follow your elder.” Nion cackled, and Vegeta was a little surprised to get his vote of confidence. “Your Prince knows best.”

Good. Vegeta didn't understand what was so ‘old-fashioned’ about fighting in formation, but that was what they were going to do. Working as a team was something usually reserved for weakling enemies, true. But he for one was willing to resort to such tactics if it meant living to fight another day. Vegeta rose clear into the unprotected air, and taunted once more at his shadow. “Stay closer this time, baby-sitter. Or I might get killed.”

Nappa still continued to grumble.. “Coordinated effort. We’re like fucking Ginyu. Only worse at dancing.”

Vegeta did see Nappa move into position, so he let it slide and concentrated on drawing enemy fire while his elite one-man team took care of the incoming missiles. “Just destroy the bloody tanks, dumb-ass! You don't even have to do formation.” dowm on the battlefield through the smoke, Vegeta noticed the twins had hopelessly veered off course. “Fucking twins, get your act together! You’d think at least the two of you could stick together.”

“There’s a reason Saiyans don't do formation,” one of them answered, and Vegeta used the channel number to identify this one as Coli. He still couldn’t tell their voices apart.

“Just get to Raditz,” Vegeta commanded.

It took a while, but between Vegeta barking orders and Zarbon destroying most of the projectiles aimed at him, the Saiyans managed to turn the battle to their favour. Vegeta finally returned to the ground; his ears still rang from the explosions he’d been too close to for comfort since mid-day. He dimly noticed Raditz bleeding badly, and everyone else was covered in mud that ran through with copper streaks. The salvos overhead had stuttered out and his Saiyans limped across the battlefield, slaughtering the last stragglers in the evening light. Victory at last, long overdue.

High on an adrenaline rush that just barely masked his exhaustion, Vegeta laughed at Zarbon. “Guess you’re gonna be stuck with me for a little while longer, baby-sitter. Hope you’re not too bored yet.”

“Prince. It’s Lekus.” Raditz called over his scouter, to Vegeta's annoyance. The third-class was supposed to in deep space by now, half-way back to base to have that gut wound checked out asap. “I have his scouter, I know.”

“No, I mean he’s here at the pods. But he’s badly hurt.”

#surviving paradise #fanfic #dbz #vegeta #raditz #nappa

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emospritelet · 6 years

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Kiss of Life - chapter 2

@rumple-belle prompted Gold’s POV about the first meeting and Belle asking about Gold at girls’ night. This is an entirely new chapter, btw, nothing from the ficlets is in here.

AO3 link

Dr Gold would be the first to admit that he wasn't the most sociable of people, but he had never seen that as a personal failing, telling himself that he was alone by choice, and he preferred it that way. He lived at the edge of town in a house which was beautifully presented and very comfortable, and if it was of a size more suited to a family than a single man, he told himself that he had a lot of things that needed a good home. On the occasions when he was not at work, he would read in his study, tend his garden or cook himself something delicious with a glass of wine in hand and music filling the kitchen. All in all, the move to Storybrooke had been one of his better ideas, although given the path his life had taken, the competition for good decisions wasn't exactly fierce. He had worked at Storybrooke General for almost two years, and by and large he enjoyed it. The hospital was large enough for him to see a number of different ailments, and to keep his medical skills honed, but not so large that he didn't know the names of every member of staff, and most of the patients.

He cast his eyes over the chart at the end of David Nolan's bed again. The man had been in a coma for eight months, but he was stable. If he would only wake up, he would no doubt make a full recovery, lengthy physiotherapy sessions notwithstanding. Out of the corner of his eye he could still see Miss French, now being berated by Miss Mills, no doubt over some minor perceived infraction. He really ought to have a word with Miss South about her. The woman had already scared off previous applicants to the post, not to mention one or two fellow nurses, who had decided that working in the convalescent home at the convent was easier than putting up with Miss Mills' waspish tongue. There was also a new nurse due to start on Friday - Miss Gale - and the last thing they needed was anyone else quitting.

Miss French appeared to take her chastisement with nothing but a placid smile, but her eyes were narrowing, and he could sense she wanted to say something in response. Miss Mills appeared to finish, storming out of the room with a swing of her hips, and Miss French stuck out her tongue after her, making his mouth twitch in amusement. She glanced around, catching his eye, and blushed, aware he had caught her in her insolence. He gave her a tiny smile, and she licked her lips and dashed from the room after Miss Mills. His smile widened a little. She seemed to have something about her, something more than he had come to expect from the assistants the town could produce. Intelligence, strength, and what he suspected was a good heart. He wondered how she had ended up in Storybrooke. It wasn't the kind of place that anyone would choose to come to. Not without good reason, anyway. Yes. He would have words with Miss South. He didn’t want to lose Miss French.

Belle turned back and forth in front of the mirror, eyeing herself critically. Ruby's suggestion of a girls' night had been a welcome one, and she thought she looked okay, the black dress with its cap sleeves cute enough for an evening of drinks and gossip. It would be nice to meet some of the other young women in town; thus far she had only really talked to Ruby and Mary Margaret. She smoothed her hands over her hips, nodding to herself. Good enough.

