#i mean i just went off on a minute of religious rot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anyarose011 · 8 months ago

Text

Too Late To Turn Back Now {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: A dislocated shoulder, an insult to end all men, a few lies, going out to eat, and an unwanted revelation about Angus Tully. What a perfect way to celebrate Christmas Eve-Eve.

Part 4 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of arm injury, mentions of underage drinking, minor harassment, and discussion of cancer.

This was one of the more lighthearted and fun as hell chapters to write, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count: 5.0k

youtube

Apparently, Angus Tully had gone on another adventure without you. One probably shouldn’t call it an adventure if he went to the chapel, and merely stared at the photo of your dead friend for hours on end.

“Do you think he was praying?” You asked Mary after she told you that while you were helping her make lunch.

“I think he’s just as religious as you.”

You scoffed. “He’d never become a priest.”

“You’d make a lousy nun.”

“I’d be a fun one.”

Once the four of you sat down to eat, your father tried to give you cookies you knew for a fact were given to you by Miss Crane. You also knew they were a week old at this point. Still, to spare your father’s feelings, you broke off a piece. You then put it in your mouth, nodding with a smile before bringing your napkin to your lips as if to clean them, when really you just spat the cookie into it.

Immediately, Angus asked to go to the bathroom, and you knew he wasn’t doing that, but you couldn’t blame him.

“I’m trying.” Your father shrugged, and all you and Mary could do was laugh.

You helped her was the dishes after that, and went back out to the dining hall, still seeing your dad sitting at the same table, alone.

“Everything alright?” You asked.

“Yes, just waiting on Mr. Tully.”

“You honestly can’t force him to learn today.” You scoffed, leaning against one of the chairs. “It’s Christmas Eve-Eve.”

“You always had lessons on Christmas Eve-Eve, and you didn’t complain.”

“I did.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Several times.”

He sighed. “I’ll let him out early by an hour; if you attend as well.”

“Never mind, let him rot.”

“I thought so.” He got up from his chair. “Where on God’s green earth is that boy?”

You watched him leave through the doors Angus took ten minutes ago, and as you were about to go into the kitchen to (lovingly) bother Mary some more, you heard shouting. Now of course, you were (and still are) a nosey bitch, so you had no choice but to also go through the doors leading out into the hallway. You heard Angus first.

“There’s nobody here, okay? Just us two losers, a grieving mom, and your-.”

His face and words fell once he saw you enter, and your father turned to see you standing in the doorframe, looking as if you wandered into something you shouldn’t have. Then, you threw on the attitude.

“What am I now?”

He looked away. “Nothing.”

“Oh, wow!” You began with fake enthusiasm.

“I didn’t mean-.”

“-No, no of course you didn’t.”

Your father stepped in. “That’s enough from the both of you. Mr. Tully, I can forgive you for using the phone without permission if-.”

“-If what?” He interrupted. “No, let’s cut the shit: You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours.”

Of course, your father had detention slips in his back pocket, and of course he threw one up. “That’s a detention.”

Angus pushed past him, groaning and walking fast down the hall. You pursed your lips. “You really showed him.”

“Stuff it, Lady Macbeth.” He scolded, then called Angus. “You just earned yourself a detention, sir. Now, get back here!”

Angus looked back. “Being here with you is already one big fucking detention!”

“Son of a bitch, that’s another detention!”

In response, Angus knocked over a trash can, which caused your father to run like you’d never seen him run before. You should be ashamed that your first instinct was to laugh, but you weren’t and you still aren’t.

You should also have felt like a fool for deciding to run after them as if it were a game. Again, you didn’t feel like one then, and if you were to do it again as an old woman, you would in a heartbeat.

You saw as Angus tore off posters from the wall and would stop at corners just to taunt your father. Then, after running around more than half the school (you had no idea how much honestly, but it was enough for you), you stopped outside of the gym with the both of them. Even with Angus’s back turned, you knew he was contemplating the unthinkable.

“Don’t you even think about it, Mr. Tully.” Your father warned, panting from running. “You are a hair’s breadth from suspension. I’ll wash my hands of you, you hear me? Wash my hands.” Angus ignored him, stepping into the gym.

You followed your father as he kept going. “Stop right there, you know the gym is strictly off limits. This is your Rubicon. Do not cross the Rubicon.”

Angus took one look at the gym equipment, then back to the two of you. “Alea jacta est.”

He winked at you before springing towards the trampoline, bouncing off of it and over the balance beam. When his body landed with a hard ‘thud!’, you and your father were stricken with tense silence.

Which was then broken when an inhuman scream ripped from Angus’ throat.

Still, as your father looked on in horror, you said (being completely unbothered). “He’s faking it.”

When his screams didn’t subside, and you only heard them grow louder and he threw in more explicate language, your smile fell. It was when he got to his knees did you see how mangled his left arm looked, and you felt like you were going to throw up.

Angus Tully was one step ahead of you in that department, and that’s all we should say about that (not that he nearly puked on you; if anyone ever says that, they’re lying and should be shot on sight).

So, that was how, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve-Eve, you came to be standing outside of your father’s shitty 1964 Nova. You and Angus, who was crying while wearing half of his jacket, were shivering violently, waiting for your father to scrape off the car.

“Hurry up!” Both you and him would beg.

“I am hurrying!” Would be your father’s only response, and you saw his face grow redder every time either of you would yell.

Luckily, he managed to (somehow) scrape it all off and you three piled into the car. Even though you were going to anyway, you father insisted you sit in the front (more than likely because he knew you and Angus would probably try to kill each other in a high tense situation, and who would’ve figured he was right).

“I was on thin ice already.” Your father panicked at you as he stepped on the gas to the hospital. “If Woodrup finds out, the facts won’t matter, he’ll make it my fault.”

“It is your fault!” Angus cried from the back of the car, trying to hold his mangled arm up. “You were supposed to be looking after me!”

“I told you to stop!”

“You said you washed your hands of me!”

“No, I meant it metaphorically!”

“Of course you meant it metaphorically. What were you gonna do, actually go and wash your hands?!”

Your father turned back to the road. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, I said I will wash my hands, never once did I say it in the present tense!”

“I don’t know, Pontius Pilate.” You shrugged. “This Jesus guy makes a good point.”

When he hissed your real name, you nearly shrank into your seat. “I don’t need any more of this from you. You were the one to tell me he was faking it anyway!”

“You said that?!” Angus yelled. “Jesus, I knew you hated all men.”

“Not true.” You turned around to look at him. “I would’ve said the exact same thing about a woman, especially if I heard her screaming from your room!”

Out of all the times you made a man cry and left him speechless, this one was and forever will be your favorite (obviously he was crying from his arm, but you liked to think your comment also did that). Your father scolded you for your foul mouth, but it was 100% worth it.

There you three sat in the emergency room, waiting for over an hour for a nurse to let you in, when your father started monologuing to himself.

“This is the end. They’ll inform the school, who will inform your parents, and then it’s curtains. You’re gonna get me fired; you.” He looked at Angus, then you. “I hope you like sleeping in the snow, Josephine.”

“I love it more than life itself.” You rolled your eyes.

Angus grumbled. “I’m the one about to lose an arm and all you can think about is yourself.”

“Hey, he was worried about me.” You pointed out.

He turned and glared at you, and you actually felt bad for the first time that day.

A nurse soon approached you, handing your father a clipboard and pen. “If you could just fill this out, please. Admissions and insurance.”

Your father, hesitantly, begins to fill it out. It sounded like a joke at first, having to sleep somewhere else, but honestly what were you going to do? You and your father lived in the faculty housing ever since-.

“-Excuse me?” Angus asked the nurse as she was walking away. “Is there any way we could skip this whole insurance thing?”

“It’s just standard procedure.”

“I understand. But look, we were over at Squantz pond playing hockey, and I slipped on the ice.”

Your father whispered. “Angus, what are you doing?”

But he kept going, glancing at you for a moment. “Our mom told him not to take us, but I made him. Our folks are divorced, and we don’t get to see each other very often. She’ll be mad as a hornet if she finds out.”

The nurse still didn’t let up. “Okay, that’s your business. But we just have certain protocols.”

“Yeah, protocols.” Your father tried to warn.

Angus didn’t listen to either. “Please, we ever get to see my dad. It was my fault, all mine. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” He looked at you. “We can’t have her dragging him to court again.”

You shook your head, swallowing a pretend lump in your throat. “No. Last time was…oh god.”

He looked back at the nurse. “Can we skip the whole insurance thing? We can pay cash. Right, Dad?”

What a sucker; it took you and Angus to do ‘Kicked Puppy” eyes for a minute, and she was brining the three of you in to the see the doctor in three.

When they were removing his shirt, they told him first look away from the arm, but they didn’t inform you.

“Is it that bad?” He asked upon hearing your audible disgust.

“Not the worst thing I’ve seen in a hospital.”

Your father slugged you, but not hard enough for it to hurt. Still, the whole thing was a blur as they popped Angus’ arm back into its socket. It was dislocated, not broken, and a part of you selfishly wish that it had been just to spare you from the disgusting noises. That and also Angus’s screaming, as if you hadn’t been objectified to that enough.

The three of you were leaving after Angus' arm was tied in a sling, when your father spoke up.

“Barton men don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Angus asked, readjusting his sling.

"Lie."

“Well, I had momentum.”

“Mhm,” he looked at you. “what’s your excuse?”

You shrugged. “I don’t go to Barton, and I’m not a man. Thank God, by the way, considering I hate all of them.”

Even though you said that sarcastically, neither of the men said you were wrong.

When you three made it to the pharmacy, and your father handed over the prescription, the pharmacist went to search for it. Angus lowered his voice, saying to your dad.

“You said that if Woodrup finds out, you and her screwed. So now he won’t find out.”

“What if your parents ask?” You questioned.

“Never going to happen. Trust me.”

Your father raised his brows. “Okay, then. This all remains entre nous. Got it? You know what entre nous means?”

“Oui, monsieur.” He smirked “Now you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Your father gasped. “Do not try to leverage me, Mr. Tully.”

“All I’m looking for is little thank you that I did something nice for you. That’s all.”

You shrugged, deciding you wanted a treat too. “It is Christmas Eve-Eve.”

Your father took you all out to ‘The Winning Ticket’; the classiest tavern within 50 miles. Classy being the less dingy, place in Barton. As your father and ‘Friend of Some Sort’ had a minor debate on underage drinking, you saw the last waitress you wanted approach.

“Miss Crane, as I live and breathe.” Your father sounded amazed as if he saw Aphrodite herself. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hi guys!” She laughed “Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Well uh,” he gestured to Angus. “This is Mr. Tully.” Then to you beside him. “And this is-you already know my daughter.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “quite well. My niece knows her too if you can believe that.”

He laughed a little louder than he should have, and you wanted to crawl under the table and bang your head against the metal support until you split your skull open.

“Oh, and sure, I know you.” Miss Crane nodded to Angus.

“Angus Tully,” he smiled. “we met outside of Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet.”

“Well, I didn’t know about the ‘wrongly’ part. I just know that miss Hunham talks a lot about you when she visits.”

Aaand now you wanted to just take any of the silverware off the table (even the spoon would work) and stab yourself.

“Does she?” He teased.

You were quick with a comeback. “About how ridiculously annoying you are. I was baking cookies and Elise nearly crawled into the oven because the things I said about you were just too horrible for her to hear.”

“Now be nice.” Your father said.

“When have I never?”

The three of you ordered (after another discussion about alcohol and underage drinking with Miss Crane this time), and it did not escape you or Angus how your father’s eyes were still on her even after she left.

“Ouch,” Angus smiled. “you two have chemistry.”

“That’s the Percodan talking.” Your father pointed out.

“I don’t know, seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive.”

You gagged, not even having the will to come up with a good comeback, you were so disgusted. Thankfully, your father had one.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

You never gave it much thought; your father dating women after your mother died. He just never truly seemed that interested in anyone, and he said it himself, he never goes out. Still…while you do want him to be happy, the woman of interest is your best friend’s aunt-.

Angus pursed his lips. “May I at least go to the bathroom? Sir? “

“You mean the payphone?” Even when he saw Angus’ eyes darken, your father still was not stirred. “Jo March, accompany him, please.”

You sighed. “Why do I have to be his keeper?”

“Because I, Pontius Pilate, washed my hands of him, remember?”

With that being said, you walked with Angus over to the bathrooms, and waited outside with your arms crossed like a child being punished. After a few minutes, he came back out, and the first thing you asked was.

“How’d you lie so easily?”

He gave you a look. “When?”

“The hospital.” You clarified. “You came up with a whole story on the spot that was so convincing, you had a nurse wrapped around your finger within a minute.”

Angus shrugged, beginning to walk away. “You were honestly the icing on the cake.”

“Oh, thank you.” You spoke with sarcasm, following him. “But honestly, you-.”

“-Are you any good at pinball?”

Okay mister ‘Trying to Change the Subject’, you’d play this game (literally and figuratively). “Yeah, I think so.”

He grabbed two dimes from his pocket. “Wanna bet?”

“I guarantee you that’s all the money you have, so there’s nothing to bet.”

“Not exactly.” You both wandered over to the machines. “If I win, you owe me something, and vice versa.”

“And if I wanted you to get out of my life?”

“Done and done, but only If you win, which you won’t.” He put the dimes on top of the machine a guy was playing on.

“Sorry, kid. Next game’s taken.” The many said.

Angus furrowed his brow. “But I just put some dimes down.”

“Don’t care. My buddy’s up next.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works in here. Why don’t you go shoot the other fuckin’ machine?”

“Because I don’t want to shoot the other fuckin’ machine.”

You put your hand on his non-injured arm. “Angus, it’s fine.”

Before he could retaliate, the man lost the game, sighing. “Thanks for fuckin’ up my mojo. Kenny! You’re up.”

“Bullshit.” Angus shook his head. “I put my dimes down, so we’re up next.”

“What was that?” You both looked and saw ‘Kenny’, a drunk man with a hook for his right hand. Shit… “Hey, kiddies,” he snapped his fingers at the both of you. “my eyes are up here.”

His friend snorted. “Look at these fucking kids; spoiled little Barton boy and his prissy girlfriend.”

Not the first nor the last time you were a smartass to a man where it will almost get you killed. “I’ll have you know, gentlemen, he is not my boyfriend; he is the reason I hope every day I become an only child.”

“You know what?” Angus stepped in before Kenny could respond. “You can just take my dime.”

“Take it?” He taunted. “You want me to take your dime? Like it’s charity?”

“No, what I mean is, we could play together.” and let this be known that Angus Tully was not always great at thinking on his feet. “Yeah, you could be my left arm.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?!”

Flinching at his tone, you decided to actually use your brain, for once. “Oh my gosh, I think I hear Dad calling us.” You took Angus’ hand without thinking. “Come on Fitzwilliam, you fucked everything up as always.”

You didn’t care that two, pissed off men were following and yelling at you, you didn’t even care that you were holding Angus’ Tully’s hand and having him trip over his own feet as you pulled him back to your table, you just needed to get out of there.

“Papa,” you call out to your father. “can we go please?”

He hummed at your arrival (and the term of endearment, which you only use if something has gone array). “Why?”

“Our favorite asshole got us in trouble.”

“Hey!” Kenny shouted at you and Angus. “Why’d you run off? We were just talking to you. Do they teach you manners at that school?”

Hook for hand be damned, your fight or flight instincts kicked in when he put his hand on Angus and you were about to be the reason he’d lose it. Then, Miss Crane stepped in.

“Kenneth, leave them alone, they just came in for some food.”

Still, he looked like he was about to charge the both of you.

Your father stepped in next. “Kenneth, is that right? I don’t doubt that he did something to offend you. It’s his specialty. Perhaps I could purchase you gentlemen something to imbibe, and we could let whatever this unfortunate incident is go the way of the dodo.”

“The what?” The first guy playing pinball asked.

“The dodo,” Angus said. “it’s an extinct bird.”

“What he’s trying to say is,” Miss Crane translated. “he wants to buy you guys a beer.”

It didn’t take long for the two men to consider it. Kenny nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Same here.” His friend agreed. “I’ll have a Miller.”

“The champagne of beers.” Angus smiled, nodding.

It was when everything final cooled down, and as the two men and Miss Crane left to get their drinks, did you notice you were still holding Angus’ hand. Which you let go of as if you were holding fire in the palm of your hand.

He went back to his moody self after that, as you were walking back to the car after finishing dinner (no connection of course).

“Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

Your father shrugged. “That’s one way to look at it. Here, catch.”

He tossed him the keys, which he caught. Your father continued his lecture, walking ahead of both of you. “How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. They go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not.”

Angus glanced at you. “Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb.” Your father repeated his words when they stood outside the car.

“Were you ever in the military?”

“Yes, I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected-I have to get in over there.” He said after failing to open the door on the driver’s side. He walked over to the passenger’s (which you begrudgingly allowed Angus to have this time) side that Angus unlocked. “They made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

You opened the back door and slid into the seats, but Angus stayed outside, asking. “Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

Your father already was used to that question from you, so he didn’t even look scared when he hummed his approval.

“You smell.” He got into the car. “And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

He didn’t even wait for his response before rolling the window down anyway. Before you could say something snarky to defend your father, he spoke first. “Trimethylaminuria.”

Angus furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Trimethylaminuria.” He repeated. “Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.”

“Wow…your whole life?”

Your father nodded.

“No wonder you’re afraid of women.” Angus said your name, glancing back at you. “How did he marry your mom?”

Your jaw dropped, and only inaudible noises came out at first before you settled on. “I’m too sober for that conversation.”

“For the record,” Your dad interrupted, stunned. “I am not afraid of women, and you shouldn’t be asking a girl personal questions after insulting her father. Jesus.”

Angus nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Getler says I should give more consideration to my audience.”

“Who’s Dr. Getler?” You asked.

“My shrink.”

Your father decided to jump in. “Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a good swift kick in the ass?

He scoffed. “Okay, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure, just one thing.”

“Just one?” You and your father questioned.

He nodded, preparing for the absolute worst, but it never came. Your father merely turned back to the front, started the car, and began to make the long drive back to Barton. You weren’t even out of the neighborhood when Angus then asked.

“Fitzwilliam?” He looked at you. “What kind of name is that?”

Your father snickered. “That’s what you called him?”

You shrugged. “The guys thought he was a stuck-up rich boy, but he’s really awkward and looks like he wants to kill himself every time someone looks at him, I had to.”

“He strikes me more as a Hamlet.”

To anyone who didn’t know anything about Shakespeare, that would be a compliment. To you and your father specifically, it made you laugh. Of course Angus Tully would be one of the most overdramatic characters in theatre.

“Seriously,” the boy in question said tiredly. “who the hell is Fitzwilliam?”

Your father shook his head. “My advice, Mr. Tully? Brush up on the classics; Pride and Prejudice would be a good place to start.”

None of you had the strength to do much more that night besides spending time in your rooms before bed. It was as you were a few chapters into Little Women, did you wonder.

“Why were you and my dad yelling at each other this afternoon?”

Angus looked up from his copy of Popular Mechanics to see you in the doorway once you asked that question. You both were both just wearing your pajamas and socks; outfits you had only seen each other in for either a short number of times, in dimmed lighting, or with jackets over.

It felt different this time…stranger, even.

“Hello to you too.” He greeted, setting the magazine down.

“Well?”

Pursing his lips, he didn’t look at you at first before saying. “I was calling a hotel.”

“Your mom’s?”

“No, one in Boston.”

“Why would you…?” The look on his face said it all. That look of regret and pity that you didn’t understand what he meant right away. “Oh…”

You wanted nothing more than to have said it with disgust, but it was disappointment that laced the word. Then, with a mix of anger and even hurt.

“Am I that insufferable to be around?”

He shot his head up. “What? No.”

“Seems like it.” You scoffed, beginning to pace around the room. “What happened to ‘Friends of some sort’? I asked you if we were fine because I felt like you’d gone quiet, and you said we were. I get it; you asked me to tell you the craziest thing that happened to me, and I should’ve just said ‘I got slightly drunk at a party’, not everything. You barely tell me anything about yourself, and then I just go and throw out the shittiest things that have happened to me. It’s not fair, and I’m sorry-.”

“-My father’s dead.”

Nothing could’ve gotten you to shut up faster.

It caused you such a shock, that you sat down on the bed beside him, staring at him. His gaze changed in a matter of seconds; when he first told you and you looked at him, you’d never seen anyone surer. Then, as shock settled into you, discomfort did for him. You let the quietness between you linger for a moment, terrified of your own response.

“I…I had a feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were expecting him to immediately respond, but he didn’t. You debated on just sitting in the silence, or crawling back into your room and pretending this didn’t happen, when Angus finally spoke up.

“I was thirteen, he was…really, really sick for some time but then it just happened so fast and…I don’t really like talking about it, I’m sorry-.”

“-No, I shouldn’t have pressured you-.” You relented first, and ff the circumstances weren’t bleak, it would be funny how you both spoke over each other.

