#how did i do this. well anyway i think that jimmy + scar should definitely team now that scar has a win. scott can't say anything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunonyoreface · 2 years ago

Text

Routine Examinations Pt5 - Jimmy Keene - Black Bird Imagine

Hi there, this story is loosely based off the Black Bird series starring Taron Egerton as James Keene. Although the series is based off real events, this story is not and deviates from the show’s plot.

Summary: You’re a doctor working with the FBI, your new patient: Jimmy Keene.

Word count: 5746 (its a long one!)

Pairing: Reader x Jimmy Keene

TW: angst, prison environment, mention of insulin injection, assault, SA, use of knife, panic attack, blood.

The guard hasn’t even reached the door when his radio starts going off in a frenzied panic. He’s not Nelson nor is he Carter. I don’t ask his name because he’s definitely introduced himself before, but I can’t remember it for the life of me.

“Ma’am is it okay if I step out for a moment, something’s going on at the guard station,” there’s an uneasiness to his voice as he stares down at the radio attached to his belt. Multiple voices yell out code numbers to each other and despite having worked here long enough that I should know at least some of them, I don’t.

“Of course,” I smile politely. It saves me the awkwardness of asking him to leave. The officer doesn’t shut the door tight on his way out but it’s closed enough that I don’t bother to fix it. I’m already sitting in front of Jimmy anyway.

“That’s a little strange don’t you think?” He’s on edge. How could he not be after yesterday’s beating and Carter threatening to flag him as a snitch.

“Every day is a strange day in here,” I reassure him. The cuts on Jimmy’s face already look better. The night at the infirmary did him well. The bags under his eyes have shrunk and he looks more awake. Don’t get me wrong, he still looks like hell, but at least more rested.

“I guess,” he mumbles.

“Let me see your neck. After yesterday my main concern is making sure the wound doesn’t reopen,” Jimmy shuffles closer to the edge of the chair so I can get a better look at the scar. His knee rests between my legs as I sit on my rolling stool. As I lean in to get a closer look, his leg accidentally presses against my inner thigh. I try not to think of it as I check the butterfly bandages. Then, I lightly dab a salve onto the area to ensure it doesn’t dry out.

When I pull away, I notice Jimmy isn’t looking at me. Instead, his gaze is cast downwards at our intertwined legs. I allow myself half a second to indulge in the same view, but then the movement of his head draws my eyes upwards. He finally meets my gaze. It’s heavy and when he presses his knee harder against my thigh, I know that there was no accident. His touch has been intentional from the start.

But neither of us gets the chance to say anything. Jimmy’s head darts up when someone sprints past the door, their heavy steps thundering down the hall.

“Was that a C.O?” he asks. I turn to the door, having missed them fly by.

“I don’t know,” something starts to buzz in the back of my mind. It’s been almost ten minutes and the officer in charge of Jimmy still hasn’t come back. I break our contact to peek around the cracked door. The guard normally posted at the front of the infirmary is gone. Jimmy was right.

“Was it?”

“Yeah,” my mind wanders to the different possibilities. It must be urgent because he is never supposed to leave his post without a replacement. Now four inmates are left unguarded out there. Although they’re heavily injured and cuffed to their beds, so they won’t be going anywhere.

I twist the lock on the door handle and head for the landline. Jimmy watches as I call both guard stations and neither pick up. My lips purse in frustration.

Nevertheless, I head over to Jimmy again.

“You haven’t shared much about Hall these last few days,” I start.

He ignores my prompt. “Something’s wrong, Emma,” Jimmy’s voice is tight. “I think you should hide somewhere, in the supply cabinet, under your desk. Somewhere.”

“Jimmy, do you know something?” I ask.

“Why would both guards leave?” he emphasizes. “Something isn’t right.”

“It’ll be fine,” I say, but just as the words leave my mouth a new pair of footsteps run down the corridor to the infirmary. They’re different from the guard’s: lighter, quicker. Two excited, muffled voices carry through the brick walls.

Then, there’s a knock at my door. It’s polite and innocent enough. But, it’s not how a guard knocks. No gruff voice follows, announcing they need to take an inmate back to their cell. Instead, a heavy silence takes over the room. Each side of the door patiently awaits a sign of life from the other side.

“Get under your desk,” Jimmy whispers. The urgency in his voice is clearer than ever.

I take his warning one step further by first sliding off my heels and then pulling a scalpel from my supply tray before finally crawling under my desk. I pull my office chair as close as possible to provide extra shelter. I’m covered from Jimmy’s perspective, but anyone who crouches down or walks behind the desk will see me plain as day.

There’s another knock, louder this time.

“Doctor, there’s an emergency! We need medical assistance as fast as possible at the guard station!” My stomach drops at the giddy, shrill voice.

“Don’t respond,” Jimmy’s voice is barely audible. But I didn’t need him to tell me that much.

The doorknob starts wiggling. A pit forms in my stomach as the quiet sounds of metal clinking on metal fill the room.

And then the lock pops and the door swings open. Two inmates stand in the frame. One of them, Moe, whom I treated two days ago for multiple stab wounds to his shoulder, was set to be released this afternoon. He stands short and stocky next to the lanky man beside him, Ralf, if I’m remembering his name properly.

Ralf holds himself as though he isn’t 100% human. He’s gaunt and almost looks like one of those praying mantis insects with their long limbs and beady eyes.

“Oh,” Moe mutters. “Why didn’t you say you were here?”

The question is directed at Jimmy as the stocky man pushes his way into the room. Ralf follows a few steps behind, but he doesn’t take much interest in Jimmy. No, Ralf is more interested in my medical supplies, specifically whatever might hide in my cabinets. He heads straight for the fridge by the door, but is going to be disappointed to find blood and stool samples.

“Thought you guys might be guards,” Jimmy deepens his voice, playing up the tough guy reputation he seems to have built for himself.

Ralf giggles to himself at Jimmy’s comment. “Nope, no guards around here anymore.”

“By yourself?” Moe mumbles.

“No,” Jimmy hesitates. “The doctor was here, but she went out almost at the same time as the guard. Something about disinfectant.”

‘Ohh,” Moe pauses for a moment, thinking about Jimmy’s answer. His feet scuff on the floor as he moves around the patient chair.

Ralf slams the fridge door shut, rattling the containers inside. He moves to the first of two cabinets. Inside are cotton sways, bandages, wraps, syringes, ointments, and disinfectant, but no pills, which I’m guessing is what he really wants. What little medication I keep on hand is securely in the cabinet behind my desk. In direct view of where I sit now.

“Ya know,” Ralf sniffs. “We didn’t see no doctor on our way over. Did we Moe?”

“Just a couple of guards,” Moe’s muffled voice bounces off the walls and rings in my ears. I feel my heart racing in my chest as if it’s going to take off and leave me dead on the floor.

“You said she needed disinfectant?” Ralf asks.

“She said it,” Jimmy’s tone is short. “Not me.”

“Funny,” his voice trails off. Ralf reaches into the open cabinet and pulls out a handful of disinfectant wipes. He drops them on the floor. “Looks like she’s got plenty of those,” he grabs another handful, tossing them onto the ground. Then another. The tiny packets skid across the floor. One slides under the desk right next to my foot.

“You calling me a liar?” the tension rises in Jimmy’s voice

“Ain’t calling you anything buddy,” says Ralf.

Moe leans in close to Jimmy, real close. Too much for someone he just met. Probably too close for someone he’s known for a while. The proximity makes Jimmy visibly uncomfortable as he leans away. “Do we have a problem? Why don’t you back up a bit?”

“Want your cuffs off?” Moe asks, once again mumbling.

“I don’t know man, what’s in it for you?”

“Just one thing,” Moe pauses, his voice clear for the first time since stepping into my office. “Where’d she go?”

“I just told you.”

“No, you didn’t,” says Moe.

“I can take another peek, but I’m pretty sure she ain’t laying beside those pigs out there,” Ralf chimes in. I can see the bottom of his shoes as he walks away from the cabinet. He carelessly steps on the disinfectant packets. The pit in my stomach grows. Does that mean they’re dead?

“So, where’d she go?” Moe is getting impatient now. His voice is higher, tighter, I can hear the annoyance from across the room.

Ralf has nowhere else to check except for the last cabinet. I hug my legs closer to my chest as he approaches the doors. My fingers nervously twist the scalpel. The weapon is of little reassurance to my situation. If Ralf turns around now, I’m dead.

He pulls on the door and it swings open with ease. I forgot to lock it. I should be embarrassed I forgot to do something so important, but right now that's the only thing keeping his attention away from my desk.

“Bingo!” Ralf sings. He fills his pockets with pill bottles, carrying enough painkillers to take out a whole block.

“Is she still here?” Moe whispers to Keene.

Jimmy doesn’t respond, but that seems to be all the confirmation he needs.

“Ralf.”

“Just wait,” his pockets are bulging with bottles as he reaches for more.

“Where?” he asks Jimmy again, his voice low and eager.

Ralf turns to snap at him. That he just needs to wait another minute and they’ll check the supply room down the hall. But the words never leave his mouth, because when Ralf turns around to look at Moe, his eyes land directly on mine instead. And if I thought the grin on his face couldn’t get any larger, I was wrong.

“Guess,” he giggles.

Moe’s eyes widen as his laughter also begins to fill the room. My mouth runs dry and my heart feels like it stops beating completely. In the background, I hear what might be Jimmy’s handcuffs rattling against the metal bar. Moe rounds the corner of the desk to see if Ralf is telling the truth.

Ralf reaches for the arm of the chair to pull it away.

I don’t wait for them to yank me out screaming. I lunge at Ralf, scalpel ready, and plunge it into the hand wrapped around the chair. The blade cuts through his hand and into the foam underneath, but I don’t stay to see his reaction. In seconds I am sprinting for the door until I step on a pile of disinfectant packages. My foot loses traction as I slide and get knocked off balance. It doesn’t stop me, but provides just enough time for Moe to wrap his arms entirely around my body and yank me back towards my desk. I thrash against his snake-like grip but that only causes him to constrict his arms even tighter.

“Let go!” I scream at him. My voice cracks in desperation. I take a swing and land it square on Moe’s head but he acts as though I completely missed.

“You fucking bitch,” Ralf seethes as he approaches with the bloody knife in hand. Thick, red liquid flows from his hand, down his elbow where it drips onto the floor.

“Stop!” Jimmy shouts as he strains against his cuffs locked around the metal rail. He leaps from the chair and puts all the pressure he can on them in an attempt to break them.

Moe flips me around and pushes me onto my desk. Papers chaotically fly everywhere as he swipes them off the surface.

“Get off!” I spit at him. The sharp edge of the desk jolts into my back as he bends me over the top, leaving my stomach exposed.

“You’re going to fucking regret that you little bitch,” Ralf’s venomous words are filled with spite. His eyes bulge from his head as he leans in. I freeze in fear, too terrified to move. Meanwhile, Moe suggestively presses his groin into me as his heavy breathing turns to deep chuckles.

In the background, I hear Jimmy heaving against the chains. The large chair is anchored to the ground like the ones you’d see in a dentist’s office, but that doesn’t stop him from fighting it. The metal groans against Jimmy’s strength and all I can do is pray it’s enough.

“It’s been so long since the last time,” says Moe. Bile rises in the back of my throat at his words. A cold blade presses against my lower stomach. Ralf traces the knife along the hem of my blouse before he lands at the bottom button. Moe watches him carefully. “Do it,” he breathes.

“Is that what you want, doctor?” Ralf teases.

“Fuck you.”

“You will,” his shit-eating grin grows as he cuts off the first button. Then the next. And the next. Tears well in my eyes as more buttons follow and my top slowly falls away, leaving me exposed. In the background, I can faintly hear the groan of metal under too much stress. “There we go,” he says as the last button falls to the ground.

“Oh, boy Ralf,” Moe’s grimy hands wander up my stomach. “You always have good ideas.”

“Don’t you know it,” he drawls. “But I don’t think we’re done yet,” Ralf raises the scalpel again, this time pressing it to the skin just under my collar bone.

“Please don’t,” my voice cracks as he presses the blade harder into my skin. Blood spills down my chest as he cuts a long gash.

“Not such a bitch anymore,” Ralf smirks. Moe spreads blood around my chest as his hands grab at my skin.

“Please,” it’s barely audible as tears stream down my face. But then a sound off to the side of the room catches my attention. Something metal snaps in the direction of the patient’s chair.

Out of nowhere, Jimmy comes hurdling across the room. He throws fast, deadly punches at Ralf, causing blood to fly from his face as his nose snaps and his lip splits. He goes down fast as Jimmy relentlessly beats on him. Ralf wheezes as he takes hit after hit with no time to recover.

