#but S&MK is making me feel better on the inside and i am doing my best as we all do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukyi · 5 years ago

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good luck charm | kth

summary: kim taehyung has nearly everything he’s ever dreamed of: an apartment in new york city, a lead role in an off-broadway play, and a best friend to share it with. but even still, there’s one thing missing—love. and when he goes on the hunt for it, he dots every i and crosses every t, leaves no stone unturned, but forgets to look at the person who could ever love him the most: you.

{friends to lovers!au, roommates!au, actor!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, unrequited love word count: 11k a/n: a huge thank you to MK for commissioning me for this piece–i hope it’s everything you dreamed of!!!! these are tough times, but i hope this can serve as a distraction to everyone!! please stay safe and wash your hands! if you’re interested in commissioning me, check out this post! also, if the pictures are unclear, click on them for higher resolution!

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer.”

You see a tuft of purple hair sticking out behind a basket of orange pansies, two nimble hands with long fingers fiddling with the stems.

“I bet you say that to everyone,” you tease, as Namjoon peers out from where he’s hiding behind a shelf of flowers, greeting you with the same warm grin he always wears.

Namjoon pauses, gaze tilting upwards as he corrects himself, “my favorite customer who’s about to confess to her best friend of four years with a bouquet arranged by yours truly?”

You roll your eyes, thankful that there’s nobody else inside this little flower shop. Not that you seem to have an issue exposing your entire life story to certain strangers, especially if they’ve got dimples and colored hair to match. Namjoon has always been something of an exception—perhaps he is one of the closest friends you have here in the city, where everything moves so quickly you barely have time to say hello to a new acquaintance. Namjoon and his flower shop are a respite, a safe haven in a bustling world, where time always seems to move slower than it does outside.

“Don’t remind me, I’m sweating just thinking about it,” you tell him, trying to cover your nervousness with a laugh.

“Ah, well how could I forget, when you came to me to arrange the perfect bouquet for tonight?” Namjoon says. He chops a wilting flower from its stem and places it behind his ear. Even though it’s a little sadder, a little less lively than its comrades, the bright yellow of the primrose complements his hair nicely, making him look even more ethereal, magical, than he already does.

“Who else would I ask besides the best bouquet-maker in town?” You ask as Namjoon leads you to the counter, where various bouquets have been laid out in vases, ready for pick-up. It’s a secret garden here, all green and fresh and calm, a sharp contrast to the industrial machine outside.

Namjoon heads to the back, a room behind a little wooden door that’s the slightest bit too short for him, so he has to bend down to avoid hitting his head (he still hits his head rather frequently, though), as you breathe in the scents of the flowers surrounding you, the roses and the daisies and everything in between. It’s not much, but it does calm the thick beating of your heart ever so slightly, and that’s enough.

He emerges a minute or so later, banging his head on the way out. In his hands is one of the biggest bouquets you’ve ever laid eyes on, thick with some flowers you recognize but more you don’t. It’s breathtaking and gorgeous and impressive, all at once.

“Namjoon, you know that I didn’t ask for this many flowers,” you chide as he plops the bouquet down onto the counter, clicking away at the ancient cash register to his left.

“Consider it a good luck gift,” Namjoon tells you with a wink.

You sigh, pulling out your card to pay him. “I could use all of the luck I could get.” The likelihood of tonight going more right than wrong is miniscule. But what else can you do, besides try? “What do they all mean?”

“Well, the daffodils represent honesty and truth. The red carnations mean love, obviously. So do the chrysanthemums. The baby’s breath is just for decoration, but it also means everlasting love. The gardenias are for secret love. And the freesia is just because I thought it went well with the bouquet,” Namjoon says expertly, pointing to each one as he tells you what it means. “I don’t know if Taehyung’s super up with his flower meanings, but I think that even the gesture will say more than enough. But if he is, this is just a bonus.”

“I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?” You say, the nerves overtaking you. You were hoping to just act calm and collected, thank Namjoon for the bouquet and be on with your lives, but even you can’t help but seek advice from him.

Namjoon lets out a laugh. “If you think it’s going to go so badly, why have you planned so much?” He poses. “It’s normal to be nervous about this sort of thing—what if I mess up, what if he doesn’t feel the same way, what if he rejects me—but I think that, deep down inside of you, there’s a part that thinks that it will all be worth it. And I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sucker for happy endings, but I think that that’s the most important. The part of you that doesn’t want to spend the rest of its life thinking about what might have been.” Namjoon’s phone lights up next to him, his lockscreen a picture of him and another boy, shorter, but with the same dyed hair. The two look so happy together. He gazes down at it, exhales, and shuts his phone off. “Just my two cents.”

“You’re wise beyond your years, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him with a smile. Maybe you are nervous about the what ifs, nervous that this whole thing could blow up in your face, but is it so naive of you to listen to that whisper in your heart? The one that says, maybe he feels the same? “I wish you’d take your own advice, sometimes.”

“It’s different,” Namjoon murmurs to himself. “He and I… this is all we’ll ever be.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” you tell him. You know the feeling. Perhaps, if tonight goes well, it will encourage him to give it a shot himself. “You never know.” Namjoon looks up at you, smile wide but eyes sad. There’s clearly something more that he isn’t mentioning, but you won’t push it. You get it. How could you not? “What if he does feel the same?”

The bell above the door rings on your way out, fingers clenching onto a bouquet, praying and wishing and dreaming that maybe this will all be worth it, in the end.

Something is up with Kim Taehyung.

When you return to your apartment, Kim Taehyung is slouched on your dinky loveseat, arm deep inside a six-month-old box of Frosted Flakes, as an episode of Jeopardy! plays on his laptop, his eyes empty and glazed over as he stares at Alex Trebek, wordless.

You nearly jump in shock, terrified that he’ll spot you and the enormous bouquet in your hands, terrified that he’ll ask you about it, terrified that your entire plan for tonight will get flushed down the toilet the moment you and him lock eyes. But it doesn’t, because Kim Taehyung doesn’t even acknowledge you when you walk in, for better or for worse, and you manage to stash the bouquet into a vase in your bedroom before rounding on your roommate, because something is up with Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung hates Frosted Flakes. The only reason they’re in your apartment to begin with is because Jungkook had brought them over one time when he was visiting, and even then they were stale. Now they’re extra stale. So stale that they make a hollow sound on your countertop when you tap them against the laminate.

Kim Taehyung normally shuffles through Jeopardy! like it’s nobody’s business. He gets at least a quarter, if not half of the questions correct, and always earns more points than you. But he doesn’t even open his mouth when Alex Trebek says, “This Renaissance artist left Florence to serve as principal engineer for the Duke of Milan’s army” and you know that he knows it’s Leonardo Da Vinci.

Kim Taehyung normally has plenty to say, especially to Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip, who currently resides in your living room. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has been your honorary second roommate ever since the two of you moved into this apartment four months ago. Taehyung made him a little museum placard that is framed and hanging on the wall above him, and he has an account on every social media website under the sun. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has more followers on Instagram than you do. But today, both he and Sawyer are silent and unmoving.

“Tae?” You ask, treading over to the couch as he empties the box of Frosted Flakes into his stomach, finishing up the episode. “Is everything alright?”

“Mmrph,” he mumbles in response. You suppose that means he said fine, which means that no, everything is not alright.

“What’s going on? You’re normally really excited the day of your shows,” you ask. At least he hasn’t entirely turned into a soulless hermit, and he moves his legs off of the couch so you can sit beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Taehyung says, louder. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you reach a hand out, letting it rest in his lap before he takes your hand in his. “No, it’s not. Tonight’s a big deal, isn’t it? You must be under a lot of pressure to do well.”

“I’m just so worried that I’ll fuck it up and everyone will hate me forever,” Taehyung says, exasperated. It’s almost as if he’s tired with himself for being so negative.

“You’re not gonna fuck it up and nobody is going to hate you. I’ll always love you, you know that,” you assure him.

“Yeah, I know,” Taehyung says, but the worst part is that you’re not sure if he really does.

“It’s okay to be nervous, and to worry. Tonight is really important. But you’re an incredible actor, and you’ve always been so good at what you do,” you tell him, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand softly. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”

Taehyung lets his head rest on your own and the two of you sit together on the couch in silence, watching as the minutes on his laptop clock tick by. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and soft, firm underneath his chest. You wonder if he can hear yours. Hear how it’s picking up speed, hear how it beats only for him.

“You always know what to say,” Taehyung tells you. “I wish I knew how to do that.”

You grin sadly to yourself, happy that the two of you are side by side so he doesn’t have to see your face. How could Taehyung tell you something like that? How could he, when every time you’re near him, you’re speechless?

You never really considered yourself to be a theater person when you were younger. You would fall asleep when you went to see plays with your parents or on a school field trip. You never made an effort to go see the performances that your school put on. You were one-hundred percent confident that you would go through all four years of university without seeing one of the fifteen different theater groups’ shows, not because you hated them, but because they never crossed your mind in the first place.

And then, you met Kim Taehyung.

You met Kim Taehyung halfway through your freshman year because the two of you were in the same Cinematography in the 1900’s class. And then, suddenly, you were eating the same shitty food in the dining hall after class ended at seven in the evening. And then, suddenly, you were studying together, spending nights watching Jeopardy! on his laptop when you didn’t feel like doing any work. And then, suddenly, Kim Taehyung mentioned in passing one day that he had a show that Friday, and would you like to come, it would really mean a lot to him, he thinks you’ll really like it.

And then, suddenly, you were a theater person.

That night was the first night Kim Taehyung had ever taken your breath away. And every performance, every night, every fucking moment after that, he never stopped.

Tonight is no exception. You can’t say that you’re super well-versed in theater fame and its technicalities, but you think that this may just be Taehyung’s best performance yet. Here, in this theater off of Sixth Avenue, to a crowd of two, perhaps three hundred people, Taehyung is nothing short of amazing. He never is. From the moment he steps on stage in a raggedy old flannel and jeans, eyes wide with dreams, he reels you in and makes sure that you won’t leave this theater, won’t leave here unscathed. But the fatal blow is halfway through, when he finally spots you in the third row, sees you staring up at him in wonder, and he smiles.

There is so much that you wish you could tell him.

After the show, you race back to your apartment, desperate to finish up the last of the preparations before he arrives, after taking off all of his makeup and his costumes, saying goodbye to all of his co-stars. Normally, you’d hang around, let him introduce you, but tonight is different. Special.

[September 8th, 9:35PM]

You: Had to go home bc I’m planning a special something for the star of the night! Sorry I missed all of the fun afterwards You: Something very important to tell you

Taehyung: ohoho Taehyung: I wonder who that could be Taehyung: Coming soon. I have something to tell you too! ^^

You stare at the text as you grab the vase of flowers from your room, setting it up at your very unimpressive kitchen table. What could Taehyung possibly have to tell you? Other than perhaps a thanks for showing up (as if you weren’t going to).

What if, that voice whispers. The part deep in your heart, the one that you wish would shut up sometimes.

“No,” you say aloud, perhaps more for yourself than anyone else. “No. I have something to tell him. I have to tell him this.”

You never know, she says. He might. What are you waiting for?

You pull out all of the scented candles in the apartment, setting them up on the coffee table and on the windowsills. There’s a plate of macarons that you had purchased from the fancy bakery in Midtown sitting by the vase, a little treat for the two of you since your diets usually consist of premade Costco pasta and takeout.

There is so much you want to tell him. So much to say, and no way to do it. It seems impossible. As the minutes tick by, as he gets closer and closer, you wonder if you even have the courage to open your mouth. It’s not as if this is life-changing news. It would be so easy, so easy to just pretend that this is nothing but a celebration of Taehyung’s very first major off-Broadway show, to push down the ache in your heart and tell that voice to stay quiet, if only for a little longer. You’ve lived like this for so long already. Who’s to say you can’t live like this forever?

Taehyung comes home as you’re flicking through late-night television show reruns and fiddling with a Rubix cube, anything to keep your mind occupied and your fingers busy. You hear as he fumbles with the lock—his key has always been a little bit off—and scramble to get everything ready, shutting your laptop and putting the Rubix cube on your designated Weird Stuff Shelf. The apartment smells like a hodgepodge of vanilla, flowers, cinnamon, and champagne, and the flowers are already starting to wilt slightly. But it’s now or never, really.

Taehyung swings the door open with a grin and gasps in excitement when he sees you, standing in the hazy, flickering yellow light of the kitchen, surrounded by candles, with a plate of macarons and a vase of flowers on the table.

“Oh my God!” He says, overjoyed, high off of the adrenaline from a successful show, eyes still sparking from the spotlight. “Y/N! What is all of this?”

“Just a little something from me to you,” you say awkwardly. You have no idea how to tell him. You’re not sure if you even will. “To celebrate.”

“Dare I say, this apartment has never looked better,” he tells you, beaming. He walks over to where you’re hovering by the kitchen table, knee deep in it all, admiring the sight before him. He leans over you, ever so slightly, as he takes in the scent of the flowers, the macarons sitting before him. And then he turns to you, the glow from the candles making his eyes warm and caramel-y, almost as if they’re shimmering in the light, and he says, “You did all of this for me?”

“Of course,” you tell him, because you would do this again and again if it means you could see him like this. If you could watch him burst through the front door for the rest of your goddamn life, watch as he comes home to you. “Tonight’s special.”

“It wouldn’t be without you,” he tells you honestly, candidly. He tells you that because he means it. You wish you could say the same things to him. “You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

It’s now or never. If he takes one step closer, turns to look at you one more time, you don’t know if you’ll still have the courage. You don’t know if you even have it right now, but tomorrow, when you wake up, you don’t want to regret this night. You don’t want to wonder what if, what might have been. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“I have something to tell you,” you breathe out, words heavy on your tongue. You can feel your heart seize up, almost like it’s holding its breath with you.

“Right, you said that,” Taehyung says with a nod, stuffing a cherry macaron into his mouth. “I have something to tell you, too.”

“Do you want to go first?” You ask him. You just need a little more time. You just want to hear his voice once more.

“Okay,” Taehyung says happily. “I got a girlfriend!”

Oh.

Well.

Okay.

“Really?” You ask, trying to make it sound more like a Really? That’s great! and not a Really? I thought that we had something special. You don’t think that you’re doing a very good job.

“Yeah!” Taehyung says. He’s ecstatic. It tears your heart in two. “I mean, I know I’m just… a super, hopeless romantic and I fall in love with people when they hold the door open for me, but I’m really happy with her. It’s Ariel, actually, she played Lucy! Isn’t it funny how even though our characters never even officially met, we still found something there?”

“Yeah,” you say, emotionless. Taehyung is far too excited, far too joyous to notice.

“I just—I wanted to tell you, because you’re my best friend and you deserve to know,” he says, breaking off half of the raspberry macaron and holding it out to you. “What did you want to tell me? Did you say it was important?”

“Oh, uh…” you fumble, shaking your head at the macaron. Your stomach has never felt smaller. It’s like there’s nothing left to say to him. “I think I’m getting transferred to another office.” It’s not news. Your job told you that last week. But it’s something, and it’s better than being honest. Anything is, at this point. “They might pay a little more.”

“Yay!” Taehyung says. “That’s great! Now, maybe we can fix up the lights in the kitchen. So they don’t read horror movie every time I try to make pasta at 2AM. I’m happy for you, you deserve it!”

You smile, putting on a brave face, just for him. “Me too.” You can’t muster up the strength to say anything else.

Taehyung spends the rest of the night gobbling down the macarons and telling you all about Ariel, as you try desperately to tune him out. Even the sound of your own thoughts would be better than this. Anything. Anything. Eventually, after it’s long past midnight and Taehyung realizes he’ll need his sleep for the show tomorrow night, he bids you goodbye and sets off to his room, a bounce in his step.

You stand in the middle of your apartment. Even though it’s small, and even though you have him, it’s never felt emptier.

Namjoon always says that flowers don’t just need food and water to stay happy. They need love, they need to be surrounded by happiness. He says that they can feel it, that they react to it. That’s why he always tries to be happy when he’s working. Because he hates seeing the flowers so sad. He says they remind him of himself.

It’s no wonder why the flowers in the vase look even more wilted than before.

Here’s the thing: You had pretty much always known that it was going to hurt like this. There had always been that part of you, deep down inside, that knew that there was no way it wasn’t going to hurt like this. That knew that there was nothing you could do to stop it from hurting like this.

And still, foolishly so, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, telling him would make it stop. You gave into this fantasy that, even if he didn’t feel the same, even if he let you down easy, even if he told you that he just wanted to be friends, it would be better.

That’s the worst part of it all, really. The fact that you never even told him. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t. You never told him, and now, somehow, everything is even worse than before.

The flowers have long been thrown out by now, tossed out after hardly a week, unable to stand the tension in the air, the emptiness that lingered far beyond that night. Still, you remembered to keep one, plucking it from the vase before it died of secondary sadness. Because even if they hurt you, even if they tear at your heartstrings one by one, you’ve always had this terrible habit of never letting go of what you love. You pressed the flower with an old college textbook, placed it into a thin little vase, meant for one flower only. A red carnation, to remind you of what you could have had. What might have been.

Kim Taehyung is significantly less worried this time around as he prepares for the opening night of his latest play. He wakes up early and does some yoga in the living room, pushing all of the furniture to the walls so he has enough space to Downward Dog in peace. He watches a couple episodes of Jeopardy! as he eats the Pad Thai he Doordashed to your apartment, and gets half of the questions correct. Even from your bedroom, you can hear him talking to Sawyer.

“I’m excited for tonight, Sawyer,” he says to him. “I don’t know, last time I did Shakespeare was sophomore year in college, I think? I was Mercutio. It was fun and I got to use a sword. Y/N came to that show, too. I annoyed her so much that night that she told me that she was glad Tybalt killed me, but we had a good time anyway.”

Sawyer doesn’t say anything back, because he is a Suspicious Floor Dip in your living room. But it’s so lovely to hear Taehyung’s voice again.

“Do you think that Y/N’s been acting weird, lately?” Taehyung asks. “I just feel like—I feel like she and I aren’t as close these days. She works in her room a lot more and some days I don’t see her at all. Which is crazy, because we live together. My ex always said it was a little weird how I lived with my best friend who is also a girl. But I don’t think it is. Do you think I did something wrong?”

No, you wish you could say, leaning against your thin bedroom door as you hear Taehyung wonder aloud. Never, in a million years. It was me, you want to tell him. I got my hopes up and now I’m paying the price. It’s not you. It’s never you.

“Yeah, I guess she’s just busier these days,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “She did get transferred to that new office a couple of months ago. But she’s still my best friend. I’ll never stop telling her that—she deserves to know that no matter what, she always has me.”

“Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Therapist, huh?” You interrupt, finally getting the nerve to open your door. Taehyung’s on his way out, all dressed, backpack on his shoulder. He has to be at the theater a few hours before the show begins, anyway.

“He’s just so easy to talk to,” Taehyung jokes. “Did you… uh… did you hear that?”

“The part about being your best friend?” You ask with an eyebrow raise, making Taehyung smile. You don’t mention the other things you heard. You don’t think that would make things better.

(You’re not sure what will, at this point. Telling him is off the table. You distantly wonder if it was ever on the table to begin with.)

“Just making sure you knew,” Taehyung says with a grin. “Don’t want you forgetting about that.”

“How could I?” You muse, and it makes him smile something fierce and makes you wish that things were different.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Taehyung says. He must know the answer, already.

“Of course I am,” you tell him. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’ll look for you in the crowd, okay?” Taehyung says, a hand on the doorknob as he gets ready to leave. “Keep an eye out for me. Promise?”

It’s always been so hard to say no to him.

“Promise,” you tell him.

That night, you sit a little further back, shadowed by the mezzanine above you, but Taehyung finds you anyway. As he schmoozes his way through the storyline on stage, he sends a wink your way, a couple of the girls in the row in front of you giggling to each other when he does. You sort of wish he was really winking at them. That way, it would hurt a little less.

Afterwards, you linger around in the lobby, waiting for him like you always have, like you always do, like you always will. You don’t have anything special waiting for him back at your apartment. There’s nothing left to tell him.

You spot his head of soft, wavy brown hair far before he spots you, can make it out in a sea of cast members as they cheer for themselves, celebrating another successful opening show. Your face lights up when you see him, when you see that he sees you. This is how it has always been. This is how it should be—you find each other in the crowd, grinning as you congratulate him, as he introduces you to his cast members and then invites you to the afterparty. You spend the night together, high off of the adrenaline and just a little tipsy, before stumbling back to your apartment, basking in the afterglow.

You want nothing more than for things to go back to the way they were.

And then, you see her.

“Y/N!” Taehyung shouts excitedly, and it takes all of your strength to not let your face fall as she comes into view, hand interlaced with Taehyung’s. “I knew you’d be here!”

“How could I not be?” You say, letting Taehyung wrap you in a one-armed hug rather than two. “You know me.”

“This is my girlfriend,” Taehyung introduces proudly, motioning to the pretty girl beside him as she waves at you good-naturedly. “Madison, this is my roommate and college best friend, Y/N.”

“Taehyung talks about you non-stop,” Madison says with a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the love of your life’s new girlfriend? How else can you salvage this conversation when you already see it going terribly? “You both were really good tonight. I’m happy that I came.”

“Me too!” Taehyung grins. “Did you see me wink at you? I promised you I would.”

You nod, eyes desperately scanning the rest of the room, the rest of the people, the floor, anything to keep from watching as Madison drapes herself over Taehyung, intertwines their hands as she leans against him, like she can’t get enough of him.

