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brasskier · 4 years

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Inspired by @valdomarx, @therogueheart, and that one anon, here’s a post-mountain Deaf!Jaskier story. Read it under the cut below or find it on my ao3 here.

Geralt stumbled upon Jaskier for the first time since the dragon hunt early the next spring, at a crowded market a week or two northeast of Oxenfurt. He'd stopped into town to stock up on supplies and maybe pick up a contract or two before moving along. If asked, he'd insist it was a series of hunts that brought him so close to the Academy, that he might as well follow the coin. And if he happened to run into his bard (ex-bard?), and happened to have the opportunity to apologize, and the bard happened to choose to follow him again? Well, so be it.

He smelled Jaskier before he could see him, head perking up and eyes searching the crowd for the flash of a colorful doublet and that soft brown hair. The market was teeming, thrumming with chatter, and just as vivacious as Jaskier himself.

"You goin' ta buy that or not?" The stall keeper asked, jarring him back to his abandoned transaction. He dropped a few coins on the stall, pocketed the herb, and disappeared without so much as a grunt. Weaving through the throngs of people, he relied on smell - on that familiar chamomile and saffron - until he finally spotted a glint of emerald green, and the strap of a lute. He watched from a distance.

Jaskier's hands were flashing about as dramatic as ever, glancing back and forth between the balding man tending the stall and another man standing beside him. His companion was as flamboyant as he was, dressed in a regal blue and arms waving about just as exaggeratedly. But then Geralt realized he couldn't hear Jaskier, which was unusual, because the bard had never in the two decades he'd known him been able to keep his voice down. The crowd was certainly cacophonous, but not that loud.

"Jaskier?" He drew a little closer and called his name tentatively. The bard didn't seem to react, carrying on with whatever he was doing. He tried again, a little louder, and then a third time, increasingly forcefully. He was getting irritated now - how dare he pretend to not hear me - and was tempted to simply move on. With a heavy sigh, he approached even further, lingering just a few paces behind him. "Jaskier?"

"Think someone's calling you," the stall keeper announced, jerking his head in Geralt's direction, and Jaskier waved his hands again before turning to follow the man's gaze. He blanched when his eyes finally met Geralt's, mouth hung open and hands dropping to his side.

"Geralt?" He squeaked out finally, dragging a hand up to his heart. There was an unusual quality to his voice, Geralt was quick to note. Not hoarse, like he'd heard him after many a late-night performance. Just different.

"Jaskier," he repeated, casting his gaze down to the russet dirt at his feet.

"Gods," Jaskier breathed. "Just - melitele's tits - I just…" He trailed off, wringing his hands together. Geralt couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the stray fawns that would occasionally stumble upon his campsite and linger frozen for a few moments, cast in the firelight and trembling with fear.

"It's okay, I know." He kept his eyes trained at his feet, trying to pin down the bard’s tone. The way Jaskier produced certain sounds, dragged over his vowels, a little bit of its usual edge missing. He must be overwhelmed, Geralt concluded, but he wasn't particularly convinced. "I'm sorry." He waited patiently, uncertainly, for either his acceptance or rejection.

"I need you to look at me," he said instead, surprising Geralt. He did as he was told, lifting his chin to face him. "Can you repeat that?"

"I'm sorry," he reiterated. He felt frustration welling again - he got his apology, does he really need me to repeat it? - but he quickly quashed it.

"Thank you, Geralt." He could see the emotion brimming in Jaskier's eyes. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Jaskier glanced sideways for a moment, fidgeting with one of his rings. "Perhaps we could share a drink? There's a tavern not far from here." He jerked his head to the right. Geralt grunted, and Jaskier raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Sounds good," he clarified. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Jaskier was toying with him for pleasure's sake. He knew full well how to interpret the Witcher's grunts, after all. And yet the expression drawn across his face looked impressively genuine. Humans are weird.

Jaskier uttered his thanks to the stall keeper and turned to face his companion - who'd been waiting patiently behind him - again. He wagged his hands about wordlessly, and it finally dawned on Geralt that this was not his usual theatricality - this was common sign language, and he wondered when exactly Jaskier had picked it up.

Jaskier was quiet most of the way to the tavern but seemed to perk up once they were seated - in the far back corner, Jaskier's choice. Geralt spoke first, determined to get this apology over with and behind him.

"I'm sorry about what happened." Jaskier tilted his head as he listened, chin resting on folded hands. "What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have blamed you, and…" he exhaled sharply, as if apologizing - or, more specifically, being honest and vulnerable - caused him actual pain. "The best blessing life has given me is finding you again." Jaskier's head tilted impossibly further, and then came the tears, and - fuck - did Geralt say the wrong thing?

"That's awfully sweet, Geralt," Jaskier eventually choked out, and he relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, I just--" He dragged a hand across his face. "That was so kind." He sniffled into his sleeve before finally re-righting himself. "I guess I'm just a tad sentimental." Geralt forced the best smile he could manage across his lips. "Gods, it's been so long. Go on, tell me everything you've been up to."

"Not much," he replied between sips of ale. "I'll tell you everything later." He chided himself as soon as the words left his mouth for just assuming there might be a later. "How have you been?"

"Hmm?" He sighed, fighting hard to keep from rolling his eyes.

"How have you been?" Jaskier seemed to spark to life again at this.

"Oh," he said simply, pushing his hair behind his ear and chewing on his lip. "Well, I returned to Oxenfurt, taught for the winter. I just headed out, actually. I've been a bit preoccupied." He leaned in closer, stared past Geralt at the wall behind him. "I, uhh, I got sick, coming down from the mountain." Geralt hummed, drawing a slow sip of his ale. "I mean, I kinda woke up sick, but then there was the dragon and…" He rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the table. "Well, I was a little distracted. I don't even really remember making it off the mountain, to be honest."

"I'm sorry I didn't notice." Geralt might as well get all his apologies over with at this point, he thought. Jaskier waved a hand to hush him.

"I woke up at a healer's. Apparently someone had found me not far out of town and dragged me in." He let out a shaky exhale. "He said I'd had an infection in… In my brain." Geralt watched him with a sour mix of pity and regret, unable to shake the feeling that he should've been there. The image of Jaskier, waxy pale and slumped unconscious, trembling in a stranger’s arms, burned into his mind. "Anyway, I'm lucky I survived. But my hearing did not." Oh. Fuck. Suddenly the pieces slid into place - the sign language, the strange quality to his voice, the incessant requests for Geralt to repeat himself.

"Fuck, Jask, I'm sorry." He rarely shortened Jaskier's name, but he knew the bard liked the nickname, and it was the least he could do for him. His mind reeled with regret. He should've been there. A random stranger shouldn't have been the one to find him and rescue him. If he'd known, he'd have never - no. No, what he did was wrong outside of the context of what'd happened next, and he was not about to qualify it. Jaskier, for his part, seemed relatively unfazed.

"Nothing you could've done about it, really," he insisted, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "The healer said I just needed to fight it off on my own." This did absolutely fuck all to ease the guilt gnawing in Geralt's gut. Questions swirled in his head - how was Jaskier going to sing or play anymore? Could he still compose even? How was he going to survive; that was how he procured coin, after all? Was he… was he happy? Did he blame Geralt?

"I know, I just… can you still sing?" This question seemed to amuse Jaskier, who laughed heartily.

"Yes, Geralt, I can still deliver my fillingless pie." Geralt couldn't tell if he was serious or not, and while he used to be able to read his voice a little more consistently, he was unsure now and kicking himself for not making a better study of the bard's facial expressions and body language when they'd been together.

"You know I didn't…"

"I know. I know you didn't mean that." They sat in silence for a beat while Geralt wracked his brain for his next question.

"How? Do you sing, I mean, if you can't hear. How are you even talking to me?" He shrunk behind his tankard, suddenly embarrassed by the utter lack of tact that'd never bothered him before.

"Well, one of the perks of teaching at a premier Academy is access to some of the finest physicians this side of Nilfgaard. I'll be honest, it took a lot of work to relearn how to sing and speak; I was mute for most of my travels back to Oxenfurt, mostly out of shame." Geralt's stomach churned, imagining Jaskier entirely and utterly silent. That wasn't the bard he knew. His Jaskier never shut up, mouth constantly running faster than a horse, always a story to tell or a song to share or a joke to crack. And certainly never worried about whether anyone else wanted or needed to hear him. Jaskier was not quiet. "But fortunately I still have a tiny bit of my hearing - on the lower end, mostly, which is good for you. Plus I have decades of muscle memory, so it wasn't so bad. And as for right now? I'm mostly lipreading, though the pitch of your voice is helpful." Geralt couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or just trying to placate him. "It's just different. Have to feel it more than hear it, which if you ask me more musicians should try."

"I'm glad," Geralt gritted out, nodding at the bartender to bring another round of ale. "That you can still sing." Jaskier beamed.

"I knew you always liked my singing," he declared triumphantly, arms folded across his chest.

"Did you already know common sign?" Geralt asked instead of retorting with something snarky; let the bard have his victory.

"A tiny bit, but the language professor at the Academy was fantastic at teaching me." Geralt closed his eyes and tried to envision the odds and ends of common sign he'd picked up over his years of travel. "I made a lot of Deaf friends; they've been so supportive of me." With a sigh, Geralt decided to give it a try.

"I know a little," he signed, tentative and deliberate. Jaskier's eyes lit up.

"You do?" He signed back, eyebrows raised and grin spread across his face.

"Not much. I can…" His hands slowed, wracking his brain for the sign for learn. He sighed again and said it aloud instead. There he goes again, assuming Jaskier will stick around long enough to warrant learning more. Jaskier teared up again, and he cursed inwardly, wondering for what must've been the trillionth time that afternoon if he'd messed up.

"You'd do that? For me?" Jaskier squeaked, pawing at his eyes with a hand tucked in his sleeve.

"Of course." For a moment Jaskier looked like he might fling himself across the table and into his arms, but instead he fidgeted in his seat.

"That's enough about me now, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, always a master at changing the topic when he grew bored with it. "Tell me about your hunts." He leaned over, fished around in his pack, and plucked out his notebook and pen.

"First was an infestation of drowners," Geralt began, taking extra care to face Jaskier as he spoke, and pausing when he went to scribble something in his notes. They spent the next hour like this until, just as Geralt was beginning to wonder if the bard was going to force him to talk all night, Jaskier was tugged to the front of the tavern while excited patrons clamored for a performance. Jaskier obliged, as always, and Geralt watched, as always.

When Jaskier dropped back into his seat, shuffling his lute unceremoniously to the floor beside him, Geralt expected him to bid him a hurried goodnight, get on his way, and leave. Just a nice day catching up shared between two friends (?), and decidedly not the start of their next joint adventure. But instead of any of that, Jaskier called to the bartender for another mug, busied himself fixing his hair and his doublet.

"Told you I could still sing," he said with a wink as the bartender deposited his ale on the table in front of him. "And something to eat, please," he added before returning his attention to Geralt.

"I never doubted you," Geralt's reply came easily. It was, perhaps, the truth.

"Now then, would you say it has more or less filling now?" He leaned forward on his elbows, cheeky grin and narrowed eyes, and even Geralt could recognize the facetiousness of his words. Before Geralt could answer, he waved a hand, as if dismissing himself. "So, where were you? Something about a missing cow?" Geralt nodded, leaning back in his seat.

"So the boy told me his father would pay me, if I could find the cow. So I said, 'how much?'" He continued on with his tales, no matter how excruciatingly mundane they felt to him, until Jaskier's head dips forward and then picks back up for a third time. "Think it might be time for you to get some sleep?" He asked, and Jaskier blinked away the sleep in his eyes.

"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other dipping down to reach his lute. "Are you staying overnight?" He asked, and immediately flushed at the confused look he received from Geralt. "I just mean… I don't… you can't leave before I get to say hi to Roach."

"It's too dark now. I'll get a room at the inn." Jaskier’s face lit up, and he followed him in rising to his feet. "Just have to grab Roach first," he said when they finally made it out the door and into the cool early-spring night.

"M'kay," Jaskier hummed with a fond smile. He rested a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." It was a firm statement, certain and unquestioning.

"See you then," Geralt replied, heading back to the stable where he'd docked Roach so he could bring her closer to the inn. And he, too, was certain.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #henry cavill #joey batey #mountain breakup #deaf jaskier #deaf character #fanfiction #the witcher netflix #ao3

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mrs-hatake · 4 years

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train station shenanigans (1)

A/N: Helloooooo everyone!

As promised, here’s the first chapter/intro of the aizawa x reader fic based on my work life! This is 90% Self Indulgent so just a heads up!

Anyways, enjoy! :D

Ps, not proof read!

Se no!

Demo sonnan ja dame mou sonnan ja hora.

You groaned in protest at the sound of your alarm that blared under your pillow. With your eyes still closed, you slid your hand under your pillow and fished out your phone to quickly tap the stop function. The white numbers of the clock read half past seven in the morning. You let out a whine and cursed the day you applied for a job.

Once you had convinced yourself to stay awake and ignore the sweet calls of slumber, you unlocked your phone and checked your notifications. After spending about fifteen minutes on twitter, you chucked your phone behind on your bed and pushed yourself upwards. You yawned loudly as you stretched your limbs. Lazily, you exited your bedroom and slowly went down the stairs so as to not awaken your mother and baby brother.

Today was your first day back to work after the mandatory lockdown due to the spread of the new virus. Having a break from work was wonderful as you were able to spend more time with your family. It sucked that everything was closed and you weren’t going to lie, it was stressful seeing the death tolls on the news, but you had fun at home. And now that things had finally calmed down in Japan, it was time to return to work.

Despite your whines from earlier, you were honestly looking forward to work. It was fun being at home, especially when you had so much free time to binge watch all of your favorite shows, but that could be entertaining for so long before it lost its charm.

With a soft hum of some random song, you worked on making yourself breakfast. Nothing too fancy, just some frozen waffles that you shoved down the toaster and then later drizzled caramel on top. You moaned at the fluffy texture in your mouth, and briefly, you were reminded of your days in school. When it was the first day and your mother would be up early and making breakfast for you. You missed those days. Life was much simpler back then. You wondered if your baby brother missed the lively atmosphere while getting for school or not. When you swallowed the last piece of waffle, you washed the dish and utensils that you’ve used before heading back upstairs to shower and get ready for work.

You decided to wear a simple yellow sundress for work. The best thing about the company you worked in wasn't being strict with the clothes you wore. As long as they were modest and family friendly, they found no reason to implement a strict dress code. Your senior coworkers decided to stick with the traditional attire of dark colored business suits. As much as you loved black, you didn’t want to wear the dark color every single day.

After you finished dressing up, you applied light mascara and let your dark green, almost black, curly locks gently rest on your shoulders. Spraying some lavender scented perfume, you texted your mother that you were off to work. But not before you snuck into your brother’s room, brushed back his dark green curls and pecked his forehead.

It was strange seeing the normally crowded streets of Musutafu be so desolate. The vast streets that were once filled with cars, almost resembling a parade with its colors and soft purrs of the motors, only had four or five cars on each lane. It was almost unnerving how quiet the streets of Musutafu were. But no matter, at least now you didn’t have to worry about traffic. Sure, you took the bus to work, though it was still frustrating to be trapped in the middle of traffic while freaking out over being on work on time. Not that you ever had been late. You always managed to show up at least twenty minutes earlier than the intended time.

The smell of bleach and lemon wafted through your nose once you stepped foot into the modestly sized train station. Just like the streets of Musutafu, the train station was just as desolate. The buzz of passengers sizzled out to soft mummers. The sea of people shrunk to a puddle. And the cheery atmosphere became somber. It was depressing. Though that didn’t deter you. With your head held high, you went straight to your office that you would normally share with five other people. Due to the new government rule, however, employees who weren’t supervisors, managers or ceos will take shifts and return to work every other day. Meaning you only had to work with three other people today.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Was the first thing that greeted your ears when you opened your office door.

Your boss was...unorthodox. He had long wavy hair that he would put up in a messy bun. Grey circles could be seen under his eyes and a soft stubble peppered his chin and upper lip. If you could describe your boss, then you would use the adjectives: grumpy and sleep deprived.

“Good morning, Aizawa-san.” You replied with a smile. Though, at the remembrance of wearing a mask that was way too big for you and covered most of your face, you dropped the smile. Aizawa said nothing, only nodded his head and continued to type away on his computer.

As you sanitize your workstation and logged into your computer, your supervisor Yamada Hizashi, walked in and bellowed “Gooooooood morning my little ducklings!” You heard Aizawa groan under his breath and tried not to chuckle at his misery.

Aizawa and Yamada were childhood friends and coworkers. It baffled you at first when Nemuri, your co-supervisor, had mentioned it in passing. The two were extremely different. While Yamada was the bright sun on a summer’s day that humans longed for after a long and miserable winter, Aizawa was the moon that people sung praises to with his mysterious aura and charming personality. After working with them for a month, however, you could see how the two were best friends. They balanced each other out perfectly and would always bring out the best side of the other person.

“Must you be so loud so early in the morning.” It wasn’t meant to be a question but Yamada answered anyway.

“Yes, I must bless everyone with my beautiful voice.”

If he wasn’t in a work environment, you were certain that Aizawa would have smacked his head on his desk to end his misery.

A peaceful silence settled upon you and you awkwardly shifted in your seat. Neither Aizawa nor Yamada had instructed you with anything to do and you were starting to feel antsy. Just as you were about to excuse yourself to walk around the station, maybe get some fresh air, Aizawa cleared his throat and called your name. You sat up straighter in your chair and locked your eyes with his.

“Write a letter to the Council of Train Stations to approve the extension of payment fees deadline.” Instructed Aizawa before returning to face his computer.

Blinking twice, You wrote down what he said in your notebook and began working on the letter.

You worked in the administrative department of the train station. The company you worked with, All Might Train Station Management, was infamous in maintaining and developing the station. From managing stores, adding holiday decorations to conducting safety measures and promoting the best image of the station, those were among the many things that you will deal with for the next eight months.

Once you have submitted your letter, you inform Aizawa. Who just hummed at you in return, too absorbed in his own work.

This went on for two hours. Aizawa would ask you to write a letter, you wrote it down on your note and then typed it on your computer and submitted it. Sometimes, you would have to contact other employees from other departments to forward you files that you had to attach to your letters. It was stressful, but not unmanageable.

It was around twelve in the afternoon when Aizawa excused himself to meet with the president of the company, Toshinori Yagi. Shortly afterwards, Yamada also left the office to God knows where. A habit of his that you envied but would never actually do. Yamada had been working two years at the company so he had the privilege to take a break from work and wander around. Maybe someday you could do it too, but for now, You’re stuck in your office.

Noticing that none of them were returning any time soon, You took your wallet and made your way to the mini market for a cold beverage and some snacks. You didn’t want to eat lunch at work - not that you can anyways since the staff room was under maintenance - but you were starting to get hungry and you couldn’t work to the best of your potential with an empty stomach.

When you returned to your office, you spotted Aizawa back at his desk. Yamada was nowhere in sight. Quietly, so as to not disrupt your workaholic of a boss, you sat down on your chair and opened your bag of chocolate animal crackers and stabbed the straw into your mango juice box.

“You look like you’re in elementary school.”

Your head shot upwards at Aizawa’s comment and could feel your cheeks flushing with warmth and you were positive that they had turned a bright red color.

“Would you like some?” You blurted and instantly winced. It was no secret that you were an awkward person by nature and tended to blurt things out or ramble on when nervous. You tried improving that aspect of yourself at work, not wanting to embarrass yourself at work like you did in college. You wanted to be professional and taken seriously. But it was proving to be a challenge.

Aizawa appeared to be contemplating your offer, half distracted by whatever it was displayed in front of him on his computer. “Sure, why not.” He eventually replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Your heart beat in anticipation as you stood up and crossed the short distance between your desk and his. Your hand held out the yellow bag of animal shaped chocolate crackers and watched as Aizawa dipped his hand and fish out two crackers; a panda and an elephant. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Your reply was soft, almost a squeak. Aizawa just hummed in response and returned to type away at his keyboard. You briefly toyed with the idea of being as busy Aizawa, to the point of being unaware of your surroundings.

The rest of the day went uneventful. Aizawa didn’t ask you to write any letters and Yamada didn’t return to the office until half an hour before work ended. The loud blonde asked Aizawa if he wanted to join him for lunch later and you held your breath at what your boss was going to reply, the thought of him living a normal life outside of these four walls was almost unimaginable. “Yeah, sure.” Ah, to see Aizawa in a casual setting, a privilege that you have to work very hard for.

When it was two in the afternoon, you turned off your computer, signed your name on the attendance sheet and bid farewell to your colleagues.

