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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years ago

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I love the one you write about Dazai having a new infant. Could you do the same with Fyodor(・∀・)

a/n : Fyodor is both a baby and an asshole and I love him wholeheartedly. He deserves to be happy too. Thank you for the request!

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You were the purest thing in existence according to Fyodor. He loved you, that much was clear even without him verbally saying so. You didn't have an ability, and you always took care of him whenever he came home both physically, mentally and emotionally. He worked himself too hard, and it worried you deeply considering his anemia. You'd check in on him constantly to make sure that he was getting enough sleep, that he was eating and he was drinking enough water. Whenever he came home you made sure to give him enough love and affection to make up for the time he missed when he was away.

He was just waking up, always the early riser and he gently kissed your temple before scooting out of the bed, making sure not to wake you in the process. He loved the way your hair would curtain your face, your lips slightly parted as you slept peacefully. He always thought you looked beautiful, but there was something so mesmerizing to him about the way you looked when you slept, he couldn't explain it. You rolled over, your hand absentmindedly reaching out to his side of his bed, feeling around for him, a small pout forming on your face as your eyes slowly fluttered open. "Good morning, dearest." His voice was still coated with sleepiness, and mixed with his accent it was beyond sexy.

You rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand, it was only five in the morning, the sun hadn't even risen over the city yet. "You're leaving already?" He nodded to you as he began dressing himself, his fingers carefully buttoning his shirt as his eyes stayed focused on you. "Hmph... well, I'll make you some breakfast before you go." You moved to get out of bed and he shook his head, softly pushing you back down on the pillow, pressing his lips to your temple.

"Get back to sleep. I'll grab something before I go. I promise." He wrapped his pinky around yours, something that you had begun doing with him whenever you promised something. It showed that you were serious about it, you never break a pinky promise, and he took it just as serious as you did. You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips as he brushed your hair out of your face.

"When will you be back?" You asked, reaching up to brush your fingers against his face, his skin was always so cold, but you had long since gotten used to the temperature difference between the two of you. He shrugged after pressing one last kiss to your lips and then pushing himself up off the bed. "What do you mean..." You mimicked his shrug as you propped yourself up on the bed, your eyes following him around the room as he grabbed his cloak, ushanka, and boots.

He hesitated next to the door, you heard his sigh before he turned to look back at you. "I don't know, but I'll keep in touch, and I'll try to be back as soon as possible. Now go back to bed." He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. You grabbed one of his pillows and held it over your face as you fell back onto your own pillows and started crying. You hated when he left, you never knew if he would come back, and that terrified you.

One Month Later

Fyodor hadn't returned home yet, but he wasn't the only thing that hadn't come to you as you thought it would. You sat on the edge of your bed, a bed that seemed ridiculously large whenever he wasn't there with you, and you swiped through the calendar on your phone. "One week, two weeks, three weeks, four weeks... five weeks... six weeks... seven...?" You counted the weeks over and over again, just to make sure you weren't miscounting. "Shit." You groaned, getting up off the bed and grabbing your shoes out of the closet. He hated when you left the house without him, he always made sure the house was properly stocked before he left so you would be able to avoid leaving at all, unless it was necessary. This seemed pretty damn necessary though, and the store was only a block away.

You walked in and made your way to the aisle with the tests, grabbing four boxes, just to be sure. It didn't hurt to be 200% sure, you know, just in case the first test was a fluke or something. You weren't really sure what you would do if they came back positive, and you definitely weren't ready for Fyodor's reaction if they were positive either. He didn't seem like the type of man that would want a child, especially not right now considering the mission he was on. He was barely ever home, the kid would barely ever see his or her own father.

When you got back to the house you ran to the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet and reading the directions of the tests. Sure, they were pretty simple, but you just wanted to be sure that you took them correctly so there weren't any false results. You were stressed, and you cursed Fyodor for not being there with you right now when you needed him the most. You would feel a lot better if he was there to comfort you in the moment, to make you feel like it wouldn't be as bad if those tests came back positive, but no, his work came first.

The tests sat on the back of the toilet, your phone was in your hand, the timer set for five minutes as you paced the length of your bedroom. You picked up on the habit of biting the tip of your thumb from Fyodor, and you were biting it so hard that it had started to bleed. "Dammit..." you sighed, walking into the bathroom to grab a band-aid for your freshly self inflicted wound. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tests on the back of the toilet, and you immediately forgot about your bleeding thumb, your eyes scanning over all four tests that had a combined total of eight pink lines. "Oh... shit...." You mumbled, your heart was racing and your vision became cloudy as tears began to build on your lower lashes.

You had to call him, you had to let him know, but you didn't even know if it was safe for you to do so at the moment. He hadn't texted or called since last night, and you were sure that he was out somewhere, if you called him it could draw attention and he could get hurt. So you had to wait, you had to wait for him. You were left alone with your thoughts for God knows how long, and your anxiety would only build more and more until that moment comes.

By the time he called five hours later, it was nine o'clock at night and you were sitting on the couch curled up in one of his cloaks, angrily eating a tub of ice cream while crying about the movie on the television screen. You hadn't realized how quick the hormone charged emotions would kick in, but they were evident now. You had never cried at a movie before, and here you were ugly crying into your Rocky Road while still internally fuming at your fiance who was no where around when you needed him most.

You grabbed your phone and answered it quickly, holding it up to your ear. "'Bout time you called." You said snidely, but the sound of your sniffles was what got his attention.

"You're crying. Are you alright, my love? Is there something wrong?" He chided, hoping to pull an answer out of you, and you let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Is there something wrong? Well I sure as hell think there is! You're never around when I need you, and I'm stuck going through shit all by myself and there's tears in my ice cream and you're not fucking home!" You shouted at him through the phone, your voice cracking whenever you reached octaves that you were unaware you could go to.

"Hmmm, my love is upset. What can I do to possibly make her feel better?" His voice was soft and velvety through the phone and as much as it used to comfort you before, it was only upsetting you more now.

"You could come home so I can talk to you in person."

"You know I can't do-"

"Fyodor, I'm pregnant." You said, closing your eyes, bracing for his reaction. He was quiet, and you wished that you could see his face right now, but all you got was silence. It was deafening, and his silence was much more scary right now. You wanted him to say something, you needed to know that he was still there.

"Are you sure?" He asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence, and you sighed, letting your head fall back against the cushion of the couch. Of course he would ask that, he wasn't here to see the four tests that all showed positives, he wasn't here for anything.

"Yes. I'm sure." Your anger hit you again. This wasn't a conversation you should be having over the damn phone. This should be an exciting time for you and your fiance, but instead, due to his constant absence, you were scared, and you were alone. "But you know what, I'll handle it myself, just like I handle everything else. Hope your mission goes well. I'm going to bed." You hung up the phone and placed it on the coffee table. You shrugged out of Fyodor's cloak and turned off the television, grabbing the empty jug of ice cream off the table and tossing it into the trash as you made your way to your bedroom.

You shut the door and locked it behind you before undressing and changing into your pajamas, climbing into your bed and pulling the comforters up to your chin. You finally fell asleep as the tears formed puddles in the divots of the pillow.

The sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen startled you awake, the smell of pancakes, bacon, and eggs filled your nostrils, the sun was shining brightly into your room, you saw dust particles floating around in the large beam of light. You stretched as you got out of bed, sliding the slippers onto your feet and wrapping your robe tightly around your body before you left the room to inspect what was going on.

When you opened the door, the first thing you saw were the rose petals that created a trail down the hallway. You hummed to yourself as you followed the trail around the corner to the kitchen, and you could have sworn that your heart grew three sizes at the image. A bouquet of white roses, lavender, and purple hydrangeas. They stood in a beautiful crystal vase, and sitting in front of the vase was a large white teddy bear with two smaller teddy bears, pink and blue, on each side.

"What are you doing home so soon?" You asked as you leaned in and smelt one of the roses. He turned to face you, a small smile on his face as he took you in. Whenever he came home, it was like falling in love with you all over again. He could never get over how absolutely gorgeous you were. He placed the spatula on the counter as he made his way over to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close against his chest.

"I know I'm gone a lot, I apologize for my absence. I wasn't here when I should have been, but I'm here now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fyodor was never one to express his emotions well, but your pregnancy had changed him, and he began trying. He wanted to be there for everything, every moment of your pregnancy he wanted to experience it with you. Not only was it exciting for him, but he also found it fascinating. He still went out for his missions, but he was never gone quite as long as he used to be. The longest he was ever gone since your pregnancy became known was two weeks, and even then he called every hour, on the hour to check in on you.

When he was home, he was actually quite over bearing. You never complained though, it was nice having him around so much. Every step you took, he was right behind you. He didn't want you to lift a finger. He learned how to cook so you wouldn't have to, he even did the laundry, although you had to help him at first so he wouldn't destroy any of your clothes. He was very invested in your pregnancy, learning everything he needed to know so that he was prepared for everything and anything.

Your morning sickness came later in your pregnancy, and it was a scheduled occurrence, one that he knew very well. Whenever the time came he was already helping you off the couch to get you to the bathroom, holding your hair behind your back as he rubbed soothing circles into your back. He had a cup of water and mouthwash prepared on the counter for afterwards, and he'd help you back to the couch after you were done. He'd bring you a couple saltine crackers to fill your stomach and another glass of water and he'd sit next to you on the couch, holding his hand against your forehead, helping to cool you down after you worked up a sweat from your retching.

He came to every doctors appointment, although he had to wear a disguise due to being one of the most wanted terrorists in Yokohama, it made you happy that he was there. If one your appointments fell on a day that he was out for one of his missions, he would be found waiting outside the doctors office for you to show up. He wouldn't miss a doctors appointment for anything, he would be caught dead before that ever happened.

When he found out you were having twins he became extremely over protective of you and your stomach. He always had a hand on your growing abdomen, tracing your stretch marks with his icy fingers. Whenever you felt self conscious about them, he would place kisses across your stomach and remind you how beautiful it was that you were growing and glowing with two of his children.

Whenever he did have to leave for missions he brought the ultrasound pictures with him, he would look at the pictures and they were a constant reminder to him that the world needed to be ridden of its sin before they came. He needed to cleanse the world so his children could grow up in a society free of sin.

During one of your doctors appointments at six months the doctor told you that you had high blood pressure and needed to be on bed rest for the safety of the babies and yourself. Fyodor enforced that rule, and he stopped going on missions completely. He had his "rats" do his work for him, and they would report to him at the end of the day. He refused to leave your side. When you had to use the bathroom, he would help you onto the toilet and then stand in the doorway with his back turned until you were done, and then he'd help you up. It was embarrassing at first, but you ended up getting used to it, and you knew that he was only doing it because he worried so much. He helped you bathe, sitting on the edge of the bathtub to wash your hair and your body, always murmuring to himself how beautiful you looked. He would only leave the room to cook your meals, and then he would bring those meals to you in bed and feed them to you.

Since you couldn't do shopping at the store, he would lay with you in bed, his laptop on his lap as he scrolled through websites, ordering everything that your eyes lingered on for longer than two seconds. Your front door was filled constantly with packages because according to him, money wasn't a problem if he was spending it on you and the babies. Their bassinets were both a pristine white and they were set up in the corner of your bedroom. He said nurseries were useless until they were about a year and half, that they needed to be with their parents until then because there's a lot of complications that could occur with a child that young while they were sleeping and it would be safer for them to be as close as possible if anything were to happen. You did not argue, there was no point in arguing with that logic.

When he found out that the children were a girl and a boy he was overjoyed. He got both a son and a daughter in one try, it was truly a blessing to him. He started making a list of potential baby names and you both stayed up late at night looking through the names until you both agreed on two.

Elizaveta for your daughter and Iosif for your son. Picking their names made it more real for him, it was more concrete now. He would often lay his head against your stomach, cooing in Russian to the children. They would usually kick when he did this, and whenever they did he would quickly look up to you and ask if you were okay, and then lay his head back down and talk again in his mother tongue, probably scolding them for kicking you.

You had no doubts about him as a father, he truly loved his children. Before you had gotten pregnant he had rarely ever said the L- word, but now, every night, he would press a kiss to your lips, and then lean down to kiss your stomach twice, once at the top, and the last kiss at the bottom. He would whisper that he loved them both and then tell them not to move too much so you could sleep. Then he would move back up and place one more kiss to your cheek before whispering that he loved you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow coated the ground, building up against the windowsills. It was a blizzard, and it was beautiful. Fyodor had helped you move into the living room, lighting the fireplace and handing you a cup of hot chocolate as you both watched the snow fall. His legs were stretched along the couch as he leaned against the arm, you were laying against his chest between his legs. His finger traced hearts over your stomach and you both sipped on you drinks enjoying the view. "It's beautiful, I wish the children were here to see it." Fyodor murmured before taking another sip.

Just then you felt a sharp pain in your stomach, you shot up straight and he quickly grabbed your cup out of your hand and placed it on the coffee table. His brow furrowed and his forehead creased with worry lines. "They... they might be... fuck..." You squeezed your eyes shut and gripped onto the couch cushion as you tried to breathe your way through the pain. You felt the wetness build between your legs and you turned to look back at Fyodor. He nodded and helped guide you up off the couch.

He grabbed your coat and helped you put it on and button it up, then he draped a large wool blanket over your shoulders as he led you to the door, grabbing his keys on the way over. "Fyo, there's a blizzard, you can't drive in this."

"My dearest darling, I'm Russian." Was his only explanation, and you rolled your eyes. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist as he helped you walk down the front stairs. The snow was deep and the wind was strong, it felt like it was lashing against your face. You shivered as it hit you, and he held you closer, helping you walk through the snow to the car.

It must have just been a coincidence that he had just traded in his small sedan for a larger SUV with four wheel drive only the week before. Surely if he still had the smaller car you would have been delivering these babies at home. Your luggage was already packed and stored in the back of the truck, the carseats were hooked up in the second row as well. He was more prepared for this than you were.

He slipped off his cloak and placed it over your lap and as soon as he started up the car he blasted the heat. The contractions came steadily and you felt the pressure building, you were panting heavily as you held onto the handle above the door. He drove slowly through the snow, trying to get there as quick and as safely as he could. "You're doing great, dear. Keep breathing." He said softly, his hand on your thigh squeezing it gently to try to calm you down.

"How much longer... Fuck! Please go faster." You pleaded with him as the next round of contractions came on. You clenched your teeth and you whimpered as the tears threatened to fall. You had never been in so much pain, it felt like every single bone in your body was being broken, it was torture.

You were checked into the hospital and wheeled to your room. Fyodor watched as the doctors worked over you, checking how dilated you were, hooking you up to heart monitors and other machines that you didn't quite understand. You got hooked up to an IV that would help ease the pain of the contractions, but nothing seemed to help as much as you hoped it would.

Fyodor stood by your bed and held your hand as you labored through every contraction. You had been clenching your teeth so hard that they actually hurt, your head was throbbing and you felt nauseous. The doctors had come in and told you and Fyodor that you would need to have a C-Section which was something that you didn't really want, but opted to do just so you knew both of the babies would come out safely. You had done enough research to figure out that even if one was delivered naturally, the other would most likely come out through a C-Section anyway.

He was quickly suited up, and if you weren't in so much pain you would have giggled at how he looked in the blue scrubs, they definitely did not accent his beautiful dark purple eyes. The doctors began wheeling you down the hall and he walked quickly next to you, refusing to let go of your hand for one second.

You had been given sedatives through the IV and you were numb, it felt strange because you could still feel a dull pull whenever you had a contraction. There was a blue curtain blocking the view of your stomach, so you found comfort in looking up at Fyodor, staring into his eyes as he looked down at you. You could tell that he was smiling, even behind the mask, as the corner of his eyes would crease slightly.

He would occasionally glance around the curtain and hum as his interest was peaked, watching as the doctors carefully sliced through the skin and muscles of your abdomen. You could still feel it slightly, the sensation of the tugging and pulling, but it never actually hurt. His hands were on your shoulders, and although you couldn't actually feel the circles he was rubbing into your skin with his thumbs, there was comfort in knowing that he was touching you, that he was there with you.

The birth itself took not much longer than thirty minutes, and by that time you felt like you were going to pass out, so you weren't sure how much longer it took for the doctors to stitch you back up, and none of that really mattered anyway. When you forced your eyes open, the only thing you were looking for was your babies.

Elizaveta Fyodova Dostoevsky, born January 15 at 5:28PM, 5lbs 8ounces.

Iosif Fyodovich Dostoevsky, born January 15 at 5:30PM, 5lbs 2ounces.

They both had jet black hair which contrasted against their skin perfectly. They were tiny, but they were healthy, and they were beautiful. It was love at first sight as soon as you laid your eyes on them. Seeing Fyodor hold both of your children in his arms though, that hit different. You never thought you could love the man more than you did in that moment, but there was something about seeing him in that arm chair, smiling down at both of his children, the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He absolutely adored his children, that much was obvious.

When you were finally discharged from the hospital, he took extra care of you, making sure that you didn't push yourself too hard. He was worried about your incision, and he knew that you would have trouble walking for the next couple weeks. He made sure that you took your medication at the right time every single day, he continued to help you shower even though you told him that you didn't need help anymore, he insisted.

He took stayed home with you, refusing to go on missions until you were fully healed, and if any of the "rats" complained about his lack of focus on the mission he would write their names down to "handle them" later.

Fyodor was strict about scheduling their feeding times and nap times so they wouldn't affect when they went to bed. He was honestly such a devoted father to Iosif and Elizaveta, it was almost shocking to you. You hadn't known before the children came that he could sing, but you learned one night that he had the most beautiful singing voice you had ever heard. He would stand over their bassinets and gently brush his thumb across their heads as he lulled them back to sleep, singing in a hushed tone a gentle Russian lullaby.

He ended up teaching you Russian, you had asked him after you heard him crooning to them while he fed them their bottles. The children seemed to find the language relaxing, and they would often fall asleep listening to their father talk. He wanted his children to know their heritage, to know where there father came from.

Fyodor wasn't one to spoil his children either. When he finally went back to "work" about two months after their birth, he would stay away for only three days, maybe five tops. Whenever he would return, he would bring back something small, something that reminded him of you, Iosif, and Elizaveta. The items didn't cost much, sometimes they cost nothing at all. One time he returned with a small rock, a leaf, and a bird feather. The rock was shiny and a dark grey color with purple streaks going through it, it had reminded him of the beauty of Elizaveta's eyes. The leaf was small, but it was a bright green, it reminded him of Iosif, who was the smallest at birth, but was intelligent and bright already at only two months old, already attempting to hold his own bottles. The feather was pure white, and it reminded him of you. You were still, and always will be the purest thing in his life, the most amazing and beautiful woman he had ever met. You made him feel like the luckiest man on earth, he was so happy, so over joyed with you and the small family that he had, it felt like he was flying.

If someone had asked you in the beginning of your relationship if you thought Fyodor Dostoevsky would ever want to have children, you would have scoffed and said no. Fyodor was a man who, at the time, didn't seem like he would ever be capable of being a father. That hadn't bothered you, because you loved him enough to want to be with him no matter what. Now, here the two of you laid, both of your children between you on the bed, and you couldn't imagine him not being a father to your children. He was the most amazing father you could have ever wanted your children to have.