At the same time, I feel Moe’s hands tighten around me in panic. He doesn’t know what to do. But then in another split second, he is off of me and out the door in a panic. Moe leaves Ralf behind without a second thought.

“Jimmy,” my shaky voice does nothing to shake him from his violent trance. “Jimmy!” I shout.

He whips around. His face is red from exertion and there’s something different about his eyes. He straddles Ralf, who lies on the ground barely conscious. Blood covers the surrounding floor.

“Get him out of here,” I turn around to look out the window. I don’t want to see what Jimmy does with him but I can hear his body being drug across the floor. I feel awful. Ashamed. Exposed. Terrified. And I can’t stop the shakes from taking over. Fuck.

I jump as the door slams shut. Jimmy pushes the industrial metal fridge to block the entrance.

With the fridge securely pressed against the door, it’s almost impossible for anyone to get in. We’re trapped here for better or worse.

He rushes across the room to my side.

“Emma are you-” Jimmy reaches out, his arm beginning to wrap around my shoulder in an embrace.

“Don’t!” I shout louder than I meant to. I instinctively flinch away from him and even once I put a meter’s worth of space between us, it’s not enough.

“I’m sorry,” regret is evident in his soft voice. He didn’t mean to and I know that but I can’t help my reaction.

“It’s fine,” but I don’t feel fine. Nothing about me is remotely fine. My skin feels like thousands of fire ants have claimed it as theirs. I can’t get the feeling of the inmate’s forceful hands off my mind. Can’t clear my head of the unspeakable things that he planned to do. That he came so close to accomplishing.

My chest feels tight and my heart aches. It’s like the air I’m breathing isn’t making it to my lungs. My mouth feels dry. The type of dry that only happens when you’ve been working outside in the mid-August heat for hours with no water. The room feels ten degrees warmer than it was five minutes ago yet I’m shaking like it’s the middle of winter. I’m quick to jump to the conclusion that I’m having a heart attack but experience tells me otherwise.

My vision starts to go spotty as I head for the corner of the room. I just need to sit for a few moments. To clear my head. To breathe.

“Jimmy?” I’m almost gasping for air.

“Are you alright?” he asks with furrowed brows. “You’re really pale,” he steps closer but is overly cautious about invading my space.

“Can you get me some water?”

If he responds I don’t hear him. My vision is spotty, leaning on the darker side. I’m panicking and need to regain control before I cause myself to faint. My anxiety normally doesn’t get this bad but today hasn’t exactly been normal.

In the background, I hear the tap running. I press my head against the cool brick wall as I sit on the laminate floor with my arms resting on my knees.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” I mumble. “It’s just a panic attack,”

“Just,” he huffs in disbelief.

Jimmy watches me with worry etched on his face. I don’t want him to know how awful it feels. “I’ll be fine. Always am.”

“Do you need anything else?” He asks.

“Just some quiet.”

He takes a seat several feet away from me against the wall, copying my position. I slowly sip my water, paying attention to the feeling of it coasting down my throat. To the soft sound of the fan blowing in the corner of my office, sitting untouched by the intruders. I ignore the muffled crashing sounds that can faintly be heard through the brick walls, instead focusing on the warm light that shines through the windows casting itself on our legs. I listen to his breathing. It’s deep and strong and faster than normal. We’re both still recovering from what happened. But he’s otherwise completely quiet; respecting my wishes without any complaints. I have his immediate support.

Slowly my vision completely returns and the shakes seem to dissipate. The room doesn’t feel so hot anymore.

When I look over at Jimmy, he’s quick to meet my eyes. He was waiting for something, a signal of some sort to know I’m alright.

“More water?” he whispers.

“Please,” I hold out the paper cup. His index finger brushes against my pinky when he takes it from my hand. I could’ve gotten up and filled the cup myself, but he looks relieved to have a job.

When Jimmy hands me back the cup I notice the cuts on his wrist from the handcuffs. He strained so hard against the metal to break free that it scraped his skin raw. I can’t imagine how bad it stings right now.

The water is cool down the back of my throat. Jimmy doesn’t sit back down. He stands as he watches me finish the second cup.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“You should let me fix that up,” he motions to my collarbone. It had been the least of my concerns up until now. I didn’t even notice the thick trail of blood seeping from the gash. Now it throbs. The red heat seems to spread from the wound down my chest as the blood soaks my once nude bra and slashed blouse. My mind was too clouded before to notice how exposed they left me. A wave of vulnerability washes over me.

I divert my eyes and pull the other half of my top over my chest to cover my bra. “It’ll be fine.”

Jimmy catches on to my body language right away. “Here, I’ll give you my shirt, but you’re bleeding a lot. We should do something about that.”

He’s not even done talking when he slips the blue shirt off and passes it to me. The rough fabric’s warm in my hands.

“Thanks,” I say as he stands across from me now in his undershirt. The bruises from yesterday paint his arms and upper chest a variety of painful colours.

He’s right. I am bleeding a lot. And I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be here and how much more blood I’m going to lose. But Jimmy doesn’t need to be the one to patch me up, I can do that all on my own.

“Where do you keep those butterfly things?” he’s already searching around the room.

“The bandages?”

“Those.”

“They’re in the far cabinet,” I say as he moves to rummage through my supplies. I replace my torn blouse with the standard blue prison shirt. The bottom hem falls well below my waist and the already large neckline barely stays on my shoulders. It’s still miles better than what I had before. The fabric smells of the prison’s standard detergent, but it also smells distinctly of him: clean and masculine and of something earthier I can’t quite depict. It’s a comforting scent that now completely engulfs me.

“Here,” he speaks to himself as he pulls out a sealed bag of bandages and disinfecting wipes. When Jimmy turns around, he does a quick once over of the shirt, his expression almost completely neutral but I don’t miss how his shoulders shift as he deeply inhales.

He crouches down in front of me on the laminate, placing the packets just to the right. I tense at our proximity and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Jimmy,” I wait for him to look up. “I don’t need help. I’ll fix it myself.”

His brows furrow and he looks to the floor in search of an answer. The moment stretches on becoming borderline uncomfortable. He considers his words carefully. “I would never hurt you Emma,” Jimmy murmurs.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” I trail off at a loss for words. Because it is that. I know it’s an unreasonable fear because he’s done nothing but help to protect me. But at the same time, is it such an unreasonable fear after everything that has happened today? I’m scared of where it could go if I let him get that close. Of where I would want it to go.

“You’ve done so much for me already, I just want to return the favour,” earnest eyes are back on mine.

“You’re not in some kind of debt to me, Jimmy.”

“Please just let me help you. That’s all I want,” I search his blue eyes for any trace of deceit, but there’s none, only concern.

“Okay,” I nod.

We both let out a sigh of relief. The tension between us easing, just a bit.

He shifts to sit back on the floor, positioning himself so he has easy access to my chest.

“Will you hold these?” Jimmy asks as he passes me the disinfectant and bandages. I cup them in my palms on my lap so he can grab them any time. He clears his throat before asking “Emma can I move your shirt?”

“That’s fine,” I nod in response. He’s slow with his movements as if I’m an easily spooked horse. Jimmy’s large hand reaches up to the neckline of my shirt and gently pushes it off my shoulder. It falls effortlessly, already too big for me. The air feels cold on my exposed skin. I can’t control my heart rate from picking up again.

I study him closely. He sits with his legs crossed in a position that makes his posture look bad. With him closer, I get a better look at the injury on his neck. It’s healing, but the fight today probably tore at the bandages. The kind of strain it took to break the metal bar would’ve been immensely painful for him. Yet, his neck wound didn’t reopen which is a good sign.

The cuts on his cheek haven’t opened either but his lip isn’t so lucky. A small smear of blood tells me it was bleeding not too long ago but has probably stopped by now.

The bruises on his face are deep blues and purples and while his black eye isn’t nearly as swollen as yesterday, it could use some ice. It hurts just to look at him.

The veins in his forearm ripple as Jimmy reaches for the disinfectant in my hands. He rips open the packet to reveal the tiny white cloth. He uses the first cloth to wipe the fresh blood off his knuckles before grabbing a second packet.

His movements are hesitant. He knows what to do. It’s fresh in his mind after watching me yesterday. But Jimmy lacks experience in dressing wounds. He doesn’t know how to properly clean a cut or apply the butterfly bandages. His eyes shift between the gash along my collarbone and the cloth in his hands. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Jimmy’s unsure, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to help.

His strong hands are surprisingly delicate as he uses the disinfectant wipe to clean the area around the wound. His eyes are constantly flickering up to mine, ensuring he hasn’t hurt me.

I draw in a sharp breath when the alcohol touches the cut.

He pauses immediately. “You good?”

“Yup,” I muster through a clenched jaw.

Jimmy pulls on his bottom lip with his teeth in concentration. When he finally releases, blood rushes to the area turning it a dark pink.

I’m still staring at his lips when he asks how to apply the bandage. When I finally meet his eyes something in them darkens. The air is still and I can feel when he suddenly inhales deeper than before.

“Place one side of the bandage down before you pinch both sides of the cut together and apply the other half,” My voice is hoarse, quiet.

He reluctantly presses the first half of a bandage onto the skin just under the cut before leaning in real close to study the area. His cool breath fans across my bare shoulder and down my chest. Jimmy’s brows furrow in concentration. His eyes so focused, that they don’t notice anything but the soft skin under his calloused hands. Something in my stomach flutters as his gentle fingers pinch the wound together and press the other half of the bandage into place.

We’re both completely silent as he applies the second and third bandages.

“I think we’re done,” his voice is hardly above a whisper. Jimmy traces his thumb along my collarbone just above the wound, causing the small hairs on my arms to rise. His touch is light and careful. I watch his eyes follow along my bare skin until I’m staring into pools of blue. I involuntarily draw in a breath. My mind is humming and my body has awakened. The world is unmoving except for my heart hammering in my chest.

“Thank you,” I find myself at a loss for words. His fingers continue to lightly trace back and forth along the tender area.

“You don’t have to thank me. I owe you.”

“Not after today, you don’t.”

“I’ll always owe you, Emma, I’ll never be out of your debt for your kindness,” his eyes search mine. There’s a sense of urgency to his words. A desire to be understood.

“It’s just my job, Jimmy.”

“It’s more than that,” he’s right. From the moment he stepped through those doors it felt like more. As much as I’ve tried to remain professional our relationship has grown past that.

“Do you, uhm, want ice? For your eye?” I stumble over my words. “Or your wrist?”

“They’ll be fine,”

“Because there probably some still in the fridge, I doubt it’s melted yet,” he’s so close; my thoughts are getting twisted with his earthy scent.

“I don’t want ice, Emma,” he’s closer than ever before. I can feel the heat off his skin as his chest brushes against my own. Our breaths intertwine as the space shrinks and the tension grows thick. His hand brushes up the base of my neck, leading a trail of pleasure up to my jaw where he gently cups my face.

“So, what do you want?” I murmur, my eyes on his provocative lips.

“I think you know,” his voice is low. Every sensation feels heightened. All I want is to feel his skin on mine. “But only if you do too,” he searches for any sign saying otherwise.

“More than I should,” I lean in, brushing my nose against his. I long for a deeper connection with him, to know him entirely.

Jimmy dampens his lips. His eyes are darkened by desire. I graze my hand up his hard arm, over his broad shoulder, past the bruises and around the back of his neck. I don’t know who leans in first. It all happens so fast. Adrenaline floods my veins. His hands feel so good as they travel across my body, landing in my hair. His fingers lace through the strands as he gently pulls at the base of my roots.

He’s passionate and intense but takes his tantalizing time exploring my mouth. Jimmy traces my lips with his tongue before slipping it in. He pushes as I pull. Then we switch in harmony, the playing field completely even.

Jimmy presses his body into mine. The softness of my figure moulds against his sturdy frame. I feel so tiny in his arms. They’re solid and safe and I know if anyone were to break through that door, they would do anything to protect me. Jimmy wraps around me like a suit of impenetrable armour.

The world disappears as the lines between who is who blur. There’s something visceral about our desire, something so desperate and innate.

All I want is to disappear into him completely, but then he pauses.

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes as he pulls away. I know how awful a place like this can be. How isolating and dehumanizing. How lonely and deprived. Jimmy looks tired. He looks beat and drained. The job he’s tasked with is almost impossible.

My fingers trace along the bags under his eyes, up his cheekbones, and down his ear. A deep sigh escapes his swollen lips.