“Goodbye, my little duckling!” You heard Yamada say behind you while Aizawa grunted a quiet ‘bye’.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa scenario #aizawa x you #bnha imagine #bnha x reader

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vanityloves · 4 years

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anyways im gonna listen to/read the fuckin...rise of the ogre shit bc ive been putting it off 🪓🥴 im gonna put stuff under the cut bc im gonna be TALKING n dont wanna make a new post everytime

piss

ok he performed for 2 pounds 50. which is basically $3 today i- well it was absolutely a power play on his father behalf that also had the promise of money so.

also lol he said Rejection fueled my ambitions which, yknow,, i already knew but it still hurts and i will continue to talk ab it xoxo

AH HELP. "...if ebay had been invented at the time he would've sold me online there and then,"

"man hands on misery to man, yknow"

THEN PROCEEDS TO CONNECT IT TO MUSIC/HIS CAREER. this man said :) the one thing i truly have a passion for. the one thing i fucking like.

oh yeah. bullied by students AND teachers.

oh god hes 42ish during this interview? ok.

the fuckin school bully saying he wouldve acted differently if he knew what hed become

getting called "faceache", then proceeds to call 2d that. jfc he really does just repeat what everyone says. really "treating others how i was treated/how they treat me"

maybe thats why? hes kinder to fans? bc :] you support me and like me so, ok ill return that energy

MURDOC GETTING HIS ASS BEAT N PARADING HOME LIKE WELL I WON BC 'I PISSED YOU OFF' SJDJD

a real rowdy boy. absolute nasty boy. fraud and arson... shooting ppls windows with his air pistols

black sabbath being a huge inspiration? fucking absolutely.

became a satanist n shit at age 16? "it fitted me like a glove" "heavy metal and devil worshipping became my favorite past times" ajsj funny that ppl in trying times often seek religion or following of some sort

heavy metal being his favorite, n loving the clash, while hannibals was more punk based

hannibal breaking murdocs nose for the 2nd and 3rd time for playing his music on hannibals turntable

he doesnt sound that bitter? ab hannibal? he doesnt sound incredibly fond but he talks ab how he got him into a lot of music. so, i imagine they we're a bit closer than i thought?

international baccalaureate in antisocial? anthropology?

MURDOC IS ACTUALLY SMART HE WAS JUST. NOT INTERESTED IN THE SUBJECTS? I GUESS? (also,,, he literally Built cyborg noodle and i think he had a PhD too lol. but its always nice to hear hes actually...yknow, interested or good at other things)

alright but murdoc having a fascination w/ other cultures - or at least some interests, that lead him to actually study the damn subject and "pass with flying colors"

'fuck college though. im gonna be a rockstar'

he sold his soul at 18ish? whenever the fuck he got kicked out but college was mentioned so my brain goes to 18ish idk

he lived with his father still and paid rent via low paying jobs one including 'part time dressing as santa'

help he was ab to take a Personal Job for quick cash and uhh well, "still made me call him sir though" he really said 20 dollars is 20 dollars, huh "that story was totally true"

alright, 1997,,,

2d stuff

loves zombie stuff? thats really cute, and is freaked out by the way they move. god he rambles

both he and murdoc are horses in the chinese zodiac

[[jfc ok if the official shit compares them a lot i understand why ppl ship them but Dont. its a narrative foil and that doesnt always mean Romance jfc.]]

SUMTHINK.

truly... a lil stinker. super cute bouncing baby and a "bit thick" which is stull so endearing to me. hes just a happy man!

excitable 10 year old and would dance around his room

jfc the fact he has normal/caring parents. i kinda forget how opposite hes supposed to be from murdoc but i think thats another thing jsjsysg (murdoc said why isnt my tragic story making me famous why does he get to be the Star. no wonder he acts like a loon)

i still dont get how gettin bonked by a tree branch made him go bald and also turn his hair blue

big tiddy nurse mommy,,,

went to the same school as The Cure and got decent grades despite hittin the noggin quite hard. WANTED TO BE A STORM CHASER... OMG??

oh thats really cute, hed bond with his dad by building keyboards toegther 🥺💕

messed around with paints and graffiti? artistic king

MURDOC AGAIN: QHDJ 'VILLANOUS' GANG HELP

oh yeah d day...new instruments, new band, new singer - and 'had to be the best or no dice' and absolutely CONFIDENT that his songs were bangers ajsjd

but on that same note, had absolute faith (or desperate) in 2d which i love

ransacked the fucking music shop jdjdj and 2d said he was Just Standing There behind the counter the whole shift hdhdh

"thats when your eye came out, yeah" "yeah!-" HELP WHY DOES HE SOUND SO HAPPY AB IT ?? yes he said ut hurt but he sounds...ok

jfc murdoc ragdolling this poor mf around. dunking him and slapping him around. actually? so incredibly terrible and abusive and i hate him for that 🔫 im sorry 2d stans. we dont condone that behavior here ong.

how and why the FUCK did 2d's parents allow that fucker near their child after that i??? help. wtf. his moms a nurse why didnt she just have murdoc sit in plain view of other people. god damn.

2d flying out the window n hitting the curb "whoops"

"just two black holes...[ah] it looked great...a blue hair, blacked eyed GOD- the girls would go wild-" "pretty boy looks" ???? HELP. HE DOESNT GO LIGHT ON THE COMPLIMENTS, HUH

RUSS TIME

oh yeah, he straight up kiddnapped this man help. idk how he managed that, russ is a Big Man??

AND MURDOCS MUSIC WAS SO FUCKING SEXY GOOD that russel said hm alright ill stay, :] out ifbhis owm free will im screaming.

"oh this is one of them febreeze commercials" "uh . yeah sure. *murdoc turning on his Sick Tunes*" but that either means? it was just his guitar playing the convinced russ? unless he and 2d recorded sumn?

"2d was the looks, murdoc the brains, then russel truly was the heart"

'while 2d and murdoc liked music, this man was a MUSICIAN' god fucking bless this book holy shit ny man russ getting some respect. he said back hurts from carrying this band.

murdoc basically heard this guy had big trauma that gave him So Many Skills n said "thats what i want" ok idk thats actually really? inch rest ting to me. seems that murdocs fine handing out compliments but i guess that where his charisma really helps out yeah?

"he was going to be in my band whether he liked it or not" ...murdoc-

HELP. 2D IS LIKE BRO GO ON IM LISTENING 🥺 despite hearing the story 50-60 times and murdoc said fuck off you lil shit.

ok irrelevant but i love his voice! its super comforting n nice to listen to 🥺

HELP MURDOCS SO BITTER. "NOTHING THAT HAPPENS TO US IS NORMAL" WELL YEAH. THIS IS TRAUMA CENTRAL.

idk how/why he sucked up all his friends souls though ... how are they all possessing the same person. they said "its my turn on The Russ"

DELL IS HIS ACTUAL, LITERAL SOULMATE...KING...😭

went to a private school,,, and was already possessed? and the thing where he gets bigger and smaller is a reoccurring thing?

was in a coma for 4 years?

hiphop machine...time and history...the ultimate set i guess.

his knowledge was infinite and hes a "Renaissance man" hes so fucking smart our king. jack of all trades but a master of drums. he said i know im good and what of it

PAULA.

HELP. HE RMBRS THE STALL: CUBICAL NUMBER 3 🥴 IF I DO RECALL 🤤

yes russel our king. fuck up his nose 5 more times. probably stunted his growth too. he shrunk after russ gave him a wallop im sure

why dies paula sound like tracer overwatch

also only dated 2d for 2 months before joining the band?

HELP SHE REALLY WAS THE FIRST MURDOC FUCKER: "but when i saw murdoc with his thick greasy hair, green teeth and yellow skin i thought 'oh this is the ine for me!'" "OH HES SUCH A DANDY-" HELP ME IM HQJDHD

sick in the head...like i want to hurt people help girl. shes fucking Crazy. but she rly said damn i didnt hear back from him again 😭 and my purse is gone JSHHD

MURDOC: SHE WAS DEPRESSINGLY UGLY *still fucked her*

NOODLE TIME

"small japanese person!"

2d: we werent gorillaz until noodle arrived!

im dying the reason he chose gorillaz. 'swinging through the jungle baring my ass'

noodle really said "im just happy to be here" and she balanced everyone out 😭 "she gave off pure love and the fact that she could laugh at murdoc REALLY helped too" RUSS... IS BABY

JFC MURDOCS SO FUCKING CONFIDENT IN THIS BAND IM LIVING FOR THAT. HE SAID YOU WANT US SO BAD IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUPID. THE CHARISMA

2d rambling ab some girl he met and "ssSs" "whats the s stand for hawhaw" "i dont know!".

THE RECORD LABEL GUY.

one song is all it took i ❤ good for them

just murdoc talking ab the party that they threw for thier deal and saying "you dont know how much of a dick i felt like [when carrying one of those huge checks]" like oh thats whatll make you a dick? alright.

A FOOD FIGHT THAT WENT SO HARD THAT IT KNOCKED 2DS TONSILS OUT? WHAT THE FUCK

ahshdj damon and murdoc not getting along bc of Rival Band One Uppery + damon calling murdocs cuban heels crap since ge wore steel ones with gold spurs.

MURDOC FEELIN EMBARRASSED BC HES 'QUITE PROUD OF HIS SHOES'

but the band and damon getting over music and their ambitions and became a "paternal figure"

HELP MURDOC SAID AWIOGA @ RACHEL WHICH MADE HER THROW HER DRINK IN HIS FACE AND SPLIT FROM 2D. kinda sad actually, she said i still like 2d but murdoc kinda ruined it by trying to get it in with me, it put a strain in our relationship :/ oh god murdocs That Dude

nov 31 1998: started recording :]

40 tracks that got cut down to 15 holy shit

KONG STUDIOS 🤲

hooking up cameras in every room ejdjsu

webby artist of the year in 2006? holy shit

noodle learning ab kong studios omfg

JFC. YES I KNEW KONG WAS BUILT ON/IN A CEMETERY BUT I DIDNT KNOW PPL FOR THE FUCKING PLAGUE WHERE THROWN THERE HDJD

built in 1739?

the ghost of the first owners ghost still roams around in the kitchen in the early hours and moans 'aaa glass of water'

theres some rotting bullshit near the studios and in the summer its fucking TERRIBLE

the former owners were a biker gang, and they all died in a fire

murdoc said this place has bad vibes. i want it.

grim weather

the building feels impossible to escape from huHgg

#rip lol i feel annoying but my blog my rights ig #brainworm ivy #gorillaz rambles

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sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Love Maze »15

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 8.1k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, homophobic slurs (censored), angst, they have another argument smh these boys never catch a fucking break

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang ♡♡♡

The early morning’s blinding rays invited themselves in through the curtain cracks in Jungkook’s bedroom, landing on a sleeping Taehyung’s puffy face.

The elder’s distracting snoring bounced off the walls of the room, not bothersome to him as he peacefully slept through the noise. Honestly, it was a surprise how much Jungkook was immune to the sound..

The one noise that always did manage to wake Taehyung up, however, was the familiar ringing of that goddamn alarm clock.

As per usual, Tae went through his daily routine consisting of whining about how he’d been pulled out of his slumber, begging Jungkook for a few more minutes, cursing out early morning practices.. same old.

“I’m gonna skip out on showering this morning..” Taehyung drowsily mumbled into the pillow, desperately seeking for a few extra minutes. His body was sore, and Taehyung was one of those people who needed eight hours of sleep.

“Wake me up when you’re done, will you?” A small pause, followed by a raspy, “I love youu~”

Jungkook drowsily turned off the alarm before groaning, for once he didn't actually want to leave his bed.

''You sure?'' he sat up properly, hand reaching over to stroke the elders back carefully, the sudden verbal affection from his boyfriend still surprising-- yet welcomed. It was something the younger needed a little time to get used to, and it made his chest flutter every single time.

''Love you too~'' He cooed back, giving Tae's ass a soft pat before getting out of bed, completely naked from last night. he rummaged through his closet for some clean clothes, stretching the joints in his body before slowly heading towards the bathroom.

Jungkook winced lightly when the hot water hit the scratches on his back, but quickly got used to it as he stood there for a while, washing up and losing himself in his thoughts, everything from what had happened yesterday to Jisoo. He really owed her an apology for not coming back...

When finished, Kook ruffled his wet hair before patting his body mostly dry and throwing on his boxers and sweatpants-- leaving the shirt off to head back to his bedroom. He walks over to the small mirror hanging on the wall, turning his back towards it to check out his back.

''Wow you've got some claws.'' He chuckled before crawling up on the bed to lay down next to Tae again, nuzzling his nose into the elders hair, ''Wake uuup....~''

Taehyung slothfully stirred in his spot, groaning out in groggy distaste when he felt the bed dip, signaling that his boyfriend was out of the shower.

“Yah..” He turned his head to the side, cheek pressed against the pillow whilst his eyelids hung barely open, “you yourself said I have some claws, don’t make me use them..”

Tae contemplated life for a few more seconds before giving in to his boyfriend’s soft pleads, sitting up on the bed with a loud yawn, hands busy rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes.

God, school hadn’t even started and the elder was already dreading stepping into those halls.

''Maybe I liked it..'' Jungkook wrapped his arms around Taehyung to pull him closer into a hug, pecking kisses against his cheeks to annoy him in his sleepy state.

''We have to get ready, like, right now!'' He pressed one last kiss on his lips before getting off the bed, grabbing a snug, black long sleeve to pull over his torso.

Taehyung slowly made his way out of bed, butt-naked as he searched for last night’s clothes.

Thankfully they’ve dried up quite a bit, but the rain’s aroma still lingered in the fabrics.

The elder wasn’t especially thrilled to waltz into school looking.. like, well, put together.

But he didn’t want to bother Jungkook, so black, tight jeans would have to do.

Tae stared at his reflection in the mirror, quickly running his fingers through the waves. He grimaced, nothing seemed to tame the wild curls.

“Fuck it.. let’s go,” the elder fished for the keys in his pocket, throwing on his shoes— double-knotting the laces like always.

Once he got in his car, Taehyung nearly had a heart attack.

That goddamn stuffed animal. It was smiling at him through the rear view mirror.

Shit, he still didn’t know what to do with it.. did Jungkook still want it? Does he throw it in the dumper?

Maybe he’d give it to Jisoo, something told him that Yuna would love it..

Jungkook quickly followed, ignoring the fact that the bear was mockingly smiling at him as well as he sat down. He clicked the seatbelt on before patting Taehyung's thigh reassuringly.

"Don't worry too much. I'm not angry anymore, okay?" He nudges his chin towards the bear.

"I don't really want it...." he felt kind of bad for saying it, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stand staring at it after what it is associated with.

"But we could give it to noona?" He mused-- he still owed her a fucking apology. Maybe this would serve as an apology...

"Anyway...don't worry about that. Let's go." Jungkook sunk into his heat, eyes focusing back ahead.

Taehyung sighed, but nodded nonetheless. He didn’t blame the younger for not wanting to keep the stuffed animal. Truth be told, Tae himself wouldn’t be fully comfortable with seeing its cheery face every time he visited Jungkook’s apartment.

One, it was creepy as fuck. And secondly, it was a mere reminder of his selfish doings.

Taehyung just... he wanted to move past that. He wanted to do better, for his boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he started the car, “noona’s kid would probably like it.”

Practice was over in the flutter of an eye— thankfully. Tae didn’t know how much more physical activity he was able to bear with a noticeably sore ass. It was a blessing that he managed to keep his nonchalant facade intact for so long. Trying to act like his boyfriend didn’t just make sweet love to him last night was hard..

Sweaty from working out, Taehyung briskly stripped out of his practice attire, using his jersey to wipe at the dampness on his glistening neck.

“Tae, should I be concerned?,” Hoseok looked, well, concerned.

“What’s up with the giant teddy bear in the back of your car?”

“Yeah, Chim and I saw that too.” Yoongi casually chimed in, pointing over at a half-naked Jimin who was busy typing away on his phone, deaf to the chatter surrounding him.

Taehyung—who was growing annoyed by the topic of that stupid bear— simply brushed it off. “it’s for a friend. She has a little girl, so..”

As if knowing exactly whom it was for, Namjoon defeatedly shrunk in his spot, too much of a wuss to make eye-contact with Jungkook.

He wondered if the younger was still mad..

Sitting in their usual lunch table, they talked about a plethora of topics. However, the newest conversation specifically aimed at Jimin; everyone wanting to know what was keeping the latter so invested.

“What’s got you so hooked on that phone, Chim?”

“More like who..” Hoseok teasingly nudged at his friend’s side, encouraging him to spill it out. Jimin was extremely defiant at first, but his hyung’s loud presence wasn’t something you could just ignore.

“Nothing.. it’s stupid, but— long story short, I downloaded a dating app.”

A series of “oo’s” traveled around the table.

“Oh yeah? Did you meet a girl or something?”

Jimin turned to look at Namjoon, expression so distraught yet.. confident. With a soft exhale, he corrected the elder.

“Actually.. It's a him. His name’s Mino.”

Taehyung abruptly stopped chewing on his cereal, sharing a curt glance with his boyfriend.

“Mino..” Jin pondered out loud, “like the rapper from WINNER?”

“Obviously not, hyung.” The younger rolled his eyes, a bit frightened by the lack of words.

Seeming to notice his distress, Yoongi softly encouraged Jimin to expand on it further— after asking if every single one of his friends were gay.

“I don’t know, we’ve only talked for a few hours.. but he’s really cool. Sweet, too— oh, and he’s also obsessed with strawberries, just like you Tae!”

The boy’s eyes lit up at the topic, obvious to all he had a massive crush.

“Yeah? What else do you know about the guy.” Taehyung took a bite of his strawberry, interested in knowing more.

Finally growing more comfortable, Jimin’s shy smile resurfaced.

“Uhm.. he’s twenty-three, and he teaches little kids. How cute is that? He’s into video games, if I remember correctly.. Animal Crossing is his favorite. Halsey! He enjoys listening to her music... also, he’s really pretty.”

“Damn, Jimin. Just marry the guy already..” Jin snickered.

“Chim’s whipped.”

The subject of the matter pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Am not.. it’s just— ah, he texted me!”

Taehyung snorted in amusement, shaking his head before looking at Jungkook.

“Wish you’d text me more. You’re a horrible texter, you know.”

Jungkook's eyes had been balling back and forth during the conversations, from half-glaring at Namjoon (even if he'd calmed down, honestly--Namjoon was just a clutz. She seemed fine... he hoped.), to his gaze softening at the way Jimin was swooning over his new crush-- a boy, even!... The way his eyes lit up was heartwarming.

Then, during his entire daydream, Taehyungs words burst his little bubble. The younger breathes out a chuckle through his nose, nudging his boyfriend back.

''Why would I text you when you're with me every day?'' He wrapped an arm around Taes shoulder to pull him closer with his strong arm-- from any outsider it would simply look friendly. ''Or do you miss me that bad during class too?''

Taehyung kept his eyes trained on the tray in-front of him, mindlessly picking at his cereal as a distraction from Jungkook’s hold.

Now that their friends knew about their relationship, they didn’t miss the opportunity to coo at the couple-y sight.

As a natural response, his cheeks got stained with a rosy pop of color. Tae shrugged out of his boyfriend’s grasp, though, a petty attempt to seem unfazed.

“Duh..” He sassed, aggressively munching on his buttered toast.

“Why else would I send ‘everyone here sucks, kinda wish you were here’ texts? And you know how you repay my affection? By leaving me on read.”

Taehyung childishly huffed, coming across as needy for the younger’s attention.

Jungkook withdrew his arm and flashed a toothy grin towards the elder, shrugging as well in response.

''I will reply next time, promise.''

He glanced at the clock, ignoring the repeated cooes from his hyungs.

''Speaking of class, it's almost time to go,'' He nudges his boyfriend once more.

''I'll make sure to check my phone often then, but don't expect me to be glued onto it like Jimin..'' He jokes, the rest of the group snickering-- however Jimin remained unfazed, too caught up in his own little bubble that is his cellphone.

As they all separated to go to their respective classes, Jungkook sat down by his desk, placing his cellphone by his stack of books, only paying the lecture half of his attention as the other half was constantly glancing over at his device. This time he would reply.

A few minutes into the lecture, Taehyung already had his cellphone in his hands.

His boyfriend’s contact was displayed on the screen, a picture he snuck of Jungkook sleeping set as the younger’s profile.

Biting at the corner of his bottom lip, he began typing away, curious to see how fast it’d take Jungkook to reply.

To: Kook🐰🤟🏼 i’m trying to pay attention in class but my ass is still sore 😒 be glad I love your big dick just as much as I love you 😙

Jungkook picked his phone up much quicker than he'd like to admit, swiping the one sided wall of previously sent texts sent by his boyfriend. The last text received made the younger's cheeks flush in pink along with the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He immediately began tapping at his screen, a foreign concept to everybody who caught a glance at jungkook in the classroom.

To: Tae🐯💜 Haha... you took it pretty well. Maybe next time you can give me the same treatment🥴 now I can't pay attention either... love you!

The elder chuckled— a bit too loudly, but he brushed it off as a cough.

To: Kook🐰🤟🏼 maybe.. 😏 if you keep replying I might just have to give you a big surprise

Taehyung sat his phone down, but the emptiness in his hands didn’t last long. Soon enough, he was back to texting Jungkook.

Tae wasn’t fully pleased, the sudden drive to see his boyfriend was too overpowering to ignore.

To: Kook🐰🤟🏼 actually, meet me in the secret spot behind the school?? ‘m needy for a kiss

“Uhm, Mrs. Jung?” Everyone’s head swiveled towards Taehyung, “can I use the restroom?”

The elderly teacher seemed to think about it for a while, the creases in her forehead wrinkling even further as she visibly frowned.

“Sure. But be quick.”

