#cigarettes and sadness; a little bit of madness ( character study ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

binniesthighs · 4 years ago

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call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: chapter threeeee here it is!!! hehe thank you all for being patient for this update and thank you as always for giving this fic your love!! i start out the first part of this chapter in 3rd person which is a lil different, but i wanted to try it out! hehe i love hearing what ya thought of the chapter too! 😊

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, skz side characters, 3rd person for the first section, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, mentions of food, brief talk of gaining weight while travelling, there’s a few spoilers hidden in this one...can ya find them? ;)

CWs: blood and other wounds, shooting at a convenience store, thoughts about death and dying when in peril

Word count: 5.6k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

Two years of pocket change and Seungmin had finally saved up enough money to afford to study abroad. It had nearly taken him life and limb, and he might’ve suffered (1) concussion from a bowl of soup being thrown at his head, but, he had done it.

With grease stains on his sneakers Seungmin traversed the long and stretching corridor of the airport terminal with his backpack strapped onto him tightly. The air smelled different here. It was fresher than he was used to--coming from a large city center--everything here felt more pristine. Outside of the tall glass windows, airplanes lifted off into the sky like massive metal giants. He couldn’t remember properly, but the last time that he must’ve been on a plane, it likely had been when his mother...

Seungmin shook the dusty and cobwebbed ideas out from his head.

No more sad thoughts.

I’m gonna like it here. He thought to himself, then clipped the little buckle to his backpack straps over his chest with a determined huff.

I’m really going to like it here.

With his phone in hand, he tried his best to decipher what the signs said above him. Mostly, they looked like a jumbled mess of symbols, but luckily he had spent some time trying to learn the language between shifts and sneaking peeks at his little dictionary under the diner counter. The whole terminal buzzed with a lovely kind of energy, and he was thrilled to get to know it better. The first wonderful thing about travelling abroad was that no one knew who he was, and he could be whoever he wanted. In this new land, no one knew him or anything about the dingy little apartment that he had lived in. No one knew about his less than honorable roommates or the debt that he had put himself under to go to college in the first place.

I could be a prince for all they know.

Seungmin liked that idea a lot.

His stomach grumbled as he passed by food stands, however he hadn’t had the chance yet to change his currency, so he knew that he would have to wait just a minute longer. Seungmin had been assigned a host family by his college, and he hoped like crazy that they would be the kind to cook for him. Seungmin had heard somewhere that kids who go on study abroad gain a ton of weight at first...but he didn’t mind. Where else would he get the chance?

There had been a host father that had sent him an email a couple weeks ago--that he promptly had to run through Google Translate--who told him that he would meet him outside the main luggage claim area after his flight landed. Seungmin had tried to look up and see if his host family were on social media, but he could find no such profile of theirs. He decided it probably was better that it was a surprise.

Seungmin lugged his two large suitcases out to the summer air of the new and strange land, and it finally hit him. Standing on the solid ground of another land thousands of miles away from his home, it was really all happening.

The landscape outside was like that of a movie scene: rolling hills and jagged mountains capped with snow, adorable little homes built into the countryside and tiny cars with horizonal license plates. The sun was warm in the cerulean sky that puffed with perfectly white clouds. On the air, the scent of flowers wafted, and he was certain that there was a lake nearby too--he had researched it. There were old men in their caps with a crook in their back, and ladies with long floral skirts and dresses with Mary Janes. Each of them had smile lines on their faces and under their eyes as if they had all lived lives well lived. There were pretty girls too with slender legs and delicate arms swaddled in light scarves.

Seungmin wouldn’t have minded getting a girlfriend on this trip. While he kept the fact to himself, Seungmin had never really done anything with a girl before outside of some awkwardly handsy kissing in middle school. Maybe this time around, he would finally get his chance: he had read somewhere that girls often like foreigners.

“Seung Min! Seung Min?” A man’s voice called.

The young college student whipped his head around in the direction of the sound, finally finding a middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair with whiskers of the same color. He had red cheeks and a large nose, and looked a bit like a character from a comic. Seungmin waved back, greeting his new father. When they met, the older man threw him into a large hug with a chuckle. He smelled a bit like Tabaco and old leather. He had a couple missing teeth, but that didn’t lessen his bright smile.

“English?” Seungmin’s host father asked.

“Yeah! I can speak English.” He returned with a welcoming grin.

“I thought it would be good for us to speak English since I don’t know your tongue and you don’t know mine...meet in the middle?”

“Thank you for coming to get me!” He said, handing the man his suitcases which were just a bit too big for the tiny trunk of the car that looked as if it had come from the 80′s. In the end, they decided to put his bags in the backseat.

The man beamed with smiling eyes. “Of course...son!”

Seungmin gave him a little bow, “Heh, thank you.”

“Get in the car! You must be hungry right? Long flight?”

“Oh yes, it was really long.”

“You will eat well here! Mother knows how to feed well. She will put meat on your bones. She did with me!” He guffawed out with hearty laughter, and Seungmin already knew that he would really like this man.

“We have a room ready for you back at home, and I will show you tomorrow how to use the buses. Okay?”

Seungmin nodded with a bit of rose to his cheeks. He found his hand wandering down to his arm which he pinched at lightly--cliché as it was. His host father coughed and the engine sputtered, then they took off away from the sounds of jet engines to the countryside which was scattered with churches with protruding steeples and all kinds of homes with red-orange roofs and perfectly symmetrical windows. Seungmin couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the window as they drove on to take in the whole scene. Never had he seen a place so beautiful or magical looking. They drove on past a crystal clear lake that stretched on and on to the base of a mountain appearing to claw at the heavens, and adorned in emerald green pines and other deciduous trees. If it was even possible, he had never seen greener grass in all his life.

“Beautiful, eh?” His host father said while tuning the radio.

“It’s amazing.” The young student said in his amazement. “Oh, do you know if there is somewhere I can change my money? I don’t have any of your money yet.”

“Ah!” The older man said with a wink. “I know of a place. I can take you there first.”

The radio hummed with a static fuzz as Seungmin’s host father messed with it, skipping over the channels, blurring the music and the talk radio all together.

Seungmin tried out the best he could to make out the words he knew, but even then he didn’t focus too hard, not when he had all this to take in.

Mad....crime....joke...violence in the South...drugs...unknown...information...hiding...red...

“Ah!” His host father called out after changing the channel once more, “I love this song!” He held his chest with an affectionate grasp. “The song of my homeland!”

Seungmin whipped his attention back, trying to listen to the song that sounded anthem-like, and was sung by what sounded like several men harmonizing. Seungmin tried to focus on the melody--it was nothing like he head heard before. It sounded very...honorable.

The small car whipped up to what looked to be a gas station on the edge of the town with one single pump and a little convenience store attached to it. In the window he read the yellow and black sign saying Currency Exchange.

“This is what you need?”

Seungmin nodded in his thanks then stretched his legs out once he exited, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Are you coming too?”

The older man shook his head and took out a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll gas the car, you go in.”

The young man gave his host father one more nod, then set fourth inhaling the immaculate summer air into his lungs. It was as if the very oxygen there held the vitality of life; he almost felt bad wasting it on himself.

The door swung open with the tiny tinkling of bells and he entered to the smell of cured meats hanging on hooks along side the dry scent of the refrigerators holding their display of soft drinks with labels that he had never seen before. He chuckled a little seeing the giant slab of meat with twine hanging from the ceiling as such.

“Free sample?” The attendant said while he picked his teeth with a toothpick. “Foreigner?” He added after looking Seungmin up and down.

“Yes, and no thank you. But, can I exchange my currency here?”

The unamused man nodded in the direction of the little kiosk in the corner of the shop. He went back to reading his tabloid where he slumped in a stool surrounded by an assortment of candy and cookies.

Seungmin picked his mother tongue first on the little screen, robotic and green, thankful to see Korean for the first time in this new place. He navigated to the options screen. Behind him, the little bells tinkled to the shop door again, followed by the sound of the attendant scrambling out of his stool, metal legs scraping the floor.

The student turned his head around in the commotion, taking in four very strange looking customers. Firstly, they were all covered in blood in one way or another, and each of them wore clothes--pajamas from the looks of it--which were shredded, torn, and blackened by something that might’ve been soot. Three men and one woman, and they all had a bit of a crazed look to their eyes. Clearly, none of them cared that they had walked into the store looking as such.

Seungmin pressed his body to the corner of the shop, as if this could make him invisible. The attendant cowered behind the counter with a series of scared sounding whimpers.

“Wh-what do you want?” He asked in his native tongue with quaking breaths.

One of the men in the group wearing a flannel with chocolate brown hair threw open one of the fridges, took out a water bottle, cracked it open, then greedily slugged the liquid down his throat.

“Pay the man, Fox.” He said to a man with pure white hair and shattered glasses.

The man with white hair and glasses nodded, digging through his pockets. The man with the flannel then proceeded to revenge the place, opening up snacks and shoving the cheesy dust into his mouth with gluttonous moans and crunching loudly with an open mouth. Had he not been doing something as unsavory as such, Seungmin thought that he was pretty handsome, and somewhat familiar. The other three simply stood and watched as he did so calmly, and surveyed the shelves themselves after a moment.

The attendant clocked Seungmin with fearful and confused eyes and Seungmin truly didn’t know what to do besides melt into the corner with the currency exchange kiosk.

A man in running clothes ran a hand through his deep brown hair, then turned to grab several first-aid supplies in his hand. Seungmin noticed that he had a horrible gash over his eye that crusted and bled into the white of his sclera. The woman approached the attendant with arms crossed over her thin camisole that was stained a number of different colors which Seungmin didn’t want to identify. He noticed that she was only wearing white socks that were nearly stained green.

“You do currency exchange right?” She said with a bold kind of confidence. “EGP?”

The attendant shook in his boots, then pointed a trembling finger at Seungmin. The young man nearly felt his heart stop. The woman had stern eyes that were bagged with exhaustion, but that didn’t make her any less intimating. While she too looked a wreck, there was something about her so cold and threatening that Seungmin felt like crumpling up into a ball. Over it all, she was startlingly beautiful too.

“Are you done?” She asked him kindly, and Seungmin struggled to get out a feeble “yes.” Of course, he hadn’t actually drawn any money out yet, but this seemed to be the best answer.

The man in running clothes dumped a large arrangement of goods on the counter with an emotionless expression: coffee drinks, shooters of alcohol, gauze and tape, Band-Aids, anti-bacterial ointment, gum, a couple lighters and toothpaste with four tooth brushes, combs, several bottles of water, sour candy, and, oddly, condoms.

The man with white hair came behind him to provide the cash to pay, and the attendant rang the odd group up with nervous glances to the man in the flannel who destroyed the store further. That man laughed maniacally as he popped open the plastic packaging to a pastry, then shoved in as of much of it as he could, smearing white cream over his lips.

“Bee!! You have to try this!! A day driving through the woods and this is fucking fantastic!” He jumped up and down like an ecstatic toddler--but this was a strange juxtaposition to all the blood staining his arms and the fabric of his flannel.

“Have some decency, Your Highness.” The woman chided, then held out her hand as the bills dispensed from the little machine.

“Your Highness?” Seungmin muttered, not really understanding why he was still in there in the first place.

“Fucking scam.” She muttered. “Is this all that you have??” She growled at the attendant.

“It’s a little thing!! What do you expect??” He stammered with hands thrown in the air as if she had pointed a gun at his head.

“F, tell Carroll to wire us when we get to Egypt. This’ll barely get us a place to stay.”

“When I get internet access, sure, I’ll try my best.” The man with white hair said with an edge to his voice, sarcasm clearly giving it a type of bite. He then took to shoving all of their goods into plastic bags since the attendant had been too fearful to do so. He slid a few spare bills onto the countertop. “This is for everything that he ate.”

“Do you have a bathroom?” The woman demanded, and the shopkeeper nodded, giving one more fearful glance to the college student.

“Is there somewhere around here to get clothes?” The man with running clothes asked.