Jimmy parts his lips as if to say something, then changes his mind. He presses his forehead against mine with closed eyes. It feels so good to be this close to him. To feel his hands as they rub the side of my thighs for comfort. But I can tell in this state of vulnerability, that his mind has drifted elsewhere.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispers as his head moves to the crook of my neck.

“Don’t think like that, Jimmy,” I bring a hand to the back of his head, lightly petting his soft hair. “If anyone can, it’s you,” His heart pounds against his chest. I can feel the thrumming as my palm presses against his grey shirt. He doesn’t realize how strong he is.

“You don’t know that,”

“I do.”

He breaks away from our embrace in search of the truth. Am I just telling him what he wants to hear or is there any substance to my words. His eyes carefully examine my face. There’s not a single lie or half-truth to my words. I believe them fully.

I grab his large hand in both of mine. “I do.”

His shoulders soften when he sighs, nodding his head in acceptance. My words are enough, for now.

On the other side of the brick wall, a storm of footsteps approaches the infirmary. A loud knock thunders against the door.

“Dr. Green! Are you in there?” A commanding voice shouts through the door.

Every part of my body freezes. Jimmy’s eyes widen slightly. I can’t bring myself to respond to the man on the other side of the wall.

“Doctor, we will break this door down if we do not receive a response,” I hear the muffled voices of more men. I wonder how many there are?

I allow myself one last moment of uninterrupted silence with Jimmy. My palm cups his cheek, thumb lightly brushing across the day-old scar. His hand wraps entirely around my wrist. Jimmy guides my hand from his cheek to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine.

He presses one last tender kiss where my wrist connects to my palm. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His soft words vibrate against my sensitive skin as his breath fans down my arm.

I try to smile. To hide the disappointment I’m feeling. Not because of him or his actions, but because of our situation. If only things had been different. If only we met somewhere else. Somewhere innocent. When I look at Jimmy his eyes are sad. They’re longing for something more.

“Tomorrow,” I repeat.

I break contact. This is too much. It’s all too much right now. The only thing I can do is clear my voice and call back to the officers.

“I’m alright! I’ll unblock the door, just give me two minutes,” I don’t have a chance to attempt moving the fridge. Jimmy’s already on it. When it’s mostly out of the way he rushes for the chair, slipping his cuff back around the broken metal rail and adjusting it so the officers won’t notice it’s broken.

I’m about to let them in, my hand rests on the flimsy handle lock ready to flick it open. I steal one last glance at him.

Jimmy eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. He winks as if everything’s alright. And for a moment, everything is.

#black bird #black bird imagine #Black Bird Apple TV #jimmy keene #Jimmy Keen x reader #Jimmy Keene imagine #jim keene #Jim Keene x reader #Jim Keene imagine #james keene #James Keen x reader #James Keene imagine #taron egerton #taron egerton imagine #taron egerton x reader

429 notes · View notes

soft-boi-eli · 3 years ago

Text

Mcyts helping a trans masc after top surgry (part 2)

Tw:swearing, mentions of surgry, softness.

Karl

This sweet ass man.

You are just laying on your bed, well sitting really, when he came in.

He had a fuck ton of balloons. And a large box.

Karl seemed like a child on christmas.

Placing the balloons down he handed you the surprisingly light box.

He was gently bouncing as he waited for you to open it.

It shocked you how it even fit in the box.

It was a huge frog bed.

You realized with a pillow you would be able to sleep in it perfectly.

"I knew it was uncomfortable sleeping like that so I got something that should make it a bit more comfortable."-karl

You loved it.

Sadly you couldnt use it till those drains were out though.

He was right though that was definitely more comfortable then laying on a bed only.

He didnt think it through though. And got sad when he wasn't able to fully cuddle you.

But he found out that he could lay on your lap and legs.

You both enjoyed it.

Also he might be a bit squeamish when it came to your chest drains but he was helpful with them.

He helped you clean them and your wounds, he was very, very gentle.

He didnt want to hurt you.

"You know it's ok to do it a little harder. It wont hurt."-(y/n)

"But I dont want to hurt you. I know this doesn't hurt."-karl.

It was sweet. But got kinda annoying sometimes when he couldnt get something off. But he never got angry or frustrated. Just kept very gentle.

I imagine that when he was cleaning your new scars, Jimmy came to see if you got his balloons and if you doing good.

You two were in the living room bowl of warm soapy water, in a large plastic bowl, and karl gently wiping off all of the crust around the scars.

You fell asleep before karl finished and karl was finishing up when jimmy came in.

"Karl. They're alseep."-jimmy

"Yeah but this needs to be cleaned. It doesn't hurt them."-karl

Jimmy and karl literally just sat there till you woke up.

You thanked jimmy for the balloons and thanked karl for helping you clean those wounds.

Karl didnt mind though. Cause this sweet heart cares for you and just wants you to feel better and feel comfortable.

Quackity

He loves you and all but dont expect him to help with the surgical sight.

He'll do everything for you except clean your wounds and drain those drains.

He loves to hug you and kept you warm.

He would stream but you were always behing the green screen so no one would see you.

"Alex. Can you get me to book I left in the living room. I feel like shit still."-(y/n)

He was very quick to get it. And I mean he bolted out got it and brought it in the span of a minute. He gave you a light kiss on the forehead, and whispered.

"Anything for you mi amoir."-quackity.

You gave him a smile.

"Simp."-(y/n)

He gasped offended and looked at you.

"Well only for you though."-quackity.

I imagine as a get well gift quackity would get you something to remind you of him when he streams.

Large duck push.

He knew that his streams could last a long time so he decided it was best if you had a snuggle buddy to help you stay in position.

If the duck got dirty he was cleaned nearly immediately by quackity.

If the duck falls off the bed quackity gently yeets it onto the bed where you can reach.

He might of gotten jealous of the duck a few times. But he seemed to get over it when you went to hugging him instead. Sadly it wasnt that easy to but still none the less you gave him hugs too.

Dont neglect you quack boi.

He needs hugs like you do.

Give them to him. These are the only times you get cuddles. Other then that he is making food, getting you comfy, and fixing your pillows and shit like that.

He is now a maid.

Not sexually though. He just cleans the house, get you things you need, and makes food.

He is helpful.

Just not with the cleaning process of your wounds. And that's fine. He keeps you comfy and that's all that matters.

Also if your cold in the middle of hot ass summer and asking for more blankets he would look at you crazy. Like what the fuck?

But you have them lightly fluttered over you.

He wants you comfy. Even if that means you looking like your boiling alive in the middle of july.

If your happy he's happy. That's how it goes

Badboyhalo

Badboyhalo?

More like dadboyhalo.

He is not going to let you do anything.

Your surgical incisions? He's cleaning them.

Your drains? He's got you.

Your getting alot of soup and smoothies. He even joins in on your so called diet so you wont get jealous about what he has.

Rat is all over you. Sensing the pain you were having and cuddling you completely. Your laps is almost always taken by rat.

Badboyhalo doesn't really care if rat gets alot of attention by you. He just wants you to be comfortable.

But sometimes he gets sad that he cant fully lay with you.

But he enjoys just sitting with you and talking through the nights you cant really sleep.

He gets you a stuffed cat, you use it mainly as a pillow and sometimes hug it when bad is streaming.

"It reminded me of you when I saw it."-bad

Your heart melted.

He loved your reactions to the little sweet gesters he did. It brought him joy to know you were able to relax and trust him at this moment and time.

You get a free swearing pass. He knows you hurt really bad at times but he lightly says language when on stream.

You understood though. He had kids watching too.

You were grumpy one day, bad took rat because of a rat cam stream. And all you wanted was to be warmed up by something else then a blanket.

You were sittinging there looking at bad as he streamed.

You could technically get up and grab rat but he my tell you not to.

So you quietly patted your lap.

Rat immediately seemed to notice and run over to you, jumping onto the bed and laying in your lap.

You felt accomplished and tired so you fell asleep.

Rat leaving made the chat confused but bad explained that you were healing from a surgery.

Chat wished you a good recovery and told bad to go and comfort you. Even though you were asleep.

He tried to explain it but the donations kept yelling at him.

So he ended stream and laid next to you and rat.

This was comfortable.

Eret

Eret, they were a whole 'nother story.

This fabulous being is like a maid service in one.

They have two outfits they wore when you were upset.

A maid outfit and a butler outfit.

You just got home, you were in pain, sitting up and swaddled in blankets and Goose was trying to smother you at this point.

Eret was streaming and you were sitting there in the background, blankets, pain, and goose exsiting.

You didnt know eret was talking about you because you were falling asleep. Eret nor you expected what their followers did.

Her door was bombarded with packages addressed to you. Decorated with words about getting well soon, that they were proud of you, even some saying you were their rolemodle.

Eret decided to have a stream of you opening them.

Let's just say alot of them were food, candies, even foreign food and drinks. Someone made you a homemade blanket in the trans colors.

Best part about that blanket, it was heated.

You were using it immediately as you were freezing.

Eret just chuckled and rubbed your shoulder as you opened them.

Needless to say they are proud of you, happy that you were one huge step closer to who you were.

All they wanted was your happiness.

Niki

She's a sweetheart.

Need I say more?

Well I will because fuck you I can.

Constant cuddles, be it only her head in your lap, it is almost always happening.

When you have to take your pain meds she is instantly on it, do you want soup or a smoothie? You cant decide? She'll make it a surprise.

If you dont live with her then you're staying with her while you are recovering. She doesn't want you alone when you are in pain.

You'll be bedridden until she thinks you're okay.

If she deems you as not fit for doing something she's on it. Drop you glasses for reading/drawing/writing/typing. You bet your ass as soon as she heard that clack and you groan she's picked it up and it's on your lap.

Also makes sure you're good with streaming.

If you say your good with it that day it's a calm stream. There is no lore happening when you're healing everyone was fine with that due to the fact that niki would have to sit out and the lore was with her as well so that couldn't happen.

Will came to visit...

Saw you, took pity, and now you're stuck with two people showering you in affection and comfort.

You saw Wilbur as a brother. And wilbur saw you as his younger brother. So he literally felt the pain when he saw you wince.

Niki thought it was cute and comforted both of you.

Anyways she saw something before your surgery and decided that you needed it.

It would make you feel better.

It made you laugh.

You regretted laughing but loved the hoodie.

It fit so well and it was beautiful, you also were thinking about buying it one day because you could.

But niki beat you to it.

Wilbur didnt stop laughing.

I mean who blames him.

You literally just Yeeted your tits. And niki got you something that said yeet right on top of it.

It worked perfectly.

Also when niki's not cuddling you zuko is.

End of story, you're seriously stuck with cuddles no matter what. Be it from an animal or a human.

Wilbur wont cuddle you more of give you head pats.

Niki normally streamed with you there with her unless lore stream.

So when the second day after your surgery, she had streamed, and you weren't there her chat started asking questions. Wondering if you were good, if something happened.

That's when you raised from your dead sleep, zuko falling off your stomach, shirtless, just to go grab some sock as your toes felt like they would fall off.

Chat seemed relived but started questioning the binder and all that.

Niki explained that you got top surgery and that you were healing still.

"He's looking like he wants to die right now. Are you sure he's fully okay?"-dono

"Yeah I'm good. Just stubbed my toe as well."-you.

Niki was quick to rush over and help you back to the bed.

"Just sit down I'll get you your water hun."-niki

She was quick to fill your bottle up and place it next to you on the table next ot the bed.

She's such a big help not matter what honestly.

She loves you and will do anything for you.

I am sorry this took so long. Just had a very unstable mental state. Also sorry if they seem oc. I'm once more not on a good mental state and have been trying to work on this.

So yeah if I dont post in a bit I'm so sorry just stressing alot. Insomnia is kicking me so hard.

My grandma broke her foot, she's all good though.

And I have taken up most things in my house as I live with both my mother and grandmother still.

But yeah I apologize for the break just gonna try to let myself get better. It might take a bit. It might be quite short I dont know. I just need to get more sleep.

Eli is very tired now. Bye.

#karl x reader #niki x reader #eret x reader #quackity x reader #badboyhalo x reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt fluff

232 notes · View notes

lunarsands · 2 years ago

Text

Flower Husbands Week 2022: Day 6

Prompt: Loss

Setting: 3rd Life SMP

Characters: Scott Smajor, Jimmy Solidarity (featuring Canary!Jimmy)

Tags: Angst

(Also available on Ao3!)

---

Scott lay on his back amongst the lilacs and allium, gazing up at the palisade wall and wondering if he was hallucinating. He could swear Jimmy was perched up there, staring past the world border. The odd thing was that the blond-haired man had wings. Sunshine-yellow were the feathers, the wingspan not very impressive, as if they might not be able to carry him, but they did seem to be there.