The boy nodded, sliding back on his chair before practically jogging out of the classroom, excited to hold his boyfriend.

Jungkook held his promise of replying once, but didn't even bother sending anything else, his phone shoved back into his pocket as he excused himself. As soon as he left the classroom, he too sprinted towards the hidden spot behind the building. If he had this kind of speed during practice, he surely would have been deemed the golden maknae all over again.

Jungkook rocked on his feet as he waited for his boyfriend, actually fishing up his phone for once to send a quick text.

To: Tae🐯💜 I'm here!! come!!! T3T

“Maybe next time I can give you the same treatment, huh?” Taehyung’s cheeky smirk shifted into a genuine smile when he approached Jungkook, teasingly recalling what the younger had sent him over text.

Unable to take the distance for a second longer, Tae ran into his boyfriend’s arms, not wasting any time peppering his face with loud kisses.

Fuck.. Taehyung was the definition of whipped.

Not worried about anyone catching them, the elder slowly drove Jungkook’s back against the rusty wall, lips attached to the younger’s in a gentle kiss.

When he pulled away, Tae’s hooded eyes were drawn to his boyfriend’s face, raking over every little detail.

“You replied,” he broke out into a silly grin, playfully squeezing at Kook’s hips. “You’ve grown~”

Jungkook hummed into the kiss with content, hands reaching up to run his fingers through Tae's messy hair. He obviously didn't even bother fixing it up since last night,

''I kind of get why Jimin can't unglue his phone from his eyes, anticipating a text is dreadful.. I couldn't focus on anything.'' He sighed in a fake dramatic voice, leaning his head back against the wall. His gaze was in complete tunnel vision for his boyfriend, a grin widening on his lips as he proudly announces his terribly awful joke--.

''If you're gonna keep kissing and praising me like that something else will grow.''

Well, it did have some truth in it.

A raspy laugh emitted from the back of Taehyung’s throat, who shook his head in utter disbelief. By the time the hearty sound gradually quieted down, the elder’s tongue swiped over his still swollen lips; which had yet to simmer down from their previous make out session.

“Oh yeah? What else..?”

Taehyung pressed his thigh against Jungkook’s crotch, playing with his boyfriend’s senses whilst he wore a shameless lopsided grin.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

He pressed on it harder, somewhat making out the thick shape of the younger’s cock as he faintly moved his leg, practically kneading the spot in between his boyfriend’s legs.

Acting as if he didn’t just do any of that, Taehyung outstretched his arms over his head, holding back his prickling smile.

“The weather’s lovely today, isn’t it?”

A not so subtle sigh emitted from Jungkook's lips, morphing into a low whine at the way the elders knee massaged his length.

"Oh, fuck off..." he smiled, the light tone of his voice indicating the affection in his curses. His boyfriend surely knew how to tease back-- it must be a revenge from the countless times the younger had teased him first.

"We're gonna end up skipping the entire day if you keep going--" his voice was cut off by another shameless gasp, kooks fingers curling into fists as they grasp Taehyung's shirt to pull him back into a needier kiss, teeth almost clashing together between the heavier breaths, "making me needy" he murmurs his muffled words between their kisses.

Taehyung’s teeth tugged at Jungkook’s bottom lip, lightly nibbling on the soft skin as if asking permission for his tongue to intrude in the pit of warmth. His hands grasp his boyfriend’s waist, roughly manhandling the boy as he pulled him towards his body, deepening his deprived hunger for their kisses.

“Maybe I wanna make you needy.” The elder's velvety voice purred into his ear, one hand placed on the slope of his boyfriend’s nape, drawing him all the more closer.

"But we shouldn't.."

It was too risky, the lust wasn’t worth the hassle.

With a quick glance downwards, Tae’s chuckle rang once more. Their hard-ons were prominently poking at the fabric of their pants and with the little space between them, they inevitably brushed against one another.

“Later tonight. Get ready,” He leaned in to press an innocent kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, purposely leaning in closer than needed for additional contact, their hardened, clothed cocks pinning together for a teasing second.

“I don’t wanna leavee..” Taehyung groaned in annoyance, finding their alone time to be more entertaining than class.

Jungkook whined in annoyance, a small pout on his lips as his doe eyes stared at Taehyung, "And you call me a tease...." he sighs with a smile, still keeping a tight grip on Taes shirt, hesitant to let go. Eventually, however, he did; instead letting his hands fix Taehyung's mess of a hair once more. Or at least attempt to.

"Let's head back then before I change my mind, I'll drag you to the ground if you even look at me." He scrunch his nose in a giggle, leaning in to kiss his boyfriend on the nose.

Much to their disclosure, they weren’t alone, someone else had been recording their supposedly secret interaction.

What they planned to do with the footage? No one else knew but them. And whatever the outcome was, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

The last class of the day was soon done and over with, making Taehyung ecstatic as he hastily packed his things (packing as in shoving his loose pieces of paper in his backpack), aiming towards the door with hurried steps.

Ever since his last interaction with the younger, Tae’s been awfully.. needy.

His sexual hormones were bouncing off the roof, tauntingly chanting ‘Jungkook, Jungkook,’ again and again until that was all he knew.

As Taehyung made his way to the common common area, he shamelessly wondered if his boyfriend would be up for fucking in his crappy car again.

The elder knew he’d said they would wait until tonight, but ‘tonight’ wasn’t right now.

Damn, Tae would love to try out different positions in such a compact space..

It was thrilling.

Oblivious to him, students’ un-welcomed stares dug holes in his back, watching the boy’s every move with utter shock— utter revelation. It was as if they were the camera lens themselves.

There was no way Taehyung was the other guy in the newly surfaced video, right?

Jeon Jungkook was one of them— for sure. He was unknowingly facing the shot, kissing another boy— who appeared to be Tae— with a bunny grin on his beaming face.

The video started with them making out; Jungkook’s doe eyes fluttered shut as Taehyung held him close, head slightly tilted to the side.

The frame zoomed in on the two boys’ comfortable posture, the elder could be seen rubbing his knee against Kook’s crotch, the latter slyly smiling in response.

Then more kissing, Taehyung whispering little things in his boyfriend’s ear..

To wrap things up, the footage cut off at the soft kiss on the elder’s nose, proceeding to zoom in on their tangled hands whilst they walked out of sight.

It was messy.. to everyone else but Taehyung. He waited for Jungkook in the same area as always, brushing off the ill looks thrown his way.

Jungkook hurried from the lecture room as soon as class was dismissed, backpack thrown over one shoulder as he walked in brisk steps through the hallways-- not as oblivious to the drilling looks coming his way. However, he was rather used to it by now-- so it didn't phase him as much as it probably should..

But then again, why? People haven't looked at him that way since he came out... and he rarely checked his phone, so he was completely unknowing of the circling video.

He shrugged it off, heading towards the common area to find his boyfriend idly waiting for him, the younger opted to jog to close the distance between them & nudged Taehyung on the shoulder.

"Hey! Waited long?" He grinned up at Tae, but it quickly faded as he once again noticed the murmurs and looks of basically everybody around them. Jungkook's eyes roamed the room, but decided to let them land back on Taehyung.

"Lets go?" He started to feel weirdly uncomfortable with all the stares, he wanted to get out of there.

As they headed out, a group of guys-- specifically the jocks that had called Jungkook a f*ggot without him knowing to Tae, had started to whistle and throw slurs towards the boys.

"The fairy put you under his spell huh?" One chanted, the others quickly laughing and motioning taking a dick in their mouth, "Hey, Taehyung! Are you the girl or the guy?!" Another snickered.

The more time they spent displayed in the common area like a plague, Taehyung’s natural obliviousness slowly diminished until all he became was hyper aware of his deafening atmosphere. The murmurs were exceptionally quiet, but they hit his ears like breaking glass.

He mindlessly nodded at his boyfriend whilst he challenged the students’ nosy stares with his own, asserting his dominance over the situation as they aimed for the nearest exit.

Unaware of the next obstacle they were going to have to face, Tae hesitantly parted his sealed lips, about to ask Jungkook the burning question they were both thinking— ‘what the hell was that?’— when Kai and his clique approached them with confident strides.

“W-what..?” Very much disoriented, Tae forced out a strained chuckle, “funny..”

The boy tried to play along with their obvious joke, his awkward laughter blending in with the group’s taunting snickers.

“No, dude..” Haechan amusingly corrected, “who takes a dick up the ass? Who’s the girl in the relationship?”

The elder’s chest shriveled up into an uncomfortable knot, and so did his throat as he was barely able to utter back a word.

What..?

“What— what relationship?” He shakily asked, completely disregarding the other foul comment. Glancing over at Jungkook, the look of fright on Taehyung’s face was evident.

“This relationship,” a phone was shoved into their faces, replaying the invasive video that had been going around all day.

It seemed like it would never end..

Taehyung swore he felt his heart drop.

“Uhm—“

“Fucking disgusting if you ask me.”

“N-no.. it’s just..” His breathing was uneven, eyes blown wide as they stared blankly ahead.

Fuck— this was too much too soon.

By now, a small crowd had gathered around them, only adding salt to Taehyung’s aching panic.

“F*ggot!” One of the guys deliberately spat in the elder’s face— not literally, but it sure felt like it.

Tears rushed to the brim of Tae’s eyes, which had yet to decipher into their normal shape.

He was having trouble breathing, clear in the way his chest vigorously heaved in its place. His face was drained of any color, and the buzzing in his ear was getting hard to bear.

Taehyung hadn’t even noticed their close friends had stepped in on their behalf, Yoongi’s vulgar curses sounding like pure gibberish.

He couldn’t move, it was as if he was glued to his place.

Shit, Tae wanted to disappear.

And so did Jungkook. He was frozen in place as he watched the video, their privacy suddenly open for all to see. Not that he was ashamed of them, but because whether this was a secret or not; it was their moment of privacy, invaded.

Kook quickly glanced over at his boyfriend, mouth parting and closing several times as he struggled to find his words, his worry for the elder growing more important than the worry for what everyone else thinks of him.

He wondered what Taehyung felt... even if it was an invasion of their privacy, he seemed ashamed of them. That didn't go unnoticed.

However he decided to shrug it off, instead focusing on getting them the fuck out of there, tugging at Taes arm.

"Come on." He murmured as he pulled the elder with him, grateful for his hyungs shooing everybody away. He'd have to thank them later; but now all he could focus on was taking his boyfriend out of this situation.

After finally being able to pull Taehyung out of his frozen spot, Kook guided him towards a more secluded area next to the school building to wait until the parking lot would be less crowded.

"Hey," Jungkook softly uttered as he cupped Taes cheeks to try to get in contact with him-- he seemed completely out of it. The younger doe eyes were blown wide with concern.

"Hey, it's okay."

Taehyung didn’t believe that for a second.

It wasn’t okay, their relationship was just outed to the whole goddamn school! What.. what if his father finds out one way or another?

What if he gets ridiculed for the rest of his senior year?

The elder forcefully withdrew from the other’s grainy hands, his cheeks beginning to sting from Jungkook’s touch.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” was the first thing Taehyung muttered, gripping at his hair in agitation. “I-I shouldn’t have.. fuck!”

More fresh tears rushed to his eyes, glazing over the anger that was still present, raven fringe shielding the hurt they obtained.

Jungkook took a step back like he'd been punched in the gut by Taehyung's reaction, his hands falling limp to his sides as he stared at the male in front of him. Tae was almost unrecognizable in Kook's eyes.

''Wha-- Tae, calm down...'' He took a breath of his own, as if trying to take his own advice and remain calm.. But it was fucking hard, it felt like Taehyung was shoving the blame on them, or him for this.

Jungkook curled his hands into fists, unsure what to do when his growing uncomfort hurled over him. He wanted to hold Taehyung, but the elder didn't seem to even want to touch Jungkook, acting like his touch was comparable to fire.

''Taehyung, sit down--''

“Yeah,” Tae scoffed, “calm down..” he boldly mocked the younger, jaw tightly clenched in its place out of anger. Finally, he shifted his anxiety-drunken gaze to his boyfriend’s dimmed eyes, nostrils flared up as his overwhelming emotions once again got the best of him.

“What the fuck is that gonna do, Jungkook?!” He roared in the boy’s face, remaining composure unwinding with every barbarous word.

“The damage is already done! Great, we’re the f*ggots of our school now.”

Taehyung breathed out a soft, saddened laugh, running his hand down his face in boiling regret.

Shit, how much he wished he could go back in time and prevent this bullshit from happening.

“Wha— you were facing the camera anyways, why didn’t you notice?!”

'F*ggots of our school.'

Another verbal punch thrown into the younger's gut, causing him to flinch at the mocking tone. Now it was Jungkook's turn to feel his anger slowly boiling up in his veins that were growing prominent in his arms through the hard, clenched fists to his sides, nostrils flaring as he took deep breaths.

''Why are you blaming me?! I didn't see anybody!'' His voice no longer had any sign of worry, instead laced with frustration. What the fuck was going on with the sudden, undeserved hostility?

Jungkook took a step closer to his boyfriend. ''It's not the end of the world!'

Taehyung stumbled back a couple steps, ensuring there was a noted distance between them.

“I know it’s not the goddamn end of your world!” He angrily retorted back. “but for my fucked up.. trashy, hell of a world it is!”

The elder’s brittle voice wavered, the veins in his neck significantly strained.

“Jungkook.. if— if my father finds out..” The corner of his lip twitched at the mere thought of his worst nightmare, curtly snapping his head to the side when he felt his eyes sting with more tears. Sadly, Taehyung feared for his well being whenever he was around that monster. If he found out that his son was dating another guy...

The elder didn’t want to think about the possible consequences.

“This is—“

“Hey! Guys, we were looking for you..” Jimin and Seokjin ran towards them, gradually stopping midway when they made out the tense aura oozing off of the wanted pair.

Their postures were rigid, and judging from the look in Taehyung’s face, things weren’t looking too good.

“You can get a ride from them, right? I’m leaving.” The elder left Jungkook on his own, unbothered to wait for a clear answer before walking off towards his car, the tightness in his chest having yet to cease.

“Jungkook..” Jimin hesitantly reached out for his friend, resting his smaller hand on the younger’s shoulder.

Jungkook was left speechless at the sudden turn of events, again.

He hadn't even been able to process what the fuck had just happened-- just an hour ago they were excited to go home together, and now Taehyung left the younger alone without even a single look.

Kook flinched when he felt Jimin's hand on his shoulder, not even registering that they were there until Tae was out of sight.

''I'm gonna... uh, walk home.''

God knows he needed it.

''Jungkook, no, let us drive you?'' Jimin tried, but he knew it was useless. Their youngest was obviously upset-- for good reason probably, and his much needed space was understandable.

''Nah, just-- I need to go.'' Jungkook sighed, glancing over at the worried looks of his hyungs, ''Thank you.''

Without another word, Jungkook threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed towards his apartment, mind constantly replaying the words thrown at him just mere minutes before.

He stepped inside of his apartment, letting his bag fall to the floor along with his jacket, mindlessly kicking off his shoes before slumping down into his couch with a thud, fishing his phone out. He knew he shouldn't, but he pulled up the video circling on the snapchat stories, seeing peoples terrible commentary to the event. Anything from the overused slurs to mocking the two. But what kook truly focused on was the two men in the video, the zoom of their intertwined hands walking off at the end. It hurt to watch-- because he missed Tae’s touch, the mere memory of Taehyung flinching away from his touch made his chest ache.

Should he text him? Jungkook rarely did.. Or did he need time alone? Fuck, he needed to relax. It's fine, right? Like every other fucking time they fought, they'd bounce back.

Jungkook decided to simply put his phone down and go to bed instead, hoping things would have cooled off by tomorrow.

Taehyung disregarded the sound of the familiar alarm, letting him know that it was time to get ready for practice.

He barely slept last night, feeling alienated in his spacious bed. Taehyung had gotten too comfortable with Jungkook, even his own bed felt.. strange, like it wasn’t the right fit. His room— in which he’d spent most of his time hiding— didn’t feel the same, either.

With an unpleased groan, Tae blindly followed the dreadful ring with his ears, finally taking his phone into his hand before putting it on silence.

He didn’t want to get bombarded with judgemental stares during the day. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it. So.. Taehyung didn’t bother to find out for himself. The elder had barely any energy left in him, proved by the way his eyelids threatened to close with every passing second.

Jungkook drowsily turned his alarm off as soon as it rang, arm automatically reaching over out of habit towards the empty space next to him. He sighed deeply. So it wasn't just a fucking dream, then.

He wondered what today would be like.

Hopefully Taehyung had calmed down and rationed things.

But, to the younger's surprise-- Taehyung was nowhere to be seen as he stepped into practice. His eyes roamed the court, craning his neck to find the face he wished to see.

''Hey Kook!'' Jimin chimed, hopping towards his younger friend, ''How are you feeling? Are you okay?''

Jimin put an arm around Kook, leading him towards the anticipating group, their eyes flickering between Jungkook and each other.

''Hey, uh..'' Namjoon began, but was quickly interrupted by Yoongi.

''Where's Taehyung?''

Yoongi flinched at the kick on his shin from Hoseok.

''I, uh...I don't know? I thought he'd be here.'' Jungkook shrugged, masking his obvious worry and frustration. Maybe he just needed more space than Kook thought.

The entire day was dreadful, from enduring all the stares and whispers from what felt like every single student in the school, to attempting to focus in class. It was useless. All he could think about was Taehyung.

Finally, the bell rang-- the younger able to head home, his phone glued to his face on the way. Still radio silence. It wasn't like his boyfriend to go this long without any contact...

When Kook finally got home, he opted to try to send a text:

To: Tae Hey, are you okay?

Jungkook read his text over and over, even added a 'Miss you', but decided to delete that part before hitting send. It was simple, but the least he could do was reach out.

A deep sigh left his lips before he repeated the same routine of worrying, showering, eating a half-assed meal and heading to bed. Tomorrow he'd surely come.

Taehyung spent the majority of the day laying under his covers, safely tucked away from his troubles.

The only excuse for his feet to touch the ground was when he needed to use the restroom, or when his stomach audibly protested for its first bite of food.

He’d seen Jungkook initiate a text, but unlike the previous times, he wasn’t extremely eager to answer.

Even the slightest bit of movement was physically draining.

When his father came home, Taehyung had yet to move from his lying position.

Now he had more of a reason to stay put.

He’d fallen asleep soon after, and by the time Taehyung checked his phone, it was 10:34 in the morning.

Fuck.. well, why bother going to school now, right? His first hour class had already passed.

Taehyung didn’t think about sending one of his friends a text, mind too foggy to act unselfish.

They probably weren’t even worried, and with that incorrect thought in his head, Tae fell back asleep.

If that first day wasn't already long and dreadful, the second day was next level for Jungkook.

Once again, Taehyung hadn't shown up to practice, nor did he show up to school at all.

And it didn't help that his hyungs were up his ass about it too.

'Where's Taehyung?'

'Is he sick?'

'Are you guys okay?'

Were they okay? Jungkook didn't fucking know. He couldn't get a hold of the boy. And to think of it-- the elder hadn't even replied to the text. Worried was an understatement at this point.

Jungkook got through the routines of the day, minutes felt like hours without his boyfriend, and as the day had started to melt together, the bell rang once again, the day over.

He headed towards the common area once more, internally cursing himself out for automatically expecting Taehyung to stand in his usual spot-- only feeling his chest tighten when he wasn't.

Kook walked home slowly this time, oddly enough checking his phone more frequently for any sign of Tae, but to no avail. If he wouldn't show up tomorrow, he'd definitely have to do something about this.

To everyone’s surprise-- Taehyung’s included-- the boy went back to school after his two-day streak of absence. He figured he couldn’t skip out on his remaining months, no matter how tempting it was to just.. vanish. As a side effect of his profound anxiety, Tae was more reserved than usual. He feared getting flooded with any unwanted questions, and his peers’ shameless murmurs only worsened his internal turmoil.

Maybe toughening up was a shitty idea; the second he stepped in those halls the wall he’d built for himself came crashing down.

With his hood shielding him from the outside world, Taehyung walked into the locker room. His steps were far from confident, and to anyone with a pair of working eyes it was obvious Tae was practically pushing himself to not curl up into a ball and feel bad for himself.

The elder feared hearing that word, it was weird in its own way. Whenever the slur was directed towards Jungkook, Taehyung didn’t think twice before throwing a punch. However, when it was meant for him he felt weak. He hated it.

However, nobody had uttered a single word towards Taehyung as of yet, only murmurs amongst themselves-- not even his friends. Not even Jungkook, who kept at a distance as he watched the elder ignore everybody like he was in his own bubble.

Kook was surprised to see him, and still seemingly in a weird state of mind…

Was Taehyung gonna say something? Should Jungkook say something? He felt weird about it-- and the constant glances from everybody else made him hesitate. He didn't want to make it worse..

Instead, the younger opted for throwing quick glances every now and then, hoping Tae would be looking at him as well for any indication that they'd talk. But he got nothing, and it was almost eerie.

It was frustrating as hell.

Jungkook hoped that as the locker room emptied out, Taehyung would stay around for a private conversation, but that was apparently not part of the plan as Jungkook watched the elder turn to leave without a word once more, kook following behind in silence. This day was gonna be long.