“Hey, do you want to come to the afterparty? It’s at Alex’s house, apparently he has this brownstone in Brooklyn all to himself, I’ve heard it’s gorgeous—”

“No, actually, I have a lot of work that I need to catch up on,” you interrupt. You don’t think you’d last five minutes there, where the only person you know is Taehyung, where he’s got a girlfriend on his arm the entire time. You aren’t even sure how you’re faring now, if you’re even breathing, standing before him and his equally-gorgeous new partner.

You just wish everything could go back to normal.

Taehyung’s brows furrow, disappointed. “Oh, you do? But—”

“Yeah, I’m just—I’m really sorry, Tae, you know I want to. But I should get going. It was really nice meeting you, Madison, I hope we can see each other again sometime—” You spew out a few more goodbyes and even more apologies as you rush towards the exit, turning away so you don’t have to see Taehyung calling after you.

On the way back, you bump into Namjoon, who’s closing up shop for the day. He looks positively exhausted, always working diligently from morning to far past sunset every day, but he smiles when he sees you, setting aside his tired eyes to say hello.

“Hey, Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” he greets. “How are you? How’d it go?” He gives you a sort of grin that means that he thinks it went super well.

“Not great,” you tell him truthfully, because it’s late and you don’t feel like hiding things anymore.

“Oh,” Namjoon says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he thinks that none of the things he has to say will go down very well. You know the feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, even though it’s not. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Namjoon asks solemnly.

You frown. “Do you really think we should both be having this conversation?” Namjoon has his own secrets, his dreams of a short boy with colored hair by his side. “You aren’t much better.”

“No, I’m not,” he muses to himself. “But it is a big deal, Y/N. Please don’t act like it isn’t. You love him, don’t you? Even if he doesn’t love you back.”

You love him.

It’s not a secret anymore.

You love him like the stars love the moon, surrounding her in their light, making sure she never gets lonely. You love him like an old Hollywood movie, film faded and worn, getting played once in a while to make sure you never forget where you started. You love him like a flower, carnations, daffodils, chrysanthemums, perking up when you’re around him and wilting when you’re not.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a sigh. Certainly, there are more important things to dwell on. You’re looking for a new job because being an office temp isn’t exactly what you were envisioning for your life. You want to start fixing up the bathroom, because the grout by the shower is starting to disintegrate. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip is a fire hazard. “I’m okay with just being friends.”

Namjoon smiles, and it’s so sad, but not with pity. It’s sad with I know, and sad with feeling, because he gets it, and that must be why you’re here, standing on the sidewalk at ten on a Friday night, underneath the street lamps as the city begins to open its eyes. “But when you have him the way you do, how can you be okay with any of it?”

Taehyung comes home late that night, and you only know because you’re running to the bathroom at the same time he fumbles with the door. He takes longer than usual, which means he’s drunk, and you can only hope and pray that he’s alone. You watch as he finally manages to unlock the door, stumbling inside, managing to turn on the main overhead lights in your apartment as he does. From where you’re peering at him from the darkness of the hallway, you can make out dark red, purple spots all along his skin.

You pull the bathroom door almost shut, leaving it a little ajar so you can gaze out at him, watch as he pours himself a glass of water and downs the entire thing before he makes his way to the hallway, heading for his bedroom. From here, you see the way his hair is mussed, all fucked up from someone’s hands in it, see the marks up close, the way they line his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. He finds his way to his bedroom and shuts the door behind him as you stand, trapped in the bathroom, mad at him for not knowing but furious at yourself for being so ridiculous.

Love was never supposed to hurt like this.

The next time that you attend one of Taehyung’s opening nights, you don’t stick around long afterwards.

You were planning on it, of course, like you always do, because ever since college you’ve made a point to see him after a show, tell him all of the things you wish you could say to him all of the time, you were amazing, you were brilliant, you were perfect in every way. You even have a small bouquet of flowers in your hands, arranged by none other than Namjoon—a pity bouquet, an I hope that you two can still be friends bouquet—ready to give to him, ready to see them sitting on your kitchen table as a reminder.

And then, you see the way he kisses her, overcome with joy, running on that post-show high. You see the way he pulls her into him and plants one on her, arms wrapped around each other as they celebrate, in their own special way.

Suddenly, the flowers feel like dead weight in your hands.

You manage to catch one of the few co-stars of Taehyung’s that you recognize, one who was in Our Lives with him. His name is Seokjin, and he’s gorgeous. Broadway material. Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony material. He stops to say hello to you, and you ask if he could give the bouquet to Taehyung, tell him it was from you.

Seokjin’s nice. He doesn’t ask why, he just nods. It saves you the trouble of telling him. Nobody wants to listen to your sob story. He says goodbye to you, and that he hopes to see you again soon. You hope so too.

You spend the night curled up in your room pretending that everything is fine. You don’t see Taehyung when he comes home, and you don’t see him the next day, either.

It’s not as if you’ve started to avoid Taehyung entirely. You live together—it would be downright impressive if you didn’t see each other for a whole day. It’s just, sometimes he still—

“Y/N? Wanna order Pad Thai?”

“Hey, Y/N, they’re playing The Devil Wears Prada on Freeform, do you want to come watch with me?”

“Central Park is having a Dog Festival, do you wanna go together?”

And sometimes, you just can’t. The thought of spending time with him makes your heart ache, whether it be from not wanting to be too close, or from missing him terribly. Either way, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to muster up the same courage you once had.

Turning to look at the pressed carnation in the vase atop your dresser, you laugh to yourself. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago you thought that you would finally be able to tell him, to open up your heart and let him look into it like a kaleidoscope. Hard to believe that there was once a time when you thought that maybe, just maybe, he loved you back. It feels like it was eons ago. Like it was another universe entirely.

You know that it’s not right for you to do this to Taehyung. He’s still your best friend. He always will be. He has no idea. He’ll never know.

But sometimes—

Sometimes he comes home love drunk, wasted on kisses, splotches of pink lip gloss decorating his skin.

Sometimes he spends dinner telling you all about the date he went on, the amazing vodka shrimp linguine he had, as the two of you eat Kirkland spaghetti in your dinky apartment.

Sometimes he tells you that you’re his best friend, and that he misses you.

Being in love with Taehyung had always been easy. It was being best friends, and making sure to keep the feelings a secret, that was hard.

Taehyung isn’t home tonight. You hadn’t asked him where he’d be. You didn’t think that it mattered.

And you tell yourself, over and over again, that it doesn’t matter. That you don’t need to know where he is every second of every day. He’s got a life outside of what exists in your stuffy apartment, a whole world of people craning to see him. He has reviews written about him in The New York Times and people lining up outside the theater for his autograph on their Playbill. There’s so much more to his life than what he has with you.

It’s better this way, you tell yourself, even if it’s not. Even if every time you step into your apartment, glance over at the vase on the kitchen table, you are reminded that it’s worse. Every time you see a damn carnation, daffodil, chrysanthemum, you can’t help but wish that things were different. You’re even starting to avoid Namjoon.

That night finds you at a small Italian restaurant in a tiny alley off of Ninth Street. You’ve never been, but it had good reviews on Yelp and you could do with spending some time alone, wallowing in your feelings somewhere other than your bedroom. You’re starting to feel suffocated just being there. It would be good for you to get out.

It would be good for you to get out, because the apartment reeks of what ifs, of what could have beens, and you can’t spend more than five minutes inside without throwing yourself your own personal pity party. You hardly see Taehyung nowadays because you can’t bear looking into his eyes anymore. Everything is awful, and you wish that it wasn’t, but you don’t know what to do to fix it.

But Fate seems to love doing that thing where it’s out to get you. From the moment you met Kim Taehyung, Fate decided that you would be her next target. That no moment with him would leave you unscathed. And tonight is no exception.

It’s just your luck that, ten minutes after you’re seated, the bell above the door rings to signal another customer, and you look up to see Taehyung and his girlfriend strolling in, glowing under the warm yellow light. You’ve never been more thankful, in that moment, to be seated right beside the bathroom, just out of sight of the booth that the hostess leads them to. It’s terrible, and it’s terrible, and it’s terrible. You watch as they order two glasses of a fancy rosé and giggle as they cheers to their show, to their lives, and to themselves. They spend the evening in the light of a single exposed bulb above their head, laughing and smiling and talking.

The craziest part is that once upon a time, that would have been you. You and Taehyung would have decided that the night was a restaurant day and not a stay-at-home-and-cook-meal day. You would have found a quaint little place on Yelp and gotten the cheapest food on the menu. Once upon a time, you looked like that.

[April 17th, 7:34PM]

Taehyung: [image sent] Taehyung: MMMMM look at this yummy yummy fish that I had tonight!! Taehyung: We should go here sometime!! I think you’d like it hehe

You look down at your plate. The food in front of you tastes like ash.

“Congrats,” you say when you hear Taehyung leaving his bedroom, feet padding against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Huh?” Taehyung asks, eyes wide. It’s almost as if he’s surprised to see you out here, sitting on the couch, answering emails. Like he can’t believe you’re in your own home. You can’t blame him. “What are you talking about?”

“The review on The New York Times,” you tell him distantly, switching over to the tab on your computer where you read it. There’s a picture at the top of Taehyung and his co-star, front and center, holding hands as they look off into the distance, staring into an unknown future. “It’s your first five star review, isn’t it? They even listed it as the Critic’s Pick.”

“Oh, I… uh,” he begins, “I haven’t seen it yet. Been too busy.”

Bitterly, you wonder why. Even when you two are further apart than you have ever been, even when he spends all day out of the apartment and you spend all day inside, even when you barely fucking see each other, you can’t help but click on the articles that mention him, scroll through every review that mentions his name.

Things might be different now, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be proud of him. Of what he does. Of who he is.

“Well, they said great things,” you tell him, sparing him the trouble of looking. “You deserve it.”

“You’re coming tonight, right? You have to, if the play is getting such good reviews,” Taehyung asks, an olive branch. You’ve spent so much time doing everything you can to keep your relationship as distant as possible, hiding in your bedroom and eating dinner at odd hours. But this is the one thing that you both can still hold onto. Taehyung’s shows, his performances, and you, in the audience, always finding his eyes. If everything else is in shambles, at least you will always have this. “I think you’d like it.”

“It sounds very Matrix-y.”

“Well,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “It sort of is. But it’s also about love. You’d like that, right?”

You suppose you’d like it a little more in another timeline.

Taehyung continues, barely giving himself time to catch his breath. “Basically, these two kids are playing this life-simulation game where every move they make directly corresponds with the actions of the characters they’re playing as. Cue me and Lancaster. And we meet, and slowly fall in love, over a series of chance encounters. You know, a coffee shop, the bank, a restaurant.”

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowed.

“Why?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in concern, smile downturned ever so slightly as he takes in your expression.

“I don’t know—” you begin. There’s just something about the storyline that rubs you the wrong way. “Maybe I’m just being cynical. But is it really possible for two people to find love like that? Through chance? Luck?”

Perhaps, Namjoon would say. You can hear his voice echoing in your head now. After all, wasn’t it luck that brought the two of you together?

You shake his thoughts away. Namjoon’s got his own set of problems—he’s in no position to be the wise one in this scenario.

Taehyung shrugs, as if he’d never given that a thought to begin with. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think that love can blossom anywhere. Just so long as you nurture it, water it and give it lots of sunlight. I just—I think that if you look hard enough, you can find love anywhere.”

You turn to face him, blinking up at him as you stare at each other, sitting on this damn couch in the middle of your apartment. Taehyung waxes poetic in front of you, tells you that if you just fucking look for love, you’ll find it. But he doesn’t know—and he never will. You’ve been looking for love for the past four years, you’ve been searching in all of the nooks and crannies of your body, and the only place you’ve ever found it has been in the deep pit of your heart, dusty and quiet and forgotten. Even now, staring into his eyes, scanning every bit of his irises for even a sliver of it, a spark, you come up empty.

How could he say something like that, when he lives with you? When he looks at you while you’re eating takeout or sitting and watching a movie together. Does he just not see it? Or worse—does he know, and just refuse to say anything?

Suddenly, your body turns cold. It’s hard to believe that someone as hopelessly romantic can’t see what’s right in front of him.

“I wish that was how it worked,” you say sourly, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You snatch your laptop from the table and head into your room, leaving Taehyung alone on the couch, speechless.

He may be the one with flowers blooming in his heart, but you have been drowning for the past four years, and never have you felt further from the surface than right now.

You don’t go to Taehyung’s opening show that night.

Taehyung leaves to get ready at the theater at three in the afternoon, and you bid him goodbye before holing yourself up in your bedroom and keeping yourself busy. You start watching the newest season of Stranger Things and tidy up the knick knacks you have scattered all over the place. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Taehyung texts you during intermission.

[June 3rd, 8:55PM]

Taehyung: Hey are you here?

You don’t respond.

By ten at night, you end up with the cleanest room you’ve had in years and half of the season left to watch. It’s not a great kind of busy. The red carnation atop your dresser stares into your soul and you nearly throw it out three different times. But it’s an okay kind of busy, because you don’t know if you could have beared to see Taehyung on stage tonight. See him dancing around with a beautiful girl on his arm, confessing his love for her and pulling her in for a kiss.

Over the years, you have seen Taehyung kiss so many people. From the shy freshman boy cast next to him in a student-written play in college to the model-esque women on stage in an off-Broadway play with him. And it never used to hurt—not like this. You saw him lock lips with another and you supposed that that was just show business.

But it’s not show business anymore. It stopped being show business that night, when he came home to an apartment lit up with candles, the sweet scent of macarons wafting through the air, and told you he had found someone. It hasn’t been show business since, not when Taehyung is looking for love and finds it everywhere except where you wish he would look most.

Maybe you’re just being selfish. Taehyung doesn’t have to love you for you to love him. You knew that. You lived with that. He’s your best friend. He always will be. You can’t do anything to force him to love you back. You had always been fine with just being friends.

But just—knowing that he doesn’t feel the same. Having that certainty rooted deep within you. That’s the part that hurts the most.

Taehyung comes home earlier than he normally would on a day like this, catching you in the kitchen as you brew some chamomile tea, hoping that it will calm the waves that crash against the pier inside you. You turn to meet his eyes, and suddenly, you feel like you can’t see anything in them at all.

“Why didn’t you come tonight?” He demands. “I looked for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“Here,” you tell him. “I was thinking maybe I would go tomorrow.”

“But you’re always at my opening show,” Taehyung says, like you don’t know that already. “Why didn’t you come? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” you tell him. You don’t think you’re drunk or tired enough for this conversation. At ten at night, you’re still cognizant, aware of what consequences this conversation might have when you wake up in the morning.

“Then why weren’t you there? You know I need you there,” Taehyung pleads, coming up to you as you stand in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“No, I didn’t know that,” you tell him firmly. You went to his opening shows because it was tradition. Not because it was necessary.

“You’re my good luck charm, for god’s sake, Y/N,” Taehyung says, fists curled up at his sides. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to burst at the seams, like there are so many things he’s holding at the tip of his tongue. “I did such a shit job tonight without you there. I spent the entire first half of the show looking out into the crowd so much that Lancaster asked me if I had taken anything before we started.”

“That’s not my fault,” you tell him. “I didn’t know that you thought I was your good luck charm, or whatever.” And, because you’re bitter and petty and heartbroken, you add, “I would have thought that would be something your girlfriend is.”

Taehyung loses it. “What’s been going on with you, Y/N? Why are you being like this? Ever since my first show, I feel like we’re drifting further and further apart. You never want to spend time with me, you never want to come to my afterparties, you barely spare a glance at my girlfriends when I introduce them to you, and now, you’ve stopped coming to my shows. All of these things that I thought that we shared, ever since college. Tell me, Y/N, am I doing something wrong? Is there something that I’ve missed? Because it feels like we’re fucking strangers.”

The water finishes boiling, the kettle whistling on the stovetop as steam billows from the spout. “I’m not obligated to do any of those things, Taehyung,” you tell him harshly. “Just because we did them in college doesn’t mean I have to keep doing them now. What, did you think we’d still be doing that sort of stuff when we’re thirty? Forty, fifty? They were just college traditions.”

“‘College traditions’?” Taehyung asks, astounded. “Were all of those nights that we spent together just college traditions, too? Are we not allowed to do those things anymore? I miss you, Y/N. I hate not having you around and tonight was the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know what to do or say, I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t even fucking know what’s broken.”

“I just need space, Taehyung,” you tell him, hands gripping the edge of the countertop as you stare at the laminate, eyes tracing the lines to keep you from meeting his own. “I just need some time to myself, that’s all.”

“But why, Y/N?” Taehyung pleads, He reaches over to grab your hand, holds it in between the two of you like a lifeline.

“‘Why?’” You echo angrily. “You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?” You tug your hand from his grasp. It’s clear you’re beating a dead horse. You wonder why you even tried in the first place. How naive you were, standing in the kitchen surrounded by scented candles and flowers and macarons, dreaming of a life with him by your side. Foolish.

“Realized what?”

“That I’m in love with you!” You shout, and the world goes silent. The kettle stops whistling, the water having evaporated into nothing, the packet of chamomile tea left, forgotten on the countertop. You stand there, breaths heavy, chest heaving, as you look at Taehyung, angry and mad and in love, all at once.

“You’re what?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” you hiss. “I already know that you don’t feel the same.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” You turn on your heels, storming into your bedroom and collapsing against the door. Finally, finally, finally, you let the tears wrack your body, sending shivers down your spine. There’s salt on your tongue and smudged liner beneath your eyes.

You thought pressing flowers makes them last forever. But even the red carnation is starting to shrivel.

Subject Title: New Project????

From Park, Seojoon, to me

Hi Taehyung,

You did a great job last night in Chance Card! Really proud of you for accomplishing so much. Pretty soon you’ll be on Broadway and be too big for a small manager like me. You’ll need an agent, and a publicist, and a stylist, and a dog-walker…

Anyway, just emailing to let you know that Hugo Cleveland reached out to me to see if you were interested in auditioning for his next play. He personally wanted to see if you liked the part, and would give you preference if you did want to audition. It’s called Cupid, and it’s another one of those modern-day retellings of an old tale. I thought you might like it. Attached is the script and a short description of the play. Let me know if you’d like to give it a shot! I think this might be the project that gets you onto Broadway!!

As always, contact me if you need anything at all.

Park

Taehyung, still in bed despite it being nearly noon, taps around on his phone, pulling up the description of the play. He hates reading PDFs on his phone, so he’ll check out the script on his laptop later.

Cupid by Hugo Cleveland

Cupid chronicles the tale of the world’s most well known hopeless romantic—Cupid himself. Set in a world of magical realism, Cupid has the power to make two people fall in love with a single shot of his arrow, and spends his life walking around the city of New York, bow and arrow by his side.

The only problem is that Cupid has no way to make people fall in love with him, because his magic operates under the assumption of soulmates—a single person meant for another. And as the years have gone by, he has searched and searched and searched over millennia, desperate to find love, but it’s almost as if everyone has soulmates except for him.

Little does he know, he need look no further to find the person he shall spend the rest of his life with—not when his best friend has always been by his side.

Taehyung glares at the description like it’s personally offended him. He knows that it’s just a coincidence that he happens to receive this email the morning after his fight with you, but he can’t help but feel like God is playing the world’s worst practical joke on him.

Cursed with the memory of an actor, he replays last night in his head over and over and over again, looping the feed back and forth as your words echo in his mind.

You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?

He never knew what he was supposed to be looking for. You were just friends, you had always been just friends. But then he looked out in the crowd and couldn’t see you anywhere, couldn’t make out your eyes even in a sea of hundreds like he always does, and it felt like there was more than just another audience member missing. He spent the rest of the evening getting his hopes up, thinking that maybe you’re just sitting somewhere else, maybe you put in colored contacts, maybe you’re hidden by some really buff guy in front of you.

He missed you, last night. He’s been missing you a lot recently, missing the way the days you spent together would bleed into nights. Missing the way you wrap your arms around him and smother him in cuddles, missing the way you always remember his takeout order for the fifteen different restaurants you frequent. Missing the way he once thought that you could spend your whole lives together.

Realized what?

He supposes that he has always been a bit foolish. All of his ex-girlfriends broke up with him, never the other way around. And while they all ended on good terms, they all said the same thing to him: it always seemed like his heart belonged to someone else. But he misread that, too. He just thought that he hadn’t found the right person, yet. He would keep searching until he did.

That I’m in love with you!

The craziest thing about it all is that your confession didn’t even shock him that much. After the initial surprise wore off, it was almost as if the dust settled around you, the storm finally calming. Like finding the last puzzle piece after thinking it had been lost for days. Like feeling everything click into place.

Taehyung has been thinking a lot about last night, but his least favorite part is always this:

I already know that you don’t feel the same.

He wishes that he could have told you. He wishes that he could have been strong enough, could have realized what he had before it slipped through his fingertips. Wishes that he could have reached out and grabbed onto you and never let go. There’s nothing more that he wants to do than see you again. You live in the same tiny New York apartment, and you’ve never felt further away from him.

Taehyung wills himself out of bed and washes his face, clearing away the leftover makeup and the sleep in his eyes. It’s a fresh start. It’s a new day.

He sees you standing in the kitchen, making that tea that you had left forgotten last night. He catches your eyes for just a second before he loses them again, watches as you turn your back to him in a desperate attempt to avoid contact.

“I got a new potential show to audition for,” he says loudly, breaking the silence.

“That’s cool,” you say, emotionless.

“Do you want to know what it’s about?”

You don’t respond. Taehyung takes this as a cue to continue.

“It’s about a boy on a search for love,” Taehyung begins, rallying himself despite only being able to see your back. “And he goes out and sees all of these people falling in love and wants that for himself. And he wonders why nothing is sticking, why he can’t seem to fall in love with anybody. And then he realizes that the reason he can’t seem to fall in love with anyone else is because he’s already found his person.” A pause. He’s just summarizing a story, but this feels like a confession. “His best friend.”