“I-In town, a couple minutes in--”

Outside of the little store, the sound of tires screeching on cement screamed, and all four of the strangers whipped their heads in the direction. Seungmin jumped too at the sound, and held his backpack to his chest tightly as if it were some kind of safety vest.

The four strangers gravely exchanged terrified glances before throwing their bodies to the floor without a word.

“GET DOWN!” The woman screamed, and in milliseconds, the rapid-fire crack of machine gun bullets came shattering the glass of the convenience store.

Seungmin too threw all of his weight to land on his stomach on the cold linoleum floors and pressed his cheek against it while his ears rang. Tiny shards of glass pricked at his hands, but this adrenaline didn’t even let him feel the pain. He was certain that he must’ve been hyperventilating, because the room had started to spin among the relentless sounds of metal shells hitting the ground and metal shelves being upended from the force. The room filled with the smell of dozen different kinds of foods as packaging was ripped open and food and drink came spilling to the ground. The shopkeeper whimpered out loud prayers in his native tongue while he hid behind the counter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as three of the strangers whipped out hand guns from their waistbands and knelt down behind the remaining shelves to shoot back at the black van outside.

Seungmin pinched his arm with eyes shut.

He wished he hadn’t.

oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He bit the words into his lip.

“Hey kid!” The man with white hair growled at him. “You okay?”

While the two of them looked nearly to be the same age, this other man with snow white hair seemed to know what he was doing, so Seungmin decided to take the smallest bit of solace in that over the deafening sound of bullets.

“I-I think so?!”

“Keep your head down!” He said with gritted teeth, then angled his gun with a squinted eye.

“Bee??? Bee?” The fourth man with the flannel cried.

“Head. Down.” She said while firing more shots.

The room filled with a thin haze, and Seungmin covered his ears with bloody fingers.

The strangers fired their guns until there was nothing left, then escaped hiding behind the shelves with heaving chests. The young man had curled up into the fetal position, mouth feeling deathly dry with hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Seungmin didn’t know that he had gone on this trip for his life to end.

How fucking cruel fate was.

His body shook, and he clung to his bag for dear life, waiting for it all to end, and for his time to come. Seungmin would’ve thought that in the moments before he had died, he wanted to think of all the good things that had happened in his life, but, he was disappointed to find that all he could come up with was fear.

“Did you get a look at him?” One of the strangers yelled on the other side of Seungmin’s muffled ears.

“NO!” One of them barked back.

“He was wearing the crest!! The red!!” The woman called out.

The world was black behind his eyelids, but anything was better than the scene that was actually unfolding before the terrified college student. Soon, the sounds faded, and Seungmin was then really convinced that it had finally happened. This was it. He was even still scared to open his eyes.

A grip at his arm pulled him up.

“You okay? They’re gone. You kinda blacked out there for a second.” It was the woman had pulled him up to his feet.

His head spun seeing the carnage of the destroyed store, and the student became dizzier by the second.

“I-I think I’m about to black out again--” His knees felt week and his vision blurred.

“Hey! Hey!” One of the other strangers, the one with the running clothes scooped him back up and gave a light pat to his face. “You’re alright! See?”

Miraculously, Seungmin really was unscathed.

“Who-who are you? Who...who the hell were they? What the FUCK was that?”

The four of them exchanged glances once more, communicating some kind of silent understanding between all of them.

“What’s your name kid?” The white-haired one said as he put his gun back into his waistband.

“S-Seungmin?”

“Ok Seungmin, there’s a lot going on here that you really shouldn’t be aware of, and there's a lot of answers that I can’t give you, I just need to to trust me, alright?”

“O-okay?”

Now that the shop was devoid of windows, the summer breeze came blowing into the store--an odd contrast to the mess that was made all over the glass shards and food.

“You’re safe now. They’ve gone. No one can hurt you.”

“A-are you sure about that?”

“We need to get going. I don’t know why the hell they leaved when they had us cornered, but we can’t be here for long.” The man in running clothes said with a tentative bite to his lip.

The woman nodded. “You’re right Two.”

“What do we do with him though?” The man supposedly named Two said, motioning to Seungmin.

“D-do?” His eyes widened to frightful full moons. “D-do????”

“We take him with?” The man in the flannel suggested and shrugged.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You don’t call the shots on stuff like this, Your Highness.”

“H-Highness? What??” Seungmin blabbered.

The man with white hair snatched the young student’s bag from his hands. “You got a laptop in that bag of yours?”

“--H-HEY!”

He man pulled out Seungmin’s dismal Chromebook that he had also saved several months for.

“Hm. This will do.”

“I guess we don’t have any other choice...” The woman rolled her eyes. “Introductions later. They could be coming back.”

“Hey, HEY!” The shopkeeper yelled, then rose from his hiding place to look in despair at his destroyed shop, and his aging cured meat slab stuck with bullet holes on the floor.

“We’ll take care of it all. We apologize.” The man in the flannel bowed deeply.

Sunlight stung Seungmin’s strained eyes, and he realized that he had completely forgotten about his host father in his little car from the 80′s. To his surprise, the little car was nowhere to be seen.

“M-my dad??” He said under his breath, also realizing that all of his belongings had gone with the man too. All he now had left to his name was his passport, a spare set of clothes, his laptop, and a couple school journals.

“Get in.” The man named Two said while throwing open the door, but then gave him squinted wink. “Been to Egypt before?”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“This mission is fucked.” Jeongin muttered to you, voice echoing slightly in the cobblestone alley.

“Yeah, it certainly seems like it.”

You fiddled with you new blouse. It was two times as itchy as you had expected and two times as expensive, but you had been desperate. With all of the spare supplies destroyed in the bombing, you and your partner had found yourselves hopelessly empty handed.

“Carroll is gonna have our asses. Fuck...” Jeongin slicked a hand through his hair with a bandaged arm. “We can’t take that kid to Egypt with us!! We already have to be on high alert for the prince...and now this??”

Your partner threw his head back incredulously against the brick wall, then stopped to watch the rest of the group sitting outside of the café and garnering odd glances from passerby's.

“Well what the hell else to do we do??”

Jeongin shrugged, then looking to the side shamefully. “You...know what the protocol is. We can’t stay here to watch over him until someone from the agency comes...and, we’re running out of time...White Rabbit is waiting for our correspondence..”

“Absolutely not.”

The poor young kid, naïve as he was, you couldn’t but help but feel bad for him. Not only was he all alone out there as he had explained, it appeared as if his host father had made off with all of his things too. It was hard to not pity the kid.

“Y/n, you know that he’ll only drag us down. If we take him with, his life becomes our problem. If he dies, we’ll have to answer to whoever his family is and we both know that could get messy. We already have a mission: get the intel, then get the prince home. Not take that kid along with us for the joyride.”

“You’re forgetting that they’ve seen him with us now. He’s associated with us. If we leave him in the dust, there’s gonna be an innocent kid dead in a foreign land, and it’ll be our fault for letting that happen. Do you want that to happen?”

Your partner sucked at his teeth in thought for a moment, then groaned out.

“I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.”

“It’s the three of us and the two of them. The odds are still pretty much in our favor.”

“It’s still dangerous odds.” Jeongin threw his hands onto his hips, then paced the length of the alley for a small stretch. “As of now, you’re assigned to the prince. Forget about the kid, Two and I will worry about him. The prince is the priority. If shit hits the fan, don’t even think twice, take the prince and get out. Okay? You should never leave his side.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sneaky sense of pride. After all of the chaos and the uncertainty, Jeongin was really coming into his own.

From the little patio where the others were, it looked as if Chan and Seungmin were getting a long swimmingly. You assumed that it had something to do with shared trauma. Weirdly, Chan had taken to the young man like a bit of a pet. Knowing all that the prince was going through, it made sense...perhaps this also could’ve explained why he had kissed you more than once. Anyone in his position would’ve acted as frantic as such--at least, this was what you had convinced yourself.

Two sat with the two men wearing thick black sunglasses to hide his gnarly eye wound, sipping espresso. Jeongin started walking back towards the group when you grabbed at his arm.

“--Wait, I need to talk to you about one more thing?”

Your partner’s rather gaudy Hawaiian-themed shirt flapped in the breeze. “What’s that?”

You drew him in closer. “What do you make of Two? He doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“Suspicious? Why?”

“I-I don’t know...it’s just a feeling that I’m getting. We know next to nothing about him--”

“--But isn’t that how this goes? We’re not supposed to know things about each other? That’s the point? He’s stuck with us this far...and...”

A couple passed by the two of you with linked arms, and Jeongin stopped his thought out of distrust of the two of them listening in.

His voice lowered even further, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.” The young man nodded, then patted your scratched shoulder. You winced, and he quickly apologized. “It’s...fine that you’re suspicious. Its best for us to be, you know?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

Your partner dished out a little eyeroll, “Yeah. Something like that.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It was as if His Royal Highness Prince Chan had never seen the inside of a public airport before. Everything was just so novel to him, and he gasped out at all the little trinkets and tchotchkes.

As excited as he was, he still tried his best to keep a solid composure under his disguise: a cap, a hoodie, and thick framed sunglasses. The royal didn’t look the most non-descript, but you figured that it was better than nothing.

The young kid sulked seeing the inside of the airport once more, as he had claimed that he had just left from there. You still didn’t know what to make of him all the way, but at least you could tell that he had a good heart. While in the car he told you and your companions how he had saved up all this money to travel, studied the language and arranged to go to school here too. While all of his plans had been thwarted, at least the kid was still getting to travel...with a price on his head...but still...he was getting to travel.

Now that Jeongin had been able to contact HQ thanks to the kid’s computer, everything was arranged. Flight tickets, sleeping arrangements, supplies and Bun even knew that you were on your way. You had little desire to see that man considering how you had heard that he was one to live up to his eccentric reputation, but there was little other choice. Jeongin’s words ran through and through your head, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.”

Over it all, it was the prince who had worried you most. He was out in the open, and undoubtedly whoever those bastards were with the red crests would be close on your tail. Your neck strained with a pain that only seemed to grow stronger with every corner that you turned to ensure that no one was there. While the handsome prince liked to joke about how his life was on your hands, it was much more serious than that.

You had seen the fear in his eyes that night--it was so tangible that you could practically hold in your hands. He was a man terrified of death, and he knew that he had little control over it. You had control over it, but you knew that you could only stretch yourself so far.

Your group of five neared your gate in the international terminal lined with several dozen different kinds of multi-colored flags. You situated yourself between Two and the Prince on one of the thin teal chairs with flattened cushions. Chan tapped his hands on this knees impatiently as he inspected the place.

“Kind of exciting isn’t it?” He said with a tiny grin.

“What?” You moved to look at him with his obscured features. “Exciting?”

“Yeah, you know, travelling together. It kind of feels like an adventure. I mean, they’ve got a gun to our heads, but at least we’re together right?”

You scoffed, simply amused at how he had taken the severity out of the situation. It was clear that this prince knew little about the concept of perspective.

“I’m not following.”

“I get that...we need to be careful, but who said that we can’t, say, enjoy the journey?”

“You’re saying that you want us to have fun while we’re running for our lives?”

The prince smiled. “You know that I like having fun. That and...I’m just trying to be optimistic.” Under his cap, he slicked his brown strands back. “The three of you seem to be so tense all the time. Obviously, that can’t be good for your health--”

You cracked out with laughter. “You’re being ludicrous, Your Highness. We have to be on high alert at all times--”

“I said, that you could call me Chan, remember?” He rather languidly spread out his legs in his seat, removing his glasses for moment. “How about, when we go to Egypt, I take you out somewhere nice to eat? We can relax, talk, get to know eachother more--”

You raised your hand up to silence him. “--If this is just a ploy to get me alone, I politely rescind the offer. Here I was thinking that you were concerned about all three of us...”

“--I am!” Chan quickly piped, “I-I’ll take you all out for dinner! But...but...you’ll have to allow me to take you out for drink then. Just the two of us. I still hold to my word of wanting to get to know you.”

The prince’s face was puffed and bloated, and scraped with little pink and red cuts, but nothing stopped him from pulling out his signature charming and persuasive grin.