The elder failed to make every basket during practice, his aim was off, and his overall stance was stiff. It worried Namjoon, not only because one of his best players was lacking, but because his friend had his head in the clouds.

He’s never seen Taehyung this out of it..

But then again, when someone’s been forced to come out by a silly video roaming around the school, it was reasonable to be scared.

Namjoon just would’ve never guessed Tae was one of the people who were easily affected by useless chatter. He’s always deemed the younger as strong, fearless.

Joon had yet to be proven wrong.

Taehyung showed up today, and the elder found that to be the epitome of bravery.

If he was in his shoes, Namjoon wouldn’t know what to do. Not show his face in school, that was for sure.

In that moment, it had been established that Tae was far stronger than he was.

“Joon, can I get a drink of water.”

He’d been in the middle of a speech when Taehyung interrupted. Usually Joon would’ve scolded him for it, but with the way the morning’s been going, the elder simply nodded like a bobble head.

All watched the gloomy boy step out of the gymnasium, all the while Joon’s eyes were glued on Kook. There was definitely something going on between the two.

Namjoon waited a couple of seconds, anticipating Taehyung’s return.

Either the latter was extremely thirsty, or he used that as an excuse to leave mid practice.

“Uh.. I need someone to fetch me some extra basketballs. Jungkook? Can you do that?”

Really Namjoon was just giving the younger one a reason to chase after his troubled boyfriend, hoping they figure things out amongst themselves.

Jungkook didn't hesitate for even a second as soon as Namjoon gave him a chance at chasing after his boyfriend. A quick, grateful look given to the captain was all he gave before heading out the door, mind still swirling with his thoughts. Anxiety was a bitch, always amplifying and spurring on his worries-- and the way Taehyung was acting didn't help at all.

Jungkook finally found the familiar male bent over the water fountain. A part of him felt relieved just seeing him in the flesh, he wasn't randomly gone-- and by the looks of it, he hasn't gotten hurt..

Before, Jungkook had been hesitant, even cautious to talk to the elder, but after this amount of time, he'd grown tired of this shit. It wasn't his fault, none of this!

"Taehyung." Jungkook breathed the words out, as if he hadn't said them in so long that it felt.. weird, yet familiar. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for his boyfriend to tell him anything. Why weren't they talking this through?

Taehyung’s muscles tensed under the intrusive voice, slowly straightening his posture as he made a great effort to meet Jungkook’s hardened gaze.

“Look.. I’m not in the mood to talk, alright?”

Taehyung attempted to walk around the younger, feeling as if there was a vacuum sucking all the air out of his lungs.

For all he knew, someone could be recording them right now, stepping into their personal problems without an invite.

Jungkook swiftly stepped in front of Taehyung, blocking the way with his wider frame. His eyes squinted in frustration, fingers digging his blunt nails into his own biceps to keep himself as calm as possible. Tae really had the nerve to say he doesn't want to talk?

"Are you serious? I've worried for two days and that's the first thing you say?"

Taehyung breathed out in exasperation, wanting nothing more than to push Jungkook out of his way. The latter was visibly stronger so Tae decided to stay put, at least for now..

“You didn’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.” He mirrored the younger’s stance, arms tensely crossed over his chest.

Jungkooks common ritual of frustration appeared in the form of his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek, the annoyed head tilt following as he tried to read the expression in Taehyung's face. Why did he suddenly feel like a stranger? Why did he suddenly feel like the old Taehyung?

"You're kidding me... stop acting like this, just fucking talk to me!" Jungkook untangled himself from his own arms to place his hands on his hips. "I can't stand the silence."

“Maybe I don’t fucking wanna talk to you! Ever thought about that?!”

The elder’s chest heaved, bigger hands balled up into tight fists at his sides. He let out a shaky exhale, lowering his brittle voice after a few seconds of scraping around for his inner serenity.

“Ever thought about what I fucking wanted?” His fragile tone was a distraction from the deafening silence.

As if Jungkook was a contagious disease, Tae cowardly stepped back.

“I— I tried to please you, Jungkook,” the elder continued, “even when I wasn’t comfortable with— with showing public affection, or letting you hug me in front of other people, I still did it.”

Taehyung shook his head, as if not believing he allowed himself to fall so deep.

“Hell, I wanted to make you happy. I couldn’t say how scared I felt.. or my take on the situation. And you know what? I wish I would’ve put me first.”

More silence..

“I wasn’t fucking ready like you were! I-I just... wasn’t.”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, breaking down with every truthful word.

“Maybe if I listened to my gut, none of this shit would’ve happened.”

Jungkook took in every word, each one of them building to his whirl of emotions clashing in his chest. He wasn't sure what to say, arguing with the elder is like talking to a wall sometimes...

He exhaled a shaky breath, eyes averting Taes as he stared down at the ground. A short nod followed, his jaw muscles clenching. Jungkook just wanted them to be good again, but the elder continuously pushes that thought away with his words.

"Fine." He murmurs, no longer feeling the need to speak to Taehyung when all he got thrown at him was blame. He took another step back, slowly distancing himself as well before he would lose his temper-- the urge to fucking punch him was burning. And yet... the other part of him wanted to cry. This entire situation was just pure shit...

Taehyung didn’t build on what he had to say, simply walking around Jungkook now that he seemed more inattentive of his surroundings.

The elder saw the millions of thoughts flashing through his boyfriend’s glazed eyes.

He felt guilty; Tae didn’t particularly get off on angering the younger, or leaving him close to tears. But he had to get that off his heavy chest, he was already short of breath. Leaving the uncomfortable mass to linger would’ve been deadly.

Jungkook took a deep, silent breath as he waited for Taehyung to be out of sight until he came back down to reality. He still didn't entirely get the uncomfortable tension between them. It was so sudden...

Jungkook had to take a moment, fighting his fight or flight instincts telling him to get the fuck out of there. He pushed the emotions down, completely forgetting about the instructions from Namjoon to get the basketballs as he headed back to the court. Hopefully practice was over soon anyway. He just wanted to go home.

The rest of the long day Taehyung spent avoiding Jungkook, succeeding in doing so considering they didn’t share any common classes. Before, that was something Taehyung wished was different.

He wanted to be in the same class as his boyfriend, anything to be close to him.

Now? He was glad that wasn’t the case, it would hurt too much to make eye contact with him from across the room.

Tae’s blurry mind wasn’t on board, however, the younger was all he thought about.

Jungkook was all he knew, in a sense. It felt weird not being able to talk, to send him pestering messages only for Kook to ignore them, picking out the marshmallows in his cereal to give them to him..

It sucked, but Taehyung knew space was the medication they needed.

The elder was up in his room, shaky thumbs hovering above his phone’s keyboard whilst he stalled on Jungkook’s contact.

He’d been thinking about how unstable their relationship was; how they always fought more often than not— how most of their loud bickering was because of something he’d done.

Taehyung didn’t know how the fuck to act in a relationship, he was a piece of shit.

His boyfriend deserved better.. he deserved a guy who’d proudly show him off, kiss him without any fears, hold his hand without worrying about outsiders’ stares. Someone not nearly as messy.

Tae harshly wiped away a stray tear, inhaling softly to stay grounded.

He’d already made up his mind, but /fuck/ was it hard to actually go through with it..

Exhaling, Taehyung quickly typed out the same phrase that’s been haunting him all day, pushing ‘send’ once he was done.

To: Kook I think we should break up.

Taehyung knew that if he read over it once again, he’d lose all courage to end things.

He was only looking out for Jungkook, after all.

On the other end of things, that was the exact opposite of what Taehyung did.

#fic: Love maze #vkook fic #taekook fic #taekook series #vkook series #bts fluff #bts smut #bts series #sombreboy #bts mxm #taehyung x jungkook

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thecandywrites · 4 years

Text

Of Heaven and Fire Part 18

The REDEMPTION

@imherefortheforthefanart @probablyclever @funmadnessandbadassvikings

Of Heaven and Fire

Part 18

It was like he finally woke up from a coma or he had kicked out a demon from possessing him and he finally got full control of himself again and he sat up and gasped for air before it all came back in a rush and all he could feel was absolute shame and mortification for his behavior since his rebirth.

“Oh Gods, what did I do?! What have I done?!” Brock sobbed as he held his head which hurt like it had been bashed with a club as his body hurt all over as if he had just been beaten by a mob. So much so that he puked and cried out in anguish and sobbed and looked at all of the betrothal gifts as if he was seeing them for the first time and the depths of his hurt and shame at refusing such perfection, much less finding fault with them- were immeasurable as his abdomen hurt like he had gotten kicked in the gut by a draft horse.

How had you not strangled him? How had anyone not hunted him down and put his head on a spike for such barbaric and disrespectful behavior?

He wanted to throw himself off a cliff! His stomach lurched and his lower abdomen felt like it was shuddering and he felt like he was about to shit himself before he realized- he was feeling phantom labor pains. One of the spells the Shaman had cast is that you would feel what the other felt to a degree. If he felt labor pains, that meant...

“Oh fuck! Fuck! Yana!” Brock yelled and quickly took all your gifts off the walls and he put them all on and it was like he could feel all the emotions you were feeling as you had these made for him or when you made them yourself, all the worry yet all the care and love and adoration and respect and even though the clothing and the armor was hanging off of him because he had shrunk lately and it was particularly heavy because his strength had been depleting ever since he left the clan- he knew he had to fly to you, immediately. He didn’t have any time to lose. He rushed out of the house as he looked up into the sky as a huge storm gathered around him. But he was undeterred if anything, his courage and determination rose to the occasion.

He transformed into a mighty eagle, all his weapons and armor turning into armored feathers as his talons were particularly sharp and he flew as fast and as hard as he could and it was somehow a snow thunderstorm with freezing rain, hail and snow coming from the direction of Suchi and he dodged lighting bolts and the super heavy precipitation that beat him up even with special armor but he flew like his life depended on it and in record time despite the storm, he flew all over Suchi in an effort to find your house which he could not remember what it looked like. And in the colony, everything looked alike and he finally found your parent’s house, having remembered where that was at least but it was empty and so he went into the streets and banged on every door he could find until one finally opened up to him.

“Where’s Benyana Auksa’s house? I need to get to her as fast as possible.” Brock pleaded desperately as his gut continued to shudder and constrict in time with what he intuitively felt were your contractions, he panted for air before he got directions to your house and he flew straight to it and when he saw it, it was like he’s finally remembered all the memories he had of of it came back to him and his tears blurred his vision but now it felt like his heart and soul were leading him to you because even if he went blind in this instant, he would still find his way to you and he came to your doorstep and banged on the door before his father answered the door, Drad and his family only arriving moments before he did.

“You finally came!” Drad cheered in relief as he let him in and hugged his son so tight his back cracked as the two were already crying at being reunited.

“Oh fuck no! He’s not getting anywhere near Yana, especially not now! Not ever!” Rhen thundered himself as he charged Brock and went to hack off Brock’s head but Brock blocked the attack with all his strength.

“It’s me! It’s really me! The Brock before the rebirth in fire, I need to see Yana, I need to apologize to her. Look, I know I was the worst asshole the world had ever seen for the last six months and it was like I was possessed by a demon or something but I’m cured! One of Yana’s gifts to me cured me! It was an orb she got from the water dragons. When I took her out to sea back in the spring back when she was tethered to me which is a sin that will never be repeated for all time and one that I can never be forgiven for and I know I’m the last person in the world who has any right to be here and I will spend every waking moment for the rest of my life making it up to Yana and everyone else.” Brock pleaded as all he did was block your dad’s attacks and did his best to evade them but made no attacking motions himself even when his strength was waning to its last as his gut shuddered again as Brock heard the unmistakable sound that you were in labor and he heard midwives and your mother and his mother coaching you through it and he dropped his weapons on the floor and fled, flying through the house trying to find where you were as Rhen was pursuing him through the house before he found the room and broke the damn door getting in and he saw you in a birthing tub surrounded by his mom, your mom, Matae and the midwives and he flew to your side.

“Brock?” You asked, barely recognizing him.

“Yana!” Brock called out as he rushed over to you.

“Matae, that’s my spot, out of my way.” Brock tried to push him out of the way which made Matae start giggling after he waived his hand over the top of Brock’s head before he withdrew with a proud and relieved smile as everyone gasped at Brock’s appearance as he got on his knees next to the tub.

“Yana Baby, I’m so so so so sorry for everything I put you through, I’m so sorry I’m an asshole and an idiot and the worst person ever. I had no right to treat you the way I did and I swear it’s like I’ve been possessed by a demon for like, the last 6 months, ever since my rebirth in the ashes, like something reached out and attached itself to me when that happened. Like I had a choice to learn to love you all over again or reject you the first time you hugged me when I came back and when I rejected you because it felt weird- not that it felt wrong, but that it felt too right, I know that sounds crazy and insane but it’s the truth, it was like the worst parts of myself took over and I couldn’t stop myself and I was in constant pain and agony the closer to you I got and the more I fought it, the worse it got- so much so that I tried to drown it all out with alcohol because none of the doctors and healers could explain why I was in pain, even the Shaman couldn’t figure it out and couldn’t cure it which made no sense and every memory and every piece of feeling I had for you tried to come through anyway but I kept misunderstanding it all and I mistook the feelings of love and adoration and respect and awe for hatred and it only built from there and you were absolutely right, everyone was right, it was like you symbolized slavery to my soul somehow and usually my honor would have pushed me to accept you anyway but I just...couldn’t. It was like my whole soul revolted at the very idea and it was all my fault.” Brock spewed out as quickly as he could as the biggest benar anyone had ever seen flowed from his eyes at yours as he grabbed and held your hand in both of his as he got as close as he could without actually getting in the tub with you.

“And you gave me every chance to come to peace with it and you were so unbelievably patient, thank you, you were more patient with me than I ever was with you and the gods themselves can testify that you worked so hard. You tried so hard to be the perfect warchieftess and you succeeded Baby, you did, I was so proud of you but my own pride and jealousy and pettiness wouldn’t let me admit that to anyone especially myself. And I swear on my life that I will spend every waking moment from this moment on making it up to you.” Brock vowed as you just stared at him, barely breathing because you didn’t know if this was a trick or what.

“Remember when you first started to get the nightmares about what was to come when we went to Suchi together for the first time? And you woke up screaming your head off and sobbing and you were inconsolable and I just held you and pet your beautiful hair and rubbed your back and your arms and I swore to you by every god we both believed in- combined- that even if the council put me to death and even if I had to be reincarnated or reborn that I would find you, no matter what. No matter what form I would take, be it a raven or a dove or a horse or a mule or even a stray dog, I would come for you and that nothing would separate me from you and if anything or anyone did- the worst curses known to the living kinds would befall them or if I rejected you that the worst curses would befall myself and the clan? That if I came back and rejected you that my family should reject me, my clan should reject me and the very land should reject me and that monsters would hatch and eat up all the fish in the estuary and that I would forever wander and be lost forever. That I would be so alone that not even an animal would be my friend and that Stormbreaker would only be known as a place of whores before it would be no more? That my manhood would never work with anyone else but you and that my old weapons would shatter and my old armor would fall apart and that my clothes would even fall apart at the seams off my body so that I would roam naked and afraid and that no birth would ever happen in Stormbreaker until the day our child would come back and reclaim the land as their natural and proper birthright and then the curse would reverse and turn back into the blessing only it would double for their sake and my name would never be said again but their name would be known for times indefinite no matter what?” Brock prompted and all you could do is cry in relief and nod your head yes.

“And it made you laugh your tears away because of how silly and preposterous it was but I made you swear that you were never to tell anyone this vow, especially me because even if I didn’t remember you, I would remember this vow because the gods would never let me ever forget? And what happened? Everything!” Brock started to laugh through his own tears as his mother hit him over the head angrily for cursing the clan like that.

“Next time leave the clan out of it!” Rhos chastised.

“Sorry, yeah, I deserved that and so much more.” Brock admitted but wouldn’t take his eyes off of you as he kissed your hand as he held your hand tightly as you squeezed back just as tightly.

“Everything I vowed, came true. Monstrous eels were born under the crater that our house left behind, a house that we built together out of clouds that was supposed to be the perfect place to birth a great nation under our child’s name. And that when we had children, our first born son would be named Brive, and our first born daughter would be named Brelani. Remember?” He recalled as you started sobbing happy tears because you had not mentioned those names and wouldn’t say those names until the baby was born but he was back. He had told you that in the greatest of privacy and there had been no other witnesses to that as you hugged him as he hugged you as tight as he could.

“What brought your memory back?” You asked when he pulled back to kiss every inch of you he could reach and repeat the words ‘l love you’ with every one as you returned his kisses emphatically. So happy and relieved he came to his senses and came back to you.

“The orb! The orb that the water dragons gave you that you gave me as a parting gift, my mom invited me to watch the house while they were away here and I got so drunk off of the ale they left and Binga was waiting on me and she kicked my ass, which may the gods bless her for that, and I was in such a rage when she left that I took that orb and I threw it as hard as I could against the wall and what came out of it was this shining shimmering thing and it attacked me and I swear to the 9 heavens that it acted like a mob beating me up in every sense before it just unlocked everything and sobered me up and when I came too, it was like the “demon” was kicked out and I had full control over myself and my mind and my actions again and everything came back in a rush and I came to my senses and all I could do is throw up and cry and wallow in regret, embarrassment, shame and remorse and it was all I had to put everything on and fly as fast as I could here and the elements I swear were against me every step of the way and I got absolutely pelted by the storm’s hail but none of it hurt bad enough for me to stop and I knew I couldn’t stop until I was here.” Brock insisted.

“Well, that’s because all the heavenly moura who have been after her were throwing the hail at you from the clouds themselves.” Matae finally piped up sheepishly before everyone looked at him which got yourself to giggle in amusement as Brock wiped the tears from your eyes as you did the same to him and so happy when he leaned into your touch.

“Really?” Brock asked as he frowned which got everyone else to snicker in amusement.

“Well I mean, I totally deserved it.” Brock admitted with a nod as Matae nodded in agreement as did everyone else.

“And the elves totally drove away all the fawna.” Matae admitted. “Because the elves were upset that you rejected her.” Matae admitted.

“And the council did totally curse you with a demon right before I got the chance to kill them myself and that the demon would torment you forever but I was powerless to do anything about it or tell anyone about it until either it pushed you to kill yourself to escape the pain and agony and agitation, or drove you to act in such a way that others would kill you. It was revenge for the council who themselves were powerless to harm you before your rebirth but in your rebirth process it was possible for the demon to attach itself to you since as their final revenge against you and your family and your clan, using your own vow against you and against Benyana especially for exposing them. And of course all the gods that you vowed to were obviously listening.” Matae revealed as everyone seemed to nod in understanding.

“But you should be grateful to Yana for protecting you, she even sent for me to deliver some game, being squirrels and trash pandas since that’s all I could carry as a raven as all the forest berries and mushrooms magically vanished whenever you were near, again, thanks to the elves, in particular Siressa who’s now the queen of the elves.” Matae explained since your sister Siressa married Railitor.

“I thought that was weird.” Brock realized. “Wait that raven was you?” Brock asked as he remembered seeing it as Matae nodded in confirmation.

“Who was the dove?” Brock asked.

“More or less me, I was able to see you through the dove’s eyes since I physically couldn’t change into a bird form. Matae helped me. I started to fear that you weren’t completely yourself when your behavior didn’t match up perfectly to the way you were before the new year and while Matae couldn’t tell me about it, he couldn’t deny it either and I spent over a week playing the guessing game with him to come to that conclusion. That’s why I begged the gods to let you keep fighting no matter what, because the way I saw it, if you were fighting, then you would be alive and give me time to figure out a way to break it and kick the demon’s ass after I give birth to Brive since I couldn’t do so while pregnant, it was too risky. When surprise surprise, I already had the solution from Yingshen, long before there was ever a problem. But even I couldn’t know what was in that sphere.” You confessed.

“It was a Kydri, think of it as genie but a spirit of light who’s sworn enemies are demons and harmful and malicious curses. It attacked the demon in you and killed it. which- as bonded to you as that demon was because it was reborn with you, you felt the pain of it in your physical being. The particular kind of demon that it was- was particularly crafty, it liked to hide in plain sight as a person’s greatest faults so that when any healer or any other magic practicing person tried to examine you, it was like it wasn’t there at all and the only ways to get rid of it was either by a Kydri or other spirit of light, which are few and far between, how Yingshen had one, is a mystery to me.” Matae explained before another contraction hit you and you braced yourself in the waters and whimpered in pain as Brock did the same as you widened your eyes.

“We still have our connection I see. Sharing the burden huh?” You teased breathlessly.

“Aways, alright, I gotta get closer, I’ve spent the entire pregnancy either not knowing you were pregnant or possessed by a demon who kept me away from you. I’m back baby, so unless you yourself send me away, I’m getting as close as possible.” Brock insisted as he stood and started stripping down to his underwear as your mother laughed as she shielded her eyes as Rhos laughed and helped take his clothes and put them to the side as he got in the birthing tub and hugged you and kissed you the best he could before he got behind you and had you sit on his lap and legs so there was room between his legs for the baby to come through as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tight and kissed your neck and your shoulder and buried his face into the crux of your neck and shoulder and inhaled your heavenly scent, so happy to be reunited with you and happily felt every kick he could while Brive was still in your womb so that at least he didn’t get to miss out on the experience entirely as Brive suddenly became really active in hearing his father’s voice as the labor evened out.

