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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 3 years ago

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Mafia! BTS! Stockholm Syndrome: You Take Care of Each Other When You're Hurt

So, I received the Stockholm Syndrome request amongst one of the first ones and I really loved the prompt, so I didn't want to rush and write it very poorly. But here it is!! <3 I think I might make this a mini sub-category - let me know what you think.

Warnings: possibly very triggering, violence, profanity, (implied) sexual abuse, (kind of) yandere...

Background

You had been staying with your kidnapper for a while now. At first, you were frightened and wanted to escape at any price. But soon you realized that being there with him was not so bad at all. Not compared to your own situation at home, at least. Here, you had food, it was warm and safe. You even had your own little room and he never bothered or touched you. It was far from what you imagined a kidnapping would be like. The only condition was not to leave, at least not without him by your side. It bothered you, but not half as much as the punches and slurs you received at home. The fear of going to sleep subsided here, you could breathe, you could think... Although you were still broken, a part of you was grateful that he kidnapped you, even though you were still unaware of the reason why he did it.

Jin

There was a knock on the front door. You looked up from your book as both you and your kidnapper sat on the sofa, each at your own end. Jin glanced at the door and then at you. He was warning you, although, he didn't really have to. You became too comfortable here to want to leave at all, no matter how messed up it sounded in your head. You did not miss your abusive family for a moment whilst you were here. Jin made sure to feed you, he even cooked for you. You had your own bed and although you did not understand why you were here at all, it did not matter as much as you feeling safe for the first time in your life.

Jin got up from the sofa and made his way towards the door with a loaded gun in his palm. You gulped at the sight of the weapon, having terrible difficulties adjusting to them lying around the apartment.

Before Jin even made it to the door, two men barged through the oak entrance and knocked the heavy wood down. You jumped up and whimpered as Jin pointed his gun and managed to shoot one of them in their calf before he was knocked against the wall. You knew he was a part of mafia, of course, and the two men were of a rival gang because of their matching tattoos.

Jin was fighting off the buffer man whilst the other stormed the apartment for other members but there was only you. The gang man grabbed your elbow and dragged you to him, pressing the nose of his gun against your cheek.

"Where are the others?" he growled against your face but you had no idea what he was talking about. "WHERE IS THE MONEY?!" he roared once you did not respond and slapped you so hard you fell to the floor. Blood soaked your lips as your head spun like mad. A punch fell to your abdomen, knocking you against the back of the sofa as you whimpered out loud.

In the meanwhile, Jin managed to knock the buff man backwards and slammed his fist against his face. The man staggered enough for Jin to pick up his gun and empty the entire clip in his head. The man who was raining down on you froze at the loud bangs. Before he could react himself, Jin had already snatched a submachine gun from the drawer of an end table and pierced the rival gang member like a sieve. Blood sprung from the motionless body like from a fountain, bubbling at his mouth, nose and the injuries in his torso.

"Are you okay?" your voice broke as you sat up and tried to get to Jin but your abdomen hurt so bad. Jin put away his scalding hot weapon and hurried down to you.

"If I'm okay?" he asked abhorred, "Are you okay?" he tried to cup your cheeks but there was nowhere Jin could touch without hurting you.

You nodded, wiping the blood that trickled from your lip with the back of your palm. Jin was bleeding as well. His nose, the corner of his lip. His chin was bruised... But he scooped you up into his arms anyways and carried you to the bathroom. Jin took off his clothes first and then your own. It wasn't sexual or romantic, just caring. You took a shower together, washing the blood of each other's bodies. After you were done, Jin wrapped you into a soft towel and knelt down before you whilst you sat on the edge of the bathtub. He wanted to hurt himself for what he let happen to you. The bruises and cuts on your body made him want to rip his heart out.

"I'm going to take you to a safe house until I get this place back in order," he said gently as he tucked a stray lock of your wet hair behind your ear. "Nothing bad will happen to you ever again, I promise, princess," Jin vowed to you and you nodded as hot salty tears fell down your cheeks.

Namjoon

You were sitting on the sofa, Namjoon in his armchair across from you. You were reading a book and so did he, although for the greater part he could not help but stare at you. You caught him a few times but he did not seem to care.

Your cheeks turned rosy as you hid behind your book and tried to read, yet your mind was elsewhere.

The ring of the doorbell echoed through the apartment, making you wince in surprise. Namjoon frowned at your reaction but proceeded to open the door. You watched him curiously, but your anxiety sky-rocketed at the sight of a guest. It was a man in his thirties you had never seen before, although you did know some of your kidnapper's mafia members by sight.

Namjoon lingered in the doorway but let the man in with some hesitation. His chest tensed as the man waltzed past him and towards the living room where you were sitting. You clutched the open book in your hands, the sweat of your fingers sticking to the paper.

"Who is this little conquest?" asked the man, running a hand through his slicked-back hair.

"Her name is F/N," said Namjoon, giving you a false name. You looked up at him, wondering what was going on. Something about the unexpected guest gave you the chills. Maybe it was the way he carried himself or the plain look of entitlement in his eyes.

"The office is this way," said your kidnapper and woke the man from the stare he fixed on you.

"Right down to business, I see," he said disappointed and run a thumb across his lips whilst keeping his eyes on you. You were holding in a breath, your toes curling inwards as you pulled your legs closer to you.

The men disappeared into Namjoon's office where you had never set a foot in before. You closed the book in your lap and squeezed it anxiously. Once the door shut behind them you couldn't hear a word of what they were discussing. After long minutes, you decided to hide in your room for the time that the unpleasant guest was here. You did not want to meet him again. His look disgusted you.

You held the book close to your chest as you passed Namjoon's office on the way to your bedroom, when it burst open with a bang. You jumped but the guest's arms were around you, a knife pressed to your throat. Everything happened so fast, but you noticed the guest's bloodied face and broken nose. Namjoon's knuckles were red and bruised when he froze at the sight of the man threatening your life.

"Let. Her. Go." warned Namjoon in a voice so frightening it sent chills down your spine. Your eyes watered as you held your chin up high, trying to avoid the knife pressed against your soft neck.

"Or what? Sign the deal!" shouted the man against your ear and made you wince against him. Tears fell down your cheek, hands trembling.

In the blink of an eye, Namjoon pulled the gun from his gun holster that went across his back, and fired at you. The bangs were so loud they made you scream as you dropped to the floor and so did the unwanted guest behind you. You felt the spray of his blood against your cheek and hair before you covered your head and curled up on the floor. The man's dead body fell to the ground, a perfect wound in his forehead as if he had a target marked there. You were never in any danger, at least not from Namjoon.

A pair of gentle hands touched your head but you winced. It was Namjoon and once you realized that, you peaked up.

"Are you alright?" he asked carefully and brushed the hair from your face and then your tears. You glanced at the pool of blood behind you and shook your head soundlessly.

"Okay," Namjoon nodded, "I understand." He took you to the bathroom, his wide torso blocking your gaze to fall upon the man again. Once you were in the restroom, he sat you up on the counter and explained what happened. It was a business gone wrong that would never end up well.

There was a small laceration on your neck just above your collarbone where the knife touched you. Namjoon cleaned the wound very gently and placed a bandage on top of it. You could not help but watch him tentatively. For some unidentifiable reason, you were not scared of him. Not even after seeing him shot a man to death. His touch was soft and careful against your skin, the look in his eyes inspiring nothing but the feeling of safety in you.

You jumped off the counter on your own once the bandage was on your cut and grabbed one of the smaller towels. Namjoon observed you wet the cloth beneath cold water. You took his hand with some hesitation, glancing up into his eyes just to make sure he was okay with it. You pulled off his rings and set them aside before cleaning his knuckles with the soft wet towel. Without even realizing, you kissed the back of his palm to make it better, and froze you realized what you had done. Blood shot to your cheeks as your eyes widened but Namjoon was already leaning down. He pressed a long, soft kiss on your neck, just beside your bandage.

Yoongi

You were washing the dishes from the dinner whilst Yoongi and his business partner spoke of things that sounded so odd they must have been encrypted. B/N did not pay you much mind other than occasional long stares that made you uncomfortable.

You heard Yoongi's voice excusing himself to use the restroom just as you closed the tap and dried your hands. When you turned around you came face to face with B/N. You winced away and looked down but the man trapped you against the sink.

"I hear Yoongi calls you kitten," said the man. He was so close to you that you could feel his breath on your cheek. You looked to the side, trying your best not to let the tears in your eyes fall. "Will you purr if I stroke you?" grinned B/N. You tried to escape his grip but as you moved, he trapped your back against his chest, one of his arms locked over your chest and the other at the hem of your underwear. You whimpered and squirmed in his grip whilst begging him not to touch you, but he was even laughing. You froze when his hand reached what it wanted, the only thing moving was your chest weighing with heavy sobs.

"P-please... d-don't," you whispered, clawing at his arm when suddenly it released you. You turned around, shocked that your pleas could help but it was not that at all. It was Yoongi and his gun pressed against the man's temple. B/N's hands were up in the air in surrender as you stared at the two. A look of such hatred filled Yoongi's eyes that it sent shivers down your spine.

Yoongi clubbed the business man with the hoof of his gun and knocked him on the floor. You jumped and the hits kept on storming down on the man. The bones in his face must have been mashed from the heavy metal but then Yoongi threw the weapon away and continued punching him with his own bare hands. The man was past unconscious, you had a feeling he might even be dead.

"It... It's okay," you whispered and tried to place your hands on Yoongi's back. Yet you winced away at the heat of his skin as he continued raging at the man.

"YOU DARED TO FUCKING TOUCH HER?! YOU'RE DEAD!! DEAD!!" roared Yoongi. You had never heard him raise his voice before. He was always razor calm but now, his body was trembling with anger. At last, he got up and left the businessman bleed at his feet.

Your cheeks were stung with big, salty tears as Yoongi looked at you. His hands were dripping with blood and knuckles bruised and even skinned. He remained on shaking, his chest raising and lowering as he paced his breathing. You wrapped your small arms around his torso and pressed your cheek against his chest. You held on to him as if he were the only thing keeping you alive.

Yoongi froze at the affectionate touch. But once he realized what was going on, his arms went around you and kept you close.

You went into the bathroom and cleaned Yoongi's hurt palms beneath water. You patted them dry with a soft towel that soon turned red from blood.

"You don't have to do this, kitten," said Yoongi quietly as you bandaged his knuckles. But you froze at the sound of the nickname. You remembered what B/N said 'Will you purr if I stroke you?'.

Tears returned to your eyes as you finished wrapping the bandage.

"Please, d-don't call me that," you whispered, unable to stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks again.

"Why not?" asked Yoongi, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You looked down and shook your head. He knew something was deeply wrong at it wasn't just what he witnessed himself.

You whispered to Yoongi what the man said to you and wrapped your arms around your abdomen as you fixed your gaze on your feet.

"He can't say anything anymore, because I killed him. And I will continue to kill anyone who wants to touch you. Because you're mine, kitten," said Yoongi as he propped up your chin before placing a soft kiss on your lips that made you shiver.

Hoseok

Some guests came over and Hoseok told you to stay in your room in the meantime. You absolutely did not mind, the introvert that you were. You were sitting on your bed, a book in your hands as you listened to the music coming from the living room.

Your bedroom door opened out of nowhere, making you look up from your book. A man stood there, quite a few years older than you. A malevolent look resided in his eyes, something you suspected was always there. His hair was slicked-back and greasy, although he tried to carry himself well with all the jewelry and expensive clothes.

"Thought this was the bathroom," he spoke.

"It's across the hallway," you said timidly, your gaze piercing his. The man nodded but did not leave your room. Instead, he closed the door behind him and made his way over to you.

"Who are you?" he asked and sat on the edge of the bed as if the two of you had known each other for years. You pulled your legs to you, wearing nothing but cotton shorts and a top.

"I'm Y/N," you mumbled under your breath. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, nearly jumping from your chest. Heat rose to your cheeks as you bit your lip nervously. Hoseok said not to leave your room but what if others came in? Or was that his intention all along? The truth was, although Hoseok had grown on you with his kindness and generosity, you did not know him. He was a gangster and it could have just been something to keep you calm before something bad happened.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," said the man and traced his fingers up your foot. You winced away as your eyes watered. You could already see what was going to happen but the thought that did not want to leave your mind was if Hoseok had planned this all along.

"Please go," you whispered as tears fell down your cheeks.

"There now, we're just getting to know each other," said the man and placed his entire palm upon your leg, his grip growing stronger. You tried to squirm away but he had you trapped against the bedframe and the wall.

"D-don't," you stuttered and pushed him away with all your might when his touch reached your inner thighs. You managed to push yourself off the bed but the man caught you and you stumbled on the floor with a loud bang and with him on top of you. You cried out and tried to punch him but it was no use. No use until the door barged open, Hoseok freezing at the sight of you.

"Hey man, I was just..." the man tried to make something up but Hoseok was already at his neck, raining down on him like a mad man. You crawled away and curled up between the dresser and the wall, pulling your knees to your chest as you sobbed.

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER! SHE'S MINE!" shouted Hoseok so profoundly it nearly made the windows tremble. It surely had that effect on you.

Another man rushed into the room. He must have been a friend of you assaulter but he dared not touch Hoseok. He got up to his feet with blood dripping from his knuckles. The man's friend helped the guest up, although he was almost unconscious with his face bashed in.

Hoseok was breathing heavily as they left and then he turned to you. You were still curled up into a ball in the corner of the room whilst hot salty tears streamed down your cheeks. Hoseok returned moments later with the first aid kit in his hands. He approached you carefully but you winced anyways, keeping your legs so close to you they nearly became one with your chest.

"It's okay, kitten," he spoke softly as he pulled the gauze from the first aid kit. You had not even noticed but your knee was scraped and bleeding from crashing against the floor. The same crash that alerted Hoseok of what was going on.

"Shhh," he cooed softly when you flinched before he could even press the gauze against your knee. Hoseok cleaned your scrape and placed a small bandage over it. "It's okay, it's okay," he repeated to you over and over himself in a voice no louder than a whisper.

Your gaze fell upon his bruised knuckles, your attention refocusing completely.

"You..." you began but your voice broke. Hoseok looked into your eyes. "You're h-hurt," you said and brushed some of your tears away with the back of your palm.

"I'm not, kitten," he spoke gently but you were already holding the first aid kit box and picking out the utensils with trembling hands. Hoseok's gaze froze on you yet he did not know what to do to make you feel better. It was his fault and he knew it. He should have protected you.

You fixed up Hoseok's hand as best as you could and he let you because it seemed to calm you down.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to you as his index ran down your cheek. You still winced to his touch, although involuntarily. His apology brought tears back into your eyes but you nodded anyways. No one has ever apologized for you getting hurt before.

"I won't ever let you out of my sight again, kitten, I promise you that," Hoseok vowed and made you look into his eyes.

Jimin

Your kidnapper whom you had slowly gotten used to call by his first name had a guest over. It was not one of the members of their inner mafia circle, because you had known all of them by now.

Jimin was quite lost in the kitchen so you decided to give him a hand. It was nothing special just a simple meal. When the guest arrived, called G/N, his gaze fell upon you immediately. It was empty of all emotion or possibly even hateful towards you. What you noticed though was that G/N did not seem very close with your kidnapper. They seemed more like acquaintances then friends.

They sat down on the sofa when you brought the tray of bowls and set them down in front of them whilst keeping one for yourself. Jimin had a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hand as he watched you sit down on the floor at the end of the coffee table. G/N was sipping on his beer whilst they spoke of some sort of business you did not understand. You helped yourself to a spoonful of sticky rice and some side dishes.

The heel of a man's boot shot through your side and knocked you on the ground. The bowl of rice scattered by your head and some of the grains stuck in your hair.

"How dare you eat before us?" snarled the guest's voice. You whimpered and backed away; everything happened so quickly and you did not know what was going on.

But before G/N could get up and come at you, Jimin's fist was already around his acquaintance's collar. He knocked him on the floor easily, raining punches down at his face. Sickening cracks and trickles of blood made your stomach twist into knots. Your own heartbeat echoed through your head like church bells as you clutched to your throbbing side.

"Get the fuck out of here before I FUCKING KILL YOU!" roared Jimin at the bashed in face beneath him. He spat on the man who tried desperately to pick himself up and kicked him just the way G/N kicked you. The guest doubled over on the floor and begged for mercy.

"You dare to fucking touch what's mine?! MY GIRL?!" bellowed your kidnapper as the man finally reached the door and scrammed outside barely getting off his knees. Jimin stared at the door with his nostrils flared. The wrath burned within him like embers.

He turned towards you slowly, seeing how you were trying to hide behind the sofa but there was not enough space. He saw your bare feet, the toes curling inside in fear. Jimin's heart broke. He had never seen you this afraid and rightfully so.

"Kitten..." he spoke softly as he made his way towards you. You pulled your legs even closer to your chest when Jimin stopped and knelt in front of you. Your eyes were on your knees as you whimpered at his closeness.

"Shh, don't be afraid," Jimin whispered and tried to touch your cheek but you shut your eyes close, ready for a hit. "Oh, kitten... This should never have happened, believe me, please," he spoke softly. You slowly opened your teary eyes and looked up at his bloodied knuckles.

"Y-you... You're h-hurt," you stuttered a whisper, raising your gaze to Jimin's. He frowned and glanced down at his hands.

He sat you down on the bathroom counter and asked you very gently to take off your top. You hesitated and your eyes watered but you understood that it was not sexual. Jimin wanted to take care of the bruise that was forming on your ribs. You sat in front of him in only your bra while he put ointment on your side. The heel print was there, making his blood boil but his touch remained tender and calm. Jimin protected the ointment with a bit of gauze, then helped you put your top back on.

His gaze locked with your own as you bit your lip. He pulled a grain of rice from your hair and flicked into the sink. You took his hand in yours, surprising him to the very core.

"It's okay, kitten," said Jimin as you began to clean his knuckles. One tearful look from you and he let you bandage his hands.

"Did you... D-did you..." you began as you both remained silent. You bit your lip and played with your fingers.

"What?" asked Jimin very kindly.

"Did you f-feel off-offended because I... Because I-I ate in f-front of you?" you managed to swallow back your tears enough to build a full sentence.

"Don't ever fucking say that again," demanded Jimin lowly as he cupped your cheeks and forced you look at him.

He made sure you always ate together from then on and that you always had enough. As you sat at the table, he took some food from his bowl and placed it into yours. You could not help but stare at him puzzled.

"Eat well," he wished you and smiled to see your adorable expression.

Taehyung

"Can I meet your new pet?" asked G/N, a guest your kidnapper had over. You did your best to avoid him, there was something off about him. You were busy reading anyways, but couldn't help but get yourself some coffee from the kitchen.

"Sure," agreed Taehyung, "Come here, kitten," he called you. You came over timidly, clutching to the cup of iced coffee in your shaky palms. The guest was sitting in the armchair and Tae on the sofa with his arms spread out over the top.

The guest smirked at you and nodded approvingly. Taehyung invited you to sit beside him but just as you turned around, G/N caressed your bum. You jumped and dropped your glass as it cracked against the floor, the coffee sprinkling everything.

Taehyung's gaze darkened - not at you, but at his business partner who was smiling up at you with satisfaction. He enjoyed your fear.

"Did you just touch her?" asked your kidnapper with a voice so dark that it made you shiver. G/N peeled his eyes off you immediately and found Taehyung's. The smile disappeared from his mouth, heart dropping to his stomach when he saw the frightening expression on Taehyung's face.

He picked up his glass of whiskey and threw it against G/N's face. The man tried to protect himself but Taehyung was slamming anything he could touch against him, until he was squirming on the floor.

"YOU DARE TO FUCKING TOUCH WHAT'S MINE?!" bellowed Taehyung as he towered over the worm of a man.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" cried the guy, "I thought she was just a whore!" he tried to defend himself but signed his death sentence instead.

Tae pulled a shiny black gun from behind his back as his lip curled with anger. He shot the man through his temple, blood trickling down the furniture. You jumped at the loud bang and stepped on one of the shards of glass. You whimpered and pulled it out immediately. Tae snapped around towards you, his glare slowly giving way to his usual self. He saw the blood beneath your foot and threw his gun on the sofa.

You backed away rapidly but Taehyung picked you up with ease and carried you to the bathroom. The motionless corpse in the living room did not phase him at all. It was beyond mundane for him. Without a word, he bandaged the small cut and ran his thumbs across the top of your foot.

You finally noticed the cuts on his own palms from the things he had been throwing earlier. Your eyes widened as you took his hands in yours. Taehyung smiled at the sight of your concern for him. He already knew he was getting to you but this only made him sure of it.

"Are you mine?" he whispered to you lowly as his forehead leaned dangerously close to yours. You looked up in surprise, breath catching in the back of your throat.

You nodded slowly, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Good girl," smiled Taehyung and kissed your forehead.

Jungkook

"I would have send the papers over to your company," you heard Jungkook say darkly as he went to open the front door. You were in your room where you had been studying but now all you could do was listen to the conversation on the other side of the door.

"I know, but I was in the neighbourhood," said a stranger's voice.

"Fine, wait in the office," spoke Jungkook. A single pair of footsteps headed down the hallway and stopped just outside your door. It was cracked open and your kidnapper's office right across from it.

"Why, hello there," said the stranger as he gently pushed the door open. "Who are you?"

Breath hitched in the back of your throat at the sight of the man entering your bedroom. You squeezed the textbook in your palms and curled your legs beneath you.

"Jungkook never mentioned that he had a new toy," said the man and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his posh shirt.

"The office is across the hallway," you said fearfully.

"I know," nodded the man and closed the door behind him before he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

"What a-are you... doing? P-please, leave," you stuttered, desperately glancing at the door.