“Try to kiss me again, and I won’t hesitate. You might be royalty but I don’t ca--”

“--Hmmm no promises.” Chan then cut in, his grin turned even more indulgent while you watched him inspect your frame in that god-awful scratchy blouse.

Next to you, Two let out a particularly amused sounding scoff of a laugh.

“Forward as ever, Your Highness.” Jeongin deadpanned, then buried his nose in his coffee and newspaper once again. He hadn’t gotten to finish doing so earlier.

Seungmin, the young student stifled his own laughter which then gradually got louder and louder. “I can’t fucking believe this. Me. Kim Seungmin, the most normal-ass person in the whole world with you four: a fucking prince, secret agents...and now we’re going to Egypt??? Egypt???”

“Why does that sound like the set up to a shitty joke?” Two popped a bubble he had blown with the gum from the convenience store. Turns out he actually had a bit of a “gum habit” as he called it.

“Settle down kid.” Jeongin said without his eyes leaving his paper. “You’ll make a scene.”

The prince yawned, sliding his sunglasses back on.

“I never really did end up getting as much sleep as I would’ve liked.” If you could’ve seen his eyes, you would’ve then seen him eye your shoulder. “May I?” he politely asked.

Rather than giving him an answer, you rolled your head around as if to say do I need to?

Chan let out a happy little hum after resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling in slightly.

You met your partner’s side eye, and he repeated for you, I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.

“Thank you Bee.” Chan softly muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “I really do owe you everything.” He was careful at first, but he reached out his hand to rest it atop of yours. While the action made you twitch at first, you remembered how the same action had calmed him in the van when you had escaped the gala.

You told yourself that you were just being nice.

The young kid pulled out a journal from his backpack and started scribbling something, Two popped a bubble, snapping it on his unnaturally white teeth, and Jeongin sipped at his coffee.

This really was the set up to a shitty joke.

A woman cleared her throat over the intercom and announced, Flight C1180 to Cairo will be boarding in one hour. Thank you for flying with us today.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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bosspigeon · 3 years ago

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he asked me to pray to the god he doesn't believe in

People are puppets held together with string There's a beautiful sadness that runs through him a prompt that turned into a bit of a character study for my Blood Moon boy that i wrote a while ago and wanted to clean up/edit a bit and repost! title from The Hoosiers "A Sadness Runs Through Him"

Vesper watches Marco pace the room like a wind-up toy, or maybe more like a Roomba, from the edge of his bed. Marco hits one wall, twists on heel, strides off in a random direction until he hits another wall, and then it’s rinse and repeat. His teeth are clenched around the filter of an unlit cigarette, and it's a small miracle he hasn't bitten it entirely in half yet. It’s a feat of unimaginable self-control he hasn’t lit it inside, but he knows better by now.

Vesper's eyes move, trailing him from one side of his bedroom to the other, but the rest of his body doesn't. At least he blinks, not like those fucking leeches. Not like that creepy little fucking child emperor, with his wineglass full of blood, staring at Vesper like—

He hits another wall. It doesn't take him long. The den doesn't boast much in the way of free space between two dozen wolves, and Vesper's room has just enough for a bed, a small dresser, and a ratty armchair.

He finally stops. There's too much restless energy buzzing under his skin, the Moon screaming murderous static in his head that he only wishes he'd actually listened to while that skeezy little brat was ogling his—

His what? Vesper's not his anything.

He finally stops, before he burns a track into Vesper's ugly old floral rug, twists around, and sucks in a breath. He wishes it was a mouthful of smoke.

Vesper, ever the strong, silent type, damn him and his stupid, handsome, stoic face, is just looking at him. His eyes are dark and unreadable, his serious brows scrunched pensively. Marco wants to kiss the wrinkle between them, but that's nothing new. He's wanted to do that since he met the gorgeous, gloomy bastard.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Marco snaps.

Fuck. That's not what he wanted to say, and especially not with that tone.

Vesper's expression doesn't change. "Worried about you," he says simply, those irresponsibly broad shoulders shifting under his jacket and stretching the supple old leather.

Marco barks out a laugh. "Me? You're the one who just did a little wolfy striptease for Richie Rich Returns From The Dead. That's gotta do some serious psychological damage."

Vesper winces, and Marco wants to jump out the window. Whether Vesper is his anything or not, he definitely won't want to be after the umpteenth time he's watched Marco have a fucking meltdown.

"You're mad at me," he says, and there's something to his carefully flat tone, a strange edge, that makes Marco's heart hurt.

"What?" he blurts. "No! I'm— I'm not happy, but I'm— You—" He growls, loud and frustrated, and it's enough to have a few curious howls battering his already heavy skull.

I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine

Vesper's brows scrunch more.

"Why'd you agree to that?" Marco asks plaintively. "Why'd you— He couldn't make you do it."

"So you wouldn't have to," Vesper says quietly, looking away from Marco at last. Down at his hands, big and calloused. Rough, working-man's hands that Marco’s seen cradle Nik to his chest after a nightmare (one that no one even knew he had but Vesper, because he can't howl for the pack when he's hurt or upset), or gently tend to Izzy's scraped knees while she tried valiantly not to cry. Hands that cupped Marco's chin while he bled and cleaned up his gross nose-blood without a flicker of revulsion or discomfort, holding him steady so those stormcloud eyes could pick him apart.

He doesn’t look up from those hands. "I wasn't going to let you, or Vicky, or Ed degrade yourselves like that, so that leech could get his rocks off or whatever the fuck he wanted from us.” He says it so softly, but resolutely. “But someone had to."

"Why'd it have to be you?" Marco pleads. Why does it always have to be you?

Vesper looks up again, smiling sadly. "I'm the Alpha. It's my job. Protect the pack."

Marco wants to scream. He knows Vesper didn't even want to be Alpha. It's not just a guess, either. He's said it before, out loud, with his own stupid, pretty mouth, to Marco. I don't want to be Alpha. I'd make a shit Alpha. I can't even keep you in line, Marco, what makes you think I could handle the rest of them?

It was a running joke. Vesper herded the pups, even Izzy, with an uncanny ease. Defused arguments brewing between Vicky and whoever had managed to piss her off that day, kept Marco from causing havoc when his manic energy was through the roof. You'd be a great Alpha, bud.

No, that's not what I want.

What did he want?

Peace and quiet, mostly. Safety. A family.

So why'd he throw himself in the line of fire in the first place?

Because that's what Vesper does. He takes the licks so no one else has to. He doesn't talk about it much, but Marco's been mooning after him (haha) for a solid year, so he's picked up a few things. He remembers when Vesper was brought in, wild-eyed and twitchy, almost too close to the moon to find his way back at all. Whatever happened to his last pack, it wasn't pretty. It made him wary to get close to them, at first, but after a while, he got... protective.

So you didn't have to. So Addie and Elma didn't have to, so Sergi didn't have to, so no one else had to.

It's why he threw himself in the line of fire without even thinking, why he looked like someone had slapped him when the votes ruled in his favor.

It's why he'll be fucking great at it, Marco thinks, and it makes him ache.

Because when it comes down to it, what Vesper wanted never factored into the equation. It's what the pack needed. What will keep them safe.

It's terrifying to think about, especially when it comes to whatever is gonna happen when Blackwell slithers his slimy ass out of whatever hole he's hidden in. Vesper would die before he let another of his pack get hurt.

Marco's gonna be fucking mortified about the noise he makes later, when he stumbles towards the bigger wolf and bowls him backwards onto the bed. But right now, Vesper is here, warm and solid and stupidly, obnoxiously pretty, and Marco has to kiss him or he'll die, he thinks.

While Vesper is still here, and still wants him.

Those big, strong hands palm at his sides, his shoulders, his head with a tenderness that makes Marco want to cry.

He's not like Vesper. He's not a self-sacrificing idiot. He's selfish, selfish, selfish, and he's gonna hold onto this with grit teeth and bloody claws as long as he fucking can.

#blood moon if #barbwritesstuff #blood moon fic #pidge writes #oc: vesper xenakis #i am posting this at 11 pm bc i licherally do not care anymore hfdkjshg #im bored and tired and im trying to finish packing bc the movers are coming tomorrow #need a distraction #the edit is probably not much better than the original version but ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯#it kinda turned into a character study of both of them i think #here's hoping i did marco justice #he's exactly the kind of messy bitch i love to write #blood moon spoilers #takes place right after the whole creepy child emperor hfkjdash

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ao3feed-lokitony · 5 years ago

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Cigarettes and Sadness, with a Little Bit of Madness

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NAlmoj

by LimitedMorality (pikagioma)

Necromancers are no longer allowed to visit graveyards. Not even for mourning.

a prompt from thependragonwritersguild on tumblr

We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison —T. S. Eliot He could hear nothing: the night was perfectly silent. He listened again: perfectly silent. He felt that he was alone. —James Joyce

Words: 4327, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Loki (Marvel)

Relationships: Loki & Tony Stark, Loki/Tony Stark, past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Magic, Politics, Worldbuilding, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Literary References & Allusions, Necromancer!Tony Stark, Necromancer!Loki, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Necromancy, Tony Stark Feels, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Discrimination, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Pre-Slash

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NAlmoj

#ao3feed #fanfic #frostiron #ironfrost #loki x tony #tony x loki

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blcksirxs-blog · 6 years ago

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matthew daddario; 22; he/him —— is that really sirius black? it’s been so long! did you hear he is studying to be an auror? from what i remember, he was energetic and infectious, but also pretty impatient and arrogant, who knows after all this time. word on the street is, they’re with the order in the war, but that doesn’t define them.

character inspiration: han solo (star wars), sawyer (lost), jake peralta (b99), nathan young (misfits), mike wheeler (stranger things)

pinterest here

sirius is a sassmaster and the worst™

maybe a little bit self destructive. much more concerned about getting the things that he wants instead of what he actually needs. his moral compass is pretty stalwart and he struggles with a lot of guilt for even the things beyond his control.

but he’s just too good at being contrary. if you need sirius for something, the best thing to do is to not ask him to do it. subverting expectations is his hobby. but that also means he can surprise people by a sudden change of heart or an unexpectedly sweet gesture. usually after a moment of reflection, his knee jerk reaction can be selfish. he’s still first and foremost a good person, even at his most irritating.

living meme. actually the most dramatic piece of shit. LITERALLY??? he wants and loves attention he’s great at monopolizing a room and putting himself in the center of things. still pretty immature but he’s getting there? he’s a good time so he puts most people at ease, but there are people that he could annoy with his devil-may-care attitude. he just ain’t serious man. can’t do it. yet another thing is parents got wrong

before he got to school, sirius was very lonely in his parent’s house. he was the first son but nothing else he was supposed to be. silver-tongued and crass, he couldn’t have fit in even if he tried. he did try in the beginning, tried to adopt a steely cruelty like his father and self-righteous sting of his mother. he succeeded somewhat, if it weren’t for the guilt. the parts of himself he hates the most now are the parts he can see are most undeniably like his old family. as dreadfully as they treated him and his younger brother, sirius no longer has interest in changing himself for other people. he’d rather been hard to swallow then back where he was. he was strong enough to come out with his confidence mostly in tact, and only a mild, almost unavoidable dislike of himself. his morality comes from a place of wanting fix what he feels they and others like them have done.

but real talk he is a broKen sad boi?? his family was sucking the life out of him and he jUST RESISTED TAHT SHIT??? proud tbh

he doesn’t allow himself to think about regulus. his soft brother, whose resentment had grown to include him after his founding of a new family in the marauders. the question of whether he actually had done enough to help his brother has mixed in with his usual guilt. he prefers not to think or talk about it. far more healthy.

he gave up too quickly on his lil bro and while i don’t think he’d want to spend time dwelling on it or thinking he should fix his mistake he just??? hakuna matata that shit man. put that past behind ya. too bad hE HAS TO SEE HIM EVERY DAY FUCKING IDIOPT KLJSDFJK

his family is a sore topic.

boi smart. well-- common sense smart? his grades were never great but they weren’t bad either. his performance stemmed more from a lack of effort and the wonderful feeling of spite towards his ever disappointed parents.

hell if he’s not ruled by the big ol’ heart he pretends not to have. he’s pretty emotional and passionate and surprisingly empathetic. he gets charged up about the blood purity thing since he’s seen so much of the worst that that side has to offer

he attac but he also protec. sirius is prone to loud arguments and the occasional scuffle. keeping his mouth shut has never been an option

p impulsive. will lash out when he’s mad/frustrated. childish af. lit ran away from home w zERO PLAN it just happened and yet he doesn’t regret his choices and is proud of where he’s at

channeling that sweet dog energy dude because he has a v natural presence that is hard to resist.

speaking offffff he is a rebel bOI. leather jackets and death stick cigarettes and all the muggle rock and roll. rockstar lifestyle without the talent dAMN. someone help this loser.

he’s obsessed with his motorcycle. it was the first thing with uncle alphard’s inheritance. he spends half the time fixing up the clunky machine, he’s on the verge of getting it to fly and sprucing the piece of junk up. he enjoys it so much, he ought to have done something with the hobby, but he followed his friends to university to become an auror. the war hangs over his head, he has inexplicable and unreasonable survivor’s guilt and feels the need to against everything

fun time guy.. down to clown. all that jazz

actually loves his brothers. he sees that remus and james and peter are his true family. he would die for them. meeting them changed everything for him and??? wow im actually crying.

you’d think he would be better at telling them how much they mean to him

ya boi is arrogant as fuck. he’s woke but damn those black genes sure have some ego. he gets some pleasure out of hearing how great he is. hATE HIM PLS. i know. it’s hard.