“My mom said you almost lost Brive several times, what happened?” Brock murmured quietly after you settled in.

“Once we left, he stopped moving, except to roll in his sleep. No kicks, nothing. Only when your dad came and visited since his voice was closest to yours would he kick.” You explained.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine the burden of worry that put on you.” Brock murmured sorrowfully.

“It’s not a burden anymore, now that you’re back and you’re here, that’s all that matters to me now.” You reassured him.

“But if you threw up and just flew here, you need to get some strength and keep it up. Mom, could you see if anyone could make Brock a preflight meal?” You requested.

“Of course.” Your mother nodded before she and Rhos left to cook up a storm as they revealed the truth of the matter to everyone else.

Brock spent all night holding you and comforting you and massaging you and doing everything in his power to ease you through labor all night, even as exhausted as he was, but he knew you were even worse off than he was and he dug deep for the strength to persevere which helped with the food everyone else was making for him and you as his moura light marks lit up and intertwined with yours and your son’s as you laid back against him, so happy and relieved to have him fully back with you as the storm raged on outside but it all felt so far off now that he was near and he would be with you and supporting you for the birth.

It was when you puked for the second time that the midwives knew you were in the final stage of labor as you braced yourself on Brock’s arms as you sat forward, trying to let gravity help you as Brock silently prayed to every god you both believed in to help you through this and to give you the strength and stamina to give birth and survive the birth and for Brive to make it through too. Brock had never prayed so hard or so fervently in his life.

Just before sunrise as the storm died down to a simple rain shower, did you finally give birth to Brive.

He was, by far- the cutest most handsome baby boy any of you have ever seen in your lives and even your family had to admit that he was perfect and his light mint green skin with blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes and his gold moura mark was gorgeous and Brock waited until the umbilical cord stopped pulsing to cut it and after you expelled the afterbirth, Brock picked you up as you held your son, once he had been cleaned off and bathed and carried you to bed that had been prepared for you and your son nursed like a piranha. You were just glowing, literally, because you were healing yourself before Brock started to glow too and with help from the midwives and your own mother was able to help heal you from the birthing process and while it would still take time to fully heal, it would cut down the normal healing time by two thirds.

It was Brock’s first act to heal another as a moura and it was incredibly fitting that it was you and he did great- he was a natural and once everyone saw themselves out, you both finally got the chance to rest together for the first time in months, with you sleeping on your back with Brive in the natural cradle of your chest and Brock on his side spooning you and letting you use his legs to prop up your own as his arm was your pillow and his other arm wrapped around you possessively. Both of you slept so soundly and waking every couple of hours so you could nurse Brive who had a very healthy appetite and it warmed your heart to see Brock be oh so careful and gentle in changing his son’s diapers but keep Brive otherwise naked to maximize the skin to skin contact not only with you but with him as he cradled Brive to his chest like Brive was his greatest treasure and you both cooed at the baby and at each other and of course both of your families continued to cook up a storm together to celebrate everything and brought you all the meals in bed so that you could rest in peace and didn’t have to do much of anything other than get up to go to the bathroom and even then Brock was all too eager to help and if he wasn’t holding Brive he was holding you while you held Brive.

News traveled quickly and as soon as you were able to get dressed and be seen by more people other than your family, you had many visitors from both Stormbreaker and Hurricane Breaker who all brought gifts and blessings and they all wanted to hear the tale of star crossed lovers, defying curses and spells and even a demon possession to be together and instantly great and fantastic legends were born.

When it was time, it was Brock’s family’s turn to show him how to move houses made in clouds and fly it back home with you and Brive safely inside.

Once he settled the house back into where it had been before, the gush of water into the estuary flooded all the silt out into the ocean to restore the beautiful rocks and sand again before you brought Brive out of the house as you and Brock got his feet out of his blankets.

“Welcome to your rightful home and birthright my son.” Brock said as you both crouched down so you could put Brive’s bare little feet to the ground before you watched as a ripple effect traveled like waves of water over the land. Suddenly the vegetation returned full force. All the crops returning to the land and at the perfect ripeness for harvest as everyone from Stormbreaker left Drauch to immediately harvest all the abundance as quickly as possible as you quickly rewrapped Brive’s legs into the blankets you had him swaddled in and went back inside to rest as Brock then helped his clan gather as much grains and produce as possible before any of it could be lost to frost as one by one then group by group all his former captians and commanders and generals returned to him. Grateful to have their future warchief back.

#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire part 18 #orc love story #orc #moura #fae #orc husband #monster boyfriend #orc reader insert #male monster female reader #exophilia #exo #monster reader insert

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timebird84 · 5 years

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘19 🎄

Angel

by @daenys (sorry, can’t tag you :/ )

The only time stillness settled over the camp was during winter. When dark came, the fires were lit and folk retreated into their tents. Everything they typically did beneath the moon they now d beneath canvas instead; eat, sleep, fornicate. Music played from somewhere at the other side of the compound, jubilant, meant for dancing and singing and fucking.

Not the lament or requiem he might compose, himself. His own landscape was duller, with all colour vanished from the world. Despair was an emotion he’d thought he’d reconciled himself with during the many years locked up alone in his little attic room in Boscherville. Somehow it was worse to be surrounded by the world and still be alone than to be segregated from it.

The moon was bright tonight, illuminating fat flakes of snow falling from the cold, unfeeling onyx of the sky above to litter the ground below in an even more unfeeling blanket of fairy dust. In his cage, he wrapped his arms around himself and trembled. Javert hadn’t replaced his blanket. As he’d begged, and been beaten for earlier. The welts still stung sharply, crusted with blood and dirty through the tatters of his shirt.

Snow. It looked so lifeless, so alien. His fingers twitched against his thin chest, his golden eyes wincing to feel the sharp protrusion of his ribs. Would it be soft, or hard? Cold? Would it pass like sand through his fingers? The mason he wished to become had so many silent questions about its texture. Its consistency.

The little boy he still was deep inside instead wondered at how similar it appeared to his mother. Beautiful, but distant. Mercurial. Not something he might ever hold in his two hands and be able to call his own. Nothing in this life was meant for him. She had told him that on more than one occasion.

He couldn’t be sure of the date. Never could. One year had blurred into the next until they’d appeared like a smudge of ink in his mind, marring any record of time. Why? If nothing was meant for him, why had the being many mindless sheep called God allow him to live? There would never be an answer, though nightly he railed against it.

Life itself felt as though it had never been meant for him.

“Hey! I said – do you want to play?”

What? When, where, how – ahhhh. While he’d been thinking and shivering by himself at the far end of his cage where the straw still had a clean, earthy scent, someone had crept up to its door. Golden eyes fixated upon the image on the other side, blinking rapidly against the blurring edges. The cold had seeped clean down into his bones, and he could hardly move. Hardly see.

But what he could see was an angel. Radiant beneath the light of the moon, all chubby red cheeks and a riot of golden curls. Green eyes stared intently at him through the bars, and he noted how the warmth in them died the longer she looked up at him. Panic rose up, and one shaking hand slowly reached up and ensured that yes, the burlap sack was still there covering his face.

He didn’t want her to know that monsters were real.

Those eyes, green as the young leaves on saplings in springtime welled with tears and she held out one of her gloved hands through the bars. “Oh. Oh no, look at me! Don’t stop. Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.” Strange. Why would she—but then she was reaching back, into that riot of curls to pull the pin that kept them in place.

It hadn’t yet struck his benumbed mind that she’d recognized at once the signs that he was at Death’s door. She knew from painful experience that to fall asleep outside in winter time was guaranteed to see one lowered into the hard ground the next day. Provided anyone was able to dig a hole through the frost-hardened earth, anyway. Her own mother had perished in such a way.

“Don’t…” The only word he could muster. And it came out weak, warbled, thin.

The girl was already thrusting the sharp gleam of her hairpin into the lock that held his cage. The scraping it made, metal on metal almost made him scream. Certainly, he wanted to. Instead he looked at her, eyes glowing dimly through the holes in his makeshift mask. Why was she doing this? Did she not know that he’d never been able to sleep well, and that rest was a blessing?

“Just hold on!” Her voice gained a higher, if hushed pitch of alarm. She was whispering, he realized while he watched her tiny hands work at the lock. Rusted metal groaned and creaked until she found the spot inside that released its death grip upon the door of the cage. Then she exclaimed in triumph and relief and barged inside, bizarrely not at all afraid of the monster within.

The monster…

“No!” He exclaimed, eyes wide as he shrunk back to the back wall of the cage. If this were Javert, he’d have killed him. Moreover, he’d have bolted for his freedom without a second glance. But it was not, and he was weak and the innocent concern in her child’s eyes made him squint his own shut. Why? He didn’t believe in God anymore. Why would an angel visit him now when he’d forsaken all?

He couldn’t even register the feeling of her arms pulling him up, and barely heard the hitch of her breath when she felt the slightness of his weight. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d be able to light him easily. Yet still… she shook him, and warmth started to flare, a tiny spark deep in his chest as he looked at her.

Tears streaked her cheeks.

“I’m Christine,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

Somehow, she managed to drag him across the camp and away from it, taking off her coat and draping it around his shoulders. Her father, he learned later, was a violinist who trailed the travelling fair that had performed alongside the camp that day. She had noticed him alone there and wondered if he might want to play later.

“Because it’s Christmas. Papa always said no one should be alone on Christmas.”

They were huddled together by the fire blazing in her father’s tent when the roar of Javert sounded from across the countryside. Riders were dispatched to look for him. Three days, they camped in the forest. In which he could remember nothing other than warm broth, the heartbreaking strum of a violin and an angel’s eyes watching over him every moment.

On the fourth, he looked up at her and smiled, though she couldn’t see it under the sack.

“I’m Erik. I’ll stay with you.”

And he did. When he next beheld the countryside, it was a riot of colour; and the snow hadn’t melted. It simply glowed beneath the bright winter sunshine as he did beneath his angel’s gaze.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #nineteenth door #daenys #timebird84

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turtletotem · 5 years

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The Tale of the Crotch Spider

@pinkoptics You didn't ask but I am telling it anyway!

So a few weeks ago, I go into the bathroom at work, and I see a large spindly-legged spider go be-bopping by on the stall floor. This Gives Me Pause because I am arachnophobic in a big way. But I am an adult! I can handle this! The spider has crawled away, it’s gone now, all is well! So I sit upon the throne and conduct my business.

Be it noted as background information that I have not had a good morning. I had very bad nightmares the night before, woke to immediately have a baffling incident with one of my shoes having SHRUNK which led me to briefly believe I was in fact still dreaming, and on the whole am not in a good place to deal with spiders.

Halfway through the conducting of my business, I look down and see The Spindly-Legged One. He is not on the floor. He is not even on my leg. He is on the crotch of my pants, mere inches from my most precious and vulnerable bits, and still climbing. Which is not only profoundly alarming in itself, but means that he has crawled up my legs already without me feeling him. How long has the devilspawn been on my person?

But much more importantly, how quickly can I get him off?

Had there been anyone else in that bathroom, they would have been treated to a great deal of shrieking and sobbing and banging around as I rattled inside the stall like a pea in a can, trying to get the spider off me. The spider, being perhaps no fool, had sought shelter inside the folds of my pants and was hanging on for dear life. My absolute need for his departure warred with my absolute aversion to touching him, and allowed this hideous farce to go on far too long. When at last I succeeded, the spider only went as far as to hide behind the toilet, which neither love nor money was going to get my bare bottom seated upon again.

Very unfortunate, as my business, while technically concluded, still required, shall we say, some mopping up.

Our thank-GOD-hypothetical audience would at this point have been treated to the sort of show that children aren’t allowed to buy tickets for, as I shuffled around into the next stall to finish up, and watched my multi-legged nemesis fixedly from under the divider to make sure he made no further attempts on my life.

Washing my hands, I discovered, was beyond me. The sink was directly next to the spider’s hiding place. It would not do. I must venture all the way to the third floor ladies’ room and wash up there.

This is the point at which my luck ran out. Boarding the elevator, at an hour when I am usually the only person in the building, I came face to face with a startled coworker. Who proceeded to look me over -- tearstained, gasping, bedraggled, holding my dirty hands stiffly before me -- and say absolutely nothing but “What floor?”

“Third,” I rasp, and up we ride in the most awkward silence of my life.

Bless her heart, she has never referenced the incident in either word or deed. I will never forget her kindness.

I could not use the lower ladies’ room again for a full week. And I still check behind the toilet before I sit down.

#state of the turtle address #turtle is arachnophobic #personal story #hopefully this gives you a laugh pinkoptics

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ohorthur · 5 years

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Exit Pursued by a Grieving Widow

Platonic Charles x fem!Reader, mention of Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Warning: spoilers/mention of death

Summary: Charles helps the reader settle into The Mysterious Hill Home so she can start her new life close to the grave of her beloved.

(In this story, Arthur gave his journal to Charles for safekeeping rather than keeping it in his satchel to give to John along with his other possessions.)

Word Count: ~1.8k

~~~

“Ughh…” a grunt left you as you tried to catch your breath. “Thank you, Charles. I appreciate it. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” the burly man casually responded, hands on his hips as he observed your combined handiwork. You were in awe of how he managed to not break a sweat as he helped you settle into your new home on such an inconveniently sweltering day.

The structure itself wasn’t new. In fact, it had long since been boarded up and abandoned which was what warranted this arduous cleanup process in the first place; the rotting furniture, moth-eaten bedspreads and upholstery, and overgrowth of greenery all had to be taken care of before you could make yourself comfortable in the peculiar house.

The novelty of it all really boiled down to the lifestyle that staying here entailed. You’d be stationary and entirely self-sufficient for the first time in God knows how long. But you were certain that this house was where you belonged. “The Mysterious Hill Home” was how Arthur had referred to it in that journal of his...

Before you could get too lost in thought, you wiped away the layer of sweat that had accumulated on your brow and turned to Charles. “All the same, you should still stay for dinner. It’s the least I can do. I can’t promise much in terms of the seating arrangement considering we had to scrap almost everything that was in there, but I’m confident the food will be better than anything poor Pearson had to scrape up for us these past few months.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled out playfully. “I’ll take my chances, though.” With an exaggerated glare, you headed over to your horse to see what you could whip up with whatever provisions you had in your saddlebags.

~~~

Evening brought with it some respite from the high temperatures you’d suffered in throughout the day. Crickets stirred, providing their soothing song to accompany your improvised dinner for two on the front steps of the hill house.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you poked at your sad, dry cut of venison and roasted corn with a slight grimace. “My selection was limited and I may have overestimated my culinary skills.”

“I’ve never been a picky eater so you’ll hear no complaints from me,” he reassured you, trying to balance his food on his lap.

“I’ll get something to help it go down easier,” you muttered - more to yourself than to him - as you began to rise to get some whiskey. Before you could set your plate aside, Charles was already pushing it back firmly into your grasp.

“Sit and rest. I’ll get it,” he calmly commanded. He returned with an unopened bottle of fine brandy from his own belongings and handed it to you. “Here, you can do the honors. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’d hardly call house cleaning a lot,” you sighed, nodding a thank you but avoiding eye contact. After opening the bottle you took a quick swig. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was giving you the “that’s not what I meant” look, but from his relaxed posture you could tell it was one he cast on you out of concern rather than annoyance. Once he finally turned back to his plate, dinner continued in a more or less comfortable silence. He didn’t push you to talk and you didn’t want to disturb the peace, at least not before a few more substantial swigs of brandy.

“So where are you off to next?” you finally questioned, knowing he didn't want to settle down quite just yet. He paused for a moment, mulling over his options.

“Honestly, I’m not entirely certain,” he intoned and reached for the brandy, helping himself to a healthy sip. “All I know is that I’ve had enough of heat and humidity for a good long while,” he continued, hastily running a finger up the side of the bottle to catch a runaway drop.

“In that case maybe north?” you suggested.

"And end up back in Colter again? Not too thrilled by the sound of that."

"Maybe even farther north. Canada perhaps. After everything that's happened - the gang, Micah, Dutch, and…" your voice died out. The final name was caught in your throat with no chance of escape, held prisoner in a vice grip. "...and all that unpleasantness - it might do you good to get away from everything. This land is too bloodstained and scarred."

"You might be right," he decided. Faint scrapes of his fork against the tin plate reached your ears as he aimlessly pushed around what few crumbs of his meal remained. "You know… maybe it would be good for you to put this whole mess behind you as well. You can come with me."

A wave of regret washed over him as you form shrunk into itself, as if it was deflating. "It's just a suggestion, I'm not saying - "

"It's okay, Charles. I understand what you mean," you interrupted quietly. "But it wasn't all a mess. Not for me at least. It must seem silly, but I can't just leave him here, alone and forgotten."

"It' doesn't."

"We never married. We never even discussed it. But foolish as it is, I can't help feeling like a widow. And that comes with it's own obligations. He deserves to have someone watch over him"

"In every sense but in name, you are. Arthur cared for you, Y/N. You were the most important thing in his life. His own words were that he'd have asked you to marry him if he'd been a better man," he soothed. "When he told me there was no coming back for him, he was terrified. Not for himself but for you. He felt that he had it coming for what he'd done, but he hoped to make his end count by getting everyone out. Especially you. I told him it was a blessing of sorts that he knew what was coming. I guess we all know it'll come eventually but the certainty of it all instilled a sense of urgency in him to come to terms with his actions and make a final effort to set things right - even after he was gone. He asked me to look after his girl, make sure she's safe, make sure she's happy."

You rested your cheek on his sturdy shoulder and closed your eyes. "I'm glad we had you, Charles."