"If I made it all the way to here, why not take some advantage in it?" he spoke to himself and climbed into your bed where you were studying. Your notes crumpled beneath his knees as you backed into the backboard. You tried to call Jungkook's name but the man smashed his palm against your cheek and shut you up as your head began to spin.

"Jungkook..." you whispered again as the man's hands roamed your body like you were nothing but a doll, not even a human being. "P-please, s-stop," you begged him and tried to kick him off you once your head stopped spinning.

Yet suddenly, Jungkook pulled the man off you and slammed him against the wall. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" bellowed Jungkook.

You backed away fearfully as you watched his fists collide with his face. Knocking him against the floor, Jungkook got up and kicked his abdomen before he pulled out his gun and emptied the entire clip at the man.

You screamed and turned around kneeling before hiding your eyes behind your palms. Although you couldn't see him, you could definitely hear Jungkook's deep breaths as he tried to pace his fury. He dropped the gun on the floor and spat on the corpse with disdain.

"Stupid fuck..." he muttered under his breath before turning around to face you. His anger subsided immediately, instead replaced with concern.

You flinched at the sound of his boots, knowing he knelt right in front of you without even opening your eyes. Jungkook took your hands slowly and peeled them off your face. A red patch resided where the man had slapped you.

"Shh, it's okay, he's gone, he can't hurt you anymore," said Jungkook calmly and tried to caress your cheek but you turned your face aside, thinking it was going to be another hit.

"Don't be afraid of me, little kitten," whispered Jungkook.

He pressed some ice against your cheek as you sat on the kitchen counter, looking down at your hands. Tears kept falling from your eyes but you couldn't stop them. Jungkook didn't say anything because there wasn't anything to say. You were hurt and it was his fault. Now, it was his job to help fix you.

"I'm sorry."

"T-thank you."

The both of you spoke at the same time. Your eyes met for the first time since what happened in your room.

"T-thank you for... for helping m-me," you stuttered through more and more tears.

"You have nothing to thank for. I should never have let this happen. I should never have left him out of my sight while you were here, kitten," said Jungkook harshly, so damn furious with himself.

"You didn't have to help me... but you did," you whispered through your tears as you took the ice from Jungkook's hand. You placed his palms in your lap and iced his bruised knuckles. A quiet sob escaped your lips as you couldn't stand the anxiety any longer. Your forehead leaned against Jungkook's chest, leaving him in utter shock.

"I'll always be there when you need me, kitten, I promise," said Jungkook, suddenly not sounding as your kidnapper anymore, but your boyfriend.

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chaoticallyandmentallydead · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on Edge of the World's tone and Them's the Breaks, Kid as a whole.

This will basically be all my criticisms about these episodes into 1 post.

Let's get this out of the way, Them's the Breaks, Kid was a waste of an episode slot and Edge of the World failed to show any Hunter related consequence of Hollow Mind.

Because if was up to me, Them's the Breaks, Kid would be scratched, except for the last scene, which would be put in either Any Sport in a Storm or Reaching Out, to make an aftermath episode for Hollow Mind that also focuses on Eda and Raine + Hunter.

An hypothetical scenario is for the episode to be set during Luz and King's trip, it'll basically be a Eda and Lilith rescue mission to then Raine, Darius and Eberwolf get involved.

Hunter might not even appear in the episode, but his existence would still be acknowledged. The main idea you can take from this is that so we can see Eda and Raine's confrontation.

Because the way people are treating the Raine remembered everything as the most important thing about the story and not how Eda could react to it or how their confrontation would go down, which could have been this episode, raises a question: do you prefer shock value over an actual character driven story? Because if I remember correctly the reason why Luz talking about her father's death and Hunter's panic attack were so praised was the exact opposite. I can't help but think that the Raeda confrontation will be barely one mid episode scene.

About Edge of the World, I want to make this clear: my problems towards this episode are not directed to King or his backstory (I would kill in his name), and every single thing I liked about the episode was because of him and him alone. Oh, and Eda's breakdown was a nice scene too.

Honestly, just change the episode order for Edge of the World to be set before Hollow Mind and put Eda's breakdown scene in Labyrinth Runners so that the awful tone and Luz showing no signs of Hollow Mind's aftermath during the trip would be fixed.

But let's try something different, let's judge Them's the Breaks, Kid's flashback as a stand alone story only.

The light-hearted tone in it managed to work, thankfully, mostly because of the stakes were lower than 50% of S1 episodes. (Also, I just want to point out how Any Sport in a Storm had a believable premise to make it's light-hearted tone work and didn't had to make itself being set on a different time period for it or just making the most tone deaf shit imaginable.)

Anyway, to the characters. They took out everything that makes Eda, Raine and their relationship great.

For this we have to talk about one my favorite things about Eda.

Eda's kindness and selflessness was always an integral part of her characterization and one of the most important themes of the show.

Is why she cared for the life of a human she knew for less than a day, is why she end up raising a baby she got stuck with by accident, is why she forgive her sister for taking out 30 years of her life, is why she wanted to safe both her daughter and her enemy from mortal danger while also extending a hand to him before even knowing what happened. Etc. Is arguably her most defining trait.

What makes it so great is that the decades of suffering she went through aren't forgotten, her arc is basically about her learning to be more open about the fact she cares for Luz and King while dealing with the burdens of the curse. And learning about her upbringing and why she's like this is still the best part of Keeping up A-fear-ances, and that episode managed to give us an important insight about a character to actually develop them in the present in 1 scene, now compare to what Them's the Breaks, Kid did for 20 minutes.

And Eda is even more than that, I love how a mentor character is so straightforward. I love that she left school out of a hatred for the educational system and not because of something like laziness which also ends up reflecting on how stubborn she is. I love how a woman in her 40s is portrait as unapologetically sassy and sexy. I love how she is a way to tell the mature and best themes of the show.

But, for some reason, people want to turn the most nuanced yet grounded character of the show into regular-teenage-girl-protagonist, number 3.534.798.126

On Raine, there's a reason why only the final scene of Them's the Breaks, Kid is used as argument that the episode served to characterize Raine further, and, while a great moment, serving as a parallel to Lumity, which both characters are being more honest and close with each other, while Eda and Raine just keep pushing each other away, kid Raine is not a source of development, they're barely an insight. The most we learn is that they changed school because of a girl they knew for less than a day. For example: would anything change if another coven head was in Terra's place during the labyrinth hunting section?

It would be fine if they mimicked Keeping up A-fear-ances and placed the scene where Eda and Raine met each other at the beginning and used the other 95% of the episode to develop Raine. But not even that happens. How Eda met Raine was never set up as a mystery and could've just been answered with a single line in other episode. And I consider myself to be a big Raine fan so kid Raine really wasn't entertaining, if only because they didn't have any of Adult Raine's characterization, like for example the tough love that existed because of the years of trauma shared with their girlfriend.

And the angst is what makes Raeda works, plain and simple, if you remove the years of trauma, you also removes all the interesting things about the best ship of the show. (If you couldn't tell, Eda's Requiem is one of my favorite episodes)

About Hollow Mind's consequences, I have to keep constantly reminding myself that the same show has Separate Ties, the episode dedicated to explore the consequences and repercussions of the biggest story event up to that point while also managing to transition the show's tone to a more serious one and making the characters recive an integral part of their development in their individual characters and relationships. That is also for some reason is so ignored by the fandom at large.

Meanwhile the ending scene in Hollow Mind showed a child soldier that attempted suicide before having a panic attack because everything he believed was a lie and he has no where and no one to go, running away from a place where he knows his uncle would very likely found and kill him.

And he doesn't even gets a mention while this episode opens with the most tone whiplash disposable dream sequence imaginable. And I'm just mentally preparing myself when Hunter shows up in the last episode with his arc happening off screen

Is especially insulting because when the pirate guy mentioned he doesn't work for the Golden Guard anymore, it would be SO EASY to put an small emotional moment there showing that Luz looked uncomfortable, but she doesn't even blinks. Or even a background detail like one of her drawings. Seriously, during Sense Insensitivity they remembered to put a small moment where Eda is alone and she comments about the curse getting worse, which was a plot point in the previous episode, but this doesn't gets a mention???

And is also kinda weird for Luz's character in general, compare to how Luz acts throughout Separate Ties, which was the moment she became more mature overall, and then something even more impactful happens and while she did had a important reaction, during the trip her trauma just... vanishes and she acts completely fine during the rest of the episode. I'm entirely convinced that all the trip scenes were written with the intention to air before Hollow Mind. And the King is an infinite Titan blood source thing kinda rings hollow to me because we didn’t even get to see Luz's reaction to not having the glove anymore.

And I saw some people saying that Luz and the others didn't contact Amity, Willow and Gus either about not getting coven marks as an excuse why he wasn't named dropped, and thank you btw for pointing out another reason why this needed a aftermath episode, because I was so bothered by Hunter's non-existence that Luz not even seeding them a message, which could've been a moment as brief as Luz messaging Hunter in Reaching Out, or just making Owlbert recruit them as well about something they should definitely know wasn't clear to me at the moment and it's another problem with this story.

Actually, their lack of screentime in the 3 most recent episodes has been genuinely bothering me in general, I can understand why they didn't appeared in Hollow Mind, but why not at the start of Them's the Breaks, Kid or Edge of the World? Considering we're at the final stretch of the show, they should appear the most as possible, right? Or at the very least a mention about having to alert Amity, Willow and Gus about the coven marks? At least they'll probably appear in the next episode. Gus will, that's for sure.

And you guys can put fault on Disney for cutting S3 as much as you guys want, but it was Disney who didn't allowed a single mention? Like, most things in this ridiculous tone deafness could've been fixed with a single line or two. King's father knows we didn't needed that opening sequence, so go ahead and replace that.

Still, my crazy conspiracy theory is that Hollow Mind's first draft was made before the shortening news, maybe it was originally written as the S2 finale and Amity, Willow and Gus would’ve made a appearance. And the reason why this theory exists is because of how rushed the aftermath was handled.

#the owl house #them's the breaks kid #edge of the world #eda clawthorne #raine whispers #toh Hunter #luz noceda #hollow mind #this was LONG

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pepperpills · 3 years ago

Text

The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: hi guys, I'm changing a little my posting method. at first, I was afraid the chapters were too big and decided to divide them in parts and post a new part everyday (as long as there was a part to post), but it kind of affects the reading, so I will be uploading a new complete chapter every tuesday, hope it is better for you!

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2)

Part II – The Lord

The day after The Harvest, when you were designated to work for Lord Heisenberg, was a long one. Not really exhausting as you spent most part of it turning from one leg to the other waiting for someone to activate the bridge to the factory.

You were deadened by a miscellaneous of emotions battling to gain domain over your brain. You couldn’t stop thinking about waving your mother goodbye as the sun conquered the sky, shortly before being surrendered by the stormy clouds.

After the speech at the Chapel, you wanted to wander around a little bit, maybe hunt, thinking that it probably was your last walk on those landscapes, yet, you didn’t want to get late on your first day, so your feet lead the way past Heisenberg’s gate, close to the church. It wasn’t even lunch time when you reached the end of the road, facing the factory chimneys and the hell lot of metal discarded in its front yard.

You had completely no idea how to call someone or if you should, as far as you knew, the lord lived there alone and you didn’t think it would be a great first impression if you simply started yelling his name, so he could do that bridge thing.

Thus, you waited. Placing your bag on the ground, you stood there for what seemed to be two entire hours. Then you got tired and sat, your corselet holding your oxygen levels. After a while even being sat was annoying, your legs tingled and your stomach hurt, once you completely forgot to bring any food with you.

That would be a great time for the Duke to make an entrance. As one of his most loyal clients – maybe you sneak once in a while, claiming possessions of one or two crystals –, sometimes you two shared a meal and Gods, he was a good cook. But it wasn’t his week at the Village and that wasn’t his store’s place anyway.

When the day light began to fade and the clouds grew heavier, you started worrying about getting wet. To divert your mind from that thought, you left all your belongings at the end of the road, not too close to the border, so hopefully they wouldn’t fall in the water below, and explored the ruins, studying the bricks that build those structures, absolutely bored, not even anxious anymore. At that point you could think about a thing or two to say to that idiot Heisenberg.

What would happen if he didn’t open the gate? Could you just walk away and live your life? Well, that didn’t sound like a bad plan, if just you could reach the forest first… The first water drop popped in your hair, the rain it announced didn’t take long to join it and a few moments later you were soaking wet, cold to the bone, contracting every muscle.

Suddenly, as you were about to curse Heisenberg’s name, a gear sound rose, it sounded old, but well-oiled and was really loud, louder than the rain and thunders and made you and the crows jump, they flew, you stayed as there was nowhere to go. Approaching your dank belongings, you saw a firm, modular, sand-coloured bridge forming in front of your eyes. Its movement was smooth comparing to something that big. You were genuinely impressed and would like to ask a few questions about how that works.

This surreal vision absorbed you for a few minutes after it was done, you didn’t feel the rain chastening your skin anymore. To be honest, at that point you realized where you were at and what you had to do, after an entire day in standby.

Your own brain didn’t really wake you up from that hypnosis. Oh, no. What made your heart rate rise again was a sudden, strong and frisky voice coming out of nowhere. You looked around, moving your head way too quick, making a spray of water with your hair and saw no one, but his words were most certainly there, echoing in your mind, making your entire body feel warm.

“C’mon, honey pie, we ain’t got all day.” He said, demanding, and then laughed.

Great, a madman, you thought. You weren’t sure, though, if you blushed intensely due to what he just called you or because every cell of your body felt enraged with that joke, it was you who had been waiting for him, you who would be forever wet, because he left you in the rain. You wanted to walk to that factory and tell it straight to that son of a…

Shortly, you understood. It was a test. You took a deep breath, grabbed your stuff, which made a humid sound, and walked resiliently to the factory’s gate. He wanted to see if you were a spitfire and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“She walks.” He giggled, the voice of the wind, and then opened the gate.

Was he doing it with his mind? You knew that Lady Beneviento had some sort of effect on people’s brains, hallucinations they said, Lord Moreau could turn into a giant fish, Lady Dimitrescu had impressive long and strong nails that could tear anyone apart. What could Lord Heisenberg do, really? The villagers talked about he being one of the strongest lords, if not the strongest of them all. He had some power over metal, but you didn’t know exactly how it worked.

Anyway, you stepped in his front yard, facing the absurd, yet fascinating sea made of his discarded toys. For Gods’ sake, you even saw a war tank half buried in the dusty soil, you couldn’t even imagine how he had that and why he would so easily neglect it. There were ripped off motorcycles, destroyed cars, metal pieces with a huge variation of sizes and shapes and a ton of mechanical parts just lying there as a good old scrap heap.

Home, you thought sarcastically and smiled. So, when the last factory doors finally spread open to you, you faced the interior with a smile on your face even though you were miserable due to the storm. Carefully, you came inside just to be greeted by a puff of heat and sweet smoke, really welcoming at your state. The warmth certainly came from all the machinery working there somewhere, making a metal orchestra that never shut off. The smoke, well, it was coming from Heisenberg’s lite cigar.

He came from above, as a god like being, building stairs with metal parts right in the mid-air and climbed them down. You had never seem such thing and it was breath-taking; you were hypnotised for a moment there, silently dripping on the grimy ground, actually cleaning it a little.

He had some sort of waddle on his walk, nothing tawdry, though. Karl Heisenberg looked like an authoritative, impulsive and humorous man and he was, above all, having fun with you being there as if you were his new pup and you sure were.

“Oh, look who finally made it!” He greeted, on the ground, standing three steps away from you, the smoke so dense it made your eyes water, yet reassuringly hot with a tobacco scent.

Heisenberg took off his spectacles, just then you realized he was wearing them inside the factory. Besides that, he was dressed exactly the same as the day before, it didn’t seem he’d showered or so. Nonetheless, now you could see his eyes, his multi-coloured greyish blue abysms staring straight at you for sure this time.

All you felt able to do was stare back, almost not blinking, taken by those soft colours on a rough man like him. You thought you would be scared, although, you were honestly intrigued. You noticed another scar crossing his cheeks and nose and wondered how it ended up there, feeling all of a sudden tempted to reach it with your index finger, gently sensing the cicatrized skin.

“Good evening, sir.” You found yourself saying to be polite, breaking the motionless aura that sunk you in contemplation.

It was bizarre, but you weren’t cold anymore nor angry, you had the grip over your own posture again, your corselet helping you to keep your back straight. You were confident.

“Good evening, Y/N.” This you weren’t expecting, almost broke you. Why would he bother to memorise your name?

You remembered what Miranda said about being solicited by one of the lords, that made you shiver, exactly like the one you had before, only this time you could also smell the iron all over, not only taste it. The scent in the closed atmosphere of the factory had a light, almost undistinguished, aroma of the night, the fresh breeze and dry grass, maybe brought by you, however, most of it was rusted metal, motor oil and tobacco. It wasn’t unpleasant, just uncommon to what you were used to.

“Guess you found less transparent clothes.” He said next, circling you, studying you and your reactions.

You noticed he also smelled like the factory as if he was part of it, or it was, indeed, himself. You closed your eyes and the iron taste emphasized, it felt like you were licking a ring, you head spined.

“It is tradition to wear them at The Harvest.” You defended yourself – and your pure intentions.

You don’t know why, but you felt your cheeks burning, actually, parts of your body that would usually pass unnoticed had lite with the tension in the air and you just hoped you could be alone, devouring some food to calm your nerves.

“Horseshit!” Heisenberg raised his voice, coming through his pressed teeth. “They just make you wear those slutty clothes so my sisterAlcina can see all of her new pups’ assets.” Heisenberg mocked, laughing madly.

“Oh.” You couldn’t think of anything better to say, you never thought of that.

At that point, you were thinking about yourself, your dress and how you felt pretty wearing it. Did it count on the selection? You felt slightly ashamed, Heisenberg’s breathing was too close to your left ear, but you wouldn’t dare to move or your noses could collide.

“Surprised?” He questioned, maliciously. You didn’t answer immediately, you were too aware of how your boobs were trying to escape the corselet’s dictatorship. “I asked you…” He bellowed “are you surprised?” he finished in a lower tone.

“Y-yes.” You finally said. “Never thought of it.” You looked at the ground, discovering a puddle where you were standing.

“You sound like an outsider.” He ruminated, more to himself than to you.

“I kind of am.” You confessed, thinking about the cabins. “I am from the cabin people.”

“Hm… Interesting.” He glanced at you, head to toe, you couldn’t help feeling heated as you never felt before. “Sorry about the rain.” Heisenberg shrugged. “I am a busy man.” He justified, mischievously, remembering you of the anger you felt back at the bridge.

The lord left you alone for a second, walking past through a curtain. You followed him into a small improvised office area with photos all over a wall, it pictured the Village, the lords’ lots and Mother Miranda, a big poster of her right in the middle. It had a knife scratch on it. Maybe Heisenberg wasn’t a family’s man after all.

You were regaining your confidence as he was distracted with the pictures – or you thought he was, unable to really see what he was picturing –, you were seeking for a good ambiguous thing to say about waiting so long for that sort of reception, however, he was quicker and made you gasp, almost choke.

“Take ‘em off.” It was an order said firmly. The way he looked at you, as if he was some kind of authority, gave you the chills.

“Them?” You innocently asked, placing a hand on your belly, trying to breathe.

“Your wet clothes.” He explained, pointing to your entire body.

“All my clothes are wet.” You insisted, flushing heavily.

He took his very own overcoat off and handed it to you. You hesitantly accepted it, not knowing exactly what to do with his eyes on you.

“For fuck’s sake.” He turned away, chuckling.

You waited half a second to be sure he wasn’t secretly looking, you didn’t know if there were cameras in the room, so you started undressing. It wasn’t a very easy dress to take off, you couldn’t reach the laces on your back, because of that, you had to ask for his help.

“Can’t even take off your own clothes, kitten.” Heisenberg mocked, as his adept hands slowly, playfully, untied the laces.

His touch was warm, he slipped his hand and you felt his calloused fingers on your skin, your body hair immediately responded husking and an electrical current flowed through you, lightening your eyes, reverberating to your core. He also felt that and some other things that made him put away his hips, but once you were facing the entrance, you couldn’t see his reaction and only heard a small movement of boots.

Lastly your dress fell to your feet and you covered yourself with his bulky overcoat, feeling better as you inhaled his aroma so intensely you almost fainted with those mechanic flavours petting your skin and his body warmth heating you.

“Now, enough chit-chat. Your duties.” He broke the silence as you finished tying the fabric belt around your waist.

“Yes, sir.” This time it was him who took a deep breath, seeming a little bothered somehow like he could use some time alone.

He had been a lonely man. You didn’t hear other people, well, living people, in the factory the next days and realised it was only you and him. It must have felt weird having someone around after years of living like an eremite. Even with all the jokes and that cheap charms, the view of him tilted to the investigative board gave you the impression that it was a bit too much having you there all at once and decided to put your rain resentments aside ang give him a chance and some space.

“I need some cleaning. I am expanding some experiments and I need to use a new wing for it, but it’s really messy.” You couldn’t see his face, but you were sure he had a grin adorning his scarred lips.

“I will do it.” You said, a little disappointed that this was your choir and surprised you were expecting something more… Dangerous? Exciting maybe?

“Of course you will.” He was leaned on the office desk, not even looking at you anymore, suddenly sold out. “One more thing.”

“Yes? What is it, sir?” Heisenberg shook his head making his grizzly hair dance as if getting rid of a thought. It wasn’t clear if he was still having fun or being disturbed by something.

“There is only one bed in this factory.” You turned stone cold with that announcement, abruptly conscious of all the blood running through your veins.

A secluded part of your mind, a usually quiet one, whispered a thought: It would be good to see where his blood is running to.

“Unless you want to sleep in a stretcher.” He added, laughing vigorously, giving you the chills again.

