#his neck is a little busy so ill definitely change it if i draw him like this again. but itll do for now its a sketch anyway
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quick "chip" sketch from ep 109
#wanted to draw him with gray skin hehe#this ep is a real throwback to the desire isle arc.... holes in hearts. chip is stone gray/dead. big fight with a boss and ghouls. mmmm#his neck is a little busy so ill definitely change it if i draw him like this again. but itll do for now its a sketch anyway#love the color pallett otherwise tho... very tasty looking#i think this is the fifth art with a black background i did in the last couple days but pffff who cares i love black backgrounds#OH also yes. no hole in his chest. pretty sure the heart was pulled from his throat anyway#doesn't make it better but haha yeah#jrwi riptide#jrwi chip#jrwi riptide spoilers#jrwi spoilers#riptide spoilers#my art#sketch
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sweet tooth | dong sicheng
pairing: vampire!sicheng x reader
words: 2.8k
summary: out of all the inconveniences a vampire boyfriend could pose, thereâs about two tonight: a) him losing it at the next person who compliments his fangs, or b) you losing it at sichengâs 100% blood alcohol content
genre:Â vampire!au, boyfriend!au, college!au, (tooth-rotting) fluff, comfort, humour
warning(s): mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, college halloween parties
song rec(s): candy - baekhyun // wish you were sober - conan gray
a/n:Â letâs pretend itâs halloween pls <3 also im sorry itâs so short and more drabble-ish but i wanted to write something gentle and comforting so!!! yeah ^^ also there is no plot. eep.
Itâs two in the morning.
Or rather, it feels like two in the morning.Â
A frat party is a horrible substitute for an actual Halloween party. The alcohol content is through the roof and the number of pairs making out is enough to make you feel queasy. You never knew horror themes had the innate ability to make people so flagrantly hornyâyouâre half glad youâre not, god forbid, single. Most of your friends were too busy, however, to organize the close-knit party you usually have each yearâso here you are, with an invitation from a friend of a friend (of a friend). Your boyfriend might be the only one feeling more out of place than you are.
You glance at Sicheng from the pool table, the cup frozen against his lips while his eyes scan the room from corner to corner. You donât do crowds and neither does he; though he does have the unwitting ability to charm any crowd heâs in. Youâre not quite sure if heâs still unaware of that.
You watch as a girl you can easily recognize from your campus approach him, all smiles and giggles. She says something and you scoff, almost completely certain about what it is she said.
Sicheng might be unaware of itâbut you are, and painfully so.
She looks at him starry-eyed and the scent of rum wafting around her. A part of her jacket is off her shoulder, a faint blush covering her cheeks that you can spot even under the dim lights. Sheâs definitely flirtingâyou know that because rumours go around faster than assignments in this university. Choi Joohee has a very public, very open crush on your boyfriend.
Itâs not like it bothers you. Not at all.
Just a little bit.
Jealousy has never been your thing and youâre half certain what youâre feeling isnât even jealousyâjust a taste of alcohol and the proximity of a Halloween house party.
Speaking of which, the only thing harrowing about this place is the amount of alcohol everyone seems to be consumingâincluding your boyfriend. Ten dragged Yukhei home a while ago and a part of you is still not confident enough to handle a boyfriend with very pointy fangs and midnight cravings for blood (or juice, as Ten disgustingly phrases it).Â
Sicheng nods along to something Joohee asks, an eyebrow raised quizzically on her and you assume heâs been zoning out the whole time. The urge to laugh surfaces and you swallow it whole. Heâs so cute, even in this state. The lights dance across his face; candy blue, rich purple, saccharine red. The colours donât help him stand any straighter, or slur his words any less.
You think itâs time to help your boyfriend out. However, the moment you walk through the swarms over to them, Jooheeâs face sours. Of course, as the only competition (is it a competition if youâve already won?) to the object of her affections, you donât rank too high in her books. It made you a little upset at first, but you got used to it. (âSheâll get over it,â Sicheng had reassured several times. âDonât worry.â)
People grow, and with that thought, you let it be.
âIâll talk to you later,â Joohee tells Sicheng and walks away, like heâs supposed to follow her.
You roll your eyes and turn to Sicheng, whoâs had a very delayed response to Jooheeâs departure. His head is tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded and youâre almost afraid heâs going to drop to the floor right there and then. This is bad. The thing about vampires is that they absolutely should not, under any circumstance, have alcohol. Calling your boyfriend a lightweight is beyond an understatement.
âSicheng,â you call softly.Â
He turns to you, taking a moment to process, before pulling his lips into a wide smile. His fangs poke out even when he presses his lips back together, a contemplatory look over him.
âI thought you left me here.â He forces a sardonic smile.
Drunk off his ass and Sicheng still manages to be annoyingly sarcastic.
You open your mouth and close it again. Itâs not like you can chide him without letting your fondness show. The Adonis features that grace his face donât help. Flushed all the way to the neck, a drunk Dong Sicheng is very rare. The last time this happened must have been at least two years ago (and though you werenât there then, the way Ten and Kun freeze up at the slightest mention, you decided to not ask).
âWhy did you drink?â you ask, huffing. âYou canât even smell alcohol.â
Thereâs a short pause.
âBecause you were ignoring me,â he replies, leaning in.
Heat washes into your cheeks. You forgot how unrestrained he gets with alcohol in his system.
Sicheng seems to have enough consciousness left in him to feel somewhat embarrassed, standing up straight and fiddling with his thumbs. You slip your hand into his without delay and pull, trying your best to navigate through the crowd. Is an ordinary Halloween party too much to ask for? Just when you can finally spot the front door, Sicheng stops abruptly, making you stumble backwards into his chest. He smells like the old deodorant heâs been using for a year underneath the smell of beer and⌠is that blood?
âWhere are we going?â he asks sharply.
âHome, Sicheng,â you whine. âYou can stay in my bed.â
He stays rooted in place stubbornly, and you wonder what it is now. This is the time you have to wonder if youâre dating a (potentially) immortal creature or a recently birthed baby.
âWe should enjoy more. Youâve hardly smiled the past few weeks,â he mutters.
Your heartbeat spikes for a moment, when he brushes the hair from your face. All this time and he hasnât changed the words he offers to you in private, the care on his lips and fingertips. A room full of people who arenât listening is the best place to talk.
The first time you saw Sicheng was in the middle of the night, in the dark hallway of your shared apartment building, blood staining his jaw from a bag heâd acquired from med student Wong Kunhang. (Youâre very sure thatâs illegal.)
Needless to say, youâd fainted immediately after. When you came to, you were met with a man with pretty eyes and fangs poking out his mouth and in a bed that wasnât yours. There was no blood this time but you screamed anyway, cut off by the manâs hand over your mouth.
âCalm down,â he said, voice surprisingly deep. âItâs not like Iâm going to kill you.â
âYou were planning to kill me?â you asked, panicking.
âI just said I wouldnât,â he replied quietly, eyes wide and almost as stressed as you are.
Sicheng heaves a sigh, massaging his forehead. You shake yourself off the memories, tugging at his shirt so you can sit somewhere at least. The alcohol must have numbed his ears too. The low R&B tunes make no sense on Halloween night; even less when theyâre played a few bars above the acceptable volume. If youâre not out of here soon, you might lose your hearing altogether.
The couch is slightly less stinky than you would have expected. (You grimace as you think to the last time you were at a frat party and in particular, the vomit.) Beside you, Sicheng mumbles about something youâre not quite sure of, a quiet rant with one-track emotions. It makes you giggle and for a moment, you forget the predicament of being stuck with a drunk vampire boyfriend who has just finished teething.
âHey, guys.â
You look up to see Jihoon, the very friend of a friend (of a friend) who had invited you to this mess. Itâs not like you harbour ill feelings towards him; but the guy has approximately zero ability to read the room. Itâs mostly funny.
Sicheng makes a vague gesture that you assume means âhelloâ, sitting up straight so he doesn't look noticeably tipsy. You make light conversation with Jihoon, Sichengâs arm around your waist tightening reflexively. You donât plan on party-hopping, no matter how much Jihoon urges the two of youâseriously, does he not see the look on Sichengâs face? He looks more zombie than vampire.
âYou know, you donât actually have to wear costumes for this, right? We didnât set a theme,â Jihoon remarks, tilting his head to face your boyfriend. âThe fangs are really cool, though. Holy shit. Dude, they look so real.â
Sichengâs lips twitch but he forces them into a smile, trying to move as far away from Jihoon as possible. The fangs are usually not out and about in the open, slightly retracted during the day. The night, however, keeps him on edge. Sicheng hates the spotlight that only ever shows up for the wrong reasons, and heâd much rather graduate without having to deal with horny vampire-lovers. (Itâs not that sexy; and you know from experience.)Â
The way Sicheng looks makes you wonder how many people have pointed out the fangs tonight. You purse your lips to keep yourself from laughing.
âThanks,â he responds, voice his usual deep baritone.Â
Jihoon leaves after being unable to draw any more conversation out of Sicheng, some peace gracing you despite everything.
If you ever write a book on how to deal with vampire boyfriends, the first rule would be to never kiss him at night. The fangs are not as withdrawn then and they hurt. (The second is, of course, to never let them get a whiff of alcohol.)
When Sicheng first kissed you, it was midnight and you were at the convenience store to buy a few lunchboxes and instant coffee mix. Youâd yelped when his fang had pricked your lower lip, alarming the worker and around fifteen minutes of (dishonest) explanation later, the two of you had left without buying what you came for.
After fretting for a while, Sicheng had kissed you once more with careful considerationâtill the damn fangs got in the way again. It was sweet for a momentâlike candyâthough, the metallic taste of blood had invaded it afterwards. No matter how awkward or painful it was, your elation outweighed the rest.Â
Kisses werenât the only thing interrupted by fangs.
The turtlenecks and scarves certainly raised an eyebrow in your circle of friends. There was concern at first, then teasing and then a whole lot of inside jokes which made you want to smack each and every one of them. (âTheyâre hickeys, I swear, not vampire bites,â you had informed Ten. âEw. I did not need to know that.â âShut up.â)
Even so, Sicheng is warmâalways has been, and not on the skin. Â
You feel pressure on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck and you adjust yourself so itâs more comfortable.Â
âTired?â you ask.
âNot at all.â
You shake your head at his lie. Gently pushing his head away, you get up from your seat and pull him up with all of your strength. Linking your arm through his, you smile at him when he raises an eyebrow. Itâs time to get home, youâve decided and these are times when one vote is enough.Â
When you reach the front door, stumbling out with your suddenly talkative boyfriend, the autumn breeze hits you. Under the moonlight, the rosy hue over his cheeks is clearer and even more so when he smiles.
âItâs like our first date,â he says.Â
You smile back at him.
âYou were so embarrassing,â he adds.
Your smile drops and you smack his arm, eliciting a soft complaint from him.
Your first date was the only normal thing in this relationshipâa date at the amusement park on Halloween, a bunch of kids mistaking your now boyfriend for Count Dracula and caramel popcorn smeared over your fingers.Â
Sicheng sighs, lowering his head to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The two of you stay like that for a moment or two, the party music finally fading and Sichengâs warmth seeping into you. You fix the lapels of his jacket absentmindedly, fingers tracing over the material. His hands rest lightly against your back yet still secure.Â
A kitten lick at your neck jolts you back to reality. You gently push him by the shoulders, finding his fangs bared already. He stays unmoving for a few seconds before closing his mouth and going back to leaning against you, breath falling in waves against your neck.
âIâm not your juicebox, Sicheng,â you snap, frown deepening.
âBut you have so much blood,â he mumbles, his forehead hot against your shoulder.
âSicheng.â
He sobers up a little, pulling back with a stream of pouting apologies. You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Despite everything, your boyfriend is such a child sometimes. Thereâs a short pause.
âBut wait, donât go biting someone elseâs neck,â you quickly add, flustered.
Sicheng suppresses a smile. Â
âSo I can have a littleââ
âNo.â
Sicheng pouts but agrees enough to follow you, the two of you moving soundlessly over the sidewalk. Being alone with him has always been easing; you donât need a crowd for comfort.Â
With fingers interlaced, you walk alone with him as the orange street lights cast shadows on the buildings lined up. A few more blocks and youâll reach your apartment, get to push Sicheng into bed and pray he doesnât throw up at your front doorâand yet still, you walk as slow as you can as if the autumn wind will be gone as quick as it arrived.
The number of people shrink the further you get from the party, and you heave a sigh of relief, glad to be away from, what you and your friends call, the rich neighbourhood. The familiar path to your apartment, no matter the pricing, has much better air to breathe in. Itâs past midnight and yet, you can see the city lights in the distance, the ones that never sleepâfor the living or the dead.
Something runs into your legs and you jump onto Sicheng, who in turn flinches away with a strangled yelp.Â
You look down to see a giant golden retriever in a white blanket which you assume is meant to be a ghost outfit. It wags its tail, sniffing around your boyfriendâs legs, making him giggle as he crouches down to pet the creature.
âIâm so sorry!âÂ
You look up to find a young girl holding a pumpkin almost as large as her head, an apologetic look over her head. Some part of you is happy to see a costume, considering you were robbed of yours. (Sometimes you dream of matching costumes but again, the damn fangs.)
âPiri loves people, Iâm so sorry if he botheredâoh hey dude, cool fangs.â
Sicheng offers the fakest smile ever, accompanied with a thumbs up gesture. You sigh, apologizing to the girl before parting ways.Â
âThatâs the eighth time tonight,â Sicheng says, scowling almost. âI counted.â
You laugh, squeezing his hand. Calm, relaxed Dong Sicheng tends to lose it at repetitive comments with only three sips of beer.
When you reach the apartment building, clouds cover the moon and you draw your jacket closer to yourself. You think for a moment about the inevitability of time and whether youâre even allowed to fall in love this way. You push the thoughts aside almost inevitably. When the time comes, you will have a decision to makeâand after everything, it is love which turns people.Â
For now, you can enjoy this Halloween night with your (literally) one-of-a-kind boyfriend.
You fumble around with the keys, Sicheng looking at you with sleepy eyes as he leans against the wall. He must be worn out from the alcohol by now.
âHey,â he calls, the words more muffled than usual.Â
You raise an eyebrow, tugging him inside all the while maintaining your balance.
âYou know my favourite blood type?â he continues.
You shake your head. âIf youâre thinking of feeding, Iâll get some blood bags from Kunhang.â
Sicheng pouts. âYou ruined the line.â
âHuh?â
âYours. Yours is my favourite blood type.â
Despite the terrible execution of his so-called pick-up line, you find yourself shaking with laughter. Youâre not sure if itâs the late night or the October airâthe two of you share the silliest of laughter at the doorway to your apartment.
Within the moment itself, Sicheng leans in to kiss you and your hands move to run through his hair out of habit. The taste of beer and the prick of his fangs makes you pull away. You look at each other for a moment before you give in anyway and kiss him against the doorframe.
October ends with memoriesâyour first date, Sichengâs cooking disaster, and now this. Itâs blissful for the few moments the two of you let it be. That is, until Sicheng opens his mouth.
âOh, by the way, can you apologize to Ten for me? I think I bit him thinking it was you.â
âSicheng, what the fuck?â
October ends with proximity, sweet as candy and warm as toastâstumbling into bed with all that and more.
#winwin x reader#nct x reader#wayv x reader#winwin fluff#cznnet#sicheng x reader#sicheng fluff#nct fluff#wayv fluff#nct scenarios#wayv scenarios#winwin scenarios#nct au#wayv au#nct imagine#wayv imagines#winwin imagine#moonwrites#yes its the canva template i have zero talent <3#btw i wrote most of this with a puppy on my arm so pls forgive me for any mistake#*s
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A/N: For the @ouranzine Flowers of the Host Club! I got overly ambitious with this piece, and the idea was too big for the word count. I do like the idea still.
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Hikaru was used to seeing strange sights on a daily basis. It was the selling point of their club, the ability to transport their guests to different worlds, change seasons, and perform magic. He had ridden elephants to school, created an indoor jungle, and discovered there were very few things that couldnât be done without money and an Ootari.
Very few. Sometimes he worried that world domination was the next logical step.
Either way, by this point, he didnât think he could be surprised anymore. Yet standing here in his classroom, staring at Haruhiâs desk, he discovered that he was utterly wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. With ten minutes left before lunch ended, students slowly trickled into the classroom around him. The ordinary framing made the sight before him even more extraordinary. Rubbing his eyes, he asked, âYou see it too, Kaoru?â
âI do. I donât believe it though.â Next to him, Kaoru squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them again. When the sight before them didnât change, he pinched his cheek. âThis isnât a dream.â
Hikaru clicked his teeth. âThat was the only explanation. UnlessâŚâ He paused dramatically and covered his mouth with a trembling hand. âItâs an illness?â
Kaoruâs eyes widened and he pressed his palm against his forehead. âTerminal?â
Grimly, he nodded. âPossibly.â
âNo!â Kaoru leaned against him, trembling. âIt canât beââ
âYou know I can hear you, right?â Haruhi cut in dryly, resting her cheek on her hand as she stared up at them. Seated at her desk, she gestured at the clock. âDonât you need to get to your seats?â
âAnd sheâs worried about us! Her!â Hikaru wiped a tearful eye. Leaning forward, he squeezed her shoulder and gave her a pitying smile. âYou donât have to be so brave for us. You can let us know how you really feel.â
âTrust me, I do.â Haruhi sighed, running a hand through her hair. Giving a troubled sigh, she accepted her lot in life and gave in. âWhat are you talking about?â
Wearing matching identical grins, Hikaru and Kaoru pointed at the small bouquet of roses balanced precariously on the edge of her desk. At least a dozen long-stemmed red roses poked out of pink wrapping paper. âWhoâs that for?â
âNone of your business,â she answered immediately, adjusting the bouquet so it rested more securely on her desk. With a tender smile, she patted the bundle.
That abrupt brush off just made him more curious. Undeterred, Hikaru pressed, âIs it a lover?â
âNoââ
With a teasing grin, Kaoru guessed, âMultiple lovers?â
âDefinitely not.â She massaged her forehead, her frown deepening. âI can barely handle you guys as it is.â As though she just realized something, Haruhi froze and her skin paled.
âWhatâs wrong?â Hikaru asked, as though he didnât know exactly what was on her mind. Or rather, the five somethings on her mind.
Slowly, like a broken robot, she turned to them. She looked both silly and cute and he stifled a laugh. âYouâre not going to tell Tamaki, are you?â
âMilord?â Kaoru gasped. âYouâre right, he certainly does have to know about this.â
Haruhi looked at Hikaru pleadingly. Instantly, he felt his skin flush and she had to be doing it on purpose, right? She had to know what she did to him, right? Kaoru smirked at him from over her head and Hikaru sighed before relenting. âWell, maybe if we had a bribeâŚâ
âA bribe?â Haruhi blinked before clapping her hands. âGot it.â Gently, she extracted two roses from her bouquet and held them out. âWill this do?â
The oblivious smile on her face said it all: she had no idea what this looked like. Haruhi was a weapon just waiting to go off, with all of her natural flirting. Her rose dangled in front of him innocently. Well, a flower was a flower, and he could deal with it. In factâas a thought struck him, he looked up and exchanged glances with his brother.
They could have a lot of fun with this.
âWeâll take it.â
-x-
If the sight earlier was an unexpected one, this next one was anything but. Kaoru stared blankly at the corner of the music room, where a dark gloom had set in. Tamaki was crouched in the corner, drawing circles on the ground with a finger. If he listened closely, Kaoru was certain heâd hear the soft mumbling of a lunatic.
Heâd heard it often enough from his brother as Hikaru realized that his feelings might be more than a crush.
âWhatâs wrong, milord?â Kaoru asked, dropping his school bag and trotting over to Tamakiâs right.
âH-haruhiâŚâ Tamaki mumbled, looking up all teary-eyed.
âWhat about her?â Hikaru asked, standing on his left.
âSheâsâŚsheâsâŚâ Tamaki warbled, a fresh set of tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them with a sleeve and wailed, âSheâs abandoning me!â
They turned around to where Honey and Mori were sipping tea, looking utterly nonchalant. âHaruhi didnât come for lunch,â Honey explained, looking a little disappointed himself.
âSheâs also not joining us today,â Kyoya said and Kaoru had to fight the urge to jump. The shadow king had an alarming ability to disappear and suddenly reappear.
âWHAT?â Tamakiâs jaw fell and an incoherent stream of sounds escaped his mouth.
Kaoru raised a brow. So sheâd cleared it with Kyoya first, then. Judging by his expression, the slightly amused curl of his lips, he probably knew exactly what was going on. Hell, he probably knew about the flowers too. In that case, though, he wouldnât mind them having a little fun with it. Resting a hand on Tamakiâs shoulder, he smiled gently. âHaruhi has a good reason.â
âShe does?â Tamakiâs eyes grew wide and he looked up at him hopefully.
âA very good reason,â Hikaru continued, grasping Tamakiâs other shoulder.
As though rehearsed, they both added, âSheâs giving someone a bouquet of flowers.â
Tamaki nodded. âOkay. That makes senseââ Cutting himself off, he looked from one twin to the other desperately. âWhat?â
âShe got them at lunch,â Hikaru mentioned idly.
Kaoru crossed his arms. âAnd she wouldnât tell us who theyâre for.â
âWHAT?â Tamaki yelped, jumping to his feet. âDADDY DOESNâT APPROVE OF ANY BOYS.â
Trying not to grin, Kaoru nodded to Hikaru. Itâd only take one more push. One more really easy push. Together, they pulled out their roses. âShe gave us one though.â
Kaoru could hear the straw snapping. Tamaki moved from rage to jealousy. âShe gave you flowers?â He twiddled his fingers. âSheâd give me flowers too, right? As her daddy, I get one, right?â
âOf course, milord,â Kaoru lied, patting him on the back.
âI want one too!â Honey swiped the last cookie and swung off his seat.
Kaoru exchanged a smirk with his brother. Sometimes, it was all too easy.
-x-
There were many ways a matter like this ought to be handled. Delicately, since Haruhi never liked it when they focused all of their attentions on her. Subtly, because she wasnât supposed to know what they were after. Individually, since they didnât want to overwhelm her.
Tamaki, of course, threw all of that out the window. The second he spotted Haruhi in the hallway, he charged like a bull in the china shop. âWHO IS HE?â
Reportedly, the desperate screech of a terrified not-father was heard all around the world.
As they were all good friends, the host club understood that this was who Tamaki was and that while he remained a dense brick about his feelings, this was the only way he could deal with the muddled emotions buried deep in his heart. There was something sad and poetic about it.
It was also terribly amusing to watch Haruhi assassinate him with her response and they didnât want to interfere with that at all.
-x-
Their school was a strange one, Honey knew. The seasons changed yet no one aged, the grounds had room for every type of scenery conceivable, and the hallways extended as long as narratively convenient. As long as he waited in a hallway, Haruhi had to go past him at some point.
Almost as though on cue, he heard a soft tapping as Haruhi walked down the hall. Clutching his Bun-Bun close, Honey skipped over to her, a bright smile on his face. âHaruhi!â
Surprised, Haruhi stopped in her tracks. âHoney?â
Standing in front of her, he clutched his rabbit and stared up with big, teary eyes. âYouâre not coming to the club today?â
âIâŚâ Bingo. While Haruhi might not be all that feminine or tapped into her motherly instincts, Honey prided himself in being able to find even the most dormant of instincts and pry them out. Haruhi rubbed the back her neck, giving him an apologetic look. âI canât today.â
âOh, thatâs too bad.â Honey sighed, rocking back and forth on his feet. He stared at the ground. âI had dessert ready and everything.â
Haruhiâs brow knit. Troubled, she scratched her cheek before giving up and sighing. âMaybe next time?â
âYay.â His expression brightened and he looked up at her once more. Pointing at her flowers, he asked, âWhat are those for?â
âItâs nothing.â Haruhi shrugged, straightening up now. âI have to get going, okay?â
No, this wasnât good. He hadnât gotten the flower yet. Pushing down his panic, he shot her a winning smile. âCould I smell them?â
âWhat?â Haruhi raised a brow.
âThey must smell nice.â Honey looked at her innocently, batting his eyes. âI canât?â
âUgh. No, itâs fine.â Haruhi held out the roses delicately.
âYay!â Honey leaned forward and pulled out a rose. There, mission accomplished. Smelling it, he grinned. âItâs so sweet!â
-x-
âAlright, next is milordââ The twins stared at Tamaki, who was still sulking in a corner. âNevermind, too much damage. Moriâs up next!â
Mori stiffened. The clubâs activities were fine when they involved the other members, when it was a group thing and not an individual issue. Alone, he didnât know what he was supposed to do. Especially since he was hiding at an intersection, watching Haruhi walk down the hall. Behind him, the twins and Honey were gently egging him on, trying to get him to do something. Say something.
But what?
Mori didnât know the answer to that. He could only watch as Haruhi walked further away, cutting past another intersection. She looked to her left in surprise before disappearing around the bend. Immediately, the twins broke into laughter.
âThat was even worse than milord!â Hikaru guffawed, hunched over as he laughed.
âHe didnât even try!â Kaoru added, wiping the tears from his eyes. âHe just watched her go!â
âWait!â Honey peeked around the corner and gasped. âLook!â
Mori quickly rushed to the corner. As did the rest of the host club. Honestly, it was a miracle they hadnât been spotted before this point. âWhat?â he asked, steeling himself.
âIs that?â Kaoru asked, surprise colouring his tone.
Mori could only nod. Eagerly heading toward them were two small forest animals: a tanuki and a rooster. In their mouths was a single rose. The constantly fighting pair were working together for once.
A wave of love washed over him. Heâd have to spoil them tonight.