IDK MAN. IT’S SIRIUS??? LOVE THAT LITTLE DOG BOY lmk if you have anything you’d like to plot!

#resurectiointro #* ∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰᶤᶰᵍ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ˡᶤᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶜᵃˡˡᶤᶰᵍ ᶤᵗ ᵃ ˡᶤᶠᵉ ? ⊹ — { about }

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ao3feed-lokiangst · 5 years ago

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Cigarettes and Sadness, with a Little Bit of Madness

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NAlmoj

by LimitedMorality (pikagioma)

Necromancers are no longer allowed to visit graveyards. Not even for mourning.

a prompt from thependragonwritersguild on tumblr

Words: 4326, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Loki (Marvel)

Relationships: Loki & Tony Stark, Loki/Tony Stark, past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NAlmoj

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #angst

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ao3feed-frostiron · 5 years ago

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by LimitedMorality (pikagioma)

Necromancers are no longer allowed to visit graveyards. Not even for mourning.

a prompt from thependragonwritersguild on tumblr

Words: 4327, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Loki (Marvel)

Relationships: Loki & Tony Stark, Loki/Tony Stark, past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #frostiron #lokixtony #loki #loki laufeyson #tony stark #AO3 works tagged 'Lo

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kur0kvmi · 6 years ago

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The Menacing Mind of Felix Lombardi- Act 1 (Revised)

“The world isn’t a fun place. Don’t let the crappy movies and comic books about superheroes saving the day fool you. The world we live in isn’t anywhere near as cool or happy as the ones we read about inside the pages of Fantastic Four, or the one we see in the confines of our favorite TV Shows. The world sucks, and we’ve single handedly manufactured so many ways to distract ourselves from that fact that the ones who put more effort into these distractions are the highest praised and most celebrated people on the planet. Artists? What does that even mean anymore? It’s just some pithy catch all for ‘person who doesn’t want a real job, and wants to play around with writing useless fluff all day’ and-”

“Will you shut the fuck up already?” Hi I’m the actual main character of this little short story, pardon my language but you have to admit. That jackass wasted a whole paragraph with that bullshit. Oh, where’s my manners, there’s more story to get to:

“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP”The hero bellow- just kidding. I said.

Like I said in the last paragraph, this guy is nothing but some sad dropout who’s angry at everything trying to explain to me in his infinite wisdom why art doesn’t mean anything. I apologize again, you’re probably extremely confused. “Why did this story start with a paragraph long intro that turned out to be a pointless diatribe?” “Who’s this guy who keeps stopping the story and speaking directly to me, doesn’t he know he’s a character in a story?” Answers to those questions are A: our wonderful author is stalling for time, and B: I’m not entirely of sound mind, that’s what my therapist, most of my childhood friends and my big brother have told me at least. However before we continue I’m going to use the next paragraph to tell you a bit about who I am.

My name is Felix Lombardi. My parents were Italian immigrants who ran a bread shop. Two years ago they were murdered in cold blood by the mob. After that my brother Lou mysteriously came into half a million dollars, which he turned into a small fortune with pretty sound investments and now he’s helping pay my way through college. Happy ending, happy story, my life is great, except it would be if this motherfucking social reject wasn’t wasting my time at this gas station telling me how unfair the world is. Speaking of that I still need to respond to him.

“The world isn’t fair, but that doesn’t make it a bad place. You’re just mad because life hasn’t given you everything you wanted. Try working for a change” I said in a subdued cool manner, much like a teacher in a school full of slow children would if one kid in the class began eating paint.

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re probably some spoiled brat coasting through life on daddy’s paycheck.” Said the moron, completely oblivious to the fact that I was tacitly ignoring him and going about my business.

I told him to back off, and I went over to the cashier and paid for the cigarettes and M&Ms I was buying. Took an exit, sat in my car and- You know what? This is getting boring and procedural. So I’m in my car, and I call my brother. He’s a nice guy, used to be a cop for a while, then he got really rich and he’s actually flipped his allegiances and turned into a bit of a crime boss. He’s a smart guy though, so he makes sure not to actively butt heads with any of the other families around, but this isn’t a Mafioso story, no no no, I apologize, this isn’t that exciting of a tale. This is a story about me, my thoughts, and how I relay them to you.

“Sup little bro”

“Hey Lou, did you get my text?”

“I was busy, couldn’t respond, still kinda busy. Something about needing money for that comic convention?” Lou said. He sounded like he was doing something physically taxing.

“You at the Gym?”

“Nope, I’m at work”

“Why do you sound out of breath”

“Information gathering is very tiresome”

Oh he’s beating up a dude for an interrogation.

“Oh you’re beating up a dude for an interrogation”

“What have I told you about talking about the job over the phone”

“Mi Scuso fratello Louis” (I’m sorry brother Louis)

“That’s Don Lombardi to you buster”

“Fat chance wise guy, so when can you send the money for the tickets?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do”

[2 days later]

My apartment is in the upper east side of Manhattan New York. It’s one of those places that looks like it was ripped straight out of a trendy sitcom that features a bunch of close knit friends getting into wacky hijinks. Fortunately for me though, I hate people, and Louie gives me enough of an Allowance to be able to survive alone and pay rent while being able to go to school. I go to a private Art School, I study Animation and I minor in sequential art, my hobbies include playing video games, posting my thoughts on the internet, watching anime, and reading Japanese firearm magazines. My favorite movie is Kill Bill Vol 1 (whoever tells you Vol 2 is better doesn’t understand film making and should kill themselves), and the kind of girl I’m looking for is one who’ll bully me and make me feel really crappy about myse- wait, sorry got lost in the sauce for a moment, I thought I was filling out a dating profile.

Living by myself affords me the unparalleled privilege of being able to walk around my apartment in minimal clothing, and since I don’t like people, it’s very uncommon for me to have anybody over. The only people who come over are my 63 year old Landlady Ms Fujinami, and her granddaughter Ami who’s about my age. I know what you’re thinking ‘Oh, here comes the part where Felix talks about how much he likes Ami, since she’s the first female character of appropriate age to be mentioned, of course she’s the love interest’. Sorry to disappoint you fair reader, but it’s not that kind of story. You see, we’re not leaving my head. This is between you and me, I don’t need any bullshit like an “emotional arc” or “narrative depth” in my fucking story, I’m doing good being the person I’ve been all my life.

So I’m lazing about my apartment like the sterling example of a productive citizen that I am when I get a phone call from Don Lombardi.

“Felix you there?”

“I wouldn’t have picked up if I wasn’t. What is it?”

“Funny. I wonder how many jokes you’ll be making when you’re forced to shack up with a bunch of hideous college students in a prison dorm”

“Wake up, eat, listen to Lou threaten me with student housing, go to class, come home, repeat”

“I’m a man of habit what can I say”

“To what do I owe this call, did you send the ticket money?”

“I need you to make some friends Felix”

“I need you to stop caring.”

“You’re always couped up in the apartment, the only time you see sunlight is when you go out to buy Cigarettes, or when you have class, you don’t even talk to Ami anymore, weren’t you two friends?” I hate it when he gets like this. I don’t know why he cares about my social life. He doesn’t listen to me tell him how to do… whatever it is he does.

“if you’re worried about my skin don’t bother, that sicilian melanin is doing me just fine” I said, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, puckering. Who said nerds can’t be sexy.

“Calm down Ricky Martin, this is about more than sunlight. It’s about your life. Mama would cry if she saw what you are on some days” Lou said, in his bro voice.

“Papa would cry if you knew what you did for a living” I retorted

“Would he cry or would he just break off into sicilian” Lou responded, letting out a chortle.

“PUTO RAGGAZINO” we both shouted, memories of pa and ma rushing, and bringing a silence for a good moment.

“How would I even go about making friends?” I asked, half jokingly.

“Glad you asked. That’s why I bought you 3 day tickets to that comic book convention.” Lou boasted triumphantly.

“How do you know I won’t just go there without talking to anybody?” I shot back with a sneer.

“You know, when you’re in my line of business, you learn to have contingency plans. This is the part of the movie where the villain tells the hero ‘I’m glad you asked’”.

Just at that moment, I heard three knocks at my door.

“That should be my contingency plans”

I peek through my door lens just to see who’s there.

Ami, motherfucking Fujinami.

“The convention is this weekend right?” Lou continued. “Have fun lil bro”

I hate my brother. I hate this. I hate you.

**End of Act 1**

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californiannostalgia · 6 years ago

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For Halloween, a slightly edited character study of Jonathan Byers, taken from my Stranger Things teenagers fic. (link provided below)

Joyce Byers was a ferocious mother. She loved her children with all her heart. If her children were in danger and the only way to get them back was to raze heaven and hell, then by god she would find a way to burn them both to the ground and hug her children close on top of the subsequent mound of ashes.

It was just that Joyce and Lonnie put together meant yelling and fights and cigarette butts filling up the smoke tray. (It was just that usually in Joyce’s eyes, the one that needed protecting was the smaller wisp of a child with the soft straw-blonde hair. Jonathan was capable. Jonathan was old enough. Jonathan hadn’t been the one who’d been taken by a monster that crawled out of the shadows.) They weren’t very good at parenting, Jonathan Byers’s parents. So he learned. He learned how to break eggs cleanly and not get any shells in the frying pan. He learned that money was important, and the means to earn that money was to get a job and work shifts no one else wanted. He learned music, how to work the stereo and how to make his headphones pound with songs that drowned the world out. He learned to teach his baby brother about rock bands, how to tune out the raging war going on in the living room.

...

What are you doing, Jonathan’s common sense kept saying. This is wrong, this is too far, what on earth are you doing. But his eyes were saying, This is a moment worthy of preservation, and Nancy Wheeler was saying, I am me, and she was beautiful and unbreakable and he’d wanted to give her a little nod of greeting when their eyes met across the cafeteria but hadn’t. He took the picture of Nancy Wheeler standing at Steve Harrington’s window moments before she turned round and declared she wasn’t afraid. What are you doing, his common sense kept yelling in his ear like a tinny fire alarm, but he didn’t particularly care to acknowledge the kind of idiocy he was partaking in at the moment. His little brother was dead, his mother was descending into madness, and these bunch of teenagers in a mansion hidden by trees were laughing and loving and going through everyday emotions as if the world wasn’t crumbling down around them. Common sense had little standing ground in his brain. It was envy, a little bit. It was fascination, regarding something he had no experience of. It was grief and recklessness and curiosity. He so rarely had occasion to capture moments of joy, of playfulness. He wanted to know what kind of pictures those foreign emotions would make. He was blinded by many things that day. Nancy Wheeler standing by the second story window was one of those things. But she was not the only thing that prompted him to click the shutter.