“Oh no, I will take the bed.” The answer came easily as if it was always there.

You took your wet clothes and belongings after he told you how to access the bedroom and you left him alone to it, whatever it was.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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fantastic-bby · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Reader x Jinyoung (ft Mark)

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: Fluff | Comedy | Best Friend!Jinyoung

Summary: After a massive break up, Jinyoung thinks that the medicine you need might just be revenge.

Prompt: “I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

Warnings: Mentions of cheating | Mild vandalism (?)

Masterlist

[23:51]

You should’ve known. The moment you saw your partner—now ex—gawking over the person you both saw at the gym was a dead giveaway and you hate yourself for not realising it sooner. Or maybe you hate yourself more for putting so much trust in him. There was always something that your ex did that made you doubt your entire relationship and it makes you wonder why you didn’t see all the red flags until you saw the two in his bed.

Your first thought was to rant about it to someone, but who were you supposed to tell? You can’t tell your siblings, they’d be on your ex’s ass in seconds. You also didn’t feel close enough with the friends you made at work, which left you alone and yearning for someone to comfort you. It was only when you heard the doorbell to your house ringing that you realised there was one person you could rely on—the person that you actually didn’t want to tell.

Your phone lights up beside you and you wipe your tears with the blanket in your lap to see the screen clearer.

Jinyoung: I know you’re home, loser [23:51]

You feel the tears building up in your eyes once again. Why did Jinyoung choose to come over now? Out of all days and all the time he had before, why did he choose to come when you felt like you were at your lowest?

Jinyoung: (Y/n)? I can see your living room lights Open the door I have pizza [23:54]

You see, Jinyoung was someone you met mutually through a friend at work—his name’s Mark—and you clicked pretty well with him. The only problem was that Jinyoung always seemed to catch you at the worst times, which made you feel bad because he always shows up whenever you’re having a breakdown or plotting some form of revenge on your coworker who decided to take your lunch from the pantry. Thunder claps and lightning flashes from outside the window to your bedroom and only then do you realise that it’s storming. Which means that Jinyoung’s standing at your doorstep in the pouring rain.

Jinyoung: I didn’t get soaking wet walking through the rain to your house just for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too [23:59]

You stare at his messages, debating whether you actually wanted him to see you like this. He doesn’t even know whether or not you’re crying.

Jinyoung: I know you’re sad Let me in [00:04]

Oh.

You force yourself out of bed and down the stairs of your home to open the front door. Jinyoung stands at your doorstep, water dripping from the strands of his wet hair and sliding down his face. In his hands are a large pizza box and a plastic bag filled with bottles of beer.

“How did you know?” you ask softly as you move aside to let him into your house. He rubs his feet against the plush carpet right in front of your door, trying to get his feet as dry as possible before making his way into your kitchen. Jinyoung’s hand gestures for you to sit on one of the barstools at your kitchen island while he pulls his wet coat off of his shoulders and balls it up before leaving it on your counter; making a mental note to clean that up later.

“I always do,” Jinyoung mutters as he opens the pizza box. He’s thankful that he somehow managed to keep the pizza dry or else he would’ve had to be faced with both your tears and rain pizza. You’re silent as he pushes the box towards you before pulling out two bottles of beer from the orange plastic bag that’s now perched on your countertop. You give him a weird look that makes him sigh, “Mark hyung told me.”

“And how did Mark figure it out? I didn’t tell anyone.” You pull one of the slices out of the box and take a bite out of it. It isn’t as hot as you’d prefer your pizza to be, but you can’t expect Jinyoung to have fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza when you left him standing outside in the rain for more than ten minutes.

“Mark hyung introduced you to the cock head. Of course he’d know,” he says as he pops open both bottles of beer, sliding on towards you. “What happened?”

“What do you want to know?” you look away from the slice and let your eyes meet Jinyoung’s. His face and body language never seemed to show that much emotion, but his brown eyes always held every single word that he wanted to say.

Jinyoung’s shoulders raise into a shrug, “whatever you want to tell me.” You hesitate with pizza in your mouth, chewing slowly before you sigh and tell him everything. Half a pizza and three beer bottles later, you feel relieved.

“And now I’m just sulking in my house,” you mutter when you finish your fourth slice of pizza. Jinyoung blinks a few times and his eyes drift away from you for a moment as he takes in the entire story.

“I have an idea,” he speaks up after a moment, his back straightening as the idea brews in his mind. “I’m not usually one who condones revenge because it’s petty and it wastes my time, but…” Jinyoung trails off when he sees you perking up.

“What’s your plan?” you quickly ask.

He smirks, “I’m thinking lots of toilet paper and lots of glitter.”

“Why am I here again?” Mark asks but Jinyoung quickly shushes him.

“We’re here to get back at (Y/n)’s ex.” The older man gives him a weird look but obliges anyway, hands grabbing at the envelopes filled with glitter and signed with different names and addresses to avoid suspicion. “Are you ready?” Jinyoung turns to you and you nod as you pull the hood of your jacket over your head to hide yourself.

“You do know that we could get arrested for vandalism, right?” he points out.

“That just fuels the adrenaline,” you hum with a smile when you turn back to him. The corners of Mark’s lips lift into a smile when he sees the mischief painted on your face. You’ve convinced him only because Mark’s a bit of an adrenaline junky and he’d do anything just to feel alive.

The three of you climb out of Jinyoung’s car and quickly make your way into the bushes of your ex’s garden, hiding under the cover of night with a bag full of toilet paper rolls. Mark tears himself away from you and Jinyoung to stuff the envelopes into the empty mailbox before regrouping. Each of you get a few rolls and the revenge plot begins. Call it childish, but you had never felt so much rush within you from throwing toilet rolls. You swing one of the rolls over the house, frowning when you see the way it bounces off of the wall and falls back into the garden.

“Watch this,” Jinyoung chuckles. You watch as he swings his arm with more strength and force, the roll flying straight over the roof and leaving a trail of toilet paper behind it that drapes over the top of the house.

“Show off,” Mark snorts as he throws a roll. Jinyoung scowls at that and throws the roll right at his head, earning a whine from your coworker. “Is that all of them?” he asks. You rummage through the now empty tote bags and nod just as the lights to one of the rooms turn on.

“Fuck, we have to go.” Jinyoung grabs onto your wrist and the three of you run out of the garden and straight into his car. The front door swings open and you hear distant yelling just as Jinyoung slams his foot on the accelerator, speeding out of the neighbourhood as fast as he can to stop your ex from seeing his license plate. Giggles and laughter erupt from the three of you once you’re out of the neighbourhood.

“Feel any better?” Mark laughs when he sees how bright you look as compared to the past two weeks and how dull and tired you’ve been.

“I feel fucking amazing,” you breathe out a laugh, turning to your side to look at Jinyoung who laughs from behind the wheel.

“I’ll be taking food as thanks,” he jokes.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes playfully, unable to stop the smile that feels permanently etched on your face. “I’m actually surprised that you, out of all people, thought of this.”

“That’s exactly what I said when he called me,” Mark chuckles.

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung shrugs with a content sigh. “Never really liked that guy anyway. I felt like you deserved better, so revenge was the first thing that came to mind when you told me.” You keep your eyes on him for a moment, basking in the adrenaline that courses through your veins. Mark cocks an eyebrow at the way the car slowly falls into silence.

“Thank you, Jinyoung,” you hum after a moment.

“Yes, thank you, Jinyoung,” Mark snickers. “It’s nice to see you having all this fun when you’re usually so stone cold.”

“I’m not stone cold, I’m just unresponsive,” Jinyoung corrects him.

“Unresponsive until someone grazes your shoes with theirs,” you quip, making Mark laugh.

Jinyoung gasps, “those shoes were white and they were expensive! Anyone in the right mind would be upset!” You and Mark’s giggles are only heightened at how Jinyoung starts nagging you two for stepping on his white shoes once a few years back.

“Alright, alright,” Mark says in between laughs, “we’ll be more careful when you’re wearing white shoes.”

“I wouldn’t mind if it was (Y/n), but hyung,” he emphasizes on ‘hyung’, hinting at the fact that Mark acts like a teenager despite already almost breaching his thirties. “I would’ve expected at least some respect for my white shoes from you!”

“Dude, just soak them—that’ll take the stain right off.”

“They’re leather!”

“Let’s just agree not to ruin Jinyoung’s white, leather shoes, so that he’ll stop nagging at us,” you giggle. Jinyoung whines in response as he glances at you. Mark makes another comment that has Jinyoung practically fuming. He’s lucky that it’s a red light because he puts the gear into neutral and reaches behind to grab onto the black hoodie of Mark’s jacket, the older man whining and crying in response while you watch with pure glee.

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malucy31 · 3 years ago

Text

Time is On Our Side

Alec is stuck on a mission in India in the 18th century and he misses Magnus. One day, he wakes up somewhere that feels and smells like home.

Chapter 1/3 - Moon troubles

Read on ao3

In a state of semi-consciousness, Alec senses Magnus hovering somewhere over him, his soothing words, soothing voice, familiar presence. When he manages to blink his eyes open, it’s only for a second.

The light is too harsh.

“Magnus…” his voice trails off on its own. He missed him so much.

“Hello, there. You slept all morning, I was starting to fear you wouldn’t wake up at all.”

“The mission, it – ”

“Shh, you’ve been injured, try not to talk.”

“Thought it’d never end…”

“It’s over now. You’re safe here.”

Alec smiles at these words, letting his muscles relax into Magnus’s magic. If he opened his eyes, he knows he would see his lovely husband weaving blue tendrils of magic like strings of air and atoms. But his eyelids are too heavy, and everything is so peaceful.

Two weeks.

Those missions are always supposed to last two weeks, but they never do. Faint recollections of a missed new moon and a missed opportunity to go home cross his mind.

How long has it been? A month? A month and a half?

Alec can’t focus. He has missed Magnus so much, has craved being in his arms, hearing his voice. It has just been too long.

Above him, Magnus says things, but Alec’s brain only registers a few words of reassurance, maybe replies to his unconscious ramblings. He doesn’t even know what he is saying.

Disappointment settles when the soft buzzing of Magnus’s magic leaves his skin. He realizes he must be pouting because the musical laughter he loves so much answers him.

“Try to rest. I’ll be in the next room if you need me, okay?”

Alec pictures himself nodding but has no idea if his head follows. After that, everything fades.

Magnus’s magic must have been what kept him awake because when he regains consciousness, it’s to an evening light filtering through half-closed shutters.

The feelings he had earlier are still floating at the edge of his memory. Magnus’s magic is there too, purring underneath his skin like it has found a home there. As always, Alec opens himself up to the feelings, letting it drizzle, letting it settle in every numb place.

Peacefulness only lasts a few seconds though. The sheets under his palms are rougher than usual. It’s not the silk he was expecting to find. These remind him more of the ones he had at the Institute. More than a bit confused, he sits up, trying not to pay too much attention to his still painful right arm.

Something as simple as it is terrifying grows in his stomach as he takes in his surroundings.

He is neither in their bedroom, nor at the Institute.

In fact, Alec has no idea where he is. It feels like home, but it isn’t. Between the echoes of a familiar magic lovingly coiling up around his bones and the scent of sandalwood coming from the other side of the door, Alec could swear he is at their loft, just like he could swear that Magnus is brewing a batch of his sandalwood shampoo.

Did Magnus add a room to the loft while he was away?

It shouldn’t be this difficult to remember, but everything is blank. It’s only when he sits at the edge of the bed and sees his reflection in the mirror that his brain finally catches up with the situation.

This isn’t his face, he is glamoured as a Mundane.

And he isn’t home because the mission isn’t over yet.

He is still in India in the 18th century…

Great.

Alec heaves a long sigh and falls back on the mattress, wincing as the room spins around him. He was so sure he was home, so sure that this whole nightmare was finally over. But no. The demon they had to kill was harder to find, making them miss the new moon, miss the ritual and forcing them to wait another month in a place and time they were never supposed to be.

So no, he isn’t home. Far from it.

His memories are coming back, but what drove him here is still a mystery. What happened?

It was Magnus with him earlier, and it’s him in the next room. That’s a certainty.

Everything starts spinning again, and Alec has to close his eyes.

What did he tell him? Not too much hopefully, nothing that can’t be put under the account of being injured and groggy, right? How long was he unconscious? Did he miss the new moon again? The thought makes him sit back up, swallowing a moan because his right arm is really hurting.

He can’t wait another month here.

He can’t.

He needs to go home, he needs Magnus, his Magnus. He is sick of falling asleep in beds that are too small, too cold, and too hard. Sick of waking up and having quick breakfasts amongst the other Shadowhunters like he used to do when everything inside of him felt wrong. He wants his life back. Now.

Jace would tell him to stop overreacting, but he doesn’t know what a life with Magnus is. He doesn’t know that nothing compares to this life they are building year after year. Jace doesn’t know, he can’t.

Tears start prickling at the corner of his eyes. Alec is just so tired… It almost makes him regret this blissed state of half-consciousness from earlier where everything felt like a dream.

In the next room, he hears Magnus make a contented noise, humming in approval and commenting to himself like he often does when he tries something new in his apothecary or in the kitchen. Without realizing it, Alec stands up, feeling much lighter. Quiet and calm are replacing the spiraling storm inside his head. There’s nothing like Magnus being happy to make him forget about everything wrong in the world.

It pains him to think he should escape through the window. He has no idea how he ended up here, at Magnus’s or what he told him. It would be safer to escape.

But on the other hand, isn’t that exactly why Magnus didn’t travel with him? Or why he made sure to add a protection spell to Alec’s glamor? They all knew this could happen. This Magnus won’t be able to detect his glamor, his Magnus won’t arrive to save him… There really isn’t any danger, is there?

Before he can make a decision, Alec is at the door, already hearing his siblings’ snigger at their lovesick brother. He just… A month and a half is too long. He misses him too much.

It’s impossible to hold back his smile and sudden yearning when he opens the door. It’s the apothecary. The exact replica of the one Alec knows so well by now. He doesn’t have time to observe the details because Magnus is already meeting his stare.

“There’s our mysterious and reckless traveler! How do you feel?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Is it still hurting?” Magnus asks, pointing to Alec’s right arm as he absently rubs it.

The scent of sandalwood and home is so overwhelming that Alec is barely aware of his own answer, or of the fact that Magnus is approaching.

With an elegant movement, he lets a little of his magic rain over Alec’s arm. As it usually does, it curls up around him with a tenderness that leaves him speechless. It makes this Magnus’s face soften, just like it does with his Magnus.

I missed this. I missed you, he wants to say and has to bite his tongue to refrain.

Euphoria fades abruptly when he realizes that this is the second time Magnus has used his magic on him without trying to hide it. Magnus, who isn’t supposed to know him or know that he is part of the Shadow World.

If he is acting like this, it means Alec did or said something he shouldn’t have.

What did he do? How much did he reveal while he was unconscious? Did he doom them forever? Will he come back to an empty loft? To a life where he doesn’t know Magnus at all?

Maybe he should have escaped through the window after all. He is getting nauseous. His mind sinks into bottomless spirals and the room spins again. It’s too late to play dumb, to withdraw his arm and look scandalized, asking things like What kind of witchcraft is this? It’s not like Alec has ever learned how to lie properly anyway.

Magnus must feel his sudden distress because he gently leads him back to a chair, “There, everything’s alright. Better?”

Alec can’t even nod.

As for Magnus, he is smirking, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t worry, mysterious traveler, I don’t know a thing about you.”

Apparently, glamor or not, Magnus can still read him like an open book. Alec doesn’t know if it should make him scared or make him fall in love a little more. Maybe both. Definitively the latter.

“Good,” Alec can’t help replying and regretting it immediately because the amusement on Magnus’s features fades away. He knows his husband enough to know that this mysterious traveler must intrigue him. While healing him, he probably felt a lingering taste of magic, of his own magic without really understanding it.

“Come with me,” he eventually says. “You should eat something.”

Magnus’s kitchen makes Alec smile too.

Once, Magnus told him he used several decades of his life to perfect his cooking skills, even owned a restaurant. Something fancy and prestigious that still exists, where he took Alec for their tenth anniversary.

Seeing what can only be called a mess in the kitchen, Alec wonders if this is when Magnus started experimenting.

Usually, Alec gets nervous around mess, but never around Magnus’s. There is always a certain beauty about it, something that reflects his mere soul. Herbs are hanging from the ceiling, drying, diffusing the light in shades of rosemary, wild citrus, and marjoram. On the countertop next to the window are several bowls turned upside down to protect what Alec can only call mixtures. He frowns before remembering that one of Magnus’s obsessions in cooking were mushrooms. The rare and disgusting kinds if anyone were to ask him.

But what Alec finds the most endearing are the vegetables. He knows how Magnus likes to sort them out and visibly, he has kept the same habits in centuries. He sorts them out by colors, giving every corner of the room the right shade of red, yellow, green, or purple.

It’s all about the colors and how each piece reflects the light around, my dear, Magnus explained once. Would you like to help?

It was fun. It was more like Alec was fumbling with everything Magnus gave him than helping, but it felt like watching his husband apply his makeup or redecorate their home. Magnus was opening up for him, letting him share his view of the world, and it was mesmerizing. The world as a work of art. That was something new to Alec, and after getting a taste, he couldn’t get enough. Every detail pointed out by Magnus was like a revelation to him.

He is still daydreaming when Magnus starts cooking something, using some magic to speed things up. It stresses Alec again to watch his future husband use magic in front of him – a stranger. What happened?

“Please, have a seat, it will be ready soon.”

“Thanks.”

Alec does as he is told, not really knowing where to start, not wanting to make things worse by saying the wrong thing. He is about to ask what day it is when Magnus reads his mind again.

“I found you last night, some meaningless demons were after you. I wondered what demons could want with a Mundane in the middle of the night when I saw you draw a sword out of thin air. I thought you were a Shadowhunter, but I don’t see any rune or glamour.”

He stops for a while, deep in thought, allowing Alec the time bask in relief.

“You had almost all of them killed, and I was about to let you handle it when one of them bit you, and you collapsed. The thing poisoned you. It’s meant to affect your memory of them. Some kind of defense mechanism to make sure you don’t remember any of it.”

Oh.

Alec means to thank him, but Magnus continues in a more cautious voice.

“I’m guessing asking you who you are is useless, huh?” he turns slightly, enough for Alec to get a glimpse of his expression. Curiosity. Alec swallows thickly.

“I… I wish I could tell you, but it’s um—”

“Dangerous?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

Magnus sighs. “I figured. You said that a lot this morning… Normally, I’d try harder, but there’s clearly something unique about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s…something about the way my magic responded to you, or rather how your body accepted it like it would oxygen, and at the same time, something was keeping me out.”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t say a thing.”

“It’s alright. I have nothing but time to figure it out, and you must have a lot of fascinating stories to tell. I want to spend a nice evening for a change.” On those words, Magnus brings food to the table and smiles. “Shall we?”

Thousands of memories instantly bloom in Alec’s mind from the seeds of these words and this smile.

To appease his homesick heart, Alec answers what he always does, re-enacting a cherished routine he has been craving for the last month and a half. “After you.”

#malec fic #malec fanfic #malec fanfiction #alec lightwood #magnus bane #my writing #shadowhunters #time travel #alec misses magnus #fluff #tiny bit of magnus angst #but alec is there #don't worry #emotional hurt/comfort #a lot of love #malec

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blackberry-gingham · 4 years ago

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Can I request a cute Ringo x Reader where Ringo falls for the reader who’s just an assistant in the neighboring recording studio from theirs?😆❤️ and the reader is extremely shy haha

😂😂😂 I was actually referring to my very long list of drafts and requests, but I do appreciate the eagerness to help a bored girl out, so I’ll do this one now anyway haha. Besides, Ringo needs more solo fics on this blog and shy reader is always a good one 😌🥺 Thank you, and enjoy!

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The old florescent lights hum overhead, flooding the recording room with a bright, hot light. Ringo wipes the back of his palm across his forehead, vaguely listening to John, Paul, and George as they discuss some tweaks they should make to that last recording or so. Paul never seems to be satisfied, and now John and George have teamed up to start bickering with him. Their alliance does not matter however, as it would appear Paul has no plans to budge.

Their voices get louder and louder, and Ringo lights up a cigarette in the meantime, hoping it’ll help with the pounding in his head. Doesn’t he get a say in all this? The others may not say it, but he knows what they think. He’s the weakest link here, “Just the drummer, not even a very great one”, or some rubbish like that.

John slams his guitar down onto its stand with a twang ad now he’s dangerously close to being up in Paul’s face as he continues to argue. George appears as though he’s about to fall back and mediate the situation he helped escalate, but before anyone can do anything, Brian slams the door open, “That’s enough now! Get out and cool off, the three of you!”, he shakes his head out and rubs it as though it’s hurting him, before taking his leave.

“Fine by me!”, Paul gives John a pointed look and storms off, with the other two making similar statements and following close, but not too close, behind.

And poor little Ringo is left alone. Forgotten.

Suddenly the room feels cold, like the vacuum of space, and Ringo himself is the one feeling hot. He knows he’s not one of the star trio, but how about a little respect, eh? Maybe a “you’re doing great Ringo?” Or, “you can take five, too?”

But no, nothing of the sort.

Ringo’s face twists into a scowl as these thought swirl through his mind. He’s as much a member of this band as any of the other three! This isn’t fair! On that note, he smashes his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and jumps up from his stool as it clatters to the floor. You know what? He needs more then a break. He needs some fresh air.

With a head full of steam, he stomps down the stairwell and through the hall, all the way to the big, double glass doors. He only stops when the sound of pouring rain breaks through the fog of his thoughts. The rain is coming down in droves, thundering in a flurry of drops off of the sidewalk, and not a single soul can be seen outside.