You turn around sharply, tea sloshing in the cup in your hand. Taehyung inhales, then exhales. It’s now or never. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“Don’t you think I’d play this part well?” He asks.

You shrug, closing your eyes and breathing heavy. He can tell that you’re holding something back, trying not to burst at the seams. “I’m not sure, Tae.”

“I think I would,” Taehyung tells you confidently. He takes a step closer to you, reaches over to take the cup of tea from your hands, placing it on the counter. “Because I’ve been doing it for so long, already.”

You gasp when he kisses you, a gust of air escaping your lips and immediately mixing with his, seize up at the feeling of his lips on yours. Immediately, Taehyung wonders if he’s overstepped a boundary, or two, or five, but then he feels you relax under his touch, feels you reach your hands up to cup his cheeks as you press against him insistently, drunk on the taste of his lips on your own.

Taehyung’s kissed a lot of people in his day, but this one is different. He’s felt sparks, seen fireworks, but with you, it’s as if he’s sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. As if he’s returning to an apartment filled with the things he loves after a long day out. As if he’s coming home.

All of these emotions, all of the little things tucked away in the corners of his soul, in the dark attic of his heart, come bubbling up to the surface, and all he can do is hope that you can feel them, swallow them up like wine, as you press your lips against his, grinning.

Finally, you pull yourself away, almost as if you think you’ll get drunk if you keep going.

“How long?” You ask.

Taehyung shrugs. “I don’t know. A while now, definitely.”

“Really?”

“I think so,” Taehyung says. “I guess that I was wrong, what I said before about looking for love. I looked everywhere, I wanted to see it in every spark that was set my way, but I forgot the most important place. I should have known.” You curl into his touch, resting your head against his chest as his arms wrap around your waist. “How about you?”

“Forever,” you breathe out. “It started and it never stopped.”

Taehyung beams. The flowerbud in his heart had been shuttered for so long, hardly watered and never in the sun. And then suddenly, the curtains opened up and the clouds began to cry, and everything blossomed. You make him feel like he’s always home. You make him feel safe.

You make him feel like a red carnation in bloom.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #w: good luck charm #formatting this on tumblr was a BITCHHHHHHH

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midnightghastly · 3 years ago

Text

Ink Pages pt.1

This is fan fiction that is posted on AO3 by the same name. It features Inkypages/Tintedlenses (Macaque x Tang) Hope you Enjoy!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33650371/chapters/83623204

The day was plain, Macaque leaped from roof to roof. It’s been two days since fought with Monkey King and was defeated by Monkie Kid. Furious, he tries to figure out another way to defeat Monkey King. Staying in the dojo wasn’t much help so he decided to get some fresh air.

“Come on, think! What type of weapon is out there that could kill that immortal bastard” - the thought to himself. That’s when he spots Mk running down the streets.

“Now what do we have here.” - he grins, getting a better look at Monkey King’s successor. Mk stops for while, catching his breath.

“*huffing and puffing* C-Can’t be late … gotta get … the package” - Mk says to himself before running off again.

Macaque decides to follow him, waiting to know why he’s in such a hurry. After a while, Mk stops and enters Outdoor Market Place. Macaque stops and makes his way down an alley. It seems like Mk is looking for someone. He sees an opening to attack Mk without anyone knowing.

‘Your mine now’ - he says to himself, preparing to attack.

He gets startled as someone calls out to Mk. Mk turns, smiles, and runs towards the person who called him. Macaque gets irritated. Who dares interrupt him?!

He peeks at the corner and sees … someone … beautiful. Macaque sees the most beautiful human being he’s ever seen. A man with glasses, a red/white coat, and a scarf.

“There you are, Mk! Where have you been?” - the scholar says.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Tang. Pigsy gave me more orders to deliver.” - Mk replies with a weak smile.

“Pigsy, Pigsy. He’s giving you way too much work.” He replies, shaking his head in disappointment. Tang pats Mk’s head.

“I’ll talk to him later about your work. He shouldn’t give you so much work. It’s not healthy for a growing boy.”

“You know I’m 22 right? I’m not a kid anymore”. Mk replies, fixing his hair.

“I know but, you’re my kid.” Tang chuckles and wraps his arm around Mk.

Mk and Tang laugh it off, not knowing the shadow monkey observing them

Macaque’s heart can’t stop beating. He looks at Tang, he looks at his body, up and down. It’s perfect, his body is perfect. His skin… it’s smooth and soft. His eyes are beautiful. So is his smile.

“Well, we better go get Pigsy’s delivery. It’s getting late and the market is starting to close. Let’s not keep Pigsy waiting.” Tang says leading the way.

“Yes, sir.” - Mk replies, following not far behind.

Macaque follows them around the market. After a while, he winds up following them back to Pigsy’s. He sees the pig waiting outside, hands crossed and with a frown. Tang and Mk arrive with the package.

“What took you two so long? Do you know what time it is? I’m about to close the store!” - Pigsy scowls.

“Sorry about that, boss. With all the extra deliveries, I arrived at the market late.” - Mk apologies.

Pigsy gives a heavy hump. Tang looks at Pigsy with a glare.

“Pigsy, you can't be angry with Mk, he works extra hard and is the Monkie Kid, fighting DBK and hanging out with Mei and Sandy. Give the kid a break.” Tang says with a sad expression. Mk joins in, making puppy eyes.

“Ya, like a day off?”

“Don’t push it, young man, now go set the package on the counter.” - Pigsy snaps back.

“Ugh, fine.” - Mk makes his way into the shop with a frown.

“Don’t drop it, or you’re fired!” Pigsy yells out.

“You know you can’t fire your only employee, Pigsy.” - Tang replies with a smirk.

Pigsy sighs. “Must you always be a smartass?”

Tang lightly chuckled. His voice made Macaque’s body numb, he felt a sudden heat run through his body.

‘What … am I feeling?’ He thought to himself. He snaps back when he hears Pigsy yelling at Tang!

Macaque could feel something boiling inside of him. Suddenly Pigsy hits Tang on his head, making the scholar fall back.

“You should think twice before saying anything smart, you freeloader!” - Pigsy shouts.

“Ow, that hurt!”

The boiling turns into a flame as Macaque is triggered by this. The Lamppost nearby light suddenly went dark by Macaque’s sudden anger. It startles Pigsy and Tang, Macaque quickly hides in the shadows, not being seen.

“What was that?” - Tang said, concerned.

“Not sure. The bulb must have popped.” - Pigsy replies, reaching a hand out to tang, helping him up. In a single pull, Tang gets up.

“Wow Pigsy, have you been working out? You seem to have gotten stronger, you could almost lift me with one hand.” - Tang smiles on. Pigsy’s face turns red by the sudden compliment and prays he gets from Tang. Macaque notices this and gets even angrier, making him kick a garbage can. Pigsy and Tang suddenly turn in the direction where it came from.

“You head inside, I’m gonna go check it ok?” - Pigsy says patting Tang on his shoulder.

“ Ok, be careful.” - Tang says, heading inside.

Pigsy grabs his broom and heads towards the alley. Macaque quickly hides in the shadows.

“Who’s there? Come on out!” - Pigsy demands.

That’s when a raccoon pops out, startling Pigsy. He shoos it off and it runs off. Pigsy turns back heading inside the shop. From inside, Macaque can hear Tang asking what happened. Pigsy tells him that it was just a raccoon. Macaque makes his way out of the alley but runs back in when he sees a green motorcycle park. A girl gets off and runs off, calling out to MK.

“Mk! There you are! I thought you said we were going to meet at the arcade?!” Mei yells, angry from waiting for an hour.

“Sorry about that, Mei. Had a couple more orders plus had to get a delivery for Pigsy.” - Keeping his head down in shame.

“*sighs* I guess I could let this slide.” Mei looks at Pigsy, “You shouldn’t give so much work to Mk. He works so hard, fighting DBK clones plus training with Monkey King.” Tang gives Pigsy a smirk. “Told you so.” Pigsy opens his mouth but closes it knowing he isn’t winning this argument. Everyone starts bursting into laughter. Macaque focuses on Tang’s voice. Hearing him laugh, warms his heart, it makes him smile. He wants to feel this feeling forever, and more. He wanted to do things, he never imaged he would do. But how could he get close to him when his enemy is near him at all times? Unless … he isn’t his enemy. Not anymore.

“Hey Mk, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Whatever happened to that weird purple thing that attacked a few days ago?”

“Oh-oh that, um … well uh … Me and Monkey King took care of it. Don’t worry about it. W-why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason, it just, don’t get me wrong but that thing kinda looked like him?”

“W-What no it doesn’t look like him at him at all.”

“He’s right, it looks more like me. ” - a sudden voice enters the conversation. Standing in the door was Macaque, hands on his hips and a smirk on his face.

Everyone but Mk has confused looks. This guy looks like Monkey King but is very different from him, besides appearance. Macaque looks at Tang and gives a small wave. Mk quickly takes out his staff and stands in front of his friends.

“What are you doing here?!” - Mk yells at him.

“Wow, easy there kid. I just wanted to stop by and say hello to my favorite student.” -Macaque replies with a grin on his face.

“I’m not your student, not get out of here before I knock that smudge clean off your face.” - Mk threatens back. Pigsy can see the look on Mk’’s face, anger, and fear.

“How did you know I was here?” - Mk demands.

“I saw you at the market,” Macaque leans over, looking directly at Tang. “With your cute friend back there.”

Tang feels uncomfortable by the sudden flirting the demon is giving him. Without a second thought, Pigsy stands next to Mk, ready to fight. Mei joins in.

“Leave this place Macaque or else.”

“Ya! Leave you Monkey King Imposter!”

“Easy there. At least here me out-”

“I don’t need to hear anything from you. You just can’t come in and threaten my friend like that.”

“Threaten? Now, why would I threaten a cutie like him.” Macaque winks at Tang, angering Pigsy.

“Get out of my shop, Now!”

“Mk!” A sudden shout comes from behind Macaque. Wukong walks in, looking at the ground, not noticing Macaque.

“You left your-” he sees Macaque. “Jacket…” There was a long silence between them.

“Monkey King! Nice to see you again, ‘bud’. ” - Macaque chuckles. Wukong drops Mk’s jacket and launches himself at Macaque, violently pinning him by the throat on the wall.

“How dare you come back! You didn’t get the memo, to leave us alone.” Wukong takes the staff from Mk.

“Looks like I’ll have to get rid of you myself.”

Tang, not far from the demon monkeys sees what is about to happen. Not a fan of violence plus not wanting Pigsy ‘s shop to end up destroyed, he speaks out.

“Wait!” - Tang yells out, making Wukong and Macaque turn and look at him.

“I’m not sure what exactly happened between you three but clearly violence doesn’t solve anything. If we want him to leave, we should at least hear him out, despite his” Tang gives Macaque a worried glare “odd approach towards us.”

Macaque smiles.

“See, he gets it.” Macaque turns into a shadow, freeing him from Wukong’s grasp. He makes his way to Tang, appearing behind him.

“Tang!” - Pigsy yells out.

“Cutie here knows how to treat an alley.” Macaque places his hands on his shoulders leaning his head on Tang’s shoulders. Wukong quickly grabs Tang, yanking him away from Macaque. Tang gets behind Wukong.

“Keep your filthy hands away from him!”

Macaque snarls at Wukong for taking his price away from him.

Mei interrupts “What do you mean by alley?”

“Ya, spill.”

Macaque looks at Tang, stops, and takes a quick breath. “Ahem, as I was saying.” He looks at Wukong.

“I want to redeem myself.”

#inkypageshipping #tintedlensesshipping #tang sanzang #six eared macaque #inkpages

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tigerseye46 · 4 years ago

Note

I don't know if you're up for it, but how about 148 with Freenoodleshipping being dads to the Traffic Light Trio?

WOOO! I’m up for it! Let’s do this!

148. “Is this really the time for jokes?” “You always do this.” “Wake me up when it’s over.” “You look happy.” “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “Why can’t I get you out of my head?”

—————————-

Pigsy was infuriated, his kids were hurt, little injuries littered their bodies. The pig clenched his fist, he looked towards Tang, silently telling him to get the kids out of the way so he could transform. Tang nodded and quickly moved the kids out of the way, their eyebrows raised.

Pigsy transformed into his huge demon form snarling and attacking the demon that threatened his kids. The kids stared at him in awe, they had never seen this form before but for Red, there was something familiar about it, it was his first time seeing it but he felt as if he should recognize it. He brushed it off and just watched as Pigsy continued to battle the other demon until they retreated.

Pigsy was breathing heavily, his knuckles white as he gripped his rake. His eyes followed the direction of the demon as they ran. He snarled, he looked almost terrifying and beads of sweat were dripping from the kids’ face. Tang narrowed his eyes at the pig. “Pigsy!” He called.

The pig turned towards him, still angry, his husband gestured for him to calm down. The demon breathed in and out slowly, he shifted back to his normal form. He rushed towards the group with Tang meeting him halfway. Tang held Pigsy’s face in his hands. “Are the kids okay?!” Pigsy shouted.

“They’re fine, Pigsy.” He waved towards the kids. “They’re fine,” he repeated.

“Are ya okay?!”

“I’m okay, Pigsy. Although, I would be better with some noodles.”

Pigsy huffed and crossed his arms. “Is this really the time for jokes?”

“I told you I’m okay. Come on.” He nudged him towards the kids, Pigsy ran towards them.

“Qi Xiaotian! Long Xiajiao! Red Son! Are ya all okay?”

MK replied, “Yes, papa! I’m fine! Wow! I didn’t know you could do that!” His eyes sparkled.

“I’m okay but Piggy, what was that?”

“I would like to know as well, Mr. Pigsy.”

Pigsy sighed. “I’ll tell ya inside. Let’s go.” He motioned for them to follow him inside. They all complied with Tang being the last one to enter the noodle shop.

The dads got the first aid kit and began bandaging their kids. Tang had a cotton swab and was tapping it lightly on Red’s wound, the demon hissed in pain. “Stay still, Red.”

“Sorry, Mr. Tang.”

“It’s fine. I’ll try and be careful.” He continued to bandage Red’s wounds, trying to be as gentle as possible.

It took a few minutes until they managed to patch up all their injuries. Tang and Pigsy stood side by side as they glanced at their kids, they winced at the patched up injuries, they absolutely hated seeing their kids hurt.

Pigsy growled, “Kids…” The kids froze, staring up at their dad in anticipation. He sighed and rubbed his face. “You always do this. Ya have to be careful, ya can’t just rush into danger like that. Ya could get hurt and ya already did!!”

The three frowned. “Sorry…” they apologized in unison. The pig sighed again and shook his head. He got three bowls and poured soup into them, handing a bowl to each of the kids. They took it and began eating.

“Please be careful next time,” Tang begged.

“Sorry, bába…” MK replied.

Tang ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay but please be careful next time. We can’t risk something happening to you, mystical monkey powers or not.” He turned to Red and Mei. “Same goes for you two. We know you’re capable but we don’t want anything happening to you.”

Red spoke up, “S-sorry, Mr. Tang… I am not used to having someone care about me… so I rushed into danger.”

The scholar’s lips formed into a frown. “Well you have us now. We care about you and we don’t want you to throw yourself in danger.”

The demon nodded. “O-okay…”

“That being said, I am proud that you three were able to handle the situation.”

Pigsy nodded in agreement. “Good job, kids but again, don’t jump into danger next time like that.”

The three nodded. “Now, papa, what was that form about? It was so cool!” MK’s eyes sparkled.

“Just a form I have. First time I’ve used it in years.”

Red titled his head. “I feel as if I should recognize that form.” At his words, Pigsy choked on air while Tang smirked and nudged his husband, the pig glared at him in response. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, not at all, kid. It’s nothin’.”

“Why haven’t you used it in awhile, Piggy?” Mei asked.

Pigsy shrugged. “Never had a reason to use it until now. Last time I used it was way long ago.”

“Too long if you ask me,” Tang joked. His husband smiled and rolled his eyes in response.

“You would say that.”

“Well I think it makes you even more handsome. I haven’t seen that form since… you know.” Since Pigsy went by Zhu Bajie, he wanted to say but they decided not to reveal their identities just yet especially since they had only recently adopted Red. It was a bad idea to tell him that the pig and scholar that had just adopted him were Zhu Bajie and Tripitaka, they would tell them eventually.

“Yea, that was a long time ago.”

“Hm? Is there something you know that we don’t?” Red asked.

“Don’t worry about it. Now eat, ya look skinny. Ya all can do whatever after ya finished.”

Red complied and continued eating. The two adults took a few minutes by themselves to chat while watching their kids playfully banter. Mei placed a bowl in front of the counter suddenly.

The chef raised an eyebrow. “Ya done, Mei?”

“Yep!” She gestured to the table. “They won’t stop flirting. I’m going to MK’s room to take a nap. Wake me up when it’s over!”

The couple let out a laugh as they glanced at Red Son and MK, both were extremely red. Tang commented, “Let them have their fun. It’s rather cute.”

“Yea, it is,” the chef said and wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist.

Mei waved an arm. “Yea, I know. They’re so oblivious, it’s painful.”

Pigsy chuckled. “Your bába and I used to be the same way.”

“We sure did. It took us too long to notice.”

“How did you finally realize?”

“Well… someone helped and interfered…”

“Oh! So I just push them into a closet then?”

Tang shouted, “No! Don’t do that!”

“Awwww, why not?”

“Let them realize their feelings in their own time.”

“Bába, I’m going to be waiting a million years if that’s the case.”

The pig shook his head. “He’s right, y’know. They’ll realize eventually.”

Their daughter pouted. “Okay… but if they don’t get their act together soon, I’m pushing them in a closet.”

The couple laughed. Tang said, “Of course you are, just be patient.” He brushed a piece of hair away from Mei’s face.

Mei groaned. “Fine.” She kissed both of her dads’ cheeks. “I’m going to take my nap now.”

“Okay, dear. Have a nice nap.”

“Bye, kid.” Mei waved and left the shop to go upstairs to MK’s room.

Tang muttered, “I am so glad Wukong never pushed us into any closets.”

“Probably cause there weren’t even closets around. He definitely thought about it though.”

“Definitely. Although I wouldn’t mind if he did.” He ran hand against the pig’s cheek, he purred in response.

The pig playfully shoved him and looked away. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Tang gasped. “Rude! You wouldn’t mind it either!”

“I definitely wouldn’t.” He winked. “Love ya.”

“Love you too.” He leaned against him.

MK placed his bowl on top of Mei’s. “I’m done! I’m going to play videos games in my room!”

“Okay, kid. Have fun.”

“See you bába! See you papa!”

They nodded at their son and MK sent one glance at them and Red before he left. Red smiled as the noodle boy left and ran a finger against his half finished bowl. Pigsy could tell there was something on the kid’s mind, Tang was way better with words than he was.

“I’m gonna do the dishes, Tang.”

“Alright.” He kissed the pig’s cheek. The pig grabbed the bowl and walked towards the other side of the counter while Tang strolled towards Red and sat down next to him. “You look happy,” he stated.

“Hm?” He smiled turned into a frown. “Yea… so-sorry.”

Tang tilted his head. “Never say sorry for being happy. I think it’s nice to see you smile.”

“Th-thanks. The Noodle Boy, he-”

“You like him?”

Red shook his head up and down hesitantly. “Ye-yes…”

The scholar cooed. “That’s fantastic. You two would be good for eachother.”

“T-thanks… I don’t know. I don’t know if he likes me.”

“He does. From personal experience, he does. I know Xiaotian and I know that in these matters, he does like you.”

“Personal experience? Like from Mr. Pigsy?”

“Yep. Back then I never wanted to believe the signs that Pigsy liked me, now that I look back, it is as clear as day. I used to think ‘Why can’t I get you out of my head?’” when I looked at him. It was like that all the time. Xiaotian does like you.”

“I- I hope so. I don’t get why though…”

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re a good kid, Red.”

“Really? After all I’ve done…”

Tang paused and nodded, despite the demon kidnapping back in the past and other things, he couldn’t hold a grudge against the boy, all he wanted was the approval of his parents and Tang knew he and Pigsy would be able to steer him in the right direction. Plus Tang wouldn’t be Tang if he didn’t give a demon a second chance. “Yes, I do. You’re trying your best and you have changed. I am extremely proud of you for trying to change.”

Tang could Red Son hold back tears. “Thank you, Mr. Tang. Thank you for taking me in.”

“Of course. Now eat, Pigsy might think you don’t like his cooking.”

“O-okay.” Red finished seconds later and moved to wash the bowl, Pigsy grabbed his arm.

“I’ll take care of that, kid.” He took the bowl from the other demon’s arms and began to clean it.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Ya go have fun with the other two.”

“Th-thank you…”

“Mhmm…”

Red shyly waved at them and left. Tang sat in his stool and stated, “You know when we on the journey I didn’t think years later we would be having kids.”

“Ha! When we started the whole thing I didn’t expect us to get together at all.”

“I know right! I’m glad we did though. Really glad.”

Pigsy smiled. “Me too. I love you.”

He kissed Pigsy on the lips. He whispered, “I love you, Bajie.”

“Love you too, Tripitaka.” They were about to kiss again when they heard crashing come from upstairs. The pig sighed. “What are they doin’ up there?”

“I don’t know. We should check on them.”

“Like we can never get a moment alone around here.”

Tang chuckled and wrapped an arm around his husband. “Part of having children. Let’s go see what they’re up to.” He guided his husband toward the door, they thought about the happy life they built up and went to see their kids, smiling all the way.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #pigsy #tang #freenoodleshipping #mk #qi xiaotian #mei #long xiaojiao #red son monkie kid #red son lmk #red son #spicynoodleshipping #dad Pigsy #dad Tang #zhu bajie #tripitaka #my fic #Wukong: wait... why did I never push them in a closet?! that would have worked!