“-You weren’t, you told me something about yourself and I should’ve-.”

“-You aren’t in debt or some bullshit to share anything with me-.”

“-I just haven’t really told people that before-.”

“-Your arm wasn’t the worst thing I saw in a hospital.” You decided to break the loop, and it was successful. “My mother was sick too and…” You chuckled, but felt tears prick your eyes all of a sudden at the thought. “God, she’ll haunt me for this, but she was so skinny the last time I saw her…Cancer. She and my dad were debating on if I should see her like that before she goes, and I won the argument in the end that, yes, I needed to say goodbye. I’m glad I did, no, that’s not what I think of when I think of her but…it scared me. I was eleven.”

He nodded, listening without interruption; a skill that seemed he only acquired during these small moments of vulnerability. Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself vulnerable; you were merely answering his questions truthfully based on your experiences (of course; no vulnerability whatsoever. You didn’t open yourself up to others outside of your father and Mary, why would you to Angus Tully?)

“I went to the chapel before anyone else woke up and I just couldn’t stop staring at the picture of Curtis Lamb…I can’t even say it got me thinking about death or anything like that I just…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I felt weird and wanted to run away.”

“I get that.”

“I’m sorry for trying to get a hotel by the way,” he apologized again. “if that matters.”

You gave him a smile. “It does.”

For the first time in a while, you thought you saw him smile too; a genuine one, mind you, not the shit-eating grin he often gave you and everyone else. It was then you decided to get up and head to bed, bidding him goodnight. Then, again, you stopped in the doorway from another thought.

“What were you going to call me?”

“Huh?” He perked his head up.

“When you were crying about being stuck over here for Christmas?” You alluded. “You and my father are losers, Mary’s a grieving mom, but what am I?”

His eyes drifted in thought, then back to you. “‘Your know-it-all daughter.’ That’s what I was gonna say.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling as you backed out into your room. “I do know all, Angus Tully.”

You couldn’t see his face anymore when you went to your bed, but you heard his sarcastic ‘Goodnight’ with him saying your full name, and your chest felt lighter than it did the night prior to talking with him.

…What the hell was happening to you?

You were giddy, you giggled to yourself about nothing and had to hide your mouth under the blanket so Angus wouldn’t hear you in the other room. For a moment, when asking him what he would’ve called you, you wanted him to say ‘pretty’. So much shit happened that day, but the one thing, the one thing that your mind goes back to is taking his hand, and not letting go until you realized-…

…No…

No…

Oh, what the fuck?!

Oh god!

Once you were happy about having a newfound crush on Angus Tully, and now you were in absolute agony.

What a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve-Eve.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #paul hunham #mary lamb #the holdovers #Youtube

202 notes · View notes

saltsicklover · 25 days ago

Text

Good Wife

Written by @saltsicklover on Tumblr and @starsrfun on A03 Song Inspiration Good Wife by MIKA Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Content Warnings: Religious Themes, blood, death, loneliness, grief, all hurt no comfort (unless I finally sit down and write part two). Pete has abandonment issues, and daddy issues, and just so many issues. Takes place roughly 1996.

Thanks for being here, and happy reading!

God takes up the same space in Pete “Maverick” Mitchell’s mind as his father does. This isn’t to say that Pete views his father as a God. In fact, Duke Mitchell was the breathing definition of the concept: each generation from Adam and Eve gets further from God’s image. That doesn’t exactly put Pete in the best place as his father’s son. This being true, at least to some, does not negate the fact that God and Duke Mitchell are inexplicably linked in the mind of Pete Mitchell.

They, Duke Mitchell and God, serve as an altar to place blame at; like a carcass at their feet left to rot and fester. If Pete’s inability to attend the academy was a fresh dead rabbit- fur stained dark with spilled blood as the flesh was splayed open (as if one could see the pain actualizing in the spaces between it’s ribs) then Duke Mitchell’s memory has been cast in bronze, his hard lines turning a weeping teal as he accepts the flayed offering with nothing more than continued servitude.

Pete’s greatest sacrifice to God himself was his best friend. An offering not given, instead ripped from Pete’s life in a way that still echoes through him– hollow. Over the rippling ocean, alive, to then be consumed by the salt of the waves turning wine dark with blood. The pair stranded in the current, white foam washing over them with nothing left to do but drift. Their Nomex green suits weighed down by the bloody salty mixture of the sea; Pete’s white knuckle grip on the straps of his best friend’s parachute the only thing keeping them together. There was no life left in Nick then. When they were finally raised into the rescue chopper, Nick's limp body went first, turning in the wind as the waves continued to try and take Pete under. This was the first time he was truly and utterly alone. Pete had a realization then and it crashed into him harder than the waves ever could: God likes his offerings bloody too. The salt of the ocean and of his tears were nothing more than a garnish on top of an already perfect atonement.

Pete continued to sacrifice at their altar for the next ten years. From cutting his instruction at Top Gun short (two months was about fifty days too long for him) to shitty oversea placements as retribution. Small, forgotten islands in the East Sea of Japan became home. Detachments where he shared tiny barracks rooms with other pilots and seamen alike. Those felt lonelier than life on a carrier– at least with the bunk rotations, Pete could convince himself he was sharing a bed with another. The scent of sweat and cologne stuck to the rubber mattresses and it did its best to starve off Maverick’s long-haul feeling of emptiness. God, he was fucking lonely.

Things got worse when he ended up back stateside. Though he should have been thankful, one slip up of offering his new phone number to his best friend’s widow meant that his old cronies were ringing off the hook. Carol meant well in giving out that number, she really did. She figured Pete to be a lonely man whose sole purpose was to fly for the Navy, and while she hit the nail on the head with that, it didn’t mean Pete took too kindly to the near constant droning of the phone.

What hurt more was that Tom didn’t call.

Ron Kerner called regularly, and so did Carol, always wanting the latest gossip about his life, his unit, the base, anything they could get Maverick to divulge to them now that phone calls didn’t cost them a dollar a minute to make.

Marcus Williams called once too, his voice still holding that tilt that suggested that it was in fact Sundown he was talking to. He let him know of some shit he heard coming down the line from his base in Texas. Though it was true, Marcus used the call to check in on Pete, too. Ending the call, a bit less Sundown and a bit more Marcus, he left Pete with the standard we’ll talk soon though soon never quite comes at the speed they suggest it will.

That’s the thing with Aviators– they always toe the line between themselves and their call signs like a silly nickname could cover up the fact that they actually care. Pete doesn’t let himself think about when Marcus slipped into the call.

Ron calls again, and then Bradley, Carol’s son, starts to phone Pete himself. Pete’s answering machine is filled with questions about how to talk to girls and stories about just how hard it is to be thirteen. Pete does his best to return the calls and answer the questions. He loves talking to Bradley and the older he gets, the better Pete has become at ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest when he does.

He still cries, sometimes. Usually after Bradley has called and asked to hear about his father, again. It’s been like this for years and Pete still has stories the young boy hasn’t heard. One’s he’s saving for when he’s a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more like his dad. At least that’s what he tells himself, instead he might be saving them for days when he himself is a bit stronger, a day where his voice won’t break and crackle across the phone line, a day when Pete can finally think about that day without being overtaken by nausea.

Those tears come with a choked out sob– Pete may as well be kneeling at the marble base of God’s altar instead of sitting on the cold kitchen tile, his back pressed to the linoleum of the cabinets.

And still, Tom doesn’t call.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if Pete could rip the memory of the Layton Mission from the gray matter of his brain. It’s not so much the battle that gets him, either, that gets to Pete late at night when he’s tucked away beneath his sheets– or when he’s doing preflight checks, or drinking after work, the memory is always there.

Instead, that memory, the blond man and his shark-snap grin, is almost on constant replay in the back of his mind. That damn death grip of a handshake that led to the pair coming together, their orbits finally close enough to send them colliding into each other. It was all hard pats on the back and smiles so big their cheeks hurt.

At the time he convinced himself it was just the adrenalin of realizing he was still alive. Still breathing and standing on dry land with his wingman in tow. Then, as they stood toe to toe, embraced in each other's arms as much as their gear would allow all sweat soaked and satiated just by being alive, Pete’s life shifted. It was a small shift, almost imperceivably so. But, he felt it deep within his very being. The memory of Tom’s body heat radiating into him caused a feeling of heat somewhere stuck between his heart and his stomach. In a way, Pete convinced himself it was that same sort of heat, only this time it was his body creating the feeling instead of another. But truth be told, it was all Tom’s doing, even if neither of them realized it.

In the coming days after, he rode the high of survival, letting it carry him all the way to his new posting with a fever and a confidence that was simply too Maverick to be ignored. Then as the day became more routine, the excitement of life dulling back out to a saturation of normalcy, Pete began to notice the feeling… that feeling where he knew there was something missing, hanging just beyond his reach. His world had shifted again, this time going unnoticed and it left him craving. That knowing heat no longer stuck in his abdomen, now seemingly akin to void.

It wasn’t the same hollowness that came with the thought of Nick, or the guilt that panged against the walls of that empty space inside himself when Bradley sounded just a bit too much like his father. No, this was different all together.

That made him cry too; he chalked it up to an attempted expiation, though he wasn’t sure if God or his father were receptive to that sort of thing. His amends on Earth were as completed as grief and time would allow.

These tears were something else entirely. And still, Tom didn’t call.

It’s not quite like Pete expected Tom to call. After all, they went their separate ways after Layton. Pete turned right back around while Tom turned his gaze forward. But sometimes, in the heat of the jet, or while he flies down the highway, tires squealing in the way his lungs felt the need to, Maverick swore he could feel Tom’s back pressed up against his own. Maybe that’s just how it goes when two become linked in such a way- the trauma bond starving off a war before it starts- to then lead life 180 degrees from one another. Ghosts of memories with the knowledge that they have your six in the same way that you have theirs. Phantoms of a bond that lasts not because you want it to, but because it has to despite it all.

Pete has never tried to call Tom, either.

It might be something in the way that they’ve always spent their lives halfway to heaven that makes the fact that Tom Kazansky could be- is- standing rain soaked and unannounced on Pete’s front porch less of an unheard of possibility and more like an answered prayer. The rain itself is not unusual for the season but Tom’s presence is, and the look he wears plastered to his brow in the same way his hair is, is even stranger.

And in that halfway to heaven part of their lives- both in the way that they spend their time in jets racing towards the bend of the Earth and the sky that might just give way to the heavens if they could reach it, and the way that they knew all too well how quickly a jet could claim a life- that’s where Pete first let him imagine a moment like this. A moment where Tom might step through the front door of his house- of their house- after one of those long and grueling missions. A moment where Pete might be able to wrap his hand gently around the back of Tom’s neck and pull, their lips meeting in the middle. Whispered “thank god your home” and “I’ve missed you” shared between them presses of their lips. The images swirled in his brain, thoughts he knows better than to entertain but they themselves are so sticky sweet with endearment that he can’t help but give into their warm glow. In another life where the world was different or he was someone else. He would’ve been such a good wife.

But now, Pete is still himself, and Tom is still standing under the cover of his porch dripping water onto his welcome mat. Tom looks a little thinner, and more worse for wear than Pete’s ever seen him, but fuck he still looks good. His eyes wander over Tom’s body, taking in the way his clothes stick to his skin. Light wash jeans now dark, the thick fabric hugged to his thighs. White t-shirt basically see-thru now, his abs just visible in the amber buzzing of the porch light. The button down shirt framing the thick outline of his shoulders did nothing to help Tom in the rain, but Pete can’t help but let his eyes linger on the curves of muscle Tom has there.

Tom lets Pete look, his words sitting thick on his tongue. Tom had an entire monologue planned out, from beginning to end, mapped out on his walk over. It was a few miles after all, from base to Pete’s front door. Tom has always been an analytical man, thought out and sure of himself, but all that faded to the background as soon as Pete pulled open his front door. So, Tom lets him look.

He looks, too. Not that Pete noticed the way his friend’s eyes wandered over his own body. In nothing but jeans, wrinkled and worn, left undone like Pete had pulled them on just to answer the door. They’re zipped but the button hangs open. There’s no waistband hidden underneath, just a line of dark brown hair that leads down his abs and disappears behind the brass teeth of the zipper.

Tom’s eyes are angled low enough, that in the light of the half dead bulb, he appears to be keeping his eyes strictly to the ground. He’s not, but again, what Pete doesn’t know won’t hurt him. As that thought crosses Tom’s mind again, his stomach twists a little.

“Ice… What the-”

“Fuck it’s good to see you,”

#saltsicklover #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #icemav #icemav fanfiction #pete mitchell x tom kazansky #iceman x maverick #pete mitchell/tom kazansky #maverick/iceman #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction #pete mitchell #tom kazansky #hey look whos finally writing again

22 notes · View notes

sagamemes · 4 years ago

Text

the sheridan tapes 📼 part two. here and under the cut, you can find over 130 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes four to six, edited for roleplay purposes. some of these focus heavily on survival, war, science, and spooky stuff, but a lot can be used by anyone. tw: war, unreality, a mention of cannibalism, implications of manic behaviour.

❝ god, i hate snowstorms like this. not just getting caught in them, but the storms themselves. it feels like the earth’s trying to bury me alive every time it locks in like this. like nature’s rightly pissed off at all of us and doing its level best to crush us to death. ❞

❝ that’s what yom kippur means: the day of atonement. ❞

❝ that wasn’t the first time i’ve caught him in my office, going through my stuff. ❞

❝ normally i’d be annoyed at someone calling me young lady. ❞

❝ thank you… you are so warm… thank you for letting me in. ❞

❝ suddenly, everything fell into place. i made more progress than i had in about half a year. ❞

❝ the thing i remember most was catching disapproving glances from my father every time i went to the library. ❞

❝ why does time only run forward? why does cause need to precede effect? ❞

❝ no one knows if they can trust me with casework or not. ❞

❝ i didn’t say i was interested. ❞

❝ [he/i] was taken off duty and sent for psychiatric evaluation the next day. ❞

❝ coffee. i was making coffee. ❞

❝ i didn't mean to get stuck out here. ❞

❝ that just goes to show how small humans really are in the grand scheme of things: take away our tools and our toys and our technology, and we’re still just as vulnerable as we ever were. ❞

❝ she was good at that: making you feel like you were safe, like you could open up to her. ❞

❝ i’m just going to cover that one up. no harm in keeping it out of sight for the moment. ❞

❝ maybe there was someone in the stairs. ❞

❝ i think i did the lion’s share of the talking, which almost never happens. ❞

❝ i couldn’t get to sleep... i figured i’d get a head start today. ❞

❝ i’m afraid i don’t have all of the details of your involvement with the… tragic events in [place]. and i don’t think i’m the only one. ❞

❝ i’m still not sure i understand the whole tradition. ❞

❝ whatever it is, it’s chasing me. i can hear it’s footsteps in the snow, i can hear it— ❞

❝ when you work nights here, the less you really think about them, the better. ❞

❝ honestly, i just can’t get it out of my head. ❞

❝ snow is one of nature’s simplest and most effective ways of killing you dead if you aren’t prepared for it. ❞

❝ i wish you’d tell me what you’re doing here. i could lose my job if anything gets broken or if you end up getting hurt in there�� ❞

❝ would you say you… considered her a friend? ❞

❝ would you mind saying your name again? for the recording? ❞

❝ if that was true, then there was something—and as a scientist, i hate to say this—supernatural going on in that lab. ❞

❝ most of them didn’t make it. a lot of them died afraid and alone, too. ❞

❝ i know you don’t like listening to these things, so i just wanted to help you out with… ❞

❝ if i could sleep, then trust me, i would. ❞

❝ i’m guessing the new owners are trying to make this place seem less creepy than it already is. ❞

❝ my schooling was expensive and unremarkable. ❞

❝ a lot of them died afraid and alone, too: ideal conditions for the making of poltergeists, in my experience. ❞

❝ look, i’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time for anything, so if you wouldn’t mind… ❞

❝ basically, i was picturing a slightly creepier morticia addams. i couldn’t have been more wrong. ❞

❝ now i have to deal with [name]’s aspirations to write drama.. ❞

❝ i promise i won’t get you sacked. ❞

❝ i’ve never been very religious, but for some reason… it made me think of hell. ❞

❝ i think it may have been a thank you. ❞

❝ i’m working the graveyard shift and i noticed the lights were on. ❞

❝ i shouldn’t be here. no one asked me to come in this early. ❞

❝ everyone around here looks at me like i’m some kind of leper. ❞

❝ i had to go home for a few hours. i’m already on thin ice around here, and i didn’t want to get in more trouble for screaming obscenities up and down the wall. ❞

❝ it was… darkness. no, that doesn’t do it credit, the whole place was dark. this was just... void. ❞

❝ if i’d seen her anywhere else, i’d think she was an athlete or a backpacker. ❞

❝ better scientists than me have been bashing their heads into that particular wall since 1927. ❞

❝ i just want you to know that… whatever you really are... you’re safe here. ❞

❝ goats being goats, it would just come back the next day looking for food. ❞

❝ i would like you to leave my office now… and i’ll ask you not to tamper with evidence in the future, understood? ❞

❝ no, of course, i don’t have signal out here, so i can’t just call triple-a. ❞

❝ what are you doing in my office—at four goddamn thirty in the morning? ❞

❝ you ever wonder where the line is? you know, between human and not? ❞

❝ the funny thing i’ve noticed about war: no matter how terrible the fighting is, there always seems to be too much waiting. too much quiet. too much sitting around, bored to tears between fits of chaos and violence, lost in routine while waiting for the other shoe to drop. ❞

❝ a lot of people condemn them for that. we’re so sure we’d never resort to that—that we’d rather die than cross that unspoken boundary. ❞

❝ i’ve been at the [workplace/institution] for ten years now. that’s long enough to know that the ones who ask questions are the ones who can’t cut it. ❞

❝ the program blew every fuse in the lab. including the lights. ❞

❝ it was soon after they left that i began to have trouble sleeping. ❞

❝ perhaps we never knew each other as well as most friends do, but… we cared for one another. ❞

❝ most of her questions are a bit above my pay grade. ❞

❝ i’m trying, i’m trying! i can’t get the door open! ❞

❝ i don’t know why she needed my help: i think she had a better grasp of it than most science fiction writers. ❞

❝ we both had places to be afterwards, so we kind of rushed. i really wish i’d taken the time to say goodbye. ❞

❝ i guess some things just… don’t want to stay buried. ❞

❝ it was completely against orders of course, but no one really noticed or cared that far from the front. ❞

❝ i offered to buy him a cup of coffee. ❞

❝ newspapers praised them at the time: saw them as heroes of exploration and paragons of pioneer courage. ❞

❝ i signed a lot of big, scary nda’s during my time there. ❞

❝ i did the only thing that came to mind: i took a grenade from my belt, removed the pin, and threw it. ❞

❝ i doubt this storm will last more than a couple of days, and once it lets up we can sneak out of here and get going again. very, very carefully. ❞

❝ given enough time, everything will rot away to its elementary components, and that, you can’t reverse. ❞

❝ i really can’t see anything from inside the van. ❞

❝ i knew there were a few experiments that dealt with some pretty high-level theoretical concepts, but i wasn’t directly involved with any of them. ❞

❝ it’s a strange choice, but then again, he’s a strange man. ❞

❝ i know, it sounds ridiculous. trust me, i’ve done everything i can think of to make that conclusion go away. ❞

❝ scared the bejeezus out of a bunch of skiers, but they were nice enough to let me in after deciding i probably wasn’t a ghost. ❞

❝ please… it burns my skin… please… ❞

❝ i forgot how fast storms blow in up here. ❞

❝ it’s not like i felt out of control: it felt more natural than breathing. ❞

❝ i didn’t know what i was doing, not at any conscious level. but one step seemed to lead to another, then the next, and then the next. ❞

❝ it’s called a butcher’s shop in some places, but a mortuary in others. as much as i’d love to imply there was some sweeney todd style recycling going on here, i think the place has just been a lot of things over the years. ❞

❝ god, these things are creepy as hell. ❞

❝ if you wouldn’t mind, please, tell us what happened? in your own time, of course. ❞

❝ it took a few long, nerve-wracking days to work up my courage and visit the section again. ❞

❝ it’s not that odd to think that people ate each other out there. ❞

❝ i didn’t think there was a ghost in my room or anything like that, i just kept hearing noises whenever i was about to fall asleep. ❞

❝ i downed half a dozen energy drinks at 6 and called it dinner—i know, i know, it’s a nasty habit i picked up in grad school. ❞

❝ they told me that the cpu and motherboard had somehow been melted into a solid lump of plastic and silicon. ❞

❝ i mean, [name] was a pain in the ass, but at least he didn’t… ❞

❝ my schedule was full, but i had something else fall through at the last minute. i had your number on my desk, so i thought i may as well call. ❞

❝ i wonder if it was afraid, or if it even realized what was going to happen. it probably didn’t. ❞