For a moment, he considers turning around and going back to the studio. Or perhaps finding an abandoned break room, away from the others, and blowing off steam there, but...

No. He shakes out his head and heaves the heavy door open out into the downpour. He’s had enough of this whole damn building, and he’s not going to let a little rain stop him from getting the break he needs.

Ringo walks and walks as the icy water soaks through his fine suit, to his skin, and down to his very bones. Perhaps this wasn’t the wisest decision, he thinks. He takes a few more steps, trying to tough it out, but after a window rattling sneeze he decides to duck into the next building he can. This whole street is made up of little recording studios, so it’s not as much of a change of scenery as he’d have liked... but at least it’s something.

A corridor filled with office doors stretches out before him and, rather then continue leaking a little pool here in the entry way, he decides to go find somewhere to take a load off.

Ugh, he feels absolutely filled with water, like a damn sink sponge. Ringo tilts his head to the side as he sloshes along and bangs the side of his head, hoping to dislodge some water. It seems to be having some effect at least, and just as he’s about to switch ears, an unexpected collision knocks him on his back.

“Tsk, oh no no no...”

A timid voice mutters softly, and even through his waterlogged ears, Ringo can hear the sound of scuffling and paper shuffling.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Um, are you... alright?”

Ringo sits up, but his soaked mop top is completely obscuring his vision. He can only imagine how silly he must look to you right now, sopping wet and a full curtain of hair hiding nearly everything except, of course, his bulbous nose. Great. He huffs, and parts his bangs with both hands to see you.

You look about as shy as you sound, and perhaps even a little afraid. But also... kind, and sweet, and caring, and... Pretty. So pretty...

“Oh! Ringo! I um... I’m such a big fan...”, you laugh nervously, and despite the warm words, your face seems caught in some sort of a wince as you go about busying yourself with picking up your stack of papers and folders.

But he doesn’t want you to be scared. Or nervous, or intimidated, or stressed, or... or anything like that! He wants to see that concerned, but sweet smile he heard you wearing when you were first talking and didn’t know who he was. He sees the very faint little lines by the corners of your nostrils, and just by that he knows you like to laugh. He sees how eager you are to collect these things and go about your day, and he feels a connection to you through it. He knows what that’s like... running around and doing other people’s business.

Hop to it!

We need this done like that!

Don’t mess this up!

All of it.

Ringo hurries around to scramble onto his knees with you, “Oh no no, I’m sorry! Here, let me help...” He snatches up some stray pages into a nice stack, and as much as you want to tell him it’s ok and he doesn’t have to, you can’t bring yourself to say a peep.

The two of you work in harmony, and as you finally reach for the last sheet, it would seem Ringo has the same idea. Your hand touches down on it first, with his finding it’s way right over top of yours. It’s surprisingly big, particularly compared to yours, and while you blush at the thoughts it’s giving you, Ringo is thankfully too distracted by how soft and perfect your skin feels under his callused paw.

You come to your senses quickly though, forcing yourself to snap out of your daydreams. Nervous energy takes over and you jerk your hand away a little too roughly. “Ahem, sorry but I really mu- ow” You put the last paper on your stack and set the whole thing down to cradle your hand. A small cut has been made on your knuckle and a fine line of blood begins to seep out.

Ringo looks guiltily from your injury to his ornately engraved ring, the culprit of your little gash. He bites his bottom lip and adds his papers to yours, before scooting closer. “I uh, I-I’m so sorry. Uh here, here...”, he pulls out a handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and goes to apply it to your now freely bleeding cut.

“Oh, you don’t have to-!”

“No no, I insist! It’s the least I can do...”, he looks up at you almost pleadingly. Anything he can do to communicate to you how badly he wants to help.

With your go ahead, he gently wraps up your hand with a neat little bow underneath. He holds your hand in both of his, offering it timidly to show you his work,“...Better?”

Relived, you smile sweetly at him, and it’s even more wonderful of a sight then he imagined, “Yes, thank you... Still hurts a bit though”, you chuckle.

“Oh... I know a trick to help with that!”, Ringo smiles cheerily, gently grasping your fingers in one hand and slides his other down to support your elbow as he brings your knuckles to his lips. They’re thick and soft and warm... and as though a soothing fireplace has been lit beside you, suddenly it feels as though any rainy day chills or frayed nerves have been purged from your body.

His lips linger on your knuckles for a few extra seconds, and when he comes up to the shy, but blissful smile you’re wearing, he thinks in that moment that nothing would make him happier then to see you happy... But knowing he was the one to give you that smile... He’s over joyed.

And with a fleeting thought, he wishes he could give you a smile like that every day. He finds it that adorably endearing...

He brushes his hair out of his face once more, still holding your hand, and gives you a toothy grin as he huffs a nervous laugh of his own. His eyes are caught on yours now, and how sparkly and vibrant they are. He can’t bear to tear his gaze away, even as he asks, “I... uh... C-can I help you take your papers?”

You give a tiny, melodic laugh and the sound of it sends Ringo’s heart pounding with excitement. With your free hand, you return a stray loc of hair to the rest of his side swept bangs and when his face is all clear, you press a soft, timid kiss to the tip of his long, round nose.

“I’d love that...”

#SKKSJFSDKLJFSDK SOFTNESS ALERT !!!!!!!#the beatles #ringo starr x reader #ringo starr #beatles fic

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fangirlshrewt97 · 3 years ago

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Epiphanies and a Roof Over Their Heads

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Nile Freeman & Nicolo di Genova

Read on AO3

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Nicky hummed as he sipped his hot chocolate, the warmth seeping into his bones, making him melt further into the armchair. A crash of thunder startled him upright, eyes blinking at the subsequent flash of lightning. Sighing, Nicky shifted until he was once again comfortably reclining in the arm chair, one foot on the broad window sill. Closing his eyes again, Nicky allowed his other senses to take over. The taste of warm chocolate still stinging his tongue, the faint strums of music from the spare bedroom Nile had converted into a temporary studio, the plushness of the armchair molding to his body. The nearly overwhelming scent of petrichor and wet trees wafting in from the open window.

They had arrived at the safehouse in Indonesia a few days before, and were waiting for the rest of the team to join them. Andy and Quynh had said they would stop by Vietnam, so it would likely be a week before they showed up. Joe and Booker had said they were en route and would try to be there in a couple days. Given that it was monsoon season, and a cyclone had been spotted, Nicky thought they would probably arrive with Andy and Quynh.

Lifting his other leg to cross his ankles on the window sill, Nicky sipped away at the drink in his hand, just enjoying the rain pouring outside their house, enveloping them in this phantom bubble of isolation from the rest of the world. He had always found peace in the rain, felt like the water washed away all the troubles of the world, at least temporarily. If, of course, they were not forced to trek through treacherous jungles or muddy hills during the downpour.

After some time he heard the faint music cut off, a door opening softly. He took another sip of drink. He tilted his head in Nile’s direction when she finally peaked over the head of the large chair, smiling softly at her sheepish expression.

“Sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t sure if you had fallen asleep.”

“It’s ok sorellina. I was not sleeping.”

Nile came around the armchair, an eyebrow raised as she saw him sprawled comfortably in his perch. “So, what are you doing?”

“Watching the rain.” Nicky replied, one corner of his lips raising in a faint smirk, as Nile let out annoyed groan.

“I thought we said no more dad jokes Nicky!” Nile said petulantly.

Nicky chuckled. “Si, Si, sorry. Would you like some hot chocolate?”

At that Nile brightened. “Yes!”

“There is some in the kitchen, pour yourself some and come join me.” Nicky said, gesturing in the direction of the other armchair.

Nile nodded before disappearing from sight.

Nicky took another sip of the hot chocolate, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment, until the sweetness became too much, and swallowed. Nile was humming happily as she made her way over to him, one hand clutching a mug, the other maneuvering the armchair beside Nicky’s. Nicky placed his mug on the windowsill before helping Nile with the chair. Once she was comfortably settled, he retook his position. Nile opted to curl up in her chair, letting out a small groan of satisfaction as she first tasted the chocolate.

“Swear to god Nicky, I have no idea how you do it, but you make the best stuff.” Nile said, voice slightly fair away.

Nicky beamed at her, a different warmth blossoming in his chest as his dear friend enjoyed one of his creations. “Grazie Nile, we got lucky I still had some of the chocolate I had bought in Belgium. I was planning on making hot chocolate for all of us, but then the call came in.”

“And it’s difficult to make hot chocolate when you are sneaking around the warehouse district of Nice?” Nile asked wryly.

Nicky winked at her, making her snort. Nile leaned her head against the side of the armchair. “You know, I think out of all the different weathers, rain is the strangest to me?”

Nicky tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“We have all kinds of weather in Chicago, but we don’t get that much rain. And then Afghanistan, I mean. It’s Afghanistan, I got used to the heat. But rain like this?” Nile gestured at the window, where the rain was still falling in such strength they could barely see their compound’s wall. “I’ve never really seen it before.”

Nicky made a noise of agreement. “Genoa got a lot of rain. I always liked the rainy days best.”

“Yeah?” Nile asked, that curious wonder still in her voice. She still relished any opportunity to hear about their early years. None of the team had a problem indulging her.

“Si. I always found it very peaceful.”

As if to contradict him, a flash of lightning whited out the world before a rumble of thunder roared overhead.

“Yes, very peaceful.” Nile mumbled into her cup.

“Of course that rain was not quite like this. We had our bad storms, I remember the fishermen were always tense when they expected bad weather. But for me rain offered me a kind of escape.”

“Escape how?”

Nicky shrugged, taking another sip as he sorted out the words in his head. “Escape like freedom. Like there was no one else except me when it was raining. Rain meant mud and extra chores, laundry that took twice as long to dry. But it also left the earth smelling of life, the flowers seemed to blossom brighter in the aftermath.”

“I can see that.” Nile said after a minute. “So. Did you ever have a epic romantic kiss in the rain?”

Nicky choked slightly on his drink as Nile giggled next to him. “Epic kiss?”

“Yeah, you know how in the movies, one of the romantic scenes is if the two people find each other after having had a fight or something, and then share this huge kiss while like the music swells around them?”

Nicky chuckled as he shook his head. “I can’t recall anything quite like that.”

Nile pouted at him, making him snort.

“There was one instance though…” he trailed, enjoying how Nile scooted forward in her chair. Nicky closed his eyes, trying to bring the memory to the forefront.

“I must have been around 100, 110? Joe and I had only recently met up with Andy and Quynh, and had been travelling through Europe when Quynh said she wanted to introduce us to her homeland. So, we headed towards Vietnam. It was my first time so far East, and the sights felt like a different world. I had read and heard the stories from the three of them, but nothing quite compares to seeing the lands in person. We got stuck near Bangladesh? Or maybe Assam?

Anyways, we had to stop because the monsoon season hit, and both Andy and Quynh insisted the trip would be more enjoyable when we weren’t soaked to the bone. We found an abandoned house to camp out in for the season, and went about getting it ready. But still, nothing could have prepared me for the ways the skies opened, the way all the water in heaven seemed to fall out at once.”

“Must have been quite the sight.” Nile said softly.

Nicky nodded. “I don’t have the words to describe it. I used to stand by the door for a long time, just watching how the rain seemed to literally fall to the earth, crashing against the soft ground. Finally, maybe three or four days later? I decided I wanted to feel the rain.”

“Feel? Like walk in the rain?”

Nicky nodded once. “I had done it sometimes in Genoa, when I was a little boy. Stood alone in the rain, felt the water wash over me. It left me clean, like it didn’t just wash over my body, but my soul itself. I hadn’t done it in years, but the urge was so strong. When I saw the clouds darken, I stepped out of the house, walking just a few feet away.”

Nicky opened his eyes, training them on Nile, who was staring at him with an intense focus. She made a noise, encouraging him to continue.

“Standing under that monsoon rain. If the Genoan rain seemed to wash my soul, this one seemed to remake me. Each drop hurt as it fell on me, but it felt…like a benediction. I had caused so much death I could still see the blood on my hands. I had finally accepted I loved Joe, and was beginning to accept he mattered more to me than my faith’s claim that loving him was signing my soul for an eternity of damnation. But standing in that rain. None of that mattered. The world didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. And it was ok.

I’m not sure how long I was there, I had fallen to me knees at some point. I was brought back to myself when Joe touched me though. He was shouting something, I couldn’t hear what, but I remember the look in his eyes. I think he thought I had finally lost my mind. I just started laughing, harder than I ever had. It didn’t help ease his concern, but the rain, it had washed me of all the guilt I had been carrying. I pulled him down with me and kissed him. It felt like I was doing it in front of God. It felt like He was telling me it was ok. That I was allowed to live, allowed to love this perfect man I did not feel I deserved but would fight the world to keep by my side.”

The only noise in the room for some minutes after Nicky finished his story was the drumming of the rain.

“Wow.” Nile said finally.

Nicky huffed. “Does that qualify?”

Nile nodded, laughing brightly. “Definitely. Although, for most of the characters the epiphany comes before or after the kiss, not during.”

Nicky shrugged. “Maybe that’s because you can’t see the character’s thoughts as they are kissing.”

Nile nodded her head. “Fair enough.”

Nicky tilted his empty mug towards her. “Care for a refill?”

Nile nodded, getting up and taking his mug. “I’ll fill yours, you look far to cozy to disturb.”

Nicky grinned. “Thank you Nile.”

Nile returned with two full mugs. Nicky grabbed his own, only to pause when Nile held out her own. “To epiphanies in the rain.”

Nicky laughed. “And what epiphany have you had?”

“That I do not want to be a poor sap who has to walk in these conditions. Ever.” Nile said firmly, bobbing her head.

Nicky laughed harder, his mug shaking slightly. “To epiphanies and a roof over our head.”

Nile beamed. “To epiphanies and a roof over our head.”

After they toasted their mugs, they each took a long drink, letting out identical sighs of satisfaction. Giggling, Nile waved her mug. “Thanks for the story Nicky, between that, my art, and this wonderful hot chocolate, I am ready for a nap, and Mother Nature has a great soundtrack on. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sogno di oro, habibti.” Nicky told her as Nile walked away.

Once she was out of sight, Nicky lifted both his feet onto the windowsill, and leaned back on the armchair. Setting the empty mug on the floor, he carefully spread the blanket he had curled beneath his back over his legs. A nap sounded quite nice indeed. And if he could not fall asleep next to Joe, at least he would fall asleep to the sound of rain.

#my fic #my writing #the old guard #tog #nicolo di genova #nicky TOG #nile freeman #nicky & nile #nile & nicky #let me know what you think!

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years ago

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June Contest Submission #21: Dashing

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: 18th Century Caribbean/ Non-Canon Lemon: lime CW: Mild Nudity/ Swearing/ Incest/ NO Lemons/ Small Limes/Violence

A/N:

Bold/Italic indicates that a character is writing.

Italic(with no Bold) indicates a character’s inner thoughts.

This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to represent a shred of historical accuracy in any way.

Dashing

Dearest mother,

is this truly where you envisioned my life to carry me? Did you foresee that your dutiful daughter, Elsa, would be crated onto a ship bound for worlds unknown when you married her to Lord Hans Westergaard of the Dutch West India Trading Company? Did you not wish to keep your only daughter close, say on the same continent? I apologize, I should not start a letter so drearily. Conceal, don’t feel. It has been weeks at sea and I am fatigued. Before I forget, I must thank you for the wonderful parting gift. A book of dashing swashbucklers to distract from the otherwise ceaseless monotony of blue only occasionally broken by a thin veil between Heaven and Poseidon. We have entered a bit of unfortunate weather and the ship rolls like a devil. The thunder grows ever louder, and sometimes it sounds as if it’s right on top—

The wooden crate that was the captain’s quarters flipped on its side. Tables, chairs, and a lady found themselves tumbling across the lacquered walls of the gilded box before falling back to the polished floor now stained with spilled ink and a smattering of blood.

Elsa held her head as she shook off the ringing in her ears. The doors to the cabin burst open where a panicked, and soaked, Hans Westergaard stood with arms outstretched between the paneled glass and his heart beating to the drone of endless rain.

“Hans..? What was—”

“Pirates!! Hurry, hide yourself! They are already boarding!”

Pirates? Attacking in the middle of a storm?

Elsa’s thoughts were cut short by the screams of men slicing through the roar of thunder and canons. Hans had locked the door behind him, leaving the fear to bubble within her corset. She frantically ran to the closet, but her hands had begun to shake as she fumbled with the latch.

Another loud *THOOM* rocked the cabin, but this time it was against the locked door.

Elsa finally got the latch open and threw herself inside amongst the forest of silk and linen. From within her sanctuary, all she could do was listen and pray.

*THOOM*

Glass and wood crashed.

Heels of heavy boots knocked.

*knock*

The shrill of Elsa’s breath.

She held her quivering lips and tried to force the air back into her lungs.

The *knock* of boots grew. It trickled, slowly, until the canals of her ears were flooded. So close that she felt as if she would overflow with the anxiety and trapped air.

Then silence.

God, please protect me. Or send someone to protect me. Please, send anyone! Send Mr. Crusoe if you have to!

She was hit with a blinding light…

and a hand around her throat.

NO!! Get your filthy hands off me!

She screamed in her mind for her voice was clutched in the coarse grip around her neck. She fought with all her pampered might, her arms striking in all directions until they too were held in place by a second firm shackle.

Finally, Elsa managed to force her voice through the death grip.

“Get…. your brutish hands… OFF ME!!”

Blackness began to overtake her vision. The brute had her lifted against the back of the closet, her feet dangled in the air and the force around her neck tightened.

Her ears were once again flooded, but with the sound of her own heartbeat as the blood in her veins struggled to course. Until a most unexpected sound washed everything else into non-existence.

“Elsa…?”

….

That voice… a woman’s voice? I am being manhandled by a woman? And how does she know my name?

Elsa forced the darkness in her eyes to recede. The grip loosened and she fell to the closet floor. All she could see through the blur of burst veins was a wide, feathered hat, impossibly maroon hair, braided and beaded and rather filthy, and two verdant gems staring with a wide-eyed familiarity.

I know those eyes…

…..

“Anna…?”

Her attacker backed away, seemingly unsure of what she was looking at.

They stood within that broken, gilded box of a captain’s cabin. Alone with the sounds of swords and gunfire lost amongst the storm of surprise and uncertainty surrounding them.

Elsa could not bear it any longer.

“What happened to your hair?”

And years of separation vanished.

“My HAIR?! It’s been ten years and the first thing you do is judge my hair?!? Not, ‘oh hey, Anna, you look good for a dead girl’ or ‘oh my darling little sister, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you terribly?’. Either of those things would have been more normal!”

Elsa picked herself up and gently caressed the rapidly forming bruise around her neck.

“Nothing about this is normal! You tried to strangle me!”

“Oh relax. I was just trying to stop you from screaming and then knock you out.”

“Ah, I see. I am most relieved to hear that your plan was to simply render me unconscious.”

Anna’s head jerked back in a motion of mild disgust.

“Why are you talking like that? You didn’t use to sound so hoity-toity.”

Elsa looked rather indignant at the accusation as she mumbled “It’s not ‘hoity-toity’. Its grace and sophistication”.

“Well, you’re not in a graceful or sophisticated situation so come on.”

Anna grabbed her slender arm and she had almost forgotten that the hulking brute who was upon her moments before was the same lithe girl pulling her out into the rain as easily as a toddler dragging her teddy. The rain had washed the image of her sister away and all that was left was a pirate.

And her fear.

The ship rocked, lulled by the sudden absence of violence. Elsa found herself before a horde of men. Each one a more frightening image than the last and each one fit into her imaginary brute far better than the frame of her sister.

So much for Mr. Crusoe…

An immensely rotund man stepped forward with a sneer in his mouth and a hunger in his eye. Elsa had no idea someone got so large living on a ship. “Oi Cap’n! You found a bit o’ treasure there!”

His grubby hand reached for Elsa’s bosom in the most indelicate manner before a blade came between his dirty fingernail and the lace of her corset.

“You know the rules, Bob,” Anna said with a voice commanding Poseidon’s wrath. “You touch her and you lose a finger.”

Bob had the look of a scolded schoolboy as Anna dragged Elsa to the edge of the ship. “Aw cap’n… you always get the blonde ones!”

Anna spun around in a fury, leaving Elsa to stand perilously on the thin plank that formed a makeshift bridge. She panicked as she fought for her balance in her heels and voluminous dress that was gaining pounds of water every second.

“You shut your hole or I will shove Pete’s peg leg so far down your throat that you’ll be a three-legged barstool on Tortuga with a sign that says ‘reserved for Whale-Butt Willie’. Do I make myself CLEAR?”

*Silence* as the men all looked at each other in submission.

“Aye, cap’n…”

Elsa swung her arms in vain to save herself from falling when Anna decided to skip the plank altogether, lifted her like a commoner’s bride, and leaped across the gap between ships. She was carried to a new gilded box, although this one noticeably less gilded but with significantly richer contents.

“Let go of me, Anna! I am not a child, I am your older sis—”

Elsa landed on her butt as Anna crossed her arms.

“No, you’re not. Because your little sister died ten years ago. Now be quiet while I think of what to do with you.”

Elsa did her best to wring the rain out of her skirt, channeling the fear and anger building from her situation.

“What to do with me? You mean like the other ‘blondes’? Tell me, Anna, what exactly do you plan to do with me?”

“Elsa, don’t.”

“Not only do you slay men, but you bed women as well? Do you mean to have your way with me?” The anger was rapidly overtaking her fear as she glared at her little sister who still stood with her arms crossed, looking away.

“What? Gross, you’re my sister!”

“I don’t claim to know the depravities you pirates get up to. And you just said that I am not your sister. How am I to interpret that other than to treat you as you appear. A pirate who’s kidnapped me.”