“Why are you a bird?” Scott called up to him.

“A bird?” Jimmy questioned, still looking outward.

“You look like a bird right now. Fly on down here, we have work to do.” Despite the statement, Scott himself didn’t move.

Jimmy finally looked down at him, and his eyes were red.

And his skin was gray.

And Scott remembered that his husband was nearly dead.

He sat up with a sigh of concession, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. Well, the work they needed to do was protect Jimmy from any more harm that might come his way, which was definitely easier said than done. The luckless man just invited trouble at every turn. His first death had been a daring risk, his second a foolish accident. Scott could imagine any number of scenarios that would deal the final blow, and, really, he had no idea how to prepare for any of them.

Jimmy appeared beside him, and he didn’t know if he had actually flown down or not. The yellow wings stuck out from behind his shoulders as he leaned over. “Are you okay?”

The cyan-haired man sighed again. “I don’t know. What are we going to do with you?”

Jimmy gave one of his awkward laughs. “What do you mean? It’s everyone else who has to worry, now that I have free reign on murder.”

“Jimmy… we both know that is never going to work out in your favor.”

“Hey now, that’s not fair—”

“You’re a walking disaster,” Scott said bluntly. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to watch you nearly cross the line of death? I don’t know how you ever made it this far at all! I’m just waiting, any second now, and that will be it!”

Jimmy drew back, stunned, wings sagging. “I’m not— I’m not that terrible at….at, uh, surviving, I guess? At least give me a chance to prove I can be as scary as any other red life!”

Scott’s voice got quiet. “I don’t want you to. You’re not cut out for it, anyway.”

“Well, you can’t stop me from trying.”

“Who would you go after, then? Who here do you think you have even half a chance of scaring who wouldn’t just turn around and slaughter you in the name of self-defense?”

“Uhhm, well, I could try—”

“Nobody,” Scott cut him off. “Just, nobody.” He flopped back down on the grass and turned away from Jimmy, curling up on his side. He poked at a flower stem with one finger. “You’re just useless.”

The blond-haired man frowned and uttered his own sigh, then sat down beside him, facing the other way. “I tried my best. I know my best wasn’t good enough, but I tried. And really, the second time it wasn’t my fault—”

“I told you to move away. I told you not to touch the TNT.”

“Well, maybe instead of running away, you should have shot the trap. You had a bow out already, after all. But you went bouncing off to that hill instead.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. That was kind of your fault. You could have saved all of us from our own stupidity. Me, Ren, and Skizz.”

“But I warned all of you. Someone else could have gone and got a bow. Why should I have wasted my arrows on a trap set for Ren and Martyn?”

“Scott, it was set by Grian. He didn’t care who it caught. And then despite that, we teamed up with him and Scar anyway. Imagine that. I lose my second life to the man, and we end up in their desert, and, lo and behold, Skizzle found me and basically paid me back for costing him his second life.”

“…Wait, what do you mean?” Scott turned toward him, but all he saw were the yellow wings on Jimmy’s back.

“In all that desert, in all that mess before the whole place blew up, what were the odds, hey?”

“Jimmy, what—”

“You’ll be all right, Scott. You’re smarter and stronger than me. You just gear back up and get back out there.” Jimmy turned to him and smiled, and his eyes were gray. He was now gray all over, except for the wings.

The first one out, Scott remembered. He caught sight of the yellow bracelet on his own wrist. Oh. Right. He had finally lost his first life.

There was no more protecting Jimmy. They had already lost that fight.

But he could always try to avenge him.

~End~

#flower husbands week #flower husbands week 2022 #trafficshipping #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #canary!jimmy #flower husbands my beloved #lunar yarns

18 notes · View notes

ghostpeblewrite · 3 years ago

Text

Paradoxical - Chapter 5

~~~~~~

Ghost knew deep down that walking out on Toast right then was a bad idea. However, he didn’t know how bad of an idea it actually was.

Only now he realizes that, his head pounding and his wrists tied behind his back. As he comes to his senses more, he realizes he has a blindfold over his eyes. He’s also tied to a chair.

And he can also hear sound in the room he’s in. Quiet whispering to his left. The voices almost sound familiar to him. Hey, maybe if he knows them, they won’t kill him!

“Hello?” he groans. Maybe he can talk his way out of this.

He can hear a gasp followed by a quick, shrill, “He’s awake!!” Two sets of footsteps approach him. One stops to his left, the other directly in front of him.

“Oh, please let me take his blindfold off!!” the shrill voice says, sounding almost like a begging kid.

“I’m not letting you do it,” a deep voice says. It has a weird accent, almost like a mix of southern and British- Wait a fucking minute.

“Oh, you mother FUCKER!” Ghost exclaims. He’d know that fucking voice anywhere. “Gavin you piece of shit!”

The man, correctly identified as Gavin, chuckles. The shrill voice laughs as well, a disturbing cackle that chills Ghost to his bones. “Long time no see, Ghostie.”

Ghost’s blindfold is taken off his head, and he’s face to face with the twin brother of his best friend.

Despite being identical twins, many things help differentiate the two brothers. First of all, Gavin doesn’t have the same baby blue eyes as Toast. His eyes are instead an abnormally vibrant green colour.

Another thing is the scar on the left side of Gavin’s face, stretching from his jaw up to the corner of his eyebrow. Gavin also has a few face piercings, one of them being on his eyebrow, another on his lip. He also does his hair differently than his brother’s.

The easiest way to tell though, is Gavin is a total dickhead, and Toast isn’t.

“What was even the point of the blindfold??” Ghost huffs, glaring at him.

“So you didn’t see him,” Gavin says, backing away from Ghost as he motions to the other guy in the room, presumably the owner of the shrill voice. Ghost freezes when he sees him.

The man looks a lot like Ghost, like he could be his brother or something. However, the man has shaggy nearly black hair that hangs into his face, red eyes, and more scars than a tortured war hostage. The guy’s face splits into an eerie smile, his cracked and scarred lips twisting, forming into something almost inhuman. He has sharp canines.

Everything about the man unsettles Ghost, and he hates to say he knows exactly why.

“We meet again, Ghost!!” The guy says, then lets out a chilling cackle, the effort from it shaking his entire body.

Ghost squeezes his eyes shut. He thought he was finally rid of this parasite, but his cackle drives its way deep into his brain again. He hasn’t seen him since the incident. He never wanted to see him again.

Yet there he stood, in front of him. His parasite. The thing he got ripped from his skull.

Jimmy Casket.

---

“Good morning,” Toast greets. His voice is tense, and he looks like a complete mess.

Spooker, who had just woken up after staying the night at the HQ by accident, blinks in surprise at Toast’s appearance. Toast never looks like this.

“Hi…” Spooker says slowly, “did you sleep?”

“Er, no,” Toast admits, seeming to shake a bit as he goes to grab his mug off the table. “But it’s fine. Have you seen Ghost?”

“Not since yesterday morning. Why?” Spooker raises an eyebrow. “Is he not here?”

“No. He’s not. And he didn’t bring his phone with him. And this isn’t like him,” Toast says quickly, shaking a bit as he takes a sip of whatever’s in his mug.

“Well, I’m sure he’s alright!” Spooker says, putting a hand on Toast’s shoulder. Toast just sighs.

“I don’t know. What with all this … Paranormal stuff going on, I’m worried. This isn’t like him! He always comes back- It’s been 24 hours maybe I should report him as missing?”

“Cmon, Toast! He’s a 30-year-old man, he can spend 24 hours on his own, right?” Spooker says, smiling at him. Toast thinks about that.

“I… I suppose you’re right,” Toast sighs, looking down.

“Yeah!” Spooker nods. “Anyway, Colon and I are gonna go somewhere today. You’ll be okay alone, right?”

Toast looks at him, in such a state that he is most definitely not good to be alone. He nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. You two have fun.”

“We will!!” Spooker says as the two head out the door.

Toast watches them go quietly. As soon as the door closes, he feels the weight of being alone settle on him. He can’t stand being alone. It reminds him too much of that dark time of his life.

He can barely remember any of it, really. Just the feelings he had. He remembered the apartment he and … she used to share, once a bright place full of laughter and love, turned to a dark blur in Toast’s memory. He still hasn’t quite forgiven himself for it, but he’s moved past it with Ghost’s help.

Ghost.

His childhood best friend. The memory of Ghost is the only thing that pulled him out of that place. Lead him all the way back to America. All the way to Ghost’s front door. He barely even remembers the first few weeks with Ghost. Ghost doesn’t bring them up either. All Toast can remember is a few blurs of the bottom of the bottle, an overall feeling of shit, and Ghost’s face when he found Toast unconscious on the floor of the kitchen. He had slapped Toast awake, and the face Toast saw when coming to consciousness was one of fear. Sure, he’d seen Ghost afraid before, but nothing like that. It was pure panic, fear from worry. It hurts Toast’s heart to think about.

He remembers Ghost yelling, but none of what he said. He was too captivated by him. Ghost was his own guardian angel back then, always there for Toast whenever he needed him. Toast was there for Ghost too. They sort of relied on each other, both coming out of dark times in their lives.

But now, remembering Ghost’s face the last time he saw him, the anger there. Toast sighs, looking down at his mug of coffee. He hates coffee, he could never understand how Ghost drinks it. He thinks he can understand now.

Part of him thinks he is overreacting. Ghost is a grown man. He can do what he wants, he doesn’t have to stay with Toast. It’s just odd. They’ve always been there for each other, always right nearby. It’s not like Ghost to be gone for so long.

Toast thinks about Ghost’s incident next. It’s barely been a month since it happened, and it’s been a relatively smooth road. Sure there are moments like these where Ghost would get irritable for no reason, but Toast just brushed it off as him adjusting. Maybe he shouldn’t have.

He can still remember the day he found Ghost. He’d been missing for a whole day before Toast finally tracked him down. He had found him in an old warehouse where Gavin resided, a place off the grid and abandoned, but big enough for all of Gavin’s needs. Gavin had stopped him near the entrance, trying to hold him back, saying how Ghost needed time to adjust. Toast had no idea what had happened, or how Gavin was involved. He just knew he needed to get Ghost out of there.

Toast had pushed past Gavin, into a room where there were two cots laid out, a body on each. Both looked similar to the other, with similar body types and faces. However, Ghost had redder hair. That’s how Toast recognized him.

Not to mention, the other guy had way too many scars to be Ghost.

Ghost later explained to Toast what had happened. How Gavin had contacted him, told him he had a way to solve his problem. Toast knew his brother could use magic, but he still does not know to what extent. Apparently, it was enough to extract Jimmy from Ghost’s head though.

Toast shudders at the memory. Knowing that the body on the other cot was Jimmy. He’s done his best to memorize that face, in case he ever sees him again. But he hasn’t seen him since. What’s shocking though is the fact that despite keeping an eye on murders in the area, Toast’s seen no change. Knowing Gavin, he’s probably got Jimmy locked up somewhere so he can’t draw attention to himself.

Toast goes to take a sip of his coffee, gagging a bit when he realizes it’s cold. How long has he been sitting there?

He sighs, standing up to go pour the coffee out. He’s probably had too much anyway.

~~~

haha evil men

#cw cursing #swearing tw #dsfksdhfkjhsdkf this is prolly so bad im so sorry #but hey!! evil men.#and toast angst ig #paradoxical story

8 notes · View notes

jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

crayons ‘net’ (finale) (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 4k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

Time heals every wound.

Even the deepest, bloodiest ones, alike the ones inflicted to the ego.

It felt like you wouldn’t ever get over how embarrassed you'd felt but you did, to a certain degree, get over it. The fact that Mr Kim didn’t appear before you for a few weeks helped a little, and the one that Jimmy was doing great -way better than you had expected, somehow, after overcoming the very first difficult step, he’s been able to improve profusely, consistently- helped immensely.

You felt like you've done your part regarding him and his overall situation at home. You helped as you could, you pushed the buttons just waiting to be pushed, needing that little extra help, and on his own, progressively, Jimmy’s found himself influenced by his environment and naturally, has been learning to adapt to it.

You shouldn’t interfere anymore is what you keep telling yourself. But for the past week and a half, after the class has been long dismissed, you've been seeing his little backpack, with the two bear ears decorating the top, skimming through the hallway as Jimmy's little legs shuffle to keep up with Adrianne‘s energetic walk. If you don’t see them, you hear them, or more accurately you hear her, talking to him, or mostly to herself, out loud as she furnishes the quietness of the corridors after all the children have left.