-x-
Tamaki stared vacantly as he sat under the staircase. Honey had a rose. Mori had a rose. The twins had roses. Everyone but him had a rose. Well, him and Kyoya, but Kyoya didnât seem interested. It was unfair that Tamaki alone didnât have one. He was her father!
No, wait, that wasnât quite right. He wasnât here to get a rose, he was here to find out who she was meeting. Who exactly those flowers were for. There was the soft thud of footsteps and he looked up to spot Haruhi. Finally. âHaruhi,â he called out, slowly getting up.
Haruhi groaned before turning to look at him. With a deadpan expression, she asked, âYes?â
âHaruhi, IâŚI..â Tamaki stared at the roses in her hand. A pang hit his chest and he clutched his shirt. Was that the pain of fatherhood? It had to be, right? âThose rosesâŚâ Standing up, he staggered toward her. âAre they for someone important?â
Instantly, Tamaki turned red. No, that wasnât what he was supposed to ask. That wasnât it at all. Haruhi looked at him in surprise. Her expression softened and she nodded. âYeah.â
âOh.â Tamaki felt boneless and almost crumpled onto the ground.
âI should have realized what would happen the second the twins found out.â Haruhi sighed, pulling out a rose. She sniffed it. âI can see why you use them, theyâre sweet.â Holding out the rose, she smiled at him. âThey suit you.â
Tamaki blushed. âW-what?â
âHere, take it.â Gently, she pushed it into his hand. âNow you can tell them to stop bullying you, alright?â
Bullying? No, that wasnât what this was about! Well, it did get him a rose from Haruhi, but that wasnât the point! Who were the roses for? Thatâs what he had to ask. Thatâs whatâ
When he looked up, Haruhi was already gone.
-x-
Kyoya chuckled as Haruhi hastily headed toward the entrance. She looked like a woman on a mission, which, he supposed, she was. After all, the entire host club had been blocking her exit until now, a dense obstacle course that maybe he should repeat for a future host club event. Leaning against the wall, he raised a brow. âYou should have known this would happen.â
âYeah.â Haruhi didnât look surprised to see him. He wasnât sure if that rankled him or not. âI should have just gotten these after school.â
âWell, it was at a good discount.â He adjusted his glasses. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a small card. âYou can come here for the pictures later. In exchange, Iâll remove their proceeds from your debt.â
âBusiness as usual, huh?â Haruhi rolled her eyes but accepted the card nonetheless. âStill, thanks for the flowers. Oh, and here.â She pulled out a rose and held it out.
âWhat?â Perplexed, he looked from the rose to her.
Haruhi shrugged. âI already gave them to everyone else. It wouldnât be fair to leave you out.â
-x-
âIâm home!â Haruhi called out, slipping off her shoes as she closed the door behind her.
Her father poked his head out of the kitchen. âGreat.â His smile grew brighter at the roses in her hand. âAnd you got them!â
âYeah.â Out of habit, she added dryly, âBut it is a waste of money.â
âNonsense, things for your mother are never a waste of money.â Ranka clicked his tongue, giving her a disapproving shake of his head.
She couldnât disagree with that entirely. If there was one thing her time with the host club had taught her, it was that there were times when money had to be spent. That there were things, people, where the expense was worth it.
And her mother was definitely one of them. Approaching her motherâs altar, Haruhi gently placed the diminished bouquet of roses. âHappy birthday, mom.â
#ouran high school host club#ohshc#haruhi fujioka#tamaki suoh#hikaru hitachiin#hitachiin twins#kaoru hitachiin#kyoya ootori#takashi morinozuka#mitsukuni haninozuka#honey senpai#fanfic
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reddie halloween prompt #6 pumpkin
Eddie had lived in denial for a long time. It was a denial that had clung to him since heâd been a little boy. Never letting himself get dirty. Being scared of falling ill. Not letting his eyes linger too much on the handsome men he saw in the pharmacy or at the grocery store. And never letting himself enjoy food. Because food meant gluttony. It meant allergies and intolerances. It meant turning out like his mother, who he watched grow bigger and rounder every year. Â
He spent years like that, not letting himself enjoy anything. Convincing himself he was so frail that all he could eat were egg whites and leafy greens or the leanest chicken with a plate of boiled vegetables. No gluten. No sugar. Hardly any fats or carbs. For more than 20 years he was as austere as a Puritan. And he told himself it was for the best.Â
Until Richie, that was. Until they had finally defeated the clown.Â
Things started to change then. Slowly at first but surely. Eddie left his sham of a marriage; he came out of the closet; he admitted to Richie one night, as the two of them shared a bowl of ice cream by Richie's swimming pool, that he was in love with him. And then, after he let himself try a slice of challah one day at a coffee shop downtown, toasted gently and spread with honey, Eddie let himself fall.Â
First, Eddie made banana bread using some old, overripe bananas on their kitchen table. Then he baked chewy oatmeal cookies one morning after heâd served up their overnight oats. Before Eddie knew it, he was cooking up a storm: he ordered cookbooks, watched videos, bookmarked blogs. And he started to love the act of cooking. Looked forward to planning out their meals and going grocery shopping. There were fluffy ricotta pancakes in the morning; a cheese and spinach quiche with salad in the afternoon, chicken thighs baked in white wine, olive oil and parmigiano reggiano in the evening. And then, teasingly, a silky mousse or sliver of cheesecake. Â
Richie, who had the biggest appetite out of anyone Eddie had ever known, scarfed down everything Eddie made as quickly as a dog. He'd been happy to see Eddie enjoy food more and actively encouraged his cooking.
What Eddie hadn't expected was how sexy Richie had found it. How he watched Eddie cook with his blue eyes lit up with some kind of mischief. Sometimes coming up behind him so he could trail his hands over Eddieâs hips as he cooked, snaking a hand around his chest to tweak a nipple through his t-shirt, or to press the flat of his palm to Eddieâs lower stomach in a vaguely territorial touch that had Eddie half-panting as he stirred.Â
Eddie always kicked Richie out eventually, swatting him away with a wooden spoon or elbowing him in the stomach. But it didn't stop Eddie from growing ruby-cheeked or getting hard in his pants. Something Richie definitely noticed as he chuckled and said, "You feeling okay there, baby?"
Which is probably why he should have seen this coming. Not that he thought it would happen that morning, as he prepared a homemade pumpkin pie for the first time. That heâd end up pushed up against the counter in their spacious, airy kitchen with Richie's jeans shoved down his thighs and his cock balls deep inside Eddie's ass.Â
The pie looks good. Eddie had completed the crust, and heâs busy with the filling: mixing eggs, spices and fresh pumpkin purĂŠe in a bowl. Or at least he was trying to. Because Richieâs cock was nudging his prostate, and every time Eddie tried to focus on what he was doing, Richie would tilt his hips slightly and brush up against his sweet spot.
Richie had spent the whole time cooing into his ear, telling him what a good boy he was, as he stroked Eddie's hips like he was a skittish, easily frightened domestic pet.
The whisk clatters to the counter as Eddie lets out a high-pitched moan.Â
âI canât do it,â he says, his head hanging down between his shoulders.Â
Richie leans in and swipes his tongue against the bare skin at his feverish nape.
âI think you can,â he says. âCome on, baby, youâre doing so well.â
Richie hadnât fucked him that morning like he usually did, making the excuse that he had an important Zoom meeting. That he had to get ready for some presentation with the big suits about the future of his show. Eddie had said okay, that made sense, but he couldnât help but feel slightly disappointed as Richie kissed him on the cheek and disappeared out the room.Â
But it turns out this was why. Richie had been saving it for this.Â
Eddie tries not to moan at how deep Richie is inside him. Thereâs nothing between them, not even a layer of latex, and itâs almost too much. Richieâs cock is stretching him wide - with a shiver, he can imagine how obscene his hole must look around Richieâs cock - and on each small thrust into him, Eddie can feel Richieâs balls brush against his thighs.Â
âI hate you,â he mutters as his arms tremble, hands clenched so hard around the edge of the counter that they're porcelain white.
Richie tsks against his neck. âThatâs not a very nice thing to say to your finance, is it? When he takes such good care of you.â
Eddie laughs, and it sounds manic. âIs this what you think taking care of me looks like?â
He expects a joke, or a witty retort. Instead what he gets is Richieâs fingers tightening to a bone-bruising grip on his hips. Eddie would cry out, goes to, except Richie shoots out a hand and shoves three thick fingers into Eddieâs mouth, stifling the sound.Â
With an edge of steel Richie says, âWhy donât you stop talking back and do as youâre told?â
Eddie starts to say âokayâ, only he canât, not with Richieâs fingers in his mouth, how they press down his tongue. So he nods his head as much as he can to get the point across. Heâll make the pie. Heâll be good.Â
âThat's better,â Richie says.
He pushes his fingers deeper into Eddieâs mouth, getting them wet to the knuckle, the force of it making Eddie gag. It feels like a warning. That Eddie better be good because he's not in the mood to play. Then he pulls them out as fast as heâd pushed them in, bringing them back to Eddie's hip.
"Go on then," he says, but this time there's the hint of a laugh in his voice. Like he finds humiliating Eddie like this funny.
Eddie feels winded, the corners of his mouth feel bruised, but he picks up the whisk again and starts swirling the filling. Itâs not as fast as heâd usually do it, but itâs the best he can do. Behind him, Richie starts to pick up the pace a little, pulling out and pushing his cock deeper into Eddieâs needy, clenching hole. He hits his prostate again, making him arch back against the tall line of Richieâs body.Â
âR-Richie, I canât,â he says, on the verge of dropping the whisk again. Of abandoning the pie and begging Richie to fuck him.Â
But he knows that won't do.
From behind him Richie says, âWhy donât you shut the fuck up? I thought you could be good? Do you want me to pull out?â
Eddie shakes his head. He doesn't. Even though it was maddening: the torturous, slow push of Richieâs cock inside him, the feeling of his zipper rubbing up against his ass, the drip of precome at the end of Eddieâs dick where heâd grown flushed and hard against the counter. But the thought of Richie pulling out and leaving him there while he went to the bedroom to jerk off was even worse. He has a thought of Richie coming all over their bedsheets, of wasting his come instead of depositing it deep inside Eddie where it belonged, and he almost whines.
âNo Richie, I want it so bad, please. Please donât pull out,â he begs, in a voice he doesnât even recognise. Something high and wanton. A voice he didnât even know he could make until Richie laid him down on his bed one night all those months ago and pushed inside him for the first time.Â
âBeautiful boy,â Richie says sweetly. âFinish it, come on,â he murmurs.
So Eddie does. As Richie continues his slow, tormenting pace, Eddie finishes whisking the filling and lifts the bowl with shaky fingers so he can pour it into the pastry shell. He almost drops it, but manages to right the bowl at the last second. Afterwards he stares at it: the beautiful, flaky, butter pastry crust with its autumnal filling, and that floaty feeling of satisfaction comes over him. Heâd done good. He did exactly as Richie told him.
âIâve done it, Richie,â he sighs, his voice sounding faraway. âIâve finished the pie.â
He melts when Richie kisses him on the side of his neck, scraping his teeth over his pulse point where it jumps rapidly.
âI knew you could do it, Eddie, I knew you could make me happy.â
And Richie rewards him for it. With one hand he pulls Eddieâs hips back and with the other he pushes Eddieâs cheek down against the counter until Eddie's bent at an obscene angle. At a fuckable angle, Eddie thinks with a shiver. But thatâs the last coherent thought he has for a long time because a moment later Richieâs pulling out until just the tip of his dick is spearing Eddie open, and then he does what Eddieâs wanted all this time. He shoves back inside, the squelch of the lube pornographically loud in their quiet kitchen, and he rails him hard, letting that hidden, ferocious side come out.
Itâs the hardest fuck Eddieâs had in days, and fuck it feels so good, his ass bouncing off Richieâs sharp hips on every thrust, Richie's cock punching his tiny hole open, and the low-pitched growl coming from Richieâs throat making his dick drool at the tip.
It's something he can't believe he's denied himself for so long.
"I kind of want to eat this pumpkin pie out of you," Richie suddenly says. "Would you let me do that? Just finger it inside of your dumb cunt and then eat it out of you?"
And it shouldn't sound hot. It should sound ridiculous. But it doesn't stop Eddie from crying out or his balls drawing up.
"I'm going to-"
He cuts off on a high whine as Richie reaches around and grabs him in warning.
"You better not. Not until I say."
Eddie nods, and Richie starts fucking him again, hammering his prostate on every push inside him, muttering so filthy it makes Eddie flush all the way down to his chest.
And when Richie finally tells him to come he does, clenching around him until he shoots sticky white all over the counter.Â
âGood boy,â Richie says as he pulls his cock out to smear the sticky head against the sore skin at his hole, making Eddie quiver. âNow let's go for that money shot. How much do you think you can make Daddy come?"
And Eddie, with gusto, shows him.
#halloween reddie#reddie#reddie drabbles#minors dni#d/s#dom/sub#tw food#tw eating#tw daddy kink#tw food kink#dom richie#sub eddie#tw feminization
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Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut â Chapter 01
Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic â the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)
Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings:Â Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]
[Ao3 | FFNet]
â ACT I â
âEverything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.â â Paulo Coelho
â Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS â
In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the MÊdecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:
All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.
Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Officeâup to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.
Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.
What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in dĂŠcor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.
There wasnât anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.
â
It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. Sheâd never much cared for the colder seasons.
âYouâre back early,â said Arnaudâa fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.
âYes.â Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. âI submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted Iâll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, Iâll be out of the country until August at least.â
âWell, youâve never landed a position that didnât suit you.â Madeleine smiled politely. âCan I get you anything?â
âNo, thanks.â She looked away from him towards the window. âYou could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.â
âThereâs hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isnât that what you say?â
For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. âItâs late. Are you going out again?â
âNo, I got back first. And itâs fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.â
âI can hardly control the weather. And you neednât worry, I always carry a key on me.â
âMadeleine, we live together. It wouldnât be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.â
âHm.â
âAnd knowing you,â Arnaud continued, âyou probably wonât be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume youâve been busy all day. In just a few weeks youâll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.â
âSo,â a little cooler, âyouâll be another mission?â
âMost likely.â
âAll these countries must seem the same after a while.â
âOh, I wouldnât expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?â
Arnaud laughed. âJesus, this isnât a competition.â
âBut itâll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.â
Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:
âItâs always been important to you. Thatâs what should matter.â
â
In two weeksâ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaudâs tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.
Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.
The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and sheâd be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.
In spite of Arnaudâs apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: âLast year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what youâre trying to prove.â
After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: âVery glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.â Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de Lâindependence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.
Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.
Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSFâs involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisonerâs accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.
She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:
âSo, one thing you should know now, weâve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. Thereâs no running water either.â
âThis isnât my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.â
Herrmann smiled. âThatâs fair.â He scratched his neck. âThe mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets wonât help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.â
âI see.â The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. âI wonât go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.â
 âSee ,thatâs the kind of attitude we need around here!â He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. âGood to have you on the team.â
The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: âYouâre pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.â
âIâm here to do my job. Thatâs all.â
Herrmann shrugged. âI can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.â He paused. âI can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. Youâre handling this situation a lot better than I would have.â
âThank you.â
âThe workload must be insane compared to what youâre normally used to. I know it took me time to adjustâ" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion ââwhat is it?â
âBack home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didnât anyone tell you?â
âOh, hey, I didnât mean to implyââ
âNo offence taken.â
The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outsideâaccording to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.
There wasnât much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.
It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.
There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the âRed Deathâ story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.
This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, heâd apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.
Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.
â
June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.
The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force SĂŠcuritĂŠ/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.
Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the governmentâs method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naĂŻve or willing to look the other way.
The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldnât be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.
âI was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.â He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. âItâs madness. Weâve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detailâwho the hell does the Project Coordinator think weâre fooling?â Madeleine ignored him. âDr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me youâve been involved in volunteer work for a while.â
âFive years, as of March.â
âPerhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.â
âIâm flattered. But itâs fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.â
Kessler chuckled. âYouâll go far.â
Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. âWho were you speaking to?â He froze up, didnât answer immediately. âMy apologies. I shouldnât have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.â
Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. âJust my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.â Madeleine nodded stoically. âIâve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.â Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.
âIâm living with a friend. We graduated from college together.â
âAnd you keep in touch while you are abroad?â
âHe tends to lead his own life while I am away.â
âThatâs a great deal to ask of someone.â Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. âFew women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.â
Madeleineâs smile did not touch her eyes. She hadnât even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. âWe have an understanding, thatâs all. Besides, I donât bother him about his social life.â
Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.
By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unitâs personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.
She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.
Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.
Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:
ââŚIâve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. Weâve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? Weâre putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we donât know if we needâand even so, it wonât be ready for another week. Thereâs not enough time to justify keeping silentâŚ.â
Madeleine closed the window carefully. Sheâd never been one to intrude on family matters.
â
When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.
The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.
Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.
âDr Swann.â The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. âI understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?â
His manner wasnât explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-waterâmet only with your reflection.
âYes,â said Madeleine, âbut that was nearly five days ago.â
âYou were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?â
 âThatâs correct.â
Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. âIâll speak with her alone.â
âOf course.â
Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.
âDr Swann.â The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. âWhat was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?â
âI did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.â
âBut you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.â
âI was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.â Safin said nothing. âThe only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.â
âHe spoke to you about his views?â
âHe expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinatorâs hesitance to bring in a security detail.â Safinâs attention on her became sharper. âHe also told me heâd elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.â
âWe have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de Lâindependence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.â
âOh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.â
âYour room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.â
âI was reviewing my notes from that dayâs session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.â
âDo you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?â
âI just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.â
Safinâs expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.
âLook. Without information about Dr Kesslerâs lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.â
Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: âThank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.â
The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.
When sheâd arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he wonât contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.
With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.
Safer, but no longer invisible.
â
July brought hotter weather and brittle peaceâthe vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleineâs senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.
It couldn't last forever.
A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.
There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.
Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.
An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinatorâs head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.
Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: âWhere are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?â
âI donât understand.â Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.
âWeâve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.â He aimed right at her sternum. âYour doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.â
âYou have been protecting them!â the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. âAll this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!â
The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. âThatâs enough.â One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. âThere is no need for additional bloodshed,â said the plainclothes. âRelease them now or you will be shot.â
All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.
All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadnât been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.
Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.
âDr Swann.â Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. âItâs all right. Iâm not going to hurt you.â
Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Millerâs naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: âNe me tuez pas. Je nâai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.â
#no time to die#madeleine swann#lyutsifer safin#several ocs#crime drama#fanfic#fanfiction#multichapter#canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably#haha... unless?#slow build
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intro: her mini #1 ⤠knj | m
âś đ đ˘đđđđđŚ:ă you enter namjoonâs life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. ăsinge dad au.
⼠đđđđđđđ: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader
⼠đđđđđ: fluff
⼠đ¤đđđ đđđ˘đđĄ: 2.1k
âś đ¤đđđđđđđ : none! just jiminie being an adorable baby
âľ đ/đ: I wasnât actually going to update this series until after spooky month, but then miss Sora suggested I write a lil drabble in celebration of Jiminâs birthday and I just couldnât resist!! However,,,, this is clearly longer than a drabble and thus ITS A MINI!!! So here we are!! // dedicated to @honeymoonjin who I love with my entire heart and soul âĄ
⤠Main Series Masterlist
âNoona!â Jimin calls out. Smiling brightly, you wave at him. The six-year-old runs towards you, his little backpack bouncing in tandem with his hair.
âJiminie! Hi Puppy! Did you have a good day at school?â you ask, crouching down to his eye level.
âI did! Whereâs Daddy?â Jimin asks, curiously looking around for his father. You bite your lip, sending him a small smile.
âDaddy had to work today, so noona is here to pick you up. Where are Taehyung and Jungkook?â you ask, looking behind him for his brothers.
âItâs Wednesday! Gukkie and Hyungie have art club!â Jimin replies, smiling brightly at you.
âOh? Joon didnât tell me anything about that. Okay,â you reply, a slight frown marring your face.
âNoona,â Jimin suddenly whispers, his chubby little hand tugging at your jumper as he draws your attention back to him. Turning to him, you quirk your eyebrow, watching as he nervously looks around. His little feet shuffle around and you notice that he has one hand behind his back - clearly hiding something.
âJimin? Whatâs wrong Puppy? What do you have?â you question, gesturing to the hand behind his back.
âDaddyâs not here? Are you sure?â Jimin asks, his voice hushed and tone almost conspiratorial. From his tone, it seems as if heâs almost hoping Namjoon isnât around. Cocking your eyebrow, you look at him in surprise. Itâs completely unlike Jimin to not want Namjoon near him - the boy was practically attached to his father.
âDaddyâs definitely not here, no. Itâs just you and me today. Is everything okay?â you ask softly. Jimin bites his lip.
âIf I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Daddy?â Jimin asks, his eyes widening and lip jutting out in the cutest puppy dog eyes youâve ever seen. Youâre at a loss for words. You wish you could promise him that - but Jimin isnât your child and if itâs something Namjoon needs to know, then youâre almost duty-bound to tell him.
âJimin- honey, I canât promise that. What if Daddy needs to know?â you reply. Jimin sniffles slightly and your heart breaks a little.
âPlease noona!â he begs and the slight whiny tone in his voice has you caving in with a sigh.
âHow about this? You tell me first and Iâll decide whether Daddy needs to know or not?â you say, attempting a compromise. Jiminâs face scrunches up adorably, his cheeks puffing up as he ponders your offer. Then, with a nod, he thrusts the hand behind him in front. Your eyes widen when you notice the plastic bag filled with water, a fat little goldfish swimming around. From the golfball like shape and its thick domed, opalescent scales, you know it to be the Pearlscale goldfish.
âJimin?â you wearily say. As much as Namjoon loves sea creatures, you know the boys are forbidden from having pets. Theyâre still too young to properly take care of them and with Namjoonâs busy schedule, he just didnât have the time to parent three kids as well as a pet. Itâs also why the boys were so incredibly close to Rap Mon - he wasnât technically their pet, heâs yours.
âHanbinnieâs fishie is sick! I told Hanbinnie that my Noona is a sea doctor!â Jimin says, smiling proudly at you. Your heart lurches, face softening at his use of âmy Noonaâ before he continues, âSo here! Make him better!â Jimin says, a wide grin on his face as he thrusts the bag into your face. Reeling back, you startle slightly before gently taking the bag out of Jiminâs hold.
Carefully, you inspect the goldfish. It doesnât look sick you think - but then you spot it. Cotton-like white growths form along the underbelly of the goldfish, obscuring the iridescent orange scales. You frown slightly. A fungal disease? Itâs not particularly contagious - however, it can lead to fatality - even in hardy creatures such as goldfish. Though, from what you know of the Pearlscale goldfish, theyâre incredibly sensitive and vulnerable to changes in temperature or pH; and with the weather getting colder, itâs no wonder that the fish caught a fungal disease. It does, after all, only occur due to stress and a lowered immune system. Once done examining the fish, you let out a deep exhale.
âPuppy,â you sigh, âgoldfish die sometimes. Theyâre not pets people keep for a long time,â you continue, trying to be as delicate as possible. The minute the words leave your lips, however, Jiminâs eyes begin tearing up, his cute little button nose turning rose as his bottom lip quivers.
âNo! Noona, please! Save the fishie,â Jimin cries, little whimpers escaping his mouth. Instantly, your heart breaks and you gather the sobbing boy into your arms. Jimin clutches your shirt tightly, little fists curling into the material as his tears soak into the fabric.
âOh honey,â you coo, gently petting his head as you try to console him. Jimin always did have the biggest heart in the world and he loves animals - you know from the way he gets excited every time Namjoon brings him over to the aquarium and he gets starry-eyed - or the way he cuddles up and strokes Rap Mon while telling your pup about his day. Indeed, Jimin has the biggest heart in the world - and apparently, just the thought of someone elseâs fish, not even his own, passing away, has him crying in your embrace.
âPlease noona,â Jimin sobs, little hiccups escaping him. Taking in a deep breath, you put him at arm's length. You cup his face in your hand, your thumbs brushing away his tears before placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Jimin snivels under your ministration, body slightly relaxing in your hold. Then, you hand him the water-filled bag and easily pick him up into your arms.
âAlright, Puppy. Letâs see what we can do, yeah?â you finally say. Jiminâs lips curl into a large, watery smile.
âYes! Thank you Noona!â he cries, laying his head on the crook of your neck before snuggling into you as he delicately holds the goldfish.
Face softening, you pull him tighter into you as you walk to your car. How hard could it be to treat a goldfish after all?
Sitting in your lab, you carefully move the goldfish from the bag and into an antiseptic, empty tank - of course, after making sure the tankâs conditions were suitable for it. Jimin stands close to you, hands on the table as he peers over the edge, watching you carefully. Heâs barely tall enough to overlook your actions and even as he stands on his tiptoes, only the top of his head and his eyes make it over the counter ledge. Carefully, you grip onto the fish, making sure to keep your clutch gentle while also holding firmly enough so it doesnât slip out of your grasp - not that your latex glove covered hands are helping.
Plopping it into the tank, you watch as it frantically swims around its new location. Undoubtedly, itâs stressed - not only from your handling of the creature - but also from its new environment. Hopefully, however, it acclimatises pretty quickly. You know that additional stress can lead to white spot disease - and considering the fish is already ill, you want to avoid any further strain on its immune system.
As you leave it to get acclimatised, you move along to gathering the different equipment youâd need to treat it. Jimin watches you with hawk-like eyes before he begins following you around like a lost puppy. Once youâve gathered the correct equipment and treatments, you take a seat at your laboratory counter once again.