Elsa’s gaze turned hard as thoughts filled her head of all the women Anna had grabbed by the neck and forced her will upon.

“…How could you, Anna?”

Anna’s shoulders visibly stiffened.

“I said, don’t.”

But Elsa did anyway.

“How could you do that to those women? You have your way with them and then what? Sell them into slavery? Is that my fate? You call yourself a woman while forcing—”

*SLAP*

Elsa stood, speechless, as a red brand formed across her cheek. The pain was nothing compared to the shock that came from her sister’s palm now embedded into her skin.

“Don’t you DARE judge me! You have been out here for all of five minutes. I have been on these waters since I was twelve FUCKING YEARS OLD! You don’t think I have had to put up with some shit?! You stand there in that ivory tower and judge my life when you don’t know the first thing about it!”

Anna’s chest was heaving in rage while she stood pointing an accusatory finger. Elsa remained motionless and silent, still trying to process the sensation across her cheek and the words being said.

Anna’s breathing started to calm. She crossed her arms again and turned so that she didn’t have to look at the bright red memento left behind by her hand.

“I…I don’t force them. I never force them. Don’t assume you know what life has been like for me. I could never do those things. I would never. My ship has rules, and those rules include being god-damned respectful so you better be god-damned respectful of me.”

Elsa’s fingers spread across her cheek, matching tip-for-tip against the first contact she has had with her sister since they were children. Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

“You’re right. I don’t know what your life has been like. I don’t know what drove you to run away, but I have a pretty good idea seeing as how I lived it in your stead. Perhaps… I sound so much like mother because…

… I was left behind.”

Anna felt the words land across her cheek as assuredly as Elsa felt her palm. She refused to turn and look at her sister. The shame of the truth was staring at her from across her own cabin and she would not bear it. She quietly stormed toward the door.

“Anna…? Where are you going?”

Still refusing to turn, Anna simply said “someone needs to pilot the ship” and walked into the rain.

I sat alone, looking out my window for years wondering if she would ever return to me, and now that she has she slaps me and holds me captive so that she can decide my fate?

Storm be damned, Elsa launched herself through the doors and turned toward the banister that led to the helm above. Her adrenaline-fueled legs carried her halfway up the stairs before she saw Anna at the wheel, staring at her in absolute shock.

Their eyes met and time seemed to slow to a fraction. Elsa felt the sound of Anna’s name on her breath as she began to release it into the howling wind. She didn’t feel the rain, or hear the shouting, or see the pully flying through the air as it slammed into her skull. All she knew was that she was about to yell out her sister’s name after she failed to do so ten years ago from her window as she watched Anna leave her behind.

\\///////////////////////////////

I’ve had the most wondrous dream. My ship was besieged by pirates! But I was not afraid for I was confronted by a most dashing figure. He was rough around the edges but with the kindest green eyes, like a crystal spring dusted with scattered sundrops through the canopy. He held me with such strength as he kissed me most tenderly. I can still taste the spicy sweetness on his lips; rum and coconut.

There he is now! The hat is missing but there is no mistaking those piercing eyes. And that hair, such an unthinkable maroon color. Yes, my dashing pirate.

\\///////////////////////////////

“Hey, you’re alive!”

As her vision cleared, Elsa lay with her back in the sand and stared wide-eyed and mouth ajar at the woman leaning above her.

“I… where…? ……..Anna?”

Anna leaned in close to inspect for signs of a concussion or any other injury. So close that Elsa caught a familiar scent from her sister’s lips.

Rum and coconut…

“Well, you look alive at least so that’s something.”

Elsa slowly sat up, fighting back a sudden pain in her temple. She reached for the side of her head and found a swath of fabric wrapped around.

“What happened?”

“You got knocked overboard. It was pretty awesome actually. You flew clear over the railing.”

“How did I get here?”

Anna placed her index finger under her bottom lip while she began to sort through her memories.

“Let’s see, first, mother married you to a slaver. Then I think I cut his head off but it’s hard to remember which dead dutchman was him. Then—”

“Anna! I meant how did I end up on this beach?”

“Oh! Be more specific, jeez. The storm carried us for a while and we washed up here.”

“You… jumped in after me?”

Anna’s face turned solemn but determined. She stood, clearly uncomfortable with the words she was about to say.

“Of course. I wasn’t going to leave you behind again.”

And despite the fact that she managed to get the words out, she still walked away in that same manner trying to keep the unsettling shame at arm’s length.

As Elsa watched her sister stroll up the beach toward the tree line, the reality of her predicament suddenly dawned on her.

“Wait, Anna! Are you telling me that we are stranded on a deserted island?!”

While keeping her stride, Anna replied with a simple “yup”.

Elsa scrambled off the sand after her, with a newfound panic quickly settling in.

“What are we going to do? How are we going to survive?! We are going to starve to death. No, we will die of thirst first. Or perhaps cannibals will eat us—”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, chill out! There’s no such thing as cannibals on these islands. Seriously, you read too many books. Relax, this isn’t the first deserted island I’ve been stuck on.”

As they made their way off the beach Elsa saw swaths of blue cloth tied around branches and an array of wide leaves that formed a surprisingly well constructed little bungalow complete with a floor, walls of fabric to keep the bugs out, and a watertight roof.

“You’ve already made a house. How long was I unconscious?”

“Only since last night,” Anna said with a casual shrug.

“You constructed all this in a single morning?” Elsa’s jaw had dropped. “Where did you get this material…”

As she examined the blue strips of fabric and the makeshift netting her eyes grew wide and wider as she inspected herself to find that she was clad in nothing but her shift dress undergarment.

“That’s my dress!”

“Ya, you had enough fabric in that thing I could’ve made a whole other house! And the boning from the corset was a real help getting things sturdy.”

“You undressed me!”

“So? We’re sisters last I checked.”

Elsa’s modesty couldn’t help but notice that Anna was equally in a state of undress unfit for a lady. She wore a pair of simple slacks that ended at the middle of her calves and tied around a low waist with a piece of rope. Her shirt, or lack thereof, was missing a few buttons, a few sleeves, and several inches too short. Her bare ankles mocked Elsa’s sensibilities and were only eager to point out that Elsa’s ankles were also parading around the sand in nothing more than her pale skin.

“Last I checked, you told me that my sister had died. So who are you to take off my dress?” she said hoping that she wasn’t blushing.

Anna sat in her makeshift hovel with a sudden onset of melancholy.

“…You’re right. I’m sorry. The sister that you knew may have died, but perhaps I was hoping… considering that I saved you and all, that you could be… this Anna’s sister.”

Elsa came over, her heart suddenly heavy as she watched this brutish pirate transform into the girl she last saw ten years ago. She sat down next to Anna, their exposed freckled shoulders barely a hairsbreadth away.

“Anna… why did you run away?”

Anna looked down, twiddling her thumbs.

“I… I was betrothed to Duke Weasleton.”

Elsa tried to recall but confusion had clouded her memory.

“Weasleton? But he was so old. And didn’t he—”

“Die? Yes, he did die. After I left a letter opener in his eye socket.”

“Oh my God, Anna!

“Mother was going to disown me and sell me to a brothel. No way was I going to let that happen so I ran. Pretended I was a boy and stowed away on the first ship bound for the Caribbean.”

Without giving Elsa any time to dwell on her history, Anna changed the subject.

“I thought you were destined for the cloister?”

Taking the cue, Elsa obliged her sister’s request.

“I was, but after you left… I became mother’s only method for climbing the social ladder. You know I was never comfortable at social gatherings. Mother basically told me to smile, and not say anything or do anything. Conceal, don’t feel. Eventually, I caught the eye of one of the ‘princes’ of the West India Trading Company. I think you and I have spoken more words in the last few minutes than he and I spoke during our entire marriage, which admittedly was only just before we set sail.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry?”

“For cutting your husband’s head off. Let’s have a toast!”

Anna reached behind her and pulled out from regions unknown a massive coconut. She reached around her other side and pulled out from different parts unknown a large knife. With the coconut in one hand and the knife in the other, she dexterously spun the coconut in her palm while slashing with the knife in precise timing to cleanly create a neat opening off the top of the husky surface.

“How did you do that?”

“Lots of practice. You should have seen the gash on my hand the first time I tried.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

Anna gave her sister the newly opened coconut and proceeded to open her own in the same fashion. With her own drink now ready, she motioned to Elsa’s coconut.

“To dead husbands and forgotten mothers!”

Elsa, a bit hesitant, found herself suddenly distracted. The scent of the freshly opened coconut combined with the stare of those green emeralds triggered a flutter she did not understand. She mentally shook the feeling away, concussion no doubt, and lightly knocked her coconut against the other.

“And to new sisters!”

\\///////////////////////////////

I have been stranded on an island with an unexpected companion. I don’t know how long it’s been. Time seems to pass differently here.

A moment ago, I found myself watching her for what seemed like hours. She was squatting on the beach, her elbows propped on her knees with her hands between them while she stared most intently at the sand below. I noticed that she was watching a crab enter to and fro from its burrow. At one point the crab came out of the hole and started scurrying about with its claws in the air like a little dance. Then Anna raised her own hands into the air, made little clamping motions, and started to scuttle across the sand after her newfound companion. It was absolutely absurd, this grown woman scurrying like a crab on the sand.

I can’t seem to reconcile this image of my sister who is just as boisterous, playful as ever, with this other woman. She hunted a wild boar, which she carried over her shoulders, seemingly with no effort, through the forest, barefoot, without a shred of decency. I could see the muscles of her arms tense under the weight. The freckled skin of her stomach has seen far more sun than any woman ought to. The heat and exertion caused beads of sweat to travel down her neck and across her collar bone…

It is a sight that I have neither seen nor read in my entire life and yet it is here and churning with the image of my sister scuttling across the beach. How do I reconcile such a thing?

And to make matters worse, she does not conduct herself as a lady should at all. As we explored the island, we hiked through rather rugged terrain. The ground was painful and I took quite a stumble. She had the gall to reach out and assist me as if she was a gentleman! I took the hand, grateful for the assistance nonetheless and she continued to aid me through our trek. As we scaled a wet rock, she lifted me as easily as the dead boar, and as I soared through the air, our arms glistening from the water and sweat, I couldn’t help but look up into those eyes. I thought I knew those eyes but… sometimes they stare at me in such a way…

How do I navigate these torrential feelings as they spin around my thoughts like the whirlpool of Odysseus? How can a single person be your oldest, dearest friend and yet also someone who you’ve just met… and who makes your heart skip a beat when you reach out and take her hand…and look into her eyes…?

“Wat’cha doin?”

Startled, Elsa nearly jumped out of her skin and sent the paper in her hand flying into the air where she hastily grabbed them to whisk away from her sister’s prying eyes. Anna had magically appeared behind Elsa as she sat on the beach.

A shudder trembled across Elsa’s skin as she felt the linen fabric of Anna’s shirt press against her bare shoulder blades. Two freckled arms wrapped around her shoulders and embraced her in a close but casual fashion. Yet Elsa did not receive such affection casually. She bolted up and spun to look at her younger sister who knelt in the sand with her head cocked like a confused fox.

“Really, Anna, why do you not act like a lady!”

Her response to this was to lean back, causing her shirt to stretch against her chest, and bend one knee over the other as she gave a taunting eyebrow raise to Elsa.

“I am perfectly capable of acting ‘like a lady’. In fact, It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

Elsa looked away at the sight sprawled out on the sand, basking in the sun and taunting her with wiggling eyebrows.

“Oh really?”

“You didn’t see my closet of dresses in my cabin. I can pull off quite a figure if I want to.”

“When does a pirate have need of dresses?”

Anna grew a mischievous smile. She rose from the sand and slowly sauntered over to where Elsa was standing.

“It’s one of my favorite cons. I go into one of the big cities, Port Royal or Havanna, I insert myself into the circles of aristocratic socialites whose husbands are either too preoccupied or too deceased to notice. I mingle, I dance…”

She reached out with her hand and placed a single pad of the tip of her middle finger on the edge of Elsa’s shoulder so lightly that Elsa barely felt it and yet a new shudder rocked her entire body.

“Maybe I enter the service of a… very respectable woman…”

The fingertip slowly danced across Elsa’s shoulder. It skipped over the sleeve and made its meandering way toward the base of her neck. All the while, Anna stepped around to once again place herself against the rapidly stiffening back of her sister. That single middle finger now moved in short, deliberate strokes, up and down, gradually undulating pressure against Elsa’s neck.

Her head couldn’t help but lean to the side, coaxing the finger to lengthen its stride, where she unwittingly leaned into the soft whisper of Anna’s voice against her ear.

“As I…delicately pull at the laces that bind such a… woman of standing, releasing her from her monotonous life of apathy, I let my voice carry between the edge of my lips and the arch of her ear…

‘What more will you have of me, my lady…’”

“I would have you devour me.”

“What?”

“What?” Elsa’s entire body and mind froze.

I didn’t… I couldn’t! Did I just…?

“Did you just—”

“I just— I… jest! Yes, I jest, obviously. Really, Anna, you think I don’t know how to tease you back. I may be socially inept but I can surely tease my sister!”

Elsa broke free from her sister’s thrall, clutching the papers against her thundering chest. She shuffled down the beach, her legs as rigid as wooden pillars kicking up sand in their wake. Anna watched the pitiful sight stumble over a piece of driftwood, only to pick herself back up and continue on as if nothing had happened.

\\///////////////////////////////

Conceal, don’t feel. I must conceal for I can not possibly feel what I am feeling. I can not. I do not. I love my sister because she is my sister. I have missed this connection for so long… my mind is just confused. The heat, the concussion, the sheer insanity of this place. I should find Anna. Make sure that she didn’t take what I said as anything other than sisterly teasing.

As if on cue, Anna came bounding down the beach, arm swinging wildly to get Elsa’s attention.

“Els! Come look what I found!”

She grabbed Elsa’s arm and started pulling her back toward the way she came. Elsa kept pace this time and her arm relaxed into the grip that led it down the moonlit beach. They made their way over rocks and turned a corner into a small cove. Anna stopped and spread her arms out with a beaming smile of excitement.

“I don’t understand”, was all Elsa could think to say.

To Elsa’s horror, Anna lifted her shirt over her thick, maroon locks and threw it on the rocks. She now stood half-naked in the silver rays of the night sky.

Oh, dear God in Heaven and all that is good and decent in this world and the next…

“Just watch!”

Anna looked out on the water, as black as night with only the moonbeams cascading across the surface. Then in one swift motion, she dove in.

And Elsa’s eyes became filled with magic.

The water bloomed into a burst of color. Waves of blue light rippled across the surface, radiating out from the body that had penetrated it. Anna stood in the shallow water, surrounded by the light of heaven trapped within the waves of a starlight sea.

“What magic is this…?”

“Isn’t it awesome! They are like, tiny little animals that glow at night. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?!”

“Never…”

“Well, don’t be shy Els. Dive in! They don’t bite or anything.”

Elsa hesitated. She looked at Anna, then at the black water below her, then at the mystical blue speckles dotting the surface around Anna’s waist, like a dress sewn by fairies that twinkled in the starlight. She placed one timid toe on the surface of the water and gasped in shock as spirals of blue light erupted from her touch. She looked once more to her sister who gave her the most reassuring smile in the entire world.

And she dove in.

Elsa soared through the azure sky, her loose hair flowing behind her as she came up from the surface near where stars in the sea met the stars that studded the pale skin of her sister’s body.

I can’t. I don’t! I won’t…

They stood inches apart, wading in the night sky like star-crossed constellations desperate to reach out and touch only to be perpetually far apart for eternity.

I mustn’t……..

She felt Anna peering deep into her soul. Did she wonder what was going on behind her eyes, as blue and brilliant as the luminescence surrounding their bodies? Could she sense the howling winds? Could she feel the thundering heartbeat through the water?

Would she feel it?

I… Oh to hell with it!!

The raging storm crashed against the surface. Hard and heavy and full of unbridled desire and longing. All at once, Elsa had released the torrent within her, letting the swells of her passion wash over her sister’s lips, her skin, her entire body, and soul. The magic had struck like lightning.

And then it was gone.

Anna pushed her sister away. That chasm of the cosmos restored.

“Elsa, what the hell are you—?”

“I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me truthfully.” Elsa stood her ground in the heavens that would deny her.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

“I don’t understand Elsa…”

“Do you see that girl, looking from her bedroom window? Her hand on the glass. Too afraid to go outside, too afraid to call out your name. Because when I look at you I see this girl. I see her laughing and playing and rolling around in the mud. But I also see this woman. Strong and kind. She makes me laugh, makes me inspired! I tremble when faced with the perils of the entire world, and yet she stands on top like it’s her domain! Tell me that I am insane. Tell me that all you see is that girl in the window and then I can be rid of these feelings that plague me for this impossible woman who can not be both sister and lover! Please—!!”

“YES, that is ALL I see!”

Anna was trembling. She still looked deep into her sister, locked by the pleading gaze no matter how much she wanted to turn away.

“That girl… that big sister who I left behind. When I look at you that is all I see.”

Elsa’s breathing finally started to slow. The words that she pleaded to hear had broken through the clouds of her heart and the calm would soon take over. The acceptance of what she already knew to be the way of the universe would come. Once back to civilization, she could resume her life. Banish the madness and—

“I saw her… every day. Everywhere. She was there when I joined a crew. She stood by me as I learned to man the wheel. I would not have survived a single day out here without her by my side.”

Elsa’s breathing had slowed to the point of imperception.

“…I saw her in the women that I knew. In…the women that I loved…It sounds so wrong but when you’re a young woman who relied on the faded memory of a long-lost sister for your support you can’t help but find that sister in any amount of affection you find! I had long accepted that it was my madness and I would take that madness wherever I go. And now that madness has taken a hold of you. When you came back into my life, I thought I could bury it, but instead, I passed it on to you.”

Each woman now turned away from the other, no longer able to meet each other’s solemn gaze.

“When we get off this island, I will go back to my ship and I will bring you to Curaçao and we will go our separate ways.”

Elsa simply nodded.

“I would still like to write you… if I can?” Anna’s voice had lost her usual commanding confidence.

“I would like that…” Elsa’s voice could barely carry itself over the narrow strip of water between them.

Anna slowly made her way across the water to the rocks where her discarded shirt lay. She buttoned the few remaining buttons over her chest when she heard the whisper of the water moving behind her.

Her dress clung to her body, revealed in the glow. Their eyes met for the first time once more and an inexplicable force dragged Anna back into the water and in the embrace of the siren below. Elsa’s hand caressed Anna’s cheek. Her finger traced lines down Anna’s neck. The span of cosmos between them receded until the storm that had once rocked both their celestial cores had dissipated and all that was left was their lips crossing the horizon. And Elsa felt her sister’s name on her breath once more as she finally released it to the wind.

“Would one night of madness be too much to ask?”

#elsanna #submission #June 2021 contest #prompt: storm #lime #cw: violence

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rosehipsister · 4 years ago

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oh yeah here comes the huge answer post! phew

First of all i’m really sorry but i have NO SCANNER and we’re in a strict lockdown, so all the places are closed anyway. The quality here is shit.

Y’all only asked two questions actually, and the first was ZONE FARMS. Is their produce good, do they grow much, would i eat it etc. I think i've already put some disclaimers about not having the qualification for this in my other posts, but yeah (question by @serpentski) Under cut: a lot of farming bullshit, some answers about Tommy Chow Mein and FINALLY SOME ART

Is their produce good? Yeah it is baby! Hydroponic vegetables are apparently very good when you know how to grow them, the things you need are WATER (which i kinda covered in private conversations), SEEDS and MINERAL BASE (the tricky part!) and POWER (which i tried to spin theories about for fucking ever, so). They're just as nutritious and much safer to eat, since if you've been reading the same resources on helium bomb aftermath as me - the problem is not the radiation you're thinking about.

It's decimated ozone layer, death of plant and animal life, years of dust storms followed by harsh solar radiation, acid rains that get you ground ozone and leeching heavy metals into soil... You name it, allright, i'm just writing it from memory. Make it less or more livable to your taste, but the point stands. No grain can stand this. Bye, corn, bye, rice. While there are some ways to make the soil outdoors worth using, most of them take an extreme amount of time and work. I'm sure that regardless of world situation someone here, in the zones, really tries to do their part in this.

Who runs it: it’s a more complicated question. The only cool answer i can give you that in addition to people working their ass off to make their community diet more healthy i wanted to add modified droids! I doubt they would be very mobile on homemade wind and sun batteries, but they don’t need mobility. Unexplored idea, you can keep it.

Would i eat it? If i were there - absolutely, catch me chewing on those greens every time i can get them. The issue is not the taste but the farmers skill and safety measures taken. Not only lettuce and tomatoes can be grown, but beans are pretty easy to get, which is already pretty great!

Main question that anyone asks: is there enough? Is it worth growing? Absolutely yes, but there's another thing i've mentioned before. While these greenhouse plants are their own tiny vitamin machines we tamed, they can't give us enough. Here comes the main star - algae! Last posts got energy and water covered, and that's basically everything you need to get a nice and easily digestible source of protein, oil, vitamins, some elements like iron etc! I even think they make plastics and fuel from it. The whole “diverse” food Batcity gets? Mostly a product of skilled processing and design. I’m sure zones get their share of it too by quite a few channels (i’m not ready to discuss it yet tbh).

Oh yeah and some algae farms are DEFINETELY controlled by zone people, the City isn’t that isolated, and even had chunks breaking off it sometimes.

That brings me to the next question: anything on Tommy Chow Mein and/or trading in the zones.

This might feel too short compared to farming question but i thought long and. While a lot of people think of Tommy as someone who’s ideologically opposite to killjoys and closer to BLI...