He pointed his lenses at Barbara Holland perched on the edge of the diving board and pondered taking a picture of her too, because she looked lonely and he knew enough about loneliness to know it would make a terribly sad (albeit a satisfactorily accurate) picture. Then his camera malfunctioned. When he looked back up, Barbara Holland was gone.

He left without realizing a redheaded girl had been dragged into the void by the same monster that had taken his brother. (He wondered afterwards—lying stiffly on his thin mattress and unable to coax sleep to lower his eyelids—whether things could have played out differently. If he hadn’t looked away from Barbara, alone in her most vulnerable moment and dripping blood into the pool for the shark to follow . . . could she have lived?) (Nancy wondered, too. In quiet nights, she wondered whether she could have prevented her best friend’s death if she hadn’t decided to follow Steve Harrington upstairs.

Just one more similarity shared between two people who’d thought they were nothing alike.)

...

"You don’t have to do this,” Jonathan told Nancy, and she said, “That thing took my best friend,” and he understood.

...

There was an old mirror in the bathroom. It was a little stained, hairline cracks woven around the edges, but it was a decent mirror. Perfectly serviceable.

Jonathan had no illusions about what he looked like. He was old beyond his age, wrinkles bordering his mouth and perpetual dark purple dusting the hollows beneath his sunken eyes. He knew he was weird. He was the pretentious one sitting in the back of the class, obsessed with photography and disinclined to hold a conversation longer than several seconds. He was the rumpled, silent son of a harried single mother. Those Byers are a strange bunch, people said, uncaring as to whether their voice carried. No doubt about it. He had known he was nothing close to what most people deemed attractive since he could look in the shoddy mirror on his bathroom wall without a stepping stool. Steve and Nancy were his complete opposites. They were pretty. They were popular. They were even prettier together, and everyone said so—even the ones who whispered vicious things behind the pretty couple’s back. Jonathan knew where he stood. He knew exactly who he was.

So while Nancy was distracted with Steve—smiling her huge smile, dimples and all—Jonathan walked away. He folded up the garish orange flier and stuck it in his pocket where he wouldn’t have to look at it. He did his best to forget about the Halloween party.

...

How could I, Jonathan thought, determinedly chasing away what-ifs and suppressing the loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. How dare I. He’d acted like a disgusting creep to her. He was unattractive, unlikeable, poor, colossally messed up on all fronts of human interaction, and just . . . not right for her. Nancy Wheeler deserved someone better, someone who loved her more and treated her like she was the best thing to happen to this world. But when he nearly bumped into her in the doorway of a drunk conspiracy addict’s basement, his traitorous brain thought, Why can’t I love her? Because you’re a horrible piece of shit, he told his brain, shoving it back down.

But, said his brain. He went back to Nancy’s door, she kissed him like he was the best thing to happen to this world, and for the first time in his life Jonathan Byers thought to wonder, What if she loves me back?

...

The sweltering heat crowded into Jonathan, stuck his sweater to his back and made sweat coat his face. His mother's boyfriend had been torn apart by a pack of monsters only hours ago, his little brother was screaming like his insides were being scraped out with a shovel, and he could do nothing about either of those things. He turned his back on Will's spasming body and threw himself into Nancy's open arms. She squeezed him close, and Jonathan thought she was the only solid thing about his life.

...

May We Go Mad Together (AO3)

#may we go mad together #my writing #halloween #stranger things #my fanfiction #jonathan byers #character study #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #jancy

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elfnerdherder · 7 years ago

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Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 14

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You can read Chapter 14 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 14: Hop-Frog

Alyss stared at the wall before her, and she counted the seconds like sandpaper.

She had dealt in death before. Death had plagued her for far longer than any chronic pains or childhood traumas; it made her who she was. Her ease in it, slipping in and out and around the cracks of death is what made Francis Dolarhyde first recruit her to Hannibal Lecter’s following, a grouping of like-minded individuals that saw her previous works and congratulated her for it. Their hands had passed along her shoulders, awe and praise as she told her stories. The acknowledgement merely fueled her, merely made her dream of more to come.

First her family. She’d never loved them anyway.

Then the doctor that tried to prescribe her anti-psychotics. She would not be controlled.

A woman that’d tried to take her ex-boyfriend, although he ended up walking in on their meeting and had to be put down, too. A shame, since his smile was so lovely it could light up her most dreadful of days, stuck working as she’d been in retail with people who honestly made her pension for killing go up a notch.

But then Nate came along, and honestly she’s forgotten that ex-boyfriend’s name.

“My condolences for your loss,” the interrogator said.

Loss. Even before, when her name wasn’t Alyss, she wasn’t in the game of losing. She didn’t lose, she gained. She grew. Not anymore. She was most assuredly falling in on herself, and there could be no growth to come when everything around her was dead, dealing in shades of rotting, putrid grey.

She bumped into him on a subway, and his eyes were the loveliest shade of tomorrow that she’d ever seen. She wondered what they looked like, now that he’d had time to begin decomposing. Ugly. Milky white. They wouldn’t be so mismatched anymore. A matching shade of death.

“We want to help you, Kelly Brown. Maybe there’s an arrangement that we can come to, if you just answer a few of my questions.”

When she found him the next day, a stirring in her chest that pushed, pushed, pushed, she’d been almost nervous that she was going to have to kill him to make that feeling go away. Soulmate, the general public said with the sort of sigh that made her teeth rot. You’ve found your soulmate, and isn’t that nice? It didn’t sound so nice to her. Alyss didn’t like being controlled, no matter if it was her mind or her body or a chemical reaction that made her focus on the shades of color within another person’s eyes.

“This won’t change anything,” she promised him, clinging to his skin to make the whispers go away.

“What if I want it to?” Nate asked her, clinging back.

Then it turned out that Nate had a pension for killing, too.

She didn’t feel much when she’d killed her family. Natural emotions, like frustration at their staining her favorite shirt. Fatigue after the care she took in displaying them, laying them out. Pride at her work, at the inevitability of taking care of something she probably should have dealt with years before. It was done now, though. She could say that it was done.

“Kelly?”

Nate’s death, though…God, she could feel it within her very cells it hurt so bad. She’d been stabbed a few times, shot on more than one occasion. One of the girls at the house had given her a cigarette burn on her left breast, and Nate had kissed away the pain of it. The scar was a lopsided heart that she liked to look at, each bit of raised tissue something pretty, something that was hers.

She wondered if she told them that she couldn’t feel her legs, if they’d cut them off of her. Remove the dead tissue, give way to something new. She didn’t want something new, though, she wanted Nate for God’s sake. She felt his stomach give way, felt him stumble, searching. Distance was a razorblade to the skin, the gunshot wound the aftermath of a sledgehammer to the gut.

The death a severance so complete that she was sure she was going to die.

God, why wasn’t she dead?

“Kelly, I do honestly want to help you, despite what you may think.”

Her gaze lifted from the table before her, grey and matte and cold. The agent had a soulmate, that much she could see; one eye black, the other eye black with a ring of blue around it. The set of their eyes made them appear Chinese in nature, although she could be wrong. She didn’t like to assume those sort of things because it was a stereotype and it was ignorant. One of the girls at the house was Japanese, and she spent her time practicing crochet. She’d made Nate a hat once, two years before.

“Is your soulmate alive?” Alyss asked. Her normal sort of self-control that would have made her voice sound so vividly sweet was gone. Her tone cracked on the way ‘alive’ tasted sour and rotten in her mouth. Alive, alive, alive. Why was she still alive?

“Yes.”

Alyss nodded in thought at that, fingertips pressed tight together as she considered them. She wondered how much force it’d take to bite them off so they’d stop hurting so much.

“If I could…I would give them a smile like I gave Agent Bowman a smile,” she said at last, hoarsely. “Maybe the shock would be so much that you died when you felt the severance.”

“Kelly-”

“Are you afraid of death, FBI-Guy?”

“I think we all are.”

“I’m not. And neither was Nate.”

“Was Nate your soulmate? We are trying to-”

“I want you to tell Agent Crawford this for me,” she interrupted. He paused to listen, head tilted to catch the slightest word. “Think of it as a courtesy, nothing more or less than what he needs to hear.”

“Alright, Kelly…I can do that.”

“Are you listening carefully?”

“Yes.”

She licked dry lips, smiled as wide as she could. “That which you mistake for madness is but an overacuteness of the senses. You who death follows so closely, a companion we give to you: Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.”

Just underneath the capped tooth near her back left molar, a pill lay in wait that she bit down on, swallowing the taste of bitter, rotten almonds. It curled, burning down, down, down her throat.

“Kelly, what are you-”

She wasn’t listening anymore, though. She couldn’t have, even if she wanted to, the pain was so acute. A fiery agony that washed away the dull, rotting ache of Nate, baptized her skin anew just to burn it to ash. She relished in the pain, even as it killed her.

“I need a medic! Kelly Brown took a foreign substance that…”

One couldn’t call soulmate death a severance if you were soon to join them.

Molly walked along the garden path, Wally’s sticky hand in hers.

“Beverly and Saul gave me candy last night,” he confessed. At eleven years old, he was far too mature for his age, a fact that haunted Molly to her core. While he still clung to childhood curiosity, time and experience had given him an edge that Molly resented and blamed herself for. He was an honest person, someone that reminded him of her deceased husband with every turn of his cheek, every furrowed brow. They’d married too young, but they’d been happy.

They were happy.

“That was nice of them.”

“Can we trust them?”

She sighed, stared out towards the impossibly blue sky. Despite her abhorrence of the humidity, the bugs, and the clay that caked everything and stained it an ugly orange, she had to admit that the skies in Georgia were beautiful.

“No, Wally, we can’t,” she said, staring at the sky. The expanse of it with no clouds to interrupt was beautiful, a never ending entity where everything seemed possible. She resented it, even as she loved it.

“We can’t trust anyone here,” Wally muttered, kicking a rock.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s a new guy here. Will Graham.” When they reached the rock once more, he kicked it with a little more gusto, sending it skittering here and there before resting just ahead of them. “I saw him. He looks sad.”

“He is sad, honey.”

Just in the distance with his back to them stood Will. It wasn’t apparent in his stature or the way that he held himself that he was in pain, but Molly saw the edges of him that others often missed. The way his arms bowed in as his hands were stuffed to his pockets, the way his head ducked as he concentrated on whatever he was looking at; he was in pain, and it wasn’t just whatever had happened to him in the forest.

“Is he sad because he’s here?”

A dangerous question. While Wally had had to grow up too fast, he didn’t always know when not to speak, let alone around those that would take his words to someone who would wield them against her like a knife. In all things she tried to be honest with him, and she did so once again now. “He’s sad because he’s having a hard time here.”

“Can we trust him?” Wally pressed.

Could they trust him? At the end of the walkway, they paused long enough for Wally to pick up the rock and study it at all angles. Bits of mica clung to it, facets of crystal that fell away under his insistent inspection. As if sensing her scrutiny, Will turned away from the forest’s edge and paused, and if the distance hadn’t been so great, Molly would have sworn that he was staring right into her eyes. Judgment and a stab of betrayal, that he dared to give some part of himself to someone that used it against him like a clumsily weld scalpel.

“We can trust him, Wally, but he can’t trust us,” she said sadly.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Wally decided, and Molly laughed.

“Maybe someday it will, but that’s okay. Just know that if something is happening; if you’re scared, or if you need help, you can trust Will Graham. He’ll help you.”

Even as it hurts him.

She swung their arms with wild abandon as they turned away from Will and headed down a bend in the path. In his free hand, Wally clutched his newfound rock with a sense of victory.

The autopsy room at the Atlanta HQ was almost too small for so many bodies.

He’d had them delivered there, all the same. He needed people that could really dig into each and every aspect of the tragedy that’d occurred, compare and contrast the many lethal ways in which thirty-two innocent people were murdered for the sake of some sick statement by a man that found delight in torture and death.