You begin by undoing the filter from the tank, taking out the active carbon as swiftly as you can before replacing it: after all, the fish needs clean water if you want it to recover as soon as possible. When you replace the filter once again, you feel Jimin tug at your trousers. Turning to him, you let out a little laugh as he holds onto the legs of your slacks, his little body jumping as he attempts to crawl into your lap.
Unsnapping the gloves from your hands, you wrap your arms around him and pull him into your lap. Jimin grins at you before shifting into a more comfortable position. Your arms cage his body as you resume working on the fish. Jiminâs eyes follow your exact movements, watching as you reach out for a little brown glass bottle. He turns to you, his head tilting up slightly.
âWhatâs that noona?â Jimin asks, curiosity laced through his voice.
âMethylene Blue,â you hum back in response, not really thinking about your answer. Jiminâs features twist, his face falling.
âWhatâs what?â he asks. You stop, letting out a little laugh.
âSorry honey,â you apologise. Youâd completely forgotten that Jimin is simply a six-year-old and not a trained veterinarian like you are, âitâs a type of medicine. To treat your friendâs fish,â you explain. Jimin nods in response, turning back to watch you carefully unscrew the lid before he once again turns back to you.
âCan I help?â he inquires, his head tilting to the side. A smile curls on your lips before you nod at him. Jimin grins brightly in response before excitedly placing his little, chubby hands on the back of your own. His hands follow yours as you treat the tank with a few drops of the solution, watching as the colour of the water tints blue.
âIs that it?â Jimin asks, his body moving forward as he stares at the fish in interest. With a chuckle you shake your head, instead, reaching for another bottle.
âNot just yet. We need to add the freshwater aquarium salt and then let the fish do the rest. Hopefully, it will recover soon,â you reply gently. Jimin nods enthusiastically.
âHanbinnie will be so happy! I canât wait to give him back his fishie and tell him my noona made him better!â Jimin happily says as he kicks his legs enthusiastically. Once again, your heart swells at his use of âmy noonaâ.
âWould you like to add the salt, Puppy?â The words tumble out of your mouth before you even think about them. Jimin sits up in interest, his entire body perking up as he nods frantically.
âYes, please! Can I?â he asks, the words racing out of his mouth as he buzzes with excitement. A light laugh leaves your lips and you stroke his head before nodding. Taking the bottle in your hand, you measure out the appropriate amount into a beaker before handing him the glass jar.
âOkay, just sprinkle this over the water and then weâre done!â you reply. Jimin carefully takes the beaker into his little palms, the jar almost dwarfing his hands. Then, with the utmost look of concentration and his little tongue poking out of his plump lips, he carefully sprinkles the salt over the water.
âLike this?â he asks, nervously turning to you.
âJust like that!â you reply, arms automatically wrapping around his plump little belly. Jimin keens under your praise, smiling brightly as his eyes turn into little half-moons. When heâs done, he places it back down and leans his head into the crook of your neck, watching as you finish off by stirring the water - as gently as you can to not disturb the goldfish - so the salt mixes in.
âAll done! Now, Iâll need to keep Hanbinâs fish here in the lab under observation for a couple of days. But when heâs healthy again, you can come and get him and give him back to Hanbin, is that okay?â you ask. Jimin nods eagerly.
âYes! Thank you noona! Youâre the best!â Jimin responds before twisting in your arms and hugging you tightly. Your face softens as you once again wrap your arm around him.
âMhm. Are you ready to head home now?â you ask and Jimin nods once again before hopping off the chair and running to grab his coat. Laughingly, you follow him before helping him put on his jacket and wrap up warm. Then, you hold out your hand, letting Jiminâs mitten covered one grab it.
âCome on then. Iâm sure Daddy, Taehyungie and Jungkookie are waiting for us,â you say as you lead him out of your lab. Before you do, however, he stops and looks at you with curious eyes. Turning to him, you cock an eyebrow as you wait for him to say whatâs on his mind.
âNoona⌠do you think I could become a sea doctor?â Jimin asks. Your eyebrows shoot into your hairline at his sudden question, surprise filling you.
âHmm. Youâd have to work hard, but I donât see why not,â you finally reply. Your words cause him to beam brightly at you, a toothy smile on his lips as his eyes squish together.
âThen Iâm going to become a sea doctor! Just like you noona!â Jimin calls out cheerily. And with that, he tugs you out of your own lab.
a/n: i sincerely hoped you enjoyed this cute lil mini of jimin and yn,,, because I know I enjoyed writing it 𼺠please lemme know what you think!!! // intro her will officially return in november!!
#ficswithluv#hyunglinenetwork#kpopwonderlandtag#kwritersworldnet#bangtanarmynet#btsguild#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#btsbookclub#dimplenet#thekimlinenet#moonchildnetwork#magicshopnet#namjoon x reader#bts namjoon x reader#kim namjoon x reader#namjoon fanfiction#namjoon smut#namjoon fluff#namjoon angst
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Covet of the Wolf [2]
Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)
Warnings: language, references of blood and injury.
A/N: I do love using Peter as a shenanigan plot driver, heâs so dramatic I couldnât resist. Some characters from the previous series will begin to take backseat because iâm juggling waaaay to may characters. lmfaooo.
Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps âş
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âPeter,â Derek all but growled. You could picture his snarl without having to look at his face.
The dark silhouette stepped out of the shadow, âHello, lovers.â
It was indeed Peter. Older, silver streaks growing in places that werenât there the last time you saw him. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and wideâunsettlingly so. He cocked his head to the side, that shit-eating grin of his lining the skin around his lips. He seemed smaller somehow. Thinner.
You swallowed. The anger you felt towards Derek and your littleâor perhaps bigâargument was shelved to the back of your mind.
Derek marched down towards Peter so they stood on the same even ground. This wasnât at all how youâd pictured their reunion. A hug may have been too much of a fantastical notion, but a handshake at the least seemed appropriate. They did neither, simply staring each other in the eye as if speaking through the flinches and blinks.
âWhat are you doing here?â Derek asked.
âWhat?â Peter held up his hands to show he bore no ill will. Then he reached into his back pocket and waved a card with delicate calligraphy letters on it. âI was invited.â
Derek snatched the card, âThis is my invitation card. Did you break into my loft?â
âCanât break in if you know where the key is,â Peter walked around Derek and headed for the homestead. âBest go greet the stunning brides to be. Y/N.â He tilted his head at you.
âPeter,â you half-smiled. It was a relief to see he was alright. The current situation, however, not ideal. You didn't know how to react, so you let the Hale's do all the reacting.
Derek grabbed Peterâs elbow, âWhat are you really doing here, Peter.â
Peter shrugged then winked, âItâs like I said. Iâm just here for a wedding.â
 The tub was warm, reminding you of warm summers swimming in the lake as a kid. Your skin had started to prune, but you also knew that once you got out the tub, that meant facing Derek. Facing the tension.
An unexpected knock at the door made you gasp. Derekâs voice had that mix of concern and soft-spoken weariness: âYou alright in there?â He wanted to make up. âI got towels.â
You glanced at the stack of towels on the shelf by the soap and smiled, âCome in.â
He opened the door slowly and walked with a low hanging head. He sat on the edge of the tub, not making eye contact.
âIâm sorry about earlier,â he ran his hand through his hand, the curling ends were still a foreign sight to see. They did shape around his face beautifully though. âI guess being here, with all the⌠I just forgot what it was like.â
âWhat what was like?â
âBeing around familyâŚfeeling like a part of one.â
You took his hand and kissed between the dips on his knuckles, âJust so weâre clear, Iâm not saying no. I just donât think we should be thinking about marriage when we still donât know the full effect of the mark.â
You kissed the bandage hiding his mark. He recoiled subtly, pretending to shift to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor.
âYou canât tell me it doesnât bother youââ
Derek grumbled, head leaning back onto the tubs walls, âOf course it bothers me. It itches a little.â He smiled warmly.
You rolled your eyes, âThatâs not what I meant. If the mark didnât bother you, why do you get all prickly around Peter? And donât tell me itâs always been that wayâŚYou avoided talking about him the last couple of months and now that heâs here you practically looked like you were ready to tear his throat out. Why?â
Derek shrugged, âItâs Peter.â
âDerek,â you sighed.
âOkay, I justâŚHe never shows up out of the blue for no reason.â
âMaybe he missed you.â
Derek huffed, âIâm sure he did.â
You snaked your wet arms around his neck and whispered low, âI know if I didnât get to see your handsome face for a long time, Iâd be really, really lonely.â
Derek craned his neck so his lips were close enough to feel the heat of his cheeks and lips. You indulged in his open invitation and kissed him, deeply. Derek found your hand and laced your fingers in his.
 Maggie and Caleb were arguing about something in her room, you had been busy checking boxes, making sure everyone was dressed and all the flowers were in the right places. Derek and Peter hadnât been seen all morning. You imagined they were out in the hills arguing or something.
Jonah needed not one but two shirt changes because he kept getting them stained. The first stain was jam and the second was a coffee stain. Jonah didnât drink coffee, but he did like peddling it out as a bribe for something. Esme had taken over Markusâs room for the day and Markus had returned from the airport with Stiles.
âStiles,â you hugged him warmly, a frown pulling on your face. âI thought you were bringing Lydia?â
Stiles winked and pulled out a tablet, âI am, sheâs just going to be a couple thousand miles away.â
You shook your head, âAnd they say romance is dead.â
âIâll just go set this up in the barn quickly,â he smiled like a goof from ear to ear.
Maggie looked gorgeous in her dress, you had to run up to her room to drag Caleb by the collar away because they kept fighting over the pettiest squabbles. Derek and Peter reappeared just in time for the start of the ceremony. Neither looked too pleased. Derek made every effort to seem okay. You could tell he wasnât. Even Stiles was behaving suspiciously around him, whispering with a frown of his own when they were together. Derekâs habit of secret-keeping was getting under your skin.
If you had had time to think, you would have found everything a little strange, but there was barely enough time left to get dressed before the ceremony started.
You couldnât reach the zipper at the back of your bridesmaid dress. It was green, not a lime green that was too bright or a forest green that was too velvety and dark; the dress was almost deep emerald, not silky in material and tight. Maggie was never one for body-hugging dresses, she enjoyed wide felt skirts, and her preferences showed obviously in her choice of bridesmaid dress.
Out of nowhere, Derekâs warm hands met yours and he whispered something as he helped zip you up: âGreen is definitely your colour.â
You blushed, the reflection in the mirror was breath-taking. Derek in a dark suit with no tie and an unbuttoned collar. You in the dress that complemented his human eyes. His large hands on your waist. The flush of your cheeks matching the shade of lipstick.
âI never thought Iâd see the day,â you turned around and tugged his suit jacket. âWe should take a picture. Commemorate the moment. Something tells me it will be a long time before I see you in a suit again.â
âHmmm,â he leaned in and kissed you. âYouâre hard to forget. Especially today.â
The first bell tolled.
You pulled Derek with you as you left the room, âCome, we should get to our places.â
 The ceremony was small, simple in a delicate and intentional way that could be described as classy. As Deaton officiated, everyone was thrown off when Esme had been the first to shed a tear during the vow exchange. The red ribbon that bound Maggie and Esmeâs right hands was the only vibrantly rich colour that stood out. Caleb explained it was a homage to hand-fasting.
Stiles sat next to an empty chair occupied by his tablet, Lydia, who dressed for the occasion despite being miles away, watched through a laggy video chat connection.
The reception was quieter. A few people exchanged jokes and Caleb got hilariously drunk on white wine. You were a little tipsy yourself, snuggled next to Derek who smelled of a rather expensive cologne you werenât used to.
Peter looked bored, so you ventured over to pick his brain a little.
âPeter,â you announced yourself as you sat down on the empty chair beside him.
âDonât you look radiant today,â he sipped whiskey.
âWhereâd you get that?â
âYouâre family has quite the collection of alcohol in that alcohol cabinet of yours.â
You leaned close to whisper, âWe arenât supposed to steal from Dadâs cabinet.â
âWell,â Peter sipped his whiskey slower, savouring the taste. âI wonât tell if you wonât.â
You noticed he wasnât wearing a bandage to hide his mark.
âYou want to see it?â Peter raised a brow.
âWhat?â
âThe mark.â
You looked over at Derek, he was in the middle of having a one-sided conversation with Jonah. You felt guilty but you didnât know why.
âYes,â you nodded.
Peter rolled up his sleeve. The mark was still��no longer moving under the skin. A raw colour, pinkish-red like a rash. The symbol was familiar to you. Youâd seen it somewhere, or at least an iteration of it.
The crows from Deatonâs photograph, you realised. A double spiral.
You were drawn to the symbol, wanting to touch it, hoping it would hold all the answers if you just reached outâŚ
Without warning, everyoneâs heads pulled up, nostrils growing larger and then smaller. A werewolf tick. It was only the non-supernaturals that didnât react; you, Stiles, Deaton, Maggie and Caleb. Them and Peter.
âRight on cue,â Peter took his final drink of whiskey.
Derek stood from his chair, an accusatory stare burning imaginary holes in Peterâs skull.
Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stake. He tossed it at Derek, âYouâre gonna need that.â
âWhat did you do?â Derekâs eyes glowed blue, the stake shaking in his fist. The commotion drawing everyoneâs attention. Your stomach churned and you felt nauseous.
âI may have run into some trouble,â Peter shrugged. âYou werenât answering my calls. I needed a little help.â
âSo you led them here?â Derek moved quick, suddenly Peterâs shirt was bunched up in Derekâs fists. You sat back down. Vertigo getting the better of you.
âCan someone explain whatâs happening?â Stiles asked the room.
Derek hissed, letting go of Peterâs shirt to grab his arm.
âItâs the orderâŚâ you whispered in realisation.
Stiles threw his hands up in the air, his next words coming out loud and exasperated: âI thought they werenât a problem anymore.â
Peter frowned as if innocent, âSee, I thought so too. But apparently, something crawled out of a very old box when we killed the old man walking around in my little nephewâs brain. And Astrid tells me itâs a sign of the end of days. Blah, blah, blah. So naturally, some wanted revenge. IâI may have overestimated myâŚability to handle things andâŚwell now Iâm here.â
Maggie stood up from her chair, anger turning her skin a terrifying shade of red, âSo you used my wedding as bait?â
Esme grabbed Maggieâs hand as if to hold her back.
âSafety in numbers,â Peter winked.
The barn doors flew off their hinges. Everything happened so fast. Snarls, slashing claws, a few curse words exchanged like it was Secret Santa. At one point, one of the last remnants of the order got close enough to Caleb to slash at his belly while he shielded Maggie. Out of the blue, two other people arrived, both men and both friendlies from what you could tell. One had a greying beard and short sandy brown hair. He was holding a shotgun because it would seem the Hale's didn't have any friends who baked or had a more domestic hobby than werewolf hunting. The other younger of the two was handsome, with sad eyes that drooped like a puppy's. They were a werewolf yellow, a colour youâd only ever seen on Jonah. His were more intense. Brighter. At one point, you thought you heard Stiles mutter the name, âIsaac.â
You didnât care, there was no time to care about anything other than Caleb. You rushed over to Calebâs side to tend to his wound. It was then, as you held his stomach and had trouble breathing that you realised just how beautiful he looked in his blue velvet suit.
 The ringing in Derekâs ears was superficial. The sharp stabbing pain it brought to his ears meant nothing next to the chaos unfolding in the room.
The white cloth on the joined dining tables was soaked on one end, a deep red, almost black under the candle light in the barn.
Derekâs heart beat rapidly. He hadnât felt like this in a long, long time. Was it hopelessness? Fear? Dread? All of them at once?
Instinctively, his hand sought after yours. He could feel you, smell the faint scent of your perfume, behind him. But you didnât take his hand.
Derek glanced behind him and saw you there, applying pressure to Calebâs gut wound. Shock in your eyes. A look he swore to himself youâd never wear again. Not while he was by your side. But there it was, wide eyes and quivering lips failing to stay shut behind a clenched jaw. And this, all this destruction. The blood. The weeping bridesâone out of anger, the other out of desperation. The blood soaked table cloth. And a severed head held in Peterâs hand. All this happened because of him.
Derek looked down at the mark that could pass for a rash on his arm. His claws extended and he tried to cut it out. But it simply healed back to normal.
This was all because of him. Him and that damned mark.
Standing beside him, unseen by all except Peter, was Alyster.
Dead Alyster living in Derekâs mind. Incorporeal, but all the same there, knocking about in his grey matter.
âToday was meant to be a happy day,â Alyster spoke with a faint shiver of regret. His voice contained to Derekâs consciousness. To the supernatural mark. Alysterâs face held a sadness permanently plastered to his drooping, lined eyes. âIt would have been. If you had listened.â
Blood meandered from Derekâs nose to his chin. That smell. He knew that smell. It was pungent, earthy. The smell of decay. And it was coming from the severed head in Peterâs hand.
Suddenly the head began to mummify, skin turning leathery, cheeks sunken to the teeth.
Someone screamed, maybe it was Jonah maybe it wasnât. A retch or two, some disgusted sounds. But Derek couldnât focus on anything. His senses were running rampant.
Peter dropped the head. It didnât land with a squelching sound. It didnât land at all. Before it reached the ground, it turned to dust. Millions upon millions of finite skin particles reduced to a puff of dusty brown.
âYouâre an asshole, Peter,â Derek was panting, his words wheezy.
âYou should have answered my calls,â Peterâs face was glistening with sweat. âJerk.â
Peterâs nose bled too. He didnât seem to fight the pain. But Derek did. He held out, for as long as he could. Then, like lead balloons, both Peter and he fell. The mark burning like hellfire.
A connection severing from the collective. One of many considering the other dust piles on the floor.
Members of the Order of Sagittarius had just been killed.
And it was by their hand. Again.
#teen wolf#motw sequel#derek hale#derek hale x reader#derek hale x you#tyler hoechlin#peter hale#stiles stilinski#alan deaton#isaac lahey#chris argent#derek hale imagine#teen wolf imagine
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Of Bunnies and Sleeves and All Happy Things
Summary:Â When Lan Wangji tells Wei Ying to go pester somebody else, he doesnât expect him to actually do it. Or, Lan Wangji definitely, absolutely does not miss Wei Ying's attention--despite the fact that he can't stop thinking about it.
Pairing: WangXian
Words: 3,000+
Rating: G
Tags:Â two dorks, failed attempts at flirting, Lan Zhan is jealous, but he doesn't know it, unresolved romantic and sexual tension, Mutual Pining
Warnings: alcoholic beverages
When Lan Wangji tells Wei Ying to go pester somebody else, he doesnât expect him to actually do it. But the next morning, Wei Ying passes him wordlessly in the corridor like a cold breeze. In the library later that same day, Wei Ying never once throws a crumpled paper or a deliberately provocative statement his way. Instead, Wei Ying copies the text dutifully, pausing every once in a while to stretch or sigh. When the time is up, he opens his mouth like he's about to say something, and Lan Wangji tenses with anticipation. But then Wei Ying's lips close, his brow furrows, and he turns, departing without so much as a goodbye.
Lan Wangji is stunned.
He sits motionlessly, staring at the space where Wei Ying stood just moments before, trying to puzzle out what just happened. Maybe Wei Ying found a new distraction. He wonders briefly what--or who--it could be, then catches himself. Turning his attention back to the text in front of him, Lan Wangji tries to disregard the ever-expanding feeling of tension in his chest.
He doesnât see Wei Ying again until the next dayâs lecture--although âseeâ is perhaps not the right word. Aside from a quick, initial glance darted in Wei Yingâs direction, Lan Wangji spends the rest of the lecture steadfastly ignoring him. For once, he is able to. No paper men come creeping up over his shoulder. No drawings find their way onto his desk, no jokes are hissed in his direction. Itâs not until he hears the familiar whispering that he finally darts a furtive glance in the culpritâs direction. Itâs Wei Ying, of course. Heâs leaned over his desk, grin wide and eyes shining--the same way he usually looks when trying to pester Lan Wangji. The boy in front of him--a cousin of Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji thinks, although he isnât certain--tilts his head so that his ear is pointed toward Wei Yingâs fast-moving lips. His breath catches, and both their shoulders shake as they fight to suppress giggles.
Lan Wangji looks away.
The next time Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying, he is accompanied by Jiang Wanyin, Nie Huaisang and the nameless cousin. They are on the other side of the courtyard, headed in the opposite direction from Lan Wangji. He wonders where they are going. After all, it is only natural to be concerned--anyone would be--since wherever Wei Ying goes, trouble is sure to start. As he ponders, Lan Wangji catches snippets of their conversation.
"See?" Wei Ying says, tossing Jiang Wanyin a winning smile--the one that always does something funny to Lan Wangji's stomach. "I told you I could do it."
Jiang Wanyin snorts, skeptical. "Whatever! I saw you stealing glances when you thought no one was looking. You won't last even one more day."
"Who says I can't? You make it sound like I'm obsessed."
"Aren't you?" Jiang Wanyin quips back. Wei Ying gives him a sour look.
"I think Wei-xiong can definitely do it," Nie Huaisang says confidently. His cousin nods in agreement. Wei Ying immediately brightens.
"Of course I can! Jiang Cheng, I hope you have more money than you do faith, because by the end of this week you better be ready to pay up."
Are they talking about . . . a bet? Lan Wangji frowns. Gambling is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, since all games of chance should be avoided by men of virtue. He considers intervening.
At that moment, Wei Ying looks up, their gazes locking across the distance. The concerns that just seconds ago seemed so pressing to Lan Wangji vanish. He waits for Wei Ying to call out to him, waits for him to come racing over with that embarrassingly obvious enthusiasm that Lan Wangji does not understand but has somehow grown to expect.
Wei Ying looks away.
Lan Wangji's chest tightens like a vice. He watches as Wei Ying throws an arm over his new friendâs shoulder, and the four of them round the corner, disappearing until nothing but the echo of their laughter remains.
 ----
Over the next few days, Lan Wangji has more time to practice guqin. He completes all his readings and even has spare time for additional studies. None of his meditation sessions are interrupted. Best of all, he does not find himself in any unexpected or disgraceful situations.
So why does he feel so ill at ease?
âWangji.â
Lan Xichenâs gaze is gentle, like a warm hand on his cheek. They have just finished eating with their uncle. Now they stand outside, surrounded by a curtain of cricket song under the evening sky.
âSomething troubles you,â Lan Xichen says. Lan Wangji's lips purse. A second passes. Lan Xichenâs chin dips slightly, eyes carefully reading his brotherâs expression. âIs it . . . young master Wei?"
Lan Wangji swallows. His brother smiles.
âIf something troubles you, or you are worried for your friend, perhaps you should try speaking with him.â
The thought of approaching Wei Ying makes Lan Wangji's stomach flip. What would he say? Should he apologize for speaking harshly? No, he could never apologize to that flippant Wei Ying, who flouts his disregard for propriety like a badge of honor. Wei Ying, who pokes his nose into other peopleâs business, who sniffs out trouble like a dog digging for a bone. Wei Ying, who flutters his eyelashes and tosses out handsome smiles like casting a net over a flock of butterflies. Whose whims change as easily as the wind, first carrying him to Lan Wangji before whisking him off to someone else.
Lan Wangji quickly changes the subject by asking his brother if there has been any progress with the investigation. Lan Xichen lightly reproves his inquisitiveness, but seems to understand. The topic of Wei Ying is closed.
 ----
Since the Yunmemg Jiang sect's arrival at the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji has broken many rules. He has fought without permission. He has acted impulsively. He has even used a bad word to hurt others. Today he is dangerously close to breaking another rule, because when he spots Wei Ying in Caiyi Town, he instantly finds himself of two minds. Wei Ying flits about the stalls, handling knickknacks like an excited, greedy child. There is a pleasurable squeeze in Lan Wangjiâs lower abdomen as he watches--the sensation of something missing sliding into place. He takes a step forward, then stops, shocked at himself. How dare he approach Wei Ying? Especially when his brother has sent him on an important task, no less. His grip tightens around the pouch of herbs in his hand--the object of his errand. No time for distractions. He should hurry back to the Cloud Recesses.
At that moment, Wei Ying stills. His posture is familiar to Lan Wangji--a barely perceptible tilt of the head, a slight stiffness in the neck. Heâs thinking. Planning. Deciding what to do. His gaze slowly slips away from the trinket in his hand and gravitates in the direction of Lan Wangji. Mouth dry, Lan Wangji waits for those eyes to find him, to brighten with recognition.
'Wei Ying.' He thinks the name with all his strength, as if somehow Wei Ying will hear him.
But he must not, because Wei Ying suddenly turns away.
"Ugh, I'm hungry," he declares. "Li-xiong! Hey, Li-xiong. Feed me something good!"
Nie Huaisang and his cousin float into view, followed by a typically sour-faced Jiang Wanyin.
"Didn't you just eat?â Jiang Wanyin scolds. âHow can you complain so much and waste other people's money?"
"I've been training a lot lately," Wei Ying whines. "Working so hard, I should be careful to eat more, right?"
Wei Ying nudges him impishly, then returns his attention to his new friend.
"Li-xiong agrees with me, right? That's why he'll take us somewhere good to eat."
He reaches out and starts to tug on "Li-xiong's" sleeve. Lan Wangji's jaw tightens. He watches as Nie Huaisang joins in on the disgraceful display, whining and tugging on his cousin. Laughing, the cousin relents.
"Fine, fine! But let's find a place to sit down and have a drink."
Wei Ying wags his finger. "Ehhh, Li-xiong, you rascal! I like your style."
'Shameless,' Lan Wangji thinks. 'Boring.' But his feet don't move, nor does the lump in his throat, nor Wei Ying's hand as it clutches the other boyâs sleeve. Wei Ying has touched Lan Wangji that way before. At the time, Lan Wangji had been surprised by the sudden warmth. Speechless, he merely glared until Wei Ying let go, wincing. But this boy is not glaring. He is smiling, laughing, as if Wei Ying's touch is nothing special. He and Wei Ying must touch each other frequently, Lan Wangji realizes, and the lump in his throat swells until it hurts to breathe.