My man Tommy has never set a foot in the City. He’s technically much further away from it than Dr D even, he comes from a deeply native part of the zones, old surviving outposts with their own traditions and ways. Wait there’s more. You know who’s culturally closer to Tommy in this way? That’s right - Fun fucking Ghoul, first name Ghoul, middle name Fucking!

Tommy keeps a diary of a specific local sort - a series of old notebooks, with sheets of paper sewn and glued into them. The trick is to write about anything but yourself. I know it sounds like a mad max cliche but it’s not like he’s a History Keeper. These notes are supposed to be as personally neutral as possible, a report/tutorial you only come back to if absolutely needed. Ghoul was taught how to keep a diary like that, but something happened that made him stay off from writing. He can’t shake off this processing habit, so he doodles bits and pieces, couple of words here, some numbers there. Saves most of them, but gets embarrased and discards some when seen.

(I wish Girl inherited this one from Ghoul! That would be so rad but she was too small to pick it up + i don’t think she’s got the character)

Okay, back to Tommy, i’m keeping it short. First of all, he’s very much into old pre-war culture and media and his stereotypical businessman image is just that - reconstructed! He’s just a good old fashioned lover boy and has a soft spot for retro movies. Like, i’m sure he has more gold jewelry than his heavy earring - couple of rings, a chain - but that’s not luxury, that’s estethic comfort.

I think the man is a very grey moral character. Tommy has all he needs to fuck off and retire, probably even without a lot of angry armed customers on his tail. But it’s not who he is, he will make the wheels spinning until the very end, it’s the process, the job, the lifestyle. At the same time he does a lot of questionable things for the sake of his business. It’s just that being a BLI corporate pet isn’t one of them. Too tired to actually elaborate on the barter/trade process today, sorry

Random fact: try to enjoy your love for quiet music with these customers!

#danger days #tommy chow mein #i'll post the separate pages a minute laterrrrr

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tragicallywicked · 4 years ago

Photo

THE FIRST RAIN

[ CHAPTER EIGHT ]

Words: 29,726 Genre: Romance/Drama Rated: Mature Pairing: Alice + Jasper Summary: What happened to Alice and Jasper when their paths first crossed in that stormy night in Philadelphia? What were the trails they rode in two years before joining the Cullen clan? It all began on that first rainy day, she had been waiting for him long enough, and he was finding what he had been blindly searching for.

READ ON AO3

The scent of moist grass bore the entire forest when the tempest inched down in the area their cabin was located; humming of birds an overpowering sound over the thin drops still falling from the trees. All was peaceful, so still and quiet after a storm. It was likewise the most vulnerable of times, for it was when predators struck.

Alice and Jasper, the deadliest two in those woods, sped through the trees side by side, tracking their prey. She located hers first, taking a turn Jasper wasn't anticipating. He understood she had to do her thing to quell the hunger hounding her ever since their conversation about the slip.

Jasper wasn't exactly hungry, but he followed Alice's advice and feeding anyway. Because he felt satiated—and on some level even stuffed with blood—he wasn't quartering all that effort. Jasper did snatch a bear that had been at clear range and fed from it until he couldn't anymore. Alice was a few meters from him, and he observed when she raced to another quarry, jumping a second creature.

He felt overwhelmed from the bear and sat to wait for his mate to finish up. While there, Jasper examined Alice in her element, ambushing the animal and snapping its head before she could feed from it. He considered how humane it was that she was killing it before feeding, so it wouldn't suffer. It made Jasper wonder if she had the same means when feeding from humans.

Alice would make an extraordinary hunter, in his opinion. For a vampire who had a forthcoming all on her own, misplaced in eternity, she grasped a lot. Had she been tutored, Alice would have made an impressive soldier as well—not that it was a fate Jasper coveted for her. Jasper desired to keep her away from any kind of confrontation.

Patrolling her so closely, that sweet angel she was, Jasper could understand all the appeal of spending immortality with that woman. Admittedly, he didn't quite see himself walking away from her—even in the brief time they had been together. But if there was something Jasper knew was that circumstances, and people, could change—particularly when one had eternity. He knew the emotions they shared were noble, serious, and real. Jasper had spent too long of a time in an uproar; he couldn't be positive of what that sublime sensation was. He'd been accustomed to different types of love; if this was it, there was still a lot to be determined about it. But then again, they had time—something humans lacked.

When Alice joined him, Jasper beamed, extending a hand for her to follow him at the top of the rock, overseeing the forest. She rested beside him silently.

"Only one bear?" Alice commented after a moment, noticing the animal not too far from them.

"I'm still feeling quite full," he explained with a faint smile.

"It's natural. When you begin feeling hungry again, we should positively hunt right away," Alice encouraged. The twist on Jasper's expression made her glare in more seriousness. "What is it?"

He shook his head, deciding to trail it off, but her eyes were resolute. "I'm still adjusting to the tang . It's nothing, honestly."

"It's different, I know." Alice pulled her legs up toward her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she contemplated the sky.

"Can I admit something?"

She deduced his eyes had been on her as she signed after shifting to find his gaze. Although Jasper assumed she knew, it came as a shock to Alice when he spoke. "I don't particularly enjoy the diet."

"Oh."

"I thought you would know." Jasper abruptly stared, baffled.

"Well, it's not so much of a decision but rather an inclination. I probably had no time to see if you only just decided to tell me," Alice explained, and he nodded, confirming her suspicion. "Why don't you like it?"

Jasper immediately sensed the sign of disappointment that Alice was striving to conceal from him. As they spent time together, she had been reading more and more into his gifts. Being an empath, Jasper had learned feelings weren't set in stone—like Alice's visions, they could change and be changed. The culmination between him and Maria had explicitly been how great she became on manipulating him. The contrast was his previous partner never sought to hide things to spare him, which he could tell was what Alice was doing now.

The idea of disappointing her troubled Jasper; he hesitated thinking about his response to that puzzle. "You have to admit it's distasteful, especially compared with what I've been used to."

Alice nods, to that much she could recognize. It wasn't as lascivious as drinking from humans, but she preferred it over the baggage that came with slaughter.

"And I did just feed from one or two," Jasper reminded.

"I guess you're not wrong."

"Yet, you're disappointed." Usually, he'd divert from the topic, but Jasper carried on. He cared about Alice; he desired things to strive between them. He had seen with eternity that it took effort for relationships to endure, not just physical attraction—to which they had in abundance.

"I'm not."

"Alice." He peered at her, brow raised and a delightful grin.

"I know, I know. You feel everything ." Her annoyed huffing told Jasper maybe Alice did want to escape the conversation, but he didn't cave. "I hoped this was more natural to you as it was for me. I'm not blaming you," she was quick to clarify, glancing up at him. "I don't relish on your suffering."

"I'm not."

Alice had difficulty hiding her shock.

"It does pain me when it's occurring, afterward not so much. It's our primary drive we're fighting against here, after all," he reminded her. Alice felt genuinely bothered this time, he missed the moment it had flipped, but he sure caught the emotion later.

Alice had to remind herself she was sentencing Jasper for a future him that she had seen, one that would not come to be if Alice kept ramming his boundaries. She knew the consequence of that; it wasn't a pleasant one. Her aid would be crucial to him and to them.

With that in mind and the wave of reassurance charging toward her, Alice gave Jasper a brief nod.

"I guess I pushed you too hard, too fast, I'm sorry," Alice said. He wasn't expecting an apology, so Jasper just signed. "Maybe we can come up with a different plan. If you still crave to feed from humans every other time, we could make the shift smoother."

"Looking the other way would upset you." Jasper didn't question; he somehow knew that to be inevitable. "That is the last thing I want to do."

"It wouldn't—Well, all right, maybe a little. But it would also help you, I can see it. And in the long run, that will be important," Alice explained as she sat up straight, hand stretching to hold his. "And that is all that I want, Jazz."

She had seen him through so much twinge, an avalanche of torturous agony, now Alice wished that he could have a more peaceful existence. Preferably by her side.

Back in the cabin, Alice busied with arranging the bedroom. She had seen the deliveries arrive in a few minutes, and having the area unblocked would have them out flying. It wasn't so much worry for Jasper being around them—as she planned to send him off when they arrived—Alice wanted to get this finished and fixed; their life ordered and following on track.

Jasper sat nearby, reading a book about the first war, when her eyes shot up and halted. He faded off her sight, and all too fast, Alice saw big and bloody eyes. She wasn't positive who they belonged to, but they were liquid fresh, glistering with death. It uttered her panic immediately, agonized over what Jasper was bound to do. Was she judging him, though? Alive thought to herself, h ow could she know it was him if all she'd seen were eyes, vivid and sharp red.

Squinting back to her senses, she focused on Jasper, now standing in front of her. A guarding arm around her and the other squeezing her hand. She vaguely caught his voice in the background, as if it calling her from a distance and not right next to her ear.

"What did you see?" he insisted. "Alice. What did you see?"

Alice understood his distress was over her alarm when he sent a surge of serenity toward her.

"It's nothing." Alice shook her head softly and fixed a smile over at Jasper, who frowned, unconvinced. "I'm not sure yet. It was a swift flash." That much was true. Alice had no notion what it implied or why it had shown up to her, but it did, and the concern was indisputable.

"Why did it disturb you so much?"

She lamented, inclining up to peck his lips. "Sometimes they simply do, don't agonize about it too much," Alice promises, and Jasper nods.

Resuming her clean up, Alice ventured to occupy Jasper's attention with small chatting. She had great ideas for their bedroom. The larger frame arriving would eat up some of the space, but Alice still wished to make it homey.

Jasper had joined in assisting her and proposed that they get rid of the nightstands—there wasn't really a point when they didn't truly sleep. He'd argued they could store the items there in the office next door, since he didn't actually have that many things to keep.

"We'll get you books and memorabilia and trinkets," Alice said sweetly, skipping to meet him on the other side of the room; her arms enveloped around his neck; nose nuzzling his cheek when he hoisted her off the floor.

"I don't need any of those." His tone was soft, planting a peck on her lips when he turned his face to her, praising the delicacy in her beauty. All he needed was there, his whole world.

"Well, there must be something we can get you, Major Whitlock." She grinned, smoothing her lips to his again.

"I did enjoy that game we played the other day."

"Chess?" Alice raised a brow, but she wasn't really surprised. She'd had many visions of Jasper and their future brother Emmett, both men sitting across from each other in a light and open living room, an elaborate game of chess in front of them.

"It's very strategic. I like the nature of it," Jasper explained and Alice nodded rapidly.

"We could get a nice set, something that—" Alice couldn't finish her words as another strong vision clouded her senses.

There were two bodies on the floor, looking lifeless, drained of all blood. The soft pink of the cheeks had disappeared to give place to a mauve, almost pale purple on their faces. The two men had their throats completely dilacerated, the only last specks that remained of blood smeared across their necks.

A sloppy affair, the way their flesh had been pierced. Positively done by someone with greed and lack of control—almost as a feral newborn damage in their naive frenzy. It was gruesome; the desperation petrified in their eyes said too much of the pain they had endured.

Alice felt hunger in her vision, of whoever had done it. The intensity of the emotion so palpable felt almost as if it was her own.

Her eyes shifted from the bodies to the shadow standing out the light, but before she could discern the face of the predator, she was back to her senses.

"Alice." Jasper was shaking her now—because he didn't think she could get more startled and pale, but it seemed the nightmare drained the rest of life off her. When he was so worried, it was arduous to stay focused and not wave all his concern, and she slumped in the feeling of his fear for a second, for she too was in thorough desperation.

"What's happening, Alice?" He yanked back the worry to expand tranquillity, and Alice was finally able to breathe, staring at him with a frown.

"I saw two men… Dead… Here." She was working to make up what had happened and how it occurred.

Jasper was about to protest and hold her back in the present, but her eyes drifted off again in search of answers.

"Tell me, what do you see?" He directed this time, an arm still clutching her steady, and his emotions still flooding sheer peace.

Alice focused.

The men were nothing but a pile of flesh now, on top of each other, tossed there already dead. A figure crawled in the corner, but it was too dark; she couldn't see their face. Instead, she searched the men, inspected their faces.

"They're older…" She whispered quietly, eyes still on the sight.

"Very well. Do we know them?"

"I can't tell—"

She couldn't see them too well, their frightened petrification and mutilation of the throats making them look disfigured, nearly unrecognizable. Alice inspected the wounds closely. They seemed different, like they had been done by various vampires—or at separate times.

"The bites are different. One is bigger, sloppier," she told him.

"What else is there?" Jasper continued to guide her through, his fingers smoothing down her spine as other relaxing strings caught her perfectly.

Alice could sense the headache building, having to seek for the minor details in a vision that felt so terrifying. She stared closer at the bodies, trying to get any evidence of who they could be. Then a voice, in the vision, hindered her investigation.

"We have to go, we must leave," a female voice called out.

"We'll deal with this," the male voice sounded firm. When Alice peered around for the source, she saw it coming from outside. Like a voyer of the conversation, Alice approached the front door with care—as if the people in the vision could see her.

There was a vase, one of her favorite, shattered near the door, and a pool of blood. She assumed the source of it all, working to resolve the puzzle.

"Last time, nothing happened," the man said.

"Not this time."

"What have you seen, Alice?"

She saw herself and Jasper outside, both with their backs to the door, where she watched the vision roll out.

"Please trust me, we can't stay, Jazz. At least not for long."

"We'll fix this. I'm sorry—"

"Don't. It's all right."

Alice allowed out a breath, looking at Jasper when the vision vanished, and she faded back.

"I think you killed them," she said with a lump on her throat.

Jasper drew back almost instantly, and she felt the pain dripping from him. Desperate to comfort him, Alice reached out for his hand, not allowing Jasper to get distant now. It hadn't happened, and she always believed things could be prevented—even when the vision looked so solid.

"Jazz."

"Perhaps I should go."

"No!" Alice pleaded, tugging him toward her. He reacted to her need for his presence, steadily sinking into her pull with a nod. He wouldn't go; he wanted to stay and not kill . "Maybe we can still change it."

Jasper agreed, waiting for her frown to relax. Alice searched the visions again, looking back into the images that had shown up, for details she could have missed; his hands were on her again, soothing and protecting.

"Tell me what you find," Jasper encouraged quietly into her ear.

Jasper pulled back from her and nodded, briefly leaning in to peck her forehead.

"I'll be out back," he proposed encouragingly. He would be far, but just enough so that he could calm her down still. Jasper was gone in seconds. Alice strolled to the door, opening to greet the two men with the brightest smile, feeling the waves Jasper was still conveying her way.

"Good afternoon, Miss," one of the men, the one that had aided her at the store, greeted. He bowed softly, still clearly mesmerized by her appearances, like all people were. The other one, a taller guy with not much of a patience, smiled briefly but also did give Alice a second look.

"Afternoon," Alice inclined her head briefly and made space for the frame.

"Where should we put it?"

The men eyed the narrow steps with painful gazes and Alice swung her head instantly. She wanted them out of there as fast as possible anyhow.

"You may leave it here. My husband can get it upstairs later. We're still fixing some things there," Alice explained casually.

They were quick to nod, and the taller one handed Alice a paper to sign. She scribbled far too quickly, not minding it too much. Alice turned around on her ankles after she was given a copy and the movement accidentally knocked down a vase. Typically she would have sped to save it, but in the humans' presence, she let the object drop to the floor and shred to pieces.

She came back too quickly with a gasp and looked up at Jasper.

"It's the delivery!"

On queue, the doorbell rang on their house, and Alice watched, helplessly, the entire vision unfold in her mind just a millisecond before it all occurred.

Everything happened extremely fast. The smaller guy reached for the vase pieces and so did Alice.

"Oh please, don't worry about that." Alice dismissed, attempting to collect the remains on her own, but the man was persistent.

"It's all right, Miss!"

In a very brief second, he captured a crack with too much enthusiasm, unbeknownst to him that his excitement to help would be his downfall. The cut was deep enough to quickly pool blood on his hand; for Alice's eyes to grow black just as fast. The animal in her awoke and all the delicacy and the self-restraint in her wouldn't be enough to hold it back—like that time she had murdered her work friend or the time before where a late night walker didn't stand a chance.

She wasn't Alice anymore. She was nothing but a vampire—eager for human blood—when she snapped the short man's neck, and her teeth carved his jugular. The warmth of the blood undertook her entire body, satisfying a thirst of far too long . When her eyes opened up again, they darted up to the taller man, abruptly terrified by the turn of events. He would scream, but Jasper emerged in front of him before Alice could reach her next pray.

The feral beast hissed at her mate.

"I'll take him, the other is still alive and he'll turn if you don't finish him," Jasper said coldly, strategic. Only then Alice grew aware of the grunts of agony.

She briefly saw Jasper snap the other man out before she returned to her victim.

When there was no more life to down, Alice stood up, mouth dripping with blood and her eyes two piercing rubies.

#jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #the twilight renaissance #mary alice brandon #jasper whitlock #mine #the first rain #fanfic

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hold-my-hand-kuroo · 4 years ago

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stress baker

something quick after i was hit with the idea of yamaguchi liking to bake

but it’s also part of my neighbors to lovers to bullshit propaganda so like???

pairing: yamaguchi x reader

i. bread

Yamaguchi doesn’t like to ask for too much, but there are two things that he currently wants: a raise at his job and a time machine so that he can go back to five minutes ago to stop himself from knocking his carton of eggs off his kitchen counter. It’s been a long day at work, too long, and frankly, Yamaguchi would hate to leave his apartment again to buy more eggs, especially not during the middle of a storm. All he wants is a warm loaf of freshly-baked bread and release his anxieties through stress-baking, but if he can’t bake, he’s just stress.

And that’s exactly why you find your freckled-neighbor, nervously twiddling his fingers at your door and looking down pointedly at the carpeted hallway floor. You’ve seen him in passing before, mostly him running out of his door and rushing to work, or him dragging himself back down the hallway, utterly exhausted. Despite being neighbors for a little bit over two months now, you’ve let to know his name. Rather, in your mind, you’d call him the guy who hated his job, and that was it.

“S-sorry for bothering you so late,” he stammers, bowing over and over again. You quickly shake your head and reassure him that 9 PM was definitely not late and that you really only started thriving at midnight. “I was just wondering…do you happen to have any eggs? I dropped my carton a few minutes ago, and I don’t think I’d be able to go out right now…”

You acknowledge the sound of the wind and heavy rain drops slamming against your window, agreeing that indeed, going out for eggs would not be his best option.

“Yeah, I have a few in the fridge,” you answer, smiling. That seems to do the trick in calming him down. “How many do you need? I’ll get them right now.”

“One-“ The man stops, going back to thinking. You notice the way his brows furrow before he changes his mind, hesitantly looking you in the eyes. “Sorry, two actually.”

You nod, closing the door before running quickly to your fridge. Even if he did seem nice, it was always better to be safe than sorry. Opening it back up, you’re glad to see that he doesn’t seem offended by your actions. When he sees the eggs in your hands, he instantly brightens.

“Thanks so much!” He gratefully accepts your help, flashing you the widest smile you’ve seen on him ever. Then again, you didn’t see him much. “You’re a life- saver…uh…”

“Y/N,” you say, returning his smile. There’s something about the way he chuckles sheepishly that makes your heart flutter. It’s oddly endearing, cute even. “And don’t worry about it. It’s just two eggs.”

“Just two eggs means a whole lot. I’m kind of a stress-baker, actually,” he admits. He seems embarrassed, cheeks turning pink. “Oh, I’m Yamaguchi by the way. Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi bids his farewell before running quickly back into his apartment. He’s still a little nervous, worried that he might’ve scared you. He values first impressions, but he also can’t help the pit of guilt that rises in his stomach for not knowing your name. Embarrassed would be an understatement since he has been aware of you since you moved in next door to him. He wonders if you hear is soft ‘hellos’ whenever he sees you out in the hallway, but he’s knows that he’s never really that loud enough.

Yamaguchi gets crushes easily, and he finds it a little bit silly. He knows that he shouldn’t get his hopes up considering his dating track in high school or rather, lack thereof. He found lots of people attractive back then and would fall in an instant, but he’d realize sooner or later that they were really interested in Tsukishima. Yamaguchi doesn’t hold it against them though; Tsukishima is cool, calm, and everything Yamaguchi wishes he could be. He supposes that it’s a good thing that Tsukishima was always there to rat out the people who hung with Yamaguchi out of ulterior motives, and it was probably good thing now that he doesn’t get his hopes up as easily.

But still, Yamaguchi finds himself making a second loaf of bread for you. He tells himself that it’s just a crush and that he shouldn’t be giving you baked goods just to see you one more time and maybe have another conversation. It’s just for the eggs and the way you beamed at him so kindly at him, and it might also be an apology for being a coward every morning and not greeting you properly. Yes, he reasons. This loaf of bread would be a thank you gift and an apology.

It’s almost midnight by the time he’s done baking, and he’s wondering if it’s too late to knock on your door again. In an ideal world, he’d present you a warm, baked to perfection loaf of bread, and in his fantasies, the two of you would become friends. Maybe you’d even ask him to bake you more bread. He’d be happy to anyways, but he laughs at himself for his wishful thinking. Knocking on your door gently, Yamaguchi promises himself that if you don’t answer, he’d return and find another time to give you his gift.

“More eggs?” you answer teasingly as you open the door. Then you look at the tin pan in his hands. “Or not?”

“I made you bread as thanks,” Yamaguchi answers rather shyly. He tries his hardest to smile but feels a little bit dumb for rehearsing that one line over and over again before actually walking to your room. “Unless…you can’t eat it, of course! You don’t have to force yourself.”

“No, I love bread!” You look at his hands in awe, reaching gratefully over for the container. Much to your delight, it’s still warm, and judging by the color, it didn’t seem dry either. “You must be really good at baking to make bread look this good. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow!”