The curiosity is eating you alive. You resist for as long as you can until you break, grabbing your mug in one hand and your dustbin in the other, not sure which one is a better excuse to be bursting in her way, and you catch them exiting one of the adjacent classrooms. Adrianne seems shocked, startles, and you mimic her as well as you can, feigning a coincidence.

“What are you doing with this? You know I was going to take care of it.”

“Oh, you know...” And you see that she doesn’t know but you don’t either and you have no idea what to add. Therefore simply you drop the subject altogether and start with what you're interested in. “Jimmy, why are you still here?” You ask kindly, tending a finger forward to swipe back one of his lock falling on his face. He doesn’t flinch nor winces at the gesture. You internally smile. Only half committed to answering, he looks back at you simply shrugging, pouty mouth twisting a bit.

“His daddy is always late. I think they don’t have a nanny anymore.”

“Oh is that right?”

“Hm. So little Jimmy keeps me company while I clean the rooms. I have to do the rooms, even if it can't be too fun for a little boy. Is it fun, Jimmy?”

And Jimmy nods, quite eagerly even though he can’t possibly be sincere. Especially given the fact that if Adrienne is a lovely respectable woman that you appreciate dearly, you can’t deny that her boisterous voice with her tendency to go on and on no matter the lack of encouragement from the other end, can’t be too pleasing, especially after a full day of working the brain. You're guilty of sometimes closing your door when you stay late in your class to quiet down her ranting to herself as she goes from room to room to tidy up.

“Do you want to leave him with me? It’d be more convenient for you.” You're not exactly sure what motivates you as you suggest it. You can tell, from the line her eyebrows are drawing, that even if she won’t express it in front of him, having to watch over him and take him along on her route is not the most practical, definitely must make her waste time and efficiency. Still, you're not even sure why you propose to relieve her.

You just like the kid, you suppose.

You ask yourself the question, actively, as Jimmy and you silently stroll back to your classroom. It’s only when you take a seat, him at his desk and you at yours, that you see the pile of today's writing exercises the kids submitted to you that an idea occurs.

You're not sure of the ways your brain works. It seems to be working backwards recently.

You decide you could teach him. Jimmy, if he’s not lost behind his other classmates, is still lacking a bit. Having started life in a whole different culture, being suddenly thrown in this new one, having to learn a new language on top of another drastically different one, while being lost in a sea of other children, the same age as him, but somehow way ahead of him, all of this is, you suspect, one of the main reasons why he doesn’t like to participate. His father had a point on that. And you want to give him the tools, the confidence to simply try.

But it’s not like you can work over basis the other children mastered subconsciously, effortlessly, already long ago the few years of their lives.

Here comes an opportunity though. Late afternoon classes, while waiting for his dad, assuming his schedule will keep allowing you the time.

“Thanks a lot. I’m sorry again, I’ve had a little issue with the lady who took care of him and-“

“It’s fine. Don’t apologise. Have a nice evening. I see you tomorrow Jimmy?”

You're all smiles and soft words but you don’t give Mr Kim much attention. Not meeting his eyes, facing towards Jimmy instead of him. You're not being petty. It’s simply the warmth who started spreading along your neck and cheeks as soon as you heard the opening of the main hall door from the distance, highly uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. You thought you were over it but clearly, you were wrong. Not seeing him directly for those few weeks of resting was entirely misleading.

He is now standing in front of you and you have this awful feeling again, the one that’s making you feel like you regret every single life choice ever made by your own stupid self, any swipe of a butterfly’s wings that led to this moment.

You're effective though. Not wasting any spare moment, as gently as possible, yet firmly, you intimate their way out.

This is how it goes.

Somehow he allows it to happen. From his stalling around, the way his lips open slightly full of intention but nothing ever coming out, he means to say something. He feels the awkwardness, the tension. He perhaps wishes to diffuse it but as polite and agreeable as you naturally show yourself to be, you're able to show yourself cold and distant.

You've given up on this anyway.

You don't know what this is, precisely. And you do not care to figure it out. You know it's not something reasonable, something you want to spend time thinking about. It's something that won't lead you anywhere, it's something that had never started yet made you do dumb craps and feel awful. So, screw this.

Carefully, meticulously, you apply the same routine to every single day. Mr Kim's schedule does happen to allow those extra courses. For a while, it's simply how it goes.

Until embarrassment -this bitchy disease- seems to grow on his side. You're not sure where it comes from, maybe he misinterprets your attitude, take it too personally. In any case, he grows weary of the time and energy he seems to believe he's making you waste on them.

He starts arriving, forehead soaked from how hard he runs to get to the school not too late. Sometimes he manages to be right on time and Jimmy doesn't even get to come back to you, escorted by Adrienne, for a quick reading of a short story or a low, very discreet recitation of a short poetry you've learned together before. In those cases, you're annoyed, and so is Jimmy -you can tell, from the puff of his cheeks and even sometimes, from the way he refuses to raise his eyes from whatever you're working on, purposefully ignoring the loudness of his dad appearing before you two, not ready as he is to go home yet.

Therefore, naturally, you have to talk to him.

It's not a pleasant thought. You're not enthused at the idea, you don't even know what to tell him incisively but you know, you have to talk to him.

It's all ridiculous. Jimmy has made progress even you didn't imagine possible. He's almost good to go and expend his freedom born from a tiny, shy but very much existing newfound confidence. But you like your late afternoon classes. And you know he does too. Also, he doesn't have much interaction with anyone besides his father. From what the later told you, even talking with his cousins is a challenge he struggles to submit himself to.

And there's his mom, gone, never to come back. Your heart aches each time you think about it. It's not your place, you have to remind yourself constantly. Yet, you can't help it. Because somehow maybe it is. You're not sure what that place is but maybe there's one for you. One that is a strange, coincidental, sort of fated little space for you to fill, for a little while, that will mark him enough to help him through this awful test Life had for him and possibly, even, later on in life.

Life is strange. It's filled with curious encounters with strangers that leave a trace within you, that you'll carry forever. They can hurt and engrave a nasty scar that'll affect you forever or the opposite, they can help heal, help bloom hope, inspire friendship and love and benevolence.

Somehow, even throughout your constant reminding yourself that you should not get too involved, you should not care so much as to let it affect your everyday life and state of mind and emotions, you've done exactly that. You don't exactly regret it.

It's a thing, so stupid and useless, that makes it feel like you regret it.

Because now, you have to talk to his dad and explain to him, fully, with sentences and blanks for him to answer and probably looks to spare his way for polite measures, what you've been doing and how it's more than fine that he's late after the classes end because it allows you time to spend together and work on a lot of different essential things.

"You had something to say to me?"

God. You don't want to talk to him.

You've been dreading this moment so hard for the past week that your steeping anxiety turned into deep aggravation and you can't stand looking at him. Just seeing him makes you angry.

"Mr Kim, I've told you multiple times before not to worry when you're late." He frowns a little, looking back at your severe gaze, confused. He nods slowly, not saying anything, and you assume it's because he isn't really in capacity of speaking right now. Not when his breath is so ragged and his brain probably dizzy from the race he submitted himself to from his office. "Yet you keep running in my class every day, all dishevelled and- and all-"

"But. But I shouldn't bother you-"

"Mr Kim. You are bothering me by not listening. What I've tried to tell you is that Jimmy and I can take advantage of your schedule.” Deep breathing in and out to calm down and slow the high ladder your voice naturally wants to climb, and you start again, only slightly less on edge. “If you're late, we can work on things we can't do during the day with his classmates. Haven't you noticed his improvements?"

"I- I did but-"

"But what?" You're plain rude. Arms crossed tight on your chest, eyebrows low above your eyes, sighing and almost tapping your foot on the floor. You look like a cartoonish version of an angry teacher. In other words, you look ridiculous. It's not justified whatsoever. Or more like, the reasons you're so mad are ridiculous and absolutely not related to his being thoughtful of the time he might be stealing from you by letting you, sort of, babysit his kid after your official work hours. You'll be embarrassed by it later.

He's cartoonish too. With his helpless "but-" and sheepish looks. Until he's not anymore. He has the shadow of a grin creeping on one corner of his lips.

"Feels like you're scolding me, Miss ___." He bites back a smile. His forehead has softened out, his gaze gentler and calmer, he doesn't seem to take personally your attack. Which he should but whatever. It's even more annoying because smiles look really nice on him and it's hard to stay as mad as you'd been when the dimples coupled with them are hinting their way on his honey cheeks.

"Precisely. I wouldn't have to if you'd just do what I'm asking of you." He beams blatantly now, having decided that somehow you're not mad anymore. As you said, staying angry when the softest looking dimples you've ever seen on anyone dig their way in his cheeks is an impossible task. And Your frown progressively turns into a barely upset pout.

A ridiculous, childish pout of a stupid child who's upset about being teased and flustered.

"You really like your students that much?" He asks, tone sweeter, not in a rush to obtain an answer. You're thankful for it because you wouldn't know how to express how you feel.

You do like your students “that much”. You like people. You want the best for them and you know how those couple of first years living in the world, experiencing it and its beings populating it are determining. You're not too crazy about all of them because some, unfortunately, have already been rubbed with distasteful attitudes by distasteful parents. But for the most part, you do love them a whole lot.

Also, you really like Jimmy Kim, for some reasons. He just directly affects your heartstrings and you simply can not help it. If you just wish the best for anyone, and especially for your students, for Jimmy, you wish even more. You wish only happy days and wonderful experiences and people. Maybe it's the sadness you read for months since you first met him in your class, reinforced by the newly glint of joy and excitement you've been catching recently.

It's all very abstract and confusing and hardly decipherable. So much so that simply trying to figure out your emotions, to convey them into an answer for him, you feel yourself getting emotional. You think he even notices. Therefore, simply, you settle for not much,

"Jimmy is a really sweet kid."

"I'm grateful for you noticing it." Mr Kim starts before taking a deep breath. "I just feel like you're too nice to us. I don't know if- I mean, maybe that's what you do for every family and if it's the case, it's- it's wonderful, very kind of you. But- I mean, don't you, I don't know, you must have your life to get back to. After work, even if I like my job, all I want is leave and you know, get back to my life."

"My job is my life, Mr Kim. I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to."

"It can't be all of it. You- you must- I don't know, want to go home to your boyfriend and go out with your friends and unwind and do fun things and I'm just trapping you here to care for-" You're ticking at that. Bold of him to assume that you have a boyfriend. Fortunately for you, you've learned from your mistakes and you know better, this time, than to correct him. You're not falling into that trap again.

"Mr Kim-"

"Namjoon." You raise an eyebrow, searching your brain for an explanation you missed. "My name. Sorry. You keep calling me Mr Kim and it feels weird."

"I-" It takes you a second to compose yourself. The firepit of rage has a little blaze threatening to bring the whole back to life and consume your whole gut. "Listen. You expressed your concerns. I listened to them. From that, I said that not only did I not mind, I wanted to take this opportunity. So now, the reasonable thing to do is to simply accept what I said. I'm not deceiving you but even if I were, it's my problem, you don't have to worry anymore, do you understand?" How can someone so concerned about making you waste your time can also waste it so expertly and your energy and sanity along with it? He, Namjoon, just stares for a second. His eyes then fall upon his son, a couple of meters away. You're both standing in the hallway while the boy sits patiently at his table, in the back, far enough for him not to hear a simple conversation but given your tendency to heat up for no proper reasons, you're worried he catches bits of the friction. He seems pretty engrossed in the book he's looking at though.

You observe his dad, watching over him, frowning. "Except if you have a problem with me." As on a reflex, his head spins around for his wide eyes to face you. "You do, don't you? You have a problem with me and that's why you're being so difficult!" He gasps, looking awfully offended but you can't even trust it. It'd make way more sense. It's all making sense. "Well, fine, but just say it then, instead of-"

"I don't have a problem with you!"

"Yes, you do. It's obvious. I don't even know how I haven't noticed before..."

"I don't have a problem with you, Miss ___!" Jimmy has definitely noticed now. He's watching you from his seat, four rows away. Curiously, he doesn't seem too fazed. He seems intrigued by the noise but not that concerned. "You're doing so much for us and I feel burdened because I want to give back to you but there's no way- I don't- nothing seems appropriate and I don't know what to do."

"You don't owe me anything, Mr Kim."

"I want to. Can't you be reasonable and accept that?" On his side, the fury has diminished, only a fading shadow remains, colouring his words into something more animated than his usual way of talking. "I really like you, I don't have a problem with you. I'm so thankful for you just entering our lives, sincerely. I'm sorry if I gave a wrong impression." Here comes the awkward tingle that has no right to be appearing. You have to chastise yourself, to rationalize, loud and clear to your delusional all-over-the-place heart, that his thoughts got lost and distorted by translation. He can't mean what he said no matter how much, apparently, your heart would like it.