She grabbed her purse and coat, pulling a woollen hat down over her ears against the bitter cold, and shouted to her father that she was going out. He grunted something over the blare of sports coverage, and she rolled her eyes. In all likelihood he'd be drunk by nine, and she was pleased to be doing something else that evening. Moe French wasn't the most sociable of drunks, inclined to get belligerent and repetitive, and she had no desire to listen to a rant about the government, taxes, or worse, her lack of a career.

The night air was bitter, and she tugged her coat around herself, shivering as she trotted down the path and headed for town. Ruby had given her directions to The Rabbit Hole, the only club that Storybrooke possessed, but she took a wrong turning or two, heading down two dank, narrow alleys near the harbour before finding her way again. Foul-smelling things squished beneath her shoes, making her wrinkle her nose and hurry on. It was a relief to spy the gleaming red sign above a doorway, a stylised white rabbit popping its head out of a black hole, and she ducked into the club with a sigh. Heat and noise hit her immediately, the club warm and humid and filled with the mingled scents of spilled beer, deep-fried snacks and body spray.

"Belle!"

Ruby's voice made her smile, and she turned on her toes, spying Ruby and Mary Margaret at a table in the corner. Ruby was waving enthusiastically, clad in leather pants and a red top to match the streaks in her hair. Mary Margaret was in blue, sipping a tall drink and staring dreamily off into the distance. She smiled when Belle pulled out a chair.

"What are you having?" asked Ruby. "My round. Mary Margaret?"

"Same again," said Mary Margaret, holding up her glass, and Belle chewed her lip.

"I'll have a gin and tonic," she said, and Ruby beamed and bounced out of her seat, heading for the bar.

Belle took off her coat, settling in her chair and glancing around the bar. She didn't recognise any of the other customers by name, but she had seen a few of the faces in Granny's or in the streets. The crowd was mostly made up of young men who were drunk and loud, and she turned back to Mary Margaret, who sucked up the last of her drink and put down her glass.

"Yeah, I know this place isn't the best," she said. "I'm afraid it's all Storybrooke has to offer. It was this place or Granny's, and Ruby's usually had enough of the diner by the end of a shift."

"Oh, it's fine," said Belle hastily. "It was good of you guys to invite me. Are we expecting anyone else?"

Mary Margaret shook her head regretfully.

"Kathryn has a date with Jim. Oh - he's a gym teacher at the school," she added, when Belle looked confused.

"Jim the gym teacher?" she remarked, with a grin.

"I know." Mary Margaret giggled a little. "He's nice, though. And she's had a thing for him for a while now. And Ashley was gonna come, but she's sick. I'm afraid you're stuck with me and Ruby."

"Which means you get to hang out with the best people," chirped Ruby, setting down glasses. "Here, drink up."

Belle took her drink, taking a sip as she glanced around the club.

"So," said Ruby, leaning on the table with a grin. "How was your first day at work?"

"Okay, actually," said Belle. "I don't think Zelena likes me, but apart from that..."

"Oh, she doesn't like anyone," Mary Margaret assured her. "Except Dr Gold, of course."

"Yeah, what's that about?" asked Belle, puzzled. "She was practically drooling on him."

Mary Margaret giggled.

"I guess she interprets indifference as a come-on," she said, and shook her head, dark hair shining in the light. "She's wasting her time, the guy never dates, as far as I've seen."

"What's his story?" asked Belle, and Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose.

"Came to town about two years ago," she said. "He moved here from New York - flawless reputation, head of department - and threw it all away to come to Storybrooke."

"How come?" asked Belle, puzzled, and she shrugged.

"Pace of life, maybe?" she suggested. "I guess all that responsibility gets to you after a while. Storybrooke has to be less stressful."

"Apart from Zelena," remarked Ruby, and Mary Margaret giggled.

"She needs a change of focus," she said, stirring her drink with a straw.

"So does this conversation," said Ruby. "Screw Zelena! What about you, Belle? You in the dating game?"

"Not since college," admitted Belle. "I never seem to have much luck with guys."

"We can totally set you up!" said Ruby excitedly. "What about Sean?"

"Ashley's still hung up on him," Mary Margaret reminded her, and Ruby pulled a face.

"Okay, who else..." she mused.

"Rubes, the pickings in this town are somewhat slim," said Mary Margaret dryly. "I'd go as far as to say skinny."

"There's Dr Whale," suggested Ruby. "Cute, eligible..."

"...and a total womaniser," added Mary Margaret. "Not bad in bed, though."

"Not as good as he thinks he is," muttered Ruby, and they all giggled.

"This is seeming more and more like a lost cause," remarked Belle.

"Hey, don't lose faith!" said Ruby, and pursed her lips as she scanned the bar.

"Over there you have Killian, Arthur and Keith," she said, nodding towards a group of three dark-haired men, one of whom smirked and raised a glass. "All good-looking assholes, if you're into that sort of thing."

Belle shuddered. "Definitely not."

Ruby sighed in a defeated manner.

"Okay - how about Lance?" she suggested, gesturing to the bar, where a broad-chested man with kind, dark eyes was leaning close to the man next to him, gesturing as he talked. "New in town, polite, tips well..."

"Oh, he's really nice," added Mary Margaret.

"There!" said Ruby triumphantly.

"He's also gay."

"Dammit!"

Belle giggled.

"Look, it's not as though I'm desperate," she said. "I don't think I'm likely to find the love of my life in this bar, you know?"