“Then I’ll stop bothering you.” Yamaguchi chuckles nervously, gives you a good night, and all but runs back into his living area. He tries to shut the door as quietly as possible before flopping onto his bed. Slapping himself on both sides of his face once, he becomes increasingly aware of how red his face must have been, sending him into another loop of embarrassment. He can’t help it, not when you smile like you’ve won the lottery while giving him praise. He knows it’s ridiculous to act all flustered when he’s only spoken to you for a few minutes.

He knows all too well.

But with his heart beating at an alarming rate and the increasing need to call Tsukishima to just rant and panic, Yamaguchi feels that he’s going through the same wormhole he’s been through over and over again. He’d go through the falling head over heels phase to growing hopeful only for his spirit to be utterly crushed by disappointment.

He’s scared, terrified even, but like time and time again, he lets himself fall. Tsukishima would sure get a laugh out of this one.

ii. cinnamon rolls

What Yamaguchi doesn’t expect is for you to starting waiting in the morning to say hello and walk down together before splitting up to get to work. It starts with you simply reporting to him about how well his bread paired up with your coffee, and somewhere after that, it spirals into a daily ritual. At 7:00 AM, Yamaguchi leaves his apartment, opening the door to see you leaning casually on the wall opposite to his room. From there, the two of you exchange similar sentiments of dreading to enter the workplace; the only difference is that you’re much more angry about it than Yamaguchi is, but he finds your honesty endearing.

“You don’t get it, Yamaguchi,” you’d groan, clearly still under a heavy drowsiness. “I hate giving budget reports. Everyone in the meeting room is always so quiet, and you know they don’t care at all, so what’s the point?”

“That does sound ridiculous,” he’d offer kindly. You can’t stay mad when his smile is like stars and sunshine and everything that’s good in this world. “Good luck today as always, Y/N.”

“Good luck to you, too, Yamaguchi!”

It’s amazing how powerful one sentence can be. The first time you say it to him, Yamaguchi is stunned into silence, and even at work, he’s in a daze. Sure, he messes up here and there, but compared to the past where he mulled over every single one of his faults, he feels energized. Refreshed. Ready to face the day no matter what comes at it. For that entire day, he hangs onto your words, wishing that you’d say them again to him every day.

And you do. Every morning. Yamaguchi thinks he’s blessed, and with some stroke of luck, he’s been gifted your encouragement and support. It’s bare minimum, he admits, once again feeling silly for getting excited over something so trivial. You probably don’t even think it’s a big deal, and neither should he, but whenever he’s stuck in a rut with a particularly tough client or faced with the rage of his boss, he plays your voice over and over and over again in his head. It’s his magic spell, and he spends a lot of his time wondering how he can return the favor to you.

His chance comes on a Friday night when he’s getting ready to indulge himself in baking once more. Yamaguchi’s not a professional by any means, but Friday is the time where he can try new things without worrying about going to bed early and waking up on time the following day. He’s free to do as he pleases, and it’s usually his relaxation time to try more difficult and time-consuming recipes.

He’s sitting idly while waiting for his dough to rise. It’d be a while, and he so desperately wants to text you, but recently, he’s come to the realization that maybe he texts you too much. It only makes matters worse that he’s fast to reply, and it dawns on him that he might be coming off as too clingy. Whenever his phone rings, and he sees that it’s a message from you, his fingers are flying away to type a proper response. He’s not sure if you mind it, but there’s a nagging thought at the back of his head that he might be creeping you out, so while he does want to ask you how your day went, he stops himself.

And then, you call him. That was new.

Yamaguchi fumbles for his device, almost dropping it in the process and blinks, rubbing his eyes. It must be a dream, he thinks. He’s only ever dreamt of calling you during nights where he wanted to hear your voice (and that was almost every night), but he never imagined in a million years that you’d be the first one to call. If this was a dream, he doesn’t want to pick up.

“H-hey, Y/N,” he stammers and mentally punches himself for the voice crack. He clears his throat. “How are you?”

“Are you busy right now?” Yamaguchi can tell instantly that something’s off. You’re tired, really tired, and it seeps through your hoarse voice.

“No. Is something wrong?”

“Can…can we talk?” You grip your phone, biting your bottom lip. You didn’t want to intrude on his Friday night, knowing well that he had his share of worries, too. “I mean, it’s okay if you can’t-“

“Why don’t you come over?” Yamaguchi doesn’t know what force of courage has overtaken him, but he almost chokes after he hears his own words. He feels his face heating up all the way to the tips of his ears. He feels his hand shaking but takes a deep breath. This isn’t about him right now. It’s about you. “I’m baking cinnamon rolls. Do you want to vent and maybe have something sweet after?”

You’re over in his apartment within seconds. The promise of venting session and dessert was too hard not to pass, and you find yourself being ushered onto his couch. He fusses over you, much to your displeasure, as you never really intended to bother him, but before you know it, he’s wrapped you with clean blankets and cushioned you with all the pillows he has. Then, he gets down on his knee, looking at you in concern.

“What happened, Y/N?”

You inhale and being talking, complaining about how poorly your day went and how dumb your coworkers were and how you never wanted to step inside the office ever again. Yamaguchi listens to every word, nodding sympathetically every so often. You don’t even stop when he excuses himself to check on the dough that he’s been waiting on the entire night. It didn’t matter if he was rattling away in his kitchen or pressing the beeping buttons on his oven; you knew he was listening, and that was more than enough.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble quietly after you’re done. “I should get going-“

“No, it’s okay!” the freckled-man insists, rushing back over to you with a plate in hand. “Are you…feeling better?”

You stop to think. Compared to before, you find breathing much easier, and that burdensome weight on your shoulders that dragged you down all day seemed to have disappeared. “A lot better,” you sigh, stretching your arms.

“That’s good.” He hands you a plate and fork hesitantly. “I baked cinnamon rolls. Have one before you leave. If you want.”

“You’re a saint, you know that?” You laugh and dig in, completely unaware of how Yamaguchi’s face goes beet red. He slowly takes a seat next to you on the couch, practically shaking at the idea of being just centimeters away from you. Sure, it was his couch, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling nervous while sitting on it. In fact, he’s so nervous that he desperately wants to throw up, but for your sake and his, he does everything in his power to not. It’d be a waste to have you running home disgusted, especially when you’re doing that thing that you always did when you liked eating his food, the thing that makes his heart palpitate at an ungodly rate. He wants to capture it in a photo, but he’s not even sure if the lens can take in everything beautiful and heavenly about you. It’s sensory overload, and he can’t peel his eyes off of you. There’s something so intimate about this whole scenario that takes place within the comfort of his own home, so sacred, and he’d never want to give it away. Instead, he thinks about other things that he can do to see the same sight in the future, anything at all with the little power he has.

Yeah, Yamaguchi loves it when you smile.

iii. pound cake

Yamaguchi feels guilty, but he finds himself wanting to keep Tsukishima and you apart. It’s not your fault, and it’s not Tsukishima’s fault either. Rather, it’s a result of his own short-comings as a person and the lack of self-esteem he carries with him consistently. It’s sickening, really, the way his insecurities can bubble up deep from inside him and take over his every thought, telling him that he’s not enough and never will be. He tells himself that it’s not true, that he should keep ahold of his pride because it’s all he needs, but sometimes, nights become longer than he’d like. It’s during times like those that he wants you around him.

For a while, he’s able to keep you and Tsukishima separate, although it isn’t hard considering that his best friend could care less about meeting you. Yamaguchi is torn though. He doesn’t want to believe that you’d toss him aside upon meeting someone better, and he knows that it isn’t fair on your part. It’s manipulative and downright cruel of him, especially since he’s almost 100% sure that you’d be better off with someone like Tsukishima, so when the two of you finally meet by accident in front of his door, he lets it happen. It’s his punishment, and if there was something called fate, he’d let it do its work.

The atmosphere is awkward, mostly because Tsukishima isn’t fond of strangers and doesn’t make an effort to hold a conversation with you at all. You struggle hard, trying to rid the room of the heavy silence.

“So you two are childhood friends?” you try before taking a bite of the pound cake that Yamaguchi offers the both of you. It’s rich and sweet, so you hum in content. Yamaguchi swears his heart stops. “What was Yamaguchi like as a kid?”

“The same.” Tsukishima doesn’t bother to elaborate, settling back in silence. He’s not even looking at you and has his head down low, focusing whatever it was on his phone screen.

“I see.” You rest in awkward silence, and Yamaguchi nearly chokes on his slice of cake. It was always like this. Everyone always had trouble getting Tsukishima to open up, but the ones who were interested would always try the hardest. Yamaguchi supposes that he can’t blame them though and is rather impressed by the courage it took to talk to someone as cold and indifferent as Tsukishima. Yamaguchi’s cowardice paled in comparison.

“I’m leaving, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima finally says. His words are curt and short, and Yamaguchi knows that his friend is trying his best to remain distant. He appreciates it, but he steels himself for disappointment. “The cake was good.”

Yamaguchi nods and answers with a sound of affirmation, but he doesn’t dare look up. He’s seen this scene play countless of times over and over again, and he doesn’t think that he can watch it again. Yamaguchi’s scared to admit it because acknowledging it would crush his spirits into utter nothingness. Yet, he knows that you were more than just a crush, more than just someone he liked looking at from a distance. He’s realized it long ago, thinking about how he’d like to hold your hand and take long walks with you in the park.

In a different universe or perhaps a different timeline, Yamaguchi wonders if another luckier version of him, another cooler Yamaguchi, had the chance to be held in your arms during the tumultuous, dark nights when he’s plagued with nothing but doubts. Then again, a cooler Yamaguchi probably wouldn’t have the same problems that he did. He wouldn’t have such disgusting thoughts of keeping his best friend away from you and wondering when you’ll leave him all together. You’re probably already out the door, following Tsukishima closely, and if that’s what you wanted, then so be it. For the price of what he’s done, he hopes he can atone by making you happy, even if your happiness didn’t lie with him.

“Are you feeling okay?” His eyes flicker up from the table, widening at the sight of you still sitting at his kitchen table. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

From underneath the table, Yamaguchi pinches himself to make sure that he isn’t dreaming. “I-I’m fine! The cake’s just a little dry. That’s all…”

“Then,” you start, biting your lower lip, “why don’t we go out and get coffee? The weather’s good for walking today.”

He pinches himself again in stunned silence.

“Or maybe not? I guess it’s a little late for coffee…”

“N-no!” he quickly retorts, perhaps a little too eagerly. Clearing his throat, he rubs the back of his neck, a little bit flustered. “I mean, yeah. Coffee would be nice…”

He breathes. If this is a dream, Yamaguchi doesn’t want to wake up.

“And maybe a walk in the park after?” He can’t but close his eyes, waiting for rejection.

“That sounds fun! Let’s go before it gets dark.”

Even when he’s actually at the park and feeling the wind blowing in his face along with the lingering pain of pinching his hand too much, Yamaguchi’s not entirely convinced that he’s awake in reality. It just seems too easy for him to be spending time with you when already met Tsukishima. He didn’t plan anything with you further than that, fully expecting you to ask him about his best friend. It doesn’t happen, so he asks for you instead.

“What’d you think about Tsukki?” He internally berates himself bringing the topic he wants to avoid so badly, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Tsukishima?” He watches as you think while taking a sip of you americano. He wonders what it feels like to have a side profile sculpted by the Greek gods. “He’s…quiet? I only saw him for a few minutes, and he wasn’t much of a talker, so I can’t say I have any opinion of him at all.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi mumbles quietly. “Isn’t he cool? He’s always been popular, you know?”

“Really?” Yamaguchi chuckles. Not many people expressed disbelief over Tsukishima being the center of attention. “I mean…I guess I could see that. But…”

Looking over at you, Yamaguchi is about to ask why you stopped, but when he feels warmth on the tips of his fingers, he comes to a standstill. He takes in your flustered face and averted eyes, wondering if he was just as red as you were right now, if not, even more. He doesn’t dare make any movement as your hand slowly but steadily wraps around his, grip loose and hesitant. Daring to make eye contact with him, you wonder in fear if he hates it.

“I mean…I think you’re pretty cool too.” It comes out barely as a whisper, but Yamaguchi is attentive, especially when it came to you. He’d never miss your words, not even the most quiet exchanges.

“Y-yeah?” His voice cracks, and his hands are sweaty, but his line of reason is gone thanks to the temptation of your soft and warm fingers. Eagerly, he returns the grip, hand awkwardly fumbling around with yours for a good few seconds before finding a comfortable position. “Sorry…this is my first time doing the whole…hand-holding thing.”

Way to be lame, Yamaguchi winces.

“It’s okay,” you mumble a little bit louder this time. “We can practice.”

iv. croissants

To think that even three years later, you’d had mornings, especially mornings when you slept in and woke up to a bed without Yamaguchi. He’s your source of comfort, and on days where you open your eyes for the first time and aren’t in his loving arms, everything feels a little off, a little bit lonely. You reach over toward his side of the bed, faintly feeling whatever warmth was leftover. Grunting at the lack thereof, you try for his scent that lingers in his pillow but still aren’t satisfied.

“Did you really want me to get out of bed that badly?” you mumble, walking into the kitchen where Yamaguchi was busy fussing around. He startles and then relaxes when he feels you wrap your arms around his torso, leaning into his back. This was definitely better than the pillow, you decide.

“Was I being too loud?” Yamaguchi sets the knife in his hands down, making sure to push it back far on the counter. “I’m sorry for waking you up. I’ll try to be quieter, so you can go and get some rest. You’ve been busy this week after all.”

“You weren’t being loud.” You nuzzle into his back and hear him chuckling. “I don’t like sleeping without you there. It’s cold.”

“I can turn up the heater if you want-“

“I’m already awake, so it’s fine.” You look over to the dough squares that Yamaguchi has laid out carefully on a sheet of baking paper. “Am I bothering you right now?”

“Not at all, love.” It’s been ages, and you still get flustered over Yamaguchi’s nickname for you. “I was just about to roll the croissants. It took me two days to make the dough, so I thought I’d bake you some on your day off.”

He lets out a little yelp when he feels your embrace around him tightening and soft, light kisses being pressed onto the back of his nape. Yamaguchi knows that he should be used to your affection by now, but no matter how many times you shower him with love, he has to wonder if everything is real. It is, and you’ve reassured that to him countless of times, but he has no idea how he or why he got so lucky. After all, he’s the only man in the entire world that gets to see you at sunrise and sunset and the only one that has your fingers carding through his hair whenever you’re bored and on the couch.

He tries to busy himself by quickly finishing his croissants and sending them to the oven, but he can’t help but feel a little distracted. The image of your soft lips against his skin makes him more giddy than he’d like, and he’s so very tempted to just turn around and kiss you all over your face. The butter on his hands is a clear reminder on why he can’t caress your face or intertwine his fingers on yours, so he wills himself to wait.

“Do you want to help?” he offers instead, laughing as you begin to get bored of just standing behind him. He feels you nod very slowly. “I can teach you how to roll them.”

Much to his surprise, you don’t leave where you’re standing and simply release your hold around him. You blindly feel around on the counter until your fingers land on something soft and cool. Tentatively pick it up, you wait quietly for Yamaguchi to take the hint. He doesn’t seem to get it at first, being rather confused as to why you were simply holding the dough in your hands. Wouldn’t it be much easier if you moved away from his back so that you could see? And then it hits him.

“Or I could roll them with you,” Yamaguchi chuckles again. He pretends to sigh in annoyance, but you know better and just laugh at his weak act. When his feather-light touches come into contact with your fingers, all you can do it hum in content as he figures out how to work his away around you and the dough without messing it up. He succeeds rather easily, much to your dismay, so you start moving your fingers around to make his job a little bit harder.

“Love, I don’t think you’re doing this right.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you deny as your wrap your fingers around the palm of his hands instead of touching the dough at all. There’s butter all over your hands, but you don’t mind at all, relishing in the familiar warmth that seeps through his skin. Relenting, Yamaguchi gives your hands a quick squeeze before trying to gently shake you off.

“We’ll never finish at this rate,” he murmurs. Your grasp lingers for a few moments before acquiescing with a grumble. “I’ll make it up to you after we’re done, okay?”

And because Yamaguchi always strives to keep his word, he places you on his lap after placing the croissants in the oven. You lean agains his chest, letting his fingers run through your hair and scratch gently against your scalp. He’s always gently with you, taking care to slowly untangle any parts of your messy bedhead and making sure that you’re comfortable against his frame. Yamaguchi likes watching you in peace, the slow rise and fall of your chest when you breath softly and the small ministrations that you perform on his other hand. It’s so ethereal, and every time he looks at you, he feels himself falling in love all over again.

When he notices that you’ve begun kissing his palm, fresh out of his entranced state, he cheeks become tinted with pink. And then, giggles spill out of your beautiful lips. Yamaguchi laughs along with you, although he’s not sure what’s so amusing.

“Even after all this time, you still get nervous when I kiss you,” you laugh and place your ear against his chest. “Your heart is beating really quickly, Tadashi.”

“I can’t help it when you’re this beautiful,” he replies sheepishly. He cranes his head down and places a quick, shy kiss near your eye. “But you said that we could practice, right? I’m a little bit of a slow learner.”

“Good thing I’m patient.” This time, you turn upward, trailing your lips across his jawline and then his freckles. They tickle a little, but Yamaguchi doesn’t lean away. At every kiss, he leans in more and more into your love, his hand sliding up to the back of your head to give you more support.

As you make your way closer and closer to his mouth, Yamaguchi vows for the umpteenth time in his life that he’d cherish you forever. You don’t make it hard for him to do so either, and even when the timer on the oven goes off, Yamaguchi takes his sweet time to part with you.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #tadashi yamaguchi #yamaguchi #tadashi yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #yamaguchi x reader

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ask-ethari-anything · 4 years ago

Note

Ooooh!! I need to know more about that first time where Runaan fell asleep before you started courting, because he was hurt and all.

Please? 🥺

It’s my pleasure, love.

Young assassins are often given guard duty for little trips outside the Silvergrove, to give them practice with awareness and responding to relatively safe situations--compared to taking humans, anyway. Runaan really seemed to enjoy those trips before he was cleared for assassin missions--he really embraced the idea of protecting people by standing between them and danger, and by sorting out tense situations to keep others safe. He has a knack for that, as much as he does for um, harder things.

He was often assigned to guard me while I went on a gem-finding trip. I loved those trips! Pulling rough gemstones from the earth, from caves, from riverbeds, seeing them sparkle in their first light of day, it warms my soul. If Runaan loved his guard duty, then these were the trips I loved. I always asked for them, whenever the village needed more rough stones, and I was good at finding them and bringing them back as intact as possible. Glow crystals are easy to find since they give off light, but it’s almost as if I can hear the gemstones pinging in the earth, and I love that first moment of discovery like nothing else.

But I do get overly focused on my work, and that’s why I need someone watching my back. *sassy grin* So Runaan and I made a great team even when we were younger, and he trekked out with me many times before we had romantic inclinations for each other.

One time, I insisted on traveling out during a rainstorm because the cache of opals I was after lay beneath an overhang that had been undercut by craftsmen so much over the centuries that I worried for its stability. I wanted to get out to it and retrieve my opals before the overhang got too soaked and became dangerous--and the storm was going to be a big one. Runaan advised that we wait a few days, but I was impatient and insisted. So he dutifully traveled out into the drenched forest with me. I could read his judgy silence, though. He didn’t say a word for hours, and I knew he was grumpy with me for being rash.

We reached the overhang, a muddy slit just big enough to crawl back into, beneath a large chunk of dark gray rock. The vein of opals extended quite a ways, and there was plenty of space beneath it--as long as you were sitting down. Runaan handed me a padded hat. I glared at him, and he glared right back. So I put the stupid thing on to protect my horns and crawled under the overhang through the mud until I reached the back of the rock wall. I began unearthing them as quickly as I could and stashing them carefully in my bag.

After only a few minutes, a massive bolt of lightning struck a tree nearby, and the thunderclap that followed literally shook the earth. And then it kept shaking.

Runaan called my name and scrambled in under the overhanging rock. He began dragging me out, but before we reached safety, the overhang started to tip and collapse. He seized me in a fierce hug, rolled me over top of him, and then thrust me past him out into the rainstorm!

And the overhang collapsed on top of him.

A few very important things became instantly clear to me as I sprawled in the wet grass, then. I’d been a fool. Runaan had been right to worry. And he might just have died trying to save me from my own stupidity. I had to make it right.

I was on my knees at the edge of the overhang in an instant, chucking big rocks aside and crying his name. Surely he’d be just under this rock, or this one, or this one...

Well, he’d nearly made it to the edge before he was buried, so I did find him soon, although it felt like a million years. I found his hand first, and I squeezed it tight, trying to get a response from him. I nearly cried with relief when he faintly squeezed me back! I unearthed him even faster than I’d been working--and when I found his head, I had to laugh.

He’d stolen my padded hat when he booted me out into the rain, and it protected his horns under all the rocks--and I had been so worried, I never noticed that he’d taken it!

“Thief,” I blurted, grinning. “You took my hat.”

Runaan looked up at me from the rocks, bearing scratches and bruises on every part of him that I could see, and utterly slathered in fresh mud. But his wide turquoise eyes still managed to look shocked. “Sorry...” he began.

“Moon and shadow, I’m joking! I’m just glad to see you alive. Let me get you out of there, hold on.” And I unearthed him the rest of the way, and helped him up. But he’d been squished pretty thoroughly, and he couldn’t walk well. One of his feet had gotten a bit twisted among the falling rock.

We stared at each other in dismay for a moment, as the rain started to wash the mud off of him.

“I guess we’re camping out here tonight,” I said, at the exact moment that he said, “You should head back without me.”

Then we chorused, “Don’t be stupid.”