âItâs supposed to be me,â he thinks, and the thought is so abrupt and so inappropriate that it steals his breath away.
"Hey," Jiang Wanyin says suddenly, and Lan Wangji realizes with a start that he's staring in his direction. "Isn't that Second Young Master Lan?"
By the time Wei Ying turns around to look--if he even bothers to, as distracted as he is by his new friend--Lan Wangji is already gone. And this time, Lan Wangji doesnât expect Wei Ying to follow.
 ----
That night, Lan Wangji tells himself that he isnât waiting for Wei Ying to come back. But when he hears the voices outside, he is suddenly and unequivocally enraged. Darkness has long since fallen, and the dormitories of the Cloud Recesses are still as the waters of the cold springs. Now four different whispers, snorting and slurring drunkenly, come to disturb its still surface--to disturb him. Rising, Lan Wangji storms from his room and to the courtyard. He derives more than a little satisfaction from the way they all seem to freeze.
"S-second Young Master Lan!" Nie Huaisang stammers. "Wh-what are you . . . We were just . . ."
âDrinking is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.â Lan Wangji looks directly at Wei Ying. âYouâve broken the rules.â
Wei Ying lets out a little huff, rolls his eyes. Lan Wangjiâs fists clench. Before either of them can say anything, Nie Huaisang interrupts.
âB-b-but Second Young Master Lan! We didnât drink in the Cloud Recesses. We drank outside.â
âWow, Nie Huisang!â Wei Ying claps him on the shoulder. His face is clearly impressed. âSo even you can be crafty like this, huh?â
Nie Huaisang simpers cheekily behind his fan, and then the two start giggling and mooning over each other the way they always do, and Lan Wangji just canât stand it.
âNo going out at night in the Cloud Recesses,â he retorts, and the laughter withers. Wei Yingâs face suddenly brightens with realization.
âAh, but Lan Zhan, we came back just now! When we went out, it was still light. As long as weâre just coming back in the dark, we shouldnât be breaking any more rules, so itâs fine, right?â
Lan Wangji knows that this is not how the rule works, but heâs too furious for explanations. Wei Ying, meanwhile, actually has the audacity to look pleased with himself. Tossing his head, he glances back at the others, clearly gloating over his own cleverness.
"Besides," Wei Ying continues, "tomorrow is Li-xiong's last day in the Cloud Recesses. Canât you just let it go?â
"Shameless," Lan Wangji practically growls, but he isn't sure what to say after that. Wei Ying just smiles.
"Aren't you the one who's being shameless right now?" he coos, and Lan Wangji's insides go cold. "You don't have to go so far as to pick a fight, Lan Zhan. If you missed me so much, just go ahead and say it."
But Lan Wangji can't say it, so he draws Bichen.
 ----
The punishment is particularly humiliating--not just because Lan Wangji has disappointed his uncle and brother, but because Wei Ying looks especially smug as the five of them are forced to kneel the next morning. Like he's proven a spectacularly intelligent point, or won a prize.
"See?" Wei Ying hisses at Jiang Wanyin. "I told you--"
Jiang Wanyin cuts him off with an elbow to the ribs.
Since Lan Wangji and Wei Ying are deemed doubly guilty as having both broken curfew and instigated acts of violence, they are charged with kneeling longer than the other three. Nie Huaisang and his cousin shoot Wei Ying a sympathetic look as they slink off. Wei Ying just puts on a brave smile and whispers, "Bye, Li-xiong! Remember to come visit me in Yunmeng!"
Lan Wangji's stomach curls. "No talking," he snaps before he can stop himself. Wei Ying gives him a sardonic look.
"Aren't you just breaking your own rule by talking?" he asks. Lan Wangji's face hardens, but he can't quite ignore the pleased little thrill in his chest.
Wei Ying is speaking to him again.
"Aren't you just being unnecessarily rebellious?" he retorts back, invigorated. Wei Ying blinks at this, then heaves a little laugh.
"You know what, Lan Zhan? You've been really argumentative ever since last night. Don't be so self-righteous. You'll have a hard time getting along with others."
"Unlike you, who gets along with others so well," Lan Wangji claps back, surprised by his own vitriol.
Wei Ying shrugs. "Most of the time. People with good taste get along with me, anyway. Oh, that reminds me!"
He reaches suddenly into his sleeve. Lan Wangji tries not to look, but his eyes are inevitably drawn as Wei Ying removes something, holding it out for Lan Wangji to see. A small, wooden bunny, crudely carved and even more crudely painted, sits in Wei Ying's palms.
"Ta-da!" Wei Ying declares. "Isn't it cute?"
"Mn," Lan Wangji answers, taken off guard. His ears burn as Wei Ying's smile widens.
"Right? I bought it when I went to Caiyi Town yesterday. Lan Zhan, you like rabbits, don't you?"
The sound of a throat clearing has both of them straightening their backs. Lan Qiren gives them a particularly scathing look as he passes by. Lan Wangji's ears burn even hotter with shame.
"Anyway," Wei Ying says, as soon as Lan Qiren has disappeared, "that's why I--"
"No talking," Lan Wangji mutters harshly.
Wei Ying heaves an exasperated sigh, but unexpectedly doesn't protest. Instead he leans over. With unnecessary flourish, he sets the figurine down directly in front of Lan Wangji's bent knees.
Lan Wangji would rather die than look down.
Wei Ying makes a face but says nothing. He settles back down reluctantly.
They pass the rest of the punishment in silence. Wei Ying pokes at pebbles, squirms, whistles and sighs. Lan Wangji stares straight ahead, until his eyeballs ache and he realizes he's forgotten to blink. The little white rabbit taunts him just outside of his periphery. Lan Wangji wonders what Wei Ying could possibly mean, teasing him this way. Is he trying to gloat? Why else would he show Lan Wangji a trinket that is obviously meant for someone else? Maybe it's for Jiang Yanli. She seems kind and gentle. Perhaps she has a soft spot for small, mischievous creatures. Or maybe it's for Jiang Wanyin, as part of some inside joke Lan Wangji isn't privy to.
Or maybe it's a parting gift for Nie Huaisang's cousin.
Lan Wangji spends the next few hours focusing on his breath.
When the time of their punishment finally concludes, Lan Xichen dismisses them. Wei Ying leaves first, but not before shooting Lan Wangji one last glance. Lan Xichen doesn't miss it, of course. His eyes, twinkling, trail after Wei Ying as he departs. Then he turns, gaze landing on the small wooden rabbit perched in the pebbles, just at the tip of Lan Wangji's boots.
"Is that yours, Wangji?" he asks, voice warm with amusement.
Lan Wangji bends to retrieve it. The rabbit is coarse in his hands, and unexpectedly light. The poorly painted eye sockets watch him haphazardly as it sits in his palm. He blinks back at it, as if startled that it hasn't yet hopped away. He thinks back to yesterday in Caiyi Town, remembers Wei Ying lazily browsing the vendors and stalls.
Wei Ying may be careless, but Lan Wangji knows he did not leave this rabbit behind by mistake.
Lan Wangji has to swallow back a smile.
"I am glad to see that you and young master Wei are getting along again," Lan Xichen comments. "It's good to see you happy and at ease."
'Am I happy?' Lan Wangji wonders, but the answer is clear. Even after having spent hours on his knees, pebbles and hard ground digging into his joints, he feels strangely relaxed. He is happy that Wei Ying is talking to him again, he realizes with sudden and absolute clarity. Happy that he didn't completely push Wei Ying away with too harsh words; happy that he has not been so easily forgotten. But he is not sure why this makes him happy, or what that happiness means.
Lan Wangji tucks the rabbit into his sleeve. There will be plenty of time to think things over while he monitors Wei Ying in the library tomorrow--provided Wei Ying is not too much of a distraction.
 ----
Wei Wuxian heads from the main pavilion directly to Jiang Cheng. He holds out a hand, palm up. "Time to pay up."
Jiang Cheng scowls. "This doesn't count. You deliberately provoked him first."
Wei Wuxian pretends to look scandalized. "It's not my fault he patrols the Cloud Recesses like a hawk! Besides, the rules of the bet never said anything about who provoked who, only who talked to who first. You saw it yourself; he was the one who approached me, fair and square. I told you he wanted to be my friend!"
Jiang Cheng digs out his coin purse reluctantly. "If he does, then you both deserve each other! The way you chase after him is ridiculous. It's gross just to watch!"
Wei Wuxian counts the coins happily. "Well Second Young Master Lan must like it, because he couldn't hold himself back. Haha, and to think you were so sure that I was the one who wouldn't be able to stay away!"
"He only approached you because we were breaking the rules," Jiang Cheng gripes. "If he hadn't caught you, he'd still be ignoring you."
Wei Wuxian's smile falters like a candle flame in the breeze. He recalls the sight of Lan Zhan's back--the smooth black hair, the white clad shoulders--retreating amongst the crowded street of Caiyi Town. He'd been so sure Lan Zhan would approach him that time.
If he hadnât caught you, heâd still be ignoring you. Yeah; Jiang Cheng was probably right.
But whatever! So what if that fuddy duddy Second Jade of Lan looks down on him? Teasing Lan Zhan is one of the few fun things to do in the Cloud Recesses, an oasis in a desert of lectures and rule books and curfews. And that's all it is--just teasing. There isnât any deeper meaning behind it. The bet had proven it, after all. Wei Ying could literally stop talking to Lan Zhan any time he wanted to, just like that. So what if it made the days longer, or left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't seem to fill, no matter how many bowls of shijie's soup he stuffed himself with? All that matters is that it's over now. Wei Wuxian doesn't have to hold himself back like a caged cat, or bite back the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. Things can finally go back to normal.
Lost in his own thoughts, Wei Wuxian doesn't notice Yanli approach.
"Who's ignoring A-Xian?" she asks with a smile.
Wei Wuxian is suddenly overcome with a wave of shame. He pockets the coins hastily. "No one, no one," he lies. The last thing he wants is for Yanli to find out that he and Jiang Cheng have been placing bets on a person. She probably wouldn't think it was very kind, and he'd hate himself if he disappointed her. And now that he thinks about it, really thinks about it, she'd be right to be disappointed. Playing these kind of games with another person . . . Couldn't that potentially be hurtful?
Whatever, whatever! As if Lan Zhan would ever bring himself to care about anything Wei Wuxian does, as long as he's not violating the Lan sect rules.
"What's for dinner?" Wei Wuxian asks, and the three head back to their main quarters.
On the other side of the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji removes the rabbit from his sleeve, sets it on the table beside his guqin, and allows his face to soften.
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Hell(L)ing || 02
§ â Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)
§ â Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror
§ â Wordcount: 3,161
§ â Rating: M
§ â Warnings: My attempt at writing something creepy...? So, Iâll be both sorry and glad if it does scare you a little hahaha
§ â A/N: Chapter 2! Yay! Iâm surprised to actually be tagging people for this! Iâve never had anyone want to be tagged in my written stories before... It makes me so happy! Writing and drawing are BOTH great creative passions for me, which is why comics are what I lean towards on most days, but sometimes I want to swiftly move through a story, and drawing takes too much time... I know you guys are here for my art, but I hope youâll enjoy my writing as well! Again, this was originally for @bang-tan-bitchesâ âMonster Mash Challengeâ, which I really wish I had entered, but there was so much good writing that you should definitely check out!
 Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldnât return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone elseâs emotions bearing down on you isnât such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.
You spent the remainder of the afternoon pacing around your kitchen, sending glances at the business card on your counter top, and considering calling Seokjin. âGenetic Anthropologistâ is what it said on the card; clearly his job title, but you had no idea what it entailed. You could define the words separately, but together it created a delineation that you couldnât even fathom. His strange career aside, you couldnât help but be troubled about the boy you saw earlier.
He had been in the area you were fairly certain was now Seokjinâs property, and the fact that the purple-haired man hadnât mentioned any relatives or roommates concerned you. It was a biting feeling, rather, that you couldnât shake off. You were rationalâ you considered it was a friend or family visiting, but there was something so⌠off about the boy that you feel like you should check on your new neighbor to make sure he was fine. Or at the very least warn him that there was someone lurking near his home.
Deciding that you wouldnât be able to calm your nerves otherwise, you pulled your phone from your pocket and dialed his number, making a mental note to save it in your contacts afterwards. It rang; once, twice, three timesâ and continued to ring. For a moment, you mildly panicked; what if something had happened to him? Sucking in a breath, you pulled the phone away to hang up and try again, when you heard a manâs voice come through your phone.
âHello?â In an instant, you smashed the phone back against your ear in alacrity.
âS-Seokjin? Kim Seokjin?â You replied, your heart racing. You werenât sure why you were asking if it was really him, but you wouldnât put it past yourself to type in the wrong number when you were hastily attempting to contact him.
ââŚYesâŚ?â His answer was drawn out, a defensive tone slipping through his words. You let out a breath of relief, placing a hand on your chest as your pulse began to stabilize. You hear him clear his throat. âUh, who is thisâŚ?â
âOh! Right! Sorry, this is Y/N, your neighbor?â Embarrasses, you laugh at yourself. How was he supposed to know that you were calling? And of course you hadnât say anythingâ you were more concerned about making sure he was still among the living.
âOh! Y/N!â His pitch changed drastically at the mention of your name, and you couldnât help the little smile and shallow eye-roll produced by this. One conversation with this man and you were already reacting to him as if he were a friend. This, while nice, was also alarming considering the deception that dripped off of his emotions when you had contact with him. âHow can I be of service?â You could practically hear the purr in his voice, though the question brought you back to why you originally called.
âOh, umâŚâ Releasing an exhale through your nose, you pondered at your wording for a moment before continuing. âI, uh⌠I actually wanted to let you know that I saw someone near your house earlierâŚâ Seokjin was silent, not that there was really much to respond to, but he was so still that you couldnât even hear his breath.
ââŚOh?â His voice broke through the thick quiet, and you swallowed, the defensive quality to his tone returning tenfold and turning his usually cheery voice completely stony.
âY-yeah.â You stuttered, suddenly feeling pressure building in the conversation. âA boy⌠w-with black hair⌠He was down by the lake earlier todayâŚ.â The palm of your hand rubbed nervously on your sweatpants as you flexed and unflexed your fingers. Normally, you didnât get much through a phone call, voices were rarely an accurate representation of oneâs true thoughts, but the weight of his aura was so severe that you felt a chill throughout your body.
âOh! Yes, thatâs my roommate!â His suddenly chipper voice made your head spin. âHe wonât be around much, but donât mind him if you do see him!â He let out a laugh, which didnât sound particularly genuine. Your brows furrowed, trying to connect all of the doubts flying around in your mind.
âAh, I seeâŚâ You chewed on your bottom lip. As unable as you were to read the situation, you knew something was upâ there were truths, half-truths, and lies being told here, of that you were sure, but you couldnât decide what pieces of information were which. âIâm sorry, I wouldnât have bothered you if I had known.â You forced your voice to sound light, not wanting to come across rude or give away your reservations about the information being given to you.
âItâs no problem, I must have forgotten to mention him before,â And so he was back to, what you assumed, was his usual self. Alarmingly, you felt yourself relax. âBesides, Iâll always take any excuse to talk to you.â You snort, and a very different sounding laugh echoed through the phoneâ much like a windshield wiper. That, you could tell, was his true laugh, and what an infectious sound it was. Against your better judgment, you laughed as well.
âAre all conversations with you going to be like this?â You asked, attempting to recollect yourself. It terrified you how easily this man made you relax within his denigrations, and you now realized you would have to build a wall between you and Kim Seokjin.
âWhat are you talking about, Iâm a delight!â He let out an indignant gaspâ sarcastic, for the most part, but you had a feeling a very small part of him was actually offended. âSuch a delight, in fact, that you should invite me over for a dinner date!â This time, you sputtered, a light blush rising to your cheeks. So much for that wall.
âW-weâll see!â You manage to squeak out, causing another boisterous laugh to come from the other side of the phone.
âIâll hold you to that Y/N!â And you could practically hear the wink he surly executed at your expense. You sigh and promise to invite him over once your pantry is stocked once more in a week. He hums, âYouâd better! Remember, I have your number now, I can call you until you cave!â Another laugh and you assured him that youâd be contacting him again soon. With that, the two of you bid farewells and hung up.
Another heavy sigh left your lips as you placed your phone down on your counter. You were eerily calm after the whirlwind of emotions and doubt you had just over a simple phone call with Seokjin, and you could honestly say you were scared. He knew how to completely tear down your defenses and make you comfortable with him. The scarier part? You wanted to be at ease with him. Looking at your phone once more with a worried glance, you stepped around the peninsula of your counter to begin cooking dinner.
The following evening, your television played some mind-numbing show which you had little investment in, but for you it was a welcomed distraction from your thoughts. You hadnât been able to work on your book at allâ to your great chagrin. Namjoon would be visiting you in less than two days and you still only had four-fifths of a book prepared. Youâd give it another go tomorrow, but you were starting to think that maybe it wouldnât be such a bad idea to just ask Namjoon for help. He was an excellent writer and would surly be able to give you some insight into why you were struggling.
You sighed, feeling a bit light-headed from what you assumed was stress. It wasnât unlike you to become ill from over-exertion, especially with your abilities; it took a lot of energy and mental stamina to hone in and stay connected to othersâ feelings the way you did. You had long tried to control itâ you wanted to shut the essentially open door you had linking you to other people, but all attempts proved futile. It was draining, and though you did your best to stay away from other people, you still couldnât help the exhaustion you felt after interacting with those few you did see. A sharp pain on the back of your neck had you groaning and moving a hand to rub the afflicted area. Man, you were tiredâŚ
Your phone lit up with an unimportant notification which allowed you to see that it had become quite late; much later than you were usually found awake. Deciding that the nameless show playing on the TV was far less important than sleep, you reached for the remote and pressed the power button, effectively turning off the senseless chattering of the shallow character. You shifted in your seat on the couch, only to immediately freeze in terror.
On your blackened television screen, there was a reflection of everything in front of it, and, in turn, everything behind you. There was the outline of your furniture, and you sitting upon it, but it was none of these things that caused your entire body to break out in a cold sweat. No, it was the secondary figure, the larger figure, the figure standing deathly still behind you.
Your breathing became erratic and your hands shook with how tightly they were gripping the seat cushions of your couch. You could only hope that the figure was separated from you by the thick glass of your window wall and not currently in your living room as your mind reeled trying to remember whether or not you had locked the doors to your house.
How had you not felt him coming? Even now, aware of his presence, you could hardly feel a thing. Just detached curiosity and⌠hunger⌠for what, you couldnât tell. Youâd never experienced anything like this, and every bit of your intuition was screaming that he was dangerous.
Your heart beat painfully against your sternum as you realized you had a choiceâ run, hide, or fight. Running could be eliminated; you had no where to run to, even with your car parked out front, and who knows if youâd even make it there before him. Fighting was out of the question as you had noodle arms and zero self defense knowledge, making you practically useless in any confrontational situation. This left you with one option:
Hide.
You took a couple of unsteady breaths to urge yourself to move, move, just move! Hand shooting out to grab your phone which rested on the coffee table in front of you, you sprung to your feet and immediately took off towards your stairs. Climbing them as quickly as your feet would carry you, your eyes flicked over to the figure hovering outside your house and you regretted the action immediately.
Those eyes. Youâd only seen something similar in cats or dogs or birds when light reflected off of themâ they were glowing in the dark, the only feature defined in a human figure shrouded in shadow. Not human, you mind screamed at you. Not human, not human. It wasnât human. You knew, instinctively, it was something else.
The figure didnât move an inch as you frantically scuttled up the stairs and you tore your gaze away, focusing solely on reaching the safety of your room and immediately throwing yourself into your closet and slamming the door. The only sound in the space was your choked, heavy breathing, but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. You looked at your phone, clutched pathetically in your shaking hands. You had to call someone, anyone. Your friends? No, they wouldnât get here in time. The police would be the same story, as you were at least a thirty-five-minute drive from town, and even further from the city where your friends lived. A small glimmer of hope registered in your hazed mind as you scrolled through your contacts. Hitting the name immediately, you pressed the phone to your ear and sniffled. You could only hope he would answer, it was so early in the morning so there was no guarantee, but if you still knew him like you once hadâ
âHello?â a groggy, sleep-deprived voice floated through the speaker like music to your ears and you let out a choked cry. ââŚY/N?â He asked, slightly more alert at your desperate sob.
ââŚYoongiâŚ?â
Min Yoongi was the only man in your life that you had allowed yourself to form a relationship with. You had met him as a freshman in collegeâ he had been a resident assistant at your dorm and had taken it upon himself to show you (and a small group of other students, mind you) around the immediate area. You had noticed that his emotions were almost always calm and focused on whatever he was working on, and that made it easy to be physical with, as this was still at the point where your gift was sparked by touch. So, you went out of your way to get to know him.
Over time, your persistence won him over and he tentatively asked you out on a date that started a lovely three-year relationship. Well, rather, the first two-and-a-half years were lovely; the last six months were, as you remember, rather sobering.
He was a year older than you, and, in turn, graduated a year ahead of you despite his double-major (the man was a workaholic, honestly). At first, the two of you did your best to see each otherâ you skipped out on regular college weekend get-togethers to meet him or spend a few days at his apartment. Besides the distance, you didnât think much else had changed between you, until he stopped touching you. Quite literally, in fact. If you would try to initiate hand holding, heâd quickly stuff his hands into his pockets. If you tried to kiss him, heâd dodge with a cough or a sneeze. One of the few times you had managed to graze your skin against his, you finally realized:
He cared about you, but he didnât love you anymore.
It was the first time you had experienced the dissolution of such powerful emotions, and you realized that this would be your life. You would always have to experience your significant other and how they felt about you; you would always have to suffer through them falling out of love with you. Yoongi knew thisâ he was one of the only people you had spoken to about your abilities at the time, not wanting to ruin a normal university experience with rumors and students coming up to you and asking you for readings. But he knew that youâd be able to tell the difference in his feelings towards you, and tried to hide it.
When you finally asked him to sit down with you to discuss the change, he allowed you to take his hand to get a sense of the totality of the expiry of his love. However, you could also feel his immense sorrow, his guilt over hurting you. He really, truly still cared about you; just not how you wished he did.
Through tears, you let him go with a smile, telling him that you understoodâ because you did. You knew better than anyone the shift and tides of emotions, but you also knew that he would always care for you; the time spent together had not wasted away into the atmosphere. You remained friends over the years, but rarely ever contacted each other as the two of you had simply grown apart in your growing lives separate from one another.
But tonight, in your panic and fear, his number was the one you pressed. It was logical, of courseâ you had learned about the lake front homes from him after all, as he lived near-by cabin enjoying peace and quiet in his own solitude. So, in calling him, you knew that he would have the best chance to reach you in a swift manner. You couldnât, however, say that there wasnât some emotional aspect to the phone call. He was familiar, and the familiarity was a comfort to you. Just hearing his voice over the phone telling you he would be at your house in ten minutes or less had calmed your nerves significantly.
And so, the two of you stood in the middle of your living room in the early hours of the morning with every sing light in your house turned on. Having him there, standing in front of you in grey plaid pajama bottoms, a white tee, and a pair of PUMA slides, you picked up on the friendly affection he held for you, as well as slight irritation most likely caused by being out at this hour. You had told him everything; the figure, itâs eyes, the fact that you could barely get a read on him, the feeling of non-human you perceived.
âNot human?â Yoongi asked, clearly skeptic about the entire ordeal and if it hadnât been for your sheer terror in response to it all, you were sure he would have just left immediately. You pouted, knowing how crazy it sounded, but also unable to simply brush aside your instincts.
âYes, Yoongi, it didnât feel human.â You were almost offended that he didnât believe youâ what would you gain from lying about this? Except for the obvious fact that your ex-boyfriend, who you found great difficulty moving on from for quite some time after your breakup, was now standing in your house at two-thirty in the morning. Still, as much as you had loved him, you were not interested in rekindling a relationship with a man who clearly was not in love with you anymore.
âCrazy glowing eyes aside, what makes you say that?â He inquired, plopping himself down on your couch, lazily man-spreading as if heâs a frequent visitor to your dwelling. You would have smiled, if it werenât for the doubt he held in regard to your confession.
âI told you,â you huffed, running your still shaking fingers through your hair. âI couldnât read him. Not like everyone else. I didnât even feel him coming!â You tossed your hand in the direction where the figure appeared. Yoongi sighed,
âMaybe your powers are getting weaker?â He suggested, to which you shook your head.
âNo, I had no problem detecting you when you arrived, and I can read your emotions as well as ever.â If only your abilities were fading, your life would be so much simpler and you would love nothing more than to move back to the city where your close friends resided. âExhaustion, irritation, doubt, concern, fondnessâŚâ You rattled off all the emotions rolling off of him in waves, though they were still as mellow and manageable as they always were. He dropped his head to rest on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
âYears of knowing you and Iâm still not used to thatâŚâ Your heart sank a bit at this even though you knew the comment was not meant to be malicious, your senses telling you he meant it in a teasing way. But it still reminded you that you were not normal. After a moment he pulled himself forward to rest his forearms on his knees and ruffled his bleach-blonde hair. âAlright. I can see youâre seriously freaked out by thisâŚâ He looked over at you, his sharp eyes almost trying to read you like you were able to read him. ââŚIâll sleep on the couch tonight if thatâll make you feel better.â You released an alleviated sigh before bouncing over to him and wrapping him up in a chaste hug.