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solari-writes-things · 4 years ago

Text

Traditions

🛑 WARNINGS: none. 🛑

✨ requested by: @sazafraz

✨ Pairing: Fujin x OC

✨ Summary: Hana is preparing for Halloween, and Fujin wants to know the customs.

✨ Solari Says: -

✨ Prompt(s) -

Fujin learning about the traditions of Halloween, like costumes and handing out candy to the kids.

MORE FUJIN | MORE MK | > MASTERLIST < |

Hana had spent some time preparing her home for the appearance of children, considering it was now October 31st.

She had returned for a short time, taking a break from the Shaolin gardens to ensure that she had some time in a familiar place. Even if it was just for a little, she would appreciate some time at home, especially for a holiday such as Halloween.

Something about kids in costumes, all walking around happily made her endeared. The energy she could feel around this time of month had been rather contagious, and she was sure to bring some of that positivity back to the Shaolin Monks when she was due to return.

She had just strung up her last bit of decoration on her porch, opting to have a couple of plastic bats hanging down from the drain pipe of her house. Something that people could look at when they walk up to her doorstep, aside from the fake cobwebs. She hums in satisfaction, once she manages to hang them in such a way to where they won’t fall off.

She goes to turn back into her house, one foot into her front door before she hears a sharp gust of wind behind her. Considering that the sensation seemed to be only in passing, she turns around to see what could have caused it.

There stood a man, with glowing white eyes and a braid to match. His tattoo on his bicep glowed with the same godly aura, his arms behind his back as he stepped forward towards her. Normally, at this sort of thing, she would startle and rush back inside. However, instead of weariness, she smiled widely in recognition.

Fujin. She and him had become well acquainted during her studies in the gardens near the Shaolin Temple, since he had decided to keep her company after tending to his business. He helped her understand the histories of where she had been studying, and she provided history of the plant and animal life.

She took the fact that he was a demi-god in stride. It was surprising to him, having someone who was not raised with the knowledge instilled be so accepting of his presence.

“I didn’t think I would see you yet, Fujin,” she greets, gazing up at him.

He offers a sincere smile, his kind-hearted nature emitting with his expressions. “You told me where you would be going. I... gathered that I should come by.”

“You’re always welcome around me, Fujin,” she stated confidently, gesturing him to come inside.

Luckily her house was a bit on the taller side. Being a demi-god, Fujin was muscular and very much on the taller side. He steps inside of her home, ducking the door just a bit before straightening out when he was inside.

His eyes wandered her home for awhile, appreciating the neatness of it all. He enjoyed how quaint it was, how simple things looked inside. He was always someplace either extravagant, or downright horrific, so being able to stand in a place that was neither was refreshing.

“I’m glad you are accepting of my visit, Hana,” he says, dropping his arms to his sides.

“You’ve been nothing but a kind soul, Fujin. I enjoy your company. Would you like some tea?” Hana offered, smiling at him widely.

“No, thank you,” Fujin replied to her quickly.

“Please, take a seat,” she gestured to her sofa, “at least while I get my tea prepared. I need to relax before I have people knocking on my door.”

“Are you expecting company?” he inquired, carefully sitting himself down.

“Not necessarily,” Hana responded, while she set her kettle on the stove. “There’s just going to be some kids knocking for candy.”

Fujin’s silence signaled his brief confusion, before his sharp inhale indicated that he had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Ah, isn’t today, uhm... ‘Halloween’? Is that correct?” he inquired.

“Correct, Fujin!” Hana said with enthusiasm, turning on her stove and then moving back to the living room. “Did you learn about it spending your time on Earthrealm?”

“Yes,” Fujin said in affirmation. “I remember that most Earthrealmers celebrate it now, and that it has taken on a more joyous meaning than before.”

“Correct again,” Hana sat down next to him, keeping an ear open for the whistling. “I won’t go into the original history of Halloween. It’s... not fun, to say the least.”

“Compared to the events that I handle for Earthrealm’s protection, I think I would be able to handle it,” he said, a bit of jest in his tones. “However, I will not press. I am not interested in it’s history, but the charm of it now.”

“Well, what would you like to know?” Hana inquired, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Educate me, Hana,” he requested. “I do not know anything about this Earthrealm holiday, and seeing your house with the decorations has me curious.”

Hana chuckled and thought for a moment of a starting point, before opening her mouth to speak. “It’s the one time of the year where we can dress up as someone else. It can be scary, or funny, or even just cute. People, primarily children, go up to houses and knock on doors to get candy. We can decorate our houses, if we so choose, and either make them scary or fun. Sometimes, people make little haunted houses for people to go through, just to make the experience more... interactive.”

Fujin was leaned forward, listening to the explanation intently. His eyes, even though flat in monochromatic shade, still conveyed the same piqued wonder he had when they first met.

It made her heart skip, just a little.

“It sounds quite charming,” he agreed, once he realized Hana was done with her explanation.

“Stick around tonight,” she said, forward in her delivery. “So you can experience some of it for yourself.”

“Are you sure? I do not think some of the Earthrealmers here would find me normal,” he asked her, just trying to be sure that she wouldn’t be in a situation that would render her uncomfortable.

“Of course I’m sure, Fujin. I would never hide you away, holiday or not,” she states in confidence.

Fujin purses his lips, before exhaling in defeat. “Alright, Hana. I will stay with you, to observe.”

“Good,” she beams, standing up when she heals the whistling of her kettle. She turns the corner to go into her kitchen, only to hear a knock at her door.

“Damn... they came earlier than usual,” she remarked quietly, before raising her voice so Fujin could hear her. “Can you open the door, Fujin?”

“You want me to open it for you?” he questioned, a little hesitant. “Is this to give them the candy?”

“Yes! I have a bowl nearby the door!” she replied to him as she began to prepare her cup of tea.

She hears Fujin rise from his seat as the door gets knocked on once more, moving quickly to the front door. She heard him scoop the candy bowl up, inhaling just a bit before opening the door.

“Trick or treat!” shouted a little girl excitedly.

Hana turned the corner, with her tea cup against her lips as she watched him carefully.

The girl’s eyes were wide with awe. Hana expected the child to startle at the mere size of Fujin. If it wasn’t the size of him, it would be the glowing tattoo, the glowing eyes, or his startlingly white hair. He held the plastic candy bowl gingerly, as if he were about to break it just by holding it in his hands.

He scooped up a few pieces of candy, and the sound of the wrappers crinkling seemed to snap the child out of her small trance. The little girl extended her arms, candy bag held open for ease of access.

Fujin lets the candy drop inside, and he was about to back into the house before the little girl spoke once more.

“You have pretty hair!” she exclaimed, having spotted Fujin’s long, white braid when he had opened the door.

Fujin’s lips curled up into a soft smile, his caring nature seeming to have surfaced once more in the face of the small child.

“Thank you,” he replied to her, the guardian standing behind the child grinning at the little girl’s bold compliment.

“Happy Halloween!” she said joyously, before turning away from Hana’s front porch and running down the walk way.

Fujin backed into the house and closed the door, setting the plastic bowl back down where he had picked it up. “I did not expect her to accept my appearance as quickly as she did.”

“Children are much more accepting than people give them credit for,” Hana replied with a giggle, taking a little drink of her tea. “How did you like your first trick-or-treater experience?”

“Considering I expected the child to run and hide, it went much better than I anticipated,” Fujin chuckled.

“Good. There’s a lot more where that came from, Fujin, and I would love for you to help me out if I need it,” Hana smiled from behind her tea cup.

“I would love to assist you, Hana,” he agreed, offering the same expression.

MK Tag List: N/A

General Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter :|: @angelaiswriting

if you want to be included in the tag list, comment or message me!

#mortal kombat #fujin #mk11 #solari writes things #fujin imagine #halloween special

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settersprouts · 4 years ago

Text

꠵ look at me : chapter two ꠵

裏切り。

Iwaizumi flopped onto his bed as soon as he got home, turning over and looking at the ceiling. His family kept bothering him about the match, saying things like "oh, you did great son!" or "it's okay. it's not the end of the world!"

Yeah, sure it wasn't. But it was the end of his and Oikawa's shared dream.

Iwaizumi glanced at the little glow-in-the-dark stars stuck onto his ceiling. He remembered how he got those. Oikawa had put them up when they were younger, since he was afraid of the dark and the nightlight Iwaizumi used to use was way too bright for either of them to sleep. He probably should've taken them down when they didn't really need them anymore, but they meant something to Oikawa back then. Those little stars were one of the many souvenirs Iwaizumi had of his best friend. It was like proof that he was close with the Oikawa Toorū.

. . And Iwaizumi really couldn't take them down. It was physically impossible: the adhesive stuck to the back of the stars were too strong, and no matter how hard Iwaizumi pulled, the damn stars wouldn't come off.

Beep.

Iwaizumi turned to his side, getting his phone from off the nightstand.

New Message : ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽

"Damn, what the hell does this bastard want now?" Iwaizumi clicked on the notification, bringing up the messages between him and Oikawa.

. .

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: iwa-chan !

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: What now, I just saw you like 20 minutes ago

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: ughh iwa you're so mean

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Yeah okay. What?

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: can i come over ?

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Ew no, wtf?

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: iwaaaaaaaaaaa~ (｡•́︿•̀｡)

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Why?

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: im just having trouble sleeping,, plus i just wanna be with you rn

. .

Iwaizumi blushed at the last text Oikawa had sent. Damn.. As much as I despise him and his stupid face, that was kind of cute. Realizing what kind of thoughts were popping up in his head, Iwaizumi smacked both sides of his face. Fuck. What the hell am I thinking?

. .

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: iwa? you there?

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Yeah, I'm here. Shut up. [to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: You can come over. I don't care.

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: yay ! thanks iwa ♡

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Shut up. You sleeping over, or staying for a couple hours?

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: can i sleep over?

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Yeah. [to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: My mom's cooking dinner. Want me to save you some?

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: no, i'm not hungry.

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: Alright, I'll save you some. Hurry up before it gets cold.

[from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: i don't want any- yk what nvm [from] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: be there in ten !

[to] ꜱʜɪᴛᴛʏᴋᴀᴡᴀ 👽: mk.

. .

"Hajime! Dinner's ready!" Iwaizumi perked up as he heard his mother calling for him. He answered with a blunt, "Coming ma!," and bolted down the stairs.

"Hey, Oikawa's coming over tonight," Iwaizumi said as he sat down. "Can you save him some food? Knowing him, he probably hasn't eaten since the match."

Mrs. Iwaizumi nodded. "Of course! I'm so glad he's coming over, I love that boy. Such a sweetheart." When Iwaizumi snorted at her comment, she hit him lightly on the back of the head. "Don't do that, Hajime. He's a sweet boy." She spooned some miso soup into a small bowl, passing it to her son. "And don't act like you don't care about him either. I can see right through that little façade of yours."

Iwaizumi groaned and shoved a spoonful of the semi-salty broth into his mouth. "Sure. Do we have any milk bread?"

"No, I do have Kashipan though. They're similar, right?" She passed the buns to Iwaizumi, who shrugged.

"Yeah, sure."

After about fifteen minutes of the Iwaizumi family eating their dinner, they heard a knock at the door. "Ah, that must be Crappykawa."

Iwaizumi's mother glared at him when she heard that. "Hajime, don't call Toorū that. Like I said, he's a sweet boy." She walked over to the front door, fiddling with the locks and swinging it open. "Welcome Toorū- dear god, what happened to you?"

When he heard the shock in his mother's voice, he shoved aside his food and sprinted to the door. Oikawa stood in front of him, wearing a very soiled alien hoodie with the hood up and over his eyes. Iwaizumi could just make out the newly made bruises on his friend's jaw though, and the tear stains on his cheeks. Oikawa sniffled, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. "Um. . can I come in. ?"

Iwaizumi and his mother quickly stood aside, ushering Oikawa into their home. Iwaizumi's mother put a hand on Oikawa's shoulder, not noticing the way the boy had winced at her touch, and steered him into their dining room. "Honey, would you like some food?"

Oikawa sniffled again, nodding. "Yeah. . do you have any milk bread?"

Iwaizumi shook his head. "Not at the moment, I can ask my old man to buy some for you. He's at the market right now." Oikawa nodded in response, and Iwaizumi took out his phone, sending a quick text to his father. "You need to eat right now, though. We have miso and kashipan. Eat some of that before you get your milk bread."

Iwaizumi passed some food over to Oikawa when he sat down. His own food disregarded, he watched as Oikawa ate slowly, taking in all his features. His hood was still up, so he couldn't see the rest of his face, but he could see how much it hurt him to make small, simple movements. Every time he lifted the spoon up to his mouth, his hand shook a little, and he winced occasionally. Something panged inside Iwaizumi's chest as he watched Oikawa eat. His heart hurt a lot, more than usual. What the hell was this feeling?

Oikawa pushed the bowl away from him, messing with the hem of his hoodie again. "Um. . I'm kind of full."

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa's bowl- about a sixth of the soup was missing. Oikawa hadn't even touched the kashipan. "Crappykawa, you need to eat way more than that. You barely touched your food." He was about to force the food down his throat when he noticed his pained expression. "H-hey Oikawa, you alright. ?"

Oikawa gagged, putting a hand over his mouth. "Mrgh. Feel s-sick."

Iwaizumi stood up abruptly, helping Oikawa up and walking him to the bathroom. "How sick?"

"Feel like I'm gonna die, sick." Iwaizumi snickered a little at that, causing a slight smile to erupt on Oikawa's face. "W-wait. Where are we going?"

"Bathroom. You need to clean up." Iwaizumi opened the door and set Oikawa on the toilet, pulling a little first-aid kit out of the cabinet under the sink. Oikawa glanced at it nervously, thinking Iwaizumi was going tend to his wounds. But much to his surprise, Iwaizumi just set the box on the sink counter, and walked out of the room. "I'm going to go get you some of my clothes, and a towel. Set those in the basket, I'll clean them later."

The door clicked, and Oikawa heard Iwaizumi shuffle off to his room. He smiled a little, thankful that his friend respected his boundaries. He heard a knock on the bathroom door, replying with a small "come in." Iwaizumi opened the door, setting a towel and a set of clothes on the counter.

"If you need help with anything, let me know, okay?"

"Mmm." Iwaizumi closed the door when he heard Oikawa's reply, and walked to his room. He sat on his bed, throwing a volleyball up in the air, catching it when it came too close to his face. After a couple minutes, he heard the faint sssshhhhh of the shower faucet being turned on, and the shower curtains closing. Good. At least Crappykawa's cleaning up. He lay still, listening to the shower run, spreading out his arms and legs like a starfish. He must have lost track of time, because when he opened his eyes, Oikawa was sitting at the foot of his bed, scrolling through his phone while drying his hair.

"Crappykawa?" Oikawa turned around quickly, shutting off his phone in the process. Iwaizumi noticed this, but decided not to pry. "I didn't even hear you come in. How long have you been here?"

Oikawa shrugged. "Not long. Maybe like, a couple of minutes?" He resumed to the task of drying his hair, squeezing the water onto the light grey towel.

"Ah, I see." Iwaizumi watched Oikawa, tapping a finger against his chin. "Need help?"

"Um. . sure." His friend scooted closer to him, and handed him the towel. Iwaizumi ruffled up his hair, the towel making it ten times fluffier than it usually was. "Uh. Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

Oikawa fumbled with his shirt, it being a too big for him, since he had a leaner build. Iwaizumi thought it was cute. "You have to promise you won't tell anyone, though."

"Yeah, of course."

Oikawa took a deep breath, tears spilling out of his eyes once again. "M-my parents. . I don't feel safe with them. As soon as I got home, they yelled at me a lot because we lost the match. Um. I got mad and screamed at them too, but my dad hit me, and it got all out of control. They just kept hitting me, like I was their punching bag." He sniffed. "It hurt. It hurt a lot, Iwa. I thought they loved me. I thought-"

The third-year setter was cut short by arms being wrapped around his waist. "Shut the hell up, Shittykawa. Don't worry about a damn thing. I'll take care of everything."

"How? You can't do anything, you're not that much older than me and I couldn't even do anything." Oikawa sniffled again. "It's not like anyone would believe me anyways, or even care. A lot of people hate me, Iwa-chan."

"Yeah, well. Those who hate you can go on a date with my fist. They just don't really know who you really are inside. They just know who you want them to see. Some self-centered, cocky, arrogant, stupid bastard." Oikawa let out a little 'hey!' which made Iwaizumi laugh, before continuing. "But, I know who that self-centered, cocky, arrogant, stupid bastard really is on the inside. And it's someone I've grown to admire, no matter how much he pisses me off."

"Awe, Iwaaa~!" Oikawa flung his arms around Iwaizumi, making them fall down onto the bed. "Thank you, that was super sweet~"

Iwaizumi blushed. "N-no problem, Shittykawa. Now, get off of me."

Oikawa bit his lip a little and frowned. "But Iwaa. I thought you said you were going to help make me feel better!" Ignoring Iwaizumi's "when the hell did I say that" comment, he spread out his arms and made little gesturing motions with his hands. "I want cuddles, like the ones we used to give each other when we were younger!"

"Aren't we too old for that now?"

"No one's too old for cuddles, Iwa-chan!"

Iwaizumi scoffed, turning Oikawa around and spooning him. "There, happy?"

"Mmm." Oikawa responded, intertwining his fingers with Iwaizumi's. "Thanks, Iwa."

". . Shut up."

chapter 3 !

#oikawa tooru #oikawa fluff #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #fanfic #series

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do-not-call-me-meathead · 5 years ago

Text

aposiopesis (part 6)

My Orphan Black fic on AO3

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 7

@agoddamnsupernova

“Oi, sleepyheads,” Felix shouted as he blasted the door open with as much extravagance as he could muster.

Cosima and Sarah didn’t have time to jump away from each other. He saw them. Cosima’s leg over Sarah’s, the punk’s hand under Cosima’s shirt, both of them curled up so close that limbs were hard to tell apart (not just because their limbs were identical).

“Felix!” Sarah shouted and threw a pillow angrily at her brother. “Maybe a bit more warnin’ next time, yeah? Maybe a few knocks? Like a normal person.”

Felix put his hands on his hips and looked back and forth between the clones. “Next time put a sock on the door.”

“Piss off, Fee,” Sarah replied with a roll of her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Time for Kira and Charlotte to go. Arthur’s here and lookin’ like a snack. And time for everyone else to help me set up the art show. I need all hands on deck.”

Cosima wasn’t surprised by Sarah’s negative reaction to him mentioning the art show. She had heard Sarah complain about it to Art last night. She was happy for her brother, but she thought this was the worst timing.

“Yeah, a’right. We’ll be there in a sec.”

Felix locked eyes with Cosima before he left. The stare looked like he was trying to say: I hope you know what you’re doing.

“Felix has mastered walkin’ in on people, me specifically,” Sarah grumbled as she got up from the bed and put her hair up into a high messy bun that Cosima didn’t think she had ever seen before. Cosima tried to not gawk.

“Oi, voyeur, let’s go.”

...........

After washing up in the bathroom, Cosima headed for the kitchen where she heard what sounded like angry whispers. Something about it made Cosima stay back and listen.

“Fee,” Sarah groaned with what sounded like frustration. “Don’t.”

“You know how I feel about this, Sarah. It’s not healthy. You can’t keep doin’ this to yourself.”

“Doin’ what?” Sarah growled.

Felix sighed. “You feel something that she doesn’t feel. She’s with Delphine, darling.”

“I know, Fee. I know.”

At the end of their conversation, Cosima gulped. She wanted Sarah to argue. She wanted her to tell Felix that it wasn’t one-sided. That Cosima felt something too. But she didn’t. She didn’t know if Sarah believed her or not. But then again, she couldn’t forget that Delphine was in the equation. Cosima groaned. She hated being in this confusing position.

“Hey guys,” Cosima greeted loudly as she approached the siblings. She tried to ignore the fact that Sarah was just staring at her cup of tea. “Scott’s going to pick me up in a few minutes so we can develop more doses of the cure. But we will definitely be there for your art show, Felix.”

Felix smiled at her, though it seemed more forced than normal. “You better be there, darling. Alison and Donnie are setting up my loft right now. I’m avoiding their inevitable bickering.”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe Alison won’t be controllin’ now that she’s all zen and shite.”

The two foster siblings stared at each other and then immediately broke out into rounds of laughter that even made Cosima chuckle a little.

“With all the illegal drugs you three have done, let’s cut her a little bit of slack about how she deals with her own addiction,” S stated wisely as she entered the kitchen, looking put together and beautiful as always. “Mornin’, chickens.”

Both Felix and Sarah grumbled in reply. Cosima knew they all smoked joints, but the looks on their faces made it seem like there were worse problems than just a little bit of pot.

“Good morning, Siobhan,” Cosima told her with a smile, still forever grateful the woman hadn’t hated her for what happened to her mother.

“Sleep well, Cosima? Sarah used to complain all the time about her terrible bed. I’ve never been able to ask someone about it since all of her nighttime visitors usually scattered by the morning.”

“Oh my god, S!” Sarah jumped up out of her chair and gaped at her foster mom.

Siobhan put her hands up in the air. “I wasn’t the one who had them over. So, Cosima. What’s the verdict?”

Cosima noticed that Sarah was glaring at her and that S was grinning in return. This was obviously something that she shouldn’t have gotten herself into.

“Gosh, uh, can I be Switzerland?”

Felix chuckled. “Join the club, Cos. S first asked me when I was ten. Don’t worry about them. Besides, we got places to be. Do you think Scotty will drive me to my place?”

Cosima sighed. This was already going to be a very long day.

.......

They had the cure. Enough for more than one hundred people. But there was an obvious problem. They didn’t know more than a few clones and didn’t know how many there actually were on the planet.