Runaan glared at me, and I snorted and started laughing. His glares had a lot less weight when he was two whole inches shorter than me and also covered in mud!

“Come on, I know a place we can dry off. And when we get there, I’ll need that medkit of yours, the one you always bring in case I’m, er, stupid.”

I wasn’t completely sure, but it seemed for a second that he blushed under all his mud.

It was cute, I’ll admit, even way back then. Silly overachieving assassin trainee, striving so hard to be perfect. He tried to limp along ahead of me to scout the way, but his foot was in bad shape, so I insisted on carrying him on my back. “That way, you can still see ahead and let me know if there’s trouble,” I told him.

“I’ll get you muddy,” he protested.

“Yes. And?” I pointed out that I was muddy from the knees down after having crawled in after my opals.

Well, he still thought it was unseemly for an assassin to show so much weakness that he had to be carried. Poor elf was in quite a quandary! So I said, “Listen, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. But we can’t stay out here in the rain, and you need to rest. You just had a whole boulder collapse all over you!”

Runaan struggled mightily for enough justification to let me carry him. It was written all over his cute little face! But eventually he gave in and nodded. I backed up and bent down, and he leaned against me and wrapped his muddy arms around my neck, and I scooped him up under his knees, and away we went.

He didn’t say a word the whole time, and his hands were flexing like mad. I didn’t understand what that meant back then, not really, but it was clear that he was pretty tense.

I hiked to the nearest dry cave and set Runaan down in a safe corner. He was mostly mud-free at that point, except for where we’d been pressed together. He didn’t want me to check him over for injuries yet, so I told him I’d scout around for some supplies. He immediately gave me a list! Luckily for both of us, I’m very good with lists. I made him swear that he’d be alright when I returned, and he did so, readily. So I headed back into the rain to gather berries and leaves and stones and roots and moss, and a few flower petals, if I could find them. He’d added them to the list with another blush, so I was determined!

Well, I found everything he asked for and brought the damp lot back in my opal bag. He seemed surprised at my competence, but I told him, “Craftsmen know their way around the same forest assassins do.” That seemed to make him think for a moment.

Then I asked him what all the supplies were for, and he started spouting assassin knowledge at me. I could barely keep up! Moss and stones to give off a radiant heat with only a little light, berries and leaves for pain and wound cleansing... but he didn’t want to tell me what the flower petals were for.

“Runaan. Just tell me. Is it for a tea? Do you eat them? Here, you take them and do what you want with them,” I offered, holding them out.

But he blushed again and looked away. So stubborn! I pretended like I was going to crumple them up and toss them away, and he reached out and grasped my wrist tightly.

“Wait. They’re... healing petals. For the scratches on my face. I... it’s easier if someone else...”

I grinned so widely, I thought my face would split! “Runaan. Are you telling me you’re worried about your pretty face?”

He blushed again and glared at me.

“Because you’re still pretty, but now you look like the badass who saved my life,” I added seriously. “Did you think I wouldn’t tell everyone how brave you were? How you selflessly saved me first and risked yourself? How you did exactly what you’ve been trained to do? So what if you took a few scrapes? That just proves how dangerous your work is, and how strong you are to survive it. Doesn’t it?”

He stared at me dubiously for a long, long moment, and then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he looked aside. He let out a slow sigh, and then he glanced at me and offered his cheek toward me for a petal bandage.

I scooted forward and used my softest craftsman touch to press the first one over a scrape along his cheekbone. “There we go. I’ll have you looking pretty as a lunabloom in no time,” I murmured.

He glared up at me for implying that he wasn’t already that pretty, and I winked at him. “A lunabloom who didn’t just save my life in spectacular fashion,” I amended. Another petal pressed against his forehead, and another beside it, covering a large abraded area. He winced slightly, and I paused. “Did I hurt you?” I asked. But he shook his head and looked down.

I turned his chin lightly, looking for more scrapes to cover, and found a pair along his jaw. I softly pressed more petals over them and then looked his face over thoroughly. “Alright. I think your legendary beauty will recover now,” I pronounced.

Runaan rolled his eyes and looked away again, but I saw a little smile on his lips.

We snacked on a few moonberries, and I tended his foot under his sharp-eyed instruction, patching and binding it for him. He propped it on a stone and lay by the warming moss, and I lay nearby with my head next to his, in case he ever decided to talk again.

He went still, and then he huffed suddenly as if waking. A few minutes later, he did it again. I realized he was trying not to doze off.

“Runaan, you just got buried in rocks, and you need to rest. Don’t worry. I’ll stay awake and keep watch for you.”

“Do you even know what to watch for?” he asked sleepily.

Sassy assassin. “I imagine anything that darkens the cave entrance will be worth waking you for,” I sassed back.

He rolled his eyes again, but then he nodded, as if in agreement with my very general assessment of his watch duties. I sat up then, facing the entrance of the cave with Runaan stretched out beside me.

He tapped my knee with something, and I looked down to see him offering me his sword. I blinked in shock, and then I took it, slowly and reverently, and held it across my lap. As if I knew what to do with the thing aside from admire its craftsmanship.

But he nodded seriously, having successfully passed watch duty to me, and soon enough, his eyes slid shut and he relaxed into sleep.

I’d never seen an assassin sleep before. That’s like seeing a shark sleep. They just don’t sleep around other elves. They don’t sleep much at all, I’ve since come to realize. But there he was, a young, earnest injured assassin, soft and slumberous at my side. And he’d given me his sword.

The amount of trust in those two gestures astounded me, even though we both knew he had no other choice due to our circumstances. He was taking a chance on me. And as I sat there in the dimness, with an assassin’s sword in my hands, I began to feel... something amazing.

I wanted to keep him safe. From everything. He was so tense, so worried, about me as his charge, that he’d neglected to worry over himself. But Runaan was definitely worth worrying over! He’d trained so hard and so earnestly, and he truly enjoyed helping keep others safe. I wanted to make that as easy as possible for him. Because he was overdoing it by a fair bit and he needed to relax!

While he slept, I contemplated that sword. I wondered who had made it for him, and if a better one would serve him more efficiently. I wondered about enchantments and secrets and maybe even moon opals. And so I hauled out my damp notebook and started writing down ideas.

“What are you doing?” Runaan’s voice startled me some hours later.

“Making notes. On swords.”

“Swords?”

“You need a better sword.”

“My sword is perfectly functional, Ethari.” He held out his hand, and I returned it to him.

“But what if it could be better?” I asked eagerly. “Listen. You’re an assassin. You performed your duty today and saved my life. Let me return the favor by making you a better sword, so you can be even more efficient.”

“But you’re a jeweler.”

“I’m a craftsman,” I said, a little too forcefully. “I can make anything I like. And I want to make you a better sword. It’ll take time, because I’ll need to change my training focus, but... if you’ll be patient with me, Runaan, I want to pay you back for saving my life. And this is how I want to do it. I want to make you a better sword.”

He lay in the dimness and stared up at me with those blazing turquoise eyes I’ve come to adore, and he simply said, “Thank you.”

#ask ethari #story time #runaan #ethari #young runaan #young ethari #just a couple of soft young boys changing their lives for each other #hurt/comfort

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my-happy-little-bean · 4 years ago

Text

Picnics in the Imagination

pairings: no romantic ones! just a nice LAMP fic :) words: 3294 warnings: mild swearing, insecurity, slight hurt/comfort vibes

summary:

Everyone stared at those two bees in front of them; what were they doing?

Or: the sides share a moment in the Imagination.

a/n- hello! pls excuse this like, weird character study of a one shot heh. i have been having trouble with characterization, so i guess my way to solve that was to,,,write solely based on characterization lol. it was good practice, and even if it’s a bit rough, i still hope you enjoy it :)

read on ao3~

---------

There were two bees fighting in front of him.

They were about seven feet away, and he decided that he should be able to outrun them if they decided to team up against him; or worse, if they were going to attract some equally-terrifying friends. But for the time being, they seemed like they were too wrapped up in trying to murder each other to even notice him.

It made Virgil wonder why Roman did stuff like that; why he would create a world so beautiful, only to have it destroy itself. He wondered if the self-inflicted drama was some stupid way of him validating his own strength or whatever.

Or maybe it was only this destructive when Virgil was here.

It wasn’t too far-fetched of an idea. That was why it took two and a half weeks to convince Virgil to even take a step into the Imagination again, let alone sit down in it and eat sandwiches.

Though, who could really blame him? He wasn’t meant to exist here, where everything was all special and breathtaking and make-believe. It was literally everything he wasn’t. The last time he was here, it had seemed like the Imagination was actively trying to push him out via a million tiny goblins.

(Virgil couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of stuffing them all in a box, frantically searching for the key to trap them there forever before they set off again and ruin someone else’s hat.)

And even if it was okay for him to be here, there wasn’t much for him to do. No one wanted to imagine the storms Virgil found himself under, anyway. After all, the things Roman triumphantly held on the ends of his sword were from monsters Virgil embodied. The grass he stepped on literally burned at the tips if he stood on it for too long.

So why did he feel so...so safe?

Logan had told him once that the Imagination responded to everyone who stepped into its territory. It was supposed to be reassurance, but it was something that scared Virgil the most; that something could reflect the heavy static he could barely walk across everyday. And the first few times he was here, it did.

But now, the Imagination felt like a weighted blanket; almost suffocating at first, but gave way to the unfamiliar feeling of a hug. If he closed his eyes for a second, he could hear a distant thunderstorm coming from who-knows-where; a gentle memory of the only natural disaster he found comfort in. And the grass he stepped would burn, yes, but not all the time now; and it would always resolve itself anyway by bringing to light a small, black rose from the ashes.

His place in the Imagination today only reminded him of the effort everyone was willing to put forth for him; that everything was slowly getting used to the fact that he wasn’t some leech latching onto the sun. Roman eased the worries of his creation, one that had once despised him and all he was; and then eased the worries of Virgil, who didn’t believe he could finally be anything other than the bad guy. Logan made the plans—he always made the plans—and Patton…

Well, Patton tried everything.

He took a sip from his tea and set it aside, pulling his hood over his head and curling up on Patton’s lap. He heard the side giggle and felt him push his hood back ever-so slightly; just to scratch idly behind his ear and braid his fingers through his hair.

And Virgil let him.

Besides, he was too wrapped up in another thought to really care much; the thought that he wasn’t in the moment enough that the moment would pass him by before he could properly appreciate it. He couldn’t help but think about how everyone would eventually pack their things when his storm finally came around. He picked at the sharp grass beside him, scared that it would all go away somehow when he finally– finally– woke up from this dream.

He couldn’t help but look up at the bright blue skies above him.

Virgil sighed, chewing his bottom lip nervously. The Imagination, even as a concept, was so daunting. It stretched so far beyond him that it pretty much scared him shitless. The clouds looked like they could fall on him at any given second, and the bees—as pretty as they are— were still fighting; who’s to say they couldn’t hurt him too?

But it was beautiful.

And he was here.

Virgil closed his eyes and heard the soft sound of rain, far far away.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw Roman,

who was shaking his head at him with a knowing smile.

---

Roman couldn’t help but beam as he watched the two bees in front of him dance, a harmonious waltz above the lush, green grass they grew. Logan could say anything he wanted about the Imagination; the real world could never compare to all of this.

Or at least, that’s what Roman used to think.

Truth be told, the Imagination was only this beautiful when Thomas was satisfied. For the most part, Roman would be running around, dousing fires– literal fires– in every direction. He’d end his days without really ending them, fighting monsters to make his world flawless when the sun rose. This picnic was actually the first time he really stood still in the Imagination since…well, since the Great Goblin Incident of 2019; though that was less of a wake-up call and more of an unwelcome surprise.

(Roman wasn’t able to get the goo out of his hair for weeks.)

And he took great pride in how special his creation was. After all, he made it — and he was pretty awesome. He was able to plant seeds in Thomas’s mind and thus grow a beautiful, magnificent garden. He grew so many gardens actually. He’d grow them left and right, without much of a thought. Anything to spruce up the place.

But there were other days when the Imagination would claw at him for more– for something else. It would grab his ankles as he walked and drag him through the ground when he least expected it, begging him for a new garden; a new village; a new adventure; a new anything.

And at some point, the Imagination became his office. Sure, it was a place Roman would escape to so he could build a tower to hide in when the real world got too much. But it was also a place that Roman would eventually give into; one that would force him to stay the night so he could finish that thing– there was always that one thing.

It was where he would fight Anxiety and win. It was where Morality would cheer for him and carry him on his shoulders with glee. It was where Logic didn’t exist.

It was a place where Roman was everyone’s hero; where everyone needed Creativity.

Not today, though.

Today, the sun glowed bright in the crystal-clear skies without him. He didn’t need the birds to sing him ballads, and he didn’t need the squirrels to care about him all that much. And he would come here to work, yes; but he’d come here to appreciate his work as well.

Nowadays, Patton, Virgil, even Logan appreciated his work alongside him. They saw beauty in every crack Roman would dwell over; saw love and care in each one of his masterpieces. They even took the time to appreciate the gruelling effort that bled through his creation and made sure he was resting– actually resting– when he was done for the day.

And he vowed to repay their love — even if they insisted that he didn’t need to. A glorious battle, perhaps! He could put himself in danger for them, just to show them he would. He could even wage a war with the feelings the others held too close to their chests, those feelings embodied as gruesome monsters and foe, and he would win. Every time.

Because Roman could never lose. Not with them by his side.

He looked around him with a bright smile and a dawning realization, one that he came across a thousand times, nowadays:

The realization that he was surrounded by everything he could ever need.

Roman finished another song on his ukulele and Patton burst into applause. Logan simply nodded at his performance, flipping through another page of the book Roman recommended to him. Virgil just pulled his hoodie over his head and curled up in Patton’s lap.

Poor storm-cloud. He almost felt sad watching him. A part of him would always be jaded by the fact that he ever hurt Virgil.

Roman stood up and walked a few feet away from everyone else, looking off into the distance before closing his eyes. He thought for a little while, and then sent the wind away to bring back the sound of rain and sprinkle it over their heads.

That would hopefully help.

He turned around and looked at the rest of his family. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. He could feel the grass tickle his feet, as if it were planning to lift him off the ground any second now. A cool breeze weaved itself through his hair and when they dropped off the sound of rain, they picked up the song Roman played to spread it across the land.

He looked up at the sky and watched the birds soar above them,

and thought about how his creation no longer hated him.

He then met Virgil’s eyes, and wondered if he felt the same thing.

Nothing can hurt you here, Roman thought. Not anymore.

---

Swarming was a natural process in the life of a honey bee colony. It was a method of propagation; one that occurred in response to crowding within the colony. If a bee was huddled close to another, it was most likely that they were in the beginning phases of attracting a swarm.

Perhaps that is what those two bees were doing in front of them.

How fascinating.

Logan took a break from reading to take in his surroundings. Roman must have dedicated a respectable amount of time to making the Imagination so faithful to real life. The way each tree was carved in patterns unlike each other, the way the waters seemed to move endlessly and not on a loop.

He knew they were not real. None of them were. So it was interesting to think that not one part of Roman’s world was fabricated in a way that was mechanical and half-hearted; but was instead crafted with such caution and care. Every grass in its own, respective place; every flower grown for a reason.

Logan had made numerous visits to the Imagination in the past; for research purposes, more often than not. Well, other than the dreadful incident with the exploding goblins; though his presence in the whole ordeal was the by-product of an untimely coincidence.

He had interviewed Roman countless times to learn more about this place, but he was yet to leave with an unbiased point of view. Roman would not contribute many useful points to their discussions, choosing to speak only in fanciful, unhelpful metaphors. All he would say about the Imagination was that it merely existed; and it existed so beautifully that it did not need much explanation.

Everything was there for a reason he could not explain.

He had compiled a few notes based on his own extrapolations and observations; consuming knowledge he would then pass onto Thomas so that he could better understand himself (or onto Virgil, to ease his trepidation towards Roman’s creation).

However, he had never really taken the time to just...sit in it.

There were so many creatures and biomes, even cities; all nestled safely underneath the boundless shelter of the Imagination. And the sky was always stunning, no matter the weather. He wondered if Roman would allow him into this strange place more often for recreational purposes. He wondered if Roman would even enjoy his company.

The picnic, of course, was Patton’s idea. It was his way of “bonding” with everyone. Patton had many ideas of what ‘bonding’ looked like — weekly onesie-and-movie nights, having dinner together (even if they did not need to consume food), bi-weekly board game nights, et cetera. With so many options, Logan was not quite sure why Patton found the need to spend even more time with him.

He was not blind to the fact that his presence was not arbitrary. Really, his only function was to present knowledge when needed, then allow the others to use that knowledge in order to make Thomas...well, content. If anyone were to benefit from Patton’s many “family excursions”, it was Virgil. His attempts of reassuring the anxious side paled in comparison to Patton’s efforts.

Logan, unlike the rest of them, did not need love or affection; nor was it necessary that he ‘bonded’ with anyone. He just needed to exist for everyone and live to exist for as long as he could.

He was not real, anyway.

(Though, the thought haunted him far more than he would like to admit.)

He snuck a brief glance at Patton, who was enthralled by Roman’s performance under the sun. It was almost as if the sunshine in the Imagination folded itself around him; like he was the one keeping it warm.

Patton seemed to thrive in the Imagination; and for good reason, too. He was everything the Imagination was; a safe haven, a home, alive. He could extend the observation to Roman, even Virgil. They all belonged here, rested on the grass underneath the brilliant sun.

Logan...did as well.

The thought was hesitant—illogically so—but it was reassuring enough that it was there. Normally, he would think the opposite, but his counterparts only reassured him that that was not the case. He really did belong here, on the same pedestal as them; for reasons unrelated to work.

He was a part of their silly...loving family.

And they were real enough; real enough that he was able to absentmindedly hold Patton’s hand as he coddled Virgil on his lap. He was real enough to look at Roman work his magic in this strange wonder of a world and feel a sense of pride for him.

He was real enough to feel close with them; even though there were times when it felt like he was better off uninvited.

Perhaps this was the meaning behind Patton’s madness. Perhaps it was his way of reassuring him that he, like the rest of the sides, were just simply loved; unconditionally and without a doubt. It is a feeling that, surprisingly enough, Logan held close to him.

No amount of research would ever be able to tell him why.

He sighed, going back to his book and flipping to the next page. The Imagination, at the end of the day, was simply an enigma; constructed by weird science and magic alike.

But his family...well, they turned the Imagination into a reminder of how special existence was; how delicate the universe crafted each and every one of them.

How purposeful it was when creating him.

---

Aww, look at those bees playin’ with each other, Patton thought happily to himself. What good friends they are!

The Imagination was un-bee-lievable. The fact that his kiddo made the whole thing himself? He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been! He was so proud of him.

He was proud of everyone, really; which was precisely why he planned this picnic! Roman created such a beautiful place, Logan worked so hard, and Virgil...well, he had finally said yes.

And besides, it was just nice. For once, there was nothing to do. No difficult thinking, no one to fight. It was just him and his family, sitting under the big, blue sky.

Surprisingly enough, this was the first time Patton ever visited the Imagination when it was sunny. More often than not, Patton would visit the Imagination after-hours; sneak in when he knew everyone was asleep. Most of the time, he’d get caught by Roman; who was just as restless as him, yet more curious as to why he was there. Patton would never tell him the real reason, though — only saying that he wanted to check in on him. It wasn’t really a lie, anyway. It was just the right thing to do.

The Imagination was different in the night. Patton was sure that he was one of the only other sides to have seen it. It felt more like an ode to Thomas’s youth; the years when he would tape glow-in-the-dark stars to his ceiling and try to catch fireflies in mason jars. Each daisy seemed to sway in the warm sense of familiarity the wind carried; and the ocean always looked like it was folding on top of each other in a sea of scribbles coloured Pacific, Navy, and Midnight Blue.

If he squinted, Patton could see constellations in the sky. Dancing in the velvet blanket above him were stars, mapping out the image of a young boy helping someone off the ground after a nasty fall.

It was his perfect Thomas. Always selfless, always perfect.

On the nights when Roman would find him, sitting on top of a hill with his knees brought close to his chest, he would always let Patton lie down in his lap and weave him a fairytale; one that Thomas used to love. The prince would always save the day. The teacher would explain absolutely everything. The mind would never reel, and the heart was always right.

He couldn’t help but miss it. He missed the days when it seemed like royalty could be as honourable as the ones in Thomas’s old picture books; that learning was not as painful as it was now. And while the mind was buried through layers of heavy static and storm clouds, the heart didn’t know the way.

Thomas wasn’t as good as he wanted him to be, and Patton just didn’t know what to do.

But all of that didn’t really matter in the Imagination. The fact that it was bright and sunny only meant that Thomas was the same goofy, loving child he used to be. Sure, a few things slip past Roman every now and then (Patton would never ever ever forget what those goblins did to his new top-hat), but that didn’t mean that Thomas was inherently bad.

Besides, the day was just as beautiful as the night. With Thomas all grown up, he was creating things Patton could only dream of. Yes, storms would still roll around; but they would always give way to a beautiful rainbow.

The Imagination was always the same, no matter what crossed its path.

And perhaps, the same thing could be said about him.

Patton tried his best to get lost in the music Roman was playing for the group. He set aside his sandwich, and snuck glances at Virgil and Logan. They seemed at peace; Virgil was drinking tea he made for him, and Logan was reading a book.

And if Roman was singing, it meant that Patton still had it in him to bring his family together.

Patton sighed wistfully. He would do anything to capture this moment in any way he could. He wanted this single second to last forever. He yearned to keep the sunshine safe and sound in a small jar to put on his shelves.

Really, he just wanted everyone to be happy.

But as beautiful as nights in the Imagination were, Patton could learn to love the present if it felt this good.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #lamp/calm #hurt/comfort #gabbie writes things

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