âThank you, YoongiâŚâ He didnât exactly return the hug, only reaching up and patting your back reassuringly, but you felt the small spike of comfort and serenity at the friendly action, and that was enough to tell you that your gesture was appreciated.
Afterwards, you gathered spare blankets and a pillow from your linen closet for Yoongi to use for the evening. You had tried to offer him other amenities, such as water or tea, but he politely turned you down, clearly wanting nothing more than to sleep. Thanking him once more, you retired to your own room, leaving your door open and turning the light on your bedside table on to illuminate the darkness. You kept your back towards the window in your room, not wanting to subject yourself to the self-inflicted fear you would surly create from the moving shadows of the trees just outside. You were on the second floor, surly safe from the beings that lurk below and now, with the thought of Yoongi snoozing on our couch, you allowed yourself to slip off into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep.
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Tom Holland-Fluff Alphabet
Requested by two anons. Hope you like it! I actually lost your asks, deleted it before time, so Iâm sorry. But I got your requests right!
Affection (PDA, how they are in privateâŚ)
In public, Tom has certain doubts about kissing you. He knows how the media can get when a famous is in a relationship, and knows that his fans can be aggressive. He doesnât want any type of hate reaching you, so he decides to keep your relationship out of the public eye for the first month. Itâs not a matter of being ashamed of you, and youâre sure of it when a very nervous Tom asks you if you want to meet his family. Itâs just a matter of protection and care.
Once the press finds out about you, heâs still a shy guy. Sure, a few pictures on Instagram of you two doing silly things and stories of your daily life, but he doesnât like to share his private life with the whole world. When you two take a walk, he will take your hand or kiss your cheek, but never make out with you in a public place.
In private, affection is Tom middleâs name. He wonât hesitate to show you how much he loves you every second of the day. Kissing your cheek when heâs passing by, helping you with anything without a second thought, touching you absentmindedly when youâre with friends⌠The âI love youâ are like your good morning; he says them when you wake up, before you go to bed, with a random note or a text, and every time he sees you. For him, the world spins around you, and he likes to let you know that.
Baby (do they want a family?)
Since the moment he met you, he knew he wanted to have something more with you. In the set of Avengers, or in any other set, he had seen a lot of people playing with their children, and admire from afar how they love each other. He canât help imagine both of you with a small family of your own. Children with spiderman pyjamas, a house with a garden where Tessa and some other dogs could play, Sundayâs lunch with your families and the kids, holidays trips to exotic places.
Tom knows youâre too young for that, but he does bring it up sometimes. When youâre having lunch in a small restaurant and he sees a family. When youâre in the park and a little kid approach him. Even when you go to the cinema and he sees those special seats for the children.
However, if he could choose, he would probably have a family of dogs.
Cuddles (how and when)
Thatâs not a question. Tom Holland is always up for cuddles. In the bed, couch, cinema, after lunch, before bed, whenever you want. If youâre standing, he will gradually grab your hips and pull you closer. He puts his head your shoulder and nuzzle his nose on your neck, like a small cat. If youâre reading a book laying on the bed, heâll put his head on your stomach while playing with his phone. Then, he crawls up little by little until you canât see the book because his head is in between and the letters. His cute brown eyes looks up at you and he smiles, showing you the dimples of his cheeks. It doesnât matter if what youâre reading is something important or not, heâll be there, hugging you, until he falls sleep.
His favourite way to cuddle is on the couch. Tom will lay on the couch with you on his side, while a movie (probably spiderman, letâs be honest) stars playing and Tessa steps between you two. He likes to watch your eyes focusing on the movie or closing slowly. Actually, he likes to watch you when youâre not looking. You run your hand over Tessaâs fur and he plays with your hair. Thatâs probably what he calls heaven.
Dates (what are dates with him like?)
Time is something that, as an actor who travels a lot and has his family in another country, he values a lot. Tom can spend months in a different country, filming a movie or doing press tours with his cast mates.
He tries to travel home as often as he can. When he comes back, he likes quiet dates. Having you over and playing board games with his family is probably his favourite. Heâs a huge family guy, so as soon as your relationship is solid enough, he presents you to his family and friends. If youâre not with them, then going out with his friends is also cool. However, he needs time alone with you too. Tom likes taking you out for a walk or for an ice cream, going to the cinema and then talk about the film in a bench of your favourite park. He wants you to feel as if you were a normal couple. Sometimes, thatâs impossible because he has to stop to take a photo with a fan or to sign something. So expect that, every few weeks, Tom manages to sneak you around and plan a trip just for the two of you.
Dates also happen when you visit him. If heâs in New York or in another country, you will find an airplane ticket on your mailbox to where heâs staying. He loves that kind of dates. Tom will show you around the city while bouncing up and down in excitement; his favourite place to eat, where did he record the first scene, what place reminds him of you. All of that while talking about his cast mates. Then, he introduces you to them and itâs safe to say that you both freak out on the same level.
Entertainment (how do you spend your free time)
Tom can, and itâs a fact, look at you for an hour without getting bored. You can be doing anything; homework, house chores, reading or with your computer. If Tom is in the same room than you, he will lose focus on anything else and only see you. He puts on his in-love eyes, placing his head on his hand and forget about the scripts in front of him. You can talk to him, the phone can ring or the building could be on fire; he wonât stop staring at you.
His favourite thing to do with you in your free time it enjoy your company. He doesnât need fancy restaurant or expensive dates, you can have the best time of your life playing âUNOâ on your bedroom and trying to avoid Tessa eating the cards.
Feelings (when did they know they loved you?)
Tom knew he was madly in love with you when he left to film Spiderman: Far From Home. It had been a stressful day; he had gotten coffee all over himself, it was cold, he didnât know anyone and a terrible wave of homesickness had hit him since he had woken up. He had missed your face time, saying that he was too busy and would call you at night.
Even if he didnât want to say it, the main problem was that one the crew had taken her dog to set, and Tom had thought about Tessa. The dog had bought happiness to his life, being away from her so much time was too hard. So he spent the whole day with a pout.
When he arrived to his hotel room late at night, he just wanted to curl up in bed and cry in peace, away from the paparazzi and his friends. Tom didnât expect seeing you with Tessa in the lobby, trying to convince an angry woman that you were Tomâs girlfriend. Tessa was moving around anxiously, wanting to break free from the leash and run around that enormous place. You had only brought with you one backpack, that seemed really heavy from where Tom was staring at you.
Turned out, Jacob had called you and told you about Tomâs mood, so you had decided to pay him a quick visit to where they were filming. It didnât matter that it took you more than what you earned in two months and a tiredness that weighted on your shoulder.
Tom didnât have time to greet you, because as soon as Tessa saw him, she broke free and tackled him to the ground. As you hugged with a jumping dog around you, Tom mumbled for the first time the three words sentence, and realised that there was not a day on his life that he didnât want to spend with you.
Gentle (kind or rough)
You canât change my mind, Tom is the kindest dork on earth. Like, heâll ask before doing anything, and I mean anything, with you. Holding your hand, kissing your cheek, wrapping his arms around your shoulder or wiping a hair out of your face.
In bed, heâs also kind. You have tried rough or had stuff sometimes, but it always ends up the same way; Tom fussing over you and panicking because he thinks he has hurt you. There is not an inch of roughness in that boy, seriously.
Holidays (favourite place)
Tomâs favourite place to spend the holidays is somewhere lost where he can enjoy time with his family and you. If both of you are free, he loves to take you to a small trip for a week, nothing too expensive but where you can have time alone away from everyone.
However, he prefers family vacations. Since the first summer that you had spent together as a couple, he had invited you to come with his family on holidays. His brothers love you, his parent do too, and youâre probably closer to Harry than Tom himself, because that boy is the definition of friendship. So, you donât have any problem going with them.
Usually that kind of holidays mean stress for Tom. The good kind, though.
You team up with his brothers to prank him, and he canât take a step without fearing that a spider might be somewhere. Throwing each other to the pool, drawing strange patterns with sunscreen on the others back. But if there is a thing that bothers Tom, is the privacy.
You two literally donât have any of it. If he, by a chance, wants to get intimate with you, one of his brothers or his mother will open the door asking for something. Or they just wanted to see the TV. Itâs just, your room is fresher that ours. Anyone, expect no sex while youâre on holidays.
Tom might complain about it and about his family stealing you away, but he doesnât want it any other way.
Impression (first impression)
This is kind of a little imagine where Tom meets you for the first time.
Hospitals were, at the same time, the best and the worst part of his day. There was where Tom found his happiness, between the excited children who shouted when they saw him on his suit; but also, he found a deep sadness, when one of them had to leave the room because of his or her illness.
âHeyâ Benedict appeared behind him and grabbed his shoulder. âMaybe you can take a break. You know, go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat.â
Tom was sitting on an empty table, too small for an adult. Still, he had been there for two hours. In front of him stood three different puzzles undone and a cute doll with a red dress. Her previous owner was then in surgery, her little heart giving her awful problems. He sighed and looked up to the man, who had a worried glint on his eyes. Maybe it would feel good, he thought. He had been there for hours, and a coffee actually sounded good.
âI guessâ he mumbled, getting up. âI-Iâm going to get something. Text or something if you know anything. About the girl.â
âSureâ he offered him a half smile. âDonât worry, Tom. Sheâs gonna be fine.â
He answered with a small grunt and left the kidsâ room. There werenât much of them, because it was probably dinner time and because their energy had ran low after spending a whole day with the avengers.
They had appeared in the hospital as a surprise; Robert, both Chris, Benedict, Scarlett and him. The day had been going great until the girl who was playing with Tom and had been attached to his leg couldnât breathe. Tom had panicked and called the doctor as soon as he noticed, yet when she arrived she was unconscious and he was holding her small body in his arms.
The ghost feeling of it made Tom take a turn and enter into one of the rooms for âonly staffâ. Inside, it was dark and humid, but it was perfect for him to hide for a few minutes. He was sure the press would be in the corridors waiting for him. The rest of the cast had already left, except Benedict and him, who wanted to wait until the little girl was fine again. And from the window, he had seen some reporters waiting for him to come out.
When the door closed behind him, he let out a shaking breath and the first tear rolled down his cheek. It was all so stressing. The social pressure, the influence he had over those children, the responsibilities, the fame. There were moment when everything seemed to big for him. It was one of those moments.
Tom sat on a small bed and hid his face between his hand, letting the tears roll down freely. It was silent for a while until he started sobbing.
âI can leave if you want.â
Probably, if someone had been recording that moment and had shown it to him later he would have died off embarrassment, because the high-pitched scream he produced sounded un natural. He jumped to the right a few inches, almost falling off the bed, and looked to his left. There, in a bed similar to the one he was sitting on, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
And it wasnât as if he saw much, because it was dark as hell.
âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to scare youâ you let out a little laugh. âI just thought I should make myself known before you saw me.â
âH-How long have you been there?â Tom asked, his eyes not leaving your face.
You werenât wearing the ugly hospital uniform; beside that, to him you looked too young to be working there. You were sitting cross-legged with some leggings and a huge t-shirt with a weird drawing. If he wasnât so scared about the pictures you could have taken of him crying or that you could be an stalker, he would have drooled because of your smile.
âWas here before you cameâ you shrugged. âI didnât think anyone knew about this room, so I come here sometimes. When, you know, it gets hard outside.â
âOhâ he coughed awkwardly, looking at the floor. âI thought-I thought there wasnât anyone in here.â
âYeah, itâs not where you expect to find someoneâ you said. âIâm Y/N, and you?â
Tom looked up and found you in front of him. He could then see clearly the front of your t-shirt; the logo of a campaign who helped families and children in hospitals. At your question, he raised a brow. You seemed genuinely innocent; but he had met people like that before, fans that didnât know where the privacy started. Still, he couldnât resist the urge of touching you, even if it was just your stretched hand.
âTomâ he mumbled. âAnd, uh, what are you doing here?â
You sat beside him and told him how you were helping the families of those children; keeping them company, being positive for them, and how you needed a break from all of that and decided to step away for some hours. After listening to you, he felt kind of silly when he thought how he had cried over a little girl. Your âjobâ (volunteering, you had said) was much harder than making two appearances each year in a local hospital, yet you comforted and smiled at him when he cried about his little friend.
âRachel is a brilliant girlâ you explained. âI met her four months ago. Did you know that she can spell ten words in a minute? And sheâs only eight!â
He thought that, usually, people spoke about those children as if their illnesses defined them
Rachel is a good girl, she has blood cancer.
Bryan, cool kid, but he has a brain tumour.
It put a smile on his face that you spoke about Rachel with joy, and little by little he forgot about his previous sorrow. When he could finally break away from your beautiful eyes, he noticed that it was already dark on the sky.
âI should get goingâ he mumbled. âI have things to do-Not like Iâm having a bad time, no, Iâm-Iâm glad youâre here. I mean, not glad, like glad. Just like I enjoy your company. But I have, you know stuff.â
Tom had reached the conclusion that you didnât know who he was. You had been talking with him for hours and, still, hadnât asked for a picture or a follow on Instagram. And probably you had understood him like no one else. Cutting short your âmeetingâ wasnât what he wanted to do, but he needed to go back or the car would leave without him.
âOh, Iâm sorryâ you blushed. âI didnât notice the time.â
âYeah, me neitherâ suddenly, a light popped up in Tomâs mind. It was a crazy idea, one that, heard by any of his cast members, would be disapproved. If he hadnât had enough troubles with the spoilers things, he was going to get in some more; he didnât care. âAre you going to be around? Tonight, or tomorrow.â
âYeah, my brother has to pick me up tomorrow morning. Iâm spending the night here, Rachelâs parents might need help.â
âThatâs niceâ Tom smiled. âDo you think you can give me your number? To know about Rachel, I mean. I really want to know if she gets better. Just for that! And if you want, itâs totally okay if you donât. Actually, itâs a little weird that-â
He started rambling and the blood rushed to his head until you could almost distinguish the soft red from the dark in the room. You placed a hand on his shaking one, making him stop talking and look at you.
âItâs fine by meâ you said. âBut I didnât think famous actors should be doing that? Giving their personal number to the first stranger they met.â
âBut youâre not the first-â Tom shut himself in the middle of his sentence and looked at you with wide eyes. âYou know who I am?â
âYouâre wearing the spiderman suit!â you laughed âAnd Iâve seen the rest of the cast this morning.â
âWhy didnât you say anything?â his voice was nothing more than a whisper.
âWell, I thought you needed someone to talk toâ it was your turn to blush.
Tom thought you were the most adorable person, as you started talking about how you were a big fan but you understood that everyone needed to talk about their things too. As he gave you his number and received a kiss on the cheek, he left the room with a new happy smile.
Jealous (protective or overprotective)
Protectiveness is not his thing. He knows when someone is flirting with you, but trusts you enough to push them away and come back to him. If whoever is flirting with you doesnât get the hint, itâs his time to step up; heâll probably talk to him calmly and make him understand that you donât want anything with them, because youâre happy with him. Words usually works and thatâs the end of the discussion.
If he has to be jealous, heâs the puppy jealous. Yeah, thatâs a thing, and probably he started it. Itâs kind of similar to when you donât acknowledge Tessa because sheâs misbehaving; sheâll start whining, pouting and following you with her ears down. When Tom is jealous, heâll look at you with sad eyes, follow you with his head down and answer with nods or shakes to your questions. Until you ask him whatâs wrong; he tells you in a quiet voice and you hug him for a few minutes until he feels alright again.
Kisses
His favourite type of kisses are the lazy ones or the pecks.
Lazy kisses mean that you have enough time to enjoy each other company. Making out in the couch, cuddling in bed sharing kisses or slow love making in the morning. Thatâs the kind of thing heâs addicted to. When he arrives home late from filming, sure, he likes to kiss the hell out of you and trap you in bed for two days in a row. But he prefers calmer things.
Besides Tessa and too much cuteness, pecks are the other part of your relationship. Tom will steal them every chance he has. If youâre watching a film and you want to go to the bathroom, peck. When youâre waiting for him as he films and he gets two free minutes, peck. As he plays with his brothers and you pass by, peck. You have counted them before, and in a day he can easily give you over one hundred pecks. Not that there is anything to complain about.
Love (who says it first, how many times)
If he could say it every hour of the day, he would. Heâs always thinking about those things you do for him, or just the small routines you have picked up from being together. So, not only Tom is the first one saying it, but also who says it the most.
There are more ways of saying I love you, not just with words. For example, if you have had a rough day, when you meet Tom he will have the cutest dinner prepared with your favourite movie. The first time he tried to do so went really bad, because he left Tessa in the apartment with him. He thought that she would help you to cheer up, but she ended up throwing the table where the food was and chewing the TVâs wires. You came home to Tom running behind Tessa in his boxers and with foam on his hair, as she carried the his towel. It doesnât matter if things donât go as planned, you know he tries and thatâs more than enough.
Other way of saying I love you without words is spending 24 hours without sleep and taking a flight of five hours just to see you for five minutes. You donât even have to tell him that you need him with you. If he notices something off in your voice, heâll be there. If itâs your birthday or a special occasion, heâll be there. And if he just miss you a lot, heâll be there. You donât spend more than a month without seeing each other.
When he stays for the night and has to leave early in the morning, he leaves thousands of notes with cute words in your toothbrush, the milk or in the door. Along the day, your conversation with him is the cheesiest thing in the world; lots of I love you, I miss you and adorable pictures of each other.
Memory (favourite memory together)
Itâs simple but, without any doubt, his favourite. It happens a lot of times, and is his favourite moment of the day.
Tomâs head was about to explode. He felt a constant pain on the middle of his forehead, between his eyebrows, and on the back of his neck. He had tried pressing on the spots, putting something cold or hot, and even taking some tea. Still, it hadnât gotten any better, and the reason behind it was in front of him; the damned script. For the past three hours, he had been trying to learn it, but it was already late at night and nothing had entered in his head.
Groaning in frustration, he looked up to the wall of your apartment. He had promised you a perfect night, but he wanted to end the scrip first. Not that it was happening any time soon. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him and saw you standing on the doorway. You were wearing pyjama bottoms, too long for your legs, and one of the spiderman t-shirt he had gotten you in his last convention. Your hair was standing on every direction and it made his heart thrum inside his chest. You rubbed your eyes before walking towards him, yawning.
âHey baby, what are you doing up?â he asked, voice gentle as he placed the script down. His body ached and he probably should had stood up and stretched, but you were coming his way and he would be damned if he moved an inch.
You sat on his lap gently, and Tom sneaked his arms around your waist to lock themselves around your body, like an automatic reaction. Your hand carded his hair, pushing the longer strands of his curly locks back from his forehead. Tom closed his eyes and hummed happily.
âIsnât that what I should be asking you?â you gave him a sleepy smile, as one of his hands reached your arm and stroked its way down and up.
âStill got a few pages leftâ he grunted, and grabbed your small hand in his.
He bought it up to his lips and kissed it, letting you rest it against his cheek. A small and tired smile made its way to his face.
âYou said that three hours agoâ you pouted slightly through the sleep. âAnd promised to spend a night with me.â
âI knowâ he sighed. âBut someone has been distracting me all night.â
He had been gone for two months, and just that week he had come back to you; so you had squeezed even the last second of his time, because you knew he would leave soon. Probably, in that week, you had ended with the Kamasutra; and still, you wanted him by your side that night.
âPleaseâ
A puff of air hit your ear as he laughed, winding his arms around your waist to pull you closer, in a more reclining position before his hands went up your back, drawing lazy circles over your shirt. Tom pressed his face against your neck, leaving a small kiss in your pulse point that made a shiver run through your back. He held you safely as you pushed at him, trying to get away from his ticklish lips. Tomâs eyes found you as you tilted your head up from his shoulder so you could look him in the eye, narrowing your own at him as your mouth pursed.
âCome to bed with meâ you said. âI donât know how to sleep without you.â
âYouâve been sleeping without me two whole months, Y/Nâ he chuckled. âThat excuse is not valid.â
âYeah, and they have been shit, Tomâ you sighed. âPlease. I just got you with me this week.â
âJust a few more minutes, alright?â
âAlright.â
You bit back a smile, briefly considering dragging him by his ear to the bed yourself. But you were getting quite sleepy and comfortable on his lap, so you stuck a hand between the two of you and fisted his t-shirt softly. Tom pressed a silent kiss to your temple and went back to his script, the headache gone. It was silent after that as he went back to his previous task. Your eyes focused for a while on his hands and veins, the soft light of the lamp making his skin look more tanned. His soft breathing and the rhythm of his heart in your ear slowly lulled you, your eyes going droopy.
When you finally fell asleep against him, Tom felt the luckiest man in the world.
NO (something they wonât do in your relationship)
Pressuring you into anything. Tom knows that each person is different, and that everyone needs their time when doing things they are not familiar with. As an actor, as I said before, he has a difficult life. Is always away filming or doing press tours; and when heâs home, life is different. Because there are fans, photos and social media.
So Tom would never, never demand something to you. The effort you make when you face time him in the middle of the night (different times), long flights to see him or keeping up with his fame are enough for him.
If you need time to say the L word, heâll wait whatever is necessary. If you need time to get intimate for the first time, heâll comfort you with a small on his adorable face. If you need a little break from the media, heâll gladly offer you to go somewhere private on holidays.
For him, youâre always the top one priority. Not job, not friends or hobbies. Tom feels like heâll forever be grateful for you, and wonât, under any circumstances, force you to do anything you donât want to. There are times where he might use his puppy face; to get your attention, ask you for help in something or just being cute around you. But he wonât use them to get something he knows you might not want.
Orange (favourite colour and why)
All the colours.
Green, because he thinks of that time where the two of you went away on a vacation and had the time of your life in a small cabin in the woods. You smiling up at him from the grass, the small picnic he prepared for you, making love in the room with the fantastic views.
Red, as it reminds him to the suit he bought to the premier. It wasnât that special; what was special was seeing you that night in his jacket as you woke up from bed to drink water. Letâs just say, you stayed up for a little longer.
Blue; honestly, thatâs his favourite colour since he was a kid. He loves seeing you in blue dresses, shirts or pants.
Pink, and thatâs his little obsession. Every time he goes out, and he sees something pink, he thinks of a little girl. A little girl with his eyes and your nose, with your hair and his smile. He canât help but associate the colour with the future with you.
Yellow. Itâs not really yellow, more like the colour of the light, if thatâs a thing. He liked to print into his memory your face in the morning, the light touching your cheeks and making your eyelashes longer.
Parents (how is their relationship with your parents)
One word: amazing.
The first time he met them, Tom was a stuttering mess. He offered your father a shaky hand and almost cried when he gripped it too hard. Your mother hugged him and the only idea that popped in his mind was to pat her back; which came out as really, really awkward. First meeting was, in general, chaotic. Tom had been so nervous that he couldnât eat a thing without feeling as if he was going to puke, and his knee had been moving so much up and down that even your father had told him to stop.
Then, came the good part. Your dad asked him about his job, or studies, and he started talking about spiderman and Marvel. The âfanâ side of your family appeared, and they started talking about the comics and the films. Soon, the attention of the room was drawn to Tom and the awkwardness disappeared.
Since that moment, Tom is always inviting your family to the meetings. He presents his family to yours, prepares lunches for the both of them and tries to have the best relationship.
Quirks (worst habit they have)
Spoilers, we all know that. You canât see a movie heâs in without knowing the end or something important before.
It doesnât matter if heâs in the movie or not; as long as he has seen it, he will spoil it for you. He tries not to, because he knows that it annoys you. But he canât help it, because the guy is too clueless to understand when he has to shup up.
Romantic (little details or non-verbal ways of saying I love you)
Take my jacket, itâs cold outside
He said it on your way to the supermarket. You had been on your period and, even if it was the middle of December and the coldest day of the year, you just needed a quick visit to the supermarket. Having Tom to go without you wasnât an option, because last time he called you crying because he had gotten lost looking for your pads. And he didnât want to let you go alone, so you were both walking while the cold bit your skins. Being the stubborn girl you were, you hadnât brought your coat with you, just a stupid sweater. So he offered you his.
âUnless you donât want it! Thatâs-Thatâs fine, Iâm not forcing you into-â
You were about to protest, but were quickly shut when a particular hard gust of wind hit you, making you clatter your teeth. Tom gave you a soft smile and put the jacket over your shoulders. Making you stop in front of him, he buttoned it up and pulled it closer to your body. He left a kiss on the top of your head and continued walking.
I think youâre beautiful
Tom blurted it out when you were trying the dress for the premier of his film at his house, in his room. It felt all so familiar to him, that you standing there in all your glory with your purple dress made him want to drop on his knees to you.
It didnât hit him until a few seconds later, because he was staring at like a child to his sweets. Your hair tied up, your legs showing and the beautiful necklace you had decided to wear, his gift from the past Christmas. Immediately, he blushed and opened his mouth, ready to do what he always did; stutter until you forgot about what he had said.
That time, he just smiled to you through the blush and told you that you really were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
Have you eaten?
He had asked without thinking, just a natural reaction. People around you were running around, trying to get everything ready for the shot. It was Tomâs most important scene, and he was nervous as hell.
You had managed to get into the set and spend a few minutes with him; still, as you sit in his trailer, the first thing he does is checking youâre comfortable enough.
Sad (how does he cheer you up)
A text with a different emoji has him in your house within hours. Tom knows you like the back of his hands, and know when things are too hard for him. Maybe fans being rude, missing him too much, family problems or just wanting to be down for a while; the reason doesnât matter, Tom knows how to cheer you up.
First, heâll show in your house with Tessa, two bags full of food and some films that you might like. If he has time, he will bring you a stuffed animal; and let me tell you, he tries to always have time for that. Half of them are missing a part, because Tessa will eat it in the way to your apartment. Seeing Tom with a guilty face and half of a teddy in his arm is already good enough for you.