"Okay, let's deal with this more scientifically," said Ruby, taking a slurp of her drink. "What do you look for in a man?"

"Um..." Belle pursed her lips, trying to chase the unbidden image of Dr Gold from her mind. "Well, how he looks isn't important. I mean, I have to find him attractive, obviously, but that usually comes after getting to know someone. And I don't really have a type, I'm more interested in what he's like, you know?"

"Any interests?" prompted Ruby.

"Well, I do love books," she said eagerly. "My dream is to be a librarian, actually."

"Books, huh?" said Ruby, with a grin. "I may have just the guy."

#fic: kiss of life #rumbelle fic #my fic #dr gold x candy striper belle

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helplesslyinlovewithcharacters · 7 years

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Perseverance: Chapter Two - Derek Hale x Reader

Summary: When (y/n) was sent to Beacon Hills to marry Prince Derek, she didn’t expect things to be easy, but she also didn’t expect them to be so hard.

As always, thanks to @julieanncupcake and @lovelybunchofrandoms

Pairing: Derek Hale x Female Reader

Derek Hale Masterlist

Perseverance Masterlist

The streets were teeming with people as (y/n) and Allison made their way around the market, admiring the various different goods from far away kingdoms. (Y/n) still wasn’t used to the way the people of Beacon Hills had taken to her, bowing or curtseying to her as she walked passed but she had to remind herself that she was going to be queen someday whether she liked it or not and it was a sign of respect from her future people that she should value.

They were admiring a stall that was selling a multitude of different fabrics when (y/n)’s name was called. She lifted her head, the material in her hands forgotten as she searched the crowd for the owner of the voice. The sea of people in front of her parted as Derek and a knight (y/n) recognised from the day she arrived walked towards them. She bowed her head respectfully as she forced her face to remain neutral. They hadn’t spoken properly in the last week after Derek dismissed her in the courtyard and the few words they’d shared had been less than kind as they mocked one another. (Y/n) didn’t know who had started it but it was slowly eating away at her as she tried and failed to build a relationship with her future husband.

“My lord” Derek nodded at her stiffly, eyeing the fabric she was playing with in her hand. They stood in silence before Scott jumped in, sensing the Princess’ discomfort.

“You could have a dress made from that, my lady, for the tournament at the end of the week” (Y/n) smiled at him appreciatively, not missing the way Allison was focusing on his mesmerising chocolate brown eyes.

“Thank you…”

“Scott” The knight swooped into an agile bow, making the princess laugh quietly.

“Thank you, Scott, I might take you up on that” (Y/n)’s eyes flickered to Derek, wondering why he’d been silent the whole time. Scott caught her eye, turning to his best friend in an attempt to get him to join the conversation before Derek beat him to it.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, Princess. You need a guard” With that, the prince walked away, leaving Scott to mumble out apologies before rushing after him. (Y/n) turned to Allison a frown pulling at her brows as she open and closed her mouth in confusion.

“That was strange…” The handmaiden’s words trailed off as she watched the men disappear into the crowd.

“I’m destined to marry the grumpiest, most anti-social man who’s ever lived” Allison snickered at (y/n)’s words before they returned their attention back to the materials in front of them.

The next day, (y/n) and Allison were having breakfast together when there was a loud knock on the door to her bedchambers. The women exchanged a puzzled look, neither of them expecting anyone. Allison dusted off her hands before moving across the room to open the door. On the other side stood a lanky boy whose face was dotted with an arrangement of moles as he smiled at the two women.

“Princess (y/n), I’ve been assigned as your personal guard” He bowed, moving awkwardly in his armour that was ever so slightly too big for him. “I’m Stiles”

(Y/n) wanted to protest that she didn’t need a guard but the wide, eager smile on Stiles’ face endeared him to her and she found herself inviting him. She could use another friend. He closed the door behind him before standing in front of it with his hands clasped behind his back. Even as he stood still he seemed to be moving, his eyes searching the room as he tried to familiarise himself with it.

“The Prince mentioned that you wanted to have a dress made, my lady?” His face was open as he smiled at the future queen, glad to finally be assigned to a role his father would be proud of. (Y/n) nodded as she finished her breakfast before moving to collect the fabric she’d picked with Allison yesterday. “Would you like to visit the seamstress? Her work is incredible, really quite exceptional-“

“I would love to” (Y/n) smiled at him with amusement in her eyes as Stiles seemed to forget himself as his mind drifted elsewhere.

Allison snickered as Stiles clumsily led them through the castle to where the royal seamstress worked. “I could protect you more effectively than him”

(Y/n) eyed her handmaiden wearily, having witnessed her incredible skills with a bow more than once. Allison had been the one to teach her how to handle a sword when her mother refused to let her learn alongside her brothers. “He’s sweet” (Y/n) bit her lip when Stiles nearly walked the wall as they turned the corner. “Maybe it’s his first day? Give him a chance”

The princess had to stop herself from snickering when Allison rolled her eyes but nodded anyway. After taking several more turns, they stopped in front of a wide oak door covered in ornate decorations. Stiles knocked quietly before opening the door.

(Y/n)’s mouth hung open as she gazed at the assortment of dresses that lined the room, Stiles hadn’t been lying, they were all beautiful. The seamstress rose from her stool, bowing elegantly before smiling at the future queen.