He’d found new wrinkles in his skin since taking a look at the bodies. Newfound wrinkles and a newfound purpose.

“Agent Crawford?” someone pressed.

Jack looked over to them, poised in the doorway, and frowned impressively. They were sharp, from their pantsuit to their perfectly adjusted cuffs, and nary a hair lay out of place.

“My name is Clarise Starling,” she said, and she strode over to shake his hand firmly. “I head the division specializing with cult activity.”

“Did Director Purnell send you here?” Jack asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m heading this investigation now,” she said. She had a way of speaking that sounded like she was used to constantly having to defend herself. Her shoulders were squared for battle. Jack wondered if it was because someone had warned her about him, or if she was just used to putting up with constant bull shit.

“That so?”

“You work with behavioral analysis, but group mentality is something far different from tracking a singular person. You found Dr. Lecter through your knowledge, but I can use my knowledge to help you bring his entire group down. Director Purnell called me in for that reason.”

“He may be using people to front his sadistic game, Agent Starling, but I can track him. Everything I need to find him is right here,” Jack said, nodding towards the bodies. Too many bodies.

“From what I can tell, he’s not giving you a damn thing, sir.” She had a bit of a southern twang as she shifted her stance, irritated. “You’ll have better luck finding him through the mistakes of his followers, not through taunts he leaves behind for you.”

“Agent Starling-”

“My presence here isn’t a request, Agent Crawford,” she said, bowling over his words. “This here is my jurisdiction, and if you’re nice enough I’m willing to share. But just let me do my job, and I’ll let you do yours. How’s that?”

Jack liked that about as much as he liked hearing Katy Brown’s final words before she bit down on a cyanide pill and died in an interrogation room. He stalked from the autopsy room and left Agent Starling to glean over the dead bodies, needing to breathe in some air that didn’t reek of chemicals and death.

A companion we give to you: darkness and decay.

He stood on the steps to the HQ, breathing in the stink of the city and the smell of burning, crackling cloves. He’d broken down on his smoking habit, having needed something to do with his hands.

“Agent Crawford,” someone off to the side called out, but it took a moment for him to register.

He looked over, saw who it was, and choked on the smoke. Short, curt, ugly puffs of it spewed from his mouth as he swallowed a curse and took the tobacco with it, making his lungs burn and his stomach curdle. Logic said that at a time like this, it only made sense for them to make an appearance, but that didn’t improve his mood in the least.

“I’m not talking, Freddie,” he said warily. His distaste for her was far kinder than Will Graham’s was –during Lecter’s trials, she’d hounded him to try and get an inside scoop to what had happened. When Jack was in the hospital, trying to survive off of Jell-O and runny soup, Will had barely been able to stop her from sneaking into Jack’s room while he slept so that she could try and get a photo of his stab wound.

The article claimed that Will had physically lifted and threw her down the steps of the hospital when he’d escorted her out, and when Jack asked about it, he wasn’t inclined to deny it. Jack made sure that the FBI paid her a visit to ensure that no charges were pressed against Will for attempting to give Jack some much needed peace and quiet.

“Come on, Jack…you’ve seen the news, right?”

“I don’t watch the news much. It’s a load of shit is what it is,” he replied. He took another drag from the cigarette and stared out at the air that rippled with the humidity and the heat. Even in the Fall, Georgia tried to stay hot.

“Thirty-two dead, all by the name of Will Graham? Will Graham, one of the few survivors of ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’s reign of terror missing just after Lecter’s escape? This is good stuff, Jack,” she needled, walking closer.

Freddie’s outfits were as loud as they were obscene. He eyed her plaid pants and polka-dotted button-up with extreme prejudice as he tried to find something kind to say. The red of her pants matched the vibrancy of her hair, accented by a heart shaped face and too big blue eyes. Matching eyes, he thought. The day Freddie Lounds gets a soulmate, I’ll eat my hat.

“Most people think a killing spree is horrifying, not good stuff,” he said after a pregnant pause. “But I guess you’re not most people.”

“I covered most of the Lecter trials, as well as the hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack. I’ve earned a word from you.”

“You haven’t earned shit,” Jack said pleasantly.

“I know you want to catch Lecter again. I bet that once you get guys like that behind bars, you want them to stay that way.”

“Most people do.”

“I might have heard something that could be of help to you,” she said, stepping closer. Jack had to resist taking a large step back, something that kept him out of her range of reach.

“That so?”

“Something that’d set you on the right path towards who got your man Zeller. I know most news places ignored that fact, but as Will Graham’s across America were being mutilated, someone got a needle in your man, too.”

“We’ve already got him in custody, but thanks, Freddie.”

“No, you have the witness in custody, Jack,” she replied. “You have a mentally impaired man in custody, but he didn’t attack Agent Zeller.”

“The cameras inside of the establishment had been tampered with. He was the only one with access to do so.”

“Don’t take it out on him because you can’t get to the real culprit, Jack,” she said softly. “I know you like throwing darts at the board with wild abandon, but I have something substantial for you.”

He sighed and dropped the cigarette, stomping it out with the heel of his worn shoe. He hadn’t had time to polish them since Will first made notice of it.

“If what you have to say is something good, I’ll give you something in return,” he said irritably. “But only IF.”

She snorted and flipped her hair over her shoulder, head tilted. It reminded him of a finch, hopping closer and closer to beg for just a bite. “There’s a guy in a bar near Convington, Georgia that got too drunk last night. I happened to be there to interview someone that claimed they knew the woman that assaulted Agent Bowman, but it didn’t pan out.”

“Those things tend not to,” Jack agreed.

“I was about to leave when I overheard him speaking with a female companion about his luck with Agent Zeller. He’d had to wait in that bathroom for ages before you stepped out, but it was worth it.”

That stopped Jack cold, right in the midst of lighting a new cigarette. Chain-smoking, and Bella would scold him once he was able to get on the phone to talk to her. The ache of their distance was a cold one, something much like the chill one gets when they wake in the middle of the night with no blankets on.

“Excuse me?” he asked, dangerously quiet.

“I got a drink and listened, Jack,” she said, and she pulled a recorder out of her purse. Naturally, it matched the ugly red pants. Fingers with nails short from constant typing and biting curled around the plastic, and she hit play with pursed lips and a furrow in her brows.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so loud, Clark.”

“No one here is listening…’sides, they arrested that gas station manager –what was his name?”

“Peter Bernardone.”

“Peter Bernardone, yeah…yeah. They got him. We’ll head to the big house and tell the boss the good news.”

“I already called him. He said to do a roundabout way to town, since there’s a lot of feds on the interstate.”

“They won’t stop us, baby, we’re on the home stretch. I played my part, you played yours, and we’ll go and get a big fat hug when we get back there.”

“Dr. Lecter isn’t exactly the hugging type.”

“Maybe he’ll make an exception when I show him just how much I got that fucker to bleed.”

She hit stop on the playback and stared at Jack, maintaining a long, uncomfortable stare to match the long, uncomfortable silence. The air felt too heavy in the aftermath.

“I got his license,” she said, and she reached into her purse and withdrew a leather billfold.

“Of all of the crazy, fucking luck,” Jack muttered.

“Not really crazy, Jack. I got a copy of the gas station video, same as you. I saw him go into that bathroom and wait, saw you come in, saw a girl pull up to get gas, saw you go out, and that’s when the inside camera went fuzzy.

“The outside camera, though…it shows you on the phone while that same man walked out of the gas station, got into the car with the woman, and drove away. You go inside, and that’s when you find Zeller.”

“You think Peter Bernardone is innocent?”

“He’s so innocent, I’m going to offer him my lawyer that I keep on speed-dial for libel cases.”

That was something.

“Once he knows that his wallet is missing, he’s going to move quick,” Jack muttered. He headed towards the bureau doors. As an afterthought, he turned back and snatched the billfold from her. “Thank you, Miss Lounds. Because you’ve been useful, I won’t make a case about you letting that son-of-a-bitch walk out of that bar without calling the police.”

“Your end of the bargain, Agent Crawford,” she prompted, following close behind him.

“My end?” he turned back, tucking the wallet into his inside jacket pocket. “Oh, you thought I’d give you something ‘off the record’?”

“I just helped you so that you didn’t make an ass of yourself when you tried to incriminate an innocent man,” she fired back. Heeled boots clacked along the concrete as she crept even closer. “You owe me.”

“You owe me, Miss Lounds,” Jack replied. “After your last venture with me, I’d say you piled on quite a few debts.”

“I can really make it miserable for you in the papers if you do this, Jack,” Freddie warned, and she hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. She looked ready for a fight.

“Look, you want some kind of scoop, how about you put that nosy business of yours to the grindstone and find me Will Graham; how’s that? You kept hunting him down six years ago, dogging his every step then. Shouldn’t be too hard for you to find him now, right?”

He walked back into HQ, savoring the ugly shade of pink on her cheeks. As he passed security, he motioned back towards her. “She doesn’t come anywhere in here,” he ordered, and the security guards nodded in understanding.

Will Graham wandered the house for the next few days in order learn its secrets.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d find, perusing the unnecessary amount of formal living rooms. Something, he supposed –anything. More than a week’s time in that house was making his skin stretch to odd proportions, making his muscles tense at the slightest of sounds.

He wondered how many others felt such a kindship to Hannibal Lecter; would more Matthew’s crawl from the floorboards to try and oust him? Was another Randall Tier lurking along the forest’s edge, waiting?

Every time he blinked, he kept focusing on his eyes. Randall Tier had matching eyes, and they stared at the stars like they could somehow find peaceful oblivion in the night.

It was a nice home, all things considered. Will could remember times between moves where he and his father would take tours of the old homes in the south, passing hands along bronze posts and velvet ropes to keep them from ruining relics of the past. He’d always felt small in such places, the history stuffed within the very air he breathed, so much so that he felt something like a thief standing in the space. His father loved the tours, though, so he followed along. The paintings of George Washington were always a cheesy touch.

Dr. Lecter didn’t have an abundance of Revolutionary War paintings, although he had an unhealthy obsession with Blake. Will paused before one such painting and stared, hands tucked into his pockets.

“The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun,” Dolarhyde said behind him. His deep voice, appearing so suddenly in the silence, startled Will, and he turned around sharply.

“I didn’t see you as an art type,” he said in lieu of nothing else.

Dolarhyde’s eyes were dark, fixated on the painting. “…You don’t know. But you could understand.”

“I could,” Will agreed reluctantly.

Whatever Francis wanted to say to help Will understand was unable to break past his lips. He stared at the painting, and his jaw clenched. His mouth worked, mulling the words over, but they didn’t come, something blocking up in his throat and silencing him. Tension rippled just underneath his skin, and Will thought of the way his shoes had sunk into the carpet soaked with blood, how it’d seemed like a terrifying amount of blood to lose –how simply killing someone wouldn’t do that, that someone would have to really relish in the way blood stained everything to make someone bleed that much as they killed them.

“…I didn’t protect you,” Dolarhyde said, and Will took a step back from him unconsciously. The intensity that he’d pinned to the painting shifted to Will, made his skin crawl. “I promised to protect you, and Matthew almost killed you.”

“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at Matthew,” Will assured him. He felt a genuine need to convey that fact.

“I promised you that you’d be safe here.”

“You’ve been lying to me from the start, Agent Dolarhyde, so you shouldn’t start feeling bad about it now,” he replied. The staring was beginning to make him sweat, the something just lurking at the edge of Francis’ gaze unsettling. Quiet he may be, calm he may be, but he wasn’t stable. Will could smell it off of him like a fever. It threatened to bleed into him, force Will to take some part of it.

“I never lied to you,” said Francis calmly.

“Oh?” Will barked a curt laugh.

“I told you the truth. I would keep you safe, we would go to the house, I would make a call at the house, your friends would be safe, I do my job very well, and I wouldn’t hurt you.” He frowned, mulling everything over. “The only lie is that you were put in danger. For that, I apologize.”

Will was pretty damn sure that a lie by omission was still a lie, but he wasn’t sure if that was a conversation to have with someone like Francis. While he speech came across as simplified, it didn’t quite fit the calm control and intelligence it’d taken for him to completely fool not only Will but Jack, too.