"You still do, Y/N," his deep, smooth timbre warmed you along with the arm he now draped around you. "I made a promise and I intend to keep it. Wherever the road takes me, I'll always come back to check on you. Both of you."

~~~

The first rays of dawn and the scent of freshly brewed coffee were a surprising awakening. You had no recollection of when you fell asleep, nor of how you ended up on a bedroll for that matter. Once you propped yourself up on your elbows, the slight ache that shot through your head made you reckon that the alcohol was to blame. Footsteps rustled behind you, approaching closer until Charles came into sight.

“Morning,” he smirked knowingly. You squinted up at him for a few seconds before registering that he was extending a cup of coffee to you.

“Thanks,” you rasped and eagerly accepted the bitter drink. You intended to laze around and take your sweet time nursing the beverage until you noticed that Charles was already packing up his things. You scrambled up in alarm, rushing to dig through your belongings. “Wait! You’re leaving already? Have you eaten anything yet? Do you have enough food for the road?” you rambled.

“Y/N.”

“You know what, just take everything I have. You’ll need it more than I do.”

“Y/N.”

“I was planning on going hunting today anyways, so it’s really not a prob- ”

Charles’s sudden grasp on your shoulders shook you out of your frantic babbling. “Y/N, trust me. I’ll be okay.”

“Please? Just take something. It doesn’t feel right sending you off like this, especially after you’ve been so helpful,” you begged with the most pleading look you could muster.

“Alright, fine,” he surrendered and you rushed to help him transfer your food and supplies into his saddlebags.

“Before I go, I have something for you as well,” he pulled out a familiar leatherbound book from his satchel. “Arthur asked me to hold on to it the last time we spoke in case he couldn’t give it to you himself. Here, take it. It’s already yours, but consider it a parting gift.”

Your hands gravitated to the journal without you even realizing it. It brought you comfort to run your fingers over the worn brown leather you knew so well. Whether the warmth of the book came from Charles’s hands or the pure heart and spirit it held within its pages you couldn’t say. But you did know that it would provide you more peace than the warmth of any new hearth and home ever would.

No words could possibly relay your gratitude. All you could do was throw your arms around Charles as tears threatened to trickle down your cheeks. If he hadn’t been built like stone you might have strangled him. Time ticked on and eventually you parted so Charles could finally make his way back to the ever-patient Taima.

“My offer still stands. You can join me whenever you feel in need of a change,” he reminded you as he mounted. You took a deep breath and smoothed out Taima’s mane.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you hummed through a teary-eyed smile.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Morgan,” he hummed back with an understanding nod to you and a final glance at the hillside behind your new home.

Your smile grew at being addressed with that name. The trot of hooves grew fainter and fainter as you turned back to take a seat on your front steps. Holding the journal tightly to your chest, you felt an unusual bump between the pages that you must have been too shocked to take note of earlier. After unwinding the cover’s strap, the book fell open to reveal Arthur’s final sketch.

You were faced with your own tired eyes and your own sad smile, both expressing a sort of subtle affection. It wasn’t an unflattering rendition of your features and it wasn’t idyllic. It was simply honest, a testament to the trying times the two of you had held each other through and the love that would always persist through them. To the left of the page, near the binding, lay a ring adorned with a small but elegant stone.

“Mrs. Morgan…” you absentmindedly mused to yourself. The ring caught the light of the steadily rising sun as it peeked over the mountains from the east, illuminating the hills and trees before you. You slipped it onto your left ring finger and took in the view as you finished your now cold coffee. “Ain’t that somethin’.”

#charles smith x reader #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #charles is such a good boah y'all i love him #spoilers #rdr2 spoilers #fanfic #writing #i tried #Any feedback would be appreciated #hope you like it

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yeenybeanies · 5 years

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g/t prompt list

10. toy

hal jordan / green lantern & john constantine / hellblazer

1559 words

language warning. quite a few f-bombs

please keep comments to the tags!! thank you!!

i wasn’t able to post anything last month because i didn’t have internet access on my laptop, but i do now, so here’s this short lil thing. enjoy!!

“ Constantine! ”

God fucking dammit. . .. More than he cares to admit, the voice, now much more booming than he’s used to, does startle John. The subsequent heavy bangs on the door certainly aren’t very pleasant either, each one sending a jolt through his bones and his very being.

“ What the bloody fuck is he doing here. . .. ” Jaw clenched tight, John winces under another assault to the door, and another shout from the outside. Noises are bigger right now. Everything is bigger, considering John’s newfound state of existence, standing at a solid three inches tall.

“ I know you’re in there, Constantine. ”

How the hell does he–––

“ Zatanna told me how to find this freaky house of yours. Said someone should check on your for whatever reason, so come on. I don’t have all day. ”

Good. Maybe that means he’ll leave if no one answers. John would rather not be found in his current predicament anyway––least of all by Hal Jordan. Christ, he would never hear the end of it from him, and he’d go blabbing about it to everyone else too. No thank you.

“ Come in. ” God dammit, Orchid! Her silky voice rings through the house, almost as if coming from the very walls. From where he is, John peeks around the corner, down the hallway to the now open door, Just beyond the House’s alien-looking avatar stands one very confused man in black and green spandex. That’s definitely a space cop if John ever saw one. The real question is: why is he here? And the next two questions to follow are how did Zatanna know something was up, and why the hell did the House of Mystery let Hal in?

“ You are looking for John. He is this way. ” Orchid! John berates the House under his breath, and ducks back into his room just as he sees Orchid turn around and look directly at him. There’s no hiding from her; she is the House, and she seems intent on leading the lantern right to him. Damn her.

“ Uh, o-kay. . .. Who are you again? ” Hal’s voice sounds even more obnoxious from so high up.

“ I am Black Orchid. John is in here, but he seems to be experiencing some difficulties right now. ” She steps aside and gestures for Hal to enter the room, which he does, despite his growing confusion. “ He is under the desk. ”

“ He’s. . . under the desk? ” Clearly the lantern is lost, but his gaze does fall to the desk. John knows he’s not quite fast enough; his eyes meet Hal’s for a split second before he ducks behind one of the legs. He has little time to mutter any curses to the house or the cop, though, as he quickly finds himself encased in a capsule of green light and lifted. He is helpless against the jostling and the lurching as he’s pulled from his hiding spot and brought out into the open, right before that rubbery mask. Fuck, Jordan’s a lot bigger up close like this. John isn’t one to be intimidated, but, right now, he’s certainly not comfortable.

At first, Hal doesn’t say anything ( for once in his life ). John can feel him studying him, trying to work out what’s going on. Is it too late to convince him that this is all an illusion?

“ Oi, if you’re just gonna stare, you can put me the hell down! ” One tiny fist beats at the wall of light in protest. John isn’t overly fond of heights; being suspended in nothing but focus-powered green stuff over a fairly long drop is not his ideal situation. Nothing about this right now is his ideal situation.

Perhaps he should have counted his blessings, though. The silent Hal is a rare privilege, and far more preferable to what comes next: the laughing Hal. John covers his ears and ducks his head under that first heavy bark of laughter. Each one to follow too is so damn loud. It feels like John is being shaken apart by sound. One blessing he can still count is that his little containment pod doesn’t shake with the lantern’s movement; the man’s practically convulsing with laughter, while John, despite feeling like his eardrums are going to burst at any moment, is pretty stationary.

“ Hey! Glad to see you’re having a good laugh there, mate, but I’m kinda busy right now! If you’d kindly shut up and fuck off, that’d be great! ” If only he could be so lucky, though. The sphere moves, and the movement sends John stumbling back onto his rear, his irritation growing by the second. Brows furrowed, he stares up at Hal through the green film.

“ Wh––hold on––what the hell happened to you, Constantine? Get caught up with some sort of cricket demon or something? ” Before John can answer, though, the green around him vanishes, leaving him to fall with a yelp into Hal’s gloved hand below. Oh, no sir, he does not like this. It’s squishy and warm, and the sound of this rubbery uniform scrunching together grates his ears. John scrambles to stand up, a little wobbly in the giant palm. The still-present chuckling isn’t helping much either.

“ Let’s leave it at ‘ or something, ’ yeah? Now put me down! I need to figure out how to––– ”

“ –––I’m sorry, your voice is so squeaky right now. I can’t take you at all seriously like this. ” Without any warning or consideration, Hal pinches one of John’s legs between his free index and forefinger and pulls him up, dangling him upside down while he flails helplessly.

“ Mother fu––put me the hell down, you bastard! I’m not a bloody toy, and I’m damn-sure not playing with you right now! ” It isn’t getting him anywhere, and he knows he can’t break Hal’s grip on his leg, but John continues to kick and wriggle, hoping that the notion will mean more than his actual strength.

Unfortunately, this is Hal. While he isn’t the worst of the space cops, he’s still not the most agreeable, especially not in cases like this.

“ So, what? You’re able to fix this, right? Or are you––snrk––are you stuck like this forever? ” Hal looks so damn smug right now, and endlessly amused. John’s face is red, both from his embarrassment and frustration, and from the blood rushing to his head.

“ I can fix it. I was in the middle of trying to fix it when you showed up and started acting like a right prick! Quit––– ” That’s enough. John rubs his hands together and summons a bang of fire. It’s more like a pop at this scale––like a little bang snap––but it does as intended: it startles Hal into letting him go, though he’s quickly caught again after a few inches’ fall.

“ Woah––easy there. Are you fuckin’ nuts? ” Those hands close around John now, holding him more securely. It’s not much of an improvement, but at least he’s upright again. “ Dumb question. I know you’ve got a few screws loose in the noggin’. ”

“ You’re one to talk. ” John wriggles and pulls one arm free, then the other. “ I’ve got this under control, copper. Now, if you’d be so kind as to let me––– ”

“ Go? Oh, fat chance, sour patch. ” Hal shifts his hold, transferring John to one hand, fingers curled firmly around his middle. With his other, he pulls out his cellphone, much to John’s horror.

“ Jordan, I swear to every god and devil and demon out there––if you take any pictures, I am going to make your life hell. ”

“ You’re not very threatening when you’re normal-sized. How do you think you sound right now? ”

Like a fucking joke, he imagines. The camera flashes, leaving John blinded for a moment. He swears on his mother’s grave that he will make Hal pay for this once he’s back to normal. Somehow.

“ Great. Now that you’ve immortalized the moment, why don’t you be a pal and––– ”

“ Hey, d’ya think whatever the hell shrunk you could do the same to Batman? I’d love to see Spooky all doll-sized. ” Hal’s grip loosens just a smidge as he lifts John up higher, more near eye-level. John has to force himself not to look down, and try not to focus on the fact that he’s being held by an imbecile.

Why did it have to be this lantern that came to check on him? Or any lantern at all? Or anyone? What the hell is Zatanna doing sending people to check up on John?

“ If I were to turn that little monstrosity on anyone, it’d be you, you overgrown prick. ” This is getting very old very quickly. “ Alright, Jordan, you’ve had your fun. Let me go. Now. ” And for a moment, it almost looks like Hal means to comply, but that goofy, shit-eating grin is back on his face just as quickly as it left.

“ Nah. I’ve gotta show you to the rest of the league. ”

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t fiction #g/t dc #hal jordan #john constantine #hyena writes

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moiraineswife · 5 years

Text

Snitten - A Crowley Fic

Ty to my discord goblin squad for helping me get through this!!! <3 And esp to @flootzavut for helping me beta/giving me a lil confidence boost when I needed it. Who knows if the footnotes will work #ITried

Title: Snitten

Summary: A cat starts hanging out outside Crowley's London flat, he takes a bit of an interest in. But he doesn't care about it. Absolutely not. (spoiler: he does).

Teaser:

Link: Ao3

Yawning, Crowley slouched towards his flat, not bothering to grope in his jacket for his keys. Fumbling was for mortals, not for demons who could just use a simple miracle to achieve the same thing.

With a casual wave of his hand, he unlocked the door –then promptly ricocheted off it, having tried to push into the wrong one.

Glancing around to see if anyone had spotted him, he caught sight of a pair of small yellow eyes fixed on him, judging his mess up.

He hissed threateningly at it, intending to terrify it directly into Hell.

The eyes blinked back at him.

He frowned slightly and took a step back to better view the ballsiest little fucker he’d come across since leaving Aziraphale’s place earlier.

It shrunk back slightly into the shadows, but he managed to clap eyes on a tiny scrap of fur and bones that somewhat resembled a cat. It wasn’t any particular colour or pattern. It looked like a white cat that had rolled around in a patch of cat-coloured paint.

He stared at if for a minute longer, then flicked a scrap of chicken from the wrap Aziraphale had bought him at the park at it. He figured it had earned that much. It darted out, seized it in its mouth, then launched itself back to the shadows, chewing it up, eyes still fixed on Crowley, as though afraid he might take it away again.

Crowley gave it a vague salute, then shoved into his building through the right door and disappeared upstairs for a nice nap.

******************************************************************************

Though he was a demon, Crowley had relatively few genuine full-blown weaknesses. It just so happened that two of them collided on Sunday afternoons, with the flower market, and a little pop-up street vendor stall that made the world’s best (Crowley-verified) fish and chips.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, Crowley was feeling rather pleased with himself. He’d acquired a lovely little rare bromeliad to add to his collection, as well as the last special fish supper of the day. Life was good.

He returned to his building and, as he pushed into the door, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see the eyes of the vaguely-cat-shaped scrap from before watching him again. It seemed to have crept out of its hiding place at the sight of him.

“You really are a ballsy little shit, aren’t you?” he muttered to it.

It gave a tiny mew, as if in answer.

Glancing down at the grease-soaked newspaper in his hands, he tossed it down towards the corner. He was nearly finished, anyway. And it was litter! He was littering like a good demon should. If the cat-like-thing happened to eat it afterwards, that wasn’t down to him.

As he wandered into his building, holding the door open for the little old lady that lived in the apartment underneath him on impulse as he did so [1], he heard a quiet little rumbling purr start up behind him.

******************************************************************************

“I mostly find that Adam’s taste is quite fascinating, not to mention refreshing, the take of the youth, you know, but there are quite a few new novels I’ve found that don’t really make much sense to me at all,” Aziraphale babbled, trotting along at Crowley’s side as they wandered back to his flat for some wine, followed by more wine, followed by still more wine.

As They had decided that, in the wake of the apocalypse that never went off, they might change some of their age old traditions. This included Aziraphale sometimes coming over to Crowley’s flat for post-Ritz wine, rather than always retreating to Aziraphale’s shop[2].

“Like what?” Crowley said, frowning.

“Well there’s quite a lot of romance novels,” Aziraphale said, frowning and, to Crowley’s mingled surprise and delight, blushing, “Along with some that are decidedly, well, inappropriate,” he said, delicately.

Crowley’s smirk broadened at that, “Find a little Fifty Shades squirreled away in the back where the customers aren’t allowed to go, did you?”

“I most certainly did not!” Aziraphale blustered, looking affronted at the very idea, “I would never have anything so crude in my collection, thank you very much.”

“Too much of a prude, are we angel?” Crowley said, tilting his head to one side and favouring Aziraphale with an angelic smile on the lips of a demon.

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale said, looking surprised, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with sex in literature, or in life, when it’s well done.” Crowley choked on his milkshake. “That book however, not that it rates the name, is both atrociously written, grossly misogynistic, and woefully inaccurate on all of its subject matter.” He sniffed, delicately, apparently oblivious to Crowley’s bug-eyed scare of amazement, “Immortal I may be, but I don’t have time for such things.”

Crowley was still trying to recover from the shock of....All of that when Aziraphale turned to him, rather sharply, and said, “Why? You haven’t read it, have you?”

“Nope,” said Crowley quickly, and truthfully. He’d been vaguely curious about all the fuss, but it had never appealed to him.

His building appeared a second later, fortunately. As they stepped inside, he casually tossed the little bag of uneaten extras he’d brought with them from lunch into the alleyway over his shoulder.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, shocked, eyes boggling as though he’d just tossed the second antichrist into the side street.

“What?” he said vaguely, holding the door opening and trying to gesture the angel inside, to no avail.

Aziraphale remained rooted to the spot, staring at him with shock written across his face.

“You can’t just throw your litter in the street like that!” the angel chided him.

Crowley made a show of peering around the angel to the dropped bag, “Huh, look at that. I did! Okay, now that’s settled can we-“ he tried to usher them inside again but Aziraphale refused to budge.

“You see, it’s people-“

“Demons,” he corrected.

Aziraphale gave him the kind of look that left him with frostbite for the next week and continued, “It’s demons like you that make this world a worse place to live in for everyone!”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, angel, but that’s kinda my job description,” Crowley replied with typical snark, “Now can we-“ he swept his hands with something close to desperation towards the door of the building.

“No! We certainly cannot!” Aziraphale said, and Crowley deflated with exasperated irritation. “Not while your litter is lying in the streets, polluting the environment.”

He strode pompously forwards and bent to pick up the papers. Crowley grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back, “Okay, okay! I give up, you win,” he dragged a hand through his hair, which was starting to get a little length to it again, “I’m feeding a cat-thing,” he mumbled, all in a rush.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s some little cat thing that lives there,” he said, jerking his head towards the alley, “If I have food wrappers when I come home,” which, of late, had been every time he came home, “I just sort of,” he gestured vaguely towards the dropped papers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, in that excruciating way that told him he’d just done something the angel approved of, “That’s really rather sweet of you, you know,” he said, smiling.

“Ugh,” Crowley groaned, taking Aziraphale by the shoulders and attempting to steer him into the building to escape the agony of this conversation, “Okay, okay, I’m a terrible demon, you knew there was good in me all along, blah, blah, blah. Let’s go! Wine! Now!”

Aziraphale, with surprising strength, resisted him, still peering into the alley, “Where is the little creature?” he said.

“How should I know?” Crowley growled. You better fucking enjoy this, you little beast, given how much I’ve suffered for it. “I’m not its minder!”

He finally succeeded in shunting Aziraphale bodily through the door.

“I didn’t even think you liked animals,” Crowley said, as he used a miracle to cause the lift to simply be there on the ground floor waiting for them.

“Well ordinarily I’m not too fussed, I will admit. All God’s creatures are beautiful and worthy of love, of course, but that doesn’t necessarily mean by me at all times,” Aziraphale said, stepping neatly into the lift and holding the doors open for Crowley. “But I rather wanted to take a look at this one, since it’s managed to capture your eye.”

“It hasn’t captured anything,” Crowley growled.

Aziraphale just twinkled knowingly.

Blessed angel was insufferable.

“I do have one question, though,” Aziraphale said, shrugging off his coat as they stepped into Crowley’s flat.

Crowley made an exaggerated motion of hanging himself behind Aziraphale’s back then replaced it with a sickeningly saccharine smile when he turned to face him again.

“Just the one?” he drawled.

“Why don’t you just feed it tins of fish, rather than this convoluted sharing of your supper?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“First of all,” Crowley said, raising a long finger, irritably, “I’m not sharing with it. I’m throwing my fully completed, finished, and done wrappings in its general direction, and it’s scavenging from them. Secondly, I’m not doing that.”

Because then I’d have to acknowledge I’m actively looking after this thing and that is definitely not what’s happening here. I’m littering. ‘S not my fault it wants to tidy up after me.

Aziraphale just gave him another one of his knowing looks.

Crowley wondered two things simultaneously in that moment. The first was why he kept associating with this blessed idiot after all these years. The second was, if he threw Aziraphale out of the window in the plant room, would he be able to snap his wings into being fast enough to save himself from discorporation?

Rather than attempting to divine the answer to either of these questions, Crowley instead opened the first of many bottles of wine.

******************************************************************************

Supermarkets were definitely one of Crowley’s finer ideas.

Not only did they work to damage the souls of most of the population of the world over time with a slowly forming layer of plaque-like bitterness and irritation with the state of the universe, they functioned as an excellent microcosm of said universe.

Humans all reacted in a variety of strange but intriguing ways to supermarkets.

Some of them drifted around them like ghosts in a cemetery, part of them, but not really, without any idea of what they were doing, or why, they just did.

Some of them treated a trip to the supermarket like a military operation, complete with their lists, and pens, and dedicated ‘search and destroy’ method.

Some of them, meanwhile, took out their general anger and frustration with the state of their miserable lives on the rest of humanity that could be found on the unwashed aisles of Asda with an excellent display of yelling, gesticulating, and requests to speak with managers.

Then there were the poor sods that actually had to work there and deal with all this nonsense. Them Crowley almost felt sorry for. In fact, on more than one occasion, he’d slipped them the odd miracle, to help drag them through the day...And further infuriate those who saw the chilled section as their own person battleground against humanity.

Every now and then, there was an extra, hidden category of shopper in a supermarket: Crowley.

Technically he didn’t need to visit them. He didn’t have to buy anything, and generally didn’t bother to, either. Every now and then, though, he liked to grab a basket, wander up and down the aisles, soak in his terrible, terrible work, and see what interesting new things toppled into it along the way.

As When he returned home today, bags sitting neatly on the shelf in his kitchen with all the things that had dropped into his basket[3] he discovered something rather unwelcome.

As Cursing Aziraphale seven ways to Heaven and back, he realised there were several tins of sardines sitting innocently amongst the mix of old favourites[4]and strange new highly processed, deeply unhealthy, too cheap to be acceptable, things since last he’d been there.

Crowley couldn’t stand sardines. Aziraphale had put them on everything a few decades back, and it had driven him to distraction. For one thing the smell was disgusting. For another, there was just something distinctly...Unnatural about them. Squashed together, with their heads cut off, and their organs removed, but a variety of bones still in their bodies when they had no right to be there anymore.

“They’re soft, dear boy, you won’t even notice them!” Azirapahle had insisted, airily.

Crowley had.

It had put him off eating anything for almost a year afterwards, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin.

No. No part of his subconscious had bought this for him. That meant it must have bought it for...

“Fuck, shit, balls, no,” he growled at thin air, snatching up the tins and striding over the bin, with the full intention of throwing them out and pretending they’d never existed.

But. No. He couldn’t bring himself to do that either.

He almost hurled the tin through the window in the plant room, then, thought better of it.

Gnashing his teeth with every step, he stormed downstairs, wrenched open the door, peeled the lid from the can with the sheer force of his irritation, and dumped it into the alley without looking at it.

As the door closed behind him, he heard a purring as loud as the Bentley’s engine when she greeted him first thing in the morning, and had to work hard to keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