“It won’t be impossible to find the others, I mean, right?” Scott asked her once he realized she was deep in thought. “Katja found Beth. Beth found you and Alison. I mean, Helena found… my point is, we can do this.”

“You think?”

“With your tenacity and my skills? Hell yeah. We have time, Cosima. To find everyone.”

Cosima bit her lip. “I know we do. But what about them?”

Scott sighed and shook his head. “All we can do is our best. I mean, that’s all anyone can do. Now, c’mon. Isn’t there a party for us to attend?”

Cosima grinned at him. She didn’t know what she would have done without Scott Smith.

..........

Dancing wasn’t how she expected the night to go. She thought about the night when she was really sick, what felt like eons ago, when she first danced with her sestras, and how she thought it would be her last. She didn’t think she would be here. Dancing as everyone watched her. Dancing like she was art herself.

Delphine was there, watching, smiling. Cosima was smiling too. There was something infectious about the blonde’s dimpled smile that made the scientist forget every bad thing that happened between them.

Delphine was still smiling when Cosima found her, slightly drunken by the dance, her head still spinning.

“You look beautiful,” Delphine stated in a voice that usually makes Cosima shudder. “Even more than usual.”

“Well, thank you. Not being deathly ill helps, ya know?”

Delphine chuckled. “You have always been beautiful to me, ma chérie. You look happy. Free.”

“I am. I don’t know if we’re quite free yet, but it feels that way. Sarah’s not convinced, but that’s Sarah.”

Delphine stopped smiling and frowned. “Sarah’s very intuitive.”

Cosima sighed. “I’m sorry I’m being so… annoying with the whole me and you thing. You deserve better.”

Delphine shook her head. “You deserve to understand your heart, Cosima. That is the most important thing. When I understood mine, understood my love and devotion for you, everything else made sense. I can wait.”

“I love you for that.” Cosima leaned in and kissed her before Felix pulled them apart.

“Clone swap. Sarah’s here.”

Cosima groaned. “Bummer. Do I have to leave?”

Felix rolled his eyes and tugged her arm. “For me, you will. So quit snogging and come on.”

“Wait, Cosima!” Delphine shouted and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Siobhan asked me to give this to you.”

Cosima raised an eyebrow but didn’t think much of it. “Oh. Okay. I’ll see you later, Delphine.”

As Felix pulled her away, he muttered to her, “You two are cheeky. The ‘will they, won’t they’ thing is getting tiring though. Lesbians."

“Hey! Delphine’s bisexual! And you love me!” Cosima shouted when she was out the door.

“Of course I do, darling,” Felix replied with a toothy smile and blew her a kiss. “Send in Sarah.”

Cosima gave him a thumbs up and waited for Sarah to come up. She heard the punk’s footsteps and the sound of Adele’s constant jabbering.

“Sarah!” Cosima shouted once she saw the girl who didn’t look like she was attending an art show. “Felix is in there. He’s going to--”

“Have you seen S?” Sarah interrupted her, her eyes going back and forth like she was begging for something. Anything.

“No, but I--”

Sarah walked away with Adele mouthing apologies behind her. Cosima stood there and looked around. She was left alone.

.............

The Rabbit Hole was unusually quiet without anyone there. She thought about smoking a joint or going to sleep, but Delphine had appeared like a knight in shining armor, holding the proof to everything. The proof that could end everything.

“Loaded and ready to send to all the regulatory and oversight committees in the affected countries. As well as to old journalist friends of Siobhan at the guardian.”

“You guys did this for us.” It wasn’t a question. Cosima knew the answer. Everyone who had helped them along the way did it for them. Felix, Siobhan, Delphine, Scott, Art. The list only continued from there.

And more than that, it was Delphine who kept her promise in the end. She loved all of them. All the sestras. It made Cosima’s heart swell.

“You’re ready?”

“Just a second.”

Cosima stared at the screen and thought about freedom. About what she’d do with her freedom. How she would live without being property. Without being afraid or being sick or losing anyone else.

She turned to look at Delphine. Delphine. Who was here in this moment with her. Smiling, itching to press enter. Cosima loved her. It wasn’t a mundane kind of love that just anyone could find. It was the kind of beating love that had, at one point, felt alive.

Cosima gently used Delphine’s pointer finger to press enter. It submitted and the world felt like it dropped.

They laughed. They couldn’t imagine how it could all end with just the simple press of a button when everything else had been so difficult for them.

So difficult. For all of them. They lost Katja. Beth. Paul. MK. Kendall. Cosima cried. She wished that the dead could experience this moment with her. She wished that this had come sooner. Before anyone got kidnapped or got hurt or got murdered. She wished this submission turned back the time.

Delphine held her together. She promised her love and comfort and happiness. Cosima believed her. Despite not being able to always trust the blonde, she felt the words inside her bones. She was going to be okay.

When she pulled herself together, she remembered the note inside her pocket. Siobhan. Cosima knew that they wouldn’t have had this information if it hadn’t been for her. She opened it.

Cosima,

I never got to thank you for taking care of my Sarah. She’s a good girl but doesn’t know how to voice the things she wants. Protect her for me, will you? You have enough strength for both of you.

You are a bright woman, chicken. Always remember to see the light.

Siobhan.

Cosima stared at the elegant letters and felt her heart drop. There was something wrong with this letter. It seemed like a goodbye. Or an ending or…

Her phone rang. Felix.

.............

There was police tape in front of the house. It looked wrong there. Cops were exiting the house, but it seemed like Art was in charge. She exhaled with relief. Art was in charge.

“Cosima!” The detective called out and she ran toward him immediately. He looked angry and disheveled up close. “Keep your head down. Cops are all over the place. They just questioned Felix. They think it was a home invasion gone wrong. I’m going to make sure that’s what they keep thinking.”

“Who—?”

“Ferdinand. He’s also dead. The bodies are already out of the house but… Sarah hasn’t moved. Or said a thing. Or cried. Felix is the opposite. He’s also inside with Adele.”

Cosima wiped away the tears that were falling. “She did this for us, didn’t she?”

Art nodded almost stoically. “One of the bravest people I know. Look, I’d go see Sarah but--”

“No, you have enough to handle. I’ll call you if something changes.”

He nodded gratefully and walked away, commanding cops away from the premises. Art was trying to get outsiders as far away from the house as possible.

Cosima took a shaky breath and walked slowly toward the entrance of the house. She only had to knock on the door once for it to open. Felix stood there, his shirt soaked with tears, and pulled her into a hug as they both sobbed onto each other’s shoulders.

None of this felt real. They had lost people before, but she never thought they would lose S. Their rock. The woman who protected them and opened a whole family up to love.

“I’m so sorry,” Cosima repeated over and over again into Felix’s ear.

Once he pulled away and closed the door, he apologized. “We were supposed to vacate the house, but Art helped us out.”

“How’s Sarah?”

Felix looked far away. “I don’t know how much of Sarah is left.”

..................

“She screamed for a good long while when we first got here,” Felix explained as Adele put the mugs of tea in front of both of them. “She kept tryin’ to resuscitate her. They had to drag her away to get S’… Sarah hasn’t moved since.”

From her chair, Cosima stared at Sarah who was rocking slightly, her hands on her head and staring at the blood on the ground. She was covered with it herself.

“Have you called anyone else?”

“Alison. They’ll come round in the morning. Benjamin’s coming too. Said he wanted to… clean it all up. Delphine?”

“I told her to stay at the Rabbit Hole. She wanted to come with me but I thought…” Cosima felt like throwing up. “What happened?”

Felix gulped. “Guessin’ Ferdinand wasn’t too happy about us getting the file. I’m betting that Rachel used him.”

“Siobhan took a bullet for us.”

“You were her family,” Adele pointed out, less drunk than she was during the party. “Of course she did. God bless. What a woman.”

“What do we do about Sarah?”

Felix stared at his broken sister and muttered, “Who the bloody hell knows?”

.................

Cosima didn't remember much about the next few days.

What she did remember was staying up all night and hoping that Sarah would get up and go to sleep.

She remembered falling asleep on Felix’s shoulder and waking up to a bare floor and Sarah’s closed door.

She remembered getting up and bringing Sarah tea as Felix talked to people about a funeral and signing papers and the will.

She remembered seeing Benjamin and a bunch of men cleaning the floor.

She remembered Alison and Felix sobbing in the kitchen.

She remembered refusing to talk to Delphine, angry that Delphine hadn’t told anyone about their “deal” with Rachel and Ferdinand.

She remembered forcing Sarah to drink water and eat while trying to remember to do the same.

She remembered Felix’s frustration at his sister’s emptiness and trying to calm him down and remind him that grief hit people differently.

Sarah had only said two words before Kira came home. Two nights after Siobhan’s death, Cosima opened Sarah’s bedroom door and found the woman shivering under the covers. Without thinking, she crawled into the bed with her. She put her warm hands around her and pulled her close, hoping it would make Sarah feel alive again.

Cosima placed kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, her neck, her lips. She thought that Sarah would do something, anything. Even if it was a command for her to stop. And maybe, though Cosima wouldn’t want to admit it, she kissed her because she wanted the comfort too. She wanted the taste of Sarah’s skin on her lips. A reminder that she was alive too. Something.

She delicately held Sarah’s pointer finger and traced it over her tattoo and whispered to her the beauty of science, of the cycle of life and death.

“The shell was once inhabiting life, but it becomes empty It always does. To us, it’s more beautiful. Fossilized and demanding of our attention. The end isn’t always the end.”

She thought Sarah wasn’t listening. That was, until she said, “Thanks, ‘Sima.” It was the opposite of her usual nickname. She liked ‘Cos’ more.

But it Kira made her mom come back to life. Art brought her over and Felix and Adele had explained to the young girl about Siobhan’s death, about Sarah’s darkness. Kira cried into her uncle’s shirt but then pointed out how they needed to be strong for her mom.

“Monkey,” Sarah breathed out in a raspy voice after not using it for so long. “I’m so sorry, monkey.”

The two hugged for what seemed like hours. With Kira in her arms, Sarah was able to help Felix with the funeral and wake. They planned it quickly (decided on doing it the next day), not wanting to have to deal with it any longer. Cosima understood why she couldn’t be there, but it still hurt. She wanted to say goodbye to Siobhan and be there for Sarah.

“You can go back to the Rabbit Hole,” Felix whispered as the two of them watched Kira and Sarah fall asleep on the couch. His voice was colder than it had been. Like something has changed. “We’ve got this, now.”

“Felix…?”

He sat up straighter and turned to her. “You’re makin’ it worse. You know that, don’t you?”

Cosima didn’t know what he was talking about. “What?”

“Love, you don’t really think I don’t know what’s goin’ on, do you? What you’re doing in Sarah’s bedroom at night? You’re confusing her. Messing with her.”

Tears sprung to her eyes. “Fee…”

“You have Delphine. Your girlfriend. The French blonde that made you almost put a bleeding bot in your mouth. Don’t let Sarah think that she’s the only one that matters because we both know that’s not true.”

Shame radiated through Cosima’s body. He was right. She wasn’t being fair to Sarah or her feelings. Cosima felt something and as a scientist, she wanted to explore it. She didn’t even consider the possibility that Sarah… felt even a fraction of what she felt for her.

“I know. It’s complicated. It’s not… I love Delphine. But I feel something--”

“No.” Felix interrupted and put a hand on Cosima’s shoulder. “No, this is not the time, Cosima, for you to experiment with your feelings. Sarah’s a person, not a lab rat. And she’s already vulnerable. Don’t do this to her.”

Some crazy part of her thought Felix would understand. That all she’d have to do was explain that she felt something for both of them, while incredibly different, and wanted to understand both feelings.

Felix glowered at her. “I don’t want you to mess with her. Even if she wants it because I know she does. Unless you’re done with Delphine, like really done with her, I don’t want you to be snogging her, touching her. Got it?”

Cosima nodded. Felix was just trying to protect his sister and she understood that. And she knew that this was wrong and unfair to both Sarah and Delphine, but she couldn’t help her feelings. Not when they were this strong and overwhelming.

She agreed to put a halt on anything that could resemble romance with Sarah. She just didn’t know how long she could last with the pause.

-------------------

let me know if you want me to add you to the tags! :) thanks for reading!

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 6 years ago

Text

Blame It on Your Beats

Bucky x Reader Series

Chapter Content: Fluff

Summary: A brush with the underworld leads you on a run, away from what was supposedly your normal life, with Bucky Barnes. You two do not seem to be in sync as Bucky tries to keep you alive, trying your best not to kill each other. Or that’s what you think you are doing.

Series: contains smut, adult content in there somewhere in the future chapters so please look at the chapter content and warnings before you proceed.

Chapter Warnings: Explosion, death threats. The usual, really.

A/N: This series is written for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s MK Writing Challenge. Thank you so much for hosting. I am having a lot of fun with the prompts. I hope I can do justice to them and put the entire series up before the deadline. :D

JBB tags, please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in further chapters.

MASTERLIST

“Are you sure you don't need glasses?”

“...No.”

“It's okay if you do. It's quite common at this age.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Bucky declared through the comms, getting stifled laughs from the other end.

“It's in another language. I'm not familiar with the Devnagri script,” the soldier murmured as he sifted through the pages in the journal in front of him to find some sort of code to decipher the words alien to him.

“Friday can trans-wait you don't have a body cam,” Stark was practically talking to himself right now.

Bucky had been sent down on an espionage mission to Brennwood Estate- home of Eton Brennwood, world’s current strongest business tycoon along with a back-end dealer in arms in the black market along with being an infamous hoarder of the ancient artefacts- to figure out the codes for Eton’s underground lab where he had been keeping scientists to develop a new biotech for some really shady buyers around the world.

Natasha and Bucky had been the only choices amongst the entire team, considering their skills, but the former had already been compromised due to her recent recon on Brennwood where she had played a key role in finding out when and where the businessman was keeping his experiments hidden and his buyers on their toes regarding whatever he was considering of bringing on the table.

“Send us a picture, Bucky,” Natasha's voice directed him.

Bucky suddenly froze for a moment, his eyes darting towards some unknown void in front of him as his heartbeat accelerated a bit.

“Bucky?” Steve called out for confirmation, making the sergeant reach inside his jacket to take out his phone and stare at it for one elongated, terrifying moment.

“You do know how to take a picture from your phone, right Buck?” Sam asked, his voice dripping in pure mischief, making Bucky curse at the man internally.

Burner phones were so much easier to deal with. Why did everything have to ‘smart’ now? Was his only thought.

He flinched as the screen on his phone lit up with an unknown number asking him to video call.

“Uhh…”

“It's me,” Tony spoke in his ear, “slide the lock on the screen to accept my call so we can translate the code for you.”

Following his simple and clear-cut instructions, Bucky managed to flip the screen towards the journal on his second try, getting an encouraging cheer from all the Avengers huddled together in the Quinjet around the screen.

“Okay, that’s it,” Tony announced as he shifted in his chair to reveal a tired Pepper enter the study from behind him, “good job Barnes. Let others take care of the rest. Get out of the estate now before they smell out the old man stink and find you.”

“Very funny, Stark,” Bucky mumbled as he ended the call by tapping the red button, a little happy on the inside that his relationship with Tony was making some progress these days.

And just like the silent breeze that was blowing over the trees, not making its presence felt till it had passed by him, leaving him comparatively colder than before, he made his way out of the heavily guarded estate, taking the dark forest trail towards the road about a few miles from the place where he had parked his bike.

He kept getting the updates over the comms, as the team infiltrated Eton’s lab, making his walk back a lot less tiring when Sam was not on his back quipping him about everything he did.

“No guards on level one,” Sam’s voice stated over the comms, “Brennwood better not have hired some ripped scientist to save on security guards. That is one really bad combination right there.”

“Excuse me?” Banner’s questioning voice came from beside Tony. He had clearly taken over from where Tony had been a few moments ago.

“Because they are strong and smart. Not to mention they can make any freaking poison at the turn of their hand, man.”

Bucky forced out a silent laugh.

“Yeah, makes it hard for Sam to jump up to their IQ level with just his fists,” he articulated.

“I have a suit, I can fly over their goddamn IQ and look good while doing it. Shut up, Barnes.”

Tony was watching the progress of the team while convincing Pepper that there was no chance of him missing their dinner date tonight as everything was going smoothly and the team would have all the evidence to put Eton behind bars for a long time.

“Tony,” Pepper enunciated, “don’t promise me things that are sure to turn ugly sooner or later, okay? We can have dinner over here and Bruce can join us-”

Bruce turned in the chair-away from the screen- on the mention of his name, his face filled with berries that he was eating from the bowl Tony had offered him.

“I thought we had a date. Why would Bruce join us on a date? Are-are you breaking up with me?”

Pepper’s expression went blank for a second.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Tony, we’ve been married for a year now. I am not breaking up with you,” she sighed.

A monotonous chime over the screen turned everyone’s attention to a signal coming out from the Avenger’s facility.

“Level two clear,” Natasha responded from the other side, her body cam showing no heat signatures on the floor...

Bruce looked at Tony regarding the unknown signal before accepting the call.

“Level three clear,” Steve announced, “guys, I don’t like it.”

Bucky’s pace slowed down a bit before he regained his normal gait.

“I agree with Steve,” Natasha acknowledged, “there’s no one in sight here. Not even the scientists. Tony, did we decipher the text correctly?”

Everyone who was not at Tony’s place at that point paused their movements when they did not get a quick reply from Stark.

“Tony?” Steve spoke next, a hint of worry in his voice that only Bucky could trace.

“Barton,” Clint’s mechanical voice came over the comms, confusing everyone for a second.

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice tried to reaffirm, “I thought you had gone home for the holidays.”

“...I am home for the holidays. Which one of you morons called me? I lost to my son in Mario Kart so whoever it was, better have some good explanation behind this.”

__________

“How can something be so beautiful?”

You exhaled as your eyes took in the beauty of the symbols laying down in front of you- the thick papyrus dating back centuries- making you squirm internally at the luck of not being able to read and preserve one with your own eyes and hands.

“Miss Friday” you called out into the air, a jump in your step, “could you please pull up Miss Dur’s instructions on how to go ahead with the preservation process?”

“Of course, Miss Y/L/N. You can just call me Friday. If you want I can help you out by walking you through Miss Dur’s entire preservation process.”

You chuckled as your hands went into your bag to take out your earphones. “I’ll call you Friday when you call me Y/N. And I’m good with the display though. I want to enjoy a bit of my playlist tonight while working. So, just make sure you I don’t get any messages on my display while I’m working; no matter how important. No hard feelings, my good AI?”

“No hard feelings, Y/N.”

You gave a thumbs up in the air before putting on your earphones and readying the chemicals to wash the papyrus that would help conserve its original content.

Once all the contents were ready, you pressed play and so began the curing process to the surreal beats going about in your head.

It seemed like a passing dream.

A month ago you were studying on an entirely different continent, getting through your second year in college with no perfect plan for the future. A double major in semiotics and cryptography had seemed like a brilliant idea before college when most of the professors didn’t seem like dull creatures keeping an eight am class just so they could spit their misery of leading a sad unhappy life unto you, making you nearly hate the subject you had been looking forward to. Had it not been for a few of your seniors, three to be specific, and one professor- who not only helped you through the entire ordeal, but also made sure you were displaying your untapped talent in different competitions both on and off campus- you were sure you would have quit college a long time ago.

Two weeks earlier you were entered into a competition online by one of your seniors- Lena- where you nearly bypassed your way through some gaming portal’s fictional facility’s security because someone thought it was a brilliant idea to encrypt the entire building’s signal on their personal chart of symbolism. Fortunately for you, when the rest of your opponents were busy comparing smiley faces to emotions, you were looking for the origin- the chart- because no matter how good anyone is, they always will keep a backup of the blueprint any idea was based on.

It was only ten hours later when the local police entered your college dorm to bring you in for questioning did you realise that you had actually been breaking codes for some really bad guys on the dark web, who had been using noobs like you to enter secure facilities- not really fictional- and rob them of whatever sensitive information they had on them. You were to be thrown in prison for aiding some professional invisible lethal forces in bypassing the security to one America’s top 500 companies had it not been for Tony Stark himself taking full responsibility of the situation as well as giving you a full scholarship for your further studies at a college of your choice while interning at Stark labs as well help Scott Lang into making the his security system better- considering you’d broken through his two month’s work in just an hour.

So, here you were, a week later with all your life in your suitcases, living at the Avenger’s facility, working on an old story depicted in symbols- an artefact Stark said he had ‘borrowed from a bad guy who thinks this has some code to something he can use for his evil plans. We have to find the code before him to stop him.’

Bopping your head you swung your hips to Childish Gambino’s Summertime, your fingers worked steadily over the old fabric, making everything the solution touched a hue brighter with the wetness. So engrossed were you in the careful work mixed with a tang of heated music, you never noticed the alarms off around you, the lights everywhere- save the lab that had the power connections of its own, separated from the rest of the facility- shutting down, the backup red lights turning on as two silhouettes came out of the elevator doors from the far corner of the floor towards you.

The track changed, so did your movement, making you swing around to grab the final solution to dry up the fabric before putting it somewhere safe. By the time you were done with the drying agent, the silhouettes came and stood by the glass-walled lab, looking at you with sheer curiosity till you caught their movement from the corner of your eyes and tilted your heads towards them before taking out your earphones.

Two well-built men dressed in combat suits stood outside the lab entrance, one of them giving you a soft smile as he waved his hand at you.

You took out your earphones to acknowledge their presence.

“Can I help you?”

The smiley man scratched his stubble and chuckled at some internal joke while the other one just stood there like a rock.

“Sure, sweetheart,” his husky voice cooed, or rather tried to coo at you, sending a really uncomfortable tickle down your spine, “what are you listening?”

“...Hunnybee.”