“Is that the fabric you would like me to use?” (Y/n) held out the dusty teal material, watching as the women assessed it before nodding. “What style do you want it in?”

The princess opened and closed her mouth, completely unsure of what the current styles in Beacon Hills were. “What would you suggest…”

“Lydia” The seamstress tilted her head to the side before moving to hold the material up to (y/n). “How about a square cut neckline and a full skirt?” Lydia smiled at (y/n) kindly, already imagining the dress in her head.

“That would be incredible, thank you. I’m sorry it’s such short notice” A frown pulled at (y/n)’s brow as she worried her lip, she didn’t want to put Lydia under any pressure, but the seamstress only laughed before turning to the princess with a confident smile.

“I could have your wedding dress made in a week, this will only take a day or two”

All the princess could do was nod as she stared at Lydia, completely dumbfounded while she tried not to focus on the idea of actually having to get married. She thanked her before turning to leave, unsettled by her carefree words. Allison and (y/n) were halfway down the hallway when they realised Stiles wasn’t with them.

“Stiles?” The knight rushed out of the room, mumbling apologies as he rushed to catch up with them. (Y/n) smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything as they made their way back to her chambers. She already knew she liked him, making the loneliness she’d felt since she’d arrived lessen slightly.

(Y/n) was stood in Derek’s tent as he prepared for his fight in the tournament, she was only there out of duty, having no desire to spend more time with him than necessary, their relationship still rocky. Derek was pulling on his armour as he discussed his strategy with Scott, (y/n) purposely ignored how good he looked in his armour and focused her attention on listening to Stiles as he rambled about the fight that had just taken place. She knew it was bugging Derek, his eyes continually flicking between her and Stiles as he fixed a gauntlet to his wrist.

“Are you going to wish me good luck?” Derek smirked at her as he easily spun his sword over his hand, apparently winning his previous fight had made him cocky, another emotion to add to his somewhat limited repertoire. (Y/n) raised her eyebrow, an unimpressed sigh escaping her lips as she walked towards him, her brother had learnt that trick when he was five. Amusement danced in his eyes as he watched her, eager to hear what she had to say. (Y/n) got as close to him as was appropriate and pressed onto the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear.

“No” A pleased smirk pulled at her lips as she turned on her heel and walked away but not before she watched Derek’s face fall into a scowl.

When (y/n) sat down in raised benches that surrounded the arena a triumphant smile was still plastered on her face.

“What are you so happy about?” Allison eyed the princess wearily, already knowing that it had something to do with Derek.

“Nothing” The brunette continued to stare at (y/n) expectantly but the princess ignored her, focusing her eyes on the crowd filling the arena instead. Everyone went quiet as the contestants entered the arena, watching with baited breath as Derek pulled down the visor of his helmet. The knights circled one another, testing each other before Ennis lunged at Derek. But he saw it coming, darting out of the way as he assaulted Ennis with a blow across the chest. His onslaught was brutal as he quickly found Ennis’ weakness and used them against him. The cheers from the crowd were deafening when Derek delivered the final blow that sent Ennis to the floor. Derek helped him up before bowing to his mother and then (y/n) before walking back out of the arena. The next contestants were preparing to fight when (y/n) spotted Derek hobbling back to his tent. Before she knew what she was doing, she was rushing down the row of benches and making her way towards him.

Derek hissed through his teeth as he pulled his chainmail over his head. The wound wasn’t deep and he knew it would heal but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful. He considered going to see Deaton but that would mean missing the rest of the tournament and he knew he was expected to attend. He took off his undershirt, wincing when he saw the jagged line running down the side of his ribs.

“Oh god - I’m so sorry. I should have said I was coming in” Derek turned around, shock flooding his system as he watched a deep red blush rise up (y/n)’s cheeks as her eyes continuously moved from his exposed chest to the material of the tent behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His words came out harsher than intended as he tugged his undershirt back on. He could practically see her heckles rising as she bristled underneath his glare.

“Well, it would be nice to know if my future husband is going to drop dead at any moment.”

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch” Derek wasn’t sure why he was reassuring her, especially when her words were dripping with sarcasm.

“That looked like more than a scratch to me”

“When did you become an expert?” She squeezed her eyes shut before forcing the aggravation on her face to dissipate.

“Just let me look at it, please?” Derek glared at her for a solid minute before reluctantly lifting his shirt back off. (Y/n)’s eyes widened as she took in his wound. It wasn’t pretty but from the way she was looking at it, she was used to seeing this kind of thing. Derek assumed she must have helped her brothers whenever they were hurt. A pang of remorse hit him in the centre of his chest as he realised he’d never once asked her about them despite knowing how much she missed them. (Y/n) would carry around the letters they wrote to her for days after she’d received them as if somehow that helped her be closer to them.

“You need to clean it." Derek let her stand close to him as she tentatively touched the area surrounding the cut. It felt far too familiar and he wasn’t entirely sure it was appropriate. He swallowed noisily, not trusting his voice as he replied.

“Don’t have time, we need to get back before someone notices that we’re missing” (Y/n) rolled her eyes before she started to search the tent for some sort of medical equipment.

“It’ll be fine” She laughed triumphantly when she found a small pouch of supplies hidden underneath a pile of spare armour. It shocked Derek, he’d become so used to hearing her laugh humourlessly or with a bitter edge to it he wasn’t sure he was ready for the real thing. (Y/n) walked back towards him, making him sit down as she knelt between his knees.