Then, he will let Tessa cuddle you while he prepares the living room. When heâs sad, he loves how Tessa fits between his arms and lick his face, so he gets her to do the same. The dog probably love you more than him, yet he denies it. While she makes you smile, he builds a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor to lay down; turn off the main lights and use only soft ones. Then, puts the move.
Finally, heâll sit with you and hug you in his arms, whispering sweet things and everything he loves about you. The film is for back noise, because if there is something that cheers you anyone up is having Tom making slow love to you kissing and adoring each inch of your body.
Trickster (jokes, pranksâŚ)
Jokes, pranks⌠are his thing, sure. As Iâve said before, he doesnât have any problem in having prank wars with you. He never takes them too far, of course, because he would never harm you in any way. Tom will team up with his brothers against you; then, betray them and work with you to prank them, while youâre crossing him with Paddy and Sam.
Throwing popcorn at each other during movies and getting kicked out of the cinema, pushing each other to the water in the holidays, tickling him until heâs crying and, in return, having your feet ticked too. Tom and you area always messing with each other.
Underestimated (what surprised him the most about you?)
Probably that youâre not as obsessed as his fans. You know how to appreciate his work and the things he does, and know when the fame is too much for him and needs to feel like a normal person.
(Iâm sorry this is short!)
Vaunt (how much do they show you off?)
Too.
Fucking.
Much.
That boy, that boy canât stop talking about you. Sometimes, heâll start talking and, when the person heâs talking to leave, he wonât even notice. He starts the conversation from nearly nothing. If someone says blue, he will start talking about how good you looked on the shirt you brought a month ago. If he smells cookies, he talks about how bad/good are you at cooking.
The worst thing are when youâre not with him. There are times where he has to be away from you for months. His castmates, usually the one who suffer him, have to endure his whining and puppy face whenever you finish the call you had with him or when he sees a picture of you.
Officially, you can say you have Tom Holland wrapped around your finger.
Wedding (do they want one and how they want it)
Tom wants to marry you and isnât afraid of say it out loud. See that girl? Yeah, sheâs gonna be my wife someday, man. After a year of dating, he had actually changed your name contact on his phone to âfuture wifeâ.
Also, he knows it has to be great. Sometimes he talks about that with you, late at night when youâre both in bed already. He wants something big; for example, a beach place. Yeah, he would like to marry in a beach, both of you in white with the sound of the waves behind you. In his mind, the most important part would be to represent your favourite movie; he doesnât care how much it costs, how much he has to work.
For you, only the best.
XX (something youâre the only one to know)
That he has a spot, behind his right ear, that makes him crumbled into a fit of giggles and cute smiles. You discovered when you woke up one day and wanted him to pay attention to you. You ran your hands up and down his hair, as Tom hummed in happiness; when, without you noticing, your hand moved and you scratched his spot.
As soon as you did that, his legs kicked out of the bed and he curled into a ball, while giggling and scratching it himself hardly. You almost fell from your position, and looked at him with weird eyes.
Since that moment, you annoy him that way.
You (they talk about you)
âDude, Iâve met this girl. I know I should have told you about her before but-damn, I didnât even realise that the time flew by. SheâsâŚI would actually call her perfection. Sweet, caring, nice and gorgeous. Most important, I donât think Iâve ever feel this connected to anyone! She makes me laugh, happy and Tessa already loves her. I want her to meet the family, and to meet you, of course. But I donât want to scare her away. I-I kind of see myself by her side for a long, long time Haz.â
Zzz (how do you sleep; probably include a visual)
Tom lays on his back, with your head resting on his chest. He had one hand making circles on your stomach or back, something to keep him distracted while you fall asleep. Because he likes to feel how your breathing becomes slow and how your face relax. His other hand is stretched, but as soon as you fall asleep, he always, always, run a finger through your cheek and just then he can fall asleep too.
Underneath the sheets, your feet are entangled, which leads to quiet curses when either of you want to go the bathroom. It might seem like a conventional way of sleeping, but both of you like it and Tom wonât change it.
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Community Fanfiction (self insert/x reader)
 "Personally I don't see the appeal" you say under your breathe as you pick at the disgusting slop in front of you. Greendale's lunch left much to be desired, but I don't think they got famous for their lunches. From what I've read Greendale has seen it all, from campus wide paintball wars to a Dean that thinks Halloween is all year round. It's no lie the Greendale's reputation has been questionable for a while but the one thing I can say is that I haven't met many stuck up assholes since I've been here, granted I try to stay clear of that side of the hall. As I pick away at my phone, that's resting on the corner of the table, someone sits in the chair in front of me and I look up with my usual nonchalant face. There was an older guy, about thirty or forty, and he was quiet unusual. He reeked of an over bearing cologne and his hair was long and black with kinky curls, thought his hair was too greasy to even begin to look puffy. He has two large stars shaved onto his cheeks that connect to his sideburns. "I noticed you from Subway's shop. I've never seen you here before. You must be the city college girl." City college girl? Do I already have a rep here, of course they said that nobody would know and OF COURSE they were lying. "Yes, I came from City college but how'd you know that?" He smiled sheepishly and looked away scratching the back of his neck, when he finally looked back his cheeks were a slighter red shade. "Sorry, got excited. I'm Alex." He holds his large hands out to me, after a moment of my continued silence he brought his hand back down and coughed nervously. I propped my hand up on my elbow that rested on the table, at this point I had abandoned picking at my food and focused on Alex. "Let me guess this is how it went. The Dean got excited and told everyone and you were all curious to meet me today because everyone expected me to be some stuck up dumb blonde right?" Alex seemed astounded which means I was right. There is no secrets kept in Greendale and frankly I was hoping I could go here with a new name, background, and maybe I could just make up some person I've always wanted to be but.. I guess since my past followed me here I might as well live with it. I look back at Alex who has been staring at me since I last spoke, I stick my hand out across the table and give him the brightest smile I can. "My name's (y/n)." I say taking his hand, they were twice the size of mine, grungy and rough.
Alex seemed like a pretty awesome guy and after lunch he walked with me down the hall to Mr. Chang's Spanish class. We talked on and on and yes, he is very weird. Never would have pegged him for a meth head because they are usually more aggressive and like to give out those opinions that nobody asked for but Alex? Alex was pretty great. We walk into the class room and it's only us and four other people in the class so far, then again we still had 30 minutes before class. I sat in front of Alex and met his friends Garrett, Viki, and Magnitude. We talked for a while about D&D and about all the teachers but Alex kept mentioning someone name Jeff and the Greendale seven. From the way he talks about them I'm beginning to wonder just how normal this school was. There were less seats open and the only ones left were seven seats centered towards the middle of the room. Chang had already made his big chaotic entrance and nothing he said made any sense. Greendale definitely should do better in picking their staff because putting a mentally ill Chinese man as a professor was a less then good idea. That's when the Greendale seven arrived, Alex grabbed my shoulder and pointed to the group giving me everyone's names as the waltz in. Tall dark and weirdly antisocial was Abed the movie guru. He'll draw connections to real life situations through pop culture and meta references gained after years of watching TV and movies. Short large and carrying a purse that could fit everything but the kitchen sink was Shirley, the divorced mother of two who loves to bake. Very tall, old, and wrinkled was the jackass name Pierce. Alex says that he is worse then Jeff and is relentlessly mean just because he thinks it makes him look 'rad', how old.is this guy like 90? Then the small brunette who wore a silly school girl outfit and she hugged her books close to her chest as if she was in high school, Annie or little Annie Adderall. Alex will have to give me the details behind that later. Then came the last three, Jeff, Troy, and Brita. Brita seemed to be a very big female activist, if the fliers and stickers in and on her binder said anything. Troy was taller then me and he seemed attached to the hip with Abed, he almost had the same demeanor and smile as Abed as well. Then there was the infamous Jeff, if his looks alone said anything, he was a stuck up, sweater wearing, pompous ass and from the look everyone was giving him as he walked into the class I'd say I was right.Â
They all sat down pierce sitting closest to us, Jeff next to him and Abed on the other side of Jeff. Britta sat in front of Jeff and Troy sat in the farthest seat to the left on that row, with Sherly sitting in front of Britta and Annie sitting in the front like the good little wanna be Senpai that she is, but once Chang began his intro duction to the class i got a feeling she would start regretting not sitting in the back or at least out of changâs monkey finger reach. âEvery once in a while,â Chang began, âA student will come up to me and ask Senior Chang why do you teach Spanish?â He chuckles while bending down holding himself up by propping his hands on the front two student desk. He continues, âWhy do you teach Spanish...â Suddenly his smile fades from his face and it turns into an ugly scowl. âWhy You?..â He then leans into the boy who sits in the desk on the left âWhy not Math?â He asks scrunching his face up making the boy recoil in fear. Suddenly whipping his head around and removing his hand from the boy I presume is named Matt deskâs all together. Leaning even closer into Annie's face as he begins to speak again. âwhy not Photography?â Chang walks forward still slightly crouched so that he can remain in his students line of sight. He then puts both his hands on Sherlyâs desk, The smile she gives him is kind but her eyes say she might smack him with her purse at any moment. He then speaks once more in the hushed emotionless tone as before, âWhy not.. Martial Arts?â He leans up standing straight and tall, as he begins to gesture his words with his hands in the over dramatic way Iâm sure Iâll come to learn as distinctly Chang. âI mean surely it must be in my nature to instruct you in something that ancient like, Oh like building a wall that you can see from outer space.â Everyone in the room begins to look at each other with quizzical looks as the monkey like man continued his odd irrelevant speech. âWell, Iâll tell you why i teach Spanish, it is none of your business. Mâkayâ At this point his hands are making the classic Italian hand gesture where your thumb is meeting the rest of your fingers and you shake your hands vigorously as he starts to walk backwards towards the front his voice gradually getting louder as he got further away. âNow I don't want to have ANY conversations about what a mysterious and inscrutable man I am.â He then proceeded to stroke long imaginary beard hair as he laughed light a little Irishman in a cereal commercial. As he starts to walk back towards the front he then looks to Sherly and yells âI AM A SPANISH GENIUS!â while pointing at his face with his long twig like fingers. Chang continues his rant while making odd hand gestures like heâs having some kind of a mild stroke, âIn Spanish they call me Elâ Tigreâ Chino!â Followed by raptor sounds and Chang as he pretend eats Sherlyâs neck âCause my knowledge will bite her face off.â He says as he backs up away from everyone still wearing the same disturbing face as before. Everyone nodded their heads scared to upset the monkey man in the middle of his rant. âso don't question senior Chang or you'll get bit.â He continues to yell âya bitâ for the next few minutes.Â
He stood in silence for a minute with his hands clamped together as he studied the room waiting for a response from anyone. it startles everyone when he claps his hands together speaking in Spanish gesturing towards the white board behind him. âWeâll be having conversations in Spanish using the phrases we learned this week and youâll be partnering up for this project.â He smiles at the boy who was sitting to his left earlier caressing his face with the back of his hand making the boy physically pull away almost tumbling out of his chair. âNow if youâll look under your desk at the card i placed there, it should either have a picture or a word on it.â He picks up Brittaâs and holds it up to the class showing everyone a small white house on the card. âNow anyone with the card that says casa on it will be Brittaâs partner.â Alex seemed to shrink in his seat as Chang made eye contact with him. âGot it, Starburns.â i turn to look at Alex with a smile mixed with a questionable glare. He looks at me begging for mercy as if those words stung him. âStarburns huh?â I whisper over to him. He slumps his shoulders in defeat and slides deeper into his seat wearing a silly pout on his face. I lay my hand on his desk getting his attention back on me, âDonât worry Alex I think that name is dehumanizing.â His smile crawled back onto his face and his chipper spirit seemed to return just as soon as it left. Chang claps his hands loudly to get everyone's attention, "Okay! See you Friday, find your partners, and what do we say at the end of class?" Everyone around me very dully grumbles 'Hasta la wago' at Chang while he twirls his arms around like a conductor. "Oh come on hands! Hands Gestures are Ninety percent of Spanish!" This time everyone says it again with a little more pep and they all throw there arms around copying Professor Chang's movements. He tells the class that they did excellent and they all clap as everyone shifts in their seats grabbing cards and talking amongst themselves. I grab mine from under my seat pulling it out to see a horse on my card. "Horse SOOO..?
 "A/N: Hey guys hope you enjoyed this so far but this is where you guys as the fans have to help me out. I want for this character to spend some time with everyone from the show but I'm not sure who to start us off with? Who do you think we should be partners with?
#fanfiction#community#TvShowFanficiton#xreader#self insert#abed community#jeff winger#annie edison#sherly#REwrite#Starburns
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A Charmed Past
Fandom:Â Charmed (1998)
Pairings:Â Chris Halliwell & Wyatt Halliwell
Warnings:Â Unchanged Future Wyatt (but he doesnât do anything violent, just a bit of stealing)Â
Wyatt had single-minded focus. Combined with his raw power, it was what made him so dangerous. He had a goal and he was going to accomplish it, no matter what. Chris was different; he had a goal and he had five different plans for how he could make it happen without anyone knowing it was him or even knowing what the goal was. It was why they'd worked so well together, back when Chris had actually been working with him.Â
This situation, for example, would've been made better if Chris had been the one to plan it. In fact, when Chris had done the exact same thing, it went better. But Wyatt no, he'd been so focused on following after his brother and getting him back that he'd forgotten one very important detail: when you went to the past, your powers didn't go with you.Â
There was no way Chris had made this mistake. Going to the past to change their lives without his powers? It'd be suicide. Either he brought his powers with him, or he found a way to restore them after he got there. Wyatt hoped that it was the second one and also that Chris was willing to share, because as it stood, Wyatt was powerless in an unfamiliar world. Sure he could fight hand to hand and with a sword when he had to, but he was used to his powers, and more importantly, he was used to healing himself. Without that, he was a sitting duck in the grand scheme of powers.Â
But powerless or not, Wyatt knew how to get by from when he did undercover work. A swipe here on a busy street and he had some money. He pocketed the cash and left the rest of the wallet on a restaurant's outside table. He walked for a while, a little lost in this world that wasn't very familiar, and stole a little more. It was enough for a snack (because he hadn't eaten in a while) and cab fare to the Manor. He didn't want to show up completely unprepared, so he tested a quick spell before hailing a cab. It was a stupid spell he'd come up with when he was a kid, and all it did was send a gust of wind in the surrounding area. He chanted under his breath, "Bring to me the wind, Zephyr's power lend," and waited to see what-- if anything-- happened. A strong breeze went through the street, and Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief as it blew his hair in his face.Â
Of course, that brought up the fact that he needed a hoodie or jacket or something because all black was a little conspicuous in the nice part of the city in broad daylight. Without his powers, he couldn't afford for his hair to get in his face in the possibility of a fight, so he needed a hair-tie as well. He was a decent pickpocket, but full on thievery was a bit beyond what he was capable of right now.Â
A quick-- if childish-- incantation later, and he had both items. When they were kids, Chris had made fun of him for his rhymes, but he'd never had any reason to refine it. Spells could backfire; his powers couldn't, and his powers were more reliable anyways. He'd have to go light on the spells or risk retribution for 'personal gain' which was definitely not something he had missed.Â
He pulled the hoodie over his head and tied his hair at the base of his neck, then walked in a gas station and bought a granola bar. Now that he wasn't dressed all in black, people weren't quite as prone to avoiding him. It made him blend in more, but it also meant that they were more likely to bump into him, which he wasn't a fan of. He ate the granola bar in quick bites as he walked to a more busy street and flagged down a taxi. This not being able to orb business was a real pain in the ass.Â
Wyatt watched the houses pass, the bright colors untainted by riots and the sickly miasma that had taken over pretty much the entire world by the time he'd come to power. It wasn't easy to get used to this, but hopefully he wouldn't have to. He'd talk to Chris, make him realize that what he was trying to do was completely unhinged, and then they could go back to where they belonged. And if things went spectacularly well, he'd be able to pull it off before Chris realized he was powerless and decided to use that to his advantage. Once, he would've thought that his brother would absolutely help him get back his powers as soon as he found out, but Chris was a bit of a wild card these days. He couldn't count on much of anything with him. Wyatt knocked his fingers on the glass to get the cabbie's attention. "Here's fine." He paid him, then got out of the car and started making his way towards the manor. It was a bit of a walk since he hadn't wanted to get dropped off on the front stoop, but it gave him time to try and think of a plan.Â
He made it to Prescott Street without having any good ideas, and then he made it up the stairs and was still drawing a blank. Whatever, plans never worked with Chris anyways. He rang the doorbell, then waited. Phoebe was the one to answer the door, and she looked much younger than the last time he'd seen her. She'd aged well, of course, but she was what, thirty right now? No amount of well aging could replace youth.Â
"Can I help you?" she asked, half nice and half suspicious. Given the number of times demons turned up on the doorstep, that was fair.Â
"I'm here to see Chris, is he around?"Â
She gave him another look, then-- probably sensing no ill intentions-- yelled over her shoulder, "Chris!" A long moment with no answer and she held up one finger to him. "Just a second." She closed the door, but it did nothing to muffle the sound from when she screamed his name again, this time loud enough for everyone in the house to hear her.Â
Wyatt sighed and leaned against the wall as he waited.Â
It took a minute, but then there was the sound of footsteps and Chris and Phoebe arguing. The words were impossible to make out at first, but he caught the tale end of Phoebe saying, "Well if it's a demon you can face him first, it's not really my problem. Don't worry, I won't let him kill you. Besides, he looked pretty human to me."Â
"Phoebe, I don't have time for-"Â
She opened the door, and Chris stopped cold, eyes going wide.Â
Wyatt couldn't help but be amused by that. "Hi Chris."Â
"What the fuck are you doing here?"Â
"I take it that means you aren't happy to see me," Wyatt said, at the same time Phoebe said, "Chris!"Â
Chris clenched his jaw. "Phoebe, can you give us a minute?"Â
"Does this mean he's not a demon?" she asked, but she already knew the answer to that.Â
"Are you giving us a minute or not?"Â
"Well I'm just saying-"Â
Chris rolled his eyes and stepped outside, shutting the door closed.Â
"Oh come on!" she yelled through the door, then threw up her hands and walked away.Â
"What are you doing here?" Chris hissed. "And since when do you ring the doorbell? Or dress incognito?"Â
"I learned a touch of subtlety in your absence," he said drily.Â
Chris stared at him for a second. "You don't have your powers, do you."Â
"No," he admitted, because lying to Chris didn't work.Â
"For god's sake, Wyatt, did you chase me to the past and not think about it?"Â
Wyatt glared at him.Â
"Oh my god. How did you plan on bringing me back? I'm not going to go willingly, and without your powers, you can't force me."Â
"I was hoping you'd help me get them back. You still have yours, after all."Â
"You expect me to give you your powers back so you can force me back to the future," Chris said flatly.Â
"Anything's going to sound bad when you use that tone for it, Chris."Â
"How would you make it sound good?"Â
"If you don't help me, there's a high probability a demon will kill me."Â
For an instant, it worked. Chris was worried about Wyatt's wellbeing and he was about to agree that it was for the best if Wyatt had his powers. But then he remembered that here in the past, he wasn't in immediate danger. "That's- no, that's not going to happen. No one knows who you are, and if you stay here, the sisters will be able to protect you from any stray fireballs."Â
"You want me to stay here?" was Wyatt's immediate response. Then he said, "Wait, 'the sisters'?" Wyatt had had a bit of a falling out with Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige after he took over the Underworld and stopped hiding that knowledge from them, but Chris had gotten along with them to their bitter end. He wouldn't be calling them that unless... "Did you not tell them who you are? Holy shit Chris, and I thought I had poor planning."Â
"I couldn't just waltz up to the doorway and announce that you were going to turn evil and by the way, I'm his brother."Â
"You can't waltz," was all he said to that.Â
Chris glared at him. "You are so damn annoying."Â
"If you couldn't tell them before, I don't see why that's changed now."Â
"It's changed because you're here, dumbass."Â
"You're the one that didn't tell them who your mother was." It was fun to do this again without the safety of the entire world at risk; if demons saw them bickering like they were still kids, they'd attack. Demons always thought they could run the place better than Wyatt, and the casualty would end up being Chris. But there weren't any demons here to see them, and it's not like they were wasting time. No matter when they left the past, they'd get back to their time at the same point. And even if he happened to be wrong about that, he'd get his powers back when they got back to the right time, and he'd be able to get everything back under his control. "How is it that you can be so smart about everything except family?"Â
"Oh let me guess, this is when you tell me that it's pointless to try and resist your rule so I might as well join you before I reach the same end?"Â
"I wouldn't let that happen."Â
"Really?" Chris said, raising an eyebrow. "Because you don't have any active powers right now. It kind of looks like you aren't in a position to let or not let anything happen."Â
"Nothing's going to happen to either of us in this time," Wyatt said, rolling his eyes.Â
"You sound awfully sure about that for a guy that can't orb."Â
"You can keep trying to rub it in, but it's not going to do you any good."Â
"Let me get this straight, I refuse to help you get your powers back and you're cool with it, but when I let off a confetti cannon on your birthday, that was unacceptable."Â
Wyatt gave him a flat look. "You did it during my official coronation."Â
"You were already in charge, you didn't need a coronation."Â
"Demons like their rituals, even if they're unnecessary."Â
"I don't see what was so bad about it. The place needed the color, it was all brown rock and cave wall."Â
"I had to kill ten demons, Chris." Because they'd automatically thrown energy balls at the disturbance, which meant they'd nearly killed Chris, and Wyatt hadn't really meant to kill them but protecting Chris had always been a reflex. It hadn't been a good look for his coronation, but there wasn't anything the rest of the Underworld could do about it.Â
"Like I said, I don't see what's so bad about that."Â
"You're a pain in the ass," Wyatt said, but there was no heat behind it.Â
"You could've avoided me being a pain in the ass for a while if you'd stayed in the future where you belong."Â
"Are you really that unhappy to see me? It's been a long time since we could have a conversation without you trying to lecture me about good versus evil and personal gain."Â
"That's what you think ruined our conversations? Not-- I dunno-- your being the evil ruler of the entire world?"Â
"See? Like that."Â
Chris rolled his eyes. Before they could keep arguing with each other, the door opened, this time with Piper standing there. Baby Wyatt was on her hip, and this was already one of the weirdest experiences of his life. "Uh Chris? Yeah hi," she said with a terse smile, "I don't know what you're busy doing, but we could use you inside. Not to trivialize what Paige is going through, but she's having another identity crisis and we could use our whitelighter to talk some sense into her."Â
"Does that ever work?" Wyatt asked.Â
"No," Chris said. "Piper, we've got bigger problems than Paige's temp job kick or saving Richard quest."Â
"Uh huh, and how's that?"Â
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point at Wyatt. "This is Wyatt. From the future."Â
"What? But- Chris you said he was dead."Â
Wyatt laughed. "What?"Â
"No, I said evil gets to him, which it does."Â
"He looks fine," she said, peering at him and holding her baby tighter unconsciously. "You're Wyatt?"Â
"Yeah. Hi Mom, it's been a while."Â
Her face fell. "Do we not get along in the future?"Â
"You're dead," Wyatt said bluntly. "You have been for a while. And Chris thinks I'm evil because I took over the Underworld, he's always been pretty narrow minded."Â
"I'm sorry, what? You- you took over the Underworld. Like you became the new Source?"Â
Well that tone didn't sound good. "It was better than letting demons fight over it. And no, the Source's powers have a will of their own, I wasn't risking it."Â
"Yeah, cause just being the regular king of hell was so much better."Â
"Shut up."Â
"Do you two know each other?"Â
"Why yes we do," Wyatt said with a shit eating grin.Â
"Wyatt-" Chris said warningly, but Wyatt ignored him.Â
"He's my brother."Â
Chris glared at him, and Piper's eyes went wide.Â
"Chris...?"Â
"You're such a dick," he muttered, and Wyatt just smiled wider. It had been a while since he had this much fun. Being ruler of the world didn't lend to a lot of relaxation time, and he had an image to uphold anyways.Â
"Besides, Mom, as you can see, I don't need saving. I'm just here to bring Chris back before he can mess up the timeline."Â
"Right, because telling her that was so great for the timeline. Look Piper, it's nothing to worry about. Wyatt doesn't have his active powers, so he can't do any damage here. All we have to do is follow the original goal and we'll be fine."Â
"Get inside."Â
"Uh, Piper are you-"Â
"Now."Â
Wyatt and Chris shared a look, which boiled down to Shit, we're in for it now.Â
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RNM 2x07 - Como La Flor
Apologies for being so late this week!! Lots of translating to do, and research. Mucho gracias to @queenrikki for reviewing this one for me!
EPISODE SUMMARY:
OLD WOUNDS â Liz (Jeanine Mason) is forced to revisit a painful part of her past when her mother Helena (guest star Bertila Damas) shows up at the diner unexpectedly. Michael (Michael Vlamis) urges Maria (Heather Hemmens) to seek help after she experiences a strange vision, and Kyleâs (Michael Trevino) attempt to get Steph (guest star Justina Adorno) to open up doesnât go as planned. Finally, Helenaâs arrival in Roswell sends Rosa spiraling. Nathan Dean and Lily Cowles also star. Barbara Brown directed the episode written by Danny Tolli & Carolina Rivera (#207). Original airdate 4/27/2020.Â
DETAILS:
Max and Isobel both describing to Rosa how it feels to use (and control) your powers.
Isobel:
"Ground your intention. Feel the current running through your body, your hands guiding it with purpose."
Max:
"Okay, draw energy from your spineâŚ"
Arturo on Rosa:
"I heard a little mouse crying in her room this morning."
Escamoles - like Liz says in the episode, they're ant larvae. One article I found called them "the Caviar of the Mexican desert".Â
Helena calls Liz "mi corazĂłn", which means "my heart".