“Mh,” he tilted his head, sending his eyes up and down your figure, making you conscious all of a sudden, “you look more of a ‘Filthy’ girl, the Timberlake one.”

“Excuse me?”

“What I mean is you can help us out by handing over that old piece of paper you got working on over there.”

That’s when you noticed the red hue of the emergency lights outside the lab with at least a dozen more men moving about in the darkness, forcing you to turn towards the screen and swipe away to find out Friday’s intrusion alert.

What in the hell…

“Well,” the stubble guy asked you gently, his eyebrows and hands raised in question, “what do you say, sweetheart? Help a guy out here.”

You took a step away from their direction, your gloved hands sweeping the dry papyrus away from the table, rolling it and pulling it behind you. “Mr Stark didn’t send you here.”

It was more of a statement than a question, making the guy’s smile falter and his lips twitch, his hands going down in momentary defeat.

“The paper. Yes or no.”

You inched away further, finding your legs walk into Bruce’s desk.

“No,” you stated in the most obvious sense, surprised at your brain’s ability to be so dangerously subtle in a situation that could turn fatal for you.

The stubble guy dipped his head forward, inhaling in a long tiring breath before moving something from his back forward.

A machine gun.

Correction: the situation did just turn fatal for you.

For a second you froze there, your body not being able to decide between the flight or fight response as it saw both the men pull the trigger, your brain waiting for the glass walls to shatter and you to be dead any second, flinching as the bullets came out but dropped or bounced away just as they met the glass, leaving nothing but tiny frosty traces on the transparent surface.

“The lab is under emergency security, Y/N,” Friday’s soothing voice made you jump. “The chances of the breach are it 1.09 per cent.”

“Huh?” was your only response as your eyes didn’t leave the two men cursing the glass before signalling each other to take something else out of their utility belts.

“My security system is being bypassed at the moment, Y/N. If they are successful in doing so, I would not be able to keep them outside the lab anymore. The intruders have already cut off the rest of the facility’s power, making me unable to communicate with Mr Stark on my own.”

The men each took out what looked like spray bottles. The blank-faced man sprayed a string of white foam all over the lower parts of visible glass of the lab- which was practically three sides of the entire area- as the other stood there smiling before taking out a lighter and throwing in the material to create an explosion of fire all around you, making you bend down in fear of everything exploding in your face.

“Ten minutes,” the uncomfortable husky voice came again, “you have ten minutes to come out yourself and hand me that shitty paper before I melt this glass and get it from over your dead body.”

“Tell me,” you announced, never taking your eyes off the man, “tell me how can I help you reach Mr Stark,” making your intentions pretty clear to the man.

Continued here

TAGLIST

Permanent

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JBB tags who’d be interested (Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this fic)

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jvc-yearofservice · 5 years ago

Text

8/25/19 - 9/2/19

Last Sunday, we were invited to one housemate's boss's enormous and lush country home, which had a great pool. Some of the other Mercy volunteers were there as well and were super friendly. The way to the estate was pretty hilarious. First, our car stalled out, and then the supervisor gave us the most confusing directions ever. She initially sped off super far away on the highway even though she knew we were following her. Then she called us and said she was actually in back of us on the highway and that we should pull off at the nearest exit. Once we exited the highway, she called us and said she was actually in front of us the entire time, so we had to get back on the freeway. We originally really wanted to put the address into the GPS in case we got lost while following her (which we did), but she insisted that the address wouldn't show up on the GPS which was pretty sketchy. After getting off the highway a second time and following her down a dirt path, I joked about how she might be luring us to a killing field. This woman apparently bought her sprawling estate with all her divorce settlement money and paid for the property in cash, which I thought was pretty impressive. One of her employees who was a former member of the addiction treatment program joined us and had an "IAmSober" license plate, which I thought was funny.

I've decided to create an Instagram account (@everyday_mustardseed) with pictures uploaded every day that I work there. Work has been pretty nuts lately. Firstly, we doubled the student population overnight (originally 10, now 21 kids)-largest ever has been either 40-60 kids at once. I finally got to meet the LCSW who works there full-time, and she seems pretty nice and helpful for resolving all the trauma in the children. One day in particular was kind of grueling because a parent was nearly an hour late to pick up their kids. We have a protocol at the school that if a child/children are not picked up within a certain amount of time after school ends, then we have to legally call the police, which I really dreaded doing. Thankfully, the parents showed up after some time, which was a godsend because I could only watch so many old episodes of Wishbone with them while they repeatedly asked me where their mom was. I can't imagine the abandonment issues that these kids experience as compared to how I felt whenever my mom was even a fraction of a minute late when I was a kid (and she gave me no reason to feel that way). I've also assisted in compiling files for the intake forms, and I have been taking pictures of the kids for their files which has been surprisingly cute and wholesome. One little girl, however, tried to throw a gang sign in her picture, but I (very gently) grabbed her hand to hide it before the picture was taken.

I've noticed some very peculiar behaviors in the children at the school. For example, many sibling groups act very close and are almost at odds with the other sibling groups, as if they were engaged in turf wars, but I think this is another coping mechanism. I feel so sorry for the children who have no siblings since they are pretty much alone and unprotected from the other children's bullying. Many of the kids have expressed not wanting to leave at dismissal and feeling sad when the weekend approaches and school isn't in session. One of my co-workers has a theory about the children's behavior. He thinks that the most well-behaved children are the ones who are the most chronically homeless and more used to it due to them being so grateful for everything they are given, whereas the unrulier kids are newly exposed to the homeless lifestyle which is why they are acting out. One of the teachers spoke about how the more chronically homeless kids are "starved for knowledge" and relish any learning in the classroom.

A second car driven by a housemate has bitten the dust (the one that stalled on the way to the supervisor's estate on Sunday). It's unfortunate because this means we are even more restricted in terms of going places and visiting other JVC houses.

A fun community night activity took place this week, where we all shared our love language, Myers-Briggs personalities, enneagram numbers, and zodiac sign. My love language is acts of service/devotion, I am INFJ, Type 1, and a Gemini-Cancer cusp. So far, I have learned that there are the following zodiac signs in the house: Gemini-Cancer cusp, Pisces, Sagittarius, Taurus, Scorpio, Libra, and Aquarius. The personality types are: 1 INFJ (Advocate), 1 ENTJ (Commander), 2 ENFJ (Protagonist), and 3 ENFP (campaigner). The most common love language are: 5 quality time, 5 words of affirmation, 3 acts of service/devotion, 1 physical touch, and 1 gifts.

A little bit of scandalous news-apparently the JVC stipend is and has been too small for some time. It is a well-known secret in JVC history that many volunteers have side-jobs to make more money than just the monthly stipend. I remember hearing that my dad had a $100 stipend each month, which is kind of strange since that means the stipend has not been adjusted for inflation (aka it's much more expensive to exist today compared to back then). Additionally, California is notoriously expensive, so I'm wondering if the JVC should have made financial changes for stipends depending on how expensive the cost of living is in each city (for example, $100 a month would get you much further in Scranton than Sacramento). Furthermore, apparently the Jesuit Volunteer Corps of Northwest gives their volunteers $300 each month and has much better housing accommodations.

This weekend, we drove to Oakland/Berkeley, California, and stayed over at the JV house there. The party on Saturday was 60's/70's theme, and a couple other JV houses from around California came to stay over as well. We got there via car from a former JV and another car that a co-worker rented for us. Then, all together, we traveled to Baker Beach in San Francisco, where we sat on the beach, and I even saw a dead sea lion on the beach, which was understandably gross. P.S. part of the beach was nude which was super unexpected. When we were getting the alcohol for the party at the JV house, we were walking out of CVS, and a bunch of the worst-disguised undercover cops were waiting to card us again on the side walk. Gladly, we handed over our IDs, and one cop even asked one of us who the governor of Wisconsin is (none of us knew). When they were looking at my ID, the cop turned to me and asked suddenly "What year did you graduate high school?" and I immediately answered "2014". He gave it back to me reluctantly, and much to the horror of my housemates, I asked him, "Are you sure you don't want to check it again? I could be lying." That Saturday night, a couple of us went to Taco Bell after the party, and one of my housemates cracked a beer open in line there, and the poor cashier had to ask him to finish it, so he very unapologetically chugged it in front of everyone inside the Taco Bell, which was hilarious. On Friday, we attended a baseball game between the Sacramento Wild Cats and whatever the team name is of San Diego. We won, and there were fireworks, but more importantly, I got to drive an electric car for the first time ever (a fiat)!

Lastly, a funny story that I was told this week during community dinner involved a man who told everyone that he was married to a key chain. Since the person who told the story works at a mental health facility, they were not too disturbed by this fact, but they were surprised when eventually the man who was apparently married to a key chain brought in an actual wife one day (who or what is the key chain???)! Another funny occurrence happened to my housemate who works in a kindergarten classroom. They were in the middle of a lesson, and one child raised their hand. The teacher called on them, and they said simply, "My birthday was on Friday." The teacher replied, "I know. We celebrated." She waited a moment and then said, "Anything else?" and the student said "No." I laugh every time I think of this story.

Peace and blessings,

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startuplifedenver · 4 years ago

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ABOUT THAT LIVING SITUATION

Earlier today was thinking that time to make a decision about my living conditions is coming to a head. The more that allow for time to keep passing by, the more entrenched I will be in the current Depopulation Operation and psychological thrill playing on all TV screens.

The truth is that MK-Ultra has kept going on, and has incorporated plenty of new technologies into their arsenal of control and surveillance. This is the public story of a mind control program from the u.s. cia. How much of this information is true and not a fictionalize more profound understanding of mind control in our world?

Seeing how much non-sense is there today pouring out of screens, the realization that this has always happened is self evident. We are not the first generation to be bombarded with plain bullshit and make up stories. Decades ago, our parents and grand parents were also bombarded with psychological operations constantly.

All the policies coming out of governments are the same war, criminalization, violence and jail. Think about it: The war on drugs is filled with bullshit, guns and jails. The war on terror (remember?!) same shit but with bigger weapons, and the same plunder, guns and jail.

Now we are told that due to the computer-virus-19 that has infected all the screens around the planet, violence and jail goes for people who do not comply with their new totalitarian takeover that includes, pharma drugs for everybody and plenty of guns and violence and jail.

Same fucking policies, different name.

The governments all are reading from a script, same as the TV channels, and those writing the script are invisible to us. Not even the degenerate of bill hates. Those at the top are unknown to the naked eye, bastards. It is being said those are beings from a different realm, passed the wall of ice, and into other realm.

Fucking degenerate race that ended up farming us humans!

SO ABOUT THAT LIVING SITUATION

The living situation where I find myself at is very shaky and unstable, prone to go downhill very easy. So far I have been in this place for three years, and I am starting to feel and get feedback messages from the environment --as Terrence McKenna would have said, that it’s time to go somewhere else because as long as I stay here, my days and years will be just the way they have been up until now.

Perhaps the next living situation will not be as smooth as this one has been, or perhaps it will be better, with more sunny days and more people in my life, and the opportunity to help build something, and fuck I don’t know, kind of like get on track with something once and for all.

One big red flag that came upon the other day, is the owner of the house said she had planned on selling the house during the Summer but the computer-virus-19 prevented her from doing it. But that next year, it could happen depending on the situation.

ROOMIES AND NEIGHBORS

The other rommie is planning on buying a home, and the other rommie will go with him but not Mr Diz. Seriously, they need someone else and not me. And I also have already lived with them, and the MK-Ultra is fucking pouring out of every pore they have. Sometimes it scares me to hear them talking.

A few short months ago during Summer the neighbors came over and they were all in for every single person being obedient and taking their poison. OMG. I kept my mouth shut but that was very telling. Of all the people, I was the only one who was awake!

Or a complete fucking idiot if you ask my rommies and neighbors.

The owner is going to move out of the house and I am going to need to have a new home, either in D or in another city. After all, the only thing that ties me to D is the job that I have and the fact that I have a home to live in and I am stable. Other than that, there is really nothing. No friends, no roots, no network, no fucking nothing.

LARGE ROOM FOR YOGA

Catchy phrase for a room being rented in a house that doesn’t allow drugs in. I think it’s an older lady who owns a couple of dogs. Nice area of town, as far as I know, more inside the city than outside as I am now. Less space and more people around, more noise at night, more people coming and going.

This is an area where the last time I went walking around it, got a nice positive vibe and feeling. And the lady with the purple hair I met when knocking on doors lives there.

LITMUS TEST NEXT HOME

Yoga or Calisthenics, the reality is that I need someone who is awake to this fucking nonsense. To be in a home where someone is following the directives from the MK-Ultra computer-virus-19 is a no-no. Period. That is the Alpha and Omega of all this situation. Period.

Tall order to find someone like that in this area, and who is renting a room at a fair price, and who is not crazy. Well, I am one so for sure there are two.

VAK*S AND TEST IN ONE DAY!

Holy Mother of Jesus Christ Almighty, give me strength. The roomie was complaining of shoulder pain just yesterday, and nonchalantly said to have just taken a pharmaceutical injection for the flooo. Where the needle pierce the outer layers of the skin, down to the muscle where it stopped. The liquid inside made its way down the needle and into the muscle tissue where it had started to be absorbed by the tiny capillary veins crisscrossing it in all directions. That spot on her arm was hurting.

And I guess just because it was right there, and also because it was free, then decided to take a computer-virus-19 test. Why would you ask, or what symptoms is the person showing? None at all, even went to the gym the next to workout first thing in the morning. WTF my goodness, you just take an intravenous pharmaceutical drug and just go about your day like after eating a cup cake?

EGGS? THE WHITE PART I GUESS?

One of the roomies mentioned that apparently the liquid injected has egg in it. Imagine, it has “egg”? To what the other rommie, the one with the health degree, said that it was maybe the white part.

Mr Diz, following his training in living amongst this race of backward monkeys, who still think that stupid show on TV is real, decided wisely to nod about the egg comment, and don’t say anything about the nanobots being injected and the immortal cell lines, and the fucking poison.

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mosmindmanifested · 5 years ago

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LSD: An Odyessy of Possible Realities

"You are your own worst enemy".

What does that cliche even mean? Are there two "mes'", engaged in an intimate duel for dominion over my mind and body? Probably not.

"You just need to get out of your own way."

Now that one perplexes me even more. The obstacle that I need to overcome is myself. But what aspect of mySelf? Clearly, we aren't meant to take these cliches literally, or they would just be the common word salad we'd expect from a schizophrenic. These cliches seem to be hinting at an underlying theme. Self-sabotage.

How many times have you got yourself so excited about pursuing a specific endeavor? You may have actively imagined yourself enjoying the fruits of this endeavor, indulging in the thoughts and feelings associated with achieving this goal. Now the time to start this endeavor arrives. You begin by feverishly committing to this vision. You take the first few necessary steps to make your dreams a reality.

As time progresses, your romantic feelings towards this goal pass the honeymoon stage, and what once was a complete immersion fades into a mild focus.

Before you know it, you stop pursuing this endeavor.

Where was the spark you had to begin with? You brainstorm all the reasons why you couldn't find the motivation to continue. You tell yourself the same old story. I'm just not the type of person who does that type of thing... Not everyone would be: x,y,z.. It wasn't meant to be... Whether you're aware of it or not, you were doomed to begin with. Intoxicated by the sweet imaginings of future success, your burning desire acted as a catalyst to fuel the first few miles of the trip. Desire without faith is useless though. Deep down in the recesses of your being, a part of you was not congruent with the task at hand. A part of you believed itself to be unworthy of the success it desired. A part of you feared the challenges associated with the work and the consequences of potential failure. A part of you believed the criticisms your peers expressed when you spoke to them of your plans. A part of you desperately grasped onto the status quo, afraid of venturing into the unknown.

(Doubt is the devil.)

Your core beliefs expressed unconsciously and developed early in life, dominate your will. Whether positive or negative, these beliefs determine the course of your actions and chances at success. Analogous to computer programming, we are all running the SCRIPT of our fundamental beliefs. We are all stars of a Self-fulfilling prophecy. So how do we go about regaining control over our destiny? How do we leverage the forces of heaven and earth to our aid?

In comes LSD.

The transcendental super drug that fueled the counter-culture of the 1960's. The subject of the ever notorious MK-Ultra trials at McGill university. (Long story short, they were trying to develop a mind-controlling substance and were testing the efficacy of LSD6 to do the job.) The nootropic mind fuel for silicon valley tech-experts. LSD seems to be powerfully intertwined with higher mental functions and creativity.

This is not an academic post. I will not be discussing the scientifically proven benefits or downsides of consuming the substances. Instead, I will be sharing my personal experiences with the substance, and the dramatic transformations it had facilitated for me.

September 2016

I am starting my second year of university. I have barely any credits from the previous year and am dreading the two-hour commute to and from school. I feel as though I have no autonomy in my life. If I don't graduate from school, I will be a failure in life. I have to find a way to pay all this debt I'm placing myself in I am so much behind my peers; will I be able to graduate in four years? What will I do after my bachelor's degree? Ever and their mom has a degree in psychology; how will I get a job? Should I tell my parents I failed two classes last semester?

My mind was in a chaotic and paralytic nightmare.

Every day seemed like a hassle. Every moment was another drowned in future anxieties and worry. I was desperate for a change and turned to drugs. I had been experimenting with marijuana for a while but found it served as a spiritual anesthetic more than anything. I was looking for something more profound, something that would have an impactful and transformative effect on who I was with a person. Having experimented with magic mushrooms once before, and being deeply moved by the permanent effect it had on my worldview, I felt as though using LSD was the next logical step.

I found a supplier through a mutual friend; he testified to the potency of the drug, warning me of the potential dangers and elucidating the type of experience I was heading towards. The day after my first lecture of the year, I meet with the supplier.

I drop the acid on the 2-hour train ride home. An hour in and my visual perception becomes skewed. The walls of the train become amorphous. The chatter of those on the train merges into a static hum, hardly being able to pay attention to any dialogue long enough to decipher any meaning. Colors take on a higher level of saturation. Everything is brighter. A light layer of perspiration covers my body. It is the tail end of summer and the sun is blazing. I hop off the train and rush onto the bus, praying not to bump into anyone I know in my vulnerable state. Low and behold, I bump into a distant friend. We get into the standard dialogue that people who see each other unexpectedly after being loosely acquainted get into. Work. School. News. I mild nausea kicks in. The longer I stare at this mans face, the more cartoonish it appears. I abruptly hop off the bus and run into a local library. I lock myself in a public washroom stall and force myself to take a shit. Nothing is coming out. I step out the stall. I shouldn't have looked in the mirror. I can barely recognize myself. I look like a wild animal; alien. I jump back on the bus and head home. I rush into my parent's bedroom and console myself with my guitar. I feel as though I am sinking into my bed. The mild perspiration becomes a thick layer of sweat. The acid is not agreeing with the iced coffee I had hours prior. I rush to the washroom and force myself to vomit. My brother recognizes something is off. I psychically sense his concern. There is nothing left to do but confess. He directs me to his room where I spend the next few hours. Better his disapproving embrace than the wrath of my mother, I would not be able to handle that right now. He brings me his laptop and suggests I surf the web. I play Richard Linklater's "Waking Life". I am moved by the themes of the movie. Is my whole waking reality a manifestation of my dreaming reality?

The uncomfortable feelings fade and replaced with awe for everything around me as if I was seeing it all for the first time. I go outside and play basketball with the local high school kids. I am in ecstasy. I take my bike and go for a bike ride. The sky is so beautiful. Torrential rainfall and I'm far from home now. For the first time, I was not bothered by the rain. I embraced every drop. I get home soon enough and dreamed about the rest of my life. I was to become a world-traveling anthropologist, discovering new cultures and integrating them in the west. For the first time in a long time, I was not worried about anything. Everything was perfect.

I could've died a peaceful death at that moment.

In fact, I feel like a part of me died that day.

June 2019

I embark on an experiment. I buy 10 tabs of acid and decide to take small amounts every day, progressively taking larger doses as time progresses. At this point in time, I am working at an independent coffee shop. The only thing on my mind is saving up enough money to move out of my parent's house for good, and living on my own. Each day brings new insights. Week 1 I find myself stripping more and more activities and engagements from my life. I spend my off time meditating and reading books on personal success. I talk less and listen more. I'm making more tips at work and am a lot more diligent when it comes to the minutiae of the job. My workouts are amazing. I am hitting personal bests on the squat and deadlift.

Week 2

All my time spent not working is dedicated to spiritual work (meditation, prayer, active imagination), exercise and time with family. Old ideas are resurfacing and, for the first time, I am taking action towards realizing them.

Week 3

The course of my life has completely changed. I have reached a state of unconditional love. I am one with everything and everyone around me. My personal engagements are becoming more rich and authentic. I am no longer afraid to be vulnerable. I forgive those that have done me wrong in the past and make it a mandatory endeavor that I expose myself to the situations that make me feel the most insecure and afraid. In meditation, I cry tears of joy. I am complete as I am. I love everyone. I am completely transformed inside out, and opportunities and insights begin happening in real-time. My business idea seems so tangible as if they already exist in a parallel reality. Everything is perfect. I am at peace. A month has passed and the feelings I have cultivated during the three week period are alive and active. I no longer feel angry, or wronged. Every day is filled with gratitude. I make it a habit of mine to be creative daily. Cataloging my ideas and actively pursuing the ones I deem most appropriate for the moment.

LSD is a powerful tool.

It allowed me to access the deepest layers of my being and reorganize my belief system. Exposing myself to positive material during the experience was integral to rearranging my psyche. I have undergone a profound self-hypnotic restructuring, and can never see reality the same again.

The hippies might be on to something.

0 notes

splattershotsundae · 7 years ago

Text

Better Eight Than Never --- Chapter 35: Orvokki Vitrel

Warning: The following chapter details gore.