He pressed quick kisses to the tops of the children's heads before smiling up at you, brushing his fingers along your cheek. "YA lyublyu tebya, moya dorogaya."

a/n : Thank you for reading! I got really really really into it, and I love my baby Fyodor so fricking much. He deserves so much love. Also daddy!Fyodor is a whole ass mood, love me a big Rat Daddy. Okay but seriously, I love him so much. He's just *chefs kith* Also, what he says at the end is "I love you, my dear" because Russian is hot and him speaking Russian would just *kaboom*

#bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bsd headcanons #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky headcanons #fyodor dostoevsky scenarios #fyodor dostoevsky imagines

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icecreamkink · 4 years ago

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so i watched cobra kai all in two days and i have so many -

this show has so many cool and smart angles to it, but the same time.... its so stupid oh my god everyone is so dumb literally mr miyagi held all of the braincells in this whole universe

like i am but at the same time i am not surprised it was made like this, bc in hindsight of course there were hordes of ppl simping over johnny lawrence .... but it still amuses me that this is like... an Actual Official Thing

ok this will get long so cut it is

how much fun this cast has is super visible and i love it

i rly enjoy how the world was expanded ! i did grow up watching the karate kid movies, so watching how they progressed the world of the movies so organically was pretty cool. it rly feels like its the same universe

i fucking LOVE stories that are largely about a Thing. dancing ,skating, sports its just so thrilling to experience this all consuming relationship people can have with this type of activity? and martial arts are just that much more intense, so yeah, grown ass men kicking each other around at the lightest provocation and a war veteran caring so much abt teen karate is Ridiculous.... but i love it all because thats the intensity i find so thrilling

was kinda surprised with how much im missing mr. miyagi. first because, like everyone is so unhinged jesus christo, it just really throws into relief how much his character grounded the narrative of the movies. but also hes just a really great character

and on that note it rly Gets Me that the show itself aknowledges that and plays that into daniels angst and all the little ways they sorta weave myiagisms into the whole show........ im not getting emotional over this dumb karate dads show OK

related - i really miss hearing ‘daniel-san’ 🥺🥺

ACE DEGENERATE oh god oh no

they really went down the down and out johnny lawrence route huh. like i was always kinda bummed we see kreese choking him and then we never see him again in the movies, and while i love dumpster fire problematic trash himbo ck johnny, its like......................... actually really sad that his life turned out like this fjngn

everytime i hear ‘babes’ and ‘pussy’ i die a little inside. i know thats the point but i am a v cringe easy person, have mercy (ehe)

loved the way they are constantly drawing parallels between johnny and mr. myiagi of all people. hes the handy man of his building that has a bullied kid asking for help and eventually steps up to teach them karate, beats up a bunch of bullies for him, creates a friendship with said kid, estranged from family, drinks his sorrows away, surprisingly one of the least quick to anger characters (which says more about everyone else really but.... Well.), no schemes or ulterior motives hes just tryna vibe here.... oh and ofc magically heals miguel of is asthma apparently. the true disciple.. meanwhile daniel is his usual messy petty self even tho he wants to be mr myiagi so bad

also interesting about that is how miguels character is a parallel of both johnny and daniel at the same time

overall the parallels in ck are done really well, drawing comparisons and also subverting them constantly. theyre well thought out

THE PARALELOGRAMS

fr tho, the angle being explicitly the cycle of trauma and its effects and how trumatized adults in turn traumatize kids, maliciously or not, is so interesting

but! on the flip side of that, it feels like the writers are getting in their own way @ letting the characters grow. especially this last season. theres only so many times you can do "johnny and daniel are getting along but 5mins later they are (literally) fighting over some dumbass random issue" or "johnny puts in 20% of effort with robby and then gives up" before it gets on your nerves yknow?

i see daniel no longer talks like macchio ingested 15 shots of espresso before every take and idk how to feel about that tbh

interesting tension in daniel, as in, in tkk mr miyagi was there and daniel was frankly, kind of a lil shit, this messy petty spitfire hot tempered sassy kid,(johnny lawrence voice: just... stop being so annoying) but now hes the adult, and he wants to be mr. miyagi... but hes just not, and never will be to his very core and it shakes him and in a way hes trying to find who he is now that he sees himself in a position to be a not! cobra kai figure. i kinda really like that

plus how that relates to his cobra kai trauma. idk if the writers thought abt it Like That, i think so, but in any case, its interesting bc it seems like daniel has told everyone whod listen about johnny lawrence his Pretty Boy Karate Rival and high school and 84 cobra kai... But. no one seems to know what went on in 85 (or 86? idk) which was just so much worse

like ye og cobras were shitheads, but tkk iii is just two hours of daniel being emotionally and physically tortured.

like, the third movie is.............chaotic, to put it nicely, and many people ignore it, but the writers clearly didnt. daniels actions are, in a way, responding so much more to the events of tkk iii than to the first movie ie. johnny himself, AND. daniel doesnt rly seem to have dealt with that trauma? he never told sam? doesnt feel like hes ever told amanda? he doesnt even say terrys name out loud? freaks Out over kreese ? the way he reacts to robbys deceit? his FACE when he walks past the new "fear does not exist in this dojo" paint or kreeses photo? hmMm i sense Pain

his fashion tho........... disappointing. where are the flower shirts daniel huh we had one (1) shirt what a tragedy STOP WEARING SUITS ALL THE TIME . also the band ts/grunge bi are a look for johnny but part of me longs for the preppy lovable 80s bully chic johnny lawrence getups

weird that they never used that last moment of karate kid where johnny kinda... snaps out of his anger and hands daniel the trophy almost in tears. like “youre alright larusso, good match” “thanks a lot” that being their last direct interection seems like itd be perfect fruit for cobra kai but... they just dont. weird.

especially when, the FIRST SCENE they see each other, suposedly in 30+ years, the first thing to come out of daniels mouth is QUOTE "u still got those golden locks huh?" WHO SAYS SHIT LIKE THAT DANIEL FUCKING SAN

also amandas immediate reaction "your pretty boy rival?" like. can we talk about the fact that daniel had to have imparted to his wife the very important information that his high school bully/karate rival was like Really Cute and Fucking Hot Actually

the writers Knew exactly what they were doing and honestly.............. power to them

tkk director voice: and billy was just so cute

also I was thinking that daniel sounded strangely fond in that first scene, and i wonder if he developed a weird affection for johnny on the grounds that of all of his Karate Rivals johnny was actually the only one who didn’t actively tried to literally kill him

i was actually delightedly surprised with how great the chemistry between them is, like from the get go i am Invested. their rl friendship totally bleeds through and its fantastic

. granted, idiots enemies to lovers friends is my Thing so i am biased

johnny lawrence: i am down in the dumps, i fucked up my whole life and my sons probably, largely in light of the trauma that the father figure sensei and the philosophy of my karate inflicted on me and all my friends. u know what i should do, as a traumatized, unreliable mess of an adult? teach that same philosophy to some other kids! what could go wrong!

but really i enjoy the setup of it. i kinda like that i watched it late because, season 1 was johnny setting himself up for failure in a way and it was exciting to watch it all go to shit sjfn

Like. his heart might be in the right place, but theres just.... not a way to teach something like ‘strike hard, no mercy’ and not have it fuck up a kid

case and point: aisha, miguel and hawk become annoying as all hell over that bullshit in the end of s1, even before shit gets truly fucked up

billys subtle panicked eyes when he sees hawk and miguel fighting dirty in the all valley was SO GOOD especially in parallel with the panic that is so visible in his face in the movie when kreese tells bobby to injure daniel and in the sweep the leg scene

seen people question wether kreese should have returned and i absolutely think he needed to. johnny needed to realize that cobra kais fundamentals are flawed, at the root, beyond kreese himself being a toxic piece of shit

also who are we kidding? we are here to see the tkk characters play on new playgrounds!

i get what they're doing abt kreeses backstory, ( also. cobra kai. pq eles caem nas cobras djjs sorry) but did it need to take up that much time? feels like they couldve done it in half the run time and developed some other stories better

martin kove has such an evil eye. i love it

love that we get a good follow up to kreese breaks johnnys trophy and tries to CHOKE HIM in the parking lot, which happened in the movie and then....................... was never mentioned again

“the gang is all back together again” aaaa u piece of SHIT

also. terry silver is definetely appearing ha ha ha PAIN i cant wait

seen ppl say kreese was too much of a cartoon villain like..........................oh......... sweetie........... u dont even Know

interested how johnny will fit into that bc kreese was simping rly hard for johnny here. like i did not expect him to be so adamant to have him with cobra kai ... under his control, sure, but he really wants johnny by his side despite already having control of the dojo and how will terry silver self appointed jon kreeses forever simp going to feel abt that?

like bitchs dropping by every episode like ‘joooooohnny ..... come bacc to me joooonny......... this ur last warning! for real this time johnny! i wont say it again! watch me ! im leaving johnny! im rly leaving ! im dragging a chair” and johnny is just like. dont let the door hit ya bitch it was so funny pls

and on that subject oof, johnny! doesnt! Know! he doesnt get that side of daniels cobra kai trauma. and i kind of.............. cannot wait for ck 2021 johnny lawrence to meet terry silver like. what a shit show i need a front row seat and popcorn (imagine terry tries some greasy charm and johnny just roundhouse kicks him in the teeth bc he just doest Not Have the Patience for This. glorious)

feels like we, as a society, should acknowledge that cobra kai will never die................ bc their sense of design is just chefs kiss. their name is COBRA KAI. they have sexie sleeveless black gis. theyve sneks. colorful leather jackets with embroided naja insignia, the get ppl thru the aesthetics. evil geniuses

the flashback cuts : masterpiece behavior

the other takes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! of the movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the differente angles!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! of the FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE CLOSE UP ON JOHNNYS FACE AT THE KICK

that scene of daniel and johnny vibing to 80s music in the car. just. oh my god. the fan wish fullfilment. no thoughts head empty.

the new characters! theyre .... good. but. idk. i really like miguel (save for the annoying phase mid s1 - end s2) and amanda, who is a damn riot and has some functioning braincells, but everyone else is

like dont get me wrong, i dont hate anyone,its not a jane and rafael from jtv situation, and i am interested and invested in their arcs, but i wouldnt say i like Like them, as in, personality wise

like, sams grappling with ptsd was rly gutting and i enjoyed that plus her slight rage issues,

which nicely parallel torys rage issues. torys background is all over the place tho so im pretty on the fence abt her so far

robby deserves better in every way, and i like how smart and cunning and surprisingly sweet he is

hawk............... is there i guess,

demetri is annoying in the best way possible,

carmen is sweet but. i just feel like her character is blunted to make the johnny relationship easier. like when shes furious with him after miguels injury but then forgives him like an episode later? and then convinces him to fight for the tournament bc she had a karate epiphany off screen even tho she was always against it? meh. feels like with the plot thiccening she was swallowed and now shes like a crutch for johnny mora than anything, which is disappointing.

aisha was cool and im kinda mad she wasnt in s3, especially bc a storyline with her tory and sam was like RIGHT THERE , but also... cant say i was super super fond of her... doesnt feel like we ever spent enough time on her

moon the bi icon,

overall its a good cast but the main draw for me remains the og cast

the tory/sam miguel/robby Thing. enjoy how theyre Narrative Foils and i like how their stories were so dramatically entangled but oh god give me a break with the teenage love square for the love of god. if u gonna put us through that at least have the decency to not make it so straight

and honestly some sam/tory miguel/robby romantic tension would even make more sense. just saying!

also im not sure how i feel abt the cobra kai: red miyagi do: blue theyre going with since some of daniels most iconic looks in tkk are also red. like it was a color they (johnny and him) sorta shared. i get it, opposite but complementary but idk... a little too fire nation and water tribe for me .

and like the cobra kai kids are so funny abt it bc their outifts grow progressively more ridiculously coordinated. its like do they group chat every morning before leaving their houses?

robby still sticks out like that tho. he went thru an athleisure/daniel san tsleeves phase and now hes back in the bandts grunge, but his color scheme doesnt fully blend with the other cobra kais. hmmmm.

LOVED LOVED LOVED both the okinawa episode and the cobra kais easy rider episode just such good good heart aching fun

bobby is an icon. he was in tkk and he is now ck hope appears more and more

tommy is like the most iconic background character. all his lines, freaking gold then and now. sigh :(

the framing in the okinawa trip was so good everything was so good

i stand by the fact that kumiko was the love interest daniel had the most chemistry with and shes is overall such a joy to watch, loved to see her again, idola, fashion icon

also tkk ii is good u guys are just mean

also really enjoyed chozens role in the episode, his evolution; i love that they introduced the pressure points (ty lee the blueprint) and! the honk + karate! cousins! absolutely iconic

when kumiko reads mr miyagis letters........ oh my god, my eyes FILLED with tears, it was so heart wrenching :(( tamlyns delivery was so emotional and lovely and its so obvious everyone involved in ck has so much love and respect for pat morita and mr miyagi as character, and i adore that it exists like this electric current through the show

when we were watching i told my sister i thought that ali would be miguels big shot surgeon and ngl i am so disappointed that didnt happen. hire me cobra kai writers

also the johnny ali daniel amanda chemistry? off the charts

AND the sassy retconning of daniel and alis breakup! LMAO ‘I HOPE U DIDNT TELL MR MIYAGI IT WAS MY FAULT’ HFDJJGNKFKSD

i am preeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetty sure back injuries dont work like that but oke

daniel and johnny are so good together whenever, like they never actually help the kids or get shit done and end up fighting anyway but its just so much fun when theyre hanging

JOHNNY LAWRENCE AND DANIEL LARUSSO FIGHTING TOGETHER

daniels “plan” on how to get robby to juvie was so stupid. literally were u TRYING to make him hate you. dumbass

parents at those hearing rly brave for ppl that did not do ANYTHING as their kids got involved in a karate gang war until now

“bullshit i heard u were the real bully!” i mightve screeched

this s3 ending was SO DRAMATIC omg

everyone is such a MESS go to THERAPY u unhinged motherfckers

also im sorry but uh. a richass neighborhood in california doesnt have some type of neighborhood watch? the larussos rly dont have any security at all? neighbors wont hear the sound of a damn karate brawl happening next door??? also wasnt tory all like ooo i cant go to juvie, my mom yada yada yet shes always running around town getting into fights even at the rich girls house she was kicked out of school for fighting?? ? ?? ?? ? ? ? ?? ? ? girl??

stop destroying the larussos house, its so pretty :((((

sam finding her center looking at mr miyagis picture... uwu maybe

robby yelling ‘U ARE WEAAK’@ johnny \as he is easily blocking him is like.... so funny and so sad to me. sweetheart.

also i know it was meant as ‘oh johnny pushes him and HURTS HIM’ but it just looks like robby runs himself into the lockers and IM SO SORRY I FEEL SO BAD BUT IT WAS SO FUNNY

i like that he and tory are the cobra kai kids now. we need ppl we care abt there to not revert to a good vs evil schtick, and this is the most engaging it could be... tho it hurts that these kids cant catch a break

ah yes "lets bet some real shit on the result of this teen karate tournament bc that is always a great idea" is BACK

so daniel saves johnny from kreese..... maybe johnny will save him from terry 🧐

and dojos unite ohohoho. lets SEE how that’ll work out

miguels face of Despair when the ck defectors and the md kids are bickering like 'this is never gonna work' : gold

also. Johnny Lawrence is gonna learn some myiagi-do karate AHAAHSJAKDFH

ive been waiting for this moment all my lifeeee oh lawrd

final thoughts! there are def things i hope the writers will improve on the next season, but i am very excited for it either way AND i feel like it has made me enjoy the movies even more and that is a win for a reboot/sequel to me!!

#m.#did i procrastinate watching this since it came out and only watched it now bc my sister nagged me to when i said we should #watch karate kid over the holidays?#and then binged the whole thing in two days??#mayhaps and what abt it #cobra kai #the karate kid #its funn #y bc like karate kid is a Childhood movie but i wouldnt say #it was like particularly special for me?#like i wasnt in a fandom or anything #but now.#i might be invested #maybe #talvez

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tomie-elle · 4 years ago

Text

Haikyuu Matchup

@myeggodied: "Here for a matchup! I go by Keyo or Yo, either one. I’m 18, female. i’ve got brown hair, hazel eyes, i’m 5’2, i’m a Taurus. Born May 2nd. I’m super introverted, pretty shy, but I try my best to be nice to everyone (once u get to know me im loud). I LOVE cats and food. My love language is DEF acts of kindness, and physical touch. I’m a middle child, I like to draw, read and for some reason I find math fun. My favorite song is CharcoalHearts by Bones. As a kid I always found a way to bring a new cat home..lol. In a s/o I want someone very very attentive and tall/big, specifically male please. But a romanic rel. is ideal and I would like to know how my matchup and I met. Thank you so so much for doing what you do, you’re amazing. 💜"

Hi Keyo (I love your name btw it's really pretty), the HQ boy I would most likely match you with is...

Iwaizumi Hajime

Iwaizumi=Best Boi

he for sure knows how to take care of his S/O

kind, caring, and supportive he’s everything you could ask for

plus have you seen those arms (there's a reason why he is the arm wrestling champion)

Reason(s): the main reasons for me choosing Iwaizumi as your matchup is because:

attentive/understanding: you had voiced your want of an S/O who is an attentive partner and due to Iwaizumi's very supportive nature I thought that it would be a great fit for you. Iwaizumi is very perceptive with him being one of the only people that is able to notice Oikawa's slight change in behavior/attitude, he for sure would notice when something is wrong and would be very pro-active with constant light-hearted advice and words of support/praise. In addition as a fellow introvert I understand that starting conversations with people your comfortable with can be a burden, with Iwaizumi's attentive native he would totally notice when your starting to go back into your shell so he'll always help start and continue the conversations when needed.

love language: Iwaizumi's love language has to be physical touch. He totally seems like one of those people who would rather express themselves through their actions rather than their words (I think he would have a hard time expressing himself through words, he would never be able to say want he really means). Having someone have the same love language as you can make a relationship a lot easier because it makes the communication between you both better because of it's easier to understand the person's actions/words. Iwaizumi's favorite form of intimacy would probably be just holding you, like whenever, he just loves having you in his arms (but like who wouldn't want to be held by Iwaizumi). He also loves hand holding, it makes physical touch a lot easier/more convent from, and it's one of the ways he's able to communicate with you. For example, when he notices that you're nervous he'll gently squeeze your hand to let you know that he's there, or when you're holding hand he'll kiss the back of your hand to let you know that he loves you.