"Arturito, te ves bien."
Arturo, you look good.
Adding "ito" to someone's name in Spanish can both be positive or negative. It can refer to smallness or also tenderness (like an affectionate pet name).
@tasyfa pointed out that there was a little timeline error in this scene. Arturo says that he hasn't seen Helena in 7 years, since Jim Valenti's funeral, but last season it was established in 1x12 that Valenti died in 2014. Also, remember the show is a year behind reality right now, so it's still 2019. So off by 2 years.
The reason for Helena's visit - transferring her ownership of the Crashdown for Liz so that Liz can sponsor Arturo's residency for citizenship. I did a lot of research trying to understand and clarify why this is. Thanks to those who weighed in when I was struggling to find a clear answer. Eventually I reached out to Define American, the non-profit org that provides support to the show on racial and immigration related issues. Here's the response:
The short version is that Liz has to meet minimum income requirements in order to sponsor Arturo, because she has to be able to certify that she can financially support him. Since she's currently unemployed except for the Crashdown, transferring half of the ownership to her makes her a business partner and helps her to meet the income requirements.Â
The Spanish:
"ÂżCuĂĄnto quieres, MamĂĄ?"Â
How much do you want, Mama?
"She has a very thoughtful manicure."
If you don't understand, it's cool. I'm not going to explain here. Feel free to DM me though! I won't judge, promise!!
Narrative thread about Max's nightmare/memory continues from 2x03 and 2x06. Don't forget that 2x03 was just Isobel remembering it. Max was a hallucination. So when he brings it up here, it might be something they haven't discussed in a very long time.
The Spanish from Rosa on her red jacket:
"Eres una mujercita."
Basically translates to you're a little woman or young woman. I assume the "cita" is supposed to be diminutive here.
"Mom is an opportunist. If she found out she had a kid who came back from the dead she would use you to get to Anderson Cooper. And then she'd use him to promote her latest lounge singer gig."
"Isobel pays double. Becky tax."Â
A Becky, according to common colloquial use, is an annoying white woman, usually entitled and privileged.
Lead bartender quit..meaning there's a job opening at the PonyâŚhmm. Wonder if any of our characters need a job... đ¤
Maria's vision:
Michael drops the change
Flash to Kyle dropping his keys & bending down to pick them up.
Kyle staring into a bright light.
Maria shouting his name.
"My heart was broken. Liz ended things and a part of me died."
Max's story to Valenti⌠not all THAT far off from the truth.
Note: has anyone told him about Valenti investigating him? We know Liz and Isobel were questioned. Michael was present when Liz was questioned. Kyle knows the whole theory his mom was pursuing. And he just wanders in there like nothing happened?
"Try leading several short staffed investigations with the mayor breathing down your neck."
Another subtle reference to the mayor, including the election banners hung around town in S2 and his "anti-immigrant agenda" which was referenced in S1.
Max has been with the department since he was 18 - this is the first time we learned that. In 2x05 we learned he was there at 21. So that timeline has now been further clarified. Which also means he was hired during Jim Valenti's time as Sheriff.
"I need eyes on you at all times now."
Definitely implies a lack of trust, or possibly still wanting to keep an eye on him for the purpose of her investigation (not a fact, just a theory).
Steph tells Kyle that she's always hanging around the hospital because she's doing admin work for her dad.
"I'm starting to feel like you're a ghost who only I can see."
"Ask them if they can see me. Or if you were just talking to a ghost."Â
Note that ghosts have been a running theme this season with Rosa returning from the dead. This seems to be in line with that. Or are they subtly tying Steph to Rosa (I'm grasping at straws here, probably).
Liz leaves the safe on 3...but before she changes it is on 81. Helena leaves it on 78 after stealing the ring. Good continuity, RNM!
The whole "my mom hates cops" theme is a little confusing to me. I mean, it makes sense given what we know about Helena. Except that she had an affair with Jim Valenti, who was⌠a cop. And also an addict. Maybe it was different because they rehabbed together (just an assumption, not a fact). Or maybe the Jim experience contributed to her dislike of cops.
Liz...might be grasping at straws when she refers to police work as "something you love" to Max. He didn't exactly seem enamoured by the job when we first met him in Season 1.
First time we learn Max and Isobel's father's name. And it is⌠Dave. đ¤
The Spanish Helena uses when she meets Max:
"Pero que guapo estas."
But how handsome you are.
"Cuidado Arturito."
Careful, ArturoâŚ
Helena found Liz and Diego's wedding registry online.Â
âLook there are medical reasons for non-drug-induced hallucinations - epilepsy, schizophreniaâŚâ
âMy mom has a degenerative brain disease. My grandma did too. I've always known I'd be next.â
Helena wanted to be Selena.
Which fits with Liz's lounge singer comment earlier.
And the "drunkenly singing in the car with your daughters in the backseat" fits with the story Liz and Rosa discussed in 2x02 about the car accident they got into as kids with Helena driving drunk.
Helena shows Liz her ten years sober chip, suggesting that she's been sober since Rosa died, but Rosa finds pills in Helena's car later in the episode. Oxycodone. The same drug that Rosa used to steal from her mom as a kid (which we learned about in 2x04) and the same drug that she and Kyle discussed when he was checking her health in 2x01.
During Helena's toast to Rosa:
Preciosa = precious
Rosa Linda⌠still not sure personally if this is a continuity error or a pet name. Iâm inclined to go with a pet name. Throughout the whole episode Helena uses lots of pet names, nicknames, diminutives to address people. Rosa Linda may be just another version of this since Rosa's middle name was pretty well established as Helena in Season 1 between her grave, memorial pamphlet, etc.
Kyle calls attention to Steph's bandage on her arm. She says she gave blood, but it feels like she's evading.
Also she calls him McDreamy, which is a Grey's Anatomy reference. Kyle called himself McSexy (another Grey's nickname) in 1x08 as well.
Note: I've seen some people talk about the speech about his sick friend as being about Maria, but I think he's really talking about Steph. Or both, vaguely. He's certainly trying to get Steph to open up to him. Here's what he says:
"I just found out a friend of mine is sick. And I can't do anything to help her. And I hate feeling helpless."
Only after Steph puts her walls back up, does he gesture to Mimi's files.
The Spanish:
"Oh, ĂĄndale, gĂšero."
Ăndale is like, go! Or let's go! GĂšero we discussed earlier...basically white boy.
Por favor - pleaseÂ
Rosa's art that we first saw in 2x05 now looks finished:
Isobel's graffiti "In Pod We Trust"
Both Isobel and Rosa's graffiti:
Isobel's assessment of Rosa's art
"That's a black hole. An unstoppable force of destruction. And it's getting closer. I see a girl looking into her own doom. She thinks it's inevitable, that she can't stop it, but she can. See, she created it. That means she can destroy it."
Rosa on Isobel's efforts to help her:
"You and Max, you keep talking about harnessing emotion and grounding myself, right? But I can't do that. It is in my DNA to be screwed up. Literally. My mom's mentally ill. So, so am I. I was broken long before Noah did what he did. That's why he chose me to prey on. That's probably why he chose you too."
Maria on her grandmother:
"When I was a child my Grandma Patty was the only adult who understood my make-believe world. Thing is, I was six. So my favorite things about her were just illness, I guessâŚ"
Maria on her mom:
"She was always kind of out there. By the time I realized it was more than that, I just became obsessed with money. Wanted to be able to take care of her. I invested everything Grandma Patty left me, and I worked, scrounged. It was about three days after my mom was finally fired from her job at the Pony, I bought the place."
Maria's blood does not contain the alien protein that Kyle found in the Pod Squad and Rosa after being in the Pod for a decade. (and yes, he actually said Pod Squad, which feels like an OG fandom victory)
"Look, there is one thing I noticed in your grandmother's file. Her insurance company is the same one that paid for my dad's cancer treatments...My dad got cancer because of an alien incident at Caulfield Prison. A fake insurance company established by Project Shepherd covered his bills."
"Okay so my grandmother got sick at the same alien prison where your mother died?"
More Spanish (there's lots of it this week).
Helena, when she gestures to the present:
"Abre tu regalo."
Open your gift.
Quinces is just slang for Quinceanera.
Just in case you're not familiar with quinceaneras (Liz's was also referenced in 1x02).
"Mija, me enseĂąas tus prom photos?"
Daughter, show me your prom photos.
Regarding the power outage. Liz thought it was Max. Max thought it was Rosa. But the wire is frayed, like it was cut or chewed through. So it wasn't alien power related. When Arturo finds the wire though, he says, "Must have been a little mouse." Which is how he referred to Rosa earlier in the episode. So the question is, does he actually think it was a mouse? Or does he think Rosa cut the wire? And if Rosa did cut the wire, then why? To distract them while she goes after her mom's car?
In the big Liz/Helena argument, Helena calls Max âa gĂźerito copâ. GĂźero means white person, similar to the more commonly used gringo. But by adding the âitoâ onto the end (like discussed before), Helena is basically diminuitizing Max. Sheâs using the âsmallnessâ above to basically imply that heâs some white nobody.
âI may not be the PTA mom who made cookies for bake sales or hosted sleepovers, but I sacrificed everything to come to this country to give you a better life.â
This is...not actually true. Liz and Rosa are both natural born U.S. citizens, born in Roswell. So she didnât âcome to this countryâ for that reason. She was already here when Liz and Rosa came into the picture. And itâs not like she came pregnant with Rosa or anything, since Rosa is Jim Valentiâs daughter.
The ring that Helena took was ARTURO'S mother's ring. It wasn't even Helena's family's heirloom.  Â
Liz and Arturo sharing flan for dessert. At the start of the episode before Helena arrived they discussed making flan for Rosa.
Arturo admits that he always knew the truth about Rosa's heritage. (*fistpump* that's one of my headcanons coming true).Â
"Rosa es mi hija, siempre y para toda la vida."
Rosa is my daughter, always and for life.
"Maybe you're right. I am playing the hero. Just like you're playing the politician's perfect arm candy. See, I did a little digging. And your boyfriend, Dirk-- he ran for city council. It's very impressive. But there's no mention of your daughters. I'm guessing Dirk doesn't even know about Liz or Rosa. Does he know anything about you, Helena? 'Cause it would be such a shame if he found out about a little town called Roswell."
Helena gives Max the ring, but keeps the box⌠maybe that's what Helena really wanted?
Huevos = eggs.  Basically, slang for balls.
"I know that face. You uncovered a massive conspiracy."
"I checked the Caulfield drives. No sign of a Patricia DeLuca, but there was a Patricia Harris. Her maiden name. She signed up to participate in an experimental trial. Government was interested in weaponizing alien abilities. They wanted to create super soldiers. Your grandma was one of the first human subjects."
"Kind of wish I was an alien instead."
"What happened to the experiment?"
"It was a total failure. Caulfield shut it down in the '70s after people started dying. I don't understand how your grandmother got involved."
"I do. Henrietta Lacks, Tuskegee, Holmesburg. The DeLucas aren't the first black people to be secretly experimented on."
Highly encourage you to read these if you're unfamiliar with any of these references. It's African-American history (and really a black mark on U.S. history) that's rarely taught in schools.
Henrietta Lacks:
Tuskegee:
Holmesburg:
Reality versus Maria's flashes⌠great gifset by @rosaortecho on this here:
Kyle rips his jacket, staggers out to the parking lot, drops his keys, and is almost hit by a car, but Michael throws him out of the way with his powers (and Kyle still ends up injured because he lands on a glass bottle).
"Now that we know your illness is related to Caulfield we can find a cure for it."
"Maybe it's not an illness. I saw the future today, Guerin. When I first found out Grandma Patty was experimented on, I was furious. But what if my genetic inheritance isn't just injustice? It's also actual superpowers. Saved a life today. And not just any life-- Kyle Valenti's. Tomorrow he's gonna turn around and save five more lives."
Liz and Rosa's dueling big sister act is super fascinating. Rosa admits that she wasn't going to burn the car, and then she saw Liz crying, felt helpless, and that's when her powers went all wacky and caused it to explode.
Meanwhile, Liz has spent the whole episode trying to keep Rosa safe from Helena, and is trying to comfort her here by talking about Helena's sobriety.
But--Rosa stole Helena's pills, so she knows Helena is not sober, and she doesn't tell Liz that. Why? To protect her.
At some point these two should probably stop keeping secrets to protect each other and start actually sharing what they know.
Kyle stitches himself up.
Steph quoted in this scene:
"I was up in the gallery contemplating American downfall thanks to progressive socialism."
"People tend to bail when things get real. I'm not into that."
Cameron's car was impounded a couple hours away.
Max is turning in his badge and gun and is turning down desk duty to search for Cam.
Isobel and Michael's discussion at the Pony:
"Do you think that Noah chose me because I was already broken?"
"I think you are the only one of us who ever keeps it together."
"I'm serious, Michael. The night that drifter attacked me, why am I the only one who started blacking out? I mean, Max literally murdered a man, but I'm the one who breaks?"
"You were traumatized. We were kids. At that age, trauma gets etched on to your soul."
"But what if it's not in my soul? What if it's in my DNA? Look, my whole life, I've played Stepford wife, because I thought that's what I was supposed to do. But...I need to understand myself now. I need to know where I'm from. And if I don't know who my biological parents are, how am I ever gonna know who I really am?"Â
"What are you saying, Iz?"
"I know that we said we shouldn't look into the past, butâŚ"
"It keeps pulling you back. Me too. I spent my whole life thinking I'd build a ship and blast off into the ether. And then the minute I decide to leave that all behind and focus on this good thing in front of me, I'm sucked back in. Maria's family was experimented on at Caulfield. I need to find out more so I can find a cure for her illness."
Rosa takes one of her mom's pills. đ
MUSIC:
1. Cactus Groove "This World"
2. Shelly Fairchild "Drive"
3. Mathis Hunter "Mrs. Vinegar"
4. Big Stone City "Good For Zero"
5. Big Stone City "Way Down Below"
6. Selena "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom"
7. Elizabeth Moen "Best I Can Do"
8. Wagons "Keep Coming Back"
9. AG "Where Is My Mind" (Pixies Cover)
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Art Previews
Below you will find the art previews for this year, remember authors that its not quite time for claiming yet!
Take a good look and pick 2-3 favourites and remember which Number they are for when claiming does begin.
1. Prompt: Tony was taken by Hydra not long after the New York invasion and experimented heavily on Tony. The Winter Soldier escapes his captivity and kinds Tony locked up in his dragon form in a huge cell and decides he should break this poor creature out as well.The Winter Soldier could be his own personality next to Bucky, and if so he doesn't like Steve if that would come up. Restrictions: No Rape/Non-con, No OT3 (Stuckony), preferably a rather happy ending, or bittersweet. No sad endings. CLAIMED
2 Prompt: Tony has always had a thing for swimsuit models.Limitations: go wild.Additional notes: happy to be as involved or uninvolved as the writer wants! CLAIMED
3. Warnings: None that I can think of? Prompts: Definitely donât have to stick to this, but this was just what was in my mind drawing this â Theyâre a Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Demon each trying to do a good job for their assigned Human - Natasha Romanov. Iâd love it if maybe theyâve been working together over time to help Natasha (maybe to get out from under Red Room) without actually really seeing each other for a while until eventually they do. Not-Quite-Identity!Porn of some sort, with a bit of oh no heâs hot when they meet. Just imagine the hijinks with a little Nat and these boys as her conscience! Ha! Limitations: I know Tony is depicted as a Demon here, but this is Tony, please donât make him out to be the actual Devil? Heâs just doing his job but - oh no! - he gets attached to his Human and adversary and only wants the best for them, screw Hellâs policies CLAIMED
4. warnings: none i thinkprompt: Post-apocalyptic AU! Scrappy mechanic Tony meets badass loner and fighter Bucky (with a clunky metal arm)? Maybe some getting to know (and later: trust) each other and surviving (together?) in a hostile world? Trying to make a living? limitatons and any additional notes: Â No dubcon/noncon between Tony/Bucky, no sad ending, no super descriptive toture/body horror, Tony and Bucky should survive. Angst/Pain/Suspense otherwise are fine :)The second art is optional. CLAIMED
5. Desired collaboration level(s): I would love to be included with the writing/brainstorming process, even just so much as being a cheerleader for it!-Additional details/requests/Prompt: Pre-WI/getting together fic. Wing Au. Maybe something like "Winged beings are discriminated against/unliked/people are nervous of them. Picture scene is: Tony was sitting out in the rain/stuck in the rain, Bucky comes and sheilds him from it with his wing. -Do Wants: Hurt/Comfort, angst is fine too, must be happy ending please, I prefer canon-divergent, but total au is fine too. -Do NOT Wants: Beastiality, Mpreg, A/B/O dynamics, BDSM, D/S verse, Hardcore kinks, Genderbends, Non-con, MCD, underage/age-changes/de-aging, Sad endings!(I would prefer no other/background ships, but can be discussed!) CLAIMED
6. Warnings: blood Limitation: non-negotiable absolutely no Steve Rogers bashing Wants: OUAT crossover (non negotiable). Jefferson IS Bucky OR Bucky is Jeffersons twin. Steve as a main character as well. Prompt; Bucky goes missing after a mission, with seemingly no reason. A year later They find Bucky, only he's calling himself Jefferson and crying about a broken hat, and a horrific scar around his neck.
7. warnings: possible gun violence, languageprompt: loosely based on Killing eve "you hired me to kill you!?" "I wanted to see you..." basically, Tony and Bucky (established relationship? Mutual pining? ) haven't spoken in awhile for reasons (are they fighting? Busy? ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ) so Tony Hires Bucky to kill him. limitatons and any additional notes: none that I can think of but if you think there's something that could be squicky/a no go, just lemme know. I'm very open to collaboration with my author. CLAIMED
8. No warnings or limitations. CLAIMED
9. Warnings: None Prompt: Tony Stark meets Bucky Barnes in 1993 and they both fall for each other. One night, Bucky starts to cry. Tony asks what's wrong and Bucky tells him what happened to his parents. Notes: It really doesn't matter how you end this fic as long it includes some good old fashioned angst! CLAIMED
10. Warnings: noneNotes: Was thinking of a Brookly-99 spin on it, something cute and funny for some feel good happy, but very open to anything really :) CLAIMED
11. warnings: None Prompt: (Description: View is outside of a building. In one window Tony plays the violin. In the other Bucky types away.) CLAIMED
12. Warnings:NonePrompt: (description: Bucky is sitting atop a motorcycle. Tony is approaching him, offering his hand for a handshake. Scene is dusk on an empty road.) CLAIMED
13. prompt: tony is one of the last of his kind (inherited from his motherâs side). he hides his wings from the world, and only pepper, happy, and rhodey know what he is. everything else is canon as per the mcu. itâs up to the author to decide how far in the universe they want to take it, and if they wish to incorporate his wings elsewhere in the series, but tony is iron man and it must be post winter soldier. pre-relationship to getting together. limitations: please no graphic depictions of rape, suicide, or self-harm (specifically cutting. other forms of self-harm are okay, but please no self-inflicted cutting). no character bashing, ESPECIALLY of steve. no major character death. things i would like to see: BAMF!tony, ptsd (from either bucky or tony, or both!), a COOL secret reveal, angst, hurt/comfort, and fluff. some smut is okay! i would love if tony keeps the arc reactor. arm maintenance!! please!! tony being terrified of bucky finding out about his wings, and bucky being scared of hurting tony. relevant notes: tonyâs wings are 18 ft (5.4 m) in diameter, and are red and gold. bucky still has hydra arm. thatâs about it! iâm flexible on most things :) CLAIMED
14. Description/Prompt: John Wick AU in MCU Open for brainstorming or alternate interpretations Warnings: canon typical violence for story (john wick levels or mcu levels up to author?) Limitations: Â DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings CLAIMED
15. Description/Prompt: any frontier myth/ old wild west tropes welcome Open for brainstorming or alternate interpretations Warnings: canon typical violence for story? Limitations: Â DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings CLAIMED
16. Prompt: Romancing The Stone AU. Tony is a tech reliant city boy who is out of his depth in the South American jungle while trying to save a friend. Bucky is the broke traveller who he convinces to be his guide. Adventures and hijinks and a happy ending ensue. Notes/Limitations: Doesn't have to follow the movie if you're not familiar with it. I don't want Tony to be a damsel in distress that needs to be rescued, just a fish out of water who adapts to his new environment. Any rating is fine, smut is welcome, no character bashing. CLAIMED
17. warnings: general audiences prompt: Bucky is part of the Avengers but he and Tony keep their distance. On a mission Tony saves Bucky from another fall. Later he asks Tony why he didn't let him slip when he knows he killed his parents. He doesn't believe Tony forgave him and confesses that he sometimes hates Steve for not catching him limitations: no Steve/Bucky/Tony, preferably no Stony, no ABO, no mpreg, preferably no BDSM or dom/sub CLAIMED
18. warnings: malnutrition, (minor) injuries, shackleslimitations: anything involving children and/or pregnancy CLAIMED
19. Warnings:none Prompt: Mage Tony and assassin/rogue Bucky. Limitatons: No major character death, no infidelity, no unhappy ending, Bucky did not kill Tony's parents, would be absolutely fine with graphic sex Additional notes: Art will have at least one more companion piece featuring Bucky/Winter in Assassin type garb and probably wielding daggers. CLAIMED
20. warnings: none? prompt: Dreadful pirate Bucky with a heart of gold! limitaions and any other notes relevant to the authors for claiming: I'd prefer it if Bucky wasn't actually a bad guy. Go easy on the gore, and please don't do any noncon or dubcon between the OTP. Angst or pain are good as long as there is at least a hopeful ending! CLAIMED
21. Prompt: After the death of King Howard Stark, his son Anthony had to step up to the throne as the rightful heir. James Buchanan Barnes, a knight and new member of the Royal Guard, is sworn to protect his king no matter what. Even if that means protecting Anthony from his own damn feelings. Warnings: N/A Limitations: major character death, terminal illness, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, racism, incest, ableism Notes: Their designs are fantasy-influenced more than historical, and even though I was using MCU as reference, I aged Tony down since canonically Howard died when he was younger anyway! Also the scribble of a background is supposed to be inside the castle, during a party/ball or something? CLAIMED
22. Artist Withdrew.
23. Warnings: None Prompt: The Addams Family AU Limitations/notes: None CLAIMED
24. warnings: none? prompt: Warlord Bucky gets a new conquest: Tony. (How? tribute? prisoner? Marriage contract?) Tony may expect the worst, but slowly discover Bucky isn't so bad... limitaions and any other notes relevant to the authors for claiming: please no evil Bucky. I like getting to know each other and slowly falling in love. No dubcon/noncon between tony/bucky. CLAIMED
25. Warnings: implied violence, kidnappingPrompt: I went with four comic panels sort of depicting a kidnapping scenario. Bucky (probably) wouldnât be the kidnapper â i'm gonna try and make him look more surprised in the final draft. Limitations: Go wild. G ratings through Explicit is fine with me. Preferably no M-Preg though. CLAIMED
26. Warnings: None CLAIMED
27. Warnings: None CLAIMED
28. Description/Prompt: fluff or comfort? Warnings: - Limitations: Â DNWs include a/b/o, mpreg, noncon, dubcon between major protagonists, death of major protagonists, unhappy/ bad endings CLAIMED
29. Desired collaboration level(s): I would love to be included with the writing/brainstorming process, even just so much as being a cheerleader for it! Additional details/requests/ Prompt: Human!Tony/Werewolf!Bucky. Werewolf au. Do Wants: Hurt/Comfort, angst is fine too, must be happy ending please, I prefer canon-divergent, but total au is fine too. Do NOT Wants: Beastiality, Mpreg, A/B/O dynamics, BDSM, D/S verse, Hardcore kinks, Genderbends, Non-con, MCD, underage/age-changes/de-aging, Sad endings!(I would prefer no other/background ships, but can be discussed!) CLAIMED
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sick!dick au, part four. hooo boy.
read part one here. read part two here. read part three here.Â
Dick has a good week. He doesnât suffer any migraines or vertigo, heâs adjusting better to his medication so heâs not as tired, he doesnât have any fits â itâs a small victory, but itâs the best heâs felt in months. With it comes a sort of foreboding, knowing that it wonât last, that soon enough heâll be right back in hell, so he doesnât take it for granted. He still takes it easy, if only to save the people he loves the heart attack, but he enjoys feeling good while it lasts. Heâs almost like his old self again, more lively and bright, without that heavy fog of fatigue and illness clouding his smile.
Because heâs been on a streak of good days, Wally asks Dick out of the blue one morning if he wants to go out that night. Just on a quiet date, somewhere nice. The weatherâs been good too, so Wally woos him over with talks of patio dinners and maybe a glass of wine. Dick doesnât take much convincing. Wally just smiles and says good, because heâs been planning this date night for a while and itâd be a damn shame if the other half of the date didnât show. Dick does mention that heâd like to get a light workout in while heâs feeling up to it, and oddly enough Jason offered to go with and spot him. Wally fakes surprise and itâs super obvious. It should have been suspicious.
So, Dick spends some time at the gym in the Manor, just some running and light stuff â he doesnât risk the high bars today, not wanting to push a good thing and ruin it. Jason is being really⌠weird, though. Dick just brushes it off as him not wanting to be back at the Manor at first, but heâs almost drawing things out, distracting him so it takes longer to finish his routines. Then, all at once, heâs all about wrapping things up, pushing Dick toward the showers so he can get cleaned up and ready for his date. I really should have been suspicious, and in a way it was, but itâs easier to just brush off his brother being a weirdo.