[Entry 1

This is the first entry since that blasted Harlequin incident that my experiments have bared any fruit. As such, I am starting anew. To begin, after that wretch escaped me, I figured I needed to move my plans to the surface, and placed devices which broadcast the ink transfusion signals (Quite an upgrade from the tubes, if I do say so myself) into ink battle arenas. I tried to pick ones that were near large amounts of water… which sure took some doing.

However, as I waited for results, one by one the machines seemed to fail. It is only now, several shifts later, that the surface news has told of a squidling named ‘Yuri Skwidd’ who had clear ink. I was astounded, not only had the machine worked after all, but the subject had survived! The downside is that these results seem to only be temporary, though it might only end upon being splatted. Due to the report… however, this is outshined by the news that not only can he merge with water, it sounds as though he could merge with squidlings themselves, and take control of their bodies.

The uses of this could be limitless, we won’t just have super soldiers, we could have squidlings fight each other in the war! This technology could save thousands of Octarian lives. After giving these results to the lab’s managers, I have been given permission to access the lab’s full potentials once again. Our first mission is to rebuild the machine while soldiers take squidlings from the surface. Hopefully we shall yield further results.

– Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 2

Construction in lab 32 is going agonizingly slowly. Don’t these workers know how to do their job? Which is work? I can see the sweat dripping from their brow, so how come progress has been at a minimum? The only thing keeping me from screaming at them this moment is Olwen’s hand on my shoulder. In one sense, I’m grateful. In another, I am sure the push these fools need is stern words. No matter! While they’re busy attempting to put together the frame to my dream machine, I am overseeing the more delicate parts, as they seem unable to comprehend my genius. I wrote everything down exactly how it is supposed to be done, and yet… ugh. If I made the calls, we wouldn’t be hiring the gunk I scrape off my boots to do such important work! It’s fine. Until we get in our subjects, I would undeniably still be pacing. I hope that the machine shall be recreated for the next shift.

Unlike MK I, MK II attaches to the ceiling or walls, with the subject positioned in front, with their torso in front of the core. The core will replicate pulses like a spawner, and steadily draw their ink from them and replace it with water. However… subject Harlequin still had her skin, organs, everything. Her skin was soft, but still firm. This Yuri… reports say he was water through every fiber of his being. I am uncertain what this could entail.

– Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 3

I couldn’t sleep, and returned to the lab to find the machine was almost complete, and my first subject has arrived! At long last, I can test to my heart’s content! I shall return after the results of my experiment.

Nothing has gone according to plan. Such is the nature of science, I am left thoroughly disappointed. It seems as though someone in this crew assembled my Ink Transfusion machine improperly, so it short circuited and fried a few wires. Not only that, but the core released a pulse which promptly caused the subject, subject 1, to explode into a burst of water. Through analysis it can be concluded she is deceased.

Subject was female, with green ink, type A positive.

One test in, and already I’m wasting squidlings due to incompetence. I will check over the machine myself, and from this point forward, only I or Olwen shall operate it.

– Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 4

Still unable to sleep, I am quivering with excitement; I have in two more subjects; Subject 2, Male, Orange ink, type B positive, and Subject 3, female, blue, type AB negative.

I have checked the machine at least a dozen times while waiting for Olwen to arrive. She seems concerned for my well being, perhaps she is right. After these experiments I should try harder to rest, a visit to the bathhouse to relax and then back to bed. I asked if she would like to come with me, and of course, she said no. I can’t tell if she thinks I’m joking. Why would I joke? Aside from the fact that we’re furthering technology right in this very room, she is the most important thing in my life.

Regardless, we have now positioned Subject 2 beneath the machine. He’s straining himself against the restraints with all of his might, and seems rather adorable in doing so, though such an action is dealing severe damage to his wrists and ankles. What a fool.

We have turned the machine on, and it is functioning properly, I hear his screams, and I can’t help but smile. That means that it’s working. On more cooperative patients, I’d ask what it felt like, so I could get a better sense of how it was working. He passed out, and a minute later, all that remains is a pool of water on the table. Upon containing the puddle, it began to thrash around and squeak in fear. How adorable. We’ve begun the process with the other squidling, and the results appear positive. Now with two of these things, we must remain cautious. If one of them were to escape and enter one of our brains, the lab might be torn apart.

Subject 3 is much more calm than subject 2, we’ve put her into a larger chamber for analysis, and we shall attempt to revert subject 2 to his previous ink, of which we still have samples of.

Subject 2 has been reverted to orange ink, however he did not survive the process. Either way, this is valuable intel, as his body remained intact. Upon conducting an analysis, the tears in his flesh from pulling against the restraints are all but gone. It is possible that being in this water state has corrected any minor wounds he had. We’ve sent his body to lab 22 for an autopsy, and Subject 3 shall remain under close watch until my return.

– Orvokki vitrel]

[Entry 5

I slept too long, subject 3 died between shifts, but at least we recorded the entire thing. She’s not a puddle like I first thought, she did actually have limbs, and as time went on she began to shrink until she fell apart completely, leaving only a puddle. (For sure this time) It seems that an evaporation process caused her to simply die. I’ve sent what remains of her to undergo analysis, but I suspect that by now she’s merely returned to water.

On the brighter side, they’ve brought me not one, not two, but four new subjects today. I shall continue the naming process as per usual.

Subject 4, Female, Green, A-

Subject 5, Male, Purple, B-

Subject 6, Male, Dark blue, A-

Subject 7, Male, Pink, O+

Now that we have more subjects, I can finally begin implanting. We decided to transfuse subject 7, a process which has left him rather delicate, more so than the others so far. After some deliberation, and much frustration, we managed to secure subject 4 to a table and forced subject 7 into her mind.

I’d never seen an ink reaction like this, even in the thousands of shifts I’ve been working in ink research. Her skin simply dissolved, allowing her flesh to bubble and pop, much like hostile ink. I’ve saved the footage to the journal for reference, and we’ve collected the ink that remained for further testing. We were unable to find subject 7, and so far, subject 4’s ink seems… perfectly normal. This perplexes me, I must learn more.

Under consulting with Olwen, we decided to turn both 5 and 6 into water. 6 is fairly sturdy in form, and we’re able to make out distinct limbs, whereas subject 5… is perfect. His form is pristine and clearly defined, and he appears to have a fierce spirit. We put the both of them into containment tanks, a true feat in the case of subject 5, who not only appeared to have seen what we did earlier and tried to jump at one of our scientists, but was able to temporarily change into humanoid form. I suspected this was possible, but to see it confirmed… He looks nothing like Harlequin, I wonder if she could even enter another’s mind, her humanoid form had skin and rigidity in a way he simply did not. Regardless, any further subjects shall be kept in a separate room, perhaps the room where empty containment tanks are stored could be filled instead of left to collect dust. Olwen presses me to sleep, she’s right, under my mask I feel the dark circles, and my nose runs. We added some water to the containment tanks, which should, theoretically keep them alive. Perhaps we should have only transfused one for the time being… It’s too late now, all I can do is sleep and see what happens.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 6

I can’t see. Never in my life have I felt so… Empty inside.

I can’t stop crying, she’s gone, she’s just gone.

This morning, we went to retrieve subject 5, and he broke out of his container and jumped at Olwen.

He killed her. There was nothing I could do.

I can’t believe that she’s gone. How am I going to keep going without her? She was the one person who meant anything to me, and I’m never going to see her again.

They took her to have an autopsy, and gave me the rest of the shift off, but…

I wish we’d done more together. There was so much we could have done once the surface was ours.

We could have even gone up now, I was tempted to ask her today, if she wanted to go up to the valley and look at the real sky. But she…

I feel like… nothing.]

[Entry 7

They brought me more subjects while I was away, but I hardly care. They can fill out most of the operations themselves…

It’s not that people around me haven’t died before, it’s just… this once, the shift-long grieve doesn’t feel long enough. How can I let go of her in this short of time? They expect me to be focused under these circumstances? How can they keep working while she’s gone? I’m listening to some audio I took of her, a long time ago, over and over and over again, but it’s not enough. How can this, and a few pictures, be all I have left of someone so full of life?

Subject 6 has been put into another subject without my authorization, what could go wrong? Well, the two fell unconscious, and nothing anyone can do will rouse them. For once it feels as though I won’t succeed. Olwen always cared more about me than my projects. She wouldn’t want me to simply give up, would she?… What if she’d been hesitant in the past, but never told me?

They came to me, and told me the results of the autopsy of my dear, sweet, Olwen. Her brains had all been torn to pieces, and then he’d done as much damage to the rest of her body as he could, they couldn’t even find one of her lungs.

It doesn’t feel fair to have to see this. To see what he’s… done to my beloved. The ooze seeping from her body...

I’m taking another shift off, sick leave.

I can’t do this.]

Bato was pulled from the journal by the sound of snapping fingers, and looked down to see Stacey trying to get his attention. “Huh, what?”

"What’s going on?" She asked. "I've been trying to get your attention for like, five minutes."

"Oh..." He'd temporarily forgotten about their current situation. "This mask, it has these... entries? Like, a scientist's journal sort of thing. And they're about these... experiments, that they've been doing on inklings, trying to recreate what happened to Yuri."

Stacey grimaced. "Of course... Well, you seem to have turned the lights on with that thing... it can probably open the door. I... Don't think I'm ready to go anywhere yet though. You doing alright? You look shaky."

Bato nodded a bit, lifting the helmet a bit and wiping his forehead, "Some of these entries… they were dealing with some… dark stuff.” He explained, groping behind him for the table and leaning against it for a second, "... Toda and the twins were lucky... I've only read through seven of these and I can already tell that it could've been so much worse..." He frowned, thinking about this Olwen person… He felt like he was intruding on some very personal things by reading this… but if there was going to be information about where his friends were, he had to.

Stacey winced. "I’d offer to read it.. But at this point, I don't think we should risk you taking that off. If you have low clearance, the fact that you can use that might be a fluke."

"I think you're right." He agreed. "It almost didn't let me in to begin with but..." He shrugged, Hachi must've messed with his mask quite a bit in order to let him use it. He took a deep breath, "Let me know when you're ready to go." He said, as he opened Entry 8.

[Entry 8

I can’t. I can’t keep acting like this. She’d want me to keep going. But how can I? I’m still sick, so I decided to look over the ink samples this shift… as well as my own. There’s always been an irregularity in my ink I haven’t been able to identify… But I think I found something. Something that my ink has in common with the ink of subject…. 5.

The fact that I have anything in common with that hideous muck worm makes me nauseous… If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.

No, I’d kill the person who meant the most to him.

A child, a spouse, a mother, anyone.

Can’t I still do that?

There would be no way I can find them… but if we storm the surface, there’s a chance that my revenge will be carried out by my work.

I’m prepared to take a gamble, and I won’t tell anyone what I’ve done, unless it’s a success.

Not even you, my journal.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 9

I can’t feel my body]

[Entry 10

I’m still alive… I banked on that connection between mine and subject 5’s ink, and I’ve emerged victorious. My body is made of water, which admittedly makes it hard to write in my journal now, but other good things are happening, it feels as though I’m finally being taken seriously. No, I know I’m being taken seriously, there’s talk of a sponsorship from Ophelia, and I may get as many test subjects as I need. They’re going to adapt the facility to my needs, to allow me to travel through the pipes. Walking around like normal causes me to lose pieces of myself on the floors. I’m also being reassigned to lab 26, maybe for the best… the old one is… highly traumatic. That’s the only way I can say it, I don’t want to go back in there, I can still see her dying face.

I don’t recognize my voice, no longer low and smooth it’s… like a gurgle. Some people can’t even understand me, and they’re terrified of me, which in a way I like, but… I feel so alone, without her here…

Beside me…

In a way, I’ve become what killed her.

Did I ever deserve someone like her?

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 11

Subject 6, and the subject she was implanted in, have both finally died, so it was time I took their place, and got in-depth with the minds of these squidlings. I was put into the mind of subject, apparently 11, and attempted to control them. With their singular brain, I had no idea which spots controlled what, so I simply wriggled around, and soon I felt them dying around me, so I jumped out, which was difficult, the rig is set up so it’s hard to escape… but it feels as though that may be why I’m still alive, while subject 11 is now dead. I don’t understand why this is, but it might be something to look into.

Oh no, I forgot to grab an ink sample from subject 11 before they died. Shit. I need to stay focused. I’ve ordered ink sample collections from every single test subject as soon as they enter the facility. I must find more links between these ink samples.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 12

I’m glad that I’ve always kept a journal as an outside mask, because it’s occurred to me now that… should I die, my journal would simply dissolve if it was on my main mask. I’ve saved everything I have of Olwen to it now, just in case. She should never be forgotten.

Onella, my sister, has been hounding me however, Says I’m not acting the same. It’s not like her to care, I don’t understand what this is.

Regardless of her intrusions, I’m currently overseeing the remodeling of my new house inside the laboratory. It feels empty, but I need a more permanent bed than a bucket of water. They are supplying me with an entire pool.

Most of what I did today was compare samples. This irregularity… it seems to be consistent with purple inks, but none are as close to mine in this way as subject 5… Why am I the closest thing to that slime ball? That murderer? That…

If I don’t embrace this, it will eat me alive.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 13

I transfused two purple squids today, and I’m beginning to let these samples be public record so they don’t have to be mixed with my personal thoughts. We did two experiments today, one in which the squid could escape its host, and one where they could not. The one who could escape was the only survivor out of all of them. So if I escape a host, even if they are dying, I can live. Quite valuable information.

We took the survivor, and put them into another mind, of a different color ink, and… different results emerged. I’ve given authorization for them to continue using this squid while I performed my own experiments. I allowed myself to be dropped into the mind of a squidling and, to my surprise, they retaliated against my efforts inside their brain, so I fought back, physically, I made them claw at their skin, and bite off their own tongue, and worst of all---] Bato swallowed and exited that entry, sweat pouring off of his brow. Dear Judd, he couldn’t imagine the horror that poor person must have felt, or what could have been worse. He didn’t have time to read every entry, he decided, just to give himself an excuse so he wouldn’t have to read something like that again, and proceeded to skim the rest.

And he was glad that he did, these entries detailed the gore, more and more graphically each time. She’d begun to have her subjects put into a special room so that way they wouldn’t be bound, but still couldn’t escape. She’d been made an elite due to the amount of damage she could cause to a person being ‘elite level skill’. She was mad that she couldn’t wear the kelp, as it sank right through her.

A few entries later, he paused. This entry was different.

[Entry 19

I have finally assembled a chart, of how the ink of the subjects effects this process.

Transfusion subjects; Purple ink is the best suitable subject for this, and as of now it’s the only subjects I want from the surface, as it contains a protein which can withstand the process. I get the honor of naming it, but I’ve yet to decide… Regardless, other ink colors don’t have this, and as a result, they are unstable, and may have less control or fall apart entirely.

As for being a host, the color seems to be a determining factor as well; the darker the ink color, the more dense it is, and the harder it is for the infiltrator to manipulate. Purple ink seems to have an innate resistance, perhaps because of this same protein. If a host and an infiltrator have ‘rival colors’, the two will begin to dissolve, such as Pink and Green, Orange and Blue… Purple and Green also seem to count as rival colors, but the repercussions might put them on level footing. I don’t understand it.

What I need is more proof, I need the survivors of Yuri, as I have yet to be left with a surviving host.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

He skimmed some more before something else struck his interest, entries from the past few days.

[Entry 22

We found one. Today we finally found one of Yuri’s victims, I will be calling him Y-1, and I’ll be taken up there as soon as possible. However… We are unsure how to best do that… as putting my water body through a kettle would… boil me. I’m not sure how that would effect me, would I even survive? There are plans of having a guard take me up in a containment tank, but even that might be risky. We may have to bring the squid down here. That should be fine.

I’m furious. We were so close, but apparently Orion decided to leave him on the surface so he could do one of his ‘revenge’ things against one of the sea sirens. I have a revenge to fulfill as well, over here! Not to mention not only do I have Onella pestering me to let her in on everything, but Ophelia breathing down my neck and rushing my progress so it’s hard to get anything done. What can’t wait a few more shifts?

… She has a voice though, as sweet as Olwen’s…

I must get close to her, I’ll do whatever it takes to record some sounds from Ophelia She’s the closest I have to my one true love…

…

Perhaps the fact that I sit here and write so much is why she is getting testy. Doesn’t she realize how this is a vent? I’d never say any of this to her, of course, I want to keep my tentacles.

– Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 23

They’re all dying. I’ve been in so many today, I’ve killed a dozen squidlings, a fact which I’ll go into more detail in a moment, but… I’m still no closer, and Orion is ignoring my orders to pick up the fucking squidlings I need. It’s not fair, You’re supposed to respect me you big-headed lump of slime. I need to go to another one, I need to rip them apart! I’m so mad!!

To make everything worse, just because Onella’s in on this project now, she thinks she gets to call the shots! I hate her! I hate everything!

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 24

Orion’s told me that some defect made her way back to the domes, she’s been in contact with Yuri’s hosts. She was able to bring down an ink sample from one of them, thanks to being around his tank.

I’ve examined it.

He’s… He has the same irregularity as mine. As subject 5. As my sister.

I need him. I need him now. There are so many questions that need to be answered.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

[Entry 25

The ‘splatfest’ happened, and not only did we get more purple test subjects than I could ever use, but… finally, we know right were Yuri’s hosts are. They’re here. In this very building, and I’ve just finished dealing with Y-1, and as of now, he’s the first subject I’ve ever left alive. My approach was all wrong. I was… flailing, and wriggling, I never considered fight fire with fire. Attack him with thoughts, my thoughts, his own thoughts. Act like… not like I’m a pilot, but that I was him. It was my body. It felt so… powerful, and soon I shall test with another survivor what I’ve learned… though… these three hosts, know each other, and I have plans for implanting one into another. Perhaps the connection between them will herald different results. I may not have too much more time for experimentation, hearing news that someone I controlled remained alive, we’ve been given a go ahead from Ophelia, and she’ll be sending a very special squidling my way shortly.

In addition… there was a ping on the squid who matched my ink, but he’s… gone. Someone stole him from right under my nose. I was so close, and I need him back! This is personal now, I’ve sent people looking for this thief, and I will stop at nothing to find my specimen. Someone is actively trying to thwart me, I feel…

I’ll find you, squidling.

--Orvokki Vitrel]

Bato found himself gripping the table, shudders running down his back. She… She needed him…. She needed him. There was something weird about his ink? Weird how? He felt light headed, and frightened, and he made himself take a deep breath. Toda was alive… and when this had been written, Jill and Simon had been alive as well… but who could say how well they were doing… What sort of irregularities did his ink have?

Focus. He began to run his hands over his tentacles. If he wasn’t here, where was she? Probably lab… which one? 26? If he had more clearance with her mask, could he see where that was? He pulled up the map, which flickered and then cleared up. He frowned as he looked the map over, noting that the lab was quite a ways away, but he was able to bookmark it so his mask could give him better directions. Turned out it was a GPS as well.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a gurgle of water, and he stiffened, looking over at the pool, and seeing that it was beginning to fill with more water. A thick clump came out of the pipe in a rather un-water-like fashion, and he swallowed. Oh no, it was her. He glanced down at Stacey, realizing for the first time that she’d fallen asleep. She must be exhausted, but… he had to wake her. “Stacey!” He hissed as he knelt down.

She groaned and opened her eyes, squinting.

“Squid!” Bato hissed. “I can carry you in my helmet.” He said, flipping it over like a bucket. As she transformed, he helped her into the helmet, not taking his eyes off the pool as a rippling woman made of water arose. He quickly stood as she approached, free hand hovering near his ink tank. "So, you're Orvokki, I assume?" He asked, carefully edging toward the door.

"What are you doing here, give me back my journal!" She shouted as she began to rush toward him.

"I'm afraid I need it right now," He said, turning toward the door to unlock it, and then laying a mine down in the doorway as he backed through it. As she drew near the bomb went off, sending splatters of purple ink through her body, and caused her to start steaming.

"SECURITY! LOCKDOWN FACILITY!" She screamed as she stumbled backward, falling over and writhing on the ground in pain. As the door slid shut, the alarms began to blare again, and this time, he was sure it was for him.

“Hold on tight! He grunted, clutching the helmet to his chest as he began to sprint down the halls, following the mask’s instructions through the corridors. He heard Stacey squeak as he made a particularly sharp turn, but as long as she stayed in the helmet, he told himself he wouldn’t stop running.

He heard a gunshot, followed by a ping off his armor, and he grimaced and turned a corner before he was prompted in an attempt to break away from his pursuers. He could hear them shouting and running behind him, but all he could think of was getting this mission completed. “Stacey.” He said, using what breath he could spare. “ They're going to experiment with the others, They’re probably in lab 26. If nothing else, you need to make it.”

She squeaked, and then one of her tentacles weakly swatted his arm. “It’s a worst case scenario, you know th-- AAAHHH!” Bato screamed as a bullet flew through his ear, but he didn’t have time to stop now, and pushed himself to run even faster. He wasn’t even sure if it was possible, but he had to. He dropped another ink mine behind him to deter pursuit, but knew there was only so much he could do, lab 26 was in a corner of the facility, the guards would close in, and he’d have no way to leave soon enough.