Scenario: (1st meeting)

Spring, the season of new beginning filled not only with flowers blooming but with endless possibility. You had been hoping for a new beginning yourself with last year in the past, and the new year ahead all you could think about is getting out of school and doing bigger and better things for yourself. You’ve always been on the shyer side at times letting people and opportunities often pass you by because of your genuine fear of being a burden to others and always wanting to be perceived as kind. But that's you in the past, the new you isn’t going to let some dumb bullies harass a sweet and innocent little kitten. While on your way home from a long and tiring day at school, the only thing that sounded good right now was being able to draw in the comfort of your bedroom to let out all the tension and stress school brings with it. As you continue daydreaming and wishing the walk from school wasn’t so damn long, you happen to hear the loud laughter of a group of middle schoolers crowding around each other in the middle of an alleyway. Not really paying any attention to the crowd you continue on with your walk home, until you hear the slight meow of a kitten. You look back one more time into the alleyway and while the children clear for just a second you see a horrific scene. A small kitten was being placed inside a cardboard box and as suddenly as it entered one of the middle school boys started to throw rocks at the box, one by one each of the boys started to throw rocks at the cardboard box with the kitten trapped inside. Horrified and infuriated by the scene before you, you couldn’t just watch helplessly as a bunch on middle school losers were torturing a small and fragile kitten. You run to the kitten's rescue hoping to be able to stop the boys before they could inflict any more damage on the little cat. Screaming at the top of your lungs, “Get the hell away, you little dickheads, I’m going to call the cops of you all”. Stopping, all the boys can’t help but stare at a 5′2 being running at them full speed screaming like a maniac offering to call the cops, not wanting to look scared one of the boy's answers back with, “Yeah call the cops, I ain’t scared of you” and proceeds to shove you to the ground. But as soon as you are shoved a pair of muscular arms are wrapped around your waist to stop your fall. “You should be scared” the mysterious figure behind you growls at the boys. As if they had seen the devil himself, the boys couldn’t help but start to run away. Looking back at the figure behind you, all you can see is a pair of green eyes staring back at you with a look of concern. “Are you all right?”, the boy questions, “Yeah I’m good, um... thanks for that by the way,” you answer. “Hey it was no problem, they needed to be taught a lesson don’t you think.” “Yeah for sure” you giggle back, getting a better view of the mysterious boy, you can’t help but drool at how handsome he is, with a muscular figure and a pair of light green eyes, you can’t help but stare. “Sorry”, looking away shyly cursing yourself for staring too long, “It’s ok”, he answers back with a soft smile, “I wanted to tell you that what you just did right there was pretty badass you know that. Running to save that kitten it was really cool,” the stranger says with a slight blush, he always looks nervous you note to yourself. “What?!?” you quickly answer back, “Me? cool you’re literally the one who scared them all away with just one look”, looking away you can’t help but feel the warm blush start to litter your face. What are saying Keyo?!? you curse yourself. “The names Iwaizumi Hajime”, “Keyo or just Yo, whatever fits”, you shyly reply. “Keyo...that’s a very pretty name, I like it”, Iwaizumi says. You now your face is red, a handsome stranger complimenting you what is going on you ask yourself. While continuing to curse yourself for looking like an idiot, Iwaizumi can’t help but stare at the beautiful stranger in front of him. He remembers seeing you moments ago run into an alleyway screaming at the top of their lungs to save a little kitten, he can’t help but start to laugh. As you hear Iawizumi laughing beside you can’t help but ask, “What?” continuing to laugh he’s able to answer back with, “It’s just...nothing...nothing at all”. And just like that, your life can change as easily as deciding to scream at a bunch of middle schoolers.

(*srry if this sucked, my brain=not work sometimes*)

Honourable Mentions:

1. Hakuba Gao

2. Kuroo Tetsurō

3. Ushijima Wakatoshi

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu match #hq matchups #hq x reader #hq drabbles #hq match #hq matchup #haikyuu matchup

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darkblueboxs · 5 years ago

Note

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

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valeriannnn · 5 years ago

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if youve ever wanted to think about what almost every major RWBY character would main in professional overwatch, then today is your lucky day! brought to you by hiatus, return of owl, and 3am delirium

RUBY - Star DPS. Extremely flashy, always on the highlight reel. Will play whatever is needed to pound the enemies into dirt, but also the type to say "fuck it ok guys trust me im gonna pop off" and swap to her signature widow/tracer to Pop Off. Works unfailingly. Team captain and emotional core. Prefers mobile heroes and an unpredictable playstyle.

WhiteSnow - Flex Support/Flex DPS. Put her on any sniper (including and especially Ana) and watch all hell rain down. Methodical playstyle, favors high-utility heroes. Aside from snipers, can often be found on Baptiste/Mei/Symmetra. Enables teammates to make big plays, but often sacrifices her own presence in the killfeed for the benefit of the team as a whole. Loves to maker opponents' lives a living hell with CC. Line em up, knock em down.

Belladonna - Offtank. Extremely attentive to her backline, constantly running interference and peeling for allies. Impossible to catch off-guard. Delights in thwarting the enemy team's plans and preventing them from making the plays they want to. Excellent map awareness and always the one to touch point to preserve overtime. Shotcaller. Struggled with committing to risky/aggressive plays, but being on a reliable team has made her more comfortable performing her role and trusting her teammates to have her back. Prefers mobile heroes but will adapt to any situation to work in perfect tandem with...

YangXiaoLong - Main Tank. Could have been a DPS main but early on committed to tank role to enable her duo parter (and little sister) to pop off (and have shorter queue times). Developed a real knack for controlling space and being a brick goddamn wall between her squishies and the enemy team. Extremely aggressive playstyle, but has cooled down in recent years to be more of a team player. Still loves to thrash about when given the opportunity. Known for bold plays and phatty shatties.

Arc - Main Support. Tried for years to be a DPS hotshot but was determinedly mediocre and got hard stuck in plat. Persuaded by Pyrrha to pocket her for a few games, and discovered the depth and fulfillment of playing support to a well-coordinated team. Nurtured his aptitude for assisting from the backline and quickly rose through the ranks. Will play whatever is meta but will always be a Mercy main at heart. Played Brig during GOATS. Shotcaller.

Valkyrie - Doomfist.

Nikos - Main Tank. Extremely methodical player, reknowned for big brain cerebral plays and unflappability. Can be slow to push advantages, but never makes mistakes. Loves the mind games in a Rein v Rein matchup, and unfailingly blocks the enemy shatter (delights in cucking the enemy Rein). Will play Orisa For The Good Of The Team but takes no joy in it. Terrifying on defense; takes a strong position and allows time pressure to force enemies into missteps. When you make a mistake, she will be there. Strategic backbone of the team.

RenLie - Flex Support. Bloodthirsty support. Likes the balance of damage potential and support capacity in Zenyatta, but puts forth strong showings on Moira and Ana as well. First priority is of course keeping his team alive, but flankers trying to dive him in the back line tend to get sent home in tears. Big Jjonak energies. :uwuknife: Can be susceptible to tunnel vision/desperation, and occasionally needs teammates to re-ground him. Always nanos Nora.

PPolen - Offtank. D.Va one-trick. Absolutely notorious for eating ults; absolutely infuriating to play hitscan into. Flawless mechanical skill. Occasionally struggles with communication, but honestly so on-the-ball that it doesn't usually come back to bite her. Always has gold objective time.

Qrow - True flex. Exclusively solo-queues on ladder, just plays the leaderboards. Played just about every role at some point (except main tank, fuck that), but currently on a flex support kick. Holds world records for gravs/blizzards/immortality feels clipping through the geometry and falling out of the map. The sort of Ana who will singlehandedly take out both enemy DPS when beset by flankers only to immediately die to an errant Moira orb. Gamers can we get an F in chat. Accustomed to playing on 200+ ping and is deeply unsettled when he moves somewhere with good internet and has to re-learn all his timings.

RWBY+JNPR+P All form a single 9-man roster. Sub out roles with redundant players for map set strategies and for flexible plays. Probably called the Beacon Huntsmen or something generic like that, who cares

Winter - Main Tank and Offtank. Excellent mechanical skill. Unparalleled when allowed to execute her set strategy, but struggles with adaptability. Extremely self-sacrificial, and knows exactly how to leverage her health pool to buy time and/or space for her allies to make the plays they need to. Will unflinchingly act upon callouts, good or bad, because the worst outcome is a split decision. Especially fond of a quick reset.

Whitley - Doesn't play Overwatch, but holds several championship trophies in international Pokemon tournaments. Minecraft youtuber.

Adam - Widow one-trick. Highly overrated, inexplicably popular streamer. Mechanically talented but poison in a team environment. Picked up and quickly dropped from several professional teams. Teabags. Looks impressive on stream but crumbles against opponents with any semblance of coordination. Eventually blacklisted from professional environments after one too many scandals in his personal life.

Ozpin -Franchise owner. Has never actually touched Overwatch, but used to be a respected Starcraft player back in the day. Took on a coaching role for a time, but now largely manages from afar. Has a sparse and cryptic social media presence. Makes business decisions largely at random, unbeknownst to all his subordinates.

Salem - Hates videogames. Will unplug the router if you piss her off.

Ace Ops - High profile roster hand-picked for perfectly complementary hero pools. Hyped to fuck in the preseason. Unparalleled individual play but poor communication, incompatible playstyles, and truly abysmal coaching staff keep them from being a top-tier team. Widely considered a disappointment considering the talent and money backing them.

Harriet - DPS. Exclusively plays flankers and extremely mobile DPS. Tries to solo-carry; in her defense, it often works. Unironically brags/complains about having gold medals. Quick to tilt but often uses the negative energy to pop off even harder. Overtime clutch god.

Marrow - Flex DPS. Cautious player, often hesitant to commit to risky strats. Flawless positioning, both personally and for thrown abilities. Talent for projectile DPS; probably contributed not-insignificantly to scatter arrow being removed from the game. Prefers to understand the enemy's strategy before acting. Shotcaller. Nobody listens.

Elm - Main Tanks (Except Reinhardt), Zarya. Aggressive tank player, frequently found with gold damage. Generally good natured but vulnerable to tilt if on a losing streak. Highly momentum-based. Makes tutorial videos on strategy and positioning for her youtube channel. Wants to see the competitive scene develop and flourish, but sensitive to feeling threatened by new talent. Helps them anyway.

Vine - Flex Tanks (except Zarya), Reinhardt. Unflappable, regardless of quality of games or recent performance. Good at reading enemy team and tracking ults. Generally calls enemy plays before they happen. Always sticks with Elm, largely out of obligation to bail her out when her aggression puts her in a dicey position. Understated player, rarely in highlight compilations, but extremely consistent performance. Plays off-meta in scrims so as not to reveal strats.

Clover - Main Healer. Can play any support, but Lucio main through and through. Suffers from Reddit Lucio syndrome, but usually good enough (or lucky enough) to get away with it. Loves to deny enemy followup. Peel master, boop god. PMA to a borderline-irritating degree. Gives great pep talks at half time. Tends to overcommit to strategies that are dead in the water; sometimes it's better to call it and switch comps while you still have time on the clock. Despite this, is opportunistic in the moment-to-moment sense and quick to capitalize on enemy vulnerabilities.

Flynt Coal - Lucio one-trick. I mean, come on.

Wukong - ??? Exclusively plays off-meta heroes and weird shit. Talented but remains on ladder because he doesn’t like the rigid structure of tournament play. Refuses to be confined to a single role. Hates role lock cause he can’t swap mid game anymore. Despite all this, somehow tends to be more of an asset than a detriment. Definitely a team player. PMA king. Occasionally finds legitimately competitive strata for underutilized heroes. Nutty with hammond movement, godawful with mines. Has the Winston skin equipped, of course.

Ilia - DPS. Popular streamer. Tried going pro for a bit, but didn’t like the schedule and retired shortly. Frequently plays with the community and does weird custom game modes for a laugh. Loves Daddy Rein Chases Tiny Torblets. Refuses to open loot boxes, much to the dismay of her stream. Plays Golfing Over It during long queues. Draws all her own custom emotes.

Watts - DPS. Mains Widow, Sombra; plays anything that lets him avoid ever actually engaging the enemy at close range. Thinks the game stopped being good when Sombra GOATS stopped being a thing. Spends all day on twitter heckling pro players and declaring Overwatch a dead game. Suspected of cheating. Considers himself a shotcaller but isn't very good at it.

Tyrian - Plays Junkrat and Roadhog exclusively. Thinks it's bullshit that the game doesn't have friendly fire. Thinks it's bullshit that Junkrat doesn't deal self-inflicted damage anymore. Master of the bounce shot. Tends to treat the game like a TDM and forget the objective in favor fragging out. Targets a single enemy player and tries to get them to tilt. Uses voice chat but only laughs. Never makes callouts. Trash talks in all-chat. Considers it a personal victory if he gets someone to rage quit.

Hazel - No Role. Doesn't really get the idea of the metagame; knows it's generally good to have a balanced team but thats about as deep as he chooses to go. Was one of the old guards of PC gaming but now that it's a mainstream hobby has to refuses to confront that he's hot garbage at them. Can't really parse everything that's happening onscreen in a fast-paced game like overwatch, so he just picks Torb (regardless of map or attacking/defending status) and uses the turret as a security blanket. Godawful turret placement. Still has a good time somehow.

Cinder - Main Tank. Likes the importance of the role, and especially the way her team has to follow her calls for any chance of success. A nice balance of aggression and craftiness, she makes a fearsome opponent. Callouts could be more frequent/detailed, but her directions are always good when given. Very susceptible to emotional ups and downs, and often takes out frustration on teammates. Takes losses very hard, gloats about wins. Happiest with an Ana pocket.

Emerald - Offtank. Would be much happier on DPS or Support, but desperate to show off and live up to Cinder's expectations. Sticks with her main tank except when it's absolutely necessary to peel for the back line. Tends to be overcautious with ults; she's good enough mechanically to earn them relatively quickly, but fear of whiffing one makes her reticent to spend them. Flawless bubble timing on Zarya.

Mercury - Support. Still considers Symmetra a support. Quick to whip out the blaster and try to fight off flankers instead of calling for assistance. Knows all the angles for a narsty biotic grenade. Plays as though he's got better positioning and backup than he does; frequently gets opponents to back off just by winning the mental game. Will let allies die on ladder if they piss him off.

#rwby #rwby meta #kind of?????????#yall have my SINCEREST apologies if the readmore dont work and youre on mobile #long post #anyway heres Content #feel free to add your fave that i couldnt think of anything for #eventually i fell asleep

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iwillgiveyoumyhappiness · 5 years ago

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박우진, Park Woojin

anonymous asked:

hihi!! i would like to request some fluff with woojin from AB6IX, I’m not sure if you do requests outside your prompt lists but, maybe a scenario where the reader is youngmin’s bestfriend and she has always lowkey had a crush on woojin hehe and some cute youngmin bestfriend moments thank youu

Group: AB6IX

Member: Woojin (and a considerable amount of platonic Youngmin)

“Hey!” you snapped at Youngmin, pushing his hands away from your head. “I said you could touch my hair—not mess it up!”

The boy laughed at your antics. “I wasn’t messing it up,” he defended himself. “I was giving it character.”

You rolled you eyes. “What kind of a screwed up character were you giving it?”

He thought for a moment. “Frankenstein’s wife?” he offered. “That kind of feeling.”

You pulled your fist back, like a threat to punch him, but you both knew better than that. You could never hit that idiot. You both just ended up laughing at each other as you sunk further into your couch.

He sucked in a breath after your giggle fritz was over. “So,” he started, “how’s things with you and Woojin?”

You quirked a brow. “What’re you talking about?”

He gave you a look. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen you with crushes before, and he’s totally one of them.”

“Well...” You didn’t have any clever comebacks. “Maybe a little bit,” you mumbled back, shifting around a little.

‘A little bit’ was a massive understatement. You’d had an eye on Youngmin’s friend for quite some time now. You appreciated his quiet awkwardness, his snaggle tooth, his secretly dopey behavior in contrast to his outwardly cool demeanor.

His dancing wasn’t a negative trait either.

Youngmin clapped his hands, like a self-congratulations. “Knew it,” he snorted. “So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged.

He did a double-take. “Can you repeat that?”

“I’m not gonna do anything about it,” you said. “We’ve said two and a half words to each other, I doubt he’s interested in me.”

A sly smile spread on his lips. “I don’t know,” he said, an impish glow in his eyes. “You might be surprised.”

Your ears perked up. “Wait a minute. Are you saying he likes me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

You scrambled to your knees, waddling yourself clumsily closer to your best friend. “Im Youngmin, you have a 0% strength poker-face, so tell me! Does he have a crush on me or not?”

He held in a snort. “Why would he? It’s like you model yourself after a penguin.”

“Youngmin!”

He held up his hands in defense. “I’m being serious—I don’t know! Just don’t write him off just yet, yeah? Try befriending him and hanging out some. Maybe you’ll be shocked.”

You huffed, sitting back down. “But that’ll take time... I’m impatient.”

“I know,” he chuckled. He poked you with his sock feet. “That’s why your brother’s gonna help you out! I’ve got a foolproof plan up my sleeve, m’lady.”

You smacked his foot away with your own. “You’re not my brother.”

“But you love me like one,” he said as you both started having a fencing battle with your legs.

A small smile broke across your face as you jabbed him in the ankle. “True enough.”

It was around 11:46 at night when you got a text from Youngmin, jolting you up from a half-dozed state. Hesitantly, you rolled yourself out of bed to grab your phone off your desk.

For anyone else, you would’ve let it wait till morning, but when you heard that special ringtone, you didn’t tend to ignore it—no matter how much you wanted to. He’d been there for you in the tough times and late nights, so it only felt right to do the same for him.

You unlocked your phone, cringing from the sudden brightness in the room.

From: Youngminnie

Subject: Official Plan for Seducing My Group Mate

You rolled your eyes at the title before clicking it open. Your eyebrows immediately furrowed at the number of steps there were. 10 steps, perfectly typed out a labeled. As expected of Youngmin.

‘Do I have to read all this tonight? -_-’ you asked.

Three moving dots.

‘You don’t have to,’ he wrote back. ‘But you should. For good dreams. ;D’

You chuckled at the reply. “Fine, then,” you sighed to yourself, flipping on your lamp and plopping down in your shockingly comfortable rolling chair.

Step 1: Come To More Hangouts

The kids and I hang out often, so you should start tagging along!

You weren’t sure if you liked that idea very much. Being the outsider in a close group didn’t seem very appealing to you. That was until you noticed the message right under it.

I promise I won’t let you sixth-wheel, you coward.

Ah. He knew you too well.

Step 2: Exchange Numbers

I think this one’s a given. After you make that initial connection—jump on him! Well... Not literally, since he’s very important to the team, but you know what I mean. Sure, I could just give you his number, but that’d be no fun, and I know you’re too awkward to actually start a conversation with him.

Step 3: Find Common Interests

Just look for something you two can do together. I’d say try dancing with him, but we both know the extent of your noodle-arm-ness (not to be offensive, or anything). I don’t think I can help you here, ‘cause I want you to get to know each other authentically, but I know you’ll figure something out.

Step 4: Share An Intimate Moment

I don’t mean it like THAT, you weirdo. I just mean a vulnerable moment. Like, I know it’s scary, but be open with him about something personal. Not too personal, though. Remember, I’m watching you, kid. That, or be there for him when he’s not doing too well. You know work can be stressful for us. Now that! I can give you a tip on that. I’ll let you know when he’s not doing so well. He’ll need comfort, don’t you think~? Warning, though. If you kiss him in front of me, I’ll end both of you.

Step 5: Do Something He Likes Doing

If he invites you somewhere, you better go. Even if you have plans with me, cancel. I’ll be the understanding, amazing, incredible, most-loved best friend that I am and forgive your sins. Wow! I’m really such a guardian angel!