Dick showers off and gets changed into the sort of casual formal wear he usually wears on nicer dates (though his and Wallyâs definition of a âniceâ date is anywhere that serves more than one type of alcohol and doesnât have a condiment stand). When heâs ready he heads upstairs, expecting Wally to pick him up. Wally is there, waiting for him, but the car isnât. Barely holding back a grin, Wally suggests that they take a walk before they head out, enjoy the weather yâknow? Dick doesnât want to be late if they have reservations somewhere, but Wally just laughs and tells him not to worry about it. So, they walk out to the garden. It really is a nice night out, just before dusk when the sky is stained with peach and lilac. Dick is so busy admiring it at first that he doesnât notice when Wally stops. When he does, he turns, and finds that Wally is on his knee.
âYouâre fucking kidding.â The words leave his mouth before he can think properly, but heâs got the biggest smile on his face and his eyes are already watering.
âNot on your life, Boy Wonder,â Wally grins back and faulters for a second as he reaches into his pocket. âIâm gonna be totally honest, I had a big speech planned about how much I love you, but⌠you look so damn good tonight I think I forgot all of it. So, what of it? You wanna get married right now?â
Dick is already nodding and pulling Wally up to his feet before he finishes, so it takes him a moment to register the right now, but he does, he asks Wally what he means. Wally is slipping the ring on his finger when he tells him that this was technically Dickâs idea. As he takes Dickâs hand and leads him around to the back of the Manor, he prefaces that they donât have to do it like this, that thereâs no pressure, that everyone knows the deal and if he doesnât want to theyâre just having a nice little party. Dickâs head is still swimming, and he canât make sense of any of it until they walk around the corner and thereâs a fucking wedding set up. Itâs small, just immediate family and their friends (Wallyâs family, aside from Barry and Iris, is missing but no one points it out). A little aisle, some fold out chairs, flowers and string lights all set up on the back lawn of the Manor. Dick is in total shock at first, and Wally is afraid heâll be pissed that he essentially planned their wedding without him, and stammers out that theyâll do this for real one day, and he still stands by the fact that theyâre not doing this âjust in caseâ but he knew that this was what Dick wanted and it was worth the peace of mind â Dick just kisses him and tells him to shut up and marry him already.
Itâs a quiet and simple ceremony, no bells and whistles, the officiant is from the court house, and itâs all tied up neatly within minutes â and no flash photography. The music is quiet in case Dick gets a migraine. At the after party, just a little dinner that Alfred was more than happy to put together, there are no dance lights â but hell, itâs no boring. Itâs a night of laughter and love with friends. Itâs all they need. Later that night, as theyâre sharing their first dance, Wally feels Dick lean into him with his head on his shoulder. He feels a light wetness on his neck. For a single, terrifying moment, heâs reminded of that night at the Gala that started all this hell, when Dick collapsed against him just like this. He pauses, asking if Dick is okay, heart in his throat â but Dick just smiles and pulls back enough to show Wally that heâs just a little teary, that this is the best night of his life and he didnât think it was possible to love him more. Theyâre married now, itâs official, and nothing can tear them apart.
And itâs not as if that was the âcalm before the stormâ and everything went to shit after that. Nothing that cinematic. There are rocky days, and there are good days, and there are very-bad-no-good-at-all days. Things continue on as before. Dick and Wally just take things one day at a time. Dick gets slammed with a migraine at work, and Wally has to pick him up and tell him regretfully, hours later when heâs a little more coherent, that heâs being put on sick leave. Dick does not take it well, but in a begrudging way, knew that it was inevitable.
Then, months later, Wally gets a call from Dick while heâs at the lab. He leans back in his chair and answers it casually, assuming Dickâs just calling to talk, maybe sort out dinner or something. All he can hear on the other end is heavy breathing. Wally sits upright in a second. Dick hasnât had a seizure in nearly a year at that point. He was stupid enough to believe they wouldnât come back. Dick sounds like heâs struggling to say Wallyâs name, and all Wally can think is that he should have called an ambulance, that he would have if heâd been in the right mind, but Dick is clearly not in the right mind at that moment and the first thing heâd thought of was to call his husband. Wallyâs knuckles are while around the phone as he asks Dick is he thinks heâs about to have a fit, and when Dick stammers out a yes, Wally tells him to stay calm, to lay down on the living room rug, and that heâll be there â the sound of the phone dropping as Wally on his feet and running out in a nanosecond.
Wally arrives at their apartment in seconds, but it still doesnât feel fast enough. Dick is already in a full seizure, dropped in the bedroom. Wally hates that he knows what to do now, and goes through the motions calmly on the outside even as his heart is racing. The seizure slows down, and Wally gets Dickâs medicine, some water, and waits for him to come to.
But this time he doesnât. Minutes pass, and Dick doesnât stir back to consciousness like he usually does. His eyes are half open, but unseeing, and as Wally starts to panic, Dick starts to seize again. They were always told to try to handle it on their own and let it pass unless something is wrong. Something is really wrong. Wally calls an ambulance, drops the phone halfway through the call, and has to put it on speaker while performing CPR because his husband isnât fucking breathing, where the fuck is the ambulance?! When the ambulance does arrive, Dick is breathing again, if just barely, and they donât protest when Wally jumps into the back with him.
Itâs an hour later that Bruce walks into the hospital room. Wally is sitting beside the bed with Dickâs hand in his, pressing his knuckles to his lips as he stares at the heart monitor like heâs counting every pulse. Dick is still unconscious, covered in wires, pale enough that the gold band on his finger looks like itâs sitting against paper. Bruce scrubs his hand down his face and lays his hand on Wallyâs shoulder. He spoke to the Doctors. Theyâre doing everything they can.
Wally just slowly shakes his head. No, theyâre not. But he will. Bruce asks him what he means. Wally doesnât respond at first. Just takes a long, memorizing look at Dick, before standing up and leaning across the bed, pressing a firm, almost desperate kiss to his forehead. When he straightens up again, he looks back at Bruce. The Doctors said they needed Dickâs family medical history to be able to properly diagnose him, to predict where this illness was going and how to treat it. Fine. If they couldnât find the Grayson medical history, Wally was just going to have to find the Graysons.
He canât help but find it bitterly ironic that after everything he did to make sure he was allowed in that room, he was now walking out.
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flares
chapter: 27/? summary: Danâs body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and heâs long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isnât the way to make himself happy. word count: 3944 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: My sincerest apologies for how late this chapter is; the last few months got busy between ending uni and starting my first full time job, and the emotions here were really hard to write. Hope itâs worth the wait! And hug thanks to @obsessivelymoody for betaâing for me!
Ao3 link || read from beginning
Danâs eyes are still burning when they get back to the flat.
Phil holds the door open for him, and he walks in with his arms wrapped tight around his middle. His blanket is still draped over the back of the sofa. Thereâs an open cereal box on the kitchen counter. The lounge is dark, TV screen black and windows covered.
Itâs just how they left it, yet it feels stupidly, inexplicably wrong.
Philâs hand lands on the small of his back, so gentle itâs like he thinks Danâs fragile. Maybe he is. Thereâs still pressure behind his eyes, an ache between his ribs. Part of Dan feels like he could shatter under the pressure, fall back into a shaky heap of unwarranted tears.
His fingers press harsher against his sides. If he stops holding himself, he might fall apart.
Philâs thumb drifts against the base of Danâs spine. âWhat do you wanna do?â he asks.
Dan shrugs. Theyâre still standing in the doorway, backs to an empty corridor. Heâs not sure what to do, where to go. It feels like the flat should have changed while they were gone, even though he hasnât, not really. His back still hurts. Thereâs still a dull ache at his temples. The rub of his shirt against his chest still burns.
Nothingâs changed.
Yet Danâs dizzy with how off-balance he feels.
âWanna sit down?â
Philâs voice is soft, careful, like heâs worried Dan will break down in sobs again, hurt himself as he does. His thumb rubs a circle against Danâs back, low by his hips, as he presses forward gently.
Danâs not sure if he does. It feels weird to just come home and do what he always does. But he nods anyway.
They settle onto the cushions side by side, a few awkward inches between them. The coarse fabric of Danâs skinny jeans grates at his skin where itâs pulled tight around his knee. He should change, but now that heâs sat down, he canât muster the energy to stand again. His whole body is tired.
His brain is tired.
Phil turns on the TV, pulls up the guide because whatever they were watching this morning has faded into a movie that seems dreadfully dull.
âTell me if you see something you wanna watch, okay?â says Phil.
Dan nods. He watches the guide flick by to the too-steady beat of Philâs thumb pressing the remote, and doesnât say a word. A few movies he knows go by, a couple shows he knows he enjoys. Dan just lets his head fall back against the cushions, his eyes closed.
Phil sets the remote down. The dialogue of the dreadfully dull film drones on.
Neither one of them speaks over it.
---
âWe should order pizza,â says Phil. âTo celebrate, maybe?â
His hand is on Danâs knee now, thumb drifting over it in little irregular patterns. At some point, he changed the channel to a sci-fi film thatâs far more enjoyable. Dan even managed to muster some mental energy to pay attention to it, enough physical energy to lift his head from the sofa and open in his eyes.
It all fades now. His head lolls back and his eyes slam shut. Part of him thinks every little bit of energy heâs regained is trapped in his chest, bubbly and anxious and tight.
âCelebrate what?â he asks, voice tight, even though he knows the answer.
Phil squeezes his leg. âYour doctor actually listening to you?â he says. âItâs a step forward, isnât it?â
âI guess,â says Dan. âUntilââ
His voice chokes off. His throat hurts suddenly. Psychosomatic symptoms, probably, a distant voice in his head tells him. It sounds too much like his old doctor, back in Wokingham, who would order one test after heâd begged for months, only to roll his eyes when it was done.
Something warm presses against his cheek. It takes Danâs foggy brain too long to realize itâs Philâs thumb, wiping a stray tear from his skin.
âUntil what?â he says.
Dan shrugs. âUntil the tests come back fine,â he mumbles. âThey always do.â
Part of him expects Phil to think that would be a good thing. Most people do. His mum would still wrap him in her arms and claim it was time to celebrate, even as Danâs chest felt like it was caving in. Sheâd buy him a new video game the next day, once she gave up on punishing him into going to school.
He wonders, now, if she knew he was sad, if part of her was trying to give him something else to do than lock himself in his room and cry his ribs sore.
âHey,â says Phil. Heâs squeezing Danâs leg again. âThen we donât need to celebrate. Just, I donât know, eat dinner?â
He smiles, crooked and concerned. Dan manages half a smile in return.
âOkay,â he says. âJust dinner.â
Phil nods, a little quick and jerky and definitely nervous. âJust dinner,â he repeats. âThe usual?â
Dan hums, and rests a grateful hand over Philâs as he makes the call to place their order.
---
They curl up in bed that night, tucked under layers of blankets.
The pressure almost eases some of the tightness in Danâs chest, some of the worries racing around the back of his mind. The pillow under his head smells like home. It makes some of the lingering memories of the doctorâs office, the sterility of it, start to fade.
Philâs arm drapes across his side, draws him in, and it almost feels normal again.
Except Danâs heart still feels heavy, achy and anxious. His mind doesnât want to shut off. When he closes his eyes he pictures the press of a needle into his vein, the cool press of ultrasound gel against his skin, the foreign tunnel of an MRI machine.
Heâs heard theyâre terrifying. It feels wrong that part of him is excited for it.
Philâs arm tightens around him, a palm splaying across Danâs ribs. Heâs holding his breath, he realizes, and lets it out with a shudder as Philâs head dips to dust a kiss to his shoulder.
âYouâre thinking too much,â he mumbles.
Dan tries to shrug, one shoulder pressed to his pillow and the other tucked beneath Phil. âCanât stop.â
Phil hums. He sounds tired, the sleepy kind that Dan can never quite find. âDo you wanna talk about it?â
He doesnât bother shrugging again, just lays there, staring at the white wall across from the bed that looks almost black with the lights off. Probably like the inside of an MRI machine. Or maybe not. Maybe thereâs lights in there. Dan has no idea.
Philâs hand skims down his side to rest on his stomach instead. âCan I talk about it?â
Dan swallows. âGo ahead,â he says.
He waits. Philâs chin digs into his shoulder as he nods. His hand ghosts over Danâs skin, back up his side and over his ribs and down to his stomach again. He wedges one of his legs between Danâs, wrapping himself around him as though heâs scared whatever he has to say will make Dan want to run away.
The thought flits through Danâs mind. Any anxiety fades just as quickly.
âI donât know how Iâm supposed to feel about this,â mumbles Phil. âBecause I donât know how you feel about this.â
Danâs chest goes tight.
âAnd I was thinking that maybe you should talk to someone whoâs been here for more of your, I donât know, journey?â His hand presses almost harshly against Danâs middle. His voice is a whisper, soft and shy, when he says: âIâve only known you for a little while.â
âFeels like longer,â says Dan.
Phil smiles, lips dusting across Danâs skin. âIt does.â
A moment passes. If not for the continuous sweep of Philâs thumb across his stomach, Dan might think he fell asleep. He almost wishes he had, except Philâs been his best support system and, even though it makes his stomach churn, Dan wants to hear what he has to say.
âSo who do you think I should talk to?â
Phil hums. âDunno,â he says. âI would talk to my mum.â
Just the thought makes Danâs chest ache. âNo way,â he says, definitely too loud. âI canât talk to her about this. I canâtâ what if the scans show nothing again andââ
âHey.â Phil presses against his stomach, holding Dan even closer. âIf you donât want to, you donât have to.â
âI donât want to,â says Dan. âLike really donât want to.â
âOkay,â says Phil. âOkay. What about someone else?â
Dan swallows. Suddenly, this doesnât feel like a night time, cuddled up in bed type conversation. He wishes he could see Philâs face, all the hints that heâs actually just trying to help Dan.
âLike who?â he says. âAnd if you say my dad Iâllââ
âNot your dad,â says Phil. âI was thinking Taylor. She just went through something similar, didnât she?â
âOh.â He blinks at the wall. Itâs still dark. âYeah, I guess she did.â
Thereâs a puff of air against the back of Danâs neck, a chuckle he doesnât care to analyze too much. âDo you think she could help?â
Dan shrugs.
Phil hums. âThink about it,â he says. His arms shift around him, settling deeper into the mattress, heavier against Danâs side, as though heâs ready to go to sleep now.
Dan blinks at the wall and wishes he felt the same.
He slips his fingers into the gaps between Philâs, drags his hand up his body so itâs resting over his chest again, where parts of him feel like they might fall apart without something holding him together. Phil must be able to tell, because he presses another kiss to Danâs shoulder, splaying his hand wide over the unsteady beat of Danâs heart.
âCan I tell you something else?â he whispers.
Danâs not sure why, but he doesnât quite trust his voice anymore, so he nods.
Philâs responding smile is pressed against his skin. âIâm still here for you, too,â he says. âNo matter what, âkay? Even if I donât know how to respond, you can always talk to me.â
Danâs throat goes tight. His eyes burn. He nods again, wishing Phil could see his smile, because he knows exactly what three words heâd say if he tried to speak.
---
The hospital calls in the morning.
Dan stares at the unfamiliar collection of digits for so long it Phil needs to remind him the phone will stop ringing if he doesnât pick up. His hands shake as he holds the phone to his ear, listening to a too-chipper secretary tell him they got his referral from his GP.
The MRI is booked for late next week.
Dan didnât expect it to be that quick. Even x-rays have never been that quick. He wonders what Dr. Kissel wrote on his forms to get him in so soon, what scary possibilities are suddenly written in his file.
His knees are drawn to his chest, face pressed between them, when he hangs up the call. Philâs hand is resting on his shoulder. It feels too distant. Part of Dan wants to bury himself in Philâs arms again, sob away feelings that donât make sense until heâs left feeling like he did a week ago.
Sore and kind of helpless, but not like this.
He doesnât hug Phil, just sits there as Phil squeezes his shoulder and whispers: âYou okay?â
Dan swallows. âMRIâs on Thursday,â he says. Itâs not an answer.
Phil shifts closer like it is one. His hand drifts down, fingers brushing between Danâs shoulder blades. Dan wonders if the MRI machine will go that far. Heâs not even sure what Dr Kisselâs looking for, where sheâs looking for it. Will it be just his head? His whole spine? Something else?
âHey, breathe.â
Philâs voice is low, close to Danâs ear. His hand has flattened against Danâs back, rubbing small circles that make Dan feel so very small, like he wants to curl up against Philâs side and forget the rest of the world exists.
Heâs wanted a doctor to order an MRI for so long. The weight of all his anticipation feels crushing now.
Dan lets his head fall to rest against Philâs shoulder, tucking himself into the crook there because it feels safe. Phil, in all his anxious uncertainty about how to behave in a post-doctorâs appointment universe, is still the one thing that feels right.
His hand wraps around the upper part of Danâs arm, where nerves are sensitive and the pressure aches, and holds on tight.
âYouâve had tests done before.â
âNever an MRI,â says Dan.
âOkay.â Phil squeezes his arm. It hurts. Dan doesnât pull away. âWhat makes an MRI so different?â
âI donât know.â says Dan, quick and automatic. âItâs, like, what they do for actual sick people.â
Under his head, Dan can feel the slow rise and fall of Philâs chest, can just barely hear the faint beat of his heart. Heâs steady, not like the unsure version of him that had held Dan tight last night and told him he had no idea how to help anymore, no idea how to understand what was going on in Danâs head.
He takes a deep breath, holds onto Dan even tighter. âAnd youâre not an actual sick person?â
Danâs whole body goes tight at the words. His breath feels like itâs been punched out of him. Phil squeezes his arm one more time, eliciting an even deeper ache there, and pulls away just enough that he can probably see Danâs face. His eyes feel wide. His jaw feels tight.
Phil opens his mouth as though he wants to speak, but he doesnât say a word.
He doesnât have to.
Dan knows he doesnât mean it that way. He knows that, out of all the people in his life, Phil would probably be the first to declare him an actual sick person.
Heâd probably say it before Dan, even. Maybe thatâs the problem.
Danâs wanted to be considered an actual sick person even since the pain first welled in his joints and decided to never really go away.
Heâs never been considered one before.
Philâs hand lands on his back again, another soft touch, another gentle circle, to fill in the silence.
After a moment too long, Dan finally manages to even his breathing, and mutter a quiet: âI donât know.â
---
Taylor comes over in the afternoon.
She has a bad thrown over her shoulder and her hair thrown up in a high ponytail. It doesnât feel like that long since he last saw her, but it must have been. She looks so much healthier. Her eyes look bright and her shoulders less heavy. If Dan was a more touchy person, heâd wrap her in his arms.
He almost does anyway, except he blurts: âI didnât invite you,â instead.
Taylor rolls her eyes. âI know,â she says. âYour guy did.â
Dan feels his cheeks flush. He wonders, briefly, if Taylor always made comments like that and he was just too in his own struggles to notice, or if the help sheâs gotten has brought it out in her.
Will getting help bring anything out him?
âHeâs not my guy,â he says, gaze flicking to where Phil had lingered in the corner of the lounge after letting Taylor in. Heâs not there anymore. âHeâs my, like, flatmate. And friend.â
She hums, low and doubtful. âYeah, sure, just a friend.â
The implication clear. It makes Danâs stomach twist, his mind drawing up memories of Philâs arms around him, his lips pressed against Danâs skin. Taylorâs still grinning at him. It makes him squirm in his seat.
She must notice, because her smile softens. âFine, if you donât want to talk about Phil, why donât we talk about why he invited me here?â
He swallows, shrugging one shoulder. His fingers drag against his thighs, nails stinging against his skin, as he watches Taylor set her bag down and drop onto the couch, legs crossed and back pressed to the armrest. She reaches out and snags one of Danâs hands, drawing it into the empty space between them.
Itâs still slightly warm from when Phil was sitting there.
âPhil said the doctorâs appointment went well,â says Taylor. Her voice has gone soft and sympathetic. âBut youâre not handling it very well?â
Dan shrugs. âIâm fine,â he mumbles.
Her responding laugh is nothing but a silent puff of air. âYou couldnât convince me with that back when we first met,â she says. âWhat makes you think you can now?â
âIâm better now?â
âYou are,â says Taylor. âDoesnât mean youâre doing great though.â She squeezes his hand. âWhatâs going on?â
Her voice has gone even softer. Itâs enough to make tears sting behind his eyes.
âI donât know,â he whispers. âI donât know, like, how to trust that itâll actually work out this time. Iâve met some not shit doctors before and yetââ
His chest goes tight, throat burning. Taylorâs thumb sweeps across his knuckles. Itâs too much like when Phil does it.
âYet here you are,â she says. âLiving in Manchester with a boy who cares about you, doing better thanââ
âIf youâre about to pull some âoh, maybe it was all meant to beâ bullshit on me Iâll actually kick you out of my flat.â
Taylor rolls her eyes, smiling. âI wasnât going to say anything like that,â she says. âJust, like, whatâs the worst that can happen? You get no answers and come back to live with Phil, who Iâm pretty sure would help you with literally anything.â
âOh.â Dan shrugs. Things would be like they were before the appointment. Part of him wishes they were, exceptâ âWhat if I canât handle being told itâs nothing again?â
Taylor shrugs. âYou cross that bridge when it comes,â she says. âPhil said this doctor was really nice, and I know he hasnât been through everything you have, but heâs had his own shit, and he really wants this for you.â She squeezes his hand again. âI donât think heâd be happy for you if he didnât actually think it was going to work out.â
âSo youâre saying I should be an optimist?â
âIâm saying I didnât think seeing a counsellor would help but someone told me I should, and Iâm sure as hell doing better,â says Taylor. âGive it a shot. And if it goes wrong, you have Philâs shoulder to cry on.â
She smiles. Dan manages half a smile back. âI guess.â
He lets it stay silent for a moment, gaze flicking across the Wiiâs pause screen, then Philâs closed bedroom door.
âCan I ask you something else?â he says.
âGo ahead.â
âYou said Philââ
She chuckles. âOh, so now you want to talk about Phil?â Her fingers slip from his to pat the back of his hand. âYou need to talk to him if you want to know. Mostly cause heâs hardly told me anything. Otherwise, Iâd actually consider giving you information about the guy you like.â
âI donâtââ he tries to say, but heâs never been a good liar. He can feel his cheeks flaming red, can see the grin split across Taylorâs face before he says anything.
And then they both start laughing.
---
âHow was talking to Taylor?â
Phil settles onto the sofa next to him, tucking his socked feet under his legs. His hand lands on Danâs knee and a slight smile ghosts across his lips, like he knows what Danâs gonna say.
Itâs probably obvious, even though the tight anxiety in Danâs chest is starting to return.
âIt was nice,â he says.
Philâs lips quirk. âShe seems like sheâs doing well.â
Dan hums his agreement, catching Philâs gaze with his own. âIs that supposed to be a hint that I should follow in her footsteps and, like, get help?â
Philâs response is a shrug, playful and happy and Dan missed spending time with him like this, missed the ease of being friends. He wills the worries in the back of his mind to stay there, where they were shoved by his conversation with Taylor, knowing full well they wonât.
He can already feel them coming back, faint memories of how heâd collapsed into bed sobbing last time a doctor had turned him away, a pressure in his chest that wants to ask how Phil is. But before he can say anything, Philâs hand is drifting across the back of the sofa cushions, his fingers sliding into Danâs hair.
âStill not feeling well, huh?â he says.
Dan shrugs. âSorry.â
Phil hums. âDonât apologize,â he says. âBut I, uh, had another idea?â
A silent chuckle rumbles in Danâs chest. It makes his ribs hurt. âIâm pretty sure Iâm gonna be anxious no matter what, Phil,â he says. âAt least until I know what the tests say.â
âI know,â says Phil. This fingers are massaging at Danâs scalp. Danâs not even sure itâs conscious anymore. âI just think it could help to get some things off your chest. The type of thing youâre not ready to tell anybody, you know?â
âOh.â
Phil shrugs. âI used to do it when I needed to,â he says.
The questions well in Danâs chest again, but instead of saying anything, he lets Philâs hand slip from behind his head to take his hand instead. He helps Dan off the couch without an explanation, smiling like he really believes this will help.
He thought talking to Taylor would help, and, well, it mostly did.
Dan squeezes his hand and lets Phil lead him down the hall.
They slip into Danâs bedroom, where his black checkered duvet has hardly been touched in weeks and unfolded clothes hang messily from his chest of drawers. His laptop is open in the middle of the bed, and the pillows that remain in his room pressed against the wall into a makeshift sofa.
Danâs grows furrow, turning to catch Philâs gaze.
âI, uh, think you should film yourself talking about your feelings,â says Phil. Before Dan can even try to respond, he continues: âI know it sounds crazy, but it makes you feel like youâre actually, uh, talking about things, but you donât actually have to tell anyone.â
It does sound crazy. If Phil didnât seem so genuinely convinced, Dan might laugh. âSo Iâm just supposed to sit here and talk to myself?â
âDonât you talk to yourself anyway?â says Phil, quirking a smile. âBut, I donât know, pretend youâre screaming into the void. Oh! Or pretend youâre a YouTuber.â
His cheeks go pink at the end. Dan almost does ask this time, except his knees are starting to ache and heâs too lazy to stay standing through the pain today. He sits down on the bed, scootches back so heâs resting against the cushions, and stares at the black screen of his laptop.
Phil comes over, and presses a quick kiss to his head. âJust try,â he whispers. âAnd if it doesnât work we can just play Mario until bedtime, okay?â
Dan nods. He watches Phil step out of his room, closing the door behind him, before leaning over to sign onto his computer. It takes him a moment to find the webcam app, and an even longer one to gather the courage to hit record.
The first few moments of the video end up a long, awkward silence, as Dan tries to comb through his thoughts to find something he can actually say out loud to himself without being absolutely mortified.
He settles on taking Philâs advice, forces a smile and says: âHello, internet.â
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