He heard another ping off his armor, and he felt once again grateful that Hachi had told him to put this breastplate on the right way around. He turned a corner into one final hall, seeing his goal dead ahead of him. Behind him, he heard a massive explosion which made his ears rang, and probably gave him some sort of degree of hearing loss from it’s intensity. He stumbled and staggered, having a hard time staying focused, but he had to make it. This door was his only hope. In a daze, he slumped against it, beating his fist against the metal door. “Open! Open! Open!” He shouted as his legs trembled. The second it took for the door to recognize Orvokki’s mask felt like an eternity, but finally it opened, and he stumbled through the door, and made it shut behind him, thinking a very loud ‘YES’ when it asked if he wanted to refuse access to other octolings. As soon as the door closed, there was an explosion on the other side, which dented it and let a small bit of octoling ink ooze through, but other than that, the door remained seemingly solid. Slumping against the wall, he took a moment to feel his left ear, which now had a notch in it, and hurt like all hell. That had been too close…

He did a sweeping look around the room, seeing rows of counters and machinery, and empty space filled with all sorts of threatening looking tools, and he vaguely remembered a few from when he was skimming the journal, a fact which caused him to shudder. On one wall, there was a valve, which had a small basin under it, and then on the far end of the room was a glass wall which allowed him to see into a test chamber that had an inkling resting on a metal bed, with all sorts of equipment pointed at their head. They sort of looked familiar, but his attention was drawn to an octoling scientist, who was looking at him with an expression of horror. He set the helmet down on one of the counters and grimaced, drawing his inkbrush. “We don’t have to fight, let me into that chamber.”

The scientist swallowed, then grabbed a knife off a table and rushed at Bato, thrusting it in a fairly novice fashion.

Bato flicked his brush, causing the scientist to stumble into a pool of ink, and then swiped at their hands to knock the knife away, causing them to yelp and fall over backward as they tried to escape. He huffed and reached up pick up Stacey, only for everything to go black as Orvokki’s journal was cut from the system. He swore under his breath and hurriedly pulled it off, which was just enough time for the scientist to get up and grab the knife again. He dropped the mask and sidestepped to dodge the scientist’s next swing, then spun his brush around and swiped it at the backs of their knees, sending them sprawling onto their back once again. “You done yet?”

The scientist nodded, covering their face with their tentacles.

Bato nodded, and looked back into the chamber, grimacing as the test subject began to look more and more like Simon. Crud. "Get up," He said sternly, prodding the scientist none too gently with the back end of his brush. “And unhook them from the machines, get them out of there!”

The scientist scrambled to their feet and darted over to a control panel, quickly pressing buttons. “It’s waking….” They murmured.

Bato grimaced, casting a brief glance at the door as someone on the other side began to pound at it. He scooped up Stacey and then followed the Scientist over to the panel, lightly poking them with the brush. “Don’t call my friend an it.”

The scientist yelped. "Heheh, Yes! Of course!… Don’t call the brutish squids its, why would I ever do that?” They asked, tone betraying how frightened they were. They twisted a knob, and a door in the wall opened with a hiss as the pressure equalized.

Bato hesitated just a moment, then ran forward, setting Stacey down so he could shake Simon’s shoulder. “Simon, Simon wake up! Are you alright?”

There was a moment of stillness, then their eyes slowly opened. They took a small shaky breath and whispered to seemingly nobody in particular. "It wasn't just a dream..."

Bato and Toda are Knitter’s characters

Simon, Jill, Hachi, Orvokki and Stacey are Shuckle’s characters.

Splatoon belongs to Nintendo.

Please consider liking or reblogging if you enjoyed, it’s nice to know we’re doing things right.

Shuckle has a patreon if you would like to provide additional support!

[<PREV] [INDEX] [NEXT>]

#Better Eight than never #Splatoon #Splatoon OCs #Splatoon fanfiction #Fanfiction #SS Bato #SS Toda #SS Simon #BS Stacey #Octo Orvokki

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son-of-alderaan · 8 years ago

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Star Wars: The Force Awakens Costume Design

Michael Kaplan is one of the top costume designers working in film today. He is an incredibly versatile designer, having designed such iconic sci-fi films as Blade Runner, for which he won a BAFTA, as well as Star Trek and Star Trek Into Darkness, but also masters the historic and modern beautifully with such credits as Pearl Harbor, Clue, Fight Club, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, and Christmas Vacation. He also almost single-handedly set the 1980s off-the-shoulder-sweater trend with his costume design for Flashdance. It is no wonder that he was trusted with designing the costumes for one of the most anticipated films of the decade, and the responsibility of shaping one of the most famous franchises in film history! Michael shares with us some exciting insight into his process on Star Wars: The Force Awakens, and some great details about textiles and technology.

Tyranny of Style: Can you talk to us about the inspiration and thought process that went into designing Rey?

Michael Kaplan: “When I began designing Rey’s costume (the first costume I decided to tackle) no actress had yet been cast. I like when this happens, in that I am not influenced by body type, familiarity with the actor’s previous work, etc. and this enables me to deal with the character totally objectively. Of course I had already read the script, which is always my initial road map in discovering a character. I knew that Rey lived and worked in an oppressively hot and dusty desert climate. I knew her life as a scavenger required a certain agility. I knew she was poor. I knew she drove a speeder. By taking all of these ‘clues’ I was able to build a believable character from the inside out.

Every garment she wears has a reason or purpose; nothing is superfluous. For example, the gauze fabric she wears crossed on her body can be wrapped around her face in sand storms. Her head wrap keeps her hair out of her face while working, and keeps the dust out of her hair- it’s actually a tunic, with the sleeves tied around her head. This tunic can be worn on chilly desert nights.

Rey wears a pair of goggles to protect her eyes from the intense sun and dust kicked up while riding the speeder. At close inspection it becomes evident that the goggles are home crafted and the lenses are old Stormtrooper eyes she must have scavenged from spaceship wreckage. If noticed, this touch gives information about the character’s ingenuity; if not, they still look good. Rey’s color palette just seemed appropriate for her environment.”

T/S: I am fascinated by how you went about updating elements, but staying true to the source material. Can you talk to us about how you found that balance with the Rebels and the New Order?

MK: “Episode VII follows THE RETURN OF THE JEDI. It’s the same world, we just haven’t been there in a while. I saw that my job was to revisit that world (albeit 30 years later), not to fix it, make it better or reinvent it. When I began working on the military uniforms (Rebels and New Order) I did want to make a clear distinction between the 2 forces. When I initially saw STAR WARS, I recall being confused as to which camp I was in. I did this by creating two diverse color palates; The Rebels in earthier tones, rusts, ochre, olive drab, sienna brown.

The New Order in black, charcoal grey, teal blue, and of course white for all the Stormtroopers, Snowtroopers and Flame Troopers. The Rebel fabrics were rumpled woolens, felted wool, cotton duck and twill, all very softly tailored. The New Order fabrics are polished wools and synthetics, some with shine, their tailoring, hard edged with strong heroic silhouettes (think 1980’s Thierry Mugler).”

T/S: Your design for the First Order Stormtroopers is just phenomenal. Where did you start in searching for ideas to update such an iconic costume in film history?

MK: “The original Stormtroopers are amazing and have come to be some of the most iconic costumes in the franchise. It was important to update them to show that 30 years had passed, but more important not to lose their recognizable appearance. This was something that both JJ and myself felt strongly and had many discussions about. In addition to updating the design of the Stormtroopers it was necessary to update them for strength and comfort.

The originals were vacuum-formed in thin plastic. They were brittle and cracked easily. The new script was calling for a lot of action and stunt work that would require tougher armor. The suits were molded out of polyurethane, much stronger and in ‘certain areas’ more flexible for comfort. They look and perform a lot more solidly, which was important for today’s more sophisticated moviegoers. “

T/S: How did you go about adapting the First Order Stormtrooper design for the other trooper variations?

MK: “I wanted the Flametroopers and Snowtroopers to have slits through which they looked out, inspired by some Inuit eye covers I saw at The Pitt-Rivers Museum of Natural History at Oxford. Of course, STAR WARS was immense, and I relied heavily on my brilliant concept artists who were constantly solving design issues. There were many beautiful designs that we were all coming up with, but my constant concern was that they all ‘belong’ in the STAR WARS universe. This required a great deal of editing.”

T/S: What was the inspiration behind designing the incredible Captain Phasma costume?

MK: “While prepping a film, I often go to museums for inspiration. London is an amazing place to do this. I love The Wallace Collection and would spend hours roaming their armor collections looking at unique and interesting forms. Before going there, I had had an image in my mind of a suit of silver armor, inspired by the forms of the Storm Troopers. I described the image to Dermot Power, one of our concept artists, and asked if he would have a go at it. The result was an amazing illustration.

There was no spot in the movie for this shining armor, but I loved looking at it. I hung it on the wall in our design room. One day Kathy Kennedy and JJ came in for a meeting. She stared at the sketch and pointed; ‘WHAT IS THAT!?!’ JJ loved it too and created the role of Captain Phasma. In a moment of brilliance, (one of many) he hired Gwendolyn Christie for the part. The armor is actually silver plated.”

T/S: Kylo Ren is by far one of the most striking costumes of the film. Can you talk to us about the overall process for designing this costume?

MK: “Kylo Ren was probably the hardest character to conquer. Throughout the years there have been so many superheroes created. It is difficult to come up with a design that doesn’t, in some way, feel derivative. My team and I worked very closely with JJ trying to find a way to show Kylo’s admiration of Darth Vader; emulating without imitating. JJ also wanted the mask to have a quality that, perhaps on a billboard would be ‘wondrous’ to a child. We liked the reflective curving lines on the mask; they feel very 1970’s, the decade during which, all this began.

All of Kylo's garments have strong textures for interest. The hood fabric has a foiled finish for sheen; because he’s in all shades of black, I was worried about losing definition in dark lighting situations. His sleeves were made of heavy canvas, which was dyed and intentionally unevenly pleated, then waxed. I love the resulting patina.”

T/S: I am blown away by the absolutely impeccable tailoring of General Hux. Can you tell us about the inspiration for his costume?

MK: “Yes, we have an excellent tailor working with us who was able to get the extreme silhouettes I was after. I loved the idea of him sometimes stylishly donning his greatcoat on his shoulders, like a cape.”

http://tyrannyofstyle.com/star-wars-force-awakens-costume-design

#star wars the force awakens #star wars tfa costume design #michael kaplan

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skittelsen · 8 years ago

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My Secret Origin as a Super-Fan

*This post is my personal story. It does not represent the opinions or views of NetherRealm Studios, WB Games, or DC Entertainment.

What a week!

My first game as Narrative Lead, INJUSTICE 2, launched worldwide, and the response from fans and critics has been overwhelmingly positive—as in I feel overwhelmed by all the positivity. This week also marked the tenth anniversary of my NYU graduation. Finally, there’s the MOST important milestone of all, my son’s third birthday. For me, all these events are connected.

Of all the reactions to Injustice 2 out there, I love most when someone remarks that the people who made this game must really love DC Comics lore. Trust me, they do. Everyone on the I2 team has a favorite DC character, from the iconic to the obscure. My favorite is Superman.

It might come as a surprise that the Narrative Lead on a game in which Superman is portrayed as a lethal tyrant would profess to be a Superman fan, but I am.

Here’s why. When I was about 4 years old, my parents told me that I was and would always be their son, but that I didn’t come out of Mommy’s tummy like my sister. I was adopted. My birth parents, whoever they were, couldn’t raise me, so they sent me away to find a family who could provide a better life for me.

This kind of news can really mess with a kid’s head. I was an indoorsy, deep-thinky emo boy, and I would dramatically stare into the bathroom mirror and wonder whose eyes were looking back at me. Fortunately, my Mom and Dad were a real life Ma and Pa Kent, equipped with big hearts to manage my drama. They loved my sister and I as much as any kids could be loved, and they never treated me any differently on account of my secret heritage.

Superman: The Movie was on TV a lot in the 1980s. I don’t remember when, but at some point not long after my parents told me I was adopted, I made the connection that Superman was adopted. Superman was just like me!

From then on, my personal identity as an adopted kid was still fraught with complications and insecurities, but it wasn’t always a source of trauma. In my mind, I had a secret origin, a source of strength. And how cool would it be if I found a spaceship buried in the basement?

My parents reinforced this imaginative coping mechanism by indulging my every superhero fantasy. They took me to every comics and collectibles shop in upstate New York looking for special issues and rare action figures. Mom sewed more than one Superman cape (and a few Batman capes, too), and she and I binge-watched George Reeves in Adventures of Superman. For my 18th birthday, my Dad bought me the S-shield tattoo that’s still on my shoulder. A year later, he got the same S-shield tattoo on the same shoulder as me. He sat in the inker’s chair wincing from the needle, quoting Marlon Brando as Jor-El, “The son becomes the father, and the father becomes the son!”

Without my parents’ support, I may never have gone to Metropolis for college at NYU. They were so proud at my graduation, but I wasn’t proud yet. I wanted to be a writer, but instead, I found myself working as the Corporate Files Administrator at the HBO Legal Department and taking an LSAT prep course by night. I was lost.

Then, two things happened that set me back on course. First, I was hired by an indie producer to write a screenplay, enabling me to quit my job at HBO. Second, at my wife’s urging, I sent a fan letter to one of my favorite writers, author and educator Douglas Rushkoff, asking if he needed any help.

They say don’t meet your heroes, but in Rushkoff, I found a mentor and a lifelong friend. Working as his editorial assistant was a dream come true. I learned more in one year working Rushkoff than I had in four years studying at NYU.

Then my screenplay deal fell apart, the global economy tanked, and like a lot of recent college graduates, I faced the real possibility of going broke and moving back in with my parents. Rushkoff couldn’t pay me a full time salary, but he offered to help me get an inside track at DC.

Applying for a job at DC Comics without a personal recommendation is like throwing rocks at the moon. For years, from sophomore year of college on, I had applied for every DC internship and entry-level position available. Never got a response. Rushkoff recommended me and I got a call from WB HR within a few hours. It certainly helped that I now had a few more bullets on the CV. It also may have helped that the person Rushkoff recommended me to was Paul Levitz, then President and Publisher of DC Comics.

An extensive interview process later, I was hired as Assistant Editor - Interactive at DC Comics. My family was with me when I got the phone call. We all went out for dinner and celebrated, and I got so drunk, I ate a bowl of unpeeled shrimp with the shells intact. That hurt in the morning, but it’s still one of my favorite memories.

Little did we know how much that job would change things. Less than a year after I started at DC, Paul Levitz stepped down and Diane Nelson arrived as President. DC Comics became DC Entertainment, and the office was split between New York and California.

It was a great deal of change in a relatively short period of time for a company invested with decades of tradition. That made for a controversial and upsetting time for many of the employees who had been at DC for years. I had the benefit of being the newbie, and my wife grew up in California, so were were excited to relocate to Los Angeles, even though it meant leaving our beloved city and so many wonderful friends behind. I accepted my offer to join the new team in Burbank, and off we went.

Working at DC was a dream job. I considered my colleagues like family members, and I got to work with more talented creators than I can list here. One of my favorite collaborators, though, was NetherRealm Studios.

Working with NRS on Injustice: Gods Among Us felt like a big deal. Mortal Kombat was a formative games franchise for me growing up, and the team was just coming off an amazing 2011 reboot of the MK franchise with an incredibly ambitious cinematic Story Mode.

Plus, this would be the AAA game in which my favorite hero, Superman, could finally take center stage. He would be the villain of the story, but a villain motivated by good intentions in response to a horrific tragedy.

The results were nothing short of awesome. From that first game through five years of comics and a blockbuster mobile adaptation, the Injustice universe took off like a bullet train.

I left DC before Injustice launched. It was a dream job, to be sure, but I still had that other dream of being a writer, and for HR reasons, that wasn’t possible while I was a DC employee. So when a Burbank creative agency offered me a leadership role, a better salary, and the freedom to write for anyone I wanted, I knew it was time to go.

Leaving DC felt like a big risk. It doesn’t get bigger than Superman. What would I find in the great beyond? But after getting comfortable in my position at DC, disrupting my routine and transitioning to games marketing was a challenge I needed. My partners and I built a crack team of creatives and account managers. That team pitched and executed campaigns for clients all over the world, and went on to win award after award after award.

My risky marketing venture was now a successful career. It was possible to envision a future where I never wrote again, living comfortably off all those marketing dollars. I had co-written a screenplay since leaving DC, but apart from that, I no longer made the time to write. My wife was pregnant, we’d just a bought a house, and I was traveling on a weekly basis. There were only so many hours in the day, and I needed to make those hours profitable.

But all the money in the world couldn’t fulfill my goal to be a writer. It was at this time that some close friends challenged me to write. Well, not just to write, but to finish something. One comics editor friend put it to me, “If you can’t write a 12-page backup, what can you write?” That put the fire in me. So I wrote a short story that editor, then a short story for another. Then I sold an original comic series (still upcoming!). And then I got a call from an old colleague.

At DC, I worked with an incredible woman named Victoria Setian, or as we call her, Tory. She had been part of Team Interactive with me, and since I’d left DC, she’d also moved, across the street to WB Games, where she was a budding producer on Mortal Kombat X, which of course was being made by some of our favorite developers, NetherRealm Studios.

Tory asked if I wanted to throw in a pitch for an MKX comic series. I knew the lore, I knew the team, what did I have to lose? So, in between agency work and preparing for a new baby, I wrote my pitch.

Then my son was born. A big deal for anyone, an extra big deal for an adopted person who’s never laid eyes on a blood relative before. My son opened his eyes, and for the first time, I saw myself in another human being. The experience was psychedelic. Becoming a father profoundly changed me in ways I’m still figuring out.

Everyone who knew me knew that I wanted to name a son “Clark” someday. Didn’t want to force that on my wife, though, so we came up with an alternative name, and she picked from both names once she saw the baby and got a sense of his personality. He was quiet for a newborn, a little gentleman, she said. She named him Clark Eric, taking his middle name from my father, which was an added surprise. Suffice it to say there wasn’t a dry eye among the Kittelsen men that morning.

The call from my editor at DC came that week while I was still home with the family. I got the gig. How soon could I turn around a new outline?

Thus began the most difficult summer of my life. New house, new baby, new writing gig, and I still had to pitch, travel, and manage the creative team for the agency. There was pressure coming at me from every direction. I became depressed. Something had to give.

Alan Moore gave an interview once where he talked about taking the leap to freelance. He came home to tell his wife he was quitting his industrial job, but when he got there, she told him she was pregnant, so he went back to work. But in time it occurred to him that no matter how poor his writing career might make the family, the baby would survive. They’d find a way. The only question was, would the baby grow up with new shoes and a miserable father who resents his lot in life, or with secondhand shoes and a father who can honestly tell that child she can be anything she wants to be.

This was the choice I faced. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make it alone. I had my wife, my partner, to work it out with me. She drafted a household budget, figured out how lean we could live, how long we might survive, and together we put together Humble Wordsmith, LLC, my freelance business.

I quit the agency job, reduced my monthly expenses to bare minimums, and started working from home. Beyond the comics, I had freelance gigs as a copywriter, a marketing consultant, whatever I could get paid to do. I busted my hump, but no matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to build momentum. That first year, our household income went down by over 75%.

Things picked up a bit when I got hired by WB Games to write story and in-game content for the DC Legends mobile game. With that under my belt, I looked for more games writing gigs, but they were hard to come by. I focused more of my time on Feral Audio, a start-up podcast network was growing steadily.

That’s when I got another call from another old colleague, Senior Producer Adam Urbano. NetherRealm Studios was looking for a writer to join their team and work on the story for Injustice 2. Would I be interested and available? After years of working with NRS on various projects in various capacities, this was the ultimate compliment.

The rest, as they say, is history. Writing for the game is the best dream job I’ve ever had the privilege of working. There was so much work to be done, I handed off my Feral Audio duties to my partners at the network. For the first time since I graduated from college, I could focus on one job title: Writer.

Becoming a father was wonderful but disruptive. Writers are selfish people, we like having lots of time to ourselves to “think” and “be creative” and sometimes even to write. But I can’t be selfish anymore. So with each year since I started freelancing, I’ve worked harder at balancing my family life with my work. The more quality time I spend as a Dad, the more fulfilled I become. I’ve been around for all Clark’s achievements, from walking to talking to his first tantrum. At the agency, I feared I would miss all those priceless memories. Now I have a treasure trove.

As if all this weren’t enough, there was one more surprise waiting for me in the lead-up to launching Injustice 2.

**MINOR I2 SPOILER WARNING** In the game, Superman meets his cousin, Supergirl, for the first time. It’s the first time he’s ever laid eyes on a blood relative. The first time he sees himself in someone else. Just like the first time I saw Clark.

Writing that scene was obviously somewhat personal and emotional for me. Now, a couple years later, I get to live that scene out for myself.

See, ever since my wife became pregnant, I’ve been taking DNA tests, trying to decode my secret origin. They never yielded any close results, but the ethnographic results they provided me were interesting, and I never knew what they could yield, so I kept taking them. Then, just this March, I got a match to a distant cousin. On a lark, I sent her my adoption info, and within hours, she sent me the name of my maternal grandfather. Then we found my grandmother.

We did not find my birth mother. In a soap opera twist, my birth mother was given up for adoption, just like me, so her identity is still a mystery. But I can’t complain. I’ve found new uncles, aunts, and cousins, they’ve welcomed me to the family with open arms, and they want to help find my birth mother.

By finding the birth family my mother never knew, I’ve found another missing piece of myself. Now I can look in the mirror and see the pieces I gave to Clark, as well as the pieces my grandparents gave to me. Sometime soon I’m going to meet my cousins in person for the first time, four Supergirls who share my blood. The game becomes the writer, and the writer becomes the game.

So there it is. My life story as a Superman fan, a writer, and a father. This week I got to celebrate as all three. Remember when I said I graduated from college and my parents were proud of me, but I wasn’t proud of me? I’m proud of me now. I just checked off my bucket list by the dozen.

How am I possibly going to top this experience? I’ll have to figure that out. For now, I’m going to savor this moment with gratitude and satisfaction. After 10 years of professional ups and downs and always searching for the next opportunity, I’m happy where I am, and on the whole, I think it’s just swell. ;)

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