Step 6: Compliment Him

It’s okay if you do it moderately throughout your time together, but make this one something BIG. Make him think on it! Give him that heart-flutter that only you can provide.

Step 7: Hang Out At Your Place

It’s a big step, this one. You have to let a guy in your house! ...besides me. I just realized how that sounded as I typed it. Yes, I do regret it, if you’re wondering. Disregarding that; just hang out together! Have a good time, play some games, be safe (please don’t kill me for that) and let him see how fun you are to hang out with on your own!

Step 8: Tease Him

Again, I don’t mean this in a weird way. I just mean it in a playful way. I have no doubt that you’ll do plenty of it without having to consult the step since you warm up to people in a snap, but I wanted to write it down just in case. Do something a little flirty at some point, please. He blushes easily, despite how tough he seems. He’s a real dork!

Step 9: Have a Sleepover At the Dorms

I know this one seems a little weird, but I think it’s a good idea. If you have a sleepover, you’ll be able to see if you can actually stand him for an entire day, an entire night, and then the next morning. A good test, I think! You’ll be able to see if he’s truly your “chosen one”. Plus, he won’t sleep naked for one night... Blessing, really.

Step 10 (final step): Hook, Line and Sinker

Now’s the time! I know you’ve totally captured his heart by now, so you should just confess your feelings honestly. Don’t chicken out!! I know Woojin, so he won’t ditch you, even if he doesn’t feel the same. Might be awkward for half a second, but he’ll come around.

You rubbed the tiredness out of your eyes, glancing at the clock. 12:31 AM. You sighed and groaned, stretching out your stiff limbs. You discarded your phone, switched off the light and threw yourself into bed with an unladylike flop. “Bed, how I missed thee, my love...”

Even though you felt exhaustion flooding your body, drawing you into what you hoped would be restful sleep, you still felt grateful to Youngmin.

Your best friend and number one wing-man.

There you stood, three weeks later, outside of a cafe, a little bit frozen in your spot. You could see Youngmin and the others through the window, chatting freely. They looked so happy together. So at peace.

You slowly turned around, muttering to yourself, “Oh, gosh... I don’t want to do this. They’re all having fun. You’re gonna butt in and have no place. You’re gonna be the dead fish! The black sheep! The gray cloud!” You shook your head, trying to clear yourself of those thoughts.

“No,” you told yourself, giving yourself a light slap on the cheek to wake yourself up from your self-inflicted nightmare. “Come on! You’ve got this. This is Step 1: Come To More Hangouts! Youngmin will never let you live this down if you don’t just—!”

“What are you doing?”

The voice shocked you, making you yelp and clumsily karate chop whatever poor person that had been unfortunate enough to appear behind you. And of course—just your luck—the person had to be Park Woojin.

He rubbed his shoulder, an amused grin on his face. “Ouch,” he chuckled. “You pack quite the punch, don’t ya?”

You forcefully snapped your jaw shut. “I am so sorry,” you said, clasping your hands together. You tittered nervously. “At the thought of being attacked I... became a ninja, I guess.”

He shrugged. “Youngmin has a cool ninja friend, then,” he said. Your shoulders became less tense at his relaxed attitude. Something about him made you feel very at ease. “He sent me out here to get you.”

You nodded slowly, trying to breathe normally. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was just lost in thought.”

“Oh, yeah?” He quirked a brow, a slight smirk on his lips. “Youngmin said that you were probably stressing out over whether or not you should come in.”

Your jaw dropped again. “He ratted me out,” you breathed out, disbelief lacing your tone.

“Guess he knows you pretty well.”

You crossed your arms. “Yup. That’s what years of friendship gets you. Stone-cold betrayal.”

He masked a snort with a cough. “You know what,” he said. “You’re actually pretty funny.”

Your ears perked up. “Really?”

Hmm... Maybe Step 1 was a success after all.

The steps after that were rather successful, too.

During Step 2: Exchange Numbers, you’d lost track of time and accidentally called him around two in the morning, only realizing your mistake after he’d picked up with a voice deep and raspy from broken sleep.

“Hey!” you had said, voice chipper and upbeat. “I just wanted to check in on you.”

He had just chuckled on the other line. “At 2 AM?”

Your eyes immediately snapped to your clock. “Oh my gosh,” you gasped. “I didn’t even realize it was that late. I’ll hang up now, I’m so sorry.”

He caught you before you left. “It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Wanna talk for a while?”

During Step 3: Find Common Interests, you’d mentioned your love for stargazing while the six of you sat in the practice room and ate lunch. Without any real effort, Woojin had invited himself along on one of your excursions.

That was probably the most at peace you’d felt in a long time, despite your heart beating a little faster every time your elbows brushed as you laid in the grass together, side-by-side, looking up at the vast expanse of sky.

“Stargazing was a good idea,” he’d breathed out into the cold night air, creating a puff of contrast in front of his face. “I’m glad you dragged me along.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t drag you anywhere,” you laughed, elbowing him in the side. “You came of your own accord, I didn’t even invite you.”

“You saying you don’t want me here?” he asked, rubbing his side and giving you a knowing smile.

You crinkled your nose at him. “I didn’t say that.”

Now, Step 4: Share An Intimate Moment... That one came as a surprise to you. You didn’t expect to be hanging out with everyone, having a perfectly wonderful time, and then suddenly feel so overwhelmed.

You didn’t expect to excuse yourself to the bathroom when you felt tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t expect your mind to get flooded with so many thoughts about how stressed you were and how much you weren’t pleased with yourself. You didn’t expect it.

Not all of a sudden.

Though, you also didn’t expect Woojin to follow close behind you. You didn’t expect him to knock on the door with three gentle taps of his knuckles and ask, “Are you okay in there?” just louder than a whisper.

You didn’t expect to open the door for him and bury your face in his chest as he stroked your hair. You didn’t expect him to close the door again so you could cry in peace without anyone prying.

You didn’t expect the two of you to slide down the door, end up in a messy pile on the floor and lean against each other while he whispered small words of encouragement and comfort.

You didn’t expect to start falling asleep on his shoulder when he started humming softly. You didn’t expect him to say, “You’re pretty endearing when you’re half-asleep”. You didn’t expect him not to ask about what was bothering you. He just sat there, listening to you cry and rubbing your back in long, gentle strokes.

You were grateful for that. You didn’t even fully understand why you were crying.

It was unexpected... But it was wonderful. You thought you were going to be the one comforting him, but in the end, you were the one that needed it. Needed him. But that just proved something to you.

It proved that he was worth the ten steps you would have to take to reach his heart. It proved to you that he would be there for you in the tough times, and that he was totally worth you being there for him.

It proved to you that when you completed Step 5: Do Something He Likes Doing, he genuinely meant it when he said, “I wanna hear you sing” when he dragged you out to karaoke with some of his friends from highschool.

It proved to you that when you went through Step 6: Compliment Him, he had a truly soft heart. Even more so than Youngmin had said!

“You dance really well,” you had told him one day after watching one of AB6IX’s performances.

He froze a little, the compliment catching him off guard. “Well... Thanks,” he said.

You eyes widened and a smile spread across your face. “Are you blushing?” you giggled.

He scoffed and turned away from you. “Absolutely not.”

“You totally are!”

“Not!”

Youngmin walked by, smacking his shoulder playfully. “Are,” he said, flashing you a supportive wink.

You gained a proud look on your face. “See? Your leader’s on my side! You can’t deny me!”

Woojin rolled his eyes playfully. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say.”

“It is whatever I say!” you determined. “And I say, I like the way you dance.”

He suddenly turned around, causing you to bump into his chest. “And I like your hugs,” he said. He waited expectantly. “So are you gonna give me one?”

It proved to you that when you went through Step 7: Hang Out At Your Place, you didn’t need to feel awkward or worried at all. He made you feel nervous, but nervous in the best way. The nervousness of heart-eyes and butterflies.

So, in a way, that nervousness gave you peace. That nervousness was your place of balance and tranquility. You could always come to Park Woojin and know you would feel the same way, no matter how much time passed.

Warm. Always so incredibly warm.

It made you impatient for Step 10, but you knew that it was a selfish and foolish wish. If you could speed up time (like you wished for sometimes), you would miss precious moments that you spent with him.

You would miss watching a movie with him at sunset, a fluffy blanket draped over your laps, though you sat a good distance away from each other.

You would miss hogging said fluffy blanket just a little too much and him threatening, “If you steal the blanket one more time, I’m putting my cold-ass feet on your bare thigh.”

You would miss the fun events of Step 8: Tease Him that ended with you both running around an old playground at midnight, trying to throw melting ice cream at each other.

You would miss Step 9: Have a Sleepover At the Dorms, which resulted in you having the best night of your life. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed so much since you were born. You had seen Youngmin constantly put the placement of games in such a way that you would be sitting next to Woojin.

He really was the best wing-man.

The best part of that evening hadn’t been the loudest or funniest, though... It had been when everyone had fallen asleep on you and you were left to do the dishes after a super unhealthy (but very delicious) meal.

Well... Mostly everybody.

“Let’s do the dishes together.”

Of course, it was Park Woojin.

Finally, after all the waiting... It was time for Step 10: Hook, Line and Sinker.

You didn’t think you would be so nervous.

“Crap...” you mumbled to yourself. “Why am I so sweaty all of a sudden?” You eyes widened. “Did I forget to put on deodorant? Holy crap—”

You felt a comforting touch on your shoulder. “Calm down!” Youngmin said. He turned your head, making you look at him. “You’re gonna be okay, all right?”

“Am I, though?” You gestured to your knees. “I’m trembling, Minnie!”

He clicked his tongue and put his hands on his hips. “Repeat after me,” he said. You nodded. He was weird, but he was usually right. “I am a strong, fantastic, charming young woman,” he spoke, confidence in his tone.

“Are you now?” you snorted.

He snapped his fingers in your face. “Take it seriously!”

“Fine!” You rolled your eyes. “I am a strong, fantastic, charming young woman,” you echoed dryly.

“I could have any man I want,” he continued. You repeated him. “But I don’t want just any man.”

You took a deep breath. “But I don’t want just any man.”

“I only want one,” he said.

You felt yourself winding down. “I only want one.”

“I want Woojin.”

You copied him, “I want Woojin.”

He flashed you a toothy grin. “Nice one! Now—what are you?”

“A strong, fantastic, charming young woman,” you said with a grin, “and I could have any man I want.”

“But do you want just any man?”

You shook you head. “No, I don’t.”

“Then who do you want?”

You didn’t hesitate at all. “Woojin. I want Park Woojin.”

A slow clap sounded from the other side of the room, shocking both of you.

“That was quite the show.” You both recognized the voice immediately.

Youngmin gave you a quick tap on the shoulder, a silent ‘good luck’. “I’m gonna go,” he whispered before breezing past you and out of the door of the previously empty practice room.

You slowly turned around—albeit a little awkwardly—to face Woojin. “How much of that did you...” you were struggling with words at the moment.

“Hear?” he finished for you, a playful grin on his face, showcasing his snaggle tooth. “Pretty much all of it.”

You hid your face in your hands, “Oh my gosh,” you groaned. You peeked through the spaces in between your fingers. “And what do you think?” you asked shyly.

A short pause just for him to walk closer and grab your hands, pulling them away from your face. Once again, his cheeks were painted the slightest shade of pink.

“I think that I love you,” he said softly. “I think that you are love.”

Hey, Anon! I hope you enjoyed fluffy Woojin. I had a little trouble with the pacing when I started writing it, but I think it came out all right. ^-^ Though, that’s really your decision, isn’t it?

I hope you enjoyed it a lot! Feel free to stop by again.

#ab6ix #ab6ix woojin #park woojin #for anon #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop angst #fluffy #fluff #ab6ix youngmin #lim youngmin #best friend

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spirit-shroud · 6 years ago

Note

thoughts on Kris Fashion?

oh boy, do i have some THOUGHTS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT JUST BE ULTIMATELY PROJECTION and i wish i could draw humans a lil better to better articulate my ideas here

- i like to think their idea of ‘every day outfit’ is like. a few layers of undershirt with a big sloshy sweater. as shapeless and gigantic as physically possible. is there a person under that sweater? good luck guessing !!! giant sweaters really are like. unconditionally the best like.. place to hide... warm n cozy... sometimes they have pockets or cute patterns knitted into them... sweater paws to slap your foes to death with... like, damn... that’s really the Whole Package, isn’t it? and it doesn’t even have to match anything!! who says you can’t wear khakis w a gigantic purple monstrosity of a sweater? nobody logical thats for sure. maybe jeans. maybe shorts. canvas shoes. it’s called a Look™

- following that little thread above i do not think it’d be possible for kris dr to voluntarily dress up. look nice-ish, maybe, presentable at best, but for anything beyond “this white shirt only spent two days on the floor and i have an ill-fitting vest with an ugly pattern on it what do you mean that’s not ‘fancy’” they’d probably have to be held at gunpoint. or like, goatmom glare point. same thing really. and even putting the least amount of effort in, they’d be running for pajamas as soon as physically possible

- oh also any pajamas with the ugliest fabric imaginable. and somft. somft and increasingly ugly. idk if that counts as ‘fashion’ but it’s like. adjacent.

- “this shirt gives me a headache to look at so i’m going to buy it and inflict it on my friends”

- also ykno those like. rubber bracelet things that usually have weird sayings on them? like these fuckers that i found on a loosely sketchy shop website

yeah they probably have like. a million of them just laying around. maybe inherited?? maybe they started hoarding them at some point. have you ever noticed once you have one rubber bracelet you end up gathering, like, ninety more of them in the space of a few days? what’s up with that?

- i feel like they wouldn’t be a big fan of rings or really most accessories? but stuff like bracelets/necklaces are fine. as long as they don’t need to really pay attention that it’s on them

- ..........graphic t-shirts. probably of video games. you cannot convince me that their darkworld knight gear isnt like... loosely similar to the drifter. they have played at least two(2) video games and this is the hill im dying on

- maybe if they get older and don’t feel the need to blend into the background/hide so much (result of possession? idk) they might try a little harder and put together smth more coherent than ‘comfortable cryptid’ but for now that’s what they like n that’s what counts

i have some like.. specific outfits i think they’d wear but getting refs together/people drawing is not something i’m good at yet jkdfhgfdg

but YEAH you could say i have some. thoughts

thank u for the ask i love u

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caskit2 · 6 years ago

Text

Gorillaz Analysis

Caskit’s not ready to throw all their cards on the table but the time has come!!!

Okay then, I had to think long and hard about what I wanted to talk about here with Gorillaz cause DAMN!!

I love gorillaz,

I love the characters

damon is a gift that we just dont deserve

But how did I end up in the fandom pool?

Well for one, I have heard of gorillaz music back in middleschool but at the time I was busy with Invader Zim and Inuyasha as well as jumping into this band wagon as well (Full metal Alchemist)

so by the time I turned to look at Gorillaz was when phase 3 was JUST wrapping up and making way for phase 4. which means I jumped into a fandom that had characters that I knew NOTHING ABOUT. Do you know what that means?

It means I also had no understanding or knowledge of why people shipped “this or that” in the fandom, but I gained some intel on the characters and the growing plot of the story, but other than that, I didnt understand why I was drawn to a particular “ship” in the fandom.

*actual expression made, im not joking*

Once upon a time, caskit discovered 2doc and was not surprised that this was a ship. I have seen similar stuff that has a common theme that i was drawn to at the time. I was more interested in why fans ship them so I dived in head first into the boiling lava and came to a conclusion.,.....

I dont see them as able (capable?) of ever ending up in the way that most 2doc shippers would pick. The two are chaotic on levels of different tiers of “weird and gross” and I dont really have a reason as to why i was drawn to the ship, but It made me want to analyse what exactly a stable relationship is!

I basically walked around in that area of the fandom and didnt really form any “attachment” to it. I never really experienced a “healthy relationship”, lived in childhood and teen years were I went through life avoiding relationships. So I didnt have a good start, but I knew eventually that I would have to explain myself.

I feel bad that I wouldnt be able to give a solid answer to what makes me want to sit down and analyse any scenario that has “present abuse undertones” but I know that in the past and how I grew up with what I was exposed to...That I would come to realize how unhealthy it is just for me.

This post isnt particularly about 2doc itself, but its more about discussing how I handled MY reaction to something that I have seen over and over. In a way, I could see those abusive tones that were present.

Basically Caskit never experienced good healthy relationships and decided that it was a good idea to use gorillaz as a processing strategy....not a good idea in the end cause...OOOHHHHHHH

It confused me more than before!!!

I got friends that tag their stuff, and I dont really get so bothered with peoples own opinions, cause I was more worried about how I would come to understand everything.

When I think about how fans are dividing and putting up a wall to keep “haters outa my yard” it usually has to deal with shipping stuff, and character hating. And I guess I was confused about everyone’s perception of the characters.

Talking about the characters, I dont have a “least favorite to most” cause I have specific connections to them in different ways.

I can find similarities to noodle for the expectations she had in a band at age 10 and growing up (plus we are both gays that dont like to publicly talk about relationships)

I connect with Russel cause I lost a piece of myself after a paranormal encounter and 3 near death experiences and suffer hallucinations. His protective demeanor to little noodle clicked with me. I see him as the Heart and soul, dedicated and warm friendly guy. ( you mean a decent human being right?)

I relate to 2d in a way that I share his enthusiasm, and mad bravery to live with the same guy who ran him over and caused 2 accidents that are permanent.

I relate to murdoc in a weird way... His childhood hits too close to home for me, as a CSA survivor of 2 incidents, pain addict and victim of abuse, draws similarities. But there were things that he has done that match things to my past like the abusive father, and dwelling on the darker aspect of a bittersweet reality. I was expressing physical violence to “show affection” and was never called out for it. I was not just a victim, I was also the abuser and since it was something that murdoc is faced with, is why I hated him. He is (for me) the thing I hate about myself.

When I saw more and more fans hating on murdoc I wondered if people would ever think I was the same as him. Fans didnt like the way he treated 2d and the rest of the band, And I agreed. Fans hated him for lying and causing drama and I agreed.

His ignorance was a comedy slapstick (dressing in a nazi uniform cause he thought it “looked cool” despite russel telling him that its not a good idea) and was seen as the “crazy hooligan that has delusional dreams of fame” and it bothered me that jamie used this to cover up allot of obvious issues that needed to be addressed. and the way that the fandom treated him made me think about how I would be accused of being like him.

(thank goodness I didnt cause a car accident and have to sell my soul to satan for a shot at fame with a kickass band and didnt make uncomfortable sexual jokes or ignore others that tried to help me.)

I can separate what justifies the hate on murdoc when it comes to abuse and causing shit to go down. becuase I did those things in the past, but it didnt take me more than a decade or more to realize that what I did was wrong! I didnt take forever to change for the better. so Im frustrated at him for taking so long to turn around and go “holly fuck im a bastard! I should probably fix that”

Yeah NyOO ShiTT HunnayYY!!

I dont hate him for being an idiot, I hate that he symbolizes all things wrong about me that never got closure!

him admitting to being the cause of 2d’s social anxiety and eye damage as well as the abuse is easier said than done! but the fact that he is letting everything out of the “in-denial basket” is nice for me to see, cause right now Healing and progression in closure to issues of trauma is what is important to me.