“You’ll ruin your dress” He didn’t know why he cared, except he’d seen how excited she was when Lydia brought her the dress a couple of days ago and the idea of one of the few sources of her happiness being taken away affected him more than he expected.

“I have plenty of others, it's okay” (Y/n)’s words were mumbled as she poured ointment onto a small cloth before wiping it over the scratch. Derek groaned as it irritated his skin. “I’m sorry”

He snickered but it quickly turned into a pained moan as the action irritated his bruised ribs. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me”

(Y/n)’s eyes shot up to his face, an explanation on her lips when Scott barged into the tent.

“My lord - oh” Scott averted his eyes as he fought to keep an amused smirk off his face. He cleared his throat before starting again. “My lord, my lady, the queen would like you to return to the tournament”

Derek nodded nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by Scott’s intrusion. He held out a hand as (y/n) moved to stand up, blaming it on the manners his mother had taught him instead of an actual desire to help her. She thanked him quietly as she packed away the medical supplies, lost in her thoughts as he got dressed. He pulled his embroidered jacket on, stopping with a start when he realised they matched. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted Lydia when she offered to make him a new jacket.

Derek held out his arm once he was ready to leave, forcing a polite smile onto his face as they made their way through the crowds. It was important for the people to see them together, they needed to at least pretend that it was a happy union. The arena was busy as they made their way to their designated seats. (Y/n) lost her footing as a group of people surged past them, her foot slipping between two rows of benches and twisting painfully. She let out a startled yelp as Derek looped an arm around her waist so she could lean on him.

“Are you alright?” (Y/n) paled as the pain in her ankle pulsed continuously.

“I’m fine” Her words were forced through gritted teeth as she attempted to step away from Derek.

“Princess, I think you need to see Deaton” Concern flooded through him as he watched her breathing become laboured as she tried to control the pain. Cautiously, he slipped his hand around hers, hissing softly when black veins rose across his arms. (Y/n) stared at his hand with a mixture of fear and fascination playing on her face. While she was distracted, Derek scooped her into his arms, carrying her as if she were already his bride, while the crowd of spectators parted for them. The princess shouted in protest but Derek was determined to get her to Deaton.

“Put me down” She squirmed in his arms, not caring if people were watching. Derek ignored her, keeping his eyes trained forward as he tightened his grip. (Y/n) continued to complain as they made their way through the courtyard. The little patience Derek had reached its limit as he stopped in his tracks and glared at her.

“I let you help me, so be quiet” He shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t make sure you were taken care of?”

(Y/n)’s eyes grew wide as she blinked at him dumbly, at a complete loss for words. Derek sighed heavily before shifting her back up his chest and walking through the castle to what she assumed were Deaton’s chambers.

“Thank you, Derek” His heart jumped in his chest, she never called him by his first name and it was a form of familiarity he wasn’t sure he was ready for. All he could do was nod as a guard opened Deaton’s door for him. He walked over to the examination bed before gently setting her down. Deaton amused the princess while he wrapped her ankle but all Derek could focus on was the concern that had settled heavily in his chest. He made sure she had a guard and was protected but he’d never expected to actually care and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

#derek hale x reader #derek hale fluff #derek hale au #Derek hale series #derek x reader #derek hale #prince!derek #stiles stilinski #allison argent #lydia martin #teen wolf #teen wolf series

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moiraineswife · 7 years

Text

Autistic Jasnah

Okay, but autistic!jasnah is is important to me.

��(apart from being like...super likely. Jasnah has poor social skills, special interests in her research projects, black and white thinking, comes off as emotionless/very withdrawn, very logical patterns of thinking and reasoning, and she’s related to Renarin as well, who is autistic in canon, making it more likely she is as well, since there appears to be some kind of genetic link with autism)

But it’s also important because: we definitely, definitely need more lady autistics in fiction.

We definitely need more older/adult autistics represented in fiction.

We definitely need more nuanced, flawed, complex autistic characters.

She’s effectively an autistic superhero. Can we take a moment to appreciate how fucking badass that is? Okay. Thanks.

But her being autistic presents another wonderful opportunity: autistic representation where more than one autistic character is actually presented, and there are two autistic characters who actually, like, interact with one another. What a concept.

But also, like....the possibilities with Jasnah and young!Renarin. (IF Jasnah is the only other autistic Kholin...and I’d, like, aggressively volunteer Navani as another, but, for the purpose of this hc, I won’t be greedy atm)

But, okay, Jasnah interacting with little!Renarin and everyone else is...a little bit....unsure of what to do with him, to put it frankly. He’s SO unlike Adolin, boisterous and loud, and constantly giggling at everything, and talking non-stop. Renarin is quiet, and withdrawn, and doesn’t seem particularly interested in playing with, or in the same ways, his brother does.

Adolin is a good brother, even at that age, and he tries to include Renarin, share his toys with him, let him join in on his games, and introduce him to other kids to play with. But it’s pretty obvious pretty quickly that Renarin is just like nopenopenopenopenope not here for this, and Adolin, who is a considerate soul, even at a young age, lets him sit by himself somewhere quiet, and peaceful, with a few little toys Adolin doesn’t really understand as being fun (little puzzles and cubes and boxes, and stones that are shiny and smooth and feel nice, that can also be Organised) because it seems to make his brother happy.