"Well, ok, then." It's lame. Not very eloquent, pretty self-reflecting. But this man is a rollercoaster. It's hard to adapt and honestly, it's a miracle he hasn't thrown you out of the circuit. You don't know how to react. How to come back down from your suspicious accusations, from your childish outburst, from your giddy excitement at the words he didn't really mean the way you heard them.

That will do anyway. Deciding that most of your issue has been settled and that probably, by continuing this conversation, you're taking the risk to lose it again and possibly traumatized innocent Jimmy this time, you conclude, on a common agreement, the impromptu meeting. Mr Kim goes to help Jimmy pack up his stuff and slip his vest on.

They express goodbye to you, Jimmy waving quickly a hand half-hidden by his sleeve, Mr Kim nodding his head, lips tight as if not meaning to take the risk of saying something wrong.

"Have a nice weekend. See you on Monday, Jimmy."

Then Mr Kim stops in his track, his son bumping into his leg and almost falling to the ground if it were not for the strong grip keeping him upward by the hand. They were just about to reach the entry doors, a few steps away only from them. Mr Kim crouches to his son's height, says something to him, one of his hand cupping the side of his face, fingers brushing his cheek before he stands up, trotting quickly to you, still standing in the doorway of your classroom.

"Miss ___." He's slightly out of breath, weirdly enough for a man who keeps in shape, at least, with the daily runs he makes from his work to his son's school.

"Do you like running that much?" He smiles a bright, wide grin that makes your heart skips a bit.

"I don't actually." He stops and throws a look over his shoulder, towards his son. "There's something I meant to ask but as I said, I feel it might be too inappropriate."

"Ask away."

"If it is, please just say so and ignore me and let's just pretend I've never said anything, ok?"

"Fine. Ask your scandalous question." He looks boyish for a second. Swallowing hard, Adam's apple bobbing obnoxiously along his throat, glancing one more time to Jimmy before he finally gets to it.

"Would you allow me to treat you to a restaurant some time?" You can't deny it, the flutter from earlier is back, stronger than ever. You're so enchanted, feeling tickly all over, like a fucking fifteen-year-old being asked on a date for the first time. It's absurd. Because you're not even sure that's what he means, again. This time, even if you're frustrated and flustered and you want to get mad at him for putting you through this, you can't because the unfamous butterflies are too excited, celebrating the sudden blooming of a garden full of flowers in the pit of your stomach.

"Like a... 'thanks for being the best teacher for my kid' type of diner?"

"Maybe." He has a pout on his mouth his teeth bite on. His eyes are smiling at the corner, but they hold a sheepish hesitation. You don't know if you can trust your perception. He does look like you imagine yourself to look like right now. You wonder if he feels the same way too. Or if, once again, you're imagining a lot of things that are not there.

"Ok. With great pleasure."

You're a coward. You know that. But it's ok, you decide. Because if it turns out to be a date, surely you'll figure it out, won't you?

There's a little stalling moment. A short instant where eyes discuss silently. They're better at speaking then your mouths are. Not arguing, meeting somewhere they understand each other and you have an evident sense of comfort there you're scared to lean in, but that screams at you that there's something very soft and gentle and deeper than simple politeness floating around. He nods, smiling to you or to himself, until he waves you goodbye, quite alike Jimmy did earlier and then he's trotting again, this time back to his son.

It feels like you're walking on some sort of stilts, jumpy, giddy, too excited to just saunter back in your classroom. On your table there's a drawing you've never seen before, sitting next to the neat pile of your documents. It's an adorable, colourful illustration of a girl. With the blue hair and the purple eyes, you hesitate for a second, but after further observation -the similar dress and hairstyle help- you conclude it's a portrait of you. A lovely portrait of you Jimmy has made, while his father and you discussed, that he left on your desk for you to find.

A/N: what an abrupt ending lmao; sorry i couldn’t figure something better out. I really hope you liked it, thank you SO MUCH for reading :) kisses & hugz

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #bts scenario #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon drabble #namjoon scenario #my writing

79 notes · View notes

sociallyacceptablemadness · 6 years ago

Note

41 - Forbidden Kiss for the kiss prompt! :)

Thanks for the ask, Ryneapple! I did this one with my LW James and Sarah Lyons, and it’s long.

The first time she sees him, in the midst of a mutant attack on their way to GNR, he looks like a damned idiot.

He’s just a kid, pushing six feet but with no muscle to balance his height, dirty blond hair sticking up in a million directions, sunglasses perched on a recently-broken nose and spiderwebbed with cracks in one lens. His armor is obviously scavenged off dead raiders, ill-fitting and probably doing more to impede his movement than to actually protect vital organs.

Turns out he doesn’t just look like an idiot; he tends to act like one, too. Not in the traditional sense, either, which makes it almost worse – he’s obviously got a brain in there, judging by how quick and easy he can get the radio tower back in order, but he talks more than he listens, has no sense of discernment, and she wouldn’t trust him to watch her back in a firefight against radroaches.

He sticks around, though, always on the edge of her radar, usually accompanied by the massive, silent ghoul who serves as his bodyguard. He rarely says anything to her, though she hears mixed messages about him from her troops. He’s apparently a love-him-or-hate-him type and, despite her irritation with how useless he was against that behemoth and with Wastelanders in general, she can’t seem to get him out of her head.

It’s not long after she hears about James’s death in the purifier that she finds his son in some abandoned corner of the Citadel, sitting alone, sheltered by the dark. She’s been pacing, striding through the halls and walkways, insomnia and restlessness keeping her awake. There’s a fight coming – she can feel it, and the anticipation has set her nerves on fire.

She almost walks right by him, he’s so quiet, but a shadow shifting catches her attention and she stops abruptly, hand going for her sidearm.

He looks up at her, bringing his face out of his hands, and looks guilty. He’s not wearing his sunglasses and his eyes are so big, so expressive, so impressively blue. They’re child’s eyes, but there’s an old man’s grief dragging his shoulders down.

“Sorry,” he says, standing. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here.”

Sarah looks around. It’s a supply cache, little more than a closet without a door, tucked away from the barracks and the training yard, filled with crates of random supplies.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she says, shrugging. He gives her a small smile that she can’t help returning. He’s grieving, but his smile is still genuine.

“I just needed some time to think,” he says, “Can’t get a lot of that done in the barracks with Krieg sawing logs all night.”

A laugh bubbles out of her before she can suppress it; Paladin Krieg’s snoring is legendary among the Brotherhood.

“Definitely not,” she agrees, and some back part of her brain reminds her to remain professional, to stop thinking about how lovely those eyes of his are, and how well he’s started to fill in his armor.

“Are you on duty?” he asks, gaze straying to her sidearm. She shakes her head.

“Trying to think myself,” she answers, then hesitates. She feels like she should say something about his father, offer some sort of condolence, but she doesn’t know what. She’s a soldier, born and bred, and death is a part of that. Some deaths hurt more than others, but it’s not something she’s used to discussing or rehashing once the body is cold.

“Where’s your…friend?” she asks instead, thinking of the walking hulk of ghoul that usually follows the kid everywhere. He looks confused for a moment.

“Charon?” he asks, “I, uh, gave him some time off. People around here don’t seem to like him much.”

Sarah nods, lips pursed. Ghouls take some getting used to, especially ones as intimidating as Charon, but it niggles at her that the kid has been running around without protection, the Enclave on his ass.

“Don’t worry about them,” she says, trying to sound dismissive. “You should always have someone to watch your back, Initiate.”

“Call me James. Or Jimmy, or whatever. Just not Junior.”

Sarah can’t help but smile again. “I don’t think Junior will help you out with the other Initiates,” she says, “How about J.J.?”

He smiles and nods and shit, she’s being so stupid, her heart fluttering a bit when he does. He’s younger, he’s technically her subordinate, he’s just some bumbling Vaultie that barely knows the butt of a rifle from the barrel, but he makes her feel something strange and warm that she hasn’t ever felt before.

“I can live with J.J.”

He was gone when she woke up in the infirmary, already heading for Adams. She’s been out for weeks and it shows, her legs wobbling when she slides out of bed and tries to get dressed. The medics want her to stay, but once she’s got her bearings, she’s out the door. She’s a Sentinel; she can’t sit around in a sick bed while her soldiers fight the battle on their own, and J.J. is out there. She’s never worried about her soldiers before, never felt so desperate to know that they’re okay like she does with J.J.. The feeling is foreign and disconcerting to say the least, but it pushes her into the vertibird like a compulsion she can’t fight and doesn’t want to, anyway.

When she sees him again, relief floods over her. She feels frozen to the ground, unsure what to actually say. He did it – he pulled it off and got the nukes armed. In less than ten minutes, the Enclave will be gone for good. The Brotherhood has control of the purifier, control of the base, and the losses haven’t been catastrophic. That idiot kid in too-big armor did it and she’s filled with a bit of awe and a lot of something she can’t quite define.

The ride back to the Citadel passes in silence. J.J. is sitting across from her, Charon at his side. The soldiers around them are chattering, celebrating, and Charon is staring at the wall with a look of grim satisfaction on his ragged face. J.J. catches her eye and her heart seizes. He doesn’t look happy, just…blank. There’s no sadness there, no pride, no disappointment, nothing.

They return to the Citadel and her father has plenty to say. She stands at attention with the Pride and tries to listen, but she can only sneak glances at J.J. Her father thanks him and he nods, smiles, but it isn’t the same. There’s a falseness behind the smile, a lack of feeling that makes her sad.

She’s walking again that night, circles around and around the wings of the Citadel, when she finds him back in that same supply closet. It’s been almost a year since their first encounter there, and he startles her as much now as he did then.

“You really like this thing, huh?” she asks once her heart rate has had a moment to settle. He shrugs in disinterest.

“It’s quiet,” he says. His tone is flat and he’s looking at the floor, leaned forward on his knees, hands hanging limply. She looks him over and sees there’s still soot from the explosions peppering his dirty blond hair.

“Is something wrong?”

It feels odd to ask, but she does it anyway. J.J. did the impossible but he’s not a soldier; she wants to protect him, to make him smile again the way he did once before.

He looks up and rubs a hand across his jaw, shaking his head. Dark stubble leaves a shadow on his face and he looks older than his twenty years.

“Nah,” he says, shrugging. “Just thinking.”

She nods and squeezes into the small space, sitting on a crate opposite him. She knows what this would look like to anyone passing by, but at the moment, she doesn’t care. It makes her hurt to see that emptiness in his face.

“What about?”

He sighs. “Trying to figure out where to go from here,” he says, “I don’t feel like I should stick around but I haven’t really got anywhere else to go.”

Sarah frowns. “You’re always welcome in the Citadel. Whatever you need, you have it.”

He gives her a lopsided grimace. “I didn’t mean literally. Just…what do I do now?”

She nods slowly. As much as she’d like him to stay around, she knows he doesn’t fit in. He’s smart enough to be a scribe, but he chafes under authority. He’s not a soldier, as much as she’d like him to be, if only to keep him around.

Silence hangs between them. Sarah fiddles with her uniform like some green recruit, her throat tight. Before he stumbled into her life and ruined a good shot, she always had a handle on herself. She knew where she belonged, she knew who she was, she knew what she felt. Now, the idiot kid is sitting here, his knees almost touching hers, and she feels lost. The prospect of not seeing his stupid sunglasses winking at her across the courtyard, of not hearing him squabble with Charon, of losing that sweet smile makes her chest ache. She’s become accustomed to his presence around the Brotherhood, as comfortingly familiar to her as the weight of a laser rifle on her back.

“I’d like to see you around again,” she says and glances up at him cautiously, “I wish we had the chance to…get to know eachother better.”

She looks back down and waits. It’s so stupid, the way this idiot makes her feel like some dumb schoolgirl with a crush. It’s not professional. She’s a Sentinel, a soldier, a leader, but this boy – this man she barely knows makes her forget all that. Makes her forget every rule in the Codex about fraternization, which, if he stayed, would govern their lives from there on out.

The Brotherhood is her life in every way, but suddenly, that life seems a bit less appealing if J.J. isn’t there, too.

“Sarah?”

She looks up, chest tight, and he reaches for her. His hand threads through her hair and calloused fingers drag across her scalp. The sensation sends a tingle down her spine and she shivers.

“Sarah, what do you want?”