******************************************************************************

Humans were terrible.

Crowley had long since decided on this.

Or, to be fair, (damn Aziraphale was bad fucking influence, no doubt about that), humans had the immense capacity to be terrible. More so than any other being he had ever come across.

As of Sunday the 6th of January 2019, at precisely 5.46pm, in London, he decided they’d officially outdone themselves on the terrible scale.

Crowley had seen some shit in his time on Earth. He’d seen, and been credited for, the Spanish Inquisition. He’d seen the world war. Both of them. He’d seen every war that had ever taken place in this world.

But this, this surpassed it all. Because in all those cases, he’d seen humans taking out their cruelty and twisted imagination on each other. That was one thing. This was something else. Something utterly unforgivable.

He’d gone to the flower show, as usual, though he hadn’t picked anything up. A truly shocking display of leaf spots, white fly, and a combination of over and under-watering, had put him off making any purchases.

He had stopped off at his usual fish and chip vendor, though, because the fish and chips was always top quality.

Then he’d sauntered back home. Since losing her, he’d found himself much more appreciative of the Bentley, and so he let her rest on Sundays, and walked to and from the market.

Reflexively, as he reached the alleyway, he tossed the remnants of his fish supper into the usual spot before moving automatically towards the door.

Then he stopped.

From down the alley came the sound of loud, high-pitched yowling, and drunken shouts and laughter.

His eyesight easily pierced the puddle of darkness down the alley and saw a group of three large, drunk, twenty-something guys with hand-held fireworks they were throwing against the wall, terrifying the small cat-shaped-lump he’d been covertly feeding for the past couple of months.

With a low growl starting in the pit of his chest, quickly rising to his throat, he transformed himself into a snarling, black-scaled beast that truly deserved the title of demon.

Crowley was typically quite reserved. He preferred his human form, went out of his way to cover his serpent’s eyes to prevent alarming anyone. He disliked taking any other form, felt unlike himself, and afraid he might get stuck like that, which would be the worst.

But sometimes, sometimes, he relished it. Sometimes he sank into this form and relished every inch of it.

This was one of those times.

Stalking down the alley, he let the growl in his chest rise until it resembled thunder. His eyes glowed an evil red, and he licked his curved fangs as he advanced.

The guys took one look at him, screamed, and then, as one, bolted down the alley. To be quite sure, and also for a bit of devilish fun, he sent the remainder of the fireworks after them, smacking into them as they ran.

He cracked his neck out as he returned to his human form and crouched down to check on the kittenish-thing. There was a slight burn on its side, which he healed with a quick miracle. Other than that it seemed okay, just scared shitless. The little thing was still trembling, sides heaving, eyes bulging.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled to it.

It seemed too panicked to let him touch it, skittering away from him each time he tried, which he figured was fair. “Here,” he said, nudging his leftovers towards it, using a miracle to increase the quantity just a bit. “Those shits won’t bother you again. Promise,” he told it firmly.

It tentatively started poking at the newspapers, and he decided that was good enough, and slouched upstairs, cursing humanity as he went.

******************************************************************************

Crowley stretched and decided that he’d earned his monthly nap with all the evil he’d combated today.

Not that he was in the business of thwarting evil, kind of went against his whole thing as a demon, but, well, sometimes the humans went to places even a demon couldn’t condone. On these occasions, he figured it was his duty to step in, show them there were right kinds of evil, and wrong kinds of evil, and remind them of their place.

As He expected himself to be dressed in his black silk pyjamas[5]when he entered the bedroom for his nap, and so he was.

Yawning, he collapsed down onto the bedsheets which, by demonic miracle, were freshly washed and tumble dried, and smelled of jasmine and...Something else he couldn’t remember the name of but liked a lot.

As he settled himself down to sleep, there was a loud rumble of thunder in the distance, and the rain started outside, lashing against the walls of the flat.

Perfect.

A quarter of an hour passed and Crowley remained awake.

Half an hour passed, and still he hadn’t found himself in the comfortable embrace of sleep.

With nearly an hour gone into his attempt at sleeping, he sat up, frowning, and decided he needed to probe his feelings to understand why the fuck he was still conscious.

After a painful five minutes spent examining his own emotions, Crowley realised, to his mild horror and disgust, that he was feeling concern and something that felt an awful lot like guilt.

Groaning, the vague cocktail in his brain solidified into the image of a single scrawny, scrappy, dumb-coloured kitten shaped thing, soaked to the skin, cowering in some corner at the deafening rolls of thunder that were sweeping through the sky beyond.

No he told himself, firmly, he had already gone too far with the stupid thing. Scraps had turned into routine, had turned into tins of tuna, had turned into fully transforming himself in order to protect it. This was a line he wasn’t going to cross. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances, and for no reason would he ever-

He was already halfway to his bedroom door.

You he chided himself, as he miracled some shoes onto his feet, and a coat to protect his favourite pyjamas from the near-hurricane outside, are a pathetic excuse for a demon. The absolute worst demon that this planet, or any planet, for that matter, has ever seen.

He nudged his way out of the door of his flat, and took the stairs instead of the lift to punish himself for this hideous act of charity. Ugh. The word felt foul in his brain.

Turn around. Go back upstairs. Be worse than this. You can be worse than this. You should be worse than this. Stop this now before you do something that can’t be undone.

The door nearly threw him into the middle of next week with the force of it battering from his hand as he opened it.

He stumbled vaguely outside, instantly hissing in irritation as the wind slapped a wall of rain against his face.

Fortunately, within seconds, the cat-shaped thing had enough sense to emerge from its corner and trot as quickly as possible towards him.

If it hadn’t been quite so wet, and windy, and blessedly miserable, he might have paused to note how strange it was that this tiny, vulnerable, near helpless little scrap of life immediately associated him with safety. To the point that it ventured out in the middle of a brutal thunderstorm to run to him.

But it was wet, and windy, and blessedly miserable, so all he did was scoop it up and carry it inside.

The lift was waiting for them, and the doors opened as soon as he approached them. On the way up, he used another miracle to dry the vaguely kitten-like thing, because it was sodden, and disgusting, and he didn’t want it touching him like that, thank you very much.

Once they were inside the flat, he dumped it on the countertop in the kitchen and stared down at it. It stared right back at him.

It also looked as though he’d just stuffed it into an active socket. All its fur was standing on end, thanks to its miracle drying, which it didn’t seem too concerned by.

Frowning down at it, he miracled up a small box in the corner where it could go to relieve itself, then dumped two bowls on the counter. One he filled with water, the other he poured some more blessed sardines into.

The now much more cat-like thing stared at him with big yellow eyes, that were starting to look more and more like this own, as though it couldn’t quite fathom what was happening in this moment.

“Me neither,” he told it, flatly.

It crawled forwards and began to lap noisily at the water, sneezing a few times as it inhaled it up its nose. Apparently it hadn’t quite gotten the hang of drinking out of bowls.

Stupid little creature he thought, vaguely, patting it on the head.

It purred at him.

“Don’t get used to this,” he told it sternly, waggling a finger in its face, “This is not a permanent arrangement. One night only, so you don’t drown in that storm and that’s it, understand?”

It continued to drink, placidly.

Crowley was fairly certain that no other creature on Earth had half the disdain built in to its DNA as a natural fact of its existence quite like the cat.

He could have transformed himself into the demonic equivalent of Medusa and cursed its family for the next nine generations and he doubted whether it would so much as flick its tail at him.

All the same, he went on with setting his ground rules, “You eat, and drink, and shit, and sleep, and stay here,” he instructed, “You don’t go anywhere else in the flat. You so much as look at any of my plants, and I’ll drown you in the sink myself, save the thunderstorm the trouble. You stay here. All night. No exceptions.”

He considered for a moment, then miracle up a small folded blanket onto the countertop beside its bowls.

“Right here,” he said, pointing. Then, for good measure, he picked it up and placed it on the blanket to illustrate his point, “You got me?”

It blinked at him.

“Good,” he said, thinking he was doing pretty well at this whole one-night pet owner thing. “I’ll see you in the morning when I wake up and you’ve followed all those rules to a t. Make the most of this night, cat, you’re not getting another one.”

With that, he turned and sloped off to bed again, thinking that if he couldn’t sleep now he might scream.

Less than five minutes later, there was a small squeaking sound, followed by a soft flump, then loud purring.

The kitten, smelling faintly of sardines, crawled from the foot of his bed to the empty pillow beside him and curled up, the noise of its purrs now rivalling the thunderstorm outside.

Mashing his hand around vaguely, like a man who’s slept for a century and is trying to find the alarm clock that’s just woken him in the haze of grief, confusion, and deep hatred for the world and everything in it in that moment, Crowley found its small fuzzy body and patted it.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to call up the roiling fires of Hell to damn you for disobedience right now,” he muttered thickly to it.

The cat head-butted his hand and increased the intensity of its purrs.

“You’re leaving in the morning,” he told it, firmly.

He almost managed to convince himself of that.

He was certain he didn’t manage to convince the cat for a second.

Blessed creature, he thought irritably, before he passed out at last.

******************************************************************************

Crowley’s flat had a kitchen because it had come with one, and because he’d never bothered to get rid of it.

A few months ago, though, he had accidentally sauntered into a cookery class at a local university. He’d found he’d enjoyed it, and had since accidentally sauntered into a few more.

Ever since, Aziraphale had been sceptical in the extreme that Crowley would cook, and then, even more so, that he could.

So, striving as ever to combat any and all notions of the adversary on Earth, Crowley had invited him over for lasagne followed by an Eton mess, all homemade by him.

As Going out of his way to look professional, he had invested in a new apron for the occasion[6]and had sat Aziraphale down in the dining room with a cup of tea and a new book he’d picked up at a Camden market to encourage him to stay out of the way. Crowley couldn’t work his magic with an audience, bless it.

He had just started rolling out the pasta sheets, when there was an interruption from next door.

“Ah, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s uncertain voice drifted through to him.

As “What, angel?” he replied, tersely, not pausing what he was doing, “If there’s a typo on your book, it wasn’t me this time, I swear[7].”

“No, no, it’s not that, the book is excellent, I do actually admire your taste on this one, it’s-” the angel babbled.

“Then what is it?” Crowley interrupted, exasperated.

“Well, it’s just that there’s something drinking my tea that isn’t me.”

Crowley cursed, abandoned his pasta, and strode out of the kitchen, hissing softly.

Aziraphale was sitting primly up in his seat, staring down at a small, furry creature, whose adorable little pink tongue was currently dipping in and out of his teacup.

Crowley marched forwards, scooped the offending little beast up and said, threateningly, “I will feed you to a hellhound.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, indignant.

“Not a big one, either, a little runty one, that’ll take its time with you,” he added.

It had the audacity to purr at him.

“So it’s supposed to be here?” Aziraphale said, peering interestedly at the little bundle in his arms, “I thought perhaps it had sneaked in without you noticing.” He awkwardly patted its head. It purred more loudly. “Oh!” he said, obviously charmed, “Sweet little thing, isn’t she?”

“D’you want it?” Crowley demanded, thrusting it at him.

“Oh no, no,” Aziraphale said, a soft little smile on his face, “I think she belongs here. So you took her in, then?” he said.

“No I didn’t,” Crowley growled, “I took pity on it, stopped it drowning in a thunderstorm one night, and the ungrateful little shit has refused to leave ever since.”

“Oddly enough,” Aziraphale said, using a quick miracle to clean the essence of cat from his tea and take a prim sip, surveying Crowley over the rim, “That’s rather how I feel about you after all these years, dear boy.”

The angel looked rather pleased with himself at this little bit of verbal sparring. Crowley just glowered.

“You need to be punished,” he informed it darkly.

“Oh no, please!” Aziraphale protested at once, “Not on my account. The poor little creature didn’t do any harm.”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, “It has to learn its place.”

He carried it out of the kitchen and dumped it into a cot with high barred sides, meant for small human children. The conversation he’d had when purchasing it (since the one’s he’d miracled into existence himself hadn’t held it for more than the time it took to sneeze) had been truly nauseating.

Pointing a finger threateningly down at it he commanded, “You stay there and think about what you’ve done.”

It mewed softly at him.

Crowley returned to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, it had escaped its plastic prison, and climbed onto his shoulder to peer interestedly at the sauce he was making.

“You’re a demon,” he told it, conversationally, as it head-butted his ear in a gesture he’d come to interpret as affection.

Crowley checked his watch, “Huh, faster than last time,” he observed, feeding it scraps of meat from the pot in front of him, “Going to need to reinforce Alcatraz.”

It purred and nibbled his ear in a gesture he’d interpreted as ‘give me more food, I’m always hungry, if you were mortal I’d have no qualms whatsoever about eating your corpse if you died before me. If you don’t feed me right now, that will happen’. He kinda appreciated its moral outlook on life.

He gave it another scrap of meat.

As “Not a word to the angel,” he growled, “Got a reputation to uphold,” he said, starting to chop onions, “Can’t have it getting back to Heaven I’ve gone soft in my old age,” he sniffled[8].

“Ah, hello there little one,” Crowley jumped, and four sets of claws dug deeply into his shoulder to prevent their lasagne becoming distinctly more cat-flavoured.

Aziraphale had apparently drifted in from the dining area and was now tickling the little creature under the chin. It was uncertain, but not fleeing or trying to gnaw the angel’s fingers off, so that was an improvement.

“So what have you decided to name the little thing?” he asked evenly.

“It doesn’t have a name,” Crowley insisted, dumping his shredded onions into the pot and miracling his eyes back to normal, “I just call it ‘cat’ if I have to call it anything.”

“Cat is a very nice name,” Aziraphale said, blandly, plainly not listening to a word Crowley was saying.

“No, not ‘Cat’,” Crowley said, irritably, emphasising the first letter, “Just ‘cat’. No capital.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, in a tone of voice that meant he was agreeing with Crowley to avoid an argument but was going to carry on believing his stupid, wrong, angelic opinion anyway.

Crowley glared at him.

“First day of Spring on Wednesday,” he said, now hacking tomatoes into bloody red chunks, “Soon as that comes, it’s gone. That means you,” he added firmly to cat, still perched on his shoulder, poking it in its little furry chest to make sure it got the message.

“Just so,” Aziraphale said. Then he sighed and added, in a very long-suffering tone, which Crowley thought was pretty rich for someone about to eat the best thing they’d ever tasted, “Crowley, would it be so terrible to just admit that you’ve adopted this cat? It’s not the end of the world if you have, you know.”

“Yes, it would be,” Crowley said, scraping the tomatoes into the pot with unnecessary violence, “Because I haven’t.”

“Clearly,” Aziraphale deadpanned, watching the cat eagerly licking the juice from his fingers.

“Shut up and make yourself useful, angel,” Crowley growled, impatiently, “Set the table.”

“I’m your guest, Crowley,” Aziraphale reminded him, primly, “I think that means you’re supposed to-“

Crowley flicked his hand towards a drawer that shot open, nudging the angel smartly on the hip, “Cutlery’s in there.” Azirapahle opened his mouth to protest, but a cabinet door nearly hit him on the head and cut him off. Crowley snickered. “Glasses are in there. Figure you know where the wine is by now.”

Grumbling under his breath, Aziraphale trotted off to set the table.

Two stunning courses and a lot of wine later, Crowley and Aziraphale were sprawled on the couch. Crowley was sprawled properly¸ lanky body spread across two chairs, foot dangling off the end, jiggling vaguely in time to the music. Aziraphale was sprawled Aziraphale-y, slouching in an armchair the way Queen Elizabeth I with an over-tightened corset might have sprawled in it.

Cat was curled on Crowley’s chest, rising up and down gently in time with his breathing.

“Well, I suppose I’d best- Oh” Aziraphale hiccupped and broke off, “Excuse me. I’d best get back to the bookshop.”

“Want me to sober up and drive you?” Crowley asked, vaguely, making no move to begin the process of doing either.

“No, no, don’t worry yourself, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, waving a hand, “The walk will do me good.”

As “You’re going to walk to the end of the street then miracle yourself right back into the shop, aren’t you?” Crowley said, shrewdly[9].

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

Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale tottered, a little unsteadily, but impressively so, over to Crowley, and patted cat on the head. “Now you be good,” he told it, in his best approximation of drunken sternness, “And look after Crowley for me, alright?” She blinked at him. Crowley glared at her, since she never got anything like that level of acceptance from his requests.

Aziraphale patted her on the head again then, for good measure, patted Crowley’s head too, and bobbed towards the door.

Cat yawned, stretched, flexed her claws, then comfortably began to knead at Crowley’s apron. He hadn’t taken it off all night, feeling it was only right he have a constant reminder to Aziraphale just where his dinner had come from.

“Wednesday,” he told it, sleepily, “You’re gone. Enjoy this while you’ve got it, it won’t last.”

Cat purred, somehow insolently.

Crowley stroked her vaguely behind the ear in that place she liked, and fell asleep.

******************************************************************************

Cat did not leave on Wednesday.

******************************************************************************

Footnotes:

11- Crowley did not, as a rule, make a habit of holding the door open for people. He figured that he had to at least try to be demonic some of the time, and he did this, by and large, by refraining from the many little trappings that contributed to what society deemed ‘polite’. In doing so, he raised the general irritation levels wherever he happened to be.

An exception was made for Mrs Coal.

For a start she was ancient, Crowley was at a 50/50 toss up right now that she pre-dated him. And she’d been ancient when he moved into the building.

For another thing, he was almost certain that if he ever let the door close on her face, something would smite his existence from the face of the Earth faster than he could blink.

And finally, demon he might be, but he had some standards, contrary to Aziraphale’s typical belief. Even demons like Hastur or Ligur would have flinched at the idea of closing the door on Mrs Coal.

There was a power to little old ladies Crowley had long ago decided not to trifle with.[return to text]

2- On the strict condition that Aziraphale said nothing to his plants, since it had been proven with time he couldn’t limit himself to simply saying nothing nice. [return to text]

3- Except for the small bag of groceries sitting on Mrs Coal’s doorstep. [return to text]

4- Tetley teabags, Digestive biscuits, and a six pack of irn bru. This is not typically found in supermarkets in England, but present with his shopping all the same. [return to text]

5- They were trimmed with a fine edge of red lace, and had been a Christmas present from Mrs Coal some years ago. Crowley had never, in his life, received a gift and felt the compulsion to buy the other person something in return. He figured if they wanted to buy him a gift, good for them, didn’t mean he wanted to buy them something in return. Mrs Coal had found new slippers, a thick woollen blanket, and a hand-knitted hot water bottle under her tree from him that year, however. [return to text]

6- It was black with fire licking up the edges, and had ‘Hot as Hell’ printed on the front, which Crowley had found amusing. [return to text]

7- There had been a time when Aziraphale had refused to accept books from Crowley, owing to the frequency of, typically inappropriate, typos that didn’t exist in any copy the demon hadn’t gotten his hands on. [return to text]

8- Crowley had been distinctly aggrieved to discover that being a demon did not mean he was immune to the plague of onion tears that he had unleashed upon humanity several centuries earlier. He’d thought it would be really funny to give humans a foodstuff they couldn’t prepare without crying all over it. He’d thought right. Until he had to prepare it himself. Onions were in fucking everything, there was no escaping the little buggers. [return to text]

9- As shrewd as one could be after three bottles of wine. [return to text]

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanart #goodomensedit #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrowley #good omens fic #ineffable fic #fluff #i took out a lot of my domestic nonsense in this fic #also Crowley is Soft i will FIGHT abt this #he won't accept this but he IS #my fic #mine

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hinabes · 5 years

Photo

Laba Congee’s Backstory

A story of unfortunate coincidences, retribution and playing god.

I. Harvest

The ritual bell swayed gently as its crisp ringing echoed through the evening’s waning sunlight.

The breeze of the late afternoon scattered the clouds as the dance was completed, I stood still on the altar as my Master Attendant behind the altar nodded at me.

I caught my breath, gently wiping off the drops of sweat across my brow.

Master Attendant drew his sleeves, informing the audience below the altar of the conclusion of the sacrificial ritual.

The silent crowd exploded in a display of applause and cheers.

I accompanied Master Attendant in stepping down from the altar as people carrying baskets laden with all sorts of fruits and vegetables gathered around.

“High Priest, these fruits were freshly picked by our family! They’re really sweet!”

“High Priest, these cabbages are from our farm, fresh as can be!”

“High Priest…”

“High Priest.”

Shoved into the center of the crowd, Master Attendant put on an extremely reassuring smile, patting the hair of a child who squeezed his way through the crowd.

“Thank you! You’re too kind! Your happiness and peace is the best gift you could give!”

I braced my Master Attendant, exhausted from the ritual processes, against myself and returned to our residence, offering him a pot of freshly brewed tea.

Master Attendant gently patted the back of my hand, gesturing for me to take a seat beside him.

“Laba Congee, take a break, come here and drink a cup with this old man.”

I nodded and seated myself by Master Attendant’s side. Holding the cup of tea with steam slowly rising from its surface, I let out a long sigh.

Master Attendant gave me a kind smile, his bony hand tucking my tousled hair behind my ear.

“It’s all thanks to you, Laba Congee, this old bag of bones would never be able to keep this up otherwise.”

“That can’t be true Master Attendant, you pray every day, sincerely presenting offerings to the heavens, of course you’d be granted good health!”

“You and your sweet talk, hurry up, it’s about time to distribute alms, can’t be late for that.”

“Right, I’ll take my leave now. Rest well, Master Attendant.”

I dashed out of the house, carrying the pots of porridge prepared by the kitchen with the helpers to the shed at the front of the residence, where the poor and homeless have queued up and were waiting patiently.

I filled bowls with porridge from the pots and handed them out to whoever came up, and our neighbors who were free put aside their idle work and came by to help distribute too.

A girl whose hair was tied up neatly with a pretty string came to my side, picked up a bowl and somewhat unsteadily handed it to a hunched-over elderly citizen.

I patted the top of her head and thanked her, but she said something unexpected.

“Thank you, Miss Laba Congee, isn’t that just how it is! Miss Laba Congee and Grandpa High Priest are such good samaritans and since you have such faith in Gods, God must be good too, anyone who doesn’t have faith must be a bad person!”

I was taken aback slightly, but seeing the clarity in the expression of her eyes, I couldn’t help patting her head.

“Does Aoi have faith in God?”

“Yup! He granted us a good harvest, put the clothes on our backs and the food on our plates.”

“That’s great, you gotta give your thanks to God, but those who don’t have faith in him aren’t necessarily bad people, you know.”

“Eh… Why is that?”

“Uh… Anyway, they’re not all bad people. That’s why, when Aoi meets people whose faith is in other gods, you have to respect them too.”

“... Okay. Aoi understands.”

II. Downhill

The turn of the dynasty passed like any other dawn and dusk.