He does feel quite bad, though, because even though Renarin is happy, he worries that he’s excluding him. So he has words with Aunt Jasnah because something in his smol, wise brain informs him she’s the one to talk to. She’s like a giant lady version of Renarin, he gets the same Vibes from them.

Jasnah is a little startled that she’s being sought out to provide this advice. But after about 0.5 seconds of Adolin talking she’s...Pretty sure she understands what’s going on.

She gets up and goes to Renarin who is, as is his wont, huddled in a little corner somewhere chilling and spends about....a minute with him and then she just...Knows. She knows that this little dude is like her. And she smiles, because she can help him.

First off, she takes Adolin aside, and she talks to him. He’s pretty young at this point, and she’s not very good at watering things down for kids, but he understands it’s important, and does his best, and understands most things. She explains about autism, what it is, just the basics, really. And then she explains to him that she is autistic, which he knows, in the sense that someone has said the words ‘Jasnah is autistic’ to him before, but he’s never really understood. So she explains.

Adolin’s eyes widen and before Jasnah has said it, he’s put two and two together and is asking in a soft, hushed voice, if Renarin is autistic took. Jasnah smiles at him. She tells him that yes, she suspects that he is. Adolin asks lots and lots of questions, which Jasnah answers. He wants to know how he can help his brother, and how he can make him happy and safe and comfortable.

Jasnah explains about not overwhelming him with his friends, even though she knows he wants him to feel included, he has to let him decide for himself if that’s what he wants. Same with playing with his brother vs playing on his own. She explains about meltdowns, and shutdowns, being non, or semi-verbal, and stimming.

Adolin absorbs it all like a very eager, dutiful little sponge, and she sends him on his way. (He definitely comes home one day with like...a million stim toys he’s gotten for Renarin to try. He definitely gave him the box he has in canon, it’s his favourite and he loves it. Adolin is v proud)

As Renarin gets older, and becomes more aware of his autism, and his differences, he gravitates naturally towards Jasnah. There’s an understanding between them. Even though they’re obviously different people, they have this one central similarity that builds this little foundation between them, and they get quite close.

Jasnah is obviously quite a few years older than Renarin is, and has various tried and tested methods of dealing with things, coping mechanisms, and helps him spot sensory issues, as well as providing scripts for dealing with social encounters.

Oh, and they definitely, definitely talk to each other about their special interests.

Renarin is someone Jasnah can ALWAYS tell all of the details about her research too (because he understands that all of the details are important to know, and that none can be missed out, in case it was vital, even when everyone else insists that a good 60% of what she’s saying is ‘unnecessary’ Renarin gets it)

And Renarin does the same thing with her. Seeks her out whenever he’s discovered something new about his current special interest and just Has to tell someone all about it, and of course she patiently listens to him. And definitely gives him the tools to further research it efficiently and accurately.

Renarin will also seek Jasnah out when he’s non-verbal. Even though Dalinar and Adolin sort of understand, or at least recognise what’s happening, and both refuse to push him into talking...He just feels more comfortable with Jasnah. Because she Understands, in a way that the others just can’t.

I JUST.

LET ME HAVE JASNAH AS AN OLDER AUTISTIC TAKING SMOL!AUTISTIC RENARIN UNDER HER WING AND HELPING HIM NAVIGATE AND UNDERSTAND THEIR WORLD IN A POSITIVE, PRODUCTIVE WAY. PLEASE. I have a lot of feelings abt this.

#jasnah kholin #renarin kholin #stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #jasnah is fucking autistic okay. you can fight me. brandon sanderson could descend into my uni room rn and tell me she's not #and i'd laugh at him. bc bro. /SHE IS/.#kholin family feels #pls god let them interact in oathbringer P L E A S E #they're also both radiants like ????? HELLO!?#just let me have them bonding okay #please god #i will give u anything #this means A Lot to me okay #ALSO I GOTTA TALK ABT ADOLIN BEING A V GOOD BROTHR #AND DALINAR BEING A V GOOD DAD #AND NEVER EVER ONCE MAKING RENARIN'S AUTISM ABT THEM #THEY JUST SUPPORT HIM AND TRY TO UNDERSTAND THEM IN THE BEST WAY THEY CAN #AND I JUST ;AOREIHCNR;OIECHREC #renarin's rep is so fucking good it makes me WEEP TEARS OF JOY #u can totally reblog this if ur allistic btw SPREAD THE AUTISTIC!JASNAH LOVE WITH ME #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #autistic headcanons #text post tag #someone pls pickle brandon's brains on this i must know

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outpostsofbabel · 4 years

Text

Demigods and Semi-devils, Chapter V (IX)

The scroll described many exercises of the other meridians and acupoints, all aimed at helping the reader tap another person’s inner energies. Duan Yu went through these briefly, but felt that studying them would go against his principles and be rather greedy besides. So, he set them aside for the time being.

At the bottom of the scroll, the words “Light Steps Over the Waves” caught his eye. He called to mind several lines from the Ode to the Nymph of the Luo River:

She steps lightly across the waves,

Water droplets settle like dust on her silk stockings...

She turns and her eyes are full of life,

Her beautiful skin as fair as white jade.

She holds her words in her mouth, saying nothing,

With an air like a tranquil orchid.