❝ i need to get more coffee. or punch someone. whichever’s more convenient. ❞

❝ god, if that’s really how i sound… ❞

❝ people think i write horror, but i don’t really think that’s true. i just write fiction with all of the comfortable little lies taken out of it. ❞

❝ i have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night. ❞

❝ i think he felt something about this place… some influence or power that needed to be destroyed, so he tried to do it the only way he knew how. ❞

❝ well, it’s a tricky thing. the more realistic you make them, the more… unreal they start to look. i think it’s something about the eyes. ❞

❝ i offered to stay late, just to smooth things over. ❞

❝ maybe i can get some writing done while i’m stuck here… ❞

❝ no child could grow up in a jewish home surrounded by books and not read at least one story about golems. ❞

❝ i just wasn’t a good student, despite my love of reading. ❞

❝ i have to say, i like your jane doe. ❞

❝ she was a scientist herself. maybe not formally, but her way of thinking, her insight, her methods... they were scientist’s qualities. ❞

❝ seriously, what do i need to do to get a little privacy around here, a little dignity? hang a ‘ do not disturb ’ sign on the door? change all my locks? ❞

❝ maybe it was stupid, but i figured, ‘ hey, early december, not a cloud in the sky—should still be fine, right? ’ ❞

❝ jesus, [name], i wasn’t born yesterday. ❞

❝ maybe doing this while it’s still dark outside isn’t the best idea. ❞

❝ more than a century and a half have passed, and this place is still just as dangerous as it was then. ❞

❝ now, [mr./ms./mx. name], i’m sure you know why you’re here. ❞

❝ the [event] was a bust—only about a dozen people showed up all afternoon. ❞

❝ i never put much stock in the idea of inspiration, but for the first time in my life, it felt like i wasn’t pushing myself through the muck of miscalculation and guesswork towards a solution. i was being pulled towards an answer that already existed. ❞

❝ it felt like i was a few steps from finding out something fundamental. some truth about our universe that no other scientist had ever dared to dream of. ❞

❝ huh. that’s… that’s weird. i could’ve sworn there wasn’t a sculpture back there before. ❞

❝ apparently, no one had told them what i was doing, and i wasn’t actually cleared to leave. ❞

❝ maybe he’s trying to make amends. keeping watch over these half-living things to make sure no harm comes to them. ❞

❝ i expected the building to be wreathed in shadow and overgrown with cobwebs, but it's actually really nice. ❞

❝ sorry, i was trying to get my recorder working, but it froze up on me so i had to find a tape for this old… ❞

❝ okay. just… don’t get me sacked, alright? can’t exactly retire on this salary. ❞

❝ but if it was real—i don’t know if i somehow created it, or if it was feeding me information about itself before it appeared. ❞

❝ i’ve never had a manic episode before, and i was well below the level of caffeine needed to cause intoxication. as far as i can tell, there isn’t a medical explanation for what happened. ❞

❝ i don’t get the appeal of meeting real celebrities. it’s just a cheap shock of recognition, and nothing more. ❞

❝ whatever this… thing was, it sounds pretty dangerous. ❞

❝ are you familiar with temporal asymmetry? ❞

❝ i just want to make that abundantly clear: this /wasn’t/ the plan. ❞

❝ right then, now let’s get started. please state your name and rank for the record. ❞

❝ though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. ❞

❝ a cracker of a book, young lady. ❞

❝ no wonder they’re keeping them in storage. they’d give anyone nightmares. ❞

❝ i was just going to finish out my shift unless… you want me to stick around? ❞

❝ i went to the university, but don’t remember much of the years i spent there. ❞

❝ having to study textbooks and essays day in and day out took all of the joy out of reading for a long time. ❞

❝ we call paradoxes paradoxes for a reason: no matter how plausible they seem, they can never really happen. ❞

❝ i don’t know what happened to me that night. i still don’t even know if what i saw was real. ❞

❝ when we look into the void for too long, we find the monsters instead. ❞

#sentence starters #sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp meme #* sentences.#* meme.#sheridan #trying some minor new things w/ the formatting #especially for these longer #non numbered sentence memes

150 notes · View notes

canonconspiracy · 4 years ago

Text

Choices (Jasper Hale x Reader)

AN: This one is a...little different, and I’m honestly not sure where to place it on my AO3 or Wattpad yet, so it’ll be a tumblr exclusive.

Fandom: Twilight - SPN Hunter Reader

Pairing: Jasper Hale x Fem!Winchester!Reader

Warnings: Combat?

WC: 1779

Choices, decisions you made on your day to day, had been much different when you were a Winchester. You thought that moving to Forks, Washington would have taken you away from everything, but your brothers knew as well as you did that the monsters don't just stay away. Not only had you fallen in love with a monster, but you had been targeted by another.

You would never call Jasper a monster, nor any of his family. They were good vampires, vegetarians as they would call themselves. Though you knew your brothers wouldn't understand your choice of paramour, they had been hunting while you grew closer to the Cullen family. Finding yourself growing closer to them, you had also found yourself growing close to a young woman named Bella, one who had made the same decision you had. She had chosen to be with Edward, and now the two of you had been driven out to a hotel far, far away from Forks.

The tracker changed his course, and within minutes, decisions were to be made. Had you been thankful that you had your hunting supplies with you? Of course, as you watched the brunette making her way past Alice Cullen and her mate, you knew the only decision that was to be had. Though the Cullen family had never seen a hunter in action, they were about to. Everyone was about to.

Following the woman out, taking a taxi cab to the location that Bella already mentioned, had not been difficult at all. Dead man's blood, a machete, and a plan formulating on your side was what you needed. There was a human in danger, and she was endangered by a true monster. Everything about this set up had trap written all over it.

Moving with stealth, you saw the moment that the monster, James, had Bella pinned against the wall. He was clearly cocky, talking down upon the woman as he pulled out a camera. Surely he had not expected a human to jump into action, nor had he known a lick about what dead man's blood did to a vampire. The syringe had taken mere seconds upon sneaking behind the vampire to administer to his neck, before you moved to pull the brunette away from the male.

"What did you just do to me, you bitch?!" He clamored, his voice shrill as he moved to grab the aching in his neck. The ache burned, acidically eating away at the immortal as he screamed. It took seconds for him to move his red eyes back to the two of you, a glower in his gaze. "You're going to pay for that."

"Bella, go!" You exclaimed, moving in front of her as you made some distance between the human and the vampire. "Come on, fangs, let's dance."

His movements had been slowed from the aching pain coursing through his body, the dead man's blood seeping through his veins. Though he came at you at a decent speed, you still found yourself dodging as you wielded your machete, soaked in dead man's blood. Each strike you made to the man, though it had not wounded him more than a touch, still caused him to exclaim in pain.

"You're going to regret ever taking this chase," you growled, your body thrown back into the mirror behind you. The mirror shattered, and you were sure your arm had been bleeding, but you knew you had him on the ropes. All you could hope was that Bella managed to get out safely, as you charged back at the man. "I came to Forks for peace, not for this bullshit."

"Well, let me end your suffering," he chided back as he lunged upon you once more.

With a skillful strike, you watched as his head went tumbling to the floor. In that moment, watching the vampire drop to his knees, headless in front of you, a smile crossed your face. Your veins raced with the adrenaline of the kill, the adrenaline of saving the woman's life.

Your trek had not been over as you realized there was more steps to this supposed kill. Edward had mentioned in the car about how the limbs were to be severed, and the body to be burned. With a soft sigh, you glanced from the body, back to where Bella had been cowering wide-eyed in the corner of the room.

"You may want to look away," you warned as you readied your blade once more.

"I mean, it's a little too late for that," she said in a small voice as you moved to sever the first arm.

By the second, the two of you had not been alone, though you still finished what you had started. Your arm ached with each strike, but as you had the vampire in a pile, you could hear the floorboards being cracked clean off. The Cullen family moved to light the flames for you, while you stood back, wiping your brow.

"You took him down by yourself, Darlin'?" You could hear the southern drawl of Jasper in your ear. "Do you understand how dangerous that was?"

"I'm a hunter, Jasper," you said as you tucked your machete back into your bag, a sullen look against your lips. "It's in my blood, and this one wasn't nearly as bad as some of the monsters we've faced."

"Is that how you see me?" Jasper asked, his voice cracked as his lips curled to a frown. "My family?"

You shook your head, allowing your y/h/c locks to bounce as you did. Y/e/c orbs shifted to his amber eyes as you breathed out, "None of you are monsters. Djinn who feed upon humans, crossroads demons who kill for fun, even angels who simply see us as playthings, now those are monsters. Some humans are monsters, too, Jasper."

"I believe you, Darlin'," Jasper said with a smile, though his hand was placed against his face as he spoke. The scent of your blood was already getting too strong for him, and he knew he had to walk away from you. He had waited until Bella caught your attention to go by the others.

"What's a djinn?" You could hear Bella ask from behind you, causing you to cringe. "And angels, demons...those are simply religious folklore."

Sighing, you said, "I'd rather you believed that, but vampires aren't the only playing cards on the field. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little shaken up," Bella replied with a reassuring half smile. Her smile quickly turned to a frown as she noticed your arm. "You're bleeding, though."

"I'm alright," you said with a reassuring smile, before you realized Jasper's presence had been replaced by Carslie.

"Let me see," he said in a soothing tone, holding his hand out for your arm. As he examined your wound, he frowned, before reaching in his pocket to bring what looked like a kerchief out. Wrapping it around your wound tightly, he continued. "You're going to need stitches, but it's not bad. I-I feel we should thank you for taking care of James. I'm impressed, and a little intimidated. How did you do that all on your own?"

"Dead man's blood," you said with a sheepish smile. "And technically, I got the dose in when he was too preoccupied with Bella. My machete is coated in the stuff as well." After a pause, you found your lips drop to a frown.

"I don't think I've even heard of that," he said with a soft chuckle. "Let's get you stitched up, though."

***

After your arm had been stitched, you realized that Edward had already taken Bella back to her home. She had been adamant in the car about apologizing to her father, and you couldn't blame her for going without so much as a goodbye. Beside you now sat Jasper, in front of you a nearly grinning Carslie.

"That should be all better now," Carslie confirmed. "And thank you again. Unfortunately, Victoria got away from us."

"Surely she knows I'm a hunter, if they had not already, and she'll come prepared," you said with a huff. "I'm willing to help any way you all need."

"Darlin', didn't you say you wanted to get away from hunting?" Jasper jested beside you, placing a chilled hand upon your own as he smiled. "Isn't that why you're out here?"

"I told my brothers I'd be getting away from the supernatural entirely," you said with a chuckle, "and I'm sure this is the opposite of what they expected. It's not like I can sit this out, though."

"Well, you're not wrong," Carslie chimed in with a frown. "She will likely be targeting you."

"I may be able to make a call and get a search party," you said with a sigh. "But that's a conversation I need to work up to with my brothers."

"For now, rest," Carslie interjected quickly, shifting his amber eyes from you to Jasper. "Make sure she rests."

"Come on, Darlin'," Jasper cooed with a grin against his lips, gently tugging your hand to get you to stand with him.

With a light tint of blush against your cheeks, you allowed yourself to be led out to the living room, and then upwards into the upstairs. Heading to Jasper's room, he motioned for you to sit on his couch, before curling up beside you. Stroking your cheek gently, he allowed you to lie against his chest, everything at peace.

"So, are you really okay?" He questioned as his hand moved to your y/h/c locks, gently stroking them as he felt your body calm.

"Here, in your arms, of course," you murmured with a smile against your lips, closing your y/e/c eyes. "My brothers have both tried to escape, at one point or another as well. The younger of the two, Sammy, actually had a long relationship with a demon while my eldest brother was in purgatory and I was rotting in hell." You allowed a chuckle to escape your lips. "So, honestly, this is the best I've felt in probably my whole life."

"I don't want to let anything like that happen to you ever again," he whispered soothingly as he stroked your hair. "I mean, we both sound like we have pretty colorful pasts, and you're, what, twenty?"

"Yeah, but I've died about three times," you replied with a shrug. "Time goes significantly slower in hell, so it could be speculated."

"Well, you're here now," he said softly. "And I'm not going to let you suffer through that ever again." As he spoke, he moved to press a gentle kiss against your head.

#jasper x reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight x reader #twilight spn #crossover au #oneshot #twilight oneshot #supernatural twilight #winchester reader #tumblr exclusive

167 notes · View notes

deepspaceclawstation · 3 years ago

Text

BSG S02E06:

This time, I'm just going to write down my reactions in real time so this is going to be a disjointed mess. We're going scene-by-scene here so hang on!

Adama is really feeling the effects of the double betrayal isn't he? I feel sorry for him in a 'sorry to see you suffer but you kinda had it coming' kind of way. Like, I love his character but this is not going to go your way, old man.

I love the Lee-Roslin duo. They are great on all counts. This is the adopted parent/child dynamic I want to see in fiction, people! Terrorist guy (I give up! I literally heard his name 10 min ago! I'm just calling him Jafar from now on) is still shady.

Holy shit the Helo-Lee-Sharon standoff is intense. THEY DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THE SHOOTING OH MY GOD. See, this is logical and believable and I can understand each and every character's actions and motivations here and...oh wow, Roslin is not kidding around. We also got our first Lee/Kara kiss, yay! I love these minutes so much that this paragraph is all jumbled up chronologically I'm sorry.

Bill Adama just cracking those walnuts with his bare hands is sending me lmao. I know it's to show his frustration but what a very direct way to do that! Love it! Is it just me, or is he being particularly snippy towards Tigh? Oh OKAY, definitely snippy. Wtf was that press statement Bill, come on, you can do better. That 'get your hands off me' though!

Oh look, a Six-Balthazar scene that didn't make me want to fast forward or shut my brain off. So those are doable! Seriously though, they did a subtle call back to the 8 Cylons in the fleet thing, explored Balthazar's shift in perspective and increasing paranoia, and maybe planted a seedling of an idea that he might be a Cylon himself. Masterful!

Okay so Roslin is definitely getting more morally dicey with each episode and I'm officially in love with her. Love how she and Lee have got each other's backs. This Mr Meiers character is sketchy but what he says is sensible so I'll give him a pass and also because his name is a lot easier to remember than Jafar's.

I don't exactly understand what's happened but Birch guy is to blame. Got it.

Kara and Lee are on bad terms. Got it.

Mr Meiers does not like Roslin and is conspiring with Jafar to kill Lee. Got it.

Lmao Birch is going to be just comically ineffective now, is he? I thought almost getting a pilot killed would have been enough to demote the guy, but they raised the stakes to...takes four hours to line up ships for refueling? Is this supposed to be Adama's way of encouraging Tigh to speak up against him or something because that's what this is looking like to me. I mean, Gaeta (my beloved) did it.

Lee/Kara scene where they act like 10 year olds while simultaneously hiding their respective traumas from each other. Never let it be said that this show doesn't have range. Also Lee just bounced that ball off her forehead, didn't he? What a mad lad!

Okay Birch, this is just getting embarrassing now. How ineffectual is this guy? I don't understand why they have to make him so cartoonishly bad at his job to hammer in that he's not Lee. We get it, okay! Please don't show him pressing the space accelerator instead of the space brakes.

Classic scifi shootout scene. I love how they brought along some red shirts to die. I'll miss religious lady though. Lee and Kara make a good team as always and Sharon proves she's on their side or is she?

Poor Dee has to act as counsellor now and she does a great job. This man has really adopted his entire crew, hasn't he?

I like that they actually show them mourning religious lady. Sorry about the red shirts though.

Yay we're getting the family back together!

So many arcs in this one. Bill Adama went from 'let them rot' to 'let's get the fleet back together'. The Kara/Lee relationship also saw some serious progress here. I have no actual critiques of this run of episodes, so I've decided to just go with the flow for now. I hope the Tomb of Athena plotline either (1) provides more info about the colonizers' history, (2) requires some serious problem solving, (3) requires a heavy sacrifice, or (4) at least has some Indiana Jones type aesthetic.

#S02E06 #This format is unsustainable but fun #BSG watch tag #BSG #Long post

4 notes · View notes

vicecityhq · 3 years ago

Photo

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: autumn, forestpunk, cottagegore, darkest academia . With a slight resemblance to PAKORN THANASRIVANITCHAI of/the ACTOR.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Suwannarat, Briar Alias: Pan (codename for his job), Ari (more of a nickname than an alias) Realm of birth (if earth, nationality): Earth realm, Thailand Age: 29 Date of Birth: November 23rd Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Species: Children of the Twelve - Sagittarius Occupation: Police Detective Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Tanned, burnt orange hue with a smattering of chocolate freckles along his face. He has the same freckles throughout his body, but has bigger white spots along his shoulders, the backs of his ears, and his outer hips. Eye color: Honey Brown Scars: None that have a significant story Piercings: None Tattoos: None Hair color: Dark chocolate brown Abnormalities: Fawn-like ears Horns/ wings/ etc: Small, stumpy antlers that stick just above his hair Transformed form: He does not have a transformation.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Agnostic, but was raised Buddhist SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, Thai, Latin SECRETS: Teen romance can be rough, right? It’s like two colliding whirlwinds of emotions, hormones, and desires. One minute you’re together, the next you’re broken up for no reason. Now when that volatility is coupled with doubts about sexuality, it’s just a disaster waiting to happen. Most people didn’t accidentally melt half of their boyfriend’s face off and cause him to have to undergo grueling, expensive reconstructive surgery that would never quite make things right, though. Briar had told him the gloves had to stay on, but kids were reckless and foolishly believed in their own infallibility so it didn’t take much convincing to risk it all for some skin on skin. Then next thing they knew, Briar was babbling some half brained excuse about a science experiment gone wrong while his boyfriend’s blood curdling screams echoed in his ears. It was believably enough… until a month after - when the swelling from some of his injuries went down - his former lover was able to unintelligibly mutter “Briar did it.” Then suddenly an ‘accident’ turned into a full scale investigation of malicious intent. All Briar could do was tell the truth. He didn’t know which was more difficult - coming clean about his powers or coming out of the closet. But the officer sitting across from him and his distraught mother in the cramped interrogation room didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the confession. His bushy brows only furrowed in disappointment over the entire situation. In the end, Briar was only charged with obstruction of justice for initially lying to police, but the damage to his reputation was irreparable. His mother decided it would be best to relocate, which is how Briar came to finish his last years of high school in Agdoeg.

SAVVIES: hiking, gardening, camping, sightseeing, investigative work, problem solving, riddles and puzzles.

Powers & Abilities: Zodiac Empowerment (Sagittarius: enhanced accuracy, vision, tracking), Zodiac Physiology (see above appearance), Animal (deer) Spirit Summoning, Fthinóporokinesis (Autumn manipulation), Rot Inducement/Decaying Touch, Body Part Erosion, Luck, Evolution Manipulation, Supernatural Bowmanship.

Traits: (positive) Determined, intelligent, neat freak, health conscious, animal lover, usually down to earth, assertive, responsible, (negative) Sarcastic, impatient, untrusting, can have a temper when someone pushes him too far, distant, prioritizes work over everything else.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: November 23rd

Date of Death: N/A

Crime Record: Most would assume someone has to have a clean slate to enter law enforcement, but that would leave slim pickings in a city like Agdoeg. Briar doesn’t have any outstanding criminal record, but he did have a couple of dings on his juvenile one that were expunged once he became a legal adult and, therefore, they can no longer be found in most databases.

Background/Biography

(tw miscarriage, tw immaculate conception by some strange god XD, tw domestic disputes, tw divorce)

Briar’s parents had been struggling to conceive a child for many years, since their prompt marriage right out of secondary school. These sweet hearts had longed to have a cookie cutter life and family, but fate seemed to inhibit that every step of the way. His mother have seven miscarriages due to the condition of an incompetent cervix and was told many times that she may never be able to carry a child to full term. This had been devastating news to the couple, who had no means of affording everything that went into surrogacy and were now facing the reality that they may never be able to have their own children. In spite of these odds, though, they kept trying and praying that whatever Gods that were out there might grant them a miracle.