“How long had you been in the FBI?” Will asked.

“S…Seven years.” A hand lifted unconsciously to hide the scar near his mouth.

“How did you find Dr. Lecter?”

“…We read about him in Quantico. Learned him before he was publicly named, found his ways and habits when he was nothing more than The Chesapeake Ripper. When he was discovered by Agent Crawford, I wanted to know him. I understood him better than anyone else I’d ever seen, and I wanted to know him. I wanted him to know me, too.”

“The FBI has strict psychological screening protocols, Agent Dolarhyde,” Will whispered.

Francis blinked lazily at him, nary a flicker of emotion at Will’s pointed statement. “I did my job very well, Mr. Graham.”

“You did,” Will agreed. “You made me equivocally trust every word that came from your mouth without a second thought.”

“You can trust me,” Francis assured him. “You can’t trust Matthew Brown.”

“So if he tries to take me on morning walks again, I should find you?”

“Yes,” Francis affirmed. “Or, if you’re inclined, you could just kill him.”

Will took several steps back at that, and Francis let him. His flat gaze followed Will’s trail around a small sitting area, using the couch as a barrier between them. He neither advanced nor retreated, merely watched. Merely observed.

“…I don’t want to kill him, Agent Dolarhyde,” Will said, tasting how it sounded in the air. Honest. Real.

“You could kill anyone in this house, Mr. Graham, and Dr. Lecter wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t view his opinion on killing as a base for my own interactions.”

“Just a thought,” Francis said, and he gave a small half-smile. It tugged on his scar, gave him an altogether crooked look. “In case you’re ever inclined.”

He walked out of the room and left Will to his thoughts, dark and wicked as they were.

Just to the side of him, Red Dragon arced over the woman clothed in sun, ready to devour her.

A wonderful thanks to my patrons: @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe @frostyleegraham @sylarana @Frostylicker Duhaunt6, and Superlurk <3

#Where the Wicked Walk #Hannigram #Hannibal x will graham #hannibal fanfic #hannibal au #the following au #hannibal soulmate au #someone help will graham #Francis dolarhyde

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god-of-lust-negan · 7 years ago

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A wild piece of life Chapter 7

Characters: Reader, Negan, Cindy, Hert.

It’s pretty dark at first and somehow made its way to be a happy one..

I want to take this moment to say this chapter will be long considering the rest are pretty short when I read them. Sorry for that, really, I don’t type it up on the computer but on my phone, it’s just a warning, I know how long chapters can bored people so this is why I am telling you this.

This story is part of @embracetheapocalypsewithme ‘s 400 follower challenge.

I am innocent about uhm…some sensitive things involving a near ….r….a…p…e….. victim so…I am so sorry, really.

Screams would be heard, sounds of vases crashing on the floor. A little boy was hiding in the closet covered with the clothes scattered on him, covering his ears. He sobbed loudly as he rocked himself. He didn’t know what to do, he was a weak little boy. The constant ‘no’ would ring in his ears. He cried to distract himself, not forgiving himself for being so weak. He didn’t know what to do.

Negan gasped loudly as he awoke in the hallway, panting in cold sweat. As promised, Bryan had brought him a pillow and a blanket and he passed out from exhaustion. He placed his hand on his head, groaning in pain. His eyes slowly made its way to huge hole in his door and he rapidly stood up, stumbling against the wall and made his way inside. He saw the girl in his bed and he sighed in relief that she hadn’t woken up yet, giving him some time to explain in words what happened last night.

Bryan walked back in with two coffee cups in his hands, “Sup..” he whispered, always hating the noise in the morning, especially with a hangover.

“Hey…” he glanced back and Bryan handed him the cup. Negan nodded at him as a thanks and sipped on the drink.

“Know what to say?…” he whispered again, watching his eyes staring at the girl.

“Say what happened, hope for the best..” he says wit a stoic expression, but his eyes read something else.

Bryan nodded and patted his back before leaving the room, “good luck.” He says a bit louder and headed down to the kitchen.

You stirred in your sleep and groaned in pain, “Fuu…”

Negan tensed up, but he didn’t need to be nervous, he didn’t do anything. He waited until you were awake and softly said, “Glad you’re awake. Here, have some coffee.”

You sat up slowly, and looked over to see Negan in a t-shirt and sweat pants, his hair in a mess. You slowly reach for the cup and he stepped away, keeping his distance.

You were confused why he was acting so weird and you had to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Negan looked up at you with sad eyes, hesitating, “Last night…a monster came up here…while you were sleeping…tried to…tried to force himself on you while sleeping…your clothes are ripped…there’s a hole in my door to break in to stop him…He wasn’t even close to get to…”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, you nearly got raped and you were passed out on the alcohol. You set the cup softly on the drawer; you were drifting off, but you mind slowed things down. Negan was here, there would be no other reason to make that hole. Your hands began to shake and Negan startled you by placing his hands on yours. Your first thought was to snatch your hands away but something in you just relaxed. The moment you felt the warmth from his hand, your mind went blank and your body released some tension. He slowly moved his body, sitting next to you, “I have a strict policy when it comes to living here. No rape allowed, it is strictly forbidden, so this would be the safest place you can be in. You want to study? Come here and you can do that, need a place to sleep…you are welcome here. It’s not pity I have, it’s…”

You watched his eyes getting glossy and you squeezed his hand, “Anger…” you said softly, “Negan…thanks to you, I am not a victim…you saved me from the horrific incident and I will always be grateful. Thank you Negan.” You smiled small, hugging him.

“I’m glad but…fuck…this ruins it.” He shook his head slowly.

“What?..”

“…I wanted to take you out to eat, there’s this place with delicious sandwiches and hamburgers-”

“Yes..” you immediately responded with a soft voice and Negan turn to look at you with a half confused and shock.

“You sure?”

“I guess I’ll change my mind-”

A knock was heard hard, “(y/n)!!!” Groaned a drunk girl, “You here?..” she stayed silent, “Your father called like…a bazillion times-”

“My dad!! Oh my god oh my god I have to go-” you went completely silent your thoughts making a mess. You literally jumped up and off the bed surprising Negan.

“I can take you hom-”

“I can go, I just need to find my-” you were going to look for your shoes when a huge headache got in the way which caused you to limp back against the drawer. Negan rushed up to your side, “Your hungover, doll.” He rubbed your shoulder, “I have no fucking choice but to speak with him.”

You whimpered in pain while rubbing your temples, “D-da..”

Negan placed his hands on yours and bent down to look into your closed eyes, “You have to eat something I’m sure there’s leftover pizza, drink the coffee as well.”

“You sound like…” the voice of a female rang and Negan turned to notice to see the girl on the bed, Cindy.

“what?” he asked.

“…like my dad.” and she dramatically sighed. Negan rolled his eyes and turn back to you, taking the fact that you were drinking the coffee. He saw the desperation and fear in your eyes. But why fear?

Hours had passed and your Dad was just staring at you with disbelief for minutes. You were getting more uncomfortable by each second feeling his daggers on your face and he sighs, “I just can not believe it...” He sounded disappointed and your gaze lowered, “I just can not believe it...” and he stood up and rubbed his stubble chin.

“You drank...you didn’t come home and I was worried like a mad man. This unknown guy brings you home?...Do you have anything....you have to say?” He asked, placing his hands on his hips. You teared up and shook your head slowly, Negan was currently outside having a smoke, slowly puffing it out.

You father simply stepped forward, hovering you and your shoulders began to shake, crying. You felt hands placed on your shoulders and you lifted your face to see a big smile. You sniffled and you furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him confused, “...D-dad?...”

He had a joyful, big-ass grin that made you question reality.

“I am proud of you.” He simply said, “I thought in my lifetime I was going to have that goody two shoes but turns out you are just normal.”

“Y-you’re not mad then?...”

“No but I will ground you. So tell me about this guy, Megan?”

“Negan, dad. It’s pronounced Nee-gan.”

“Alright then bring him in then. “

You stood up, you never thought your father was like this, he was accepting you to drink? Well, it was your first party after all. You expected your parents screaming at your face, taking your phone to read every message and every call made. You feared that they would think you were a two faced daughter- innocent at home but opposite in school- and there wasn’t a way to explain. You walked to the front door and opened it to see Negan finishing his cigarette -his back turned to you- and you interrupted by clearing your throat and he spinned, hiding the the butt behind his back, “Hey Doll, everything okay?”

You sighed softly, “I’m lucky that he is my father, he wants to talk to you.” and you walked back inside to grab the ash bowl on the counter against the wall. Negan steps inside and you held the bowl out and he placed the butt in it, smiling softly, “Thanks babe.”

You returned the smile and placed the bowl on the counter, leading him in your father’s office. Negan looked around the house, noticing it was a simple house but the items inside were either fake or real. When he stepped into the room he felt tensed, feeling the father-zone where he needs to be cautious or else the Alpha will get him.

Hert turned in his chair and he stood up, inspecting him, then he looked at you, “Go to your room, I’m gonna have a conversation with Neegan.”

You pouted and walked out and up the stairs to your room.

Negan watched you go and he couldn’t help but stare at your ass for a couple of seconds and turn his head to look at your father, “So.” Hert began, “Let’s begin.” and he sat back down in his chair.

You were very squirmish on bed, wondering what your father was telling Negan. You decided to eavsdropped just a bit to see if your father was “protecting” you. You got out and opened the door slowly, making sure it was not squeaking and headed out. You stayed there for a couple of seconds to hear...laughter? This got your curiousity and you walked down the stairs. You forgot all about sneaking that your father spotted you and he stood up laughing signaling you with his to come in. Negan was also laughing, slowly stopping.

“What’s going on?” This day was getting weirder and weirder.

“Negan and I talked...and talked, and talked. And here we are laughing our ass off.” He chuckled, “He’s a good guy, he also asked me permission to take you out on a date which I agree on-”

You gasped and smiled, “Really?-”

“On one condition. You come here at..” he trailed off and looked at his watch, “9.”

You look at Negan who was smiling at you.

“So have fun you two. Don’t drink because I am not going to take two young adults to the honeymoon cliff.” Hert said, smiling.

It was 6pm and you were all dressed up for your date, it seemed Negan and your father had forgotten everything about yesterday, your mind was focused on him. You looked in the mirror. You decided to go bold to what Negan was wearing so where you were wearing a black outfit. You were confident of what you were wearing and headed out your room. Your dad was standing at the end of the stairs and when he turned to look at you, his eyes widen and his eyebrows rose. “Wow.” he said, astonished.

You smiled and looked down at your feet, shy.

“You look beautiful sweetie.” Your father smiled, taking you down and leading you down the rest of the steps, “Are you recreating the 50s? Making me feel old?” He joked, chuckling.

You giggled and looked up at him, giving him a huge smile. “No Daddy.”

“Hm, I hope so, now, be careful sweetheart. You are my world, and if something happens to you-”

“I can reassure you, Daddy, everything is going to be fine.” You place your hands on his cheeks softly and got on your tip of your heels to kiss his forehead. He helped by bending his knees a bit, to appeared at the same height as you.

The doorbell rang and your father pulled away and walked to the door, opening it to see Negan in the same outfit, and he thought it would be funny to say this, “I’m ready.” he smiled.

Negan chuckled, “Great. You look amazing tonight, Doll.” He played along and grinned making the man in front of him lose it, cackling. He stepped aside and Negan entered, grinning. Once he saw you his grin fell agape as he stared at your face to your toes

You felt intimidated by his gaze, making you look down and he simply stepped forward, speechless as he took in the curves of your body, your hips, your legs. He was super impressed and he smiled slowly, “Wow...You look, wow.” his shoulders slumped slightly.

You slowly looked up again to see his calm expression, his stunning dimples appeared and his hazel eyes just staring at you as a prize he won in a carnival.

“You..you ready, doll?” He asked softly, realizing he was just staring.

You nodded and stepped forward to him. He slowly licked his lips, moistening them. You blushed softly and he took your hand softly, “Let’s go.”