So graceful and elegant is she,

That I completely forget myself.

These famous verses, written by Cao Zhi centuries ago, slowly unfurled in Duan Yu’s head.

She strikes a balance between plump and frail;

The tall and short of her are perfectly proportioned,

With shoulders shaped as if by carving,

Waist slender as though bound with a cord;

At her slim throat and curving neck

The pale flesh lies open to view,

No scented ointments overlaying it,

No coat of leaden powder applied.

Cloud-bank coiffure rising steeply,

Long eyebrows delicately arched,

Red lips that shed their light abroad,

White teeth gleaming within,

Bright eyes skilled at glances,

A dimple to round off the base of the cheek

Her rare form wonderfully enchanting,

Her manner quiet, her pose demure.

Gentle-hearted, broad of mind,

She entrances with every word she speaks

Duan Yu thought of the fairy woman’s beautiful face and elegant posture - “as clear as the rosy light of dawn, as luminous as the lotus above the green waters”. To follow her bidding was the pinnacle of happiness on earth, and he felt as though he would gladly die a hundred deaths for her with no regrets. I will learn this Light Steps Across the Waves, he thought. After all, it is for running away, and not for killing people. Nothing but good can come out of its.

The scroll detailed the various steps for this technique, and also included the 64 hexagrams from the Book of Changes. He was familiar with this book, and had no trouble memorising them all.

However, some of the steps listed in the scroll puzzled him deeply, for there seemed to be no logical way of smoothly moving from one stance to the next. Then, he realised the only way to do so was to perform a somersault in mid air. The scroll also instructed him to leap back and forth, as well as dodge and dart from side to side.

Part of Duan Yu’s scholarly mind loved the challenge of trying to solve a difficult puzzle, and derived great joy from finding the solution to a problem. So, one can find this sort of pleasure in martial arts as well, he thought. Indeed, it is no less than the enjoyment of studying books and memorising scriptures.

So it was that a day passed, with Duan Yu grasping about a quarter of what was in the scroll. After dinner, he continued practising his footwork before bed. Even at night, the names of the acupoints and meridians continued swimming hazily through his mind.

In the middle of the night, Duan Yu was suddenly awoken by a loud bellowing. It sounded like a cow, but much louder and more aggressive than any cow he had ever heard. The Boundless Mountain, he knew, was full of strange and dangerous beasts. So when the bellowing stopped, he thought nothing more of it. Putting his head down on the pillow, he tried to go back to sleep.

“It’s been a long time since we heard the Giant Crimson Bullfrog,” he heard a voice say outside. “I wonder if its cry tonight brings us good luck or ill.”

“Things can’t get much worse for us, can they?” another voice replied. “It’s more than enough to thank the gods for, if all of us in the Eastern Branch get home safe.”

Duan Yu recognised these as the voices of Yu Guangbiao and Wu Guangsheng. They had evidently taken up residence in the house next to his, in order to make sure he didn’t escape.

“You know, it’s not so bad that the Boundless Sword answers to Lingjiu Palace now,” Wu Guangsheng said. “Our freedom has been curtailed, yes. But we’ve gained a powerful backer as well. No, what really pisses me off is that the Western Branch is clearly inferior to us. So why did the Divine Messenger appoint Xin Shuangqing as master of the Boundless Cave? Even our own master has to answer to her now.”

“Well, every leader in Lingjiu Palace - from the Tianshan Tonglao downwards - is a woman. They say that no man is truly trustworthy,” Yu Guangbiao replied. “They say it was a kindly gesture of the Messenger to appoint Master Xin as our head, for now the Palace will look upon us with different eyes. Look how they treated Sikong Xuan. Why, they were much kinder to our Master Xin.”

“Brother Yu, there’s something else I don’t understand. Why was the Divine Messenger so polite to that kid next door? All that ‘Young Master Duan’ stuff. It’s a bit too much, isn’t it?”

Hearing his name mentioned, Duan Yu listened harder than ever.

Yu Guangbiao laughed. “This stays between you and me, got it? Now, when a young lady calls a pretty boy like him ‘Young Master Duan’, all politely,” - he affected a nasal tone, imitating the Divine Messenger’s voice - “what do you think it means?”

“What?” said Wu Guangsheng loudly. “She fancies that pretty face?”

“Shh, don’t wake the pretty boy up! I’m not a divine roundworm in her divine belly, so how would I know what her divine thoughts are? But I believe Master Xin has seen it too. That’s why she told us to keep a close eye on him and make sure he doesn’t escape.”

“So how long are we keeping him?”

“You heard Messenger Fu just now. She said-” Here, Yu Guangbiao mimicked the woman’s voice again. “-take him down and if the Four Brigands kick up a fuss, tell them to take it up with me at the Misty Peak. And what were we to do after that? Nobody dared to ask her, of course. What if she sent orders to have the kid sent to Lingjiu Palace one day, but we’d taken him off and killed him or let him go? We would be in deep shit, I’ll tell you that.”

“So if she doesn’t say anything about him, we’re just supposed to keep him locked up here for his whole life, just in case she decides to drop by and say hi?”

“That’s about right, eh?”

Duan Yu was filled with alarm. Messenger Fu called me “young master” because she could see at a glance that I’m the educated sort, not because of any twisted rubbish you people have been thinking! You could shut me up until I’ve grown a long white beard and she still wouldn’t be interested in my face.