Their prayers never seemed to be answered, though, and this put an understandable strain on their marriage. It was when his mother was thirty three and beginning to lose hope that she was plagued by a strange dream. She was floating in a vast emptiness, unable to move or even scream. This might have terrified someone else, but she somehow felt safe blanketed in the darkness. It was as if the entire universe lay bare before her, starlight dancing between her outstretched fingertips. Except she didn’t have fingers. She didn’t even have a physical body. There was a sense that she had become a part of something greater or perhaps been broken down into a form akin to what they had all been before the universe collided together in some cosmic firework show to create all that they knew. After what seemed like an eternity if time even passed in that world, the stars began to slowly take shape before her, pulled together by gravity or some other force she would never quite understand. As they converged, the light became so bright that it was nearly blinding, but she was space dust so how could she look away? She remembers trying to rationalize it with that absurd thought as the light shifted around her and the sound of harps and a heavenly chorus interrupted the sacred stillness that she’d been immersed in until then. Heralding the coming of something… or someone. The light came together at the peak of the crescendo, shapeless but she somehow got the sense of a shapely figure wrapped in a gown the longer she stared into it. This motherly figure bent over her and she recalled the warmth as its tendrils of light stroked over her cheek before urging her mouth open. In that moment, she didn’t feel any sense of unease as the being urged her to partake of its light. It traveled past her lips and through every corner of her being, rushing into her fingertips and even the ends of her hair. It was the first time since being in that plane that she had any sense of where she ended and the rest of the world began. The last thing she remembered was that light condensing, forming into its own little star in the lower part of her abdomen and radiating such soothing warmth…

Then she woke up and that was the first time she really had any sense of unease about the strange dream. As someone who had experienced how odd dreams could get during pregnancy, though, she took it as a good sign. Sure enough, when she took a test three weeks later, she was pregnant! Unlike prior, when she’d lost her children around the three month mark, this child was growing strong and without the complications she always worried about. Everything seemed to finally be falling into place. Their marriage and hope in the future was revitalized! And after nine months of perhaps the most physical and emotional pain she had ever been in in her entire life, she was welcoming a beautiful, healthy baby boy into the world and never once thought about the unsettling dream at the start of it all.

Admittedly, Briar was certainly a unique baby. His ears had always been a little odd since birth - bigger than usual - but his parents figured he would just grow into them and found it one of his most endearing traits. However, when he was three years old, that’s when his antlers started coming in. His mother found them one night when she was reading him a bedtime story and running her fingers through his unruly mop of wavy hair. Understandably, she freaked out and brought him to the doctor the next day, who took a biopsy and found the strange growths to primarily be made of calcium. It was unusual, but they decided to simply keep an eye on it since it seemed harmless enough. They only became more noticeable as the years went by, poking through his hair, and Briar recalls the Chinese Buddhists of his neighborhood always telling his mother it was a sign of good fortune. At the time, Briar had always thought it was annoying how they’d always want to lay their hands on him, but he realized as he’d gotten older that they believed the cow was Guanyin’s reincarnated father and the stubby little nubs atop his head made them think he was blessed. But horns and antlers are two different things - one being keratinous and, the other, bone - but he supposed it was easy to confuse them at first glance. Going into adolescence, those things grew like crazy. As if puberty and having velvety twigs growing on your head wasn’t stressful enough, that was when Briar first noticed his parents beginning to drift apart. One night, when coming home late from a friend’s house, he overheard a heated argument between them in the kitchen and his father’s accusations would forever be etched into his mind... “You thought you could trick me forever? I don’t know who knocked you up, but I can’t pretend that thing is my son!” The words drove through him like a knife. Yet after the initial shock subsided, Briar felt for the first time that all the little confusing pieces he’d chosen to overlook his entire life began to make sense. At first his parents had simply assumed he’d taken on more features of his mother, but his father had begun to grow distant as his otherworldly features and powers emerged. The reality was that two humans couldn’t possibly have made a half-deer-whatever-he-was and the only logical explanation was that he wasn’t his father’s at all. He only wished he’d come to that conclusion sooner instead of deluding himself and becoming foolishly attached to the man… The divorce was relatively swift. The judge didn’t even demand a paternity test when his father rebuked having to pay child support. All he had to do was look across the courtroom and he could tell that the speckled, big eared, horned child standing there wasn’t his. It was a dirty, unjust move that besmirched his mother as a disloyal wife and watching her go through that emotional rollercoaster was perhaps the toughest thing of the whole ordeal. Thirteen year old Briar comforted her through the fits of tears and had a strong upper lip when she insisted that she’d never betrayed his father… What bothered him the most was that he couldn’t believe her, but he also couldn’t be angry or blame her either. He had always been closer with his mother and he promised her in those moments of weakness that he would always take care of her. Of course, a single mother with a bad reputation was not an easy gig when trying to support a family. They were forced to move from their smaller town into the teeming metropolis of Bangkok for her to find work and Briar was honestly quite happy with leaving the past behind him. He thrived in the city with its far more diverse population. No one looked at him like he was a freak when he rode the bus or went to buy groceries. It was the first time he felt like he could truly be himself. He had his fair share of rough patches, just like any hormonal teenager, but having otherworldly powers and no one to teach you how to use them certainly caused a few catastrophic, social life obliterating faux pas. His mother thankfully was able to transfer within her company to the Agdoeg branch. It meant not only relocating in the middle of high school for Briar, but moving to an entirely new country. The level of diversity and integration of the supernatural community within Agdoeg was even better than what he’d experienced before. They were in government, owned small businesses… But not all of them were reputable or honest. Briar quickly learned that there were parts of the city that he shouldn’t venture to if he knew what was good for him. However, in spite of the seedier things going on in the underbelly, he was able to find a youth center which helped him to get a better handle on his powers and met his role model who would eventually lead him into his career as a police officer.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

Briar squeezed his eyes shut tight in an attempt to chase away the spots dancing across his vision from the overbearing fluorescent bulbs that bore down on the table in the center of the interrogation room. It was so intense that he could hear the hum of the electricity going to it and, somehow, he mentally processed that before the weight of the officer’s words. Words he’d uttered himself many times when the roles were flipped. Normally, this was the point a smart suspect would clam up and demand to talk to a lawyer, but clearly this was some kind of joke and he’d just missed the punchline. “Ha. Ha! Very funny.” He gruffed, devoid of amusement as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off the pounding headache settling in like someone was playing the bass drum behind his eyeballs.

The precinct had all been out drinking the night before, celebrating closing a case that had been busting their proverbial balls for the last six months, and there was a point after countless shots of tequila that Briar didn’t even know what was up and what was down, let alone why they were even there anymore. Now, he didn’t doubt that many profoundly stupid things had fallen from his lips and been done, but he hardly would have thought it would be anything illegal. Officers protected their own and someone less inebriated surely would have stopped him before he did anything he’d regret. Trying to wrack his brain, Briar bent to press his forehead to the cool metal of the table with a pitious groan. He remembered waking up in one of the cells to the sound of the door noisily being opened and before he could even get his bearings, two uniformed men were hauling him up and dragging him down the hallway toward the room he sat in now. None of it made a lick of sense.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a joke, Officer Suwannarat. Something very serious happened tonight and we need you to tell us why.”

The brutally stern voice sobered Briar up really quick and he lifted his head up from the table to narrow his eyes on the man that sat across from him, his fawn-like ears flicking in annoyance. He’d worked on the force for many years now and he wasn’t about to be hassled by some nameless rookie who was probably forced in here by his supervising officer, like a lamb being pushed into a cage with a bear. “Listen- no. What is going on?” He demanded with surprising eloquence for someone who’s tongue felt like a dried up sponge in his mouth. Drunk drought be damned. “Am I under arrest? ‘Cause if I am, you better tell me the charges or else I’m walking right out that door and finding your commanding off-”

What was likely going to be a memorable tirade was cut short as the door to the interrogation room swung open and a handful of officers poured into the small space like salmon all fighting to spawn upstream. All Briar could do was stare wide eyed where he was glued to his seat and watch with no small amount of mortification while a cake was set in front of him with messy lettering iced on top that read ‘Congrats on your Promotion! Now you’re their problem.’ Feeling the mixture of rage and bewilderment quickly begin to ebb away, the corners of Briar’s lips twitched into a crooked smile and he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re fucking kidding me. Who’s terrible idea was this?” He demanded with a mirthless laugh as he deflated back into the hard metal chair and glanced around at the familiar faces of the men and women he’d worked with for the past ten years. God, how had he survived their crazy antics and made it this far?

“What do you mean? We had to give you a memorable send-off.” His partner mounted his defense and slunk out from the crowd to give Briar an encouraging clap on the shoulder. “Besides, do you know how hard it was to carry your heavy ass into the cell to pull this off? The least you could do was say thank you. Geez. Too good for us already, Detective?”

Briar should thank him. That much he’d already mentally concluded. But shoving his partner’s smug face into the cake was also a tempting option. Instead, he reached up to gently pat the other’s hand with his gloved one. “Never.” He assured him gently before a chorus of obnoxious coos from the peanut gallery made sure to not only kill the moment but beat it once it was down. Pushing himself up from the chair, Briar swayed unsteadily and shamelessly grappled a couple of his friends for balance on his route to the door. “Ugh. Alright, get me out of this room before I literally end someone and get stuck here forever. That cake better be chocolate, I swear-”

#vcaccepted #vccivilian

2 notes · View notes

yandere-society · 5 years ago

Text

Day 11 | Santa Tell Me

Synopsis: You’ve always been strangely scared of Santa as a child. The thought of a stranger in heavy boots breaking into your home and rummaging through your stuff has always terrified you. And you felt that terror right now, in this instant, as you laid there with two men in bright green suits hovering over your pretend-sleeping form.

The 12 Days of Black Christmas Event Masterlist

Pairing: Vmin x Female Reader

Admin: @roses-ruby

Trigger warnings: Yandere themes, bad crack, attempted kidnapping, stalking, stupid jokes, joke about religion, swearing, bad mouthing Santa

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You really hated Christmas.

You hated everything that had to do with Christmas. All the sugary deserts, the unhealthy binging, the fake family bonding and seasonal depression longing. The freezing weather that froze your toes and pipes, the blinding red and greens, otherwise known as holiday delights. The overzealous consumerism around every corner, the empty materialism that gave everyone boners. The deforestation and self-righteousness, the ugly sweaters and proud religious mess. You hated Christmas and its warping spider’s net and all the very, merry, happy, holy, holly, jolly shit that went along with it.

It wasn’t like you ever had a good Christmas to change your mind. When you were six, every girl at school had the brand-new light up Princess Dolly sneakers for Christmas but thanks to your skinflint of a dad, you got the direct knock off; Princess Polly sneakers. Polly with a PUH. They didn’t even fucking light up. To this day you get nightmares from the bullying. At 15, you got typhoid fever before the big ski vacation and while everyone else got to go have the time of their life, you were stuck rotting at home with your weird cousin Sigil who collected the dead skins from snake sheds. And just last year, at an unbearably boring office party, your ex best friend and crush made out under the mistletoe for 15. Whole. Minutes. Last you heard of them, they were engaged.

Let’s not even start about your irrational fear of Santa Claus. Every bad Christmas could be traced back to him. You cried the first time you heard your dad describe the bearded old man. Your reaction confused the hell out of him but to you, he was the strange one. What kind of parent allows an overgrown, capitalist bear man who dresses in red and brainwashes elf and reindeer to come into their home using the chimney and spy on their kids throughout the whole year? Was he a sadist? When you were younger, you would wet the bed just thinking of him stomping around your house in the dark. Safe to say, you never left him any cookies. Now, you’re just glad you grew out of the phase of believing in such a horrid creature like Santa Claus. Finally, you could sleep happy knowing that no one would sneak into your house in the middle of the night.

So, while we’re on that topic…who exactly were the two men whispering in the dark inside your room if it’s definitely not Santa?

“We have to quickly get back before he notices we’re missing. QUICKLY, Taehyung.”

“I know, I know. Let me just untangle this rope, Jimin.”

Who the fuck were Taeyoong and Jimmy and what the fuck were they doing in your house? That’s what you were thinking as you laid on your bed pretending to be asleep, absolutely still in the complete dark. Of course, you had a break in on the night of Christmas because why the fuck not. What made you think this one year, your Christmas day would turn out okay?

You were stuck even further because you lost the window of opportunity to wake up and startle the intruders and perhaps scream for help because since the moment they snuck in (3 minutes ago) you did nothing but lay there listening to their banter like the idiot you are. Maybe you could pretend all their ‘noise’ woke you up, but then again you weren’t too fond of your acting skills.

But honestly, who were they? What did they want? Why did they keep mentioning returning before this ‘he’ found out they were gone?

As you were pondering your crisis, someone blew straight into your ear. You shot up from the bed with a scream and immediately turned on the lamp beside you. Two men in strange green tunics and stockings, pointy ears, and tall hats with a bell stare back at you with an equally horrified expression.

They were dressed up as…elves?

“See, I told you she was awake.” The one on your right, resembling a small animal, possibly the bastard who blew in your ear, chirps.

“Wow, you really do have night vision, Jiminie.” The taller one behind the edge of your bed, the one holding a rope says, while staring at you in a daze.

“Who the fuck are you both? How did you get in? What do you want?” You shout, bringing your comforter to your chest.

All they do is stare at you with lovesick eyes to which you scowl. Hold on, why were your potential murderers so hot?

“_-___,” The one on the right calls you carefully. He had round and soft features with a sharp jaw. Slender eyes and bright pink hair matching his rosy cheeks on his otherwise cute pale face. “It’s an honor to finally meet you…my name is J-Jimin.”

“I’m Taehyung.” You turn to the man with the rope. His features were extremely well proportioned and downright lethal. A devilishly handsome face, beautiful golden skin and dark brown mopy hair. He appeared and sounded like a mature sugar daddy but stared at you like a 12-year-old pervert.

You sat silent after the two men’s greetings. What were you supposed to say after intruders introduced themselves? Nice to meet you? And how did they know your name?

“…O-Okay…Jimin, Taehyung…why are you in my house.”

“We’re here to kidnap you.” Jimin smiles, his eyes turning into crescents.

“E…Excuse me?”

“Yeah! We’re here because we love you and we want you for ourselves, so we have to take you from your home.” Taehyung says, stretching the rope in his hands.

“WHAT?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Did you perhaps start hallucinating after your edible once again? Because that would explain this crazy ass dream you were having right now. Since when did you have an elf kink though?

“So you see,” Jimin begins walking to stand beside Taehyung so now they were both in front of you, “We’re Santa’s elves. We were the ones assigned to watch over you, see if you were naughty or nice.”

“Pfft, you’re very naughty~” Taehyung giggles, blushing like crazy. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“And over the years,” Jimin continues, “We came to fall in love with you to the point of obsession. So now we want to kidnap you and take you to the north pole where we three will live in a polyamorous relationship and only me and Taehyung will get to be with you.”

“We’ll fuck every day.” Taehyung chimes in proudly, earning a smack to the back of his head from Jimin who mutters ‘not yet.’

“Ahahaha, what Taehyung meant was…of course any sexual relationship would be consensual. No means no, after all.” Jimin winks awkwardly

You just sat there, mouth wide open as your brain refused to process all the information that was just presented to you. So not only were your intruders dressed up as elves, but they were also clinically insane.

“I’m calling the cops.”

“W-wait! We can prove it to you!” Jimin jumps, rushing back to your side. “When you were 10, you really wanted a MayaMaya doll collection set didn’t you? You didn’t tell your dad about it because you thought he would get you the knock off; the Papaya doll collection. It was the first and only time you were okay with Santa coming into your house, so you didn’t even set the bear trap in the fireplace like you did every year.”

He was right. What the fuck.

“W…how did you know that?”

“We saw you.” Jimin says, eyes soft and smile tender, “You were wishing so earnestly that Christmas Eve, it almost made me cry.”

“W…wait so…Santa is real?”

“Of course.” They sang in unison

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, time out.” You huff, “He’s been real this whole time, yet he’s never gotten me what I wanted for Christmas?”

“Oh, my love.” Taehyung strides up and sits on your side of the bed, taking your hand in his. “It was out of our hands…we tried to get you on the nice list, but he could sense your bad vibes…also I’m pretty sure he was salty you never left him cookies. He is sort of petty.”

“So you’re telling me that hippy bitch Claire really did deserved that large purple dollhouse more than me?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, she hasn’t been on the nice list for a long time now…all she asks for are sex toys.” Taehyung stares off into the distance.

“How long have ya’ll been watching me?”

“We are supposed to stop once a kid doesn’t believe in Santa anymore...but we were just always rooting for you. Before we knew it, we were watching you way into adulthood...and then slowly we started falling in love with you.” Jimin blushes

“...Have ya’ll seen me-”

“Naked? No...but we really want to.” Taehyung bites his bottom lip.

“I can’t believe this…” You groan, placing a palm over your forehead.

“Hey now, Jesus didn’t die today for you to be full of despair.” The taller elf rubs your hand with his thumb

“No, you idiot. He was born today…I think.” Jimin tsks

“Oh…well the point still stands. Don’t be sad my love. We never want you to have a bad Christmas again.”

“Anyway, we should hurry before Santa notices we abandoned him. That ass-kisser Jin also tagged along so we don’t have to worry too much about our portion of the presents since he would love to show off how competent he is to Santa all by himself. We can just say we ran a bit late because some kid almost woke up.” Jimin tells Taehyung to which he nods, getting his rope ready.

Oh right, this was a kidnapping. You forgot.

“___, just stay perfectly still and we’ll easily load you into the bottom of Santa’s gift sack. That thing is huge, no one will notice but us.”

“Guys, wait.” You say to which they freeze. “Let me think about this.”

They look at you with pleading puppy dog eyes and you start to contemplate it. Should you go with the two elves that barged into your house and tried to kidnap you and possibly turn you into a sex slave?

…

What were the pros and cons?

If you go to the North Pole, you’d basically be stuck with everything you hate about Christmas all year round. But could it be that bad seeing how smoking these two elves were? They could easily keep you warm. Were all elves this hot? Wait…could Santa possibly be hot? Your mouth watered thinking about it. Is this an enemies to lovers AU after all?

Whatever it was, it was interesting and more importantly you had a lot of unfinished business with the man in red. You could see it now, forming a mutiny with all the elves. Killing Claus and taking over his empire. Then it would be you who rules Christmas and boy, do you have a few changes you wanted to make like the beginning of this story states. Finally, all your wishes will come true. This time you WILL get the light up Princess Dolly sneakers and MayaMaya doll collection set.

And so, with a sinister plot forming in your head, you smile at the two eager elves in front of you.

“Alright boys, let’s go.”

Maybe this Christmas won’t be so bad after all.

#bts #park jimin #kim taehyung #yandere bts #yandere jimin #bts crack #yandere taehyung

305 notes · View notes

ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

A Lopsided Guardian

Summary: Louis, AJ and Willy work on making a scarecrow for the new outdoor garden.

Notes: For day 14 of @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale‘s October’s Challenge: Scarecrow.

Word Count: 1637

Read on AO3:

“Ah, a perfect likeness!” Louis declared, pulling proudly on the sides of his jacket as he looked between A.J. and Willy. “You know, boys, I consider this a job well done,”

“He looks awesome!” Willy exclaimed, his gap-toothed smiled wide as he jumped around excitedly.

“Yeah, there won’t be any birds daring to come here anytime soon,” A.J. agreed. His pose mirrored Louis’, pulling on the sides of his own jacket in pride.

“What’s this about birds?” Aasim asked, stepping over to join the group. Suddenly his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Wait a minute… are those my clothes?” He looked at the life-sized wooden stick figure the boys had made as it lay against one of the picnic tables. A series of sticks had been lashed together to form the skeleton frame while an unripe gourd was used as the head.

“They’ve been given to a worthy cause,” Louis replied, unabashedly smiling at his friend. “From now on your garments will protect our little garden from all the predators of the sky,”

“No they won’t!” Aasim declared, striding forward and ripping the clothes off of the wooden frame underneath. “Use your own clothes if you’re that keen on sacrifice! Or find some spares around the school, but don’t go dragging me into this.”

“Aww, c’mon ‘Sim, don’t be a spoilsport!” Louis protested, his lower lip jutting out in a fake pout. “They were just laying around begging to be put to use! It’s not like you ever get out of that smelly old hoodie anyways,”

“Says the guy in a duct-taped trench coat 24/7!”

“What’s all the ruckus out here for?” Ruby asked, bustling out to see what was going on.

Willy leapt forward. “Ruby, we made the scarecrow for you!”

“But Aasim stole the clothes,” A.J. added.

“They’re my clothes!”

Ruby ignored the squabbling and examined the scarecrow. “Well, it’s not a bad first attempt, but you boys are going to have find some sort of sturdy pole to mount it on so it can actually stand up. Also, while the gourd you picked does look an awful lot like Aasim, that’s gonna rot and fall off in a matter of weeks so you’re gonna wanta find a more permanent option,”

“Wait,” Aasim looked back at the gourd head more closely. Some features had been etched onto the gourd with a knife including a triangle cut out below the massive frown. “You literally made an effigy of me?!”

“Aw, Aasim you say that like it’s a bad thing! You should be honored!” Louis cajoled, patting Aasim on the back.

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Ruby said, walking back toward the greenhouse. “Keep at it, boys!”

“You would think having her as my girlfriend would mean she was on my side from time to time,” Aasim harrumphed, turning away.

“Trouble in paradise?” Louis asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I guess that proves Clem and I are the best couple after all,”

“Is that my name I hear?” Clementine asked, coming over on her crutches to see what was going on.

“Clem!” Louis exclaimed, jumping forward and guiding her towards the bench. “You’re just in time to witness he magnificence that is Gourdsim!”

“Oh, is that what it is?” Clementine chuckled as she watched A.J. and Willy toss the gourd back and forth. “I’m only catching glimpses of the carving that went into it, but it looks like quite the likeness,”

“I’m surrounded by philistines,” Aasim muttered under his breath.