His voice is low, hoarse, barely a whisper in the darkness of their little hideaway. His eyes – dammit, she loves those eyes. She loves the freckles on his cheekbones, the way his hair never sits flat, the raw pink scar across his eyebrow, the little crook in his nose. She’s been surrounded by men her whole life but never looked at one the way she looks at him now, beautiful and wonderful and hell, if she’s going to break the rules, it might as well be with him.

She’s not experienced at all, so when she leans forward to kiss him, she bumps his chin instead. She can feel herself reddening but barely has time to be embarrassed before he cups her jaw and claims her mouth. His lips are chapped but they move on hers in a way that makes her head spin. He pulls back, searching her face, and she realizes she can barely breathe.

“Sarah, tell me what you want,” he says, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

She shakes her head. “I want you,” she whispers, and he reaches around and pulls her to him. It’s awkward in the dark, crowded space, but he’s holding her and she’s never felt so giddy. He kisses her again, moving from her mouth to her cheek, her ear, before wrapping both arms around her and squeezing. He’s stronger than he looks and she can feel the hard planes of his muscular chest beneath the Brotherhood uniform.

It’s stupid and it’s against the rules, but she pulls him back to her quarters, holds him close and kisses him. She doesn’t care what someone might say or think, because it’s J.J. and she needs that smile like she needs oxygen.

She holds him to her chest, his stubble scratching her bare skin, and kisses his ear. He turns his head and meets her mouth, and smiles, and she smiles because she can’t do anything but.

10 notes · View notes

andipxndy-writes · 8 years ago

Text

Overdose - James Leister

[[And here’s another one! This one is, again, set in my To Be A Phillips universe with @therealmololly, but this one is set from the point of view of my muse this time -- one of my more minor muses, James Leister; a medic at the hospital. This is set the day Cameron was admitted, and follows the thread (found here) from his point of view.]]

Trigger warning: mentions of drug overdose; (original thread contains triggers of drug overdose)

Overdose

Working in A and E was never easy - it was almost constantly busy, whether it was for some kid with a cold that didn't go away or someone who'd been stupid and jumped off a roof into a pool and missed (it happened more often than you'd think). Being a trauma surgeon - and one of the best, mind you - James Leister saw anything and everything.

Heck, he's even seen someone swallow Lego pieces. It was stupid, but the operation had been fun, he supposed.

Getting the call on the red emergency phone when he was working on trauma always sent a rush through him - it got him excited. Who would he be working on today? What would he have to fix? Or, better yet, what stupid but hilarious story did a patient have for him this time?

Any traces of humour were wiped clean from his face when he answered a call.

“Weston A&E Department,” he answered shortly. Within moments, the words, ‘young male, aged 18, overdosed, ten minutes out’ were scribbled down on the emergency sheet in front of him, and as soon as he put the phone down he got to work.

“We have a teenaged male, aged eighteen coming in,” he called out as he and a couple of nurses began getting one of the beds ready. “Overdosed on sleeping pills at home. They're ten minutes out!” He began looking around. “Marks, make sure there's oxygen available as soon as we need it! Wright, be prepared to take bloods - we need to know how much is in the system!”

“Leister, is there enough charcoal available?”

“Harrison should've been to the stocks and back after last night's mass ambush from pub night!”

Ten minutes went surprisingly fast for a medic; James realised this when there were calls that the ambulance was coming in, and quickly putting on the required protective apron and gloves he stood aside and waited as the paramedics rushed the patient in.

He almost had a heart attack when he recognised the figure lying on the bed.

“This is--”

“Cameron Phillips,” he breathed, accidentally interrupting the paramedic. “Turned eighteen about a week ago.”

There was a short nod as the paramedic picked up where he'd seemingly stopped, the boy being wheeled next to the bed. “Overdosed on sleeping medication about forty minutes ago, his cousin came home to find him on the floor. Has been on oxygen since he got in the ambulance. He’s vomited once in the ambulance, we think he got a lot of it out of his system, but he’s been unresponsive.”

James glanced down at the boy, a bit of relief seeping in when he saw the mask was fogging up. It wasn’t much - only the smallest bit - but it was still something. “Do you know how many pills he took? Whether he’s eaten at all today?” he asked as doctors settled themselves on either side of the stretcher.

“Both unknown, but his cousin said that he suffers from insomnia and depression; the depression since he was fourteen, the insomnia for a couple of years.”

“Okay, thanks Miriam; let’s move him onto the bed.” He gripped the side of the stretcher closest to him. “Keep the mask on his face. We go on my count: one, two, three!”

As soon as he’d been slid over, everything sped up tenfold.

“Get him intubated so we can use the charcoal!”

“Marks, check for injuries - paramedic says he was found on the ground, he could’ve injured himself.”

“Got it!”

“Wright, get those bloods down to the lab for tests - we need to know how much we need to clear out.”

“No visible threatening injuries, Leister - no bleeds, no breaks. Bruising and marks on his arms, though.”

“Okay, get an IV in to flush out the system. We need to get it out as fast as possible.”

“James, he’s not breathing!”

That made his heart stop, and less than a second later he was barking out orders again.

“Get the ventilator, now! Check for a pulse and make sure his heart is still beating! Whilst the ventilator is on its way, get the bag and breathe for him! We need to get him hooked up to the monitors to keep an eye on his vitals!”

The slow beating that emerged from the machines once the boy was hooked up set James on edge. “I don’t like how slow his pulse is,” he muttered beneath his breath as he finished making sure the machines were arranged properly, and his fears were met when he flatlined.

“Start CPR and charge up the defib!” James moved to start pressing down on the boy's chest, trying to get his heart to start beating. “Get the adrenaline ready to inject!”

The room was a whirr of people moving around the bed, trying to bring the boy back to life whilst aiding him with his breathing and monitoring his vitals.

“Defib charged!” Marks moved forward to press the pads against the boy's chest. “Clear!”

Everyone stepped away as Cameron's body jerked, but his heart refused to beat.

“Up the charge!” James commanded as he moved back to compressions. “Get the ventilator ready for intubation!”

A nurse gave him a confused look. “What makes you think he's definitely going to come back?”

“Because I'm not letting him go, that's what,” James snapped. “Keep him breathing using the bag! Once we get his heart beating again we'll intubate straight away.”

“Charged!”

Everyone stepped back as Marks put the pads to his chest.

“Clear!”

James was relieved to hear a pulse returning - faster than before, but not quite fast enough. Still better than nothing.

“Get him intubated - he needs the oxygen. Airway first, then stomach.” He stepped back, breathing heavily from the panic of losing the kid and the actual carrying out of the CPR. He didn't miss the small smirk Marks sent his way. “Don't you dare say I'm getting old.”

“I didn't say anything!” she protested as she pushed the tube down Cameron's throat.

“You were going to, though.”

“You think that, but now you'll never know.”

James sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, looking at himself in the mirror, before splashing some cold water on his face. Dealing with trauma patients was hard, but when it was your own family, even if they weren't exactly flesh and blood, it was so much harder.

Glancing at himself again in the mirror, he grabbed paper towels to dry off his face before turning to leave the bathroom.

He didn't expect to see his sister standing outside the room.

“Oh my--” He put a hand to his chest, breathing heavily. “Frick, Allie! Don't do that!”

She just rolled her eyes at him, before looking at him seriously. “How is he?”

“I'm guessing you're talking about Cameron. Nurses should've taken you to see him by now.”

“Jimmy…”

James moved to pass her, heading out into the corridor and back to resus.

“James Leister, answer my question!”

“The nurse would've!”

“James!”

He rounded on her, sighing deeply. “You want to know? You want to know how he is?” He stepped close to her, staring her down. “Cameron came in unconscious. He'd overdosed on sleeping pills - on Nytol, which apparently his own mother got him to buy. We've had to give him charcoal to stop his body from absorbing any more, and we're flushing out whatever's in his system via IV.” At the slightly relieved look on her face, his face hardened. “Allie, his heart stopped and he stopped breathing. We found marks on his arms; bruises and scars. On his wrists and inner elbows. Even if he does come out of this without a damaged liver, he's got to have a psychologist on his case because this was most definitely a case of self harm; it was attempted suicide, Allie. You want to know how Cameron is? He is not okay and apparently he's been hurting since he was about fifteen. And you know what? I'm fucking pissed that he's ended up here and I'm having to find out about this, because no doctor should have to treat their own family.”

He turned on his heel and began walking briskly towards resus, leaving his sister standing in the corridor, shocked.

The last few hours of any hospital shift were always the most tiring, something which James noted as he sat at the nurses’ station, running a tired hand through his hair. Working in A&E was always exciting, but sometimes there was just that lull in ambulances that gave you the chance to breathe.

Of course, there was also that feeling of foreboding that accompanied the peace, but James took whatever peace he could get.

“Long day?”

He looked up to see his girlfriend standing there, a tired smile on her own face. He returned it just as wearily.

“You could say that, Kay.” He rubbed his forehead as he sat back in the seat. “Just… such a long day, honestly.”

“Rumour has it you had to treat a family member.”

“Technically not my family. He's my sister's nephew. Her husband's brother's son. So really we're not related at all.”

“But you consider him family to you anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You know me too well.”

“We've been dating for five years without a proposal; I think I have the right to know you.”

“You keep saying that, but last I checked you weren't ready for a proposal.”

“When did I say that?”

Both doctors reached for their belts when a beeper went off, and James blanched when he realised it was his.

“Another ambulance coming in,” he said quickly as he got up. “Gotta go.”

“Keep ‘em alive, Jimmy boy,” Kaycee called out as he rushed off to resus.

As soon as he got in, it was a flurry of doctors as medics rushed to get the injured out of the vehicle. He stopped the nearest nurse.

“What's up?”

“A car accident - crashed into a tree. Five victims; two in shock, one with cuts from broken glass, one with bruises from an airbag, one unresponsive.”

“Where's unresponsive?”

“End bay, led by Marks.”

He grabbed an apron and a pair of protective gloves as he briskly headed over to the bay as directed. Tying them on, he felt as if he would be ready to deal with the patient.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

“Shit,” he hissed beneath his breath the paramedic began to read out the stats of his brother-in-law.

The universe had decided to royally fuck him over today.

#tw: overdose #tw: drug overdose #universe development: to be a phillips #writing: mine #written for: therealmololly #muse development: james leister #writing: rp writings #tw: mentions of self harm

3 notes · View notes

make-a-wish-band-imagines · 8 years ago

Text

Blues - Best friends again? Chapter 5

“AND EVERY SCAR WILL BUILD MY THRONE…” I scream along, nearly busting my lungs and by the sound of it the eardrums of the guy next to me.

I jump around the press area, screaming along with Olli, having the time of my life, all the while trying to actually get some good pictures and get my job done but man they sure have a vibe. I wish I could be in the pit, today’s crowd is really loud and energetic it is amazing to watch.

Taking out my AAA-Pass I walk backstage and get a couple of shots from the audience, it’ll probably go good on the Facebook page.

Once the set is done the guys all get to the front of the stage and I take some pictures with them and the crowd I think they turned out pretty good.

***

A couple of weeks later I sit around the bus being bored and doing nothing but waste my time away

Hey, princess. You okay? I smile as I see the new massage pop up on my screen, interrupting my intense game of Candy Crush.

Hey there. I’m okay. Just Tour Blues I guess. It does get a little crowded in here with 15 people. How is life treating you back there? Tiredly I close my eyes tour really is getting to me as much as I love it. The originally planned four weeks would be over tomorrow but the tour was expanded so we still have time on the road. I feel my phone vibrate in my hand and open my eyes again.

Ah, good old tour blues. Everyone gets it. Go out and get drunk, that usually does the trick – for me anyways. Life is good, pretty much the same as usual even though we just finished recording the last bit for the new song. When are you getting back? Maybe you could come down here for a little? I smile at the suggestion to go out and get drunk but then again it is such a Brian thing to say. It didn’t sound like a bad idea though; we haven’t been out in a pretty long time.

Well, Tour has been expanded for another three weeks and I think I have to get back to figure out what happens next, with my contract at work not being expanded and everything.

Oh, so you are not moving back here? I can basically see his frown in this text as I told them I would come back two years ago

I don’t know yet. I have not decided yet. I have a couple of applications sent out to both home and New York. I don’t know if I am ready to leave New York yet. I build a live there and I would hate to leave everyone behind but then again I would love to go home. I am really undecided. I guess I’ll decide when I actually get accepted to a job. The truth is I am scared shitless as what happens after my contract runs out in a month. Jimmy would let me move back in, in a heartbeat but I don’t want that. I got a taste of freedom and independence I don’t want to give that up. I wouldn’t mind moving back but to my own place, I would give up a lot in New York though.