The old emperor abdicated, and the first thing the new generation did once enthroned was deprive the religion officials and teachers of the state entrusted by the previous generation of their political rights.

Even though this was quite saddening to me, it was understandable.

After all, it’d be childish to leave everything up to the “voice of God”.

However, what followed was the people’s contempt towards religions.

The once highly-regarded high priest was now treated as a scam.

This was cruel to my master attendant, having spent his life praying for the prosperity of the country, of the people

With the passing of the devout elderly believers, the youths who once would have been chided into praying obediently had been released of their bindings and decided it was now their source of entertainment.

“Hahaha! Look at that old geezer! Playing house with those spells he’s chanting!”

“Haha! Yeah! Come on! We don’t respect those gods of yours, what of it! Get your gods to smite me! Bet you won’t!”

As the youths’ provoking increased, I braced my Master Attendant who was about to pass out and glared angrily at them.

“Religious or not, please do not make light of others’ beliefs and have some basic respect for the gods held in their hearts.”

The youths shrunk under my glare and the leader hummed and hawed as if to puff out his feathers.

“You… What are you glaring for! You’re frauds anyway! Scammed yourselves years and years worth of offerings! Our harvests are fine with or without you!”

“Th-That's right!”

“Fraud!”

I clenched my fist, glaring at the people spitting on the altar, making faces, showing not a penny of respect, and my brows knit in rage.

“Shoo off!”

Came a familiar voice.

Once a little girl all those years ago, Aoi, with her hair in a neat bun, had become a young woman taller than me.

With her hands on her hips, she chased away the people before me, then turned around to help me pick Master Attendant up and looked at us with worry.

“Miss Laba Congee… Pay them no mind, we know how much High Priest and Miss Laba Congee has done for us, I’ll escort you back.”

I braced Master Attendant on me all the way back to our residence, its past good condition gone.

“Miss Laba Congee… Why, why don’t they understand that, even if they don’t have faith, they shouldn’t make light of those that do?”

Aoi looked at my master attendant, still yet to have regained strength, with concern.

“They treat you like frauds, make fun of the gods and your beliefs. And to think everyone was so pious before…”

“They’ve… gone too far… Why can’t God just, help you… Weren’t those who made fun of God supposed to receive divine retribution… Why isn’t there retribution……”

Back then, I didn’t notice the pair of eyes of the ones on the bed behind me opening slowly, filled with rage and despair.

The gods were everything to Master Attendant, he couldn’t accept change and stayed home every day as if in a trance.

I didn’t know how to advise him and ended up just repeating the same procedures we always had day in, day out, like nothing ever changed.

III. “Divine Retribution”

Suddenly, one day, a mysterious disease made its way through the town, and doctors from all over were dumbfounded.

The illness spread fast, yet it took no lives, only leaving its victims in pain.

The disease was first found on two youths and had soon spread to everyone in the area.

Nobody was spared, be it children, the elderly, or the fit and healthy.

The few exceptions were Aoi, whose body wasn’t as strong as most men, and my aged master attendant.

Someone must have brought it up, and soon there were people who, just to give it a try, brought their children to Master Attendant’s residence.

Master Attendant wasn’t gentle like he’d always been, instead chided them and told them to kneel before the door an entire night, to atone to the gods they made light of.

Once the small pill was swallowed by the pale, sickly children, the effect was immediate. The unconscious children threw up mouthfuls and mouthfuls of a black liquid, and life returned to their cheeks immediately afterward.

Soon, the rumor was spread all throughout the town. Everyone suddenly “remembered” their respect towards the gods, and kneeled before Master Attendant’s residence in flocks.

The two fit youths turned out to be in the worst condition, and over the many days and nights under the sun and in the rain, they became incredibly frail.

Seeing my master attendant’s smug expression, I couldn’t help but frown.

Master Attendant was gentle and kind.

Even to those who had no faith, he sent his blessings.

He’d never have put on such an evil smirk before someone in pain.

The next moment, Master Attendant seemed to have noticed his change in demeanor as well and withdrew his hand with a flinch. Receiving gazes of gratitude from those who humiliated him previously, he handed them the divine medicine.

“Even though you’ve hurt others and disrespected God, you’re still young, you have the chance to change for the better. I hope that you’ll show basic respect to others’ beliefs even if you don’t have faith yourself in the future. May God protect you, my poor children…”

I could tell, as the youths hurriedly gulped down the medicine, they seemed to have been moved by Master Attendant’s speech…

In our eyes, God had always been benevolent and forgiving.

Previously, he would never have dealt out punishment over such petty matters.

I couldn’t find a cure in the medicinal books, and I didn’t know how Master Attendant managed to cure them.

As more and more people were cured, those of the town who lost faith reignited their loyalty and respect for God.

Even those who weren’t religious before now lowered their heads and became devotees to the heavens above.

An increase in followers should have been a good thing, but for some reason, I couldn’t shake the strange feeling of unease.

IV. “God”

The people regained their faith as they had personally seen the work of God.

To them, whenever they were in trouble, the gods will come to their aid if they pray earnestly.

Soon after, the town showed signs of deterioration.

Master Attendant, however, returned to the peaceful and kind demeanor he had before.

Though he often left his quarters late at night for a basement that was built some time I knew not.

In the dead of night, when not a star was visible.

Even the moon was obscured by thick clouds and not a ray of light passed through; it was as if a curtain was drawn on the town.

Aged and feeble, he left his room carefully and quietly as I looked on, hidden behind a pillar, finally getting the chance to see the basement he had been hiding from me.

Taking my first steps underground, I could smell the scent of strong, pungent drugs, as well as the faint bitterness of various herbs, enough to make one uncomfortable and agitated.

My brows creased as I headed deeper in as quietly as I could, to see my master attendant, who should have been sleeping at this hour, up and mixing something diligently at a desk.

My eyes couldn’t help but widen at the sight of the herbs outlawed long ago before him.

The next moment, I couldn’t control myself and dashed forward.

I gripped his hands tightly, but what was trembling wasn’t his hands, rather mine.

I lifted my head to see my master attendant, shocked at my sudden appearance.

“... Why are you here?”

Scrutinizing the basement, the various drugs, the strange recipes, I understood.

My master attendant, having calmed down, let out a sigh.

“Laba Congee, you knew, right?”

I nodded silently.

Between the pills he sneaked into the medicine box, the hidden mechanisms that started appearing in the temple, and the many other things, I couldn’t come up with an excuse for Master Attendant’s behavior anymore.

All that divine retribution, divine forgiveness stuff was no more than a show orchestrated by Master Attendant to accrue belief for the gods.

“Master Attendant, please stop this, it’s not too late.”

Master Attendant’s hand trembled as he fidgeted to escape my grasp, but I only gripped harder.

“Master Attendant, you haven’t killed anyone yet, so, let’s stop this before it’s too late, alright?”

“But, if I stopped, they’ll just forget about the gods again, forget their faith, they’ll just humiliate us, humiliate the gods again. What should I… what do I do…”

“Master Attendant, can faith cultivated like this really be called faith? Do you desire their respect for the gods, or yourself?”

Before long, tears were streaming down my face.

Through tear-filled eyes, I saw Master Attendant’s shoulders droop as he nodded, his entire body seeming to collapse.

“You… go back out… I need some space…”

The next day, Master Attendant straightened his back, stood before the unknowing people, and confessed to everything he’d done with brutal honesty.

The devout crowds fell apart instantly as the people went dead silent.

The following burst of shouting and cursing caused me, standing by Master Attendant’s side, to let out an unexpected sigh.

The people weren’t able to forgive my Master Attendant who poisoned everyone in the name of the gods.

Just as I thought we’d receive our well-deserved punishment for our mistakes, the two youths who once cursed at the gods stood between the crowd and us with arms spread out.

“Live and let live, if we weren’t so disrespectful back then, if we hadn’t made fun of their beliefs, why would High Priest have ended up in such a state. He’s willing to tell us the truth, and that’s enough, he’s an old man, just let him leave this place in peace.”

Seeing the youths who had once humiliated us before us now, my eyes brimmed with tears.

Thank you…… Thank you for keeping Master Attendant’s words with you all this time……

Aoi and the two youths escorted us out of the town. On the horse carriage, I looked back at their silhouettes waving at us, slowly disappearing on the horizon.

V. Laba Congee

Laba Congee’s master attendant was a highly regarded old priest.

Who had made a huge mistake.

With the dynasty’s turnover and the new emperor’s distaste for religion, the people stopped honoring gods.

This was still bearable for the old priest, but others’ humiliation of the gods was unacceptable.

He never forced others to have the same faith he did and would pray for their safety all the same, would send them his blessings all the same, but why couldn’t his god receive the same respect?

The resentment took root in him, and with the last straw, the dam broke.

The mysterious poison caused a plague to break out in the town and with the wool of panic pulled over the people’s eyes, being their savior, the old priest succeeded in having everyone kneeled before him in atonement towards the gods.

The old priest’s strange behavior was soon noticed by the clever Laba Congee, who used enlightening words to ignite his guilt.

Then, the old priest confessed to his sins before the people.

Unexpectedly, the enraged crowds remembered their disrespect towards the gods and their humiliation towards the old priest and settled down.

In the end, the old priest and Laba Congee left the town together.

After they left, the altars in the town that had been defaced were cleaned up and renovated.

Laba Congee and the old priest settled down in a small town extremely similar to their hometown.

Laba Congee was the same as always, using the little money she had to open up a soup kitchen, bringing bowls of sweet and fragrant porridge to the hungry.

After finishing a bowl of porridge, a hungry child wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve and, with wide and bright eyes, asked.

“Miss, are you a god?”

Laba Congee blinked in confusion and squatted down.

“Why do you say that?”

“If you’re not a god, why would you be so kind as to give me food?”

“... We’re not gods, but we’re sent by God, he wanted us to share this food with you.”

“I want to thank this god! Where is he? Is it that old man?”

“No, God is always watching over us from above.”

“Then I’ll give him lots of offerings! Thank you, god!”

Seated by the soup kitchen, seeing the genuine earnest in the child’s eyes, a tear dripped from the old priest’s eye.

He seemed to have come to an understanding and put on a satisfied smile, but tears flowed down his cheeks non-stop.

Laba Congee stumbled over herself to wipe away the old priest’s tears and looked at her master attendant, who was suddenly crying, in confusion.

All the knots jumbled up in the old priest’s heart had been untied in a moment by the words of one child.

When the old priest passed away, he had lived a life considered long for humans.

At his deathbed, all around him were the followers he had gathered over years of good deeds, along with the child who had once earnestly given thanks to the heavens for just one bowl of porridge, who had become a father.

With a gratified look around, he sent them outside.

Sobbing softly as the old priest’s life flickered away, Laba Congee held the hand he stretched out to her.

“I once thought that just having faith was fine, but, they told me that a genuine belief meant so much more than a forced one. Being adamant in my beliefs, gave them an opening…”

With trembling hands, the old priest retrieved a letter from his pocket, enclosed in a black envelope.

“It’s them, that night, they found me.”

Laba Congee learned from him who he was bewitched by, and given the recipes.

It was a group of people in black cloaks, none of their faces discernable in the night.

Like devils, they bewitched the old priest, sending him down the wrong path.

Even knowing he was soon to leave this world, he spent much of his time after he realized his mistake to find their traces, to no avail. His unfinished business laid in the letterーsealed in the envelope of their “country”, that he didn’t get to deliver.

Taking on her last task from the old priest, Laba Congee denied his loved ones’ offers to stay around longer and set off on her own.

She knew not what she’d do once she found them, but she had a strong belief.

That she would not let those people bewitch others onto the wrong path.

She told many of her story so that they’d know the truth and prevent a rehash of the old priest’s mistake.

In her journey, Laba Congee encountered someone covered in blood and grime being overwhelmed by a flock of fallen angels. As the food soul was about to fall over, she reached out to pull them out from the constant barrage of fallen angels and ran.

Only when they were a long distance away did the person she escaped with talk.

“Why are you running, I can still fight them off.”

A slightly chilling female voice said, and Laba Congee stared at the slender and tall figure before her with shock, hand covering her mouth.

“You’re a g-girl!”

“...And I’m so sorry that my chest is so flat you couldn’t tell.”

“No no no no no I didn’t say anything about your chest!”

Laba Congee couldn’t hold in her laughter and handed her handkerchief to the other food soul, who was currently wiping her face with the back of her hand.

Toso sat before the bonfire with her jar of wine, eyes on the soft and gentle girl, and listened to her story of the group of people who brought with them misfortune.

Toso muttered under her breath a bit, before putting down her wine jar.

“They must be a group of ruthless people, let me accompany you on your journey.”

“Huh?”

“What ‘huh’, just take it as my repayment for you saving me. If you went alone, you’d be eaten alive by the fallen angels. Alright, that’s that, let’s sleep, long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Seeing Toso lie down back facing her and falling fast asleep quickly, Laba Congee was at a lost for a moment, before a soft giggle escaped her lips.

Unbeknownst to her, as she enjoyed a hard-earned moment of peace by the bonfire, the “country” she was looking for was on its way to destruction in a catastrophic disaster……

Notes

I think the last bit is about peking duck’s backstory...? There’s so many facets to this one event its great but also I can’t keep up lmao

You’ll see this tl ingame at some point.... in the future....hopefully not too far future...

Gonna do tteokbokki next i think, unless i get distracted

#food fantasy #translations #ff laba congee

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anotherhawk · 5 years

Text

Death for Immortals Ch2 - Good Omens Fanfic

Previously titled ‘5 times Crowley died carelessly and 1 time Aziraphale made him care’

Chapter summary: 140 years after the flood the last of the children Crowley saved dies peacefully in her bed, surrounded by family. He doesn’t take it well.

Read it on AO3 or under the cut.

2863 BCE

The last of the kids died at the age of 140, surrounded by her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. He waited outside the house until the wailing started, an olive branch clutched tightly in his hand as he shredded the leaves into pieces too small for any human to see. That was it then. No more reason to hang around here.

Her name had been Anurash and her mother had thrust her into his arms as the waters rose, begging him to save her, to give her a chance at life. He'd held her in his arms, miracled milk to feed her with, kept her hidden deep in the bowels of the ark with the other frightened kids for far more than forty days and forty nights of cramped, foul-smelling darkness, until the rain stopped and the waters finally receded. A hundred and forty years. That wasn't too bad, was it? That was a lot longer than a lot of humans got. Mind you, Adam had lived to be nine hundred and thirty, so maybe it wasn't as good as all that. Maybe that was the difference between a human made by the Almighty and a human made by other humans?

He glanced skywards. “What, is it a patent situation? Knock-offs aren't allowed to be as good as the original? Keep going like this and in another thousand years they won't even make it to fifty. Where's the sense in that? If you want them to be better you've got to give them time to grow, don't you?”

A couple of passers-by stared at him. He scowled back and they flinched and quickly hurried away, whispering to each other.

Right. Eyes. Evil demon eyes that they were supposed to shun. It had been a long time since he'd been anything other than a stranger in this town, even though he had largely been responsible for building it. Well, there hadn't been much other option, had there? The oldest of the eighty-seven kids he'd managed to save had been fourteen, and most of them had been a good bit younger than that. What the heaven did they know about building houses, planting crops or digging wells? Only what their parents had got to teach them before Her Upstairs got tetchy and decided hey! Time for no more humans without my seal of approval.

He'd seen the rainbow. It was beautiful. But even now, well over a century later, the kids still found bones sometimes when they played, and those bones had had names, once upon a time, and were they really so despicable that they deserved to be washed away and forgotten?

Anyway, he'd built this town for the kids, and for the first dozen or so years he'd lived among them, making sure that they knew what they needed to take care of themselves. Even after that he hadn't been willing to stray too far. He'd stayed to watch the kids he raised grow up and raise kids of their own, all in absolute defiance of the Almighty, of course. Little humans who shouldn't be alive, running around, growing, with all their questions...it was self-evidently evil, except...except it wasn't evident enough to Beelzebub. As far as they were concerned he should be tormenting, or at the very least tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to do that to his kids, at least not in any way that Hell was going to approve of. And even after they'd grown up he hadn't wanted to wander too far afield, just in case the kids might need him, and in this part of the world there was only the two groups of ark survivors left, and Aziraphale was keeping a close eye on Noah's lot. If he'd thought he could get away with it he might have claimed credit for Noah turning to drink, but honestly he had nothing to do with it. 1

So Hell wasn't happy with him. Just yesterday a goat had looked up at him with glowing red eyes and told him he needed to improve his job performance of face the consequences. No specific consequences had been mentioned, but no doubt someone somewhere had something in mind already.2

A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see Aziraphale. “Crawly? I thought that was you.” Further sounds of grief came from inside, catching the angel's attention. “Oh, dear. One of yours?”

“Yes,” he answered, without thinking about it.

“I see.” Aziraphale gave him a look of deep disapproval. “Well, it sounds as though there's a lot of people mourning her. I hope whatever little scheme you wound her up in was worth it.”

“What? No, she wasn't...I. Hngh.” He flinched. Her death hadn't been his. Neither had her life, really, she'd lived that for herself. “What are you doing here, angel?”

“Official business. I'm here to offer a few blessings.”

Cold iron seized his spine. “Oh, really, thesse people are worth Her blesssings now?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Everyone deserves Her blessings, Crawly.”

There was a small herb garden growing in pots on the doorstep. He grabbed the closest plant, violently uprooted it and threw it as hard as he could at Aziraphale, smacking him right in the chest and leaving a trail of dirt down his white robes.

“Well, really,” the angel sputtered, miracling the mark away with a wave of his hand. “I hardly think there was any need for that.”

Part of him wanted to apologise. Part of him wanted to throw another plant, maybe even include the pot this time. Most of him just wanted to crawl into a deep hole in the ground somewhere and stay there for the next millenia or so. “Don't know why you're so surprised. Demon, remember? Your mortal enemy and all that.”

“Immortal, I think you'll find,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “And I'm fairly certain that 'mortal enemies' aren't supposed to throw plants at each other.” He did the finger quotes. Crawly resolved to recommend that a special place in hell be set aside for people who do the finger quotes.

“No,” he agreed nastily. “They're probably supposed to lob flaming swords at each other.3 You go first. Oh, wait.”

The door behind him slammed open. “Gentlemen, please. This is a house of mourning. For the love of God, please take your petty quarrel somewhere else. Have you no decency?”

Aziraphale was stammering out apologies. He sighed and stood up. “Not lately,” he told Rubat, Anurash's granddaughter, and he turned and walked away.

The angel didn't follow him. He told himself he wasn't disappointed.

Right. Well, then. He wiped a hand down his face, harsh enough that it hurt and looked round at the familiar faces walking by. Most of them didn't give him a second glance. A couple of them caught his eye and shrunk away. Anurash had always loved his eyes...she'd used to call them suns. He remembered chubby baby hands clapping together joyfully when he made her that doll, remembered her first steps, always rushing, always in a hurry, always wanting to see everything, remembered all the questions – why does the moon change, why can't I see my eyes, why the flood, why, why, why – and he remembered Luka, the streak of dirt seemingly always across his face no matter how often he wiped that sticky face, and he remembered Teth, and he remembered Saul, and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered.

There was nothing holding him here now. Nothing holding him back. Everyone expected him to be evil – and he was evil, he was a demon. Might as well live down to it.

Three hours later and six fights had broken out, three marriages had ended, the blacksmith had been persuaded that there was more room for showing off making weapons rather than farm tools, the hunters had been persuaded that the farmers didn't respect them enough, someone had stolen the entire store of apples and set them fermenting, the pigs had been set loose in the granary and the inn was on fire. 4

It was chaos. There were shouts, smoke, recriminations flying everywhere and children crying in the street.

There were children crying in the street...

A hand closed around his upper arm and Aziraphale pulled him round. “What on earth are you doing?”

“My job.” He didn't look at the angel. The child on the street was clutching a doll in her chubby hand, her parents nowhere in sight. There was a streak of mud across her face.

“You don't...what's wrong with you?”

He shrugged the angel's hand off and gave a sharp-toothed smile. “Popular opinion says everything.”

“There he is!” A screech from down the street. Running footsteps, a whole mob's worth.

“The evil one walks among us!”

“Get him!”

“I see him! I see the demon!”

They were coming from all sides now. He took a couple of steps back. “Lovely seeing you, Aziraphale, but I really have to be going.”

He ran. The mob chased him, parting around Aziraphale like they didn't so much as see him, and the angel just stood there like a rock in the river, and Crawly ran. Hands grabbed out at him as he passed, punching, hurting, and stones hammered into him. Black blood ran down his face, dripping into his eyes. If he reached the river he could just turn into a serpent and escape that way.

He didn't make it. They cut him off, knocking him to the ground, kicking, punching, stamping, and he shifted, slipping into a snake, trying to slither away, and the last thing he saw was the blacksmith raising a sword above his head and bringing it down.

Aziraphale carefully buried the little broken body on a hill overlooking the river and tried to ignore the feeling of being utterly alone in the world. He'd seen the demon die and he hadn't done anything. There hadn't been anything to be done, it wasn't for him to interfere, and if he had interfered it would have been to smite the demon out of existence once and for all. Obviously. No, he had nothing to feel guilty about, it was just that he didn't like seeing the humans moved to such violence, that was all.

He scattered the last shovel of soil on the small grave and stood awkwardly for a moment. “I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I don't know what happened today, but I think, maybe, there was something else I could have done. I'll do better next time.”

There were two people he could have been speaking to. He didn't think either of them were listening.

1He did feel it was a reasonable enough reaction to the trauma of witnessing divine genocide, however. He'd even turned to it himself a time or two. The one time he'd actually managed to get to sleep since the Flood he'd had to face the memories of all those desperate hands clinging to the side of the ark until one by one they slid away.

2The goat had chewed on his sandals afterwards. He wasn't sure if that had been the hellish influence or the goatish one.

3Crowley had never actually been issued a sword, flaming or otherwise.

4You might think that this is rather a lot for one demon to achieve in three hours. But even if he had mostly passed unnoticed for the last century Crowley had been living alongside these people. He knew where the buttons were and how best to press them. And, like any act of self-harm, once started it was incredibly difficult to stop.

#Good omens #my writing #good omens fanfiction #good omens angst #death cw #self harm cw #ineffable husbands

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