“Why thank you,” Louis shot his girlfriend a toothy grin. “Unfortunately Ruby said the head’s a no go, so it’s back to square one,”

“Why not sew one?” Clementine suggested. “It wouldn’t have to be made out of anything fancy. We could use some of those old potato sacks from the kitchen,”

“That’s a great idea! I don’t know anything about sewing though,” Louis waved his duct taped sleeve. “Hence all the fancy alterations to my wardrobe,”

“I could sew it,” Clementine offered. “We’d just need to find a needle. Ruby guards the ones in the medical supply religiously,”

“I know where a few are,” Aasim stated, his arms crossed. “But if I’m to help with this, we are no longer making this scarecrow some twisted version of me!”

Louis and Clementine shared a smile. They could live with that.

-----

“That’s quite the skills you’ve got there, Clem!” Louis whistled appreciatively.

“Thanks. It’s nothing much, just gets the job done,” Clementine replied as she sewed the sack stuffed with leaves and sticks closed. “To be honest, I’ve used these skills less on fabric than other materials,” She caught Louis frowning at her words. He’d spotted the scar from the dog bite on her arm a few weeks ago and she’d told him what she’d had to do to get it stitched up. The whole account had upset him terribly. “Not that I’ve had to use it for that purpose either, not for a long time,”

Louis took her wrist in his hand, placing a quick kiss upon it. “Let’s hope that trend continues,”

“Clem! Louis!” A.J.’s voice excitedly rang across the courtyard. “We found the perfect costume!” He and Willy ran up to the couple, a grey pile of clothes in tow. They raised it up proudly. “It’s a mouse costume!”

“We found it in that costume box Ruby discovered a while back!” Willy added.

It was indeed a mouse costume, likely worn for The Nutcracker production that Ericson had used to put on each Christmas. They certainly had no other use for it now so it was perfect for the scarecrow.

“Looks great, guys,” Clementine raised up the scarecrow head she had in the works. “Maybe I can reshape this a bit, make it look more like a mouse face,”

“We could make big mouse ears for it too,” Louis suggested, grinning at the thought.

“We’ll get more potato sacks!” A.J. declared. With that he and Willy were off once more like a shot. Clementine giggled as she watched them run. It was nice to see A.J. so excited. It felt like things were finally starting to reach a new normal.

“Didn’t feel like using the prosthetic?” Louis’ question pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Wasn’t up for struggling with it today. This one’s way better than the others, but…” Clementine shook her head. “There’s still a lot to get used to,”

“We’ll work on it again when you’re ready,” Louis replied, his eyes gentle. “By the way, have you seen Vi today?”

“Omar pulled her aside for some sort of task, something about the ‘secrets of cooking’,”

Louis gave a mock gasp. “Omar decided to confide in Violet instead of me? And after all the Stew with Lous we shared together,”

“He clearly knows no loyalty,” Clementine replied, a smile playing on her lips as she joined in Louis’ theatrics. “There, I think that looks pretty mouse-like, right?”

“The spitting image. Y’know, I think I know where some buttons got stashed away a while back. They’d be perfect for eyes. I’ll just be a few,” Rising to his feet, Louis placed a quick kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead before scampering off in search of the buttons.

Clementine held up the mouse head. “Guess it’s just you and me then,”

The mouse head had nothing to say on the matter.

Clementine set it aside with a chuckle. This scarecrow really was coming together nicely.

--------

“Just a little more and… there!” Louis grunted with effort as he forced the pole the scarecrow was placed on further into the ground. “That should hold him,” He and the two younger boys stepped back to admire their work. “Y’know, I think we did quite a fine job,”

“It’s the biggest mouse ever!” A.J. shouted, spreading his arms wide in glee.

“No birds are gonna mess with him!” Willy declared proudly.

Clementine smiled at the boys as she sat upon the picnic table bench. She turned when she heard a voice behind her.

“What the hell is that?” It was Violet, carrying a bowl of greens which she set upon the table.

“Louis and the boys have been working on a scarecrow all afternoon,”

“Huh. Hey Lou, it looks great!” Violet called out.

Louis face brightened only to fall as soon as he saw Violet’s smirk. “Yeah, Vi, that joke never gets old,”

“Get used to it! You’re gonna be hearing it for the rest of your life!” Violet sat down beside Clementine, looking pleased with herself.

Clementine smiled over at her friend. “Have fun with Omar?”

Violet shrugged. “It was fine,” She stared out at the garden before them. “Can’t believe it took us this long to make an outdoor garden,”

It had taken several days of grimy work to fully clear out and till the patch of land Ruby had decided on before planting all the seeds one by one. One of the picnic tables had been brought over to provide seating during breaks and still hadn’t been moved back yet so the girls had a close-up view of the garden. It looked charming now, planted with row upon row of beans, tubers, squash and more. They’d have quite the harvest if all went well.

“Excited for veggies?”

“I think Omar’s the most excited of us all. It’ll be nice to have something new on the menu though,”

Clementine nodded. No more canned beans for her. She had fresh, home-grown food now every day. A place to sleep at night, sturdy walls… sometimes she still couldn’t believe it was all real. But it was. She was home.

“Something on your mind?” Violet asked, looking inquisitive.

“Just happy is all,” Clementine chuckled as she watched Louis, A.J. and Willy do a little victory dance together. It was a good day.

#twdg #twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg willy #twdg aj #twdg omar #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg violet #clouis #rusim #fanfic #twdgoctoberchallenge

2 notes · View notes

carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 9

I’m all over the place with this. I’m a day late but that’s better than nothing, right?

Day 9: Shackled

Simon

I’ve got a free afternoon today. Baz is at football practice, so I’ve got the room to myself for a change. I’m lying on my bed, window open, relishing the peace and quiet when a little bird flies in with a summons from the Mage.

He doesn’t do this that often—mainly when he’s got a mission for me. But I just got back from one a few days ago so I’d be surprised if he sends me out again so soon. I’ve already missed half a week of classes.

Penny says it’s irresponsible of the Mage and shows an unforgivable lack of respect for my education.

“But I’m getting an education in real magic when I go, Penny.”

“You can’t do the practicals without having a solid foundation in the theory, Simon!”

Penny has very definite views on magickal education. She regularly sends strongly worded missives to the faculty board regarding the educational practices at Watford. She was livid when the linguistics program was shut down fourth year and nearly went off when the music program ceased being part of the curriculum last year.

“Sung spells are so important, Simon! The technique is completely different than spoken spells—you have to perfect the elocution and the melody, not to mention the tempo.” We’d been in Magic Words class at the time and I’d been trying to levitate my notebook. It kept flinging itself off the edge of my desk instead.

Penny’s eyes had gone distant. “Sung spells are the only ones you can cast with other mages to increase their power. It’s criminal to eliminate the music program.”

“That’s one thing you and I can agree on, Bunce.” Baz had leant across the aisle, his book hovering a foot above his desk, not even wavering when he turned to nod at Penny. Wanker.

“If nothing else, I can count on you to support the value of a well-rounded education, Basil.” Penny had given him a meaningful look.

Baz’s face had lost its harsh angles momentarily, the sneer he typically sports when I’m in the vicinity fading away as his expression softened into something unfamiliar. Thoughtful and fleetingly vulnerable.

It was unexpected and it made my chest tighten. “It was important to my mother.” He’d paused, looking down for an instant before continuing. “She was a master of sung spells. My father . . . My father says he’s never heard anyone who could match her.”

I’d been agitated the rest of the class period. And most of the afternoon. It’s unnerving when Baz acts out of character. It throws me off.

Probably why he does it, the tosser.

Always plotting.

I make my way to the Mage’s office, passing through the wards set at the entrance. They’re set to let me pass freely. He’s at his desk, a large book open in front of him. He closes it and tucks it into a drawer when he catches sight of me.

“You called for me, sir?”

The Mage stands then, coming around his desk, arms clasped behind his back.

He’s taller than me.

I grew three inches this summer but I’m still a bit shorter than he is. I still have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

He’s grown a goatee this year and I’m dead jealous, even if Baz keeps making snide Robin Hood references about it.

Not that Baz has anything to brag about. He’s no better than me—not a hint more than peach fuzz on my face and Baz’s skin is even smoother, pale and unblemished, not a whisker in evidence.

“Simon. I called you here for some extra practice.” He sits on the front edge of his desk, one hand against the desk and the other lightly gripping his sword hilt. “I feel I’ve been remiss with some of your training.” His eyebrows come together in a furrow over his forehead. “We’ve not spent adequate time practicing spells you might need to utilise if you are bound or captured. Now that the Goblins are intent on your demise we need to add those to your arsenal.”

“I don’t intend to get captured, sir.”

“Simon.” There’s an edge to his voice when he says my name this time. “We must prepare for every eventuality. It is not an unlikely scenario, and not just as far as Goblins. Who knows what dark creatures might try to ingratiate themselves with the Goblins by apprehending you.”

I hate doing spell practice with the Mage. His mouth always narrows to a thin line and I can see the disappointment in his eyes, hear the frustration in his voice when he barks at me to enunciate clearly and use my words.

So much for my free afternoon. “Yes, sir.”

He walks behind his desk again and opens another drawer. “Come here, Simon. Hold out your hands.”

I put my hands out, fully expecting him to place something in them.

The Mage steps forward and snaps a set of metal shackles around my wrists before I can react. He nods at me as I stare at him in surprise. “Let’s have you try to get out of those.” He holds a hand up as I start spluttering. “Unlocking or releasing spells only, Simon. You have to count on stealth and speed in a situation like this, not brute force. The risk of being discovered or injuring yourself is real.”

Fucking hell. I’m terrible at this sort of thing, thinking up spells on the fly. I’m not even good when I try to do the ones I’ve memorised.

My mind is an utter blank. I can’t think of a single spell to open the shackles on my wrists.

“Come on, now, Simon. I haven’t got all night.”

“I can’t reach my wand.”

“Exactly the circumstance you would find yourself in, if this happened in the field. You can cast without your wand. We’ve worked on that.”

We have. I can do it, sometimes. Mostly when I don’t intend to. It’s unpredictable, like all my magic is.

“Uh . . . the only opening spell I know is ‘open sesame’, sir.”

He gives me a pained look. “Absolutely not in this circumstance.”

I wrack my brain as I give the shackles an experimental tug. The chain stretches to its full length—about an eight inch span—but I can’t budge it beyond that. The links are sturdy.

“Simon.” It’s not just a hint of irritation this time.

Ok. Ok. I can do this.

I cast “lucky break” but there isn’t enough magic in it. I try again but nothing happens.

I go through “free as a bird” and “get out of jail free” to no avail. The shackles glow for an instant with “go scot-free” but nothing happens.

I can see the Mage is getting irritated with me. I tug at the shackles again.

I try to think of spells to enlarge the cuffs but nothing comes to mind.

The Mage has his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed, a frown on his face. He looks at his watch.

“Simon, why don’t you keep at it for a while longer. I need to check in with my men. I’ll be back shortly.”

And with that he leaves. Just leaves, with me still trapped in the cuffs.

I can feel my magic coursing under my skin as my agitation increases. I’m angry, I’ll not deny it.

When Miss Possibelf sets us tasks like this she prods us, gives us gentle nudges, hints, feedback on what we could do better. The Mage does that with swordplay, but with the magic he just seems to expect me to figure it out on my own. It doesn’t come as easily as the fighting does though. It’s a struggle. And that just aggravates him. I can tell.

I can’t believe he just left me.

Probably thinks it builds character or some such rot. “Let experience sharpen your blade, Simon.” He says that one far too often.

I sink into the armchair set in front of his desk and run through spells in my head. I’m not like Penny—i don’t have reams of them stored up.

Or like Baz, who’s never at a loss for words, the utter prat.

I mutter a few more spells. Nothing happens. I’m desperate enough to consider Bible verses. I know it’s taboo, but it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options, now do I?

I don’t want to still be struggling when the Mage gets back here.

I can think of a few verses that might work. Some of the care homes had a more religious bent than others. I just went along with it.

I cast a “loose the bonds of wickedness.” Nothing happens and I don’t get struck down for my audacity so I try another. “Break every yoke” makes the shackles glow again, for longer this time, but they don’t open.

I’m sweating now. I can feel my magic thrumming under my skin, heat coursing down my arms. I close my eyes as the red haze starts and I take a few deep breaths, muttering “stay cool” and “cool it now.”

It helps. The haze recedes when I open my eyes. I stare at my wrists, trying to think of something useful.

I’d be right well fucked if this was a real situation.

I’m right well fucked with it as a training exercise.

I yank my hands apart, as if I could break the links. There’s nothing weak about any of them.

Fucking hell! I cast a “weakest link” and pull my hands apart as hard as I can. The middle link snaps clean through.

The shackles are still firm on my wrists but I can at least move my hands independently now.

If I were really held captive this would be enough. I could call the Sword of Mages and use it, cuff notwithstanding.

But I have a feeling that won’t be good enough for the Mage.

I stew on it a bit, shifting around in the seat. I can’t sit still so I get up and start pacing back and forth across the Mage’s office.

Six steps to the bookshelf and six steps back.

Back and forth.

I just want to be free of these stupid shackles. I want to leave. I want to go back to my room.

I look out the window. The sun is slanted lower. Baz will be heading back from football practice soon.

I’d rather deal with him than be here for one more minute.

I just want to be free.

I just want to break free.

Merlin, that’s it!

I can hear the lyrics in my head. Baz may be a complete wanker but he’s a wanker with good taste in music. I’ve heard him play this song often enough on his contraband iPod.

I cast “I want to break free.”

The shackles glow even brighter this time and stay that way, shimmering. I can feel a tingle in my wrists and heat radiating from the cuffs. It doesn’t burn.

But they don’t snap open.

What am I doing wrong?

It comes to me then. It’s a song.

Maybe I have to sing this for it to work.

Fuck. I don’t sing.

I mean, I sing when I’m in the shower but only if Baz isn’t around. He’d take the piss if he heard me, I’m sure of it.

I have to try. I’m out of options and I’m sure the Mage will be back soon. I can’t face disappointing him again.

I hum the tune a few times to prepare myself.

“I want to break free.” It comes out wavery. What did Penny say? Melody, elocution, tempo. Ok. Ok.

And intention. That’s true with every spell though.

I intend for these fucking shackles to come off.

I take a breath and sing the lyric again.

And again, my voice getting stronger with each repetition. The shackles glow with a blue light and spring open, falling to the floor.

I rub my wrists and shake my hands out.

The Mage walks in just as I’m picking the cuffs up off the floor.

His eyebrows go up as he takes in the sight of my cuff-free wrists. “Well done, Simon. Tell me, what spell did you use?”

“‘Weakest link’ to break the chain, sir, and ‘I want to break free’ for the cuffs.”

His expression relaxes and relief floods through me.

“I wanted you to focus on releasing spells to remove or loosen the shackles but ‘weakest link’ is a good one in a pinch. It lets you use your sword, if nothing else.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “The other one worked as a spoken spell?”

“No, sir, I had to sing it to make it work.”

He looks pleased now and I can’t help but bask in it. “Did you?” His claps my shoulder and gives me a hint of a smile. “Well done indeed.”

I smile back.

I’m so relieved.

#so many darn spells #whumptober 2019 #whumptober day 9 #carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #the mage #shackled

70 notes · View notes

bittermarrow · 6 years ago

Text

Imagine Slashers With an Angel S/O: (part 2) Michael Myers

Sorry that it took me forever to finish this! This is also more of a tiny fic than Jason’s was since it got so lengthy and has a more in-depth meeting scene. (I’ll be doing Bubba’s next!)

Warnings: Nsfw at the end, but nothing graphic.

Words: 3900+ (This is embarrassingly long T-T )

Michael

Michael knows what angels are, the family he spent six years with was religious enough for him to know. Did he really care about all that stuff? No. The point is he knows or at least he assumes that's what you are when he finds you, well, in all reality you found him. It was very hard to find someone who doesn't want to be found, and you made a conscious effort to avoid any and all human contact. You didn’t like humans very much, or talking to them so you kept a low profile.

You lived in a small house you rented from the old man that had originally found you when you fell, he was nice enough- and religious enough to offer you a place to live. He and his daughter were trying to move, and apparently, no one wanted the house, so if anything he was more grateful of you taking it off his hands than you were receiving it. With the promise of protection of his family and all that God stuff, it was a bit shady for you but you were desperate.

You’re stuck living on Earth now, your wings saw no real use indoors, and since you never left you never flew. Your misuse of them is leading you down a path of some pretty bad wing cramping, so you'd have to get a good couple of flights in soon. It's not like anyone was roaming out and about anymore, Haddonfield had gotten itself quite the gruesome reputation after all.

You had heard about all the murders that went on around this time of year, you may be an outsider, but you did own a TV.

There was a barely recognizable, blurry photo of the killer’s masked face plastered all over the news station you kept on literally all day. The background noise makes you feel less alone, you may purposely isolate yourself, but that doesn't mean you don't get lonely.

It was the quiet life that most people would die for, but it really isn't all that it appears to be. You can see the appeal, but sometimes you really wished you had friends.

And then you found him, Michael Myers, The Boogeyman of Haddonfield, The infamous escapee of Smith’s Grove, being chased by cops and jumping your fence.

Why in the hell you had shouted, “Hey!” and beckoned him into your home was beyond you. It really was pitiful how lonely you must be to let in a mentally deranged psycho killer into your home.

After a long stare, he inevitably entered, seeking shelter from the police rather than the heavy downpour, and was now dripping all over the hardwood floors of your kitchen. You looked up at the towering man, only slightly beginning to regret letting him in. Why had you let him in? Maybe it was some sick form of sympathy, or maybe you just finally lost the rest of your fucking marbles, because no mentally stable person with any sort of intelligence or common sense should ever attempt to house a sociopathic serial killer.

But you did.

And there was no going back now.

The stove light caught and reflected against the cold metal in his hand, and as he stared you swallowed the dread and turned on your heel, disappearing into the hallway. The feathered drapes of white and black that dragged behind you as you padded across the creaking floors did not go unnoticed by the motionless stranger’s watchful eyes.

When you returned he had moved further into the kitchen observing his surroundings, you passed him and set a folded up blanket, a towel, and a pillow on one of the cushions of your couch. When you turned around he was inches away from you, you didn’t even hear him move. You held his soulless stare for a minute, and then walked around him and back into the hall to retire for the night. He watched you leave, with a loose grip around the handle of the stained steel blade. Maybe God really wouldn’t let him die after all…

. . .

When you woke the next morning, you crept out of the hallway and as you went to prepare your morning coffee you threw a sideways glance over to the couch. It was empty, no sign of the monster that you’d sheltered last night. But the bunched up blanket half-hanging off the cushion, and the slightly damp towel hanging over the back of the sofa told you he had no doubt been there all night. As you poured your coffee you noticed an empty slot in your rarely used knife block, puzzled, you looked around for it and saw an unfamiliar knife stained with dried blood laying on your counter.

It was not in bad enough shape to be considered useless, so the only other explanation for him leaving it was that he would be coming back for it. And for a moment -just a fleeting breath of a second, you felt the heavy gloom that had kept your mood dark for years, lifted at the thought of someone else's company. For once you didn’t mind rotting here than hot tubbing with Hades down below after you'd been banished, like you were certain you would have, had you not escaped in time.

You decided to keep the back door unlocked, just in case he did come back.

. . .

You turned out to be right when night fell and you heard the loud screech of tires skidding across asphalt, the screaming of sirens and flashing blue and red lights shining through your windows, illuminating the darkness of the room as you sat in front of the television. Your feathers stood up on end at the sound of your back door creaking open and slamming shut, and then light footsteps across your kitchen floors.

From the couch you watched Michael return the borrowed blade into its rightful spot in your knife block, swiping the familiar knife off of the marble countertop, which had been cleaned of gore. He stopped in the entryway of the living room his head tilting to the side as he caught your eyes.

You searched his eyes, but you found nothing but cold blankness in them, was he really human? Creating space for him to sit down if he chose to, your eyes transfixed themselves back onto the TV, and your fingers pulled the blanket around your shoulders a bit tighter.

You had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to be stared at, it'd been so long...

To your surprise, you felt the couch cushion shift with someone else's weight and a quick glance to your left confirmed that he had sunk down beside you— on the opposite end of the sofa, of course, keeping some space between you. You could feel his eyes on you, specifically on your wings when they shifted with a soft rustle against the back of the couch, and while you couldn’t blame him for his interest, it was still uncomfortable.

You decide to bravely turn your head and meet his eyes straight on, and you notice his dark, shaded eyes widen a fraction. But as soon as the change appeared it was gone just as quickly, his blank stare boring into your soul through the eye-holes of that dirty white-faced mask.

Seeing his face obscured by the rubber skin only strengthened the urge to look away, this guy really had the fear factor working for him. What's scarier than a psychotic murderer? One you don't know the face of. It sounds like such an unfulfilling death… not even being able to remember the face of your killer in whatever afterlife existed.