The endgame for my perspective on 2d and murdocs relationship is this:

I dont want to ship them

I dont even see it as a thing regardless of character development and both guys working through their own shit themselves.

I am not the best person to explain what a toxic or abusive relationship can be.

Why? becuase I lived through it and I was both the victim and abuser to myself and grew up without a good relationship (and I have a fear of positive affection) so I dont enjoy going through the same pattern as before where i shipped abuse in the past as a “dumb 13 year old weeboo”

I dont view their relationship as romantic, or platonic, or healthy.

I just want the boys to enjoy their own character growth individually.

I would like to eventually see a friendship with them But I’ll be more excited if instead the whole band eventually gain a healthy relationship with everyone.

Year 2018 marks the year I jumped in head first into gorillaz as a blind fruit bat

(I call it the year caskit played with fire) for cosplaying ‘murdoc fuckn wrinkles’ at a convention around the time the fandom was yelling at him and jamming to 2d’s album.

Caskit jumped into the shipping lava all for Behavioral analyzing and hopped over fences to see other fans perspectives of characters they liked and hated just to make sure Caskit could understand the illuminati that is Gorillaz.

I made friends all over the fandom, and thanks to a few people, I gained more confidence to push my art skills and create some kickass art of Gorillaz.

And yeah I yap yap about murdoc ( looks over @russelhusselhobbs im sorry you put up with my bullshit) but remember peeps.

I like hearing about the others and have gotten more into 2d’s character as well as Jumping over the fence to go hang out with russel fans and listen to fangirling from friends and just trying to be a freakn fairy godmother and deliver some good representing art.

And for those who aren’t aware, my past artwork is probably gonna float around so if its signed as Caskit or Caskit19 then its mine and if you see my old 2doc stuff.....,

for the trigger.

But YEAHHHHHH!!! I wanted to throw all this on the table. and I dont know how to feel about that...(I swear my friend jokes with “need some feel good inc for Caskit” ) Kinda contemplating my choice between sticking my head into a hornets nest or jumping into a dark water trench.... the hornets nest sounds less likely to give me a seizure induced panic attack so ill go for that. ( I have a tolerance for inflicted pain so no you cant hurt me by using violence cause I dont have any consideration for myself and my safety)

But yeah now I can get back to drawing fun stuff. (hopefuly caskit wont have to bore you guys with stupid shit ever again! xD)

#murdoc niccals #gorillaz #russel gorillaz #2d gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #past 2doc #Caskit is into friendships and healthy relationships #Frosted respect flakes are delicious

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bubmyg · 6 years ago

Note

hii!! i love ur blog sm lmao x could u give us all a lil 💞💝💗💓💕 moment and list reason why u love yoongi cos im ready to 💕💞💗💝💓💖 lmao

:-( okay strap in

his passion :-( not just for music but for uh everything, he works so hard and has worked so hard to get to where he is and i think without the unadulterated passion he has for any and everything he sets his mind to he wouldn’t be the person he is ya know

his strength? i guess is the word?? like i can’t imagine some of the hardships he’s struggled through and may continue to struggle with yet he’s still here doing his best without any sort of like idk resentment he’s just himself without having to put on an act and is unashamed in saying so which you don’t always get from someone in the public eye but yoongi is always so sure to remind everyone it’s okay to not be okay and is adamant in creating an environment where everyone thinks like that :-(((

he’s just like one of the most caring and sweet people ever and not in conventional ways like whether it be for his members or his family or fans or just people in general he’s so genuine in wanting to help and make people feel better with something as simple as making sure everyone has ate or something as complex as his lyrics like the boy uses his birthday to either hand write notes to fans or anonymously donate meat to children’s shelters like :-((((((((((((((((((((

boy also said he probably wouldn’t get tattoos bc it would prevent him from doing charity work in the future and was quick to answer that journalist who was like “you’re very interested in charity work then?” with basically a “of course i am”

he’s also so humble lmao like you look at his lyrics in idk mic drop or agust d or give it to me and yet he can’t look someone in the eye when they compliment him and he’s always so quick to acknowledge that they’ve worked hard or we as fans have worked hard like it would be easy for any of them at their level of success to get cocky and yoongi is just....the farthest thing from it like i know we joke about him predicting their accomplishments but i truly think he says these things like jokingly like “oh, we’re not here for the accomplishments we really are just here to make the best music possible that we enjoy and that fits our sound and that can give comfort to others but if we made it to the grammy’s then...” and those things stiLL HAPPEN even without intent :-(

idk how any of u find him intimidating/cold/emotionless tbh he’s so shy and sweet and soft and has a huge heart like he SCREAMED bc the maknae line said he sent them sentimental texts and he was embarrassed about it like ajfkdsjafld :-(

his big unabashed gummy smile :-(

or in photo shoots when he kinda kinda smiles and it’s all tentative and sweet

when he actually laughs and it’s so loud and cute and boyish :-(

when his big chocolate colored eyes look catlike but even more when they look round and innocent and attentive and s w e e t :-(

squishy cheeks :-(

pouty lips :-(

talking and using those pouty lips :-(

his voice is so soothing and calm and the infliction in his voice like how he draws things out and hums in between words and just carefully considers everything he says like i love listening to him talk bc he’s so intelligent and insightful and thinks about things in such a beautiful way

going off of how he thinks abt things i love how he’s always very critical of those dumb ideal type questions like writing ridiculous numbers for height and weight and circling all the options given to him for certain things or saying that he cares abt personality and who he vibes with and just really cares that they like music like idk it seems like the “ideal type” is such a big thing in kpop and yet he’s very indifferent to it and almost makes it comical (bc it is lmao)

the two freckles u know the ones :-(

he dances w so much passion like yeah he’s not technical like jimin or a literal noodle like hobi but he makes the choreo his own and he just has such a way of moving his body that is just cool as hell

tummy :-(

those same three dances he does when he gets excited :-(

those loud squeaks he does when he gets excited :-(

nose scrunch :-(

when he touches the back of his neck when he gets shy :-(

STAGE PRESENCE

going back to earlier a little bit but just how he’s constantly growing like he’s repeatedly talked about his anxiety and fear of crowds yet he’s still here still doing it even as things continually get bigger bc he says he always remembers he’s here for a larger purpose or how he said he’s not a very good singer yet he’s now singing or how he always says he’s a bad dancer but now he has his own choreo or how in burn the stage he said he was really only confident in his rap yet his entire like on stage persona just radiATES!!!!! or how he’s consistently been known as the “savage, cold” one yet he’s embracing being all soft and sensitive lately :-(

“There’s nothing wrong, everyone is equal.”

"I really want to say that everyone in the world is lonely and everyone is sad, and if we know that everyone is suffering and lonely, I hope we can create an environment where we can ask for help, and say things are hard when they're hard, and say that we miss someone when we miss them."

#im sure im missing tons of other things but #i just #love him #so much #sososos much #Anonymous

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izaswritings · 6 years ago

Text

Title: Labyrinths of the Heart

Synopsis: Plagued by cryptic dreams, Rapunzel leaves to find the origins of the black rocks and face her destiny— only this time, she takes Varian with her.

Notes: A special mention to @soofireanon and @sakura-petal91 — thank you so much for your support and your absolutely stunning art for this fic!!! Soofireanon drew some downright marvelous pieces, including the fight scene, Varian being sassy and evil-ish, Rapunzel and Eugene being Cool Adults, and Varian hugging Rudiger!! (Plus, a FANTASTIC sketch of Varian’s design/appearance in this fic, if you all don’t mind some spoilers on how he will eventually look!!) Sakura-petal91 also drew an amazing furious Varian!! Just, so many beautiful pieces!! Thank you both so much!! And to all my other reviewers, viewers, kudos-ers, and just, all my readers— thank you so much for all your support and love for this story. It means the world to me.

Warnings for some cursing (not as strong as the last chapter, but still present), some violence (a bit more intense than canon, but not gory), and conscious infliction of pain (very mild, and very brief, but I thought I’d mention that.) As always, if there is something you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!

AO3 version is here.

Chapter I is here.

Chapter II is here.

Next chapter is here!

Chapter III: The Sword

Rapunzel is standing at a crossroads.

The world is lost in the same gray fog as before, with only the dark silhouettes of looming trees to serve as a locator. It is the pale brightness of early morning, the world dimmed but still visible, everything awash in otherworldly blue. Beneath her feet the road is the same cold dark stone, turned polar white where her bare toes touch—only this time, the path does not stretch forward, but out.

Split evenly down the middle, the road trails in two opposing directions. To her left, the path stretches on into the gloom, winding like a snake to an unknown destination. The path to her right is its mirror down to every twist and turn, its equal and its reflection, every bit as sinister and foreboding as its counterpart.

She stands tall on the path, feet braced and shoulders back, her face lifted to the obscured sky in a silent challenge. She stares out into the unknown with all the regal bearing of a queen. The path of black stone, the fog, and those awful icy colors—they have led her here, led her to a choice. Before her the fog, turned soft and blue in the morning glow, ripples like the surface of a lake. When she raises her hand to it, wondering if perhaps there is another path she simply cannot see, it presses against her palm as strong and as solid as a brick wall.

Rapunzel stands on a crossroads, still and silent, unsure of where to go or what path to trust.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?”

For some reason she is not surprised to hear him, to know that he is there. For some reason it makes perfect sense, that he would stand at this crossroads with her. She pulls away from the unyielding wall of fog and turns to look behind her.

“Varian.”

Varian looks up at her. He is sitting cross-legged on the dark path, the black of his shackles near-indistinguishable from the black of the stone. He is fiddling with a section of her hair, pulling out the tangles in the long golden strands, draping them over his knee to braid.

She turns to him, faces him, settles down before him. Face-to-face, mirrors of each other—equals like the paths that stretch on behind her.

Varian watches her sit with a blank expression, then hums and turns his eyes back to the braid. His fingers are bare, long and thin like a musician’s, uncharacteristically careful as he combs his nails through the strands. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Rapunzel looks down at the path. Her fingers brush the stone, and blue flares like a flower, wisping out like one of her watercolor paints. They both stop, pausing for only a moment to watch the colors fade, and then she says, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Varian smiles. His expression is unreadable, unknown to her, as mysterious as the path she follows. “Of course you did.”

She looks up at him, watches his face. “I’m getting close, aren’t I? To the end.”

“Close,” Varian echoes. His eyes trail away from her, drop back to the braid. He looks at it for a long moment and makes another knot into the chain. “You could say that.”

She frowns, and looks behind her, back to the crossroads, the split path. “Not the end, then,” she guesses. Her eyes glance back, search his impassive face. “A choice?”

His shoulders lift in a shrug, his chains clinking at the movement. “Both. Neither. Or maybe it’s me who has to make a choice. Maybe we’re all making choices.” His head rises, and he gives her another smile, soft and full of old bitterness. “Did you really think finding answers would be easy, Rapunzel? As easy as asking a question…” He reaches out, taps his fingers against the black rocks. “…Or merely following a path?”

She has nothing to say in reply to this, just watches him braid her hair. Her thoughts twist and tangle like a hurricane in her head. “Varian,” she says finally. “Which way should I go?”

He laughs at that. “How should I know?”

“Both are wrong,” Rapunzel admits, her voice soft and breaking, torn with indecision. “They aren’t… they aren’t right. I don’t know which way to go.”

Varian shakes his head. “Why are you asking me?” he tells her, and lifts one hand to point out into the gloom. The shackles on his skinny wrist dangle like a noose. “No matter which way you go, it’ll always be your choice.”

“It has to be me,” Rapunzel echoes softly, and Varian smiles one final time, soft and genuine and sad.

“Ah,” he says. “Now you’re getting it.”

Cassandra wakes up to a dark world.

At first, she isn’t sure what, exactly, has roused her—she is usually the first one up in their camp, no matter what watch she takes, but it is rare that she wakes this early. The sky is still dark, not a hint of sunrise to be seen, and the air is blessedly cool against her sunburned skin, a thin fog drifting through the shadowed silhouettes of the trees. It’s chilly and dewy, the sort of cold wet only very early morning can create, and Cassandra pulls her up her blankets, frowning out at the fog.

A sharp hoot breaks through the silence, and Cassandra turns, lifting one hand in an automatic motion. With a soft beat of his wings, Owl flutters down to her, talons digging into Cassandra’s bare arm. He croons at her, chittering softly, tapping his long talons against her skin in a specific rhythm.

Cassandra grimaces, displeased by the news, and breathes in deeply through her nose. After a moment, she lifts one hand and trails her finger down Owl’s head, a careful show of affection. “You sure?”

Owl croons again, then jumps off her arm into the sky, vanishing back into the shadow of the trees. Cassandra watches him go, and sighs, one hand rising to rub at her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“All good?”

His voice low and careful, but it still startles her. She tilts her head to the side, squinting through the darkness to see the shadowed form of Eugene, sitting up by the ashes of their fire. She cannot see him all that well, not at this time of day, but she can make out the faint outline of his shoulders against the tree trunk, a flickering motion that might be the wave of his hand.

That’s right, Cassandra remembers suddenly. It is his turn for watch.

“There’s a storm coming,” she replies, voice just as soft. There’s no need to wake up Rapunzel, after all. She squints into the darkness, trying to get a read on him. “And a town, nearby.”

She thinks Eugene might be smiling, but it is hard to tell. Typical of him. It is usually Eugene and Rapunzel who head to the towns, a makeshift date of sorts for the two of them; he would like the sound of another one. “Soon?”

Cassandra considers this. “The storm? Maybe tomorrow night. Within the next two days, certainly.” She frowns at the reminder, scowling into the dark. “The town… today.”

He sounds excited. He won’t be, when she tells him the rest. “We’re close?”

She sighs into the dark, looking to where Varian should be, now only a shadowed lump in this morning gloom. “…No. And yes. The rocks go straight through the city.”

There’s a long silence, and then Eugene whistles lowly. She can’t be sure, but she thinks he’s looking the same way as her. “…Damn.”

She sighs again, unsure if she is tired or simply annoyed. “We’ll deal with it.”

There’s the sound of a grimace in his voice, grudging and reluctant. “Yeah.” Eugene’s sigh is just as soft as hers, but longer, drawing out into a low whistle. She can’t see well in the dark, but she can almost catch the white gleam of his teeth as he grins, mood slipping back into flippancy. “Maybe I’ll give ‘im another lecture, get him off your back?”

Her anxieties fall away, her irritation returning. Cassandra rolls her eyes at a sky she cannot see and scoffs at him, glaring out in his direction at the reminder. “Oh, shove off.”

Laughter, warm as sunlight, threads through his words, his voice nearly sing-song. “You still haven’t thanked me for that, you know.”

Cassandra narrows her eyes to slits, smirking into the dark. Strangely enough, some part of her is fighting the urge to laugh. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. Which of us is actually skilled with a sword, again? Besides,” she adds, humor fading at the memory, “I was trying not to skewer him, not running from him.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Eugene says, and there is something odd in his voice, something warm and fond, something unlike the usual teasing tone she usually gets from him. “But hey, I have better luck getting a compliment from you than I do him! Don’t think he’ll thank me for that.”

“He should, I was very close.”

“I know. You had the murder-look in your eye—you know, the constipated-face one?”

She scowls out in his direction and his laughter floats soft and wispy in the air between them. Her ire breaks, and she rolls her eyes back up to the heavens. “It’s too early for your nonsense,” she decides, raising her voice just slightly over his echoing laughter. “I’m going back to sleep. Good night.”

“You know I’m right,” Eugene sings, and Cassandra grumps wordlessly at him, plopping back down on her blankets and yanking them over her shoulder. She drapes an arm over her head and rests against her pillow, and closes her eyes to the sound of his snickering echoing in her ears.

When she opens her eyes again, it feels like no time at all has passed, but the bright morning light shines incessantly on her face. Head pounding, Cassandra squints into the sudden glare, rubbing at a crick in her neck and sitting up with a yawn. Rapunzel is a still and snoring lump beneath her covers, Pascal hiding underneath her hand. Maximus blows out soft breaths beside her, ever the watchful guardian even in sleep. And Eugene—

Eugene is passed out against the tree.

Cassandra stares at him, more bemused than irritated, biting back the urge to laugh. Some guard he is, she thinks to herself. Why, if Varian had decided to—

Her breath catches, thoughts stuttering to a halt as every hair on the back of her neck rises. She feels abruptly cold in a way that has nothing to do with the morning chill.

Varian!

Her heart pounding, she flies up on her feet and whirls on her heels, searching for him amongst the trees. Damn Eugene! What was she thinking, laughing at his carelessness? Time that no one was watching, time that Varian could have used to escape, or hurt Rapunzel, or—

Cassandra stills, her frantic thoughts halting in their tracks. Varian…Varian is still here.

Cassandra draws herself up to her full height, wishing for the comfort of her sword, sharp eyes darting up and down Varian’s small frame. He is stuck in the grips of sleep, curled up in a small ball between two wide tree roots, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Rudiger by his neck. The iron shackles stand out starkly against his pale wrists. His chains are still tied to the tree, untampered and whole, exactly as she left them. He hasn’t moved even an inch.

Her breath releases in a heavy sigh, her shoulders sinking, her hands trembling by her side. Cassandra rubs at her face with one hand, palm digging into the hollow of her sore eyes. She has just woken up, but she feels suddenly very tired, drained and fatigued like she’s pulled an all-nighter, exhaustion tugging at her mind. She sits down hard on her bed-roll, relief making her knees weak.

Maybe it’s unfair to Varian, to treat him this way—maybe, but not really. Cassandra… she knows, in truth, that she is not objective; that Varian is a sore subject for her, that her own hurt feelings are clouding her judgment. But she is not wrong about this. Varian is dangerous, not just because of his short temper and biting words, but also for what he could do—and what he is willing to do. Only a boy, but he is a boy without limitations, and that is the most frightening thing of all.

There are no lengths he wouldn’t go to achieve his goal. If nothing else, his actions in Old Corona proved that much.

Admittedly, he is better now, at least compared to how he was at the start of their journey. It’s nearly been two weeks now since they left Corona, one week since that… incident, and ever since that, he’s been quiet. Still biting, still sullen, but… better. Restrained. She can almost forget he’s there, which is both a blessing and a security risk. Cassandra can never have nice things, apparently.

Of course, today’s events may put an end to his good behavior. She doesn’t trust his silence to hold in the face of a city overrun by the black rocks.

Cassandra cannot help but wish he wasn’t here. She wishes Rapunzel had just left him in that cell. She knows it’s an awful thought, but Varian is like a plague, tainting everything he touches. Their journey could have been pleasant, if not for him. Cassandra is forever aware of the threat he poses, of the hatred he holds for Rapunzel—a hatred he makes no secret of. Every spiteful comment, every baleful glare, every vaguely threatening motion… Cassandra sees it all, notes it, holds herself back from retaliating. He is constantly toeing the line. His anger, his hatred— he is so vocal in it, it exhausts her. Cassandra wants him gone. She wants to rest.

Bad enough that Varian betrayed them, tried to hurt Rapunzel, tried to kill her. Now they have to deal with him every waking hour of the day, as well?