I understand. Just know that we would love to have you here but even more though we want you to be happy. Listen to your heart, princess I choke a little reading that last word as no one called me that in more than two years it almost sounds strange and unfamiliar now. But it also brings back amazing memories and the pain of having lost my best friend. Even though Brian and I have been texting basically non stop, since I started this tour, I still got this feeling that he could stop one text to the other, just like he did two years ago but then again it feels amazing to have him back as a friend.

Thank you and I hope with all of my heart that he realizes that I thank him for much more than just his last text.

“Hey” I look up as I hear a voice and smile, seeing Matt N. walking into the bus

“Hey” I smile back at him, putting my phone away.

“What are you up to?” He asks plopping down next to me, clearly exhausted from his set. I hand him my vitamin water bottle and he quickly downs the entire thing

“Not much, thinking” I shrug my shoulders but obviously once you get to know me I am like an open book because Matt snorts

“Yeah sure more like letting your mind wander a thousand miles a minute turning yourself completely crazy. So what is running through that pretty little head of yours?” I shrug again

“You know the future and stuff. Like am I going back home? Am I staying in New York? Will I get a job? How is everything going to turn out? Will…”

“woooow. Slow down. Who cares if someone hires you? You could quite easily just open up your own agency, god knows you got the Talent for that” I shake my head

“It is not that easy. Talent doesn’t get you jobs, connections do. I have not even decided where my career should be headed. I doubt I want to go on tours for the rest of my life” Matt shakes his head on me

“You have connections. I have had bands telling me that they are jealous of us for working with you. Avenged Sevenfold would book you, Bullet for my Valentine would, Austin already said he definitely wants you for their next one. Not to mention I will feel personally assaulted if you don’t come on our next one. No one said something about doing tours for the rest of your life. Do them to get your name out, make sure people know you and then they’ll gladly book you for normal shoots and shit. I am not saying run back to America and open up an agency without thinking about it. All I am saying is give it a thought. Don’t cross it out before you actually, really thought about it.”

“Okay” I smile but I just can’t picture it, running my own agency. Plus even if I decided to do that it still does not solve the dilemma of where I was going to live.

“You know what?” I smile at Matt

“No what?” He shakes his head

“Get the guys, we are going out” He laughs but gets up and give me a little salute before walking back out to get everyone else.

“30 Minutes” I yell after him and get up and walk to the back, rummaging through my suitcase.

The dress I pull out is one I got in a spontaneous moment on a mall on the tour but looking at it later I never expected to wear it as it is really revealing. I shoot the dress a look and walk back into the kitchen. I really want to be brave and wear the dress even though it is quite different from my usual style. So what I need is confidence, Liquid confidence. Time to get the party started.

I grab a bottle of Jack and take one big gulp of confidence before I walk back, grab some nice black lingerie, silently thanking Tammy for insisting I pack this next to my sports bras telling me you never know what cute guys are going to be on tour, grabbing my dress and some nude, shiny stockings I walk into the bathroom and get changed. I look into the mirror and my eyes nearly bulge out. Damn I look good but I still don’t know if I can pull this off so I do the only thing I can that I know will make me walk off that bus in this dress

“Hello” thankfully she answer after the first ring, not giving me a chance to chicken out of calling her.

“Hey Girl” I smile into the phone, hearing her shriek, being happy to hear from me

“Hey how are you. How is tour. I miss you…”

“Tammy!” I laugh into the phone and she is silent at once

“I am good, tour is great but tiring and I miss you too but I really need your help. I bought a dress a couple weeks ago and I just put it on but it shows a damn lot of skin so I need you to talk me into walking out of this bathroom and even more so out of this bus in this dress”

“how much skin?” I can tell she is exited as she was trying to get me into something else than Jeans and tanks for a while

“A lot, more than your little black one” I can hear her squealing again

“That is amazing. I bet you look like a bomb they won’t believe their eyes if they see it. Now you listen to me: you are a strong, independent damn hot beautiful woman and it is about time you show the world what you got to offer. So what you are going to do is you’ll get dolled up and walk out of that bus like you own the fucking world. You can’t let the thought of Brian holding you down any longer- and don’t even try to tell me he does not I know he does. Now draw some wings on your eyes, fluff that hair and go and cause some heart attacks and I better see some Instagram pictures girl” I smile

“Thanks that was just what I needed to hear. I gotta go now. Love you”

“Love you too. Kill them!” I laugh and hang up the phone.

I take out my makeup bag and take some extra caution while applying all my concealers and foundation and highlighters and face powder and contour power and all the stuff girls use to make sure they look their best. Once I am satisfied with how my skin looks and take out my black Eyeshadow and draw on some smoky eyes, finishing them off with some drawn-to-the point wings and put Mascara on my lashes. This is followed by some pink shining lip gloss and I have to admit I like this look on me. It is much more then what I usually wear but I feel like it suits me. I quickly take out my straighter and turn my now black hair into a mass of big curly volume, fluffing them up I consider myself ready. I quickly snap a mirror selfie and send it to Tammy for approval

Damn girl you look hooooot! Go for it! I type a quick reply, thanking her and take a deep breath. I give myself a little pep talk, repeating Tammy’s words from earlier and walk out the door. I take another big gulp from the bottle of Jack and grab my heels. Packing my phone and some cash I grab the bottle and walk out of the bunk area taking another big gulp. Finding the bus empty I walk out the door and down the steps. Heads are turning my way when they hear my heels click on the concrete floor

#Avenged Sevenfold #imagine avenged sevenfold #A7X #imagine a7x #Brian Haner Jr #brian haner jr imagine #synyster gates #synyster gates imagine #best friends again #lily is writing #http://make-a-wish-band-imagines.tumblr.com/

6 notes · View notes

ksck85 · 8 years ago

Text

Thoughts On Music From 2016

2016 took away David Bowie, Prince, and a bunch of other musical legends. This sucked, but it didn’t stop a ton of really good music from being released. This will be my annual list of albums I loved the most, but I’ve realized that for me, ranking them in a linear fashion is not the proper way to convey how i felt about each album. Just as the year has seasons, I also listen to music in seasons. Something I love in the beginning of the year isn’t going to sound as fresh and exciting later on, when I’ve latched onto another band or genre. So instead of counting down I’m going to just write organically about the music I listened to throughout the year.

Leaving off from last year’s blog, I was still extremely excited for ‘Gore’ by Deftones. The first single, “Prayers/Triangles” introduced a new sound. It was much more focused on the atmospheric, Cure-esque tones that have bridged their raw, heavy roots. Unfortunately, most of the songs on ‘Gore’ don’t match that balance of intensity and beauty. “Hearts/Wires,” “Xenon,” and “Phantom Bride” still hold up solidly...

...Around this same time, Fallujah (who made my 2014 list) released 'Dreamless.’ I jammed this constantly for a couple weeks. I could not get enough of this album. I thought it not only followed 2014′s “The Flesh Prevails” but expanded on it. The production is cleaner, the songs are masterfully constructed (again), and it’s heavier than ever. They also continue to display amazing musicianship that ranges from face-melting technicality (“Scar Queen”) to layers of tranquility (“Dreamless”). This was definitely one of the finest releases of the year.

Every year there seem to be a few bands that come out of nowhere, or return from a long absence, or frankly, just intersect with my attention span for the first time. Enter Cult of Luna, with their Julie Christmas collab “Mariner.” To be clear, I was down with Cult of Luna before, but hadn’t really gone deep on any full length. I caught the first single, “The Wreck of S.S. Needle,” and decided to plow through the album when it was released; Another one I couldn’t stop listening to. Julie Christmas’ vocals haunt as they weave between screams of C.O.L.’s vocalist (yeah, not going to google and pretend I know his name), and the 5 songs dominate over 50 minutes...

...Then there is Thrice, a band I am intimately familiar with. ‘To Be Everywhere Is To Be Nowhere’ is their first album since 2011, and the first one I paid attention to since 2005′s ‘Vheissu’ honestly. It took a few listens, but I eventually fell in love with this one. Dustin has an amazing touch with his scruffy folk voice, and can belt out choruses like on opening track “Hurricane” like nobody else. Dustin’s always had a way with words, and his songwriting prowess is on full display in “The Long Defeat” which is the most beautiful song on the album...

...And speaking of intersecting my attention span for the first time, where did this Gojira album come from? I think Gojira has been suggested to me by Spotify as similar to just about every metal band I love, but I ignored them so many times my eyes started to glaze over. Until this year, when I said “I should probably just listen to this one song woa it’s actually good!” ‘Magma’ was a surprisingly (for me) great album. Following a progressive metal formula, they rely on big rhythms from guitar and drums and arc chanting vocals on top of them. The drums are the highlight, and they were recorded as such. This album flows through the drum kit, with the guitars following it’s lead. “Pray” is the best track and I am so glad I gave this band a chance.

The Summer months came, and I set my music from Spring to a simmer, sprinkling in some hip hop here and there. I find it harder to write about hip hop albums, but Kanye’s ‘The Life of Pablo’ was probably my favorite. A little bit of Schoolboy Q (Dope Dealer, doh!) and Aesop Rock were fun listens as well. While this was going on I began to heavily anticipate 2 albums Opeth (!!!) had announced ‘Sorceress’, the next chapter in their rebirth as prog behemoths, and Meshuggah revealed that they were about to unleash 'The Violent Sleep of Reason' on an unsuspecting public. ‘Sorceress’ continued to preach the virtues of prog and justify Opeth’s move away from death metal. Mikael Åkerfeldt continues to develop, tweak, and improve the band’s sound and he keeps getting better with age. The title track “Sorceress” brings in some of the heavier sounds that some Opeth fans surely miss, but transforms them to align with where the band is today. It’s a pretty seamless transition, and it continues on “The Wilde Flowers.” My 2 favorite tracks are “Strange Brew” and the psuedo closer “Era.” “Strange Brew” blends psychedelic with their classic prog, building to a guitargasm climax at the end. Not much more to say, my favorite band put out another fine album.

I hardly had a chance to digest that Opeth record when Meshuggah’s arrived. Wow. Every Meshuggah album pummels, but this one felt heavier. The opener “Clockworks” contorts my mind. Thomas Haake cannot seriously be a human being with the way he plays the kit. I don’t normally put on Meshuggah for the melody or finesse, but I found both at the end of “Stifled” into the beginning of “Nostrum.”

Continuing metal’s resurgence in 2016, Insomnium! Man, I forgot about this band until I stumbled on one of the new tracks. ‘Winter’s Gate’ ended up being maybe my favorite metal release of the year. It’s pretty straightforward swedish melodic metal, but I was totally into it. This was my most air-guitared album of the year.

After all that metal, I dug hard into Jimmy Eat World’s ‘Integrity Blues’ and determined that they are still one of the best hook-writing bands still out there. This album came with a purpose, like they wanted to prove a point. Definitely one of the best of 2016. The first time I heard “Pass the Baby” I was caught off guard. I didn’t know what to think. Is Jimmy a blues-rock band now? No, they just figured out how to throw a sick riff into all that beautiful melody. Nice! “Through” has to be the laziest song title ever, but it's also somehow catchier than the de facto hit “Sure and Certain.”

By late November and early December, I’m rarely thinking too much about new music. It’s a weird time to release stuff. Do we consider it a 2016 release even though everyone already made their ‘best of’ lists? Anyway, good to see NIN making music again. ‘Not the Actual Events’ is an improvement over the disappointing ‘Hesitation Marks’ from 2014, but it’ll be overshadowed by the other surprise Trent dropped on Christmas: ‘The Fragile: Deviations 1′ which is only available on vinyl :(. The Fragile is one of my favorite albums of all time. Holds a very, very special place in my heart. For once I was actually wishing I was a vinyl collector. I did make my way through a youtube bootleg, and hearing all those songs as instrumentals is such a cool experience. The bonus unreleased stuff was great too, especially the alternate intro to “We’re In This Together Now.”

And that’s pretty much it. You made it. I can’t believe you actually read all that. In case you didn’t, here’s a running list of the albums I mentioned:

Deftones - Gore

Fallujah - Dreamless

Cult of Luna/Julie Christmas - Mariner

Thrice - To Be Everywhere Is To Be Nowhere

Gojira - Magma

Kanye West - The Life Of Pablo

Opeth - Sorceress

Meshuggah - The Violent Sleep Of Reason

Insomnium - Winter’s Gate

Jimmy Eat World - Integrity Blues

NIN - Not The Actual Events & The Fragile: Deviations 1

0 notes