“Your name is Michael, right?” You rasp blatantly, your voice scratchy from misuse as it leaves your throat. You don’t expect him to reply, and he doesn’t. But his head tilts, much like an owl’s would, and you knew his name and bits and pieces from the news but wanted to see how he’d react— if at all to you asking. “Thought so.”

Michael continues to glare at you as if there was a specific detail about you that he didn't like.

“Do you talk? or are you just going to stare menacingly until I leave?” You manage to croak, intending to sound humorous but it came out more bitter than you'd meant.

He didn't acknowledge your attempt at a joke in the slightest, his eyes burning holes into the side of your head.

“Ah, you must be quite the strong silent type, the ladies must love you.” You let out a short chuckle, too tired to really care if you were annoying him, which you most likely were.

You turned your attention back to the flashing colors on the TV, the headlines of the news reporting several murders that no doubt had been committed by the man you so casually had let into your home. You were testing your luck with this, it was like letting in a stray cat, you never know if it’s rabid or if it's too wild to be a house pet. Best case scenario, it's going to have a few fleas and can be fixed with some TLC. Whatever the worst case scenario was you didn’t want to think about it.

You think of mentioning your own name, although you doubt he truly cares, you decide to tell him anyways.

“I’m, Y/N, by the way.” While you're unsure if he's tuning you out or not you continue, trying to shake your nerves.

“You can stay here if you want.” You can feel Michael’s eyes, but don’t bother to look back, instead, you answer whatever questions he may or may not have been silently asking. “Don’t bother to ask why. I don’t really know either.”

And that's true, you don't know why you're offering for him to stay, especially considering he that he still had a knife in hand and could easily bury it into your skull if he so chose to, at any moment your life could be cut short. And based on his size and whatever motivation he has to slaughter people, he would be able to overpower you easily.

A sickening shiver of pleasure envelopes your body at the thought, and you feel extremely weirded out by your body’s reaction to it. What the hell is wrong with you? You hide your inner conflict and clear your throat, speaking a lot less uneasily this time around.

“I don’t care what you do, but if you decide to stay I leave leftovers in the fridge and the bathroom’s down the hall, the first door on your right.”

You feel silly adding in all those details. like you knew he’d stay. Your cheeks inevitably go a bit pink at how lame you must sound. Why should you care if he starves or can’t find the bathroom? You convince yourself that it’s that sick kind of pity from the night prior, and decide to go with that, it makes the most sense to you. You sigh and get up from the couch letting the blanket slip back onto the couch and walking to fetch another pillow from your linen closet.

When you re-emerge from the hallway Michael is laying down with the blanket draped over himself, the small thing not nearly big enough to cover his feet and you are shocked to find it… oddly… —nevermind. You hold out the pillow to him and he slowly grabs it, not bothering to linger you briskly turn on your heel to leave when a hand catches your left wing. It’s enough to make you jump and let out a short shriek, you try to push out of his grasp, but it’s a futile attempt. He's much stronger than you are. Panic starts to set in as you consider your options, knowing escape isn't one of them. You look down at him, not sure if you're scared or just uncomfortable with being touched to the point of beginning to tremble.

“Let go- that hurts.”

He does, and you return to your room. You don’t know why he stopped you, but you’re not about to ask, you absentmindedly feel around the spot where his cold hand had been. Did he just want to touch you?- No, that was stupid, you were being stupid. You slip under the covers and shut out the world for another night of meaningless dreams.

So they are real. Michael had first thought you were one of those adults who were ‘never too old’ to dress up for Halloween, and when you had irritatingly not taken your ‘costume’ off after the holiday had passed he had begun to question if it really was fake. A childish thought, but when you flinched he had no doubt in his mind that those wings were attached to your back.

He stares at the plain white ceiling and lays flat on the couch, he thinks about your actions from the last night and just now. He's never had someone willingly let him into their house before, better yet invite him in. Surely with all the TV you seem to watch you know who he is, then… why? Your behavior towards him is shockingly indifferent. Like he isn't a cold-blooded murder machine with little to no sentiment or empathy, it's almost insulting.

He doesn't have to try to be intimidating, his sheer height alone is already effective enough without the extra nightmare fuel. He feeds on making people suffer, seeing their blood stain his hands and watching their faces turn blue with death. Why weren't you afraid of him? You should be, and you were for a moment when he'd reached for you.

But still, you had let him stay.

You are interesting to him, an angelic kind of figure, yet somehow darker. Your lack of fear of him must have something to do with your inhuman-ness, and while he doesn't really understand your apparent interest in him, he cannot say he hates it.

For now, you are simply a convenience to him, a place to crash and a roof over his head that isn't full of doctors and other mentally disturbed patients with petrified nurses is too good of to pass up. You're offering a good deal that he's not opposed to, at least that's how he sees it. He'll keep you alive until his urges force him to kill you, which could very well be soon if you get annoying.

. . .

It’s been months and Michael hasn’t grabbed you like that again, and you don’t bring it up, doing so would probably only earn you silence. You’ve grown used to having him around at night, and sometimes during the day, he decides to pop up. You can only assume what he does when he’s gone, and although the idea of letting him murder innocent people isn’t something that sits well on your conscience you’ve learned to live with it. Learned to live with him.

He’s grown on you somehow, it’s strange how easily you coexist together now. 90% of the time he is distant and seemingly uninterested in anything you say. But you spend an awful lot of time together, sometimes you can get him to play board games with you. He is unfairly good at them too, and you have the presence of mind to tell he likes playing them, he was always more relaxed. You have taken an initiative to talk to him. Even when you know he won’t talk back you still enjoy your conversations, no matter how one-sided they may be.

You don't know it, but he thoroughly enjoys listening to you speak, he has taken a liking to your voice. It's calming, and it's different, he was in constant silence for years at Smith’s Grove the only noises being moans of pain, meaningless chatter among staff and… Loomis. He listens a lot more than you give him credit for, and although he is often unresponsive overall, he likes that you continue to talk to him.

He doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he really has grown attached to you. He couldn't think of harming you now, even as unpredictable as his urges are, and when he does get them he goes out. It's better for him to separate himself from you when he’s overwhelmed by the voices in his head, telling him to hurt, to kill, to make others suffer. You're safer with him gone when he's like that, and he realizes this.

But it becomes harder to leave your side as a year goes by, he stays for days at a time now, sometimes your mere presence is enough to keep his murderous impulses at bay. Michael hasn't had someone that cared for him in his life in a very long time, and while he insists that he doesn't need to be loved he’s already making exceptions for you.

Only you can touch him, only you can soothe him, only you get to see the weaker side of Michael that is still hurting. He even let you teach him how to sign so he could communicate with you without having to talk, which you knew he didn't like doing.

He doesn’t realize how dependent you are on him, he's more thoughtful than he gives himself credit for. He notices everything, so he knows when you are upset or angry or simply having a bad day. Whether or not he is in the right place in his mind to attempt to comfort you is unpredictable, but he is trying.

He isn't the best at showing you that he cares but you know he does, he just struggles with expressing himself after all he's been through. But a particular quality about angels is they can sense discontentment in people who they are close enough to, so inevitably you begin to learn how to notice when he needs to be comforted. Michael won't initiate cuddling or let you hold him for long, but it helps him feel safe. He feels protected when he's in your arms and that can frustrate him, too many overwhelming emotions at once can lead to him pushing you away.

Don't worry, he'll always come back to you. He just needs time.

. . .

You can hardly call your relationship platonic anymore, you don't think you've been ‘just friends’ since the first time you felt his chapped lips crushing against yours one night. Not the mask’s lips, his lips. You can't recall what had originally encouraged him to kiss you or why his mask was off, but you were glad it happened.

In the beginning, he only let you press small kisses to the rubber lips if his mask, and for after awhile you were convinced he just he hadn't liked it and refrained from kissing him anymore. Suffice is to say, he noticed and became confused when you stopped doing it, he never told you to stop.

Michael began initiating affection more after that, but the mask stayed on for a while even after being together so long.

One of Mikey’s very favorite things about you were your wings, he has a bit of an odd fascination with them. He touches them quite a lot. You could be in his lap or his head in yours, or simply walking by and you’d feel him reach out to give them a good pet. You can't say you minded even if you did find it odd, you embraced any and all affection that Michael had to offer. This is because there were only a few times where he's loose enough to touch you without you asking him to.

He's moved from the couch into your bed to sleep since your first few encounters, and you'd found he slept much easier when he was close to you. Something about being around you comforted him and kept the night terrors at bay, there were often times where he would hallucinate or wake up from nightmares.

The first time it happened he jolted awake and reached out to grab you as if in fear that you were gone. You were half-asleep and he was shaking, so you rolled over onto your stomach so you could snake an arm around his shoulder and draped a wing over his front to keep him still.

“It’s just a bad dream, Mikey, go back to sleep.” Michael relaxed slightly under your touch, both of his arms had locked themselves tightly around you in his scramble to find you. Sensing he was still tense and not liking how tightly he was squeezing you, you mumbled something to him.

“You're safe… “

And that's when he realized how much he needed you, and that thought alone scared him more than his nightmare had.

. . .

From then on your wings have changed from a fascination to a comfort. when you do cuddle it's best to keep at least one of your feathered limbs wrapped around him. He feels secure when he's being held by you, and the more security he finds in you the longer he will allow you to hold him.

He keeps knives stashed everywhere in your house in case of emergencies, behind pictures, inside vases, between the couch cushions… hell, you'd poured yourself a bowl of cereal once and a knife fell out of the box into your mini wheats. No one fucked with your cereal. You had definitely scolded him for that, you didn't mind so much that he kept blades around the house, but in your cereal box? That's too far.

Heaven forbid someone walks into your house uninvited or with the intention to harm you, the thought of someone hurting you is enough to deny him into a boiling murderous rage. The few times your home has been invaded you've had the worst of gorey messes to clean, how the fuck did he get blood on the ceiling?

It’s not just the mess he made of your house that bothered you the most, it was the mess he would make of himself mentally afterward. When Michael thinks you have been put in danger he brings clinginess to a whole new level, he will follow you around the house for days. He even sits outside the bathroom door!

The truth is, he’s afraid to leave you alone, and it's that paranoia, that fear of losing you that makes him cling. You won't change his mind so don't bother trying to get alone time, the only thing you can do is wait it out until he can trust himself again.

NSFW

Intimacy with Michael is something that doesn't take long to develop, you've gotta realize that this man spent most of his life in a Sanitarium, so he has a lot of pent up sexual frustration.

But since sex is something Michael knows only so much about you are going to have to be his teacher. You will also have to remind him constantly to be patient in the beginning. He's eager and while that's good and all… have you seen how big he is? Like, he's definitely proportional down south so if you don't remind him to go slow he'll end up hurting you.

It doesn't take him long to learn though, he'll rarely need to be reminded of where to touch you. He’s pretty intuitive and prefers to learn things on his own, so just let him explore if you have the patience. One sensitive place he found on his own was your wings. The absolutely obscene noise you made when he had first reached down to get a good handful of feathers told him all he needed to know. Just make sure you don’t try to drag things out for too long, if there’s anything at all that Michael lacks the patience for, it’s intimacy.

#michael myers x reader #michael myers #slasher x reader #Slashers Imagines #angel!reader

422 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 6 years ago

Text

Castaway (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jongin (Kai)

Rating: 18+ (description of plane crash, explicit sex)

Word Count: 7,950

Summary: A plane crash leaves you stranded, somewhere deep in the Pacific Ocean. Your only company is Kim Jongin - though whether this is better than being alone, you still haven’t decided.

It’s been three days on this island.

Three whole days, since Flight 1032 disappeared somewhere over the Pacific. To me, it didn’t disappear. To me, it crashed. Our pilot frantically steering a malfunctioning plane towards a narrow strip of land. Fumes burning the air, people screaming, my head clutched between my legs as I prayed frantically to whatever god I could.

I’m not a religious person, not by a long shot but in that moment I was. I became suddenly convinced of the afterlife, god, damnation and the certainty that I’d done a very poor job with my life. Clutching my backpack overhead and praying to whomever was listening – I swore that I’d be better, if I only lived.

The moment the plane hit the water, there was darkness. The plane sank so quickly, filled so rapidly there was barely time to think. I’m not sure how I found the hole, only that as darkening water filled the cabin – I felt the brush of a current at my ankles. A current which could only mean one thing – that somewhere out there was a hole.

I yelled to anyone who could hear to follow me. Then I took a giant breath and went underwater. Following until I found the hole, punched through the side of the plane during descent. Water rushed past but when I looked back, I saw no one. I don’t even know if anyone even tried to follow. Not all got their masks on in time. Some weren’t even wearing seatbelts, when we fell. I remember there being a lot of blood, in those final moments.

I somehow got out. Kicking and pushing until I made the hole big enough, and then – I swam. Using my last, weary strokes to propel me towards the surface. The moment I broke, I don’t know I’ve ever felt such happiness. Lungs burning, stomach retching as I took in that searing breath of air. Water rushed into my lungs as well, forcing me to choke. My eyes blurred – I don’t know if it was from fear or happiness.

I offered another prayer, my hundredth, to the fact that there was land. Thanking the pilot, for steering us in this direction. Swallowing yet another gulp of sea water, I turned towards shore. Pushing until I no longer could – and then sinking, letting the current carry me in.

I collapsed on the beach. Clothing wet and waterlogged, backpack still somehow on my arms from where I used it as a cushion. I don’t know how I didn’t lose it in the sea – if I’d been more sensible, I would have thrown it at the first chance I got. It probably made my ascent to the surface slower but by that point, I was glad just to have it.

That was three days ago.

Now I lean against a palm tree, trying once more to create a spark. Taking a rock with my right hand and striking it against the left – over and over again. Pausing, I set them both down to wipe sweat from my brow. It’s so hot out. I stare down at the crystalline sea, the water unnervingly calm and clear. The reason for this being a coral reef around the island – Jongin found this out, our first day.

Jongin. The only other person to have made it off the plane. He sat in row 32, seat D. Finding an opening similar to mine, pushing his way out to swim to the surface. Jongin made it to shore before I did and he was the one who found me on the beach – lying half-dead, limp on the sand.

The first sight I saw was him, dark hair disheveled as he looked downwards. Poking me with his right foot until I awoke. I squinted back, trying to decide if he was an angel before a wave of warm, salt water broke over my back.

Gasping, I choked on sea spray while somehow managing to drag myself into a seated position. The sun was bright, burning my shoulders as I heaved onto the sand. Expelling every last bit of salt water from my lungs.

“You’re alive,” he said blankly, while I struggled to regain myself.

Still peering at the island, I remember a momentary wave of panic. “Who are you?” I asked, barely able to get the words out. Scraping past sand and salt lodged in my throat.

The man exhaled, looking down at me with strange emotion in his eyes. “I’m Jongin,” he said softly. Then his gaze lifted past, to the ocean. “I think that we’re the only ones left.”

Staring at him now, emerging from the ocean, I remember. Remember my sudden fear, the way I scuttled backwards. Searching, scanning the horizon for a sign that he was wrong. For some sign he was lying, that someone else would come to help.

There was nothing. Just the clear, blue sky. The deep, blue ocean beyond. Stretching in an endless, limitless void to the edge of the world.

Our plane deep beneath the waves, the crash flooding back to me as I stared at the sea. Jongin informed me then that he’d circled the island once already – and I was the only person he’d come across. It looked as though we were alone.

Now though, Jongin trudges up from the water. He has on his white t-shirt and jeans from the crash, now pretty frayed about the edges. I imagine I don’t look much better, in my navy tank and shorts. Since our arrival I’ve worn my hair in a top knot. Not really caring about things like make-up or clothes, since all our luggage went down with the plane – all except for my small, black backpack.

It’s unfair for Jongin to still look so perfect. I haven’t told him this, but I remember him from the airport. I remember watching him board, a few groups ahead of mine. He has the kind of face you’d remember, with sharp cheekbones and dark, brooding eyes. I remember staring while he walked through security.

When Jongin poked me, half-dead in the sand – I had a very long moment where I thought he was an angel. It soon became clear to me though, that he was not.

Jongin trudges now towards my shade, dropping a bunch of coconuts at my feet. “You get a fire going?” he asks, peering behind me.

I roll my eyes. “If I did, don’t you think you’d see one?”

Jongin looks back up. “Okay, you didn’t make one. Here’s some coconut milk. Drink up.”

He tosses me one and bends, grabbing a second with one hand. Jongin smashes the hulk against a tree, breaking it open. He takes the bottom half in his hands and drinks, turning to find me watching.

I raise both eyebrows. “There’s a stream on this island with fresh water. This is wholly unnecessary.”

Jongin smiles, wiping the back of his mouth with one hand. “Yeah, but if I’m going to be trapped in this real life Castaway – you can bet I’m going to drink coconut milk from a shell.” He glances past, into the forest. “When I was out on the beach just now, there was a cloud coming over the western end of the island. We should probably find shelter.”

I nod, pushing myself to stand. I slide the two rocks into my backpack, figuring I can continue on our way there – one of these times, it’s bound to work. Jongin falls into step beside me as I trek through the rainforest, pushing back limbs of trees and hanging vines.

I shudder as I step through a spider web, hastily brushing silk from both arms. I let Jongin lead after that, grabbing a stick to push away giant, hanging banana leaves. We walk inland, heading away from the ocean. It takes about fifteen minutes to get there – fifteen minutes spent in complete silence. Then we emerge, panting from exertion in the thickest part of the forest.

There’s a clearing and in the middle stands a structure built entirely of Banyan wood. It’s old, half-rotting from age but the front is mostly intact. We found it on our first walk across the island, following the river until we found this clearing. It seems to be an abandoned military post of some sort, probably from the second World War.

The Pacific is littered with these – although this one is less than helpful, being not equipped with any sort of working radio equipment. The tower which aided this fell long ago, courtesy of some Typhoon or the next.

Jongin enters first, depositing the remaining coconuts onto the floor. We’ve divided the room into three portions – the middle being our main area, where we keep food and supplies. To the left is Jongin’s room. A wooden partition dragged down the middle, hiding his makeshift bed from view. To the right is where I sleep – a small room at the front, which may have once been the office.

At least I have a door though, and the one blanket we were able to scrounge up. Setting my backpack down on the floor, I examine our pile of goods. It’s not much, whatever I had in my backpack.

One (1) small, black backpack

One (1) metal thermos

Two (2) broken and waterlogged cell phones

One (1) paperback novel which, after a dip in the ocean is basically pulp

One (1) First Aid kit – mostly empty and obsolete, being from my hike through New Zealand

Four (4) nail files (thank you, CVS)

Two (2) wallets, full of useless money and credit cards

One (1) deodorant stick

One (1) bottle of facial mist, not useful in this humidity

Five (5) hair ties

This, along with various fruits and food from the island. The shelter already had a few utensils as well – in a desk in my room we found a knife. Something which proved invaluable these past couple of days. This, along with rope and a few tins of what looks like very questionable sardines.

Jongin turns to face me, just as thunder rumbles overhead. “Excellent,” he groans, looking up while drops begin to fall. Pouring thick and fast onto the roof above.

We’re lucky to have found this shelter. As the rain comes down, I shudder to think what it’d be like to be outside in this. “Okay,” I sigh. “I think we should search the cabin. There’s got to be matches somewhere.”

Jongin ignores me, hopping from foot to foot while brushing sand off the soles of his feet. We’ve been barefoot since our second day, discarding shoes in favor of the burning sand. It was uncomfortable at first, but today it hurts less than yesterday did.

“We need to think of a way off,” Jongin says quietly, gaze finding mine. “We can last for a while. But we need to be thinking of our way back home.”

“I know,” I nod, unable to stop my annoyance. “If you have any plans, do share. Because I’m afraid I’m fresh out of brilliant ideas.”

Jongin’s gaze narrows. “With smart remarks like those – who needs ideas?”

I bend my legs to collapse on the wooden floor. Yanking my hair from my bun until it falls around my shoulders. I peer up at him. I can’t say how much I wish I had a sports bra. Or just a change of clothing. Each morning I go down to the river to bathe. Each morning I shake myself dry the best I can before placing back on sopping wet clothes – the water doesn’t really matter, everything dries quickly in this heat.

Jongin exhales before turning away, pausing in his door. “I think fire is the best bet,” he says quietly. “If we burn a part of the island – if we send up smoke signals, we can get attention from a passing plane.”

I nod, letting my hair fall through my hands. “Yeah, fine,” I grumble. He’s right – fire probably is our best bet. “We can try again tomorrow.”

When there’s a bright bolt of lighting I flinch, shifting to face the door. I hate storms and the horrible intensity of those on the island haven’t helped at all. When I look away, I’m surprised to see Jongin standing here. He stares back at me from his partition, arms folded loosely over his chest.

“What?” I demand.

Jongin’s gaze moves to the storm around outside. “Are you scared of thunder?” he asks.

I shrug, pretending I’m not. “Not as scared as I am at the thought of being stuck on this island with you for eternity.”