Whatever. Cassandra knows why Rapunzel did this. She may not like it, but she understands—can even, on the nights when she is alone and untroubled, admit it is perhaps the only right thing to do, the only thing fair to Varian. It is only her heart that doesn’t understand—that sense of being betrayed, that childish anger and spite. Only this part of her that wishes so vehemently that Varian would just leave.

Cassandra shuts her eyes with a grimace, shaking her head. She is being childish, mopey, even; and Cassandra has never done mopey. Varian is here to stay, vicious personality and all, and Cassandra will just have to suck it up and deal with it.

She’s lucky, all things considered—Varian rarely talks to Cassandra unless she engages first, but he’s as cold towards Rapunzel as he always is, and Rapunzel is the one who actually wants to help him. At least Cassandra can ignore his existence without fear of being on the end of one of his outbursts. Small mercies. She’ll have to thank Eugene for that, even if she didn’t really need it and the thought of thanking Eugene for anything makes her want to gag. Still, she can stomach it.

Cassandra rolls up onto her feet and brushes the dirt off her tunic. The sky is still rather dark, but it’s lightening, turning to the paler blue of sunrise as light creeps out over the hills. The sun is rising, the horses need to be woken and fed, a fire to start and breakfast to prep—the day is fast approaching. There is no more time to waste.

Cassandra pushes her worries aside for another night, and goes to start the fire.

They reach the town by noon.

The whole way there, Cassandra keeps a sharp eye on Varian. Ever since the incident from a few days back, he has been riding on Maximus with Eugene, while Cassandra and Rapunzel ride together on Fidello. Cassandra isn’t sure whether to be irritated or pleased about it. On one hand, the ride is far more pleasant talking with Rapunzel. On the other, she despises the fact this change was necessary.

The bright side is that the new angle gives her a better look at Varian’s expression. Riding ahead of him means she only has to glance back to tell what he is thinking. She can quite literally see the moment he recognizes a town in the distance, and then the slow realization when he understands where the stone path is heading.

Cassandra watches him, but other than grit teeth and tense muscles, Varian does not react. Yet, neither does he look away—his baleful glare remains fixed on the path and those black rocks the whole time. His eyes track the stone where it breaks through the far-off guard wall, catch and linger on the sporadic spikes skewering the city ahead.

Cassandra grimaces and turns away, fixing her eyes back on the road. She’ll deal with Varian if she has to, but she’s really hoping she doesn’t have to.

The closer they get to the town, the quieter their talk becomes, until the whole group falls into a tense silence a few miles out from the gates. No one mentions buying food—for today at least, hunting would probably be the better option. None of them want to stay a minute longer in this city than they have to. They are all hyper-aware of Varian’s intense stare, of his taut shoulders and shaking hands, can almost hear the grinding of his teeth as they draw closer and closer.

About a mile out from the gate, Rapunzel draws up her cloak hood, and Eugene throws Varian a blanket, who scowls but grudgingly lets it cover his legs despite the midday heat, hiding his chains, the iron ball, and his foot cuffs from view. For a moment Cassandra thinks this, here, is where he will break—almost hopes for it, for they are at least far away enough to not be overheard—but Varian breathes in deep and holds it, and not a sound slips past his lips.

As they draw up to the city, a guard walks up to them, wielding a short sword and wearing dull iron armor inscribed with the crest of this country’s king. The stone path has cut straight through the city’s border wall, a makeshift door into the city with no locks or gates, only the guards to defend this unexpected breach in their defenses. Wickedly sharp spikes poke out from between the bricks, violent and obtrusive, likely due to previous attempts to build over the stone path. The black rocks, Cassandra knows, don’t appreciate being hidden.

She chances a glance back. Varian’s head is bowed, his blue eyes cold as they stare up through his fringe. He looks at the broken walls and overrun town like a prisoner would at a guillotine.

“Travelers,” says the guard, looking wary. As he probably should, seeing a bunch of weird, hooded people riding along an unofficial path that decimated their village. “What brings you here?”

“Adventure,” Eugene says brightly, taking the attention upon himself. His smile is wide and gleaming, and perhaps a little desperate, too. “We four here are exploring this black stone path, seeing where it goes for the sake of… science! Yes, science.”

The man looks suspicious, but his weapon is lowering. “All of you?” he repeats, eyeing their group. How odd they must appear to him, Cassandra realizes abruptly. A hooded teenager, an armed woman with a sword, a rogue-ish looking man, and… a fourteen-year-old boy looking like he’s stared death in the face. Plus a raccoon, chameleon, and an owl. No wonder he looks so skeptical.

Sure enough, the guard points one suspicious finger at Varian, who leans back as if he thinks the man might stab him, eyes snapping to the guard like a flash of brilliant blue lightning—all danger, all threat, ready to strike without warning. “This one’s an explorer? What, he your kid or something?”

Varian’s eyes go wide, reeling away as if the guard has slapped him, lips drawing back in a frightful snarl. “He’snot myd—”

Before he can finish, Eugene reaches out and claps a hand over Varian’s mouth, pinning him back against his chest to keep Varian from lunging forward. Varian freezes, looking momentarily stunned.

In the abrupt silence, Eugene laughs loudly, almost too loudly, nerves pitching his voice unnaturally high. “No, no! Good sir, I am far too young for that. No, this is… my little brother, Vari… tas.” His voice is strained. Sweat trickles down his brow.

The words must jolt Varian out of his daze, because he starts to twist in Eugene’s hold, looking furious, his protests muffled but the raw emotion in them still showing through. He almost looks like he might start biting, which would be hilarious if Varian himself didn’t appear so frightening.

The guard, reasonably, does not look convinced. Cassandra sighs and slings herself off the horse, trusting Eugene to handle Varian for now. Time to do damage control.

“We’re travelers,” she says shortly. “We’re from the Kingdom of Corona.” She rifles through one of the saddlebags and holds out a stamped piece of paper triumphantly to the guard. “I have the official documentation right here.”

The guard scans the papers, frowning slightly, but some of the threat in his stance has eased. “…It checks out,” he says finally, reluctantly. “But why you four? Wouldn’t the King of Corona send people more….” He waves his hand vaguely upward, and Rapunzel, bless her, pipes in.

“Taller?”

Eugene sucks in a little breath, a sure sign he is about to start talking again, but Cassandra cuts him off with a smile. “Corona is going through some hard times lately,” she says. “We were recently attacked by a dangerous criminal, an alchemist named Varian.” Her eyes dart back, cold and unfaltering, to the frozen form of Varian. “Isn’t that right, Varitas?”

Eugene and Varian both stare at her, before Eugene starts and warily draws back his hand, releasing Varian with extreme reluctance. Varian does not move. He stares down at Cassandra, his face pale, lips pressed into a thin line. In the midday sun he looks washed-out and near colorless, his freckles like flecks of black ink against his skin. The bags under his eyes are as dark as bruises.

Eugene glances between them, gritting his teeth slightly. The look he gives Cassandra is all irritation, eyes lidded with disappointment. He nudges Varian carefully with his elbow.

“Right,” Varian says, very quietly. His eyes burn like hot coals on her back.

Cassandra ignores him, turning back to the guard with a confident smile. Strange though their group may be, the official papers and somewhat official story will work in their favor. Cassandra has got the situation under control. “We’re recovering, of course,” she continues, as if the terse exchange hasn’t happened, “but the king didn’t want to waste any real firepower. So, here we are. Can you let us through?”

The guard scans them over, then finally relaxes with a sigh. “I suppose,” he says grudgingly. He waves his hand up to the wall. “Just be aware that if you cause any trouble, even the seal of a king can’t help you here.” His dark eyes are old, knowing. “This isn’t your kingdom.”

“We know,” Cassandra mutters back, and swings herself back up on the horse with Rapunzel, taking the reins and spurring them forward through the broken wall.

Rapunzel waits until they are out of sight, then leans in closer to Cassandra. “That was mean,” she murmurs quietly.

Cassandra glares down at the reins and snaps them sharply, Fidello putting on an extra burst of speed that takes them out of hearing range from Varian and Eugene. “So?” she demands.

“This is hard enough for him without you adding more on top of it, Cass.”

“Oh, yes, let’s worry about the feelings of a convicted felon.”

Rapunzel doesn’t reply, but her wide eyes are filled with disappointment, lips twisted down into a deep frown. Cassandra scowls at the pavement and urges Fidello into a trot.

Despite the busy hour, the streets of this new city are fairly empty—or, Cassandra suspects, the locals are simply avoiding the path of black rocks cutting through their homes. It is almost like walking through Old Corona again, seeing the far-off clusters and ruins of old houses and streets. The only difference here is that the damage is contained, constricted to only a straight line, an unfaltering path through the city. Yet, even with the differences… the resemblance is uncanny.

Varian’s voice is quiet, drawn tight and strangled, barbed with old hatred. “I wonder. Do you think their king is ignoring the rocks, too?”

Rapunzel’s arms squeeze around Cassandra’s waist, tight enough to be uncomfortable. Cassandra clenches her jaw. No one answers.

Varian’s laugh is a soft and broken thing, bitter and ugly, the sound breaking on what might be a sob. He doesn’t say anything else, and their trek through the town continues in utter silence.

The whole atmosphere of the town should be welcoming. Instead, it just feels cold. Children run and play on the side, people walking around and talking in low voices. But they are distant, straying away, their eyes catching and following the group as they pass. The homes are built of gray, lifeless stone, and to Cassandra’s eyes the city’s colored banners look bright and false, garish against the gray.

There must be some charm to it though, because Rapunzel starts to crane her neck, wide green eyes taking in every inch. Even Varian looks a little stunned, face fallen open with interest and for once looking curious rather than spiteful, his dark mood vanishing briefly as he marvels at the city.

Rapunzel, Cassandra is not surprised at. This is the norm for her. But Varian…

He looks suddenly and uncomfortably like how he used to. Like a kid, like that kid, the one Cassandra once called a friend. Something icy runs along her spine and Cassandra turns her eyes back to the road so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash, teeth grit and grinding.

Rapunzel touches her arm. “Cass?”

Cassandra takes a deep breath, fighting past the sudden pain in her chest. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, Raps.”

Rapunzel draws away, but her eyes are watchful and knowing. Cassandra pretends she doesn’t notice and busies herself with watching the roads for any threat instead. She has to force herself to look at Varian again, her discomfort not enough to sway her from her duty.

Much to Cassandra’s relief, they reach the center of the city within the half-hour, inching ever-closer to the exit. Watching Varian’s face grow darker with every destroyed house, seeing his eyes flash with rage at every ruined path or home…. Even with this darkness faded in light of his new curiosity, it is nerve-wracking, unnerving, enough to make Cassandra keep a hand on her blade at all times. She cannot wait to be rid of this place.

Unfortunately, it seems Rapunzel must have other ideas. As they enter the city market square, the dark path cutting into a far corner of the busy street, Rapunzel perks up in the saddle. Her wandering eyes must catch on a stall, because the next thing Cassandra knows Rapunzel is swinging herself right off the horse. She is on the ground and running before Cassandra can react.

“Wait just one moment, Cass!”

“Raps!”

“Aw, Blondie, c’mon—”

“Just one minute!”

Rapunzel darts down the street, dodging pedestrians with ease, apparently unaware of how their eyes track her, how they shy away from this stranger from the dark path. Cassandra isn’t. She grips the hilt of her sword to ebb her unease, and traces Rapunzel’s trail with her eyes. The only reason she doesn’t disembark to follow is because Rapunzel stays in sight.

She watches Rapunzel run up to a stall, talking excitedly, hands plucking at her purse. There’s a crowd forming, guards looking uncertain and eyes following her every movement. People are gathering, the low murmur of their voices swelling to an annoyed buzz. For a brief and terrifying moment, the market crowd surges and Cassandra loses sight of Rapunzel in the mob.

Cassandra snarls under her breath, gripping her sword hilt in a white-knuckled grip. “Damn it, Rapunzel!”

She swings herself off Fidello, marching up to Eugene and shoving the reins into his hand. “Hold this. I’m dragging our runaway royal back.”

Eugene looks exasperated. “Cass! She’s just shopping.”

“We need to leave,” Cassandra says, tone brooking no argument. “We don’t need any more unwanted attention. This journey is risky enough.”

She marches away before Eugene can respond, striding up close to Rapunzel, who is thanking the nervous-looking shopkeeper profusely. Cassandra grabs her arm, pulling her away from the stall, dragging her back towards the horses. Rapunzel stumbles a bit in surprise, one arm pinwheeling, her hood slipping off as she catches her feet. She sees Cassandra and blinks in surprise. “Cass? I said I’d only be a minute.”

“What are you doing, Raps? We need to go—” She catches sight of Rapunzel’s purchase and the sheer incredulity of it nearly drives her speechless. “—Apples? You ran off to buy apples? Of all things?”

“And cinnamon!” Rapunzel enthuses, holding a little glass vial of the spice.

“Raps.”

Rapunzel gives her a sheepish smile. “You’ll see,” she promises. “I think I’ve almost got it down by now, so I just thought…” She must see the look on Cassandra’s face because she trails off and her shoulders slump. “…You’re right. I should have waited.” She offers a weak smile. “Sorry, Cass, I just got excited. Um, let’s head back?”

Cassandra casts an uneasy glance around them, worry twining in her gut. The crowd has grown in the few minutes they’ve been talking, strange eyes watching them from all sides. These people do not know Rapunzel, do not love her like Corona does, and she doesn’t like how their eyes linger on her, gawking as if they are a show at a carnival. Women and children and guards and strange men, circling and staring.

“Let’s go,” Cassandra agrees, pulling Rapunzel back to the horses. She wonders if it’s just her imagination seeing the shadows flicker in the alleys, movement in the crowd. She keeps one hand on Rapunzel’s back and grips her sword hilt a little tighter, tilting the sheath so it is more visible. The people draw away, but the cool curiosity in their faces goes a little colder, a little more hostile, a bit more biting.

Her skin crawls, a shiver tiptoeing down her spine, phantom fingers running down her back. Cassandra urges Rapunzel forward and sweeps herself up on the horse, helping Rapunzel get on, trying not to rush but unable to help the restless urgency in her motion.

Maximus draws up beside them, shuffling nervously on his hooves. Eugene extends his arm and passes Cassandra Fidello’s reins, but he must also be unnerved, because for once he doesn’t make any smart quips. Cassandra snatches them back and settles Fidello again, and she is moments away from driving them forward when something flashes in the corner of her eye.

Her breath catches, her instincts screaming in alarm, ringing like bells in her head. Her blood freezes in her veins, every muscle going tense and tight. The world feels as if it is stuck in a thick jelly, every motion turned slow and stupid, and even the simple act of turning her head takes too long, too much time.

A hand—there is a hand, reaching out—broken and dirty fingernails, pale skin rubbed red and mottled black-and-blue—Varian, it is Varian, and he is reaching out to Rapunzel.

Time restarts, and Cassandra strikes.

She whirls in the saddle, heart in her throat, and catches Varian’s hand mid-air. Her fingers wrap fully around his skinny wrist, press against his raw and reddened skin, his bruises from the nightly chains. His fingers spasm in her grip, and Varian cries out in pain, trying desperately to yank back his arm. Cassandra doesn’t let go. She tightens the force of her hold, pressing hard against his bruises in warning. His strangled hiss of pain is ignored.

“What were you doing!” she snaps, feeling breathless, shaken to her bones. She almost hadn’t seen him in time. She almost hadn’t caught him. The near-miss terrifies and enrages her. “Varian! What were you trying to do!?”

Varian flushes, red blooming on his pale cheeks, meeting her glare with shaky defiance. Pain wars across his face, but he doesn’t move, holding himself carefully still. “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he says, voice shaking with anger but eyes wide with fear. “I wasn’t—”

His voice trails off, and Varian takes a breath, as if to calm himself. This time his voice is steady. “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he says, stronger now, growing livid. His eyes cut away from Cassandra, and he gives Rapunzel a dark look. “Your hood is down, Princess. What happened to not wanting to draw attention?”

Rapunzel’s eyes go wide, and her hands fly up to her hair. Eugene swears under his breath, and Cassandra feels her heart drop. She hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so worried about the crowd, she hadn’t even considered why they might be staring. She is so used to seeing Rapunzel with her long and shining gold hair, that she hadn’t considered that such a sight would be unnatural to anyone else.

Rapunzel yanks up her hood quickly, looking pale. Her eyes are wide and fearful. “Oh,” she says, very small. “That’s right. I’m, um… that is—” She stops, shakes her head, tries again. “Uh, thank you, Varian.”

She sounds uncertain, and for good reason. Cassandra grits her teeth and grips Varian’s wrist a little tighter, fingers pressing hard against his skin. Varian’s expression dissolves into a wince of pain, and Cassandra steels herself, refuses to feel guilty.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” she hisses at him, keeping her voice low. “Instead of reaching out—”

“Like you lot ever listen to what I say,” Varian snaps. “And I wasn’t thinking, okay? I just noticed and reacted. It’s not like I was going to—”

“I don’t believe you,” Cassandra says lowly, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t give me that. I know firsthand what you can and will do if given the chance, Varian. I’ve experienced it, remember?” She lets go of him in disgust, tossing his arm away from her. “Don’t do that again.”

Varian draws his hand back, rubbing at his wrist. The bruises stand out starkly on his skin, raw-looking and flecked with blood from where the chains have bitten his flesh. His face is flushed an angry red, and for a moment Cassandra almost thinks he is going to fight on her on this, right here on this city street—and then Varian falters.

He goes pale, his fury falling away, even his fists loosening into open palms. He looks Cassandra right in the eyes, and it is like his resentment drains out of him, shoulders rising up by his ears and eyes going wide before dropping away, sullen and quiet. He draws his arm close to his chest as if seeking comfort.

“Fine,” Varian says shortly, looking strangely small. He angles away from them, head lowered so that his hair hides his face.

Cassandra stares at him, too stunned to speak. However she thought Varian might react, this was not an option she considered. Even Rapunzel looks surprised—her horror at her dropped hood forgotten, her eyes flickering back and forth between Varian and Cassandra. Her gaze is thoughtful, distant as if looking at a memory.

Eugene’s eyebrows are arched, but unlike Cassandra and Rapunzel, he looks not just surprised but also a bit pleased. There is an odd warmth in his face as he looks down at Varian.

Eugene must take pity on Varian—who, well aware of the silence, is quickly curling up into a ball on the saddle—as he picks up the reins with a laugh and says, “Well! Shall we head off, then? I can see those walls in the distance, and if Blondie is done shopping and giving us heart attacks…”

Just like that, the frozen atmosphere shatters, and Rapunzel shakes her head with a soft and guilty laugh. Cassandra rolls her eyes and picks up Fidello’s reins, pushing back her unease and confusion. Varian has never made sense to her. She’ll think about it later.

She feels suddenly and strangely guilty for how she’s been acting towards him. As if, in a strange twist, she has become the childish one.

Maybe it is more than Varian’s quiet. Maybe, whatever Eugene said to him, all those days ago—perhaps something stuck. Maybe… Maybe Cassandra should give Varian a chance, too, the way they both have. Perhaps for once, talking is the better option.

She’ll have to wait and see. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, but— if Eugene could do it, then why not Cassandra?