You two were singing to ACDC in his ‘67 Impala, his windows rolled down so the music traveled long and loud. You were already having so much and the date was barely starting. He slowed down his Impala in the parking lot of a Diner were it was filled with convertibles and young people, waitresses on skates handing them the orders. Negan glanced at you and smiled, “What do you want babe? Anything you ask for, I’ll pay.”

“Uhm...a burger and a smoothie is totally fine by me.” You smiled back at him. He nodded once and when the waitress rolled to the window he ordered what they wanted.

On the road, Negan was sipping on his coke and you were drinking your smoothie slowly. It was quiet except for soft rock music on the radio. Negan glanced at you and you glanced back at him, sharing smiles. He looked straight again, turning to a path that leaded them into a forest. He kept going straight until he saw the cliff and stopped a few feet away, the view of the city was beautiful. He grabbed his burger and removed the wrapper, taking a bite. You did the same and you both enjoyed this moment. He took huge bites and long sips from his coke and he turn his head slightly to see you, “Mm..” he chewed and gulped before asking, “Is it good?” He asked, referring to the food. You nodded and smiled, gulping at the small piece you took, “It’s very delicious, thank you.”

30 minutes had passed when you to began to talk, asking each other questions. Negan wanted to spend real time with you but he felt uncomfortable reaching out to you because of yesterday. He didn’t want you to remember that night so he forced himself to stay on the cheesy date of going to the cliff and eat.

You however, this is why you wore your provocative clothes, you were ready . You wanted this, you wanted to show Negan that you aren’t an innocent, nerdy little girl. You wanted to show him that you had a wild side. You scooted yourself to him and he turned his head, watching your moves. Your eyes were down to your feet as you moved closer to him and leaned your head against shoulder. Negan raised his arm, placing it over your shoulder. You slowly looked up to see his dark eyes looking down at you. You wanted to show that you were brave, and you did, by moving closer to lock your lips against his.

#embracetheapocalypse #negan #negan the walking dead #negan x reader #awildpieceoflife #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #fanfiction

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blowxxtomishaped · 7 years ago

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Izzy's Character Sheet

Just in case you’re interested.

Basic Statistics:

name: Israel “Izzy” Felix Hartmann

birthdate: December 12th

age @ beginning: 17

nationality: German / French

hometown: Munich

currently lives: Chicago

occupation: school

income: not a clue (IE: Daddy’s Money)

talents: is very artistic. A skilled artist and writer. A fantastic dancer.

relationship skills: Izzy can have a conversation with anyone about something or another with just about anyone. That isn’t to say that his conversations don’t get heated, they often do. Izzy has no problem talking. Getting close to people though? It happened far and few between and sadly all too rarely in his life.

Immeadant Family:

mother: Adalyn Macy Martin Hartmann

father: Dominick Felix Hartmann

brother(s): Dominick Alexander Hartmann - 38 - half brother

sister(s): n/a

spouse: n/a

children: “Oh gods, never!”

Physical Characteristics:

height: 5’5

weight: >100lbs

race: caucasian

eyes: right blue, left green

hair: natural soft light blond curls

how does Izzy dress?: Izzy wears clothes that are typically meant for girls. Dresses, skirts… heals and makeup- he loves the whole shebang! He’s a crossdresser, not Transgender like so many people think upon finding out he’s actually a boy.

mannerisms: Pulls hair and/or bites lip when nervous. When he’s around people he always tries to seem upbeat and happy. Showing any other emotion made people ask questions. What’s wrong? Nothing. Are you okay? Perfectly fine. Tell me what’s made you so sad. Who the hell talks like that? I’m here for you. No, you’re hearing trying to sleep with me. The higher he is and the higher his emotions are running the more animatedly he talks.

bad habits: smokes cigarettes and pot. Heavy coke user. Rarely drinks, prefers being high over drunk.

health: physically- too thin mentally- bipolar

hobbies: writing and drawing his comic books. Working on a hard novel based off the comics and paintings/sketches/etc. Still takes dance four times a week to keep up and stay in as good of shape as the high on can be in.

quote from Izzy: “Jesus christ I’m not a girl! I don’t feel like I’m in the wrong body, and I in no way want to actually be a girl. I just like the clothes so much more. And shoes. And makeup. Girls have better shit, boys need to step their game up or do something that should be so much easier and simply start accepting people like me.”

favourite quote: “Crazy people are considered mad by the rest of the society only because their intelligence isn’t understood.” - Zhou Weihui

disability: n/a

style: whatever he feels like that day. Elegant. Flashy. Fun. Cute. Simple. Stylish. Outgoing. Shy. Sexy.

glasses: no

biggest flaw: is addicted to cocaine.

best qualities: if one really would just let Izzy be Izzy and accept the kid as is they would see them. Izzy is really a sweetheart, rather smart, and when he lets himself be and isn’t putting up a guard to keep people from hurting him Izzy is fun.

Intellectual / Mental / Personality Atributes:

educational background: graduated in the top of his class a year early, he just had to get out of school and studied his ass off for weeks to be able to do it. Opted out of college.

IQ: 139

short term goals: to be himself, to really be happy.

how does Izzy see himself?: As a drug addicted cross dressing teenager.

how does Izzy believe he is perceived by others?: by the people he hangs out with: As a drug addicted cross dressing teenager. The rest of the world: As a cross dressing teenager. That’s exactly what showed, no one’s perceptions of him should be any different than how he sees himself.

how self confident is Izzy?: confidence completely oozes from Izzy when he’s out in the open. Said confidence has gotten him in trouble plenty of times though, like when stupid ex football players find out they just hit on city freak in a dress.

does Izzy seem ruled by his emotions?: very much so. Izzy has a hard time thinking logically before opening his stupid mouth. So much of what Izzy says and does is done in the heat of the moment.

what would most embarrass Izzy?: if people found out some of the things he believed to be true about himself, finding out the all confident Izzy isn’t so perfect. Example: He thinks he is unlovable.

Emotional Characteristics:

strengths: loves the unlovable. Not afraid to be who he is inside. That doesn’t mean everyone deserves to see all of him.

weaknesses: coke, and shoes. He has a closet just for his shoes. He’s nearly as addicted to them as he is to the drug.

introvert / extrovert: although he keeps his guard up, Izzy is very much extroverted. He is open with the world about who he wants to be, for the most part at least. Due to a deal with his father he had to stay out of the media so he does have to keep it reigned in.

how does Izzy deal with…

anger?: not well, the teenager is quick to anger. And isn’t very good and holding back his tongue when he’s pissed. When someone makes him snap, the little spitfire will actually throw punches. Thanks to years and years of dance he did have some strength.

sadness?: he doesn’t deal with it. At all. Ever. He just does more drugs, puts himself in a world far away from whatever upset him.

conflict?: avoids it if at all possible, he has enough conflict in his life without actively seeking out more. Conflict eats at him, he doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to deal with it.

change?: really well. Izzy is usually pretty good at just going with the flow. He’s good at accepting what life throws at him and trying to do something with it, even if that something isn’t necessarily a good thing or even a good idea in the first place.

loss?: not well. His family spends most of the time trying to forget that he’s a part of it and that left Izzy starved for attention growing up. It also left him alone, not even school offered much solace- kids are fucking mean. When he finally makes real friends, real people he actually gives a shit about and who gave a shit about him even just the thought of losing them makes his chest ache.

what does Izzy want out of life?: so simple it’s almost sad. He just wants to be truly happy and loved. He would also love for everyone to know who he is because of his comics / paintings / book. But happy and loved more.

what would Izzy like to change about life?: change how people see him, would make the world just accept him and treat him like everyone else.

what makes Izzy happy?: positive reinforcements, compliments. And coke. You can’t help but to just smile when you’re mind is racing a mile a minute and bad ideas suddenly sound like a lot of fun now.

is Izzy judgemental of others?: not in the least bit.

is Izzy generous or stingy?: He has never had to work for anything that could be bought, but it didn’t turn him into a stingy spoiled brat. If you’re someone he cares about, or at least not somebody he hates, than Izzy has little to no problem sharing anything- except his shoes. He’ll share his coke ten times over before he’ll give up his shoes. “Don’t give me that look. These are vintage prada heels, only a hundred pairs were made!”

is Izzy generally polite or rude? He tries to be polite. He can’t expect people to be civil with him if he’s not with them, right? But once one starts throwing smack in any form his way all bets are off, much of what he says than would probably be considered rude.

#izzy #izzy hartmann #character sheet #blow #tomishaped #gay boy #story #gay

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kur0kvmi · 6 years ago

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The Menacing Mind of Felix Lombardi. Act One

The Menacing Mind of Felix Lombardi.

Act 1

“The world isn’t a fun place. Don’t let the crappy movies and comic books about superheroes saving the day fool you. The world we live in isn’t anywhere near as cool or happy as the ones we read about inside the pages of Fantastic Four, or the one we see in the confines of our favorite TV Shows. The world sucks, and we’ve single handedly manufactured so many ways to distract ourselves from that fact that the ones who put more effort into these distractions are the highest praised and most celebrated individuals on the planet. Artists? What does that crappy word even mean? It’s just some kind of nebulous signifier for ‘person who doesn’t want a real job, and wants to play around with writing useless fluff all day’ and-”

“Will you shut the fuck up already?” Hi I’m the actual main character of this little short story, pardon my language but that dumbass was getting on my nerves, and he already wasted an entire paragraph of run time with his faux Nietzsche ramblings. Wait, sorry, I was supposed to go:

“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP” I said in a fairly angry tone. Like I said in the last paragraph, this guy is nothing but some sad dropout who’s angry at everything trying to explain to me in his infinite wisdom why art doesn’t mean anything. I apologize again, you’re probably extremely confused. “Why did this story start with a paragraph long intro that turned out to be a pointless diatribe?” “Who’s this guy who keeps stopping the story and speaking directly to me, doesn’t he know he’s a character in a story?” Answers to those questions are A: our wonderful author is stalling for time, and B: I’m not entirely of sound mind, that’s what my therapist, most of my childhood friends and my big brother have told me at least. However before we continue I’m going to use the next paragraph to tell you a bit about who I am.

“Sup little bro”

“Hey Lou, did you get my text?”

“I was busy, couldn’t respond, still kinda busy. Something about needing money for that comic convention?” Lou said. He sounded like he was doing something physically taxing.

“You at the Gym?”

“Nope, I’m at work”

“Why do you sound out of breath”

“Information gathering is very tiresome”

Oh he’s beating up a dude for an interrogation.

“Oh you’re beating up a dude for an interrogation”

“What have I told you about talking about the job over the phone”

“Mi Scuso fratello Louis” (I’m sorry brother Louis)

“That’s Don Lombardi to you buster”

“Fat chance wise guy, so when can you send the money for the tickets?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do”

[2 days later]

So I’m lazing about my apartment like the sterling example of a productive citizen that I am when I get a phone call from Don Lombardi.

“Felix you there?”

“I wouldn’t have picked up if I wasn’t. What is it?”

“Funny. I wonder how many jokes you’ll be making when you’re forced to shack up with a bunch of hideous college students in a prison dorm”

“Wake up, eat, listen to Lou threaten me with student housing, go to class, come home, repeat”

“I’m a man of habit what can I say”

“To what do I owe this call, did you send the ticket money?”

“I need you to make some friends Felix”

“I need you to stop caring.”

“How would I even go about making friends?”

“Glad you asked. That’s why I bought you 3 day tickets to that comic book convention.”

“How do you know I won’t just go there without talking to anybody?”

“You know, when you’re in my line of business, you learn to have contingency plans. This is the part of the movie where the villain tells the hero ‘I’m glad you asked’”.

Just at that moment, I heard three knocks at my door.

“That should be my contingency plans”

I open my door a little just to see who’s there.

Ami, motherfucking Fujinami.

“The convention is this weekend right?” Lou continued. “Have fun lil bro”

I hate my brother. I hate this. I hate you.

**End of Act 1**

#short story #menacing mind of felix lombardi #original story #Ninouh #nineouh #writing

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