Jongin laughs, the sound hollow. “God forbid,” he says, turning away to his room. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight,” I murmur, watching him disappear to darkness.

I stare at the storm for a while, watching until it’s too dark to see. Then I move into my bedroom, collapsing onto my blanket and staring up at the ceiling. Shifting for a while in my makeshift bed before I start to cry.

The next morning dawns bright and sunny. Memories of the storm forgotten as I hurry down to the stream. The river is the only fresh water source on the island, trickling from the mountain’s crater to pass our hut about a hundred feet back. I hover at the water’s edge, glancing back before determining myself to be alone. I lift my shirt, shimmying from my shorts to dunk them in the water and set them on a rock to dry.

Then I dive in, the water deep enough for swimming. I make a few lazy strokes backwards, knowing if it weren’t for my current predicament, this would be a very nice moment. I can’t enjoy it though, can’t stop thinking about how I might die here. How I might never see my family again, never see civilization.

They must know we’ve crashed by now. Someone must be out looking for us, but the Pacific Ocean is vast place. Who knows if we were even on course, when we landed in the waves. Our pilot brought us here trying to land. The airline might have lost contact well before that.

I emerge from the river, dripping wet before pulling on my clothes. The path to the hut is slippery and I fall several time, grabbing at a nearby spider web in the process. I yelp, brushing this away – and pause. Staring at the web, almost hypnotic before gasping – I have an idea.

“Jongin!” I scramble up the hill. Running through the clearing to throw open the door.

Jongin looks up, halfway through tugging on his shirt. I blush, looking away as he covers himself. Jongin seems just as startled as I am, not saying anything as I take a step closer.

“Jongin,” I shake my head, remembering why I came. “I have an idea – come quick.” Then I disappear, heading out into the forest.

Jongin frowns but follows, grabbing my backpack and flinging this over his shoulder. “So, what’s your great idea?” he asks, catching up quickly. “Will it help us get off the island?”

I glance over, grimacing. “Unfortunately, no. It’s not brilliant,” I confess, taking the same path we took to the ocean yesterday. As we walk, I scan the woods. “But look,” I stop, pointing at a rock. “Look here.”

Jongin follows my finger with his eyes. “What, exactly am I looking for?”

“Look closer,” I insist, leaning forward and breaking off a stick with one hand.

Jongin looks closer, grimacing. “A spider web?” he asks. “Is it magic? Can it become a raft and sail?”

I huff. “No. I read about it in a book. In South Carolina, back in the early settlement days fishermen would take banana spider webs and throw them out in the ocean. It would create a natural net, which you could use to gather fish. Jongin,” I laugh, eyes wide. “Fish. No more coconuts and breadfruit.”

Jongin stares back at me. “Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing for a stick himself. “That is brilliant.”

I nod, sweeping into a grand bow. “Yes, yes – I know.”

Jongin starts to laugh, the gesture turning his face to something ethereal. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, gathering more of the web into his arms. “Don’t get too carried away, Y/N. Got to fit your head through the doors of our small cabin.”

I grin, traipsing down the trail behind him. “Don’t thank me yet,” I warn. “Let’s just see if this works. Also,” I add, growing more and more worried. “There’s the small matter of us needing to start a fire.”

Jongin slows, looking back at me. “I wouldn’t worry,” he admits. “We’ll do it together.”

I nod back at him but remain silent, unsure why Jongin is suddenly being nice to me. I don’t have time to ask, since we’ve now arrived at the soft, white sand of the ocean.

“Alright,” Jongin sighs, staring out at the reef. “How do you want to do this?”

I hold the web up to the sun. “I figured we’d go to the reef, fasten this between the coral? You know,” I gesture. “The least sharp kind.”

Jongin looks as though he’s trying not to laugh. “Okay,” he grins, bending to set his stick against a tree. Before I can say a word, he grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts overhead. His hands slide to his jeans, tugging to reveal the top of black boxers.

“Whoa!” I exclaim, throwing up my hands to shield my eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jongin is laughing “Going swimming,” he announces, grabbing his stick and heading towards the ocean. “Coming?”

I stand there for a long second, hovering with indecision. Then I close my eyes, gritting my teeth as I undo the top button of my shorts. Sliding these past my legs so that I’m in my underwear and tank before grabbing a hold of the spider web and following.

“Okay,” I grumble, coming to a stop in the water. “Is this it?”

Jongin looks over and stops, doing a double take. His gaze trails my body, ending where the water meets my belly. Skimming my thighs, which are completely exposed. Jongin swallows, forcing his gaze back to mine.

“Yeah,” he breathes, slightly unsteadily. “Here.”

I nod, refusing to look directly at him. Pretending I don’t notice the water-soaked hair, his bare chest. Instead I move forward, taking my stick to stretch out the web with one hand. I lower myself into the water, pushing with both legs until I find the right spot. I stretch the web across coral, hoping any fish which swims through the opening will be caught.

Behind me, Jongin is doing the same. I stand, watching his back flexing and shifting. Even his leg muscles are prominent, bending as he moves around the reef. I swallow. Shaking my head before wading back to shore. Jongin is beautiful, yes – but we’ve been together for three days and, aside the briefest moments of sympathy, we’ve kept mostly to ourselves.

Perhaps that’s my fault. I was so in shock that first day, I barely spoke. I can vaguely recall Jongin asking me questions while we moved about the island, but can’t quite remember my answers. I remember one-word sentences, too dizzy to fully process his attempts at conversation.

As I move, I hear him splashing in the water and whirl, confused by his waving. “Sea turtle!” Jongin yells, waving again. “Come look!”

I can’t help but laugh, as I try and to run to him. The water slows me though, and I very nearly fall in the cove.

“There!” Jongin points, as I come to a scuttling halt beside him.

“Whoa!” I gasp, so shocked I slip on a rock. Flailing wildly, before crashing sideways and knocking Jongin clear off his feet.

“Ah!” he yelps, trying and failing to keep upright.

We collapse awkwardly into the water and I land on his chest, his face mere inches from mine. My hair falls forward, his hands solid on my hips as his body presses close. Jongin stares, from where his ass lies in the sand. “I, uh,” he says, softer than I think. “Sorry.”

Then he regains control, pulling himself upwards and yanking me with. Jongin’s hand lets go quickly before turning back to face the shore.

“Right. Sorry,” I add, flushing as I follow.

Jongin peers over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

We’re silent on the walk back to the cabin, a more comfortable one than before. Jongin’s gaze is warm, lingering for longer on mine, as does my own. The intensity makes my blood heat, body tense. I’m too aware of him, too focused on what he and his body are doing.

When we arrive at our hut, I decide to clear my head. “I’m going to get a fire going,” I announce, stopping before I reach the door.

Jongin looks back to shrug. “Okay,” he nods. “I’ll take another sweep of the cabin.”

He disappears inside, leaving me to sag against a tree. I feel as though I’ve narrowly escaped. Or narrowly missed out – I’m not sure which. Lowering myself to the dirt, I grab two rocks. Practicing striking them over and over, until finally – I gasp. There’s a spark.

Almost at the same time, Jongin yelps inside the cabin. I jump upwards, dropping the rocks. “Jongin?” I call worriedly. “Is everything okay?”

He appears at the door, breathless while holding something above his head.

I squint. “What is it?” I ask, eyes widening the closer he gets. “Holy shit,” I breathe. “Is that –?”

Jongin nods, grinning as he reaches me. “Tinder,” he declares, proudly setting the box on the ground. “Tinder, matches and – well, rum,” he laughs, holding aloft the dusty bottle. “It must have been someone’s personal stash, hidden beneath a floorboard in my room.”

I gape, still struggling to comprehend. “Jongin,” I mutter, vision blurring. “Do you realize what this means – we can,” I choke, shaking my head. “We can make signals, we can…”

Slowly, Jongin presses the rum into my hands.

When I look back up, he’s raising both eyebrows. “Care to celebrate?”

Excitement stirs in my veins, making me shiver. “What did you have in mind?” I ask.

The sun sinks slowly below the horizon, dancing across the embers of the fire. I grin leaning back on my elbows, burrowing them into the sand. “This isn’t bad at all,” I sigh, eyelashes fluttering shut.

Jongin laughs from somewhere near the waves. “Not bad?” he calls out. “I think that you may have actually smiled, Y/N!”

I start, opening my eyes. “I smile!” I yell, a tad defensive.

Jongin wanders over, collapsing into the sand beside me. He stares at the flames of the bonfire. “Sure,” he nods, grin fading. “Not much since we’ve been stranded, though.”

“Well. Not much to smile about right now,” I say quietly, watching the flames leap higher. They jump and crackle, personified against the deepening black of night. “You remember what the crash was like.”

Jongin becomes silent beside me. “I do.”

I look sideways, meeting his gaze. “Then you understand why it’s been hard to smile.”

He looks back, his gaze dark. “I do.”

It occurs to me then that Jongin is, perhaps the only other person who would understand. Who would understand the full horror, the guilt of surviving the way we did. Of narrowly escaping, only to have others die instead. To be handed a chance – but why? Everyone else on the plane is dead but here we are, alive.

For now - but who knows for how long. We have fresh water, we have food, we have fire. It seems like we should last until you’re rescued. But what if we never are?

Seeing this uncertainty, Jongin holds out the rum. “To them,” he says quietly, not needing to clarify whom he means.

Without breaking eye contact, I lean over and accept the bottle. Taking a swig and watching him watch me. Handing it back and seeing Jongin lean his hand into the sand. He takes the rum, drinking a long sip himself. I continue to stare at him, head buzzing with drink and fire and him. He’s so close that were I so inclined, I could reach out and touch him.

Touch the perfect planes of his face, staring back at me. “I saw you in the airport, you know,” Jongin whispers, still looking.

My heart stills. “You did?” I murmur, even as Jongin moves closer.

He nods, hand sliding into my hair. Bringing my face to his, then stopping. “I thought you were beautiful,” he exhales. “I thought I had lost it, thought maybe I’d died as well, the day I saw you on the beach.”

“You poked me with your foot,” I grumble, as his lips brush mine.

Jongin’s lips curl into a smile. “I knew you were alive,” he murmurs. “I could see your chest rising and falling.”

“Yeah, well –"

Jongin kisses me. His lips are hot, pressing in a way which makes me want more. I give him it, opening my mouth to allow him access. Jongin moans as I press closer, arms wrapping around me to lower me into the sand.

His hand skims my side, sliding up my torso to tangle in my hair. I arch upwards, biting his lip and drawing it into my mouth. His kiss, the press of our bodies becomes messier. Legs entangling as he makes a half-broken noise. Lowering his head to kiss down my throat – which is when I realize what I’m doing.

My eyes open, stilling as Jongin pulls back to look at me. “Are you,” he starts. “Is this – “

I close my eyes. We’ve been drinking, we’ve been talking about the plane wreck. This kiss can’t possibly be about just me. Jongin can sense my loneliness, sense my desire – and it makes me shut him out. "I think… I’m going to go to sleep.”

Jongin stills, falling silent until I open my eyes.

“Okay.” Jongin’s gaze shutters, turning to something unreadable.

I’m already up though, already scrambling to stand. I push myself backwards, turning away from the fire, the moon and him.

“It’s alright,” Jongin calls softly, from behind me. “I’ll put out the fire.”

I nod, practically running into the forest. I wind my way back towards shelter, my headache already starting to emerge. When I reach my room I collapse, wishing fervently I had a bed. A mattress and a house and running water and a bath and a refrigerator.

A sob breaks past my lips, unable to control myself. I fall face-first onto my blanket, hiccupping gently as I cry myself to sleep.

The next morning, Jongin isn’t in the room. I exit early, glancing at his bedroom but hear nothing. Normally Jongin is a loud sleeper. He tosses, he turns – though come to think of it, I never once asked why. Maybe Jongin also has nightmares.

He’s not in his room though, so I continue to the river. Bathing quickly and in silence, trying to ignore the memory of his lips on mine. Jongin’s hands on my hips, our bodies flush together. As I close my eyes and let the water run off me in trickles, I shake my head no.

The kiss meant nothing. I need to ignore it happened and get on with my life. Focus on surviving, on getting off this damn island. I pull back on my clothes, yanking my tank top down and heading towards the ocean.

Jongin is already there. He stares blankly across the surf, hands laced casually behind his head. He doesn’t have on a shirt, and there’s strip of white tied about his head. It keeps some of his dark hair from his eyes. I come to a stop beside him, nervously glancing over.

“Hey,” I say, but he doesn’t look in my direction. “You rip your shirt or something?”

Jongin doesn’t move. “Yeah. Caught it on a reef when I went for a swim this morning. I tore the rest up.”

“Right,” I say. Though I wait, he doesn’t say more. “Do you want to see if we’ve caught any fish?”

Rather than answer, Jongin turns away. Walking towards the ocean, not speaking even as he wades in. The sea is calm, a mirror of glass broken only by the ripples we make. Bright coral stretches in every direction as we go farther. The coral used for our trap is yellow and as we close in, I make a tiny exclamation.

It worked – it actually worked. There’s several fish in our makeshift net, wriggling as they try to get free. Jongin seems surprised as well, though he bends quickly to grab an end. “Get the other?” he asks, avoiding my gaze.

I nod, not knowing what to say. We both lift, carrying the net to shore while Jongin shakes his hair free. He picks fish out one by one to toss them onto his shirt. “I’ll go to the cabin,” he mutters. “Get a fire going and try and cook these.”

Then he leaves, gathering the fish and disappearing into the trees. I stare after for a long moment, unsure of how to fix this. Jongin can’t be angry about last night. When I pulled back, he let me. He’s probably just embarrassed, I reason. Probably just regretting kissing me in the first place.

Stomach sinking, I trudge through the jungle. At the clearing I see Jongin, already building a fire circle. He places stones evenly, having already dug the pit for the middle. I come up behind him, hovering for a second. “I’ll go get firewood,” I declare, turning around.

Jongin doesn’t answer, just grunts. There’s plenty of kindling at the edge of the forest, I gather a large pile into my arms. Pausing mid-way to stare at him. Jongin’s lips are tense, brow furrowed while leaning forward. He appears concentrated as I exhale. Wishing I could make this better, but unsure how. I could tell him not to worry, tell him I have no feelings for him.

That’d be a lie, though. As I walk closer, my butterflies only intensify. Jongin might be sarcastic, he might be rough but he’s also helpful, thoughtful and observant in a way that I’m not. The first night on the island, he must have heard me crying. When I awoke the next morning, I found him sleeping against the wall outside my room.

His head was leaned against the wood, mouth wide open while snoring. I stared down at him for a long moment, too startled to scream or run. I just stood there, watching his legs balled up against his chest and wondering how long he’d sat there. How much he’d heard.

Then I slipped past, moving quietly into the dawn of the day.

When I returned, Jongin was no longer there. I didn’t say a word about it, but it never left my mind. Even now, I see him like that. Walking forward, I see the gentle soul who sat outside a stranger’s door and soothed their nightmares.

As I arrive at the circle, I drop firewood at his feet.

“Thanks,” Jongin says, grabbing for a log. He arranges them in an A formation, moving kindling in the spaces between. Jongin pulls out the tin of matches, lighting one and watching the tinder spark beneath his fingertips.

I’m staring. I realize this and turn away, dragging the shirt full of fish closer. “Will you smoke it?” I ask, curious. “That’s probably the best way for it to keep.”

Jongin looks up slowly to meet my gaze. “Oh?” he asks, raising a brow. “And do you know how to make a smokehouse?”

I flush. “No.”

“Yeah,” Jongin mutters, gaze dropping to the flames. “We can just cook it and eat as we go. Let’s focus now on how we’ll get off this island – not how to prolong it.”

My words catch and I swallow them, nodding once before turning away. “Of course,” I mutter, stomping inside.

Of course, Jongin wants to leave. Of course, he doesn’t want to be here a minute longer than he must. I’m the one who got drunk, the one who kissed him. At the same time, a voice in the back of my mind says he kissed me too. Says he kissed me back, found me beautiful.

This voice I push aside though, telling it we were just drunk. Jongin and I are in the middle of the ocean, no other people for miles and miles. Of course Jongin said that. I shake my head once more and stare down at the pile of things we’ve collected. Cell phones – useless. Novel – useless, unless we use for kindling at some point. I exhale, running my hands through my hair.

I wander further into the room. Dim lighting filters in, darker than before and I wonder if it’s going to rain. No sooner do I think this that thunder sounds in the distance. I glance outside just in time to see rain sweep down. Soaking the clearing from one end to the other, Jongin swearing profusely outside.

He darts in from the silvery sheet of rain, shaking water from his hair while shoving his headband back. Chest rising and falling with each breath, as I quickly step aside.

“Is it raining out?” I ask, watching his expression turn from annoyed to incredulous.

Jongin stares, water dripping from his hair. “Are you fucking kidding?”

The corner of my mouth lifts, almost laughing as he turns away. Jongin stalks towards his bedroom and I hear the sound of something being dumped on the ground.

“The fire is ruined,” Jongin calls over the partition. “We can try and catch more fish tomorrow,” he groans, appearing in the doorway. “For tonight though, fruit and coconut.”

I shrug, wrapping arms tighter around my waist. “That’s fine. At least it’s food.”

Jongin nods, jaw tight. “True.”

He stands there, gaze dark with words unsaid. I want to ask what, but I’m afraid it’s me. Afraid I did something wrong by kissing him, afraid he thinks he’s led me on, afraid he suspects my too-strong feelings for him.

“We should try to figure a way off here,” I murmur, looking out at the rain. “Smoke signals. We could light a bonfire on the far side of the island. Maybe a series of bonfires, spelling out S.O.S.”

Jongin doesn’t move. “I guess.”

“Fine,” I huff, shaking my head as I walk towards the door. “I don’t see you coming up with any brilliant ideas. Try and think of some, then let me know.”

“I can’t,” he snaps, even as I turn to face him.

“Also fine,” I hiss, taking a step closer. “But then stop cutting me down every time I do.”

“I’m not!” Jongin breathes deeply, pushing a hand through his still-wet hair. “I just – I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I,” I mutter, moving to walk past as his hand closes around my wrist. I look up in surprise, finding him closer than before. His gaze meets mine, earnest and open – and scared. “What are you doing?” I ask.

Jongin exhales, still not moving. His hand is warm, fingers firm as his thumb slides against my skin. “Why did you leave?” he asks, so quiet I think I’ve misheard.

“Leave – what?” I ask.

It’s not what I thought he’d ask. I thought he’d ask why we kissed in the first place. Why I was constantly staring at him, why I laughed at all his dumb jokes, why I bickered so much. Why I kissed him with such openness, such passion that it embarrasses me to think about.

Jongin’s gaze lowers to my lips. “I kissed you,” he says softly. “And you left.”

My head buzzes, though I’ve had none of yesterday’s rum. The rain is loud, nearly drowning out my thoughts as Jongin takes another step closer.

“What?” I blink up at the shape of his lips. “We were drunk, we’re out here all alone! I didn’t want you to think – why didn’t you come after me?” I snap, changing the subject. “You moped around all morning ignoring me. Pretending you couldn’t even see me. What was that about?”

Jongin looks incredulous. “Honestly?” he gasps. “You can’t be so dense. I just asked why you stopped kissing me, and you still don’t understand!”

“Understand what?” I nearly yell, trying to be heard over the rain.

“I like you, dumbass,” Jongin growls, crushing my lips to his.

His arms close around me, pulling my body flush to his. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my face upwards. His lips open mine, utilizing none of his previous restraint. No – this kiss is raw, untamed and Jongin’s lips coax fire as they break over mine. He backs me against the wall, pulling me forward. Stopping long enough to slide his lips over my jaw.

“Is that fucking clear enough for you,” he growls, nipping skin above my collarbone. “I’ve thought you were gorgeous since the airport. Thought you were kind since you shared everything you had with me. Thought you were brilliant since you found way after way to keep us alive.”

My head spins, barely able to think around his lips, his teeth, his words. Around his hardness, grinding against my hip. His body still wet from the rain as my hands slide eagerly over him. Wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I thought you could tell,” I whimper, while his palms cup my ass. “Thought you could see I was falling for you – and I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why,” Jongin murmurs, pushing my tank top around my shoulders. Dropping gentle kisses to the curve of my neck. “Why hide it, when I was doing the same?”

“We’re alone,” I confess. “I didn’t want you to think that I wanted you because I had to. Because there was no one else.”

Jongin pauses, stopping to look at me. “Wrong,” he declares, gaze intense. “Even if there were one hundred, one thousand other girls on this island – none are you. We’re going to be rescued, we’re going to get home and when we do – I want to take you out on a date.”

“A date?” I ask, wicked grin on my face. “What would that entail?”

“Oh,” Jongin muses, thumb trailing softly from my shoulder down. Tracing the curve of my breast, the hardness of a nipple. “I can think of a few things.”