Besides—she wants answers. She wants to know. Varian does not make sense to her. His reasons, his logic, how he became who he is—there is a disconnect, a gap in her knowledge. One day he was a friend and the next he was an enemy, and all she has to bridge the divide is a day in a snowstorm, a few seconds of desperation and a frantic plea for help. A plea for Rapunzel—and not Cassandra. What happened after that, she has never been privy to.

She knows now, of course, what happened—the truth delivered in fits and bursts from Rapunzel, weeks after the storm had passed, guilt in every halting word. But the truth, Cassandra is finding, is not enough for her. Varian has been betrayed before. People have lost family before. She is ill at ease with this explanation.

If she should give Varian a chance… if perhaps Cassandra too should try to listen—maybe she will finally have an answer. Maybe there is something she can find, a missing piece that will connect the puzzle and put her turmoil and guilt and childish hurt to rest.

Perhaps. But this is a problem for later, and for now she must focus. Cassandra takes a deep breath and pushes her tangled thoughts aside, steering her horse back down the path.

“Let’s go,” she says, and urges Fidello into a canter, rushing in front of Maximus with a sly grin, hearing Eugene yelp in offense behind her at the pass. She eases Fidello into a trot and notes their approach to the end of city border with some relief. The path is leading them out, and soon they’ll be free of this town and back into the forest. Soon there will be time to think again—time to come to a decision.

For the remainder of their trek through the town, Cassandra keeps her eyes open and watching. No one follows them. No one attacks them. No one stands out to her.

But the shadows make her uneasy, and the whole ride through, even when they finally leave the walled city behind, her skin crawls with phantom fear.

It is late afternoon, only a few hours out from the city, when Cassandra calls them to an early stop.

The sudden jolt of the horse nearly sends Varian toppling, head bobbing like he has a loose joint in his neck as he is rudely forced from his dozing. He has barely slept at all the past few months, and the journey has been no help. He spends more of the day half-asleep than he does awake.

“What’s going on?” he asks blearily, too tired to feel anything but sleepy and vaguely confused. He tilts dangerously on the saddle, and a warm hand presses against his shoulder and holds him in place, keeping him from falling. He leans into it almost subconsciously.

“There’s a storm coming,” Eugene says, and his voice is bright, cheery and lilting, and so unlike the low warm tenor Varian half-expects to hear. For a moment he can literally feel his heart drop as reality sinks in, when he remembers that it is not Dad here with him but strangers, enemies who he once stupidly called friends.

He shoves off Eugene’s hand like it’s burned him, his heart in his throat, his eyes burning. “What?”

“A storm,” Eugene repeats, damnably patient, and points over and above Varian’s shoulder.

Varian follows his finger, staring at the sky. At first, he doesn’t understand—just sees the bright-blue skies of late afternoon and the dark looming silhouettes of far-off trees—except when he squints towards the horizon, at the shadowed hills in the far-off way, he realizes suddenly that those hills might not be hills at all. And then he sees the strange swollen look to them, the dark gray coloring, the way they roll slowly but surely closer. The wind blows cold against his face, howling in his ears, foreshadowing the violence to come.

“Is that…?”

“The storm,” Cassandra confirms, eyes sharp on the horizon. She hefts Fidello’s reins and urges them to the side of the road, away from the rocks. “We’ll have to find the path again tomorrow. We can’t stay here—we need shelter.”

Unease stirs in Varian’s gut. “Why?” he asks, eyeing her doubtfully. “It’s just rain.”

“Summer storms are the worst of the lot, especially outside of Corona,” Eugene says cheerfully, spurring Maximus forward. The horse grumbles like a dog and tosses his neck in annoyance, leaving Varian to scramble for a hold on the iron ball. “One time, years ago, Lance and I—” He coughs into his hand at Varian’s blank stare. “Er, well, that’s a story for another time. The short of it: more rain, more lightning, thunder… and don’t get me started on the wind!”

The description is chilling. Varian casts a troubled glance at the sky.

“We’ll be fine,” Eugene tells him, softer now, as if he’s noticed Varian’s apprehension. “Just got to find better shelter.”

Varian glances behind them at the rock path, already obscured by the trees, and grudging faces forward. “We better not lose sight of the road,” he mutters under his breath.

“We’ll be fine,” Cassandra calls back, startling Varian upright. “I know how to track, and Maximus is the best guard horse ever trained.” Her side-eye is cutting, and Varian flushes with anger and embarrassment. He hadn’t realized she’d been listening.

“Guys!” Rapunzel calls out from ahead, and Cassandra turns away, freeing Varian from her stare. She unsettles him, if he is being honest. She looks at him as if she can see right through him, like he’s beneath her. She never looked at him like that before, back when they were all still pretending to be friends.

His insides twist like there is a knife in his chest, and someone is digging it deeper, wrenching the blade. He scrapes his nails down the iron ball to keep from clenching his fists and bites down hard on his lip. It doesn’t help.

Ahead, Rapunzel has dismounted, arms outspread to present her find—the side of a great hill, a deep dark niche leading inwards. The top of it slopes like a ramp, the sides jagged and torn as if the small niche had been haphazardly carved in the hill with an unskilled and sloppy hand.

“Caves!” Rapunzel enthuses, voice bright with delight. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think,” Varian says blandly, before the others can reply, “that we’re all going to be eaten by bears.”

“We can hold them off!”

Varian gives her a close-lipped smile. “Do you make a habit of displacing people from their homes for your own comfort, Princess?”

Rapunzel’s sunny smile flickers and falters, and Varian has one brief second of satisfaction before a hand hooks in his shirt collar and pulls him forward and off the horse—Eugene, again, damn him. Ever since he pulled Varian around like disobedient kitten five days ago he’s been doing it with increasing regularity.

Varian twists in his hold and claws at his fingers, accidentally letting go of the iron sphere, and just narrowly missing crushing his toes. The close call makes him yelp, and he scrambles at Eugene’s arm to drag himself up, dangling midair like a bedraggled cat. Someone—he isn’t sure who—snickers.

He drops back to the ground with red cheeks and hot shame curling his gut. “Let go of me,” he hisses at Eugene. He glares at all of them, Rapunzel especially, who is hiding a smile behind her hand, the sting of Varian’s words forgotten.

At this point, Varian is starting to think Eugene is doing this on purpose.

He snatches his bag from Maximus’s saddle and marches into the cave, refusing to look at them. The iron ball drags like a leaden weight behind him, tugging painfully at his ankle.

The caves are, thankfully, blessedly clear of any wildlife. Varian suspects it may be the proximity to the black stone path—animals tend to shy away from the rocks once they appear, with exception to Rudiger, who got used to them after enough time with Varian. Every other animal Varian’s seen, however, has avoided those unbreakable spires like the plague. It makes him wonder if there is something they can sense about it that humans cannot, or if perhaps the animals are more aware than most of the sheer unnatural structure of the rocks.

Regardless, their small group is free to settle down and rest without fear of imminent bear attack. As Cassandra and Eugene gather branches and get a low fire started, and Rapunzel leads the horses inside, Varian settles down against the wall of their low shelter, shifting to get more comfortable against the unforgiving stone. He watches the sky from inside their cave, tracking the movement of the oncoming tempest, seeing the light and roiling storm clouds stain the sky a brilliant pink and orange-gold.

Eventually the color becomes so vivid it reminds him uncomfortably of the amber. Varian turns away, searching for a new distraction. A thump of a tail catches his attention. Rudiger is snoozing at his side, eyes half-lidded and little nose twitching, paws scrambling for imaginary food. His tail smacks into Varian’s leg again.

A smile pulls at the corner of Varian’s mouth, tired and small but genuine. He digs through his pockets until he finds a leftover nut from the day’s lunch, then sets it carefully down in front of Rudiger.

He watches intently, waiting for his raccoon to notice the treat. Sure enough, Rudiger’s nose starts trembling, paws reaching out for the nut. Varian bites back another smile and carefully moves the nut away. Rudiger’s eyes snap open. He looks at Varian.

This time Varian does smile, practically a grin, and gently tosses the nut away from him, near the wall. Rudiger scrambles to his feet and ambles forward in a scurry, rolling forward and batting the nut back, looking delighted.

Varian taps it with his foot, sending it spinning, and Rudiger tumbles after the nut like an oversized kitten. His paws slip on the cave floor and he flips head-over-heels after the treat, and Varian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Rudigertapsthe nut back to Varian, and they play catch that way for a while, tossing the seed back and forth until the sky outside is more red than orange and the awful gnawing pain in his heart eases away to something more manageable. When Rudiger finally tires of the game, Varian breaks open the shell against the wall and sets the halves down so that Rudiger can eat the meat of the seed. He leans against the wall as he watches, smiling without realizing it, feeling calm and sleepy and blissfully alone.

As if on cue, the heavy thump of footsteps echoes in his ears, heading towards him. Varian casts a glance to the side, good mood faltering and then taking a nosedive once he sees it’s Cassandra.

Varian watches her approach with suspicious eyes and a sinking heart. Can’t they all just leave him alone? Bad enough they are here at all; so why does it feel like they are trying to crush whatever bit of peace and happiness he manages to find in this whole ordeal?

Still, however nasty his thoughts, Varian holds his tongue. Cassandra… she confuses him. Ever since Eugene dragged him off and tore Varian down word by word, he hasn’t been sure of what to make of her.

Varian knows how the Princess and her group see him. He knows they look at him and see the bad guy, and that’s fine, because Varian knows the truth. He is right, and this is justice, and if they can’t see that than it is no fault of his.

Eugene had vehemently disagreed with this notion. And as much as Varian would like to ignore him, to brush off his words…

He can’t forget it, is the thing. He can’t ignore it. “She’s done nothing to you,” and Varian thinks—no, that can’t be true, but he can’t… he can’t remember why, exactly, he was so angry at Cassandra. He can’t remember why it was so easy to hold her in the hands of his automaton and crush her slowly, why he felt nothing but satisfaction and a tired sort of victory. And he can’t remember why he was so convinced she’d betrayed him too, when he can’t recall talking with her, can’t recall her denying him the way Rapunzel did.

Her only crime, then, was not caring enough. And where once this would have been enough for him to justify his actions, now he is not so sure.

All those things he did, Varian did them because he was certain. He has never doubted himself. But for the first time… the doubts are there, and they are swarming. They whisper in his ears and crawl beneath his skin. They are “She has done nothing to you,” and “Why do you hate us,” and “Not everyone is like you.” These doubts, they remind him that no, his food in the prison wasn’t tampered with after all, and that no, he never gave Cassandra a chance to deny him, and no, Eugene never broke a promise.

And this terrifies Varian, these doubts, this uncertainty. Varian cannot afford doubt, cannot afford to hesitate or falter or second-guess himself. He can’t waver, he can’t be anything less than absolutely certain, because anything less is an obstacle, a hindrance in his task to free his dad.

If Varian falters, his father dies, because who else is willing to go the lengths to save him? Not Rapunzel, that’s for sure; all she cares about is Corona. No, it is only Varian, only ever Varian, and if he loses himself here his dad will never be free.

He almost thinks he hates them for that, too. For making him doubt himself. But he still cannot deny the truth in their words.

For this reason alone, Varian stays quiet when Cassandra approaches, draws away back against the wall, but doesn’t say a word when she stops before him. She is standing where he is sitting, unbelievably tall to his eyes, and it makes something in him squirm and pull away, fear seizing at his throat.

Cassandra doesn’t seem to share his unease. Her back is straight, her hands loosely propped up on her hips, near her sword hilt. Her dark eyes are frosty and unreadable to him. She isn’t smiling, but she isn’t frowning either, and Varian doesn’t know what to do with that information, whether it’s good or bad or maybe nothing at all.

“Varian,” she says, in that careful detached way of hers.

“Cassie,” he returns, and only sneers the name a little bit.

For once this does not seem to shake her. Her head tilts up, eyebrow rising. Everything about her is cold—cold like ice and steel, as sharp as her blade. “Only my friends can call me that,” she says coolly. “It’s Cassandra to you.”

“Whatever you say, Cassie.”

She waits. Varian glares. Her eyebrow inches a little higher. “Is that all?” she asks finally. “Just that? I expected more, really. You were so talkative a few days ago.”

He flinches at the memory, back bowing in what might be shame, hands curling into loose fists. Varian looks away first. He pets Rudiger, silent and still at his side, and rubs at one of the raccoon’s ears before gently pushing him away, sensing Rudiger’s unease with the situation. He watches his friend scamper off to avoid looking at Cassandra, missing his presence but knowing Rudiger will not react well if Varian makes him stay.

Besides. Varian is not afraid of Cassandra. He refuses to be afraid of her. He can face her on his own, plagued by doubts or not.

Cassandra watches Rudiger run off, and then looks at Varian, quiet and contemplative. Her eyes rest heavy on his shoulders, staring through him, judging him. At long last she moves, scoffing under her breath, the threat in her stance bleeding away as she leans casually against the wall. She doesn’t sit, still towering over him, but there is something looser in the way she holds herself now, something less like a challenge. As they are having a polite conversation rather than an interrogation.

“I don’t get you,” she says abruptly, without prompting. Varian glances up, but she isn’t looking at him, just away, towards the fire where Rapunzel and Eugene are setting up a spit to fry food. She slumps against the wall, looking suddenly and frightfully exhausted. “I really don’t. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, you change yourself again.”

“Is there a point to this?”

Cassandra snorts. “Oh, probably. But why bother? You’ve never given a straight answer anyways.” She looks down at him. “You’d think I’d know, right? We were friends, at one point.”

Varian bares his teeth at her. No matter what Eugene says, Cassandra makes it so easy to hate her. Maybe he was wrong in how he handled the situation, but Cassandra has always treated him worse than the others do.

“You can cut the act,” he spits back. “‘Friends,’ hah! Like you ever cared about me in the first place.”

Cassandra’s eyes go narrow and flinty, and she draws herself up to her full height. “I did, actually.”

“Only after I proved myself useful,” Varian counters bitterly, old hurt seizing at his heart.

“Only after you proved I was wrong,” Cassandra corrects, her words frosty but rising in both volume and emotion. “Is that what you want to hear, Varian? That I was wrong to leave you behind then, at the expo? Because I was wrong; I admit that fully. But I apologized for that. You forgave me for that.” She shakes her head, eyes shadowed, dark hair fluttering around her face. “I admired that, Varian. That ability to forgive.” Her eyes cut over to him, sharp as broken glass. “Though maybe you never really had it in the first place, huh?”

Varian glares at her. “What,” he snarls. “You think because I was dumb enough to forgive you for that, I should forgive Rapunzel too? What about you, then? Would it be enough for you if I just say I’m sorry?” He pastes a sickly-sweet smile on his face and holds out his cuffed hands like an offering. “I’m so sorry, Cassie, I never meant to do it, pretty please can you forgive me and let me go off on my merry way?”

Cassandra reels back, expression shuddering closed. Her hands are white-knuckled and shaking, held stiff and unnaturally still by her side. “This was a bad idea,” she says, more to herself than to Varian. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

He drops the smile off his face and the sweetness from his voice. “Yes, let’s hear it, Cassie. What were you expecting, coming up to talk to the big bad villain?”

“I don’t know, Varian,” Cassandra snaps, standing so suddenly from the wall that Varian flinches back before he can stop himself. “I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. Maybe I’m trying to understand, how you—how you became this!” She gestures wildly at him, at his ragged frame and the bruises on his wrists, the chains clinking at his ankles.

“You don’t make sense!” Cassandra shouts at him, striding forward. “You’re a selfish and brutal kid, but at times you’re almost helpful and sometimes you even—act, or look like you used to, and I. Don’t. Get it!”

“So sorry to make things confusing for you,” Varian spits back, pulling back his shoulders to mirror her offensive stance. He is trembling, from fear or anger even he doesn’t know. “What, would you like a flowchart? A graph, maybe? Test results?”

Abruptly, Cassandra deflates. She pulls back, pulls away from him, one hand rising to rub at her hair. “This was a bad idea,” she says again, almost a whisper. Her hand tightens, pulls at the strands, then falls. When she straightens again, it is as if all her anger has vanished. Only her exhaustion remains.

“You were my friend, once,” she says finally. “I think. Tell me, Varian, what happened to you? I miss that boy, sometimes. Do you?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I don’t know, Varian. Is it? Sometimes I don’t even recognize you. Do you recognize you?”

Her words dig deep. Varian bristles at the accusation, temper flaring like a spark. “Fine. Fine! Let’s go with that, then. That boy trusted you, thought the princess could keep her promises, thought you were worth noticing. I—I looked up to you guys! I thought we were friends! And then the, the moment I needed you, none of you were there for me! None of you cared!”

Cassandra remains undaunted. “We cared,” she says, quietly. “We just couldn’t help. Not then.”

Varian laughs at her, bringing up his hands to hide his face, digging his palms into the hollows of his eyes. “And after? After the storm? Where were you then, Cassie?”

She sucks in a little breath, the sound whistling between her teeth. She doesn’t reply. The silence sits heavy with guilt.

Varian curls into himself, gritting his teeth. He won’t cry here, he won’t, not in front of her. God, why did Varian ever doubt his anger towards her? Why did he think for even a moment that Eugene might be right? They have never cared, and he is—he is an idiot for wishing otherwise.

“You’re right, Varian,” Cassandra says suddenly, voice raw. Varian looks up slowly. “We… we let you down. I let you down. But you never—you never came back. We didn’t come for you, you’re right, but—you never came for us, either. We thought…” She trails off, making a low noise of frustration. “Varian, I thought whatever had happened, I thought it was over! We all… when the storm ended, everything was suddenly okay again. I guess—I guess we thought that would apply to you, too.”

“It didn’t,” Varian says dully, the words scraping past his throat.

Cassandra meets his eyes with difficulty. “No,” she agrees, and her voice is very soft. “We just wanted it to work that way. But life—isn’t like that. And…”

She turns away sharply, shaking her head. “Damn it,” she whispers. “Varian, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened, okay? But that doesn’t change what you did. That doesn’t change—what you’ve done.” Her voice grows cold again, strong and unwavering. “You committed treason. You kidnapped the Queen. And you tried to commit murder three times, that night. And that—Varian, I don’t understand that. I don’t understand how… you could do that.”

Her eyes bore into him, knowing, questioning. They tear through him, peer past his defenses, demand a truth Varian doesn’t know himself. “You changed. You changed. Do you even know who you are now, Varian? Do you know what kind of person you are? Because I sure don’t.”

Her words shake Varian to the core, striking deep at insecurities he didn’t even know he had. He bares his teeth at her in a smile but cannot muster up the anger or the energy to make it real. It sits weak and trembling on his pale face, shaky like his conviction.

“Getting philosophical, are we?” he asks, and even his voice betrays him, sounds small and flimsy to his own ears. He’s shaking head to toe, throat aching from the tension, feeling like all his arguments are slipping through his fingers. He scrabbles for purchase, for a reason, for something to hold onto.

“Or maybe just curious,” Cassandra returns, shaking her head again, a sigh echoing out. She brushes back her bangs, looks at him, something lost in her expression. “I just don’t understand.”

“Let me know,” Varian spits back, desperate to escape her, escape this, escapethem— “when you figure it out.”

Her eyes go cold, and whatever vulnerability she revealed, it is gone again, locked away behind a blank mask. “I will,” Cassandra snaps, and turns away, striding back to the campfire. Her hands are curled into fists.