“So doesn’t that mean the both of us-” Duan Yu heard Wu Guangsheng say, but he was cut off by another three loud bellowing croaks from the bullfrog. The young man stopped talking instantly. After some time had passed with no further noise from the frog, he continued: “That creature’s croaking always gives me the creeps. Who knows how many souls Old Father Plague is about to reap now?”

“They say that he rides on the Giant Crimson Bullfrog,” Yu Guangbiao replied. “It’s all talk, of course. And the Lord of Wisdom rides a lion, and the Lord of Truth rides a white elephant, and the Grand Supreme Elderly Lord rides a green ox... This bullfrog is supposed to be the king of all venomous beasts, with great power. Its venom is legendary. Who knows if it really is the steed of the Lord of Plague?”

“What do you think it looks like?”

Yu Guangbiao chuckled. “What, you keen to have a look?”

Wu Guangsheng laughed too. “Nah. You can describe it to me after you’ve had a glimpse.”

“If I ever caught sight of it, its poisonous vapours would blind me in an instant. The fumes would so addle my brain that I’m afraid I would never be able to tell you what I’d seen. Tell you what, let’s both go look for it together.”

There followed the sound of footsteps, and Duan Yu heard someone lift the latch of the door.

“H-hey...quit messing around,” Wu Guangsheng said nervously. The latch rattled again. It sounded as though the younger man was securing the door.

Yu Guangbiao laughed again. “Hah, you thought I’d really have the guts to go searching for it? Look at you, trembling like a rabbit.”

“You shouldn’t jinx things by cracking jokes like that. Everything is fine now, so let’s just go to sleep.”

The other man changed the subject. “Hey, do you think that bloody pair - Gan Guanghao and Ge Guangpei - are actually going to get away with it?”

“No one’s seen or scented anything of them for days,” Wu Guangsheng replied. “So they really may.”

“Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what Gan Guanghao’s good at. First, he’s good at lazing around and flirting with people. Next, he’s good at being completely uninterested in improving his swordplay. And lastly, he’s good at charming women with honeyed words. They’ve been searching for him all over. Even the Messenger herself has been sent out. Could they really have given all these people the slip? I don’t believe.”

“You may not believe it, but it is what it is.”

“I bet the two of them must have made their way into the deep mountains and run into the Crimson Bullfrog.”

Wu Guangsheng made a little ‘Ah!’ sound.

“They must have fled to the most remote, wild country,” Yu Guangbiao continued. “When they saw the bullfrog, they were entirely overcome by its poisonous vapours and their bodies were reduced to two puddles of blood and pus. That’s why no one has found any trace of them yet.”

“That makes some sense, I guess.”

“Some sense?” Yu Guangbiao snapped. “Why, if they hadn’t run into the bullfrog, then the whole situation would make no sense at all!”

“Maybe they just couldn’t hold it in,” Wu Guangsheng suggested. “Maybe things started to get heated, deep in the high mountains. And then at night, while they were flopping around like carp, why, they flopped right off a cliff.” Both men started sniggering.

Mu Wanqing killed both Gan Guanghao and Ge Guangpei, back at that teahouse, Duan Yu thought. Surely the Boundless Sword can’t have missed that? The owner must have buried the bodies as quickly as he could, to avoid any trouble. None of the villagers would have dared to tell the Boundless Sword the truth, if they had come knocking as they usually do, bristling with weapons and with those fierce expressions on their faces.

“You know, it’s really not a big deal to have two disciples elope like that,” Wu Guangsheng said. “Like they say: ‘The eunuchs fret but the emperor remains calm.’ So why is the Messenger so desperate to find them and bring them back?”

“Use that brain of yours, and think about it,” his companion replied.

Wu Guangsheng was silent for a long time. “You know I’ve never been as sharp as you,” he said finally. “I can’t figure out what it’s all about.”

“Right, riddle me this: Why is Lingjiu Palace so keen on taking over our Wuliang Palace?”

“According to Brother Tang, it’s probably because of the Boundless Jade Cliff. When Messenger Fu first arrived, the first things she asked about were the shadows on the cliff and their swordplay, and that sort of thing. Wait, that’s it. We’ve all sworn not to reveal anything about that cliff to anyone. But Gan Guanghao and Ge Guangpei didn’t swear any such vow. If they were willing to betray their own clan, there’s no telling what other secrets they may spill.”

There was a loud smack, as though Wu Guangsheng had slapped his thigh in triumph. “Yes, that’s why Lingjiu Palace wants them dead!”

“Be quiet!” hissed Yu Guangbiao in a low voice. “There’s someone next door. Have you forgotten that?”

“Yes, yes,” Wu Guangsheng said hurriedly. He paused, then said: “That Gan Guanghao is one lucky bastard, isn’t he? He managed to get that soft, fair little body wrapped around his little finger and shear her like a little lamb. Shit, he may have been reduced to a bloody mass, but at least...ah.”

The two men continued in this vein, and try as he might, Duan Yu could not block out the sounds of their vulgar jests coming from next door. He set his mind to thinking about the meridians and acupoints listed Divine Art of the Northern Darkness instead. After some time, he was so deep in thought that even though the obscene conversation continued on, Duan Yu heard none of it at all.

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