“I don’t accept it,” Varian calls to her retreating back, unable to let it go. His good mood is gone, spoiled rotten, bitterness clawing at his heart. “Your—your fake apology. You can make whatever excuses you want, but I know—you never cared about what happened to me! You still don’t care! You’re a liar and a traitor, and I wish—I wish— I wish you’d all just go away!”

Cassandra stiffens, head tilting back. When she turns to face him, her eyes are as dark as the oncoming storm clouds, and just as furious. She opens her mouth again, lips pulled back in a snarl—and then her eyes go wide.

Before Varian can react, Cassandra sprints towards him, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt. She yanks him clean off his feet with one tug, dragging him off the ground.

Varian yelps, anger fading as his panic spikes. He scrambles at her hands, trying to pry her fingers from his collar, but only a moment later Cassandra throws him to the side and shouts, loud enough for everyone in the cave to hear, “Find cover, damn it!”

A muted clink has Varian whirling to look behind him. He turns to see an arrow hit the wall and clatter to the ground right where he’d been sitting only a second ago, and looks up just time to see the archer draw back her bow.

At the moment when danger strikes, humans have three instincts— to fight, to flee, or to freeze.

Varian looks up at the archer, sees the gleam of the arrowhead aimed in his direction, and goes absolutely immobile. He is still shaken from his argument with Cassandra, still struggling to make sense of the rush of events that happened just before this—Cassandra darting forward, grabbing him like she was going to hit him, throwing him to safety. He is dizzy and he is sleepy and he is tired, tired to his bruised and aching bones, and so Varian looks at the arrow and goes stone-cold.

“Move!” Cassandra snarls, grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing him clear once again. Varian tumbles across the rocky ground, the iron ball bouncing and rolling beside him, tugging uncomfortably at his leg, just barely missing his fingers. The painful scrape of stone against his skin jolts him back to awareness, and Varian rolls to his feet, gasping for air, so panicked he can barely think.

“Who— what— who is that!?”

Another man comes roaring into the cave, broad-shouldered and wielding a sword about as long as Varian is tall. Cassandra draws her own blade with a soft shing of sharp steel and parries his swing, ducking underneath his arm and punching the taller man in the throat with a merciless jab. He goes down coughing and gagging, and she kicks his sword from his hands and brings her heel down on his back, sending him slamming face-down to the cave floor.

Varian stares, awed and a little intimidated. His hand rubs his own throat self-consciously, and he winces at the awful noises the man is making against the ground.

“I was afraid of this,” Cassandra says, her voice dark with irritation. She shoots the mouth of the cave a sour look, and leaps off the attacker moments before an arrow hits her face. She rises from her perfect roll with a scowl. “Bandits.Or worse, bounty hunters. Take your pick. Probably a group from that city—”

She ducks behind a jutting stone alcove nears the side of the cave and drags Varian with her, as if the weight of the iron ball is little more than an annoyance. His ankle throbs from the pull. “They probably saw Rapunzel in the square when her hood fell. Goddamnit.”

Across the other end of the cave, arrows littering her feet from where she’s parried them with her frying pan, Rapunzel is pale. “But how did they find us!?”

“How else,” Varian snaps, mind whirling, fear and anger spiking at her words. He feels oddly breathless and terribly small. Rudiger scurries to his side, trembling visibly, and he pulls the raccoon close in his arms to reassure himself that they are still in one piece. “What, did you think we were the only ones who could follow the black rocks?”

Rapunzel goes red. “Well, no, but—”

A loud war cry breaks apart their conversation, and more men come rushing in, heading straight for the princess. Without looking back, Rapunzel smacks her frying pan into Eugene’s gut and slings her hair around one man’s arm, yanking the bandit off his feet and towards her. Behind her, Eugene is waiting with a grin and a raised weapon, frying pan swinging at the man’s face full-force. The man goes down hard. Eugene twirls the frying pan in his grip, laughing. Rapunzel and Eugene meet the next group of bandits head-on.

Even Maximus, standing guard over their stuff and a frightened Pascal, is mauling the ground and looking moments away from charging. The horse pulls a sword out from his saddlebag, jabbing the blade at any bandits who draw too close, Fidello pawing dangerously at the air beside him. Pascal, yellow with fear, jumps on the face of any attacker who gets too close, spiky tail going for the eyes.

Cassandra looks back at Varian and scowls down at him like he’s a problem she doesn’t know what to do with. Her hand reaches out and pushes him deeper into the alcove, out of sight. The rocks dig painfully into his back, the stone rough and gritty beneath his hands.

“Stay here,” Cassandra says, all ice, and then she too is running out to join the battle, her sword a silver flash at her side.

Varian stands behind his rocky shelter, holding a trembling raccoon in his arms, feeling small and ignored and a little silly. He feels like a kid. He feels angry, because once again—once more—Cassandra is tossing him aside.

“Do you know who you are now?” Cassandra had asked, and Varian thinks, I am not the kind of person who runs away from my problems.

And he is not the kind of person to let other people—people he hates, especially—solve those problems for him.

His decision is impulsive, spiteful; a choice made in an instant. He puts Rudiger down carefully behind the rocks and winces when the raccoon clings to him with his nails. Rudiger’s dark eyes are wide and fearful, ears laid flat against his head and whole body scrunching against the rock in an effort to make himself smaller.

Varian gives Rudiger a warm smile, wide and bright and maybe a little manic, and carefully pries his claws off his arm, ignoring the burning sting of new cuts on old bruises. “Stay here,” he whispers, and then he drags up the iron ball, settles it on his hip, and sprints out from behind the shelter.

He almost trips the moment he ducks out from his cover, but it’s too late to back out now. Varian catches himself moments before he falls on his face and keeps running. A split-second glance around the cave shows that the others are handling themselves well— there’s more of the bandits than there are of them, but the princess and her entourage are more skilled, so it balances out.

Still, there are enough men to make the battle a struggle. Varian spies one thug rushing past with club held high, heading straight for Eugene’s unprotected back. He is so focused on Eugene he misses the boy right beside him, and Varian sticks out his foot with a wicked grin.

The man goes crashing down face-first on the unforgiving stone, and Eugene whirls in alarm at the noise. He stares. Varian gives an impulsive little wave, impish smile still lingering, and slips back into the fight.

Beyond the few strays, most of the bandits are being taken care of rather quickly. The only one they haven’t yet caught is the archer, who is wisely staying out of range from the main battle, shooting infrequently but accurately now that the majority of the bandit group has joined the fray.

Varian aims for her. Ball settled against his hip like how one would carry a basket, the weight present but manageable after nearly two weeks of lugging the damn thing around, he runs flat out towards the archer. He gets all the way out of the cave, almost to the boulder the archer is using as higher ground, when the bandit finally catches him.

He has only a moment to notice the gleam as the steel arrowhead catches on the light of the twilight sun, bright and golden in his eyes. Only a second to drop to the ground to avoid it, the weight of that iron chain dragging him to the earth with a hard thump, the first honest use he’s found for the thing.

The arrow flies uselessly over his head, ruffling his hair as it whizzes past.

Varian scrambles for the iron ball as soon as the arrow is gone, nails digging in the dirt as he pulls the ball-and-chain roughly to him. He rolls on his back and then up to his feet, throwing himself forward without hesitation.

Varian is close enough now that that the archer cannot really shoot, and judging by the angry pallor of the woman’s face, she is well aware of that. Varian is face-to-face with her, looking up right into her pale eyes.

“A child,” says the archer, shortly, scornfully. She drops her bow and arrow to the ground with a scoff of disgust, and Varian has a split second of hope before she yanks free the knife from her boot.

“This,” says the archer, “will be too easy,” and Varian grins up at her, hard and furious.

“I am not a child,” he says right back, and then he grips his chains in his clammy hands and swings the iron ball at her with all his might.

The dead weight of the iron ball and the pull of gravity work in his favor. The solid iron sphere hits the archer’s leg with a heavy snap of metal against skin and bone. Varian can feel her leg give out beneath his swing, a sensation that makes him feel sick to his stomach.

The crack of bone, sudden and brutal, makes him flinch back, pull his swing. Varian falters in his momentum, the chains swinging limp in his hands. The archer goes white, eyes widening as she recoils, her scream loud and strangled. Varian has the sudden and strange urge to apologize, a notion that fades almost as soon as it appears, because the archer—the archer doesn’t fall.

She pulls back, but she doesn’t fall, and she doesn’t drop the knife either. Unlike Varian, there is no hesitation in her eyes or her motion. Only fury, hatred, and a terrible pain that only serves to fuel the others.

Her fingers tighten around the hilt, dragging the knife above her head. The light catches on the clean blade, shines in his eyes. Varian has a split second to stare, a moment to realize just what the archer intends, to know that he doesn’t have enough time to move away. A moment to freeze, and watch helplessly as the archer’s hand falls, and her blade with it, aimed with deadly precision at his neck.

Before the archer can slit his throat, a dark form leaps over the rock and kicks the archer into the trees. The knife goes flying in one direction, the woman the other, her body arching like a doll’s, before she crashes against the ground with a strangled yelp.

With aching slowness, the archer tries to rise to her feet, but her injured leg gives out, sending her crashing to one knee. She looks up, face furious and eyes all-white all around, fixed solely on Varian. Her hatred is chilling in its intensity.

He almost thinks she will try and attack him again, injured leg or not, but the tip of a sword comes to rest beneath her chin, and the archer freezes like a deer in a lantern light.

Varian freezes too, startled from his stupor, head snapping around so quick he almost gives himself whiplash. It’s Cassandra, Varian realizes. Perhaps it should have been obvious, and yet, this realization sends him reeling. Cassandra who came flying over that boulder to stop the archer from stabbing him, Cassandra who has kicked this woman away, Cassandra who stands here in front of him, sword blade gleaming like a diamond in the sunset and blood smeared across her knuckles. Cassandra who stands with her back to him, one foot in front of him, protecting him, her sword resting light as a feather at the bandit archer’s vulnerable throat.

“Don’t move,” Cassandra says, and her voice is unlike anything Varian has ever heard before, even when she was talking with him. Everything about her is steel and ice and razor-sharp fury, cold and impersonal. There is no feeling in her words. No mercy.

“Unless,” Cassandra adds, when the archer eyes her blade, “you’d like me to slit your throat?”

The woman goes still again. Her pale eyes burn like hot coals in her sunken face, white with pain.

“That’s what I thought,” Cassandra says dispassionately, and jerks her head back at Varian. He jolts, meeting her gaze uncertainly. He draws away without thinking, glancing at her sword, but Cassandra makes no move to threaten him or berate him for going against her orders.

Neither does she seem to notice his reluctance. “Go grab the rope,” she instructs. “Raps and Fitzherbert are using it to hogtie the others. There should be enough there for us to use for this one, too.”

Varian hesitates for only a moment, then turns and heads back to the cave, something stuck on the tip of his tongue. It is almost second nature to say “Thank you,” to call it over his shoulder.

He swallows it down just before it slips loose, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

Just as Cassandra said, Rapunzel and Eugene are tying up the remaining thugs with pools of rope, the many members of the bandits sprawled out in various painful positions at the cave entrance. Varian lingers outside of the pile, suddenly uncertain, and Eugene looks up before he can wonder about how to approach this.

“Rope?” he asks, and when Varian gives a short nod, replies with a short nod of his own, and hands Varian a spool of the stuff. Short and to the point, and yet the exchange is oddly warm, almost friendly. Varian leaves, turning his back on them, feeling vaguely unsettled at the compassionate treatment and weird sense of camaraderie that the fight has left him with.

He reaches Cassandra as quick as he can, feeling off-center and wrong-footed, uncertain of where they stand with each other. The fight has drained his earlier anger, calmed his mind and his heart, as if their argument took place weeks ago instead of mere minutes. He dislikes it, unnerved by how quickly his mood has changed.

He shoves the rope to her like its burned him. Cassandra doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Tie her up,” she tells him, and when he gives her an incredulous look, raises one eyebrow at him. “Unless you’d rather I remove this sword from her neck and have her try to strangle you.”

Varian flushes and snaps the rope back to his side. He marches in sullen quiet to the archer’s back, looping the twine around her wrists and pulling it tighter than he probably should, spite in the face of his near demise at her blade. The archer tugs at the restraints with a snarl, and Varian steps away from her, uneasy.

“Good,” Cassandra says, and slides the sword back in her sheath, picking up the woman by her bound arms and marching her back towards the other bandits. She gets three steps away before she pauses.

“Varian,” she says finally, in that cool voice that is not quite the icy tone she’d used on the woman, not quite the warmer lilt she’d talked with when he was a friend. Something different, something he once thought of as cold but now suspects is something unique. “Don’t do that again.”

He draws away as if she’s slapped him, and then he rocks forward again, digging his nails into his palms, something bitter bubbling in his throat. Of course. Of course this is what she tells him, after everything. Of course this is all Cassandra has to say.

“I don’t trust you,” Cassandra continues, in that same strange tone. “And quite frankly? I don’t really like you. You go against my orders again, and I’ll treat it like the threat it is. Like the threat you pose.” She pauses, and then she glances back, just a flash of her dark eyes before she turns back to the cave, hiding her face from view. “But…” She stops, sighing out into the air. When she speaks next her voice is the softest he’s ever heard it.

“Thank you, Varian.”

It is not a gasp, or an exhale, or even a sigh—merely as though Varian has been holding his breath, and these are the words that knock it loose, rushing through his teeth and taking all of his emotions with it. His shoulders drop, his fists falling open, his eyes going wide and his mouth a soft ‘o’ of faint surprise. She walks away from him and Varian stares after her, shaken to his bones, more affected by those words than anything else she could have said. He had not thought them—he hadn’t known they had it in them to thank him, when only seconds ago Varian himself had refused to thank her.

As if they are allies, instead of enemies.

He wants— he wants to feel angry, wants to find the fury and hold onto it, remind himself of the what and why. But either that lingering sense of belonging, or the way Cassandra rushed to save him, or maybe just the quiet sincerity in Cassandra’s voice as she spoke… whatever it is, it chases away his anger before he can even try to hold onto it.

Maybe, Varian thinks, watching Cassandra walk back to the cave, maybe he was wrong, to attack Cassandra as he did, back then in Old Corona. The mere idea unsettles him—he can’t be wrong, he can’t, because if he was wrong about this what if he was wrong about other things? He can’t be wrong, he isn’t at fault—but the thought doesn’t fade.

He sucks in a breath and tears his eyes from her back. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t so much that he was wrong, as it was… an overreaction. Yes, that’s it. He just… overreacted a little, that’s all. He’s right to be angry at Cassandra. He was right to do what he did. He must be. He just went a little too far, that time.

He won’t apologize, but he doesn’t have to act that way towards her anymore. A compromise, Varian thinks. Yes, he can do that. Eugene isn’t right about Varian, he’s not, but that doesn’t mean everything he said was wrong.

And just like that, Varian realizes what it is about Cassandra that is different. The thing about her voice that changed, when talking to Varian versus talking to the archer. She had been cold to the archer: icy, unfeeling, indifferent. But when Cassandra speaks to Varian, her words are sharp and biting and… hurt. Searching for a reason, just like him.

He doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know what to do with this revelation. He pulls his gaze away from her, drops his eyes to the ground—and then he stills.

There is an arrow left discarded at his feet, from when the archer tossed aside her bow. An arrow, her empty quiver… and her knife.

Varian hesitates. His head rises, eyes seeking them out, Cassandra and Eugene and Rapunzel, talking in low voices as they finish tying up the thugs. They aren’t looking at him. They aren’t looking his way at all.

Hands shaking with an unnamable emotion, Varian drops to his knees behind the boulder, picking up the arrow and the knife. He uses the knife to cut off the bottoms of his sleeves, already worn from travel, re-rolling them to hide the missing fabric. Then he takes the stripes and wraps them around the arrowhead, fingers shaking so bad he almost slips and cuts himself. When it is wrapped, he shoves it feather-first down his boot, the wrapped head pressing against his leg, held securely in place by the tight chains around his ankles. When he drops down his pant legs, the little that shows through the top of his boot is completely hidden.

Varian freezes, knife in one hand, a quiver by his side, a single arrow pressing firm against his skin. His breath rattles in his chest. He feels oddly cold, and strangely guilty, an emotion he brushes away as soon as he realizes what it is.

“They aren’t my friends,” Varian reminds himself in a low hiss. His voice trembles in his ears, weak with uncertainty. “Theyaren’tmy friends, they don’t care, and I owe them nothing.”

They aren’t his friends, and the fact he is starting to doubt even that is proof that Varian is faltering. The arrow… it reminds him. He has chosen to be here, but he is here for his reasons, not theirs. He can play along, make nice, but he will never be their friend. Never again.

Thus assured, he breathes out, slow and careful, and stands up from behind the boulder. He smooths out his tunic and picks up the abandoned quiver, and just barely keeps from startling when Rapunzel calls out to him.

“Varian?”

“Right here,” he replies calmly, bland and uninterested. He walks with shaky knees back to the group, hyperaware of the arrow in his boot. “I got the quiver and knife,” he adds, and when Cassandra’s head snaps up, meets her eyes deliberately as he drops the items on the floor.

“What do you take me for, an enemy?” he asks her, and turns away before she can reply. The look on her face would be amusing in any other circumstance, but Varian is too nervous to really enjoy it.

He wanders back to the alcove where he left Rudiger, and manages only a thin wisp of a smile when his raccoon scrabbles out of hiding to crawl up on his shoulders and chitter like a worried mother in his ears. He can feel Rudiger’s trembling, and Varian picks him up off his shoulders to settle him in his arms, sliding down the wall until he sits, breathing shakily. Rudiger turns in his grasp and curls up on his lap, crooning, and Varian pets him with a gentle hand, his fingers cold and stiff, not quite feeling like his own.

He picks at the tangles in Rudiger’s fur, mumbling reassurances and apologies for scaring him under his breath, ignoring the others studiously as they walk into the cave. The bandits are gone, tied to their horses and sent running wild back through the forest. It is just them in the cave now, their voices low and hushed with excitement, the adrenaline from the fight fading slowly.

Varian pets Rudiger until the sunset fades completely and the dark night envelopes them, the pale glow of a low-burning fire shining in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t move and he doesn’t speak, and the others do not acknowledge him, and yet he cannot shake the sense that this time it is different. There is a sense of belonging that had not been there before, a bond built by fighting together. It sends shivers clawing down his back even as some small, weaker part of him soaks in the acknowledgment like a man dying of thirst.

Against his leg, the arrow presses hard enough to bruise.

Varian turns his head away, back to the sky. He watches the tall dark silhouettes of the trees, all one being in the darkness, catches glimpse of the stars through the heavy clouds, thick as cotton but dark as coal.

The fire crackles, and someone laughs, and it does not grate on him as it used to. And slowly, starting as a drizzle and then quickening to the drumbeat of a downpour, under the supervision of Varian’s watchful eyes, it begins to rain—the storm, finally upon them.

#tts #rta #varian #tangled the series #varian the alchemist #rapunzel #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #eugene fitzherbert #cassandra #varian tts #iza fanfic #fic: labyrinths of the heart

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