His hands slide up my top, pushing it above my head. He unbuckles my bra next, letting it drop to the floor. His gaze finds my curves, taking in the swell of my breasts and my hips. “These. Off,” Jongin says roughly, tracing the top of my shorts.

I continue to watch, even as I unbutton one button. Pushing my shorts to the ground, stepping out to reveal I’m not wearing any underwear.

“Ah, shit,” Jongin groans. He bites down on his lower lip, just looking.

I see the outline of him, hard against his jeans and grow impatient waiting. “Touch me,” I demand, sliding hands up and into my hair. “Or I touch myself. In my room, alone.”

Jongin’s gaze snaps upwards. His eyes darken, as he takes a slow step forward. “Touch yourself?” he murmurs, lips finding my neck. “I don’t think so.”

His hands slide up my torso, grazing my breasts as my knees press together. Already I’m wet, soaking and I know Jongin will find out as soon as he touches me. As soon as his hands make their way between my legs, but right now they’re in my hair. One moving down to my ass, pulling me against him.

His lips find mine, mouth opening lazily. His jeans are in the way and I fumble hurriedly with his zipper. Pushing them to his ankles, waiting until he steps free. I see him then, erect and straining against his boxers. The sight makes my pulse race, and I barely stop myself from dropping to my knees.

“Where do you want me?” I whisper, biting Jongin’s earlobe. I watch his body shiver, even as I run my hands over him. “You can have me wherever you like,” I tell him, grasping between his legs.

Jongin groans, eyelids fluttering while he pushes into me. Hardening further, as I trace over his boxers. Jongin opens both eyes. “First on your back,” he murmurs, hand hooking my knee to wrap around him. “I want to eat you out until you’re begging me to come. Then,” he grins, bending to grab the other thigh. “We’ll see.”

I can’t think of a response, because his mouth finds mine once more. His kisses are hot, needy while walking me into my makeshift room. Jongin kneels, first one leg, then the other on my blanket. He drops me before him, staring as I slide one leg against the other. Keeping firmly shut while grinning wickedly back at him. I arch my back on the bed, raising my breasts for Jongin to moan.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, lowering himself to his elbows. “Spread yourself for me.”

I obey. Opening my legs, coaxed by the press his hands and the look in his eyes. Jongin stares brazenly at my thighs, as though wishing to devour me. His hands slide further up my legs, thumb brushing my clit before pushing a finger inside me.

I gasp, arching off the bed. “Jongin,” I moan, while he moves a slow circle .

“Mm,” Jongin murmurs, bending until all I see is dark hair. “My name, already?” he smiles, tongue flicking quickly against my sex. “How’s that?”

My fingers fist in his hair, pushing my hips upwards. I need more, want more and Jongin slowly spreads me further. His mouth moves up, lightly sucking before pulling back. Tracing over in circles, patterns until I’m panting with need, begging him for more. Then he inserts his finger again, swirling his tongue and fucking me faster. Teasing, while I grind my hips messily upwards.

Pushed suddenly over the edge, I snap. Gasping his name as my orgasm shatters through me. I exhale, breathing heavily and finally able to hear the rain once more. Jongin pushes himself onto his elbows to look up, a smug smile on his face. “You’re not done yet, are you baby?” he murmurs.

I stare back, gaze defiant. “Fuck me,” I say. “Please.” I pull him up to taste myself. His tongue slips inside, even as my hand closes around him. “Do you want me to…?” I trail off, suddenly uncertain.

Jongin shakes his head no, dropping a kiss to my shoulder. “I just want to be inside you,” he groans. Hesitant, as his gaze meets mine. “I know this is an odd moment to tell you I’m clean, but I swear. I can get you a doctor’s note as soon as we return, I –”

I capture his lips with mine. Continuing to stroke his length until his breathing is ragged. “Okay. And I’m on the shot,” I murmur. “The answer is yes.”

Jongin hovers for a second, letting my fingers guide him before pushing forward. Filling my body inch by inch, sinking into me with a slowness that leaves me breathless. Forcing me to feel every part of him, his hardness satisfying me in a way I haven’t felt in months. Jongin pauses, wrapping my thigh about his waist.

When he thrusts again, my head falls back. Chest rising as he starts to move. I raise my hips, wrapping both legs tighter as he falls forward. Thrusting slowly, smoothly with hips that take their time. Hips which explore every inch of me, in the best way possible. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on us both but I don’t mind. Arching upwards, brushing his chest as he kisses me again.

Jongin’s tongue is so thorough, so expert I can barely focus. It’s too much, too intense as I open further. Letting his hips drive me steadily towards a second orgasm. My hands seek purchase, searching and finding it in Jongin. I scratch boldly, sliding down to his ass as Jongin moves harder.

His thrusts become jarring, nearly unbearable with my sensitivity but his rhythm is too good to stop. It’s like I’m breaking apart, breaking down only to rebuild around him. His body does the same, for me. He bites at my shoulder, choking out my name as I feel his thrusts become sloppy, uneven.

“Come baby,” he begs. “I want to see your face like that again. I want to hear that noise you make, that he catch of your breath. Oh – fuck.”

I can’t help my strangled groan, the way that I shatter around him. His hips rock once more before Jongin comes as well. I feel his warmth flood my body, hips gradually slowing until he stills.

Jongin exhales, as I push hair back from his eyes. My thumbs stroke his face while raising my lips to his. I kiss him once, twice – until he falls down beside me. Jongin reaches over to grab a leaf – grinning, almost laughing as he cleans up.

I can’t help it – I start to laugh. Falling onto my back and throwing my arm over my eyes. Not moving until I feel him flop beside me, gathering me into him. Jongin softly kisses cheeks, lips, eyelids – until I open them to look at him.

“Hi,” he murmurs, smiling back at me.

“Hi,” I respond, kissing him again.

Four weeks, five days.

Today is a Sunday. Jongin has rigged a device in front of home which marks the passing days and seasons. The days are easier and easier to bear, becoming the same sort of routine. I’m slowly becoming comfortable with the idea of being here for longer – or I would, if it weren’t for how close we are.

The past week, we’ve spotted search planes. At least, that’s what we think they are – it’s hard to tell from this distance. Each day, we light the bonfires. Each day we move them to new positions. Trying to find ways to get their attention. Today we use damp leaves – it makes for a smokier fire.

Jongin dances before the flames, ignoring my laughter from behind. “Jongin!” I call out, collapsing onto the sand as I continue to laugh. “There’s no way they can see that!”

“You don’t know,” he yells, jumping from side to side. “They could have really good binoculars.”

That’s when I still, staring past him. Recognizing something on the ocean, too far off to see clearly.

“Jongin,” I breathe, scrambling upwards. “Jongin, I think –”

Jongin has stilled though, mouth slightly ajar as I come up beside him. He nods, almost reverently while his arms wrap around my waist. Pulling me closer to kiss the top of my head. “It is,” he says, voice tight.

I stare out across the waves, at the tiny black dot coming closer. Nearer and nearer, until I read the giant, block letters written on it’s side.

RESCUE.

I choke, turning to bury my head in Jongin’s shoulder. “It’s real,” I whisper, shaking my head.

He strokes my hair. “It’s real,” he repeats, awed. “Y/N – we’re finally going home.”

#kai smut #jongin smut #exo smut #kai fanfic #exo fanfic #jongin fanfic #kai writing #jongin writing #exo writing

537 notes · View notes

purplefairywriter · 5 years ago

Text

Hyung Line BTS as RPG Classes

This idea has been wandering around in my head for a while so I finally decided to release it into the wild world. This is based on D&D for the most part but I opted not to go into details about their races, so this is just going to be a run down of their classes and alignments. If you don’t know what classes are alignments are, I’ll explain it as I go through the members of BTS. Alignments are only meant to be kind of a guide to your characters and not a blanket statement for how characters will act. SPOILER ALERT: most of them are on the good spectrum alignment wise. Here’s the maknae line one for you guys!

JIN

Blurb Jin walked into the dimly lit tavern. There were a variety of fair and buxom maidens there, all of whom turned to stare at him as he strutted in. Carrying his lucky red rose and his special lute, he went to the first maid who caught his eye. He gave her the rose before taking his lute and playing a single, beautiful chord. Then he leaned in and said "Hello, beautiful. I'm Mr. Worldwide Handsome. Are you gonna tell me your name or are you gonna let me just call you beautiful?" Class “The bard is a master of song, speech, and the magic they contain... Only rarely do bards settle in one place for long... Bards thrive on stories, whether those stories are true or not.” BARD. He’s a bard, 110% a bard. I mean... His personality screams it. There’s a reason I call this man the “good guy version of Gaston”. He has a charm to go along with his “Worldwide Handsome” title. That and the fact he was literally studying to be an actor before he go recruited by BigHit makes me believe he’d be a great addition to any party who is trying to do undercover/spy missions. Need a cocky nobleman? Jin’s got you covered. Need a down on his luck pig farmer? Jin’s got you covered. In my opinion, he’d have one of the higher charismas of a BTS party, which would help with the bard life. Alignment Probably chaotic good, so a rebel. He values personal freedom while at the same time upholding what is good. He probably comes off as an asshole/playboy when in reality he cares a lot about his friends/loved ones.

J-HOPE

Blurb J-Hope sat in the open field, admiring the sun. It was the sun that brought life to everything and everyone he knew. His best friend sat next to him, reading their favorite book. When a gruff voice shouted a slur towards his friend, J-Hope jumped up. "Hey! Try that on someone your own size, buddy!" He proclaimed without even sizing his enemy up. It turned out to be one of the local members of the warrior's guild, one of the toughest fighters out of the bunch. J-Hope held his ground, though. Their words escalated until a duel was unavoidable. J-Hope's friend tried to dissuade him from fighting. "I'll never let some idiot hurt my friends, physically or no! I'll teach this bully a lesson!" After the duel was over and the bully was simpering in defeat, J-Hope reminded his friend that he, like the sun, would never fail his friend. Class I’m feeling warrior type. You could go with either fighter or paladin with him. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to stay in the back and watch his friends get hurt without raising a ruckus. He wouldn’t be quiet or sneaky enough for a rogue and being a spell caster might not be up his alley. He’d want to have a hands-on approach in helping his friends, he would want to be in the front lines kicking butt. Why don’t you just pick one class? aka Why are you lumping paladin in there? Well, because J-Hope, as well all know, has a high charisma. Paladins need a high charisma as well as strength versus just strength alone. Paladins are basically more determined warriors and/or defenders/protectors of others, as they have a religious cause to be fighting for rather than just fighting because why not. Plus I have to admit, I think it would be funny to have J-Hope as a paladin because he’d be a bad paladin. As in he wouldn’t be screaming from the mountaintops about his god, he’d save someone and then go “oh yeah by the way I gotta tell you about my god real quick”. I’d imagine if he was in a paladin group everyone would make fun of him for helping people without preaching to them. He would stick to his guns (or should I say swords, this is a D&D post after all) about things, though. It’d be hard to sway him against doing a thing, which probably makes for a great paladin in some ways. If he was a paladin, he’d choose a sun or a mischievous god that fell under good. (In my world if he was a paladin, he’d be one for a crow/raven god that is mostly good but mischievous at times.) Alignment Chaotic Good, so the same as Jin. Although if you go the paladin route, he may end up being Lawful Good, which means he would have a strict sense of honor while at the same time putting down the freedom of others (even though I personally don’t see J-Hope being that way, but I can see him acting that way if he felt like he had no other option, really.)

SUGA

TW: slight verbal abuse (Not Suga giving it), violence Blurb Suga sat in the alleyway. He watched some pickpockets go by, just enjoying the sparse quietness that the night brought him. The sound of a knife unsheathing some distance away made him leap unto his feet. He looked over to see a grown man aiming the knife at a cowering child. "I'll pay you back, I promise!" The child cried. "You lousy brat, you haven't been able to steal anything for two weeks now! What did I ever hire you for?" The man asked, his words slurring. Suga walked over to the pair and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned around with a growl. "What are you doing talking to my son like that?" Suga asked, his hand on his knife's handle. The man looked at the kid then back at Suga. “Then why are you lettin’ him roam the streets and work for me? Some moron idiot father you are.” The man asked. The boy looked up at Suga, visibly frightened. Suga had never seen the boy before in his life. But Suga knew what it was like to deal with angry, cutthroat criminal scum like the man standing in front of him as a child. “Leave the boy alone. How much does he owe you?” Suga asked. He kept his hand on his knife, ready to draw in case the criminal lashed out. “50 gold.” The man grumbled. Suga pulled out his coin purse and nearly handed it to the man. “It’s between me and the brat. I don’t want your blood money.” The man said. The man turned back to the boy, his anger growing. “I could’ve made twice as much profit this week if I didn’t have to feed you. I should’ve let you rot!” The man raised one hand, tightly gripping a knife over his head as the child screamed. Suga stabbed the man in the shoulder, which reduced the man to a crumpled heap of pain on the alleyway path. Suga grabbed the child’s arm and dragged him out of the alleyway and towards safety. [The boy isn’t Suga’s child, obviously. Suga is probably going to feed the kid and find him a safe place to stay at least.] Class

“Rogues devote as much effort to mastering the use of a variety of skills as they do to perfecting their combat abilities, giving them a broad expertise that few other characters can match. When it comes to combat, rogues prioritize cunning over brute strength. A rogue would rather make one precise strike... As adventurers, rogues fall on both sides of the law.” I know some of you guys may be like “no wait Suga can’t be a rogue, he isn’t evil!”. I feel like Suga would make a good rogue, I do, I just have that feeling. He seems like the type of guy who devotes time to developing his skills, as well as a guy who speaks only when something needs to be said. He comes off as a big tough guy when in reality he cares. “Why isn’t he a bard?” I feel like for Suga, music in an RPG setting would be secondary. Given that in real life he grew up with a family who was didn’t support his ideas of his music career, I could see him having to resort to rogue-ry things in order to support himself and survive (he would never break laws for fun, he’d do it in order to survive) with the idea of becoming a musician someday. If he dual-classed, bard would be his second class. Alignment Chaotic Good. But like I said earlier, he may come off as more neutral at first. He may put his own needs first before readily accepting that he does care for other people in a way.

Blurb RM stood in a secluded glade. Crickets chirped nearby, the only sound keeping the world around him from silence. His companion was frightened, desperately trying to start a fire in the dark of the forest. "Are you sure this'll work? It seems strange, being out here so late at night..." The companion’s voice was deeply concerned. RM sighed as he stared up at the stars for a moment. "It's alright. If there's one thing I know about magic, it's that you have to trust yourself in order for it to work. Don't be afraid, I've got your back. Okay?" The companion nodded, his words bringing some comfort to them. They finally got the fire lit. The companion sighed in relief at the light the fire offered. RM spent the next few minutes casting protection spells before he sat down. "I know that darkness is scary, and the thing that dwell in it are even more frightening. One day you'll be able to face the darkness without any fear." RM said as he got comfortable. "How do you do it? How do you not be afraid?" His companion's question made him chuckle. "It took me many years to get to this point. Like there was this one time..." RM told his companion stories until they fell asleep. He'd do this until the companion felt safe, until his companion was as strong as he was when it came to facing the dark. Class I’m thinking either druid or wizard for RM. Wizards require high intelligence (which RM has!) while druids require high wisdom (which RM also has!). I can imagine him as either the wizard who’s spent much of his life reading every magic book and trying every magic spell he can or as the druid who enjoys spending time being at one with nature. For a staff, I’d be inclined to give him one that looks like a thyrsus totally not because I’ve watched Dionysus too many times or anything crazy like that because it’d be a cool reference to BTS. Alignment I could see RM being Chaotic Good or Lawful Good. It just depends on the situation, really. He’d probably want to be a good example for other people and look after them in a way. That’s it for now! I may do some actual character sheets (as in a full-on character build with races, stats, the whole 9 yards maybe) or even write the whole situation regarding the blurbs (kinda gave Suga’s away though, I knew I couldn’t leave you guys hanging like that) eventually so... Thanks for reading! Here’s the maknae line with Jimin, V, and Jungkook!

1 note · View note

theheavymetalmama · 6 years ago

Text

And now, some Unpopular Opinions!

Because at this point, why the hell not?

Iron Man was better than The Dark Knight

I am in no way, shape, or form suggesting that The Dark Knight is a bad movie. Far from it, in fact. It’s a damn good movie with some fantastic performances, a gripping story, and some of the best written characters and dialogue in the history of movie making. So is Iron Man the better movie? For one, it’s not so stuck up its’ own ass about its’ message. The Dark Knight is a lot of things and one of them is pretentious as fuck, come off as less of a love letter to Batman and more of a method of the director Chris Nolan showing how much he has nothing but contempt for superheroes and comic books in general. Iron Man, in contrast, embraces it and has fun with the idea of a guy who builds a mech suit and fights bad guys. There’s also the question of influence, and that right there is no contest. The Dark Knight influenced Batman; Iron Man influenced the entire movie industry.

Final Fantasy XV was a massive disappointment

I kind of feel bad for dunking on this game considering they just cancelled the last of the DLC. Then again the last of the DLC was going to expand on Lady “Show Up and Blow Up” Lunafreya and Aranea “I’m here and now I’m not” Highwind’s stories and now we’re not getting them and I’m still bitter as fuck for the director’s pathetic excuse for why a girl couldn’t attend the coming of age road trip, so all bet’s are off! Okay, the ladies getting shafted aside, there is a lot to like about Final Fantasy XV, but was it worth the tedious development time? No way in hell. The game looks good but like many open world games feels mostly lifeless and empty, and of the four main characters only one of them is likable and isn’t even playable in the game’s vanilla form. The story is a broken mess that requires other forms of media to fully grasp (dick fucking move there, Squeenix) and the summons coming at random times serves as more of an annoyance than anything, especially since they always seem to show up except during times when and where they’d be useful. It also doesn’t say good things about a company’s management when a game can sell millions of copies in record time as well as do gangbusters on downloadable content and then still manage to lose over 30 million dollars.

And for the record, let it be known that Noctis is far and away the whiniest and most emo protagonist in Final Fantasy history, which is saying something considering this is a series where one such protagonist’s entire character is being so jaded and world weary to the point that his name is the sound a crying baby makes, and he doesn’t whine and complain as much as Noctis does.

Just because you’re a cop or a soldier, that doesn’t automatically make you a good person

I’m in favor of police and law enforcement and even though I believe our military budget makes Caligula himself look frugal in comparison I do support our troops. Having said that, being a cop or a trooper doesn’t mean jack shit if the person under the uniform is a complete and utter scumbag, which happens more often than many care to admit. In fact some people, many people, become cops and soldiers not to protect and serve or out of a sense of honor and duty, but simply because they like making others miserable and want to do it for a living. There’s a reason songs about fighting the law and unflattering depictions of authority figures date back as far as authority figures have been a thing. Respect is earned, not given.

‘White Nationalist’ and ‘Nazi’ are the same things

Calling a Nazi a white nationalist is like calling somebody who abuses their spouse a rough lover. Stop beating around the bush and tell it like it is. Also, don’t debate Nazis, punch them. Punch them as hard as you fucking can. If they punch you back, punch them again, and again, and again until they either run away (which most of them do) or stop moving. Trust me, nobody is going to miss them. That goes double for the alt right. Oh, and speaking of which...

Far Cry 5 chickened out

As somebody who grew up in a dead gold mining community that was mostly Catholic, when the first trailer for Far Cry 5 came out I was stoked as hell for the chance to gun down religious fanatics and skinheads in a place in rural America that didn’t look all that different. Then the game came out and it was abundantly clear to anybody that something somewhere in the game was changed at the last minute. Some have argued that it was their intention from the get go, others claimed they didn’t want to alienate their core demographic. It doesn’t say nice things about your core demographic if you’re worried about depictions of white supremacist cultists scaring them away, but okay, fine. Then make a game that takes place during the decline of the Ku Klux Klan, or in a post World War II Europe where you hunt Nazi war criminals, or failing that make something akin to Black Dynamite or a wacky 70′s Kung Fu movie where everything is purposefully over the top and exaggerated, I don’t care! All your other games have you gunning down hordes of brown people, let people like me and my husband kill some skinheads god damn it!

If you still support Donald Trump after all the vile and abhorrent things he’s done, you’re a bad person

There’s no beating around the bush on this one. I don’t blame people who were swooned by this conman thinking he’d genuinely make a good president and have since regretted their decision. I have nothing but sympathy for them. No, I’m talking about the people who STILL trip over themselves to defend this vile, homophobic, delusions, misogynist, narcissistic bigot. Like when he called Nazis “very fine people,” or is still pushing for a stupid wall along our border that will be bested by two extension ladders and a pair of tin snips. The travel ban, the rollback on regulations that kept food insecure people fed, kids dying in his fucking concentration camps, yeah, no. He’s a treasonous scumbag who deserves to be locked in an 8x8 cell until he rots, and if you still support him then you can claim the top bunk.

Climate change is real and coal can fuck off

Coal is dead. Let it lay down and rot. What, coal is your only source of income in the area you live in? Then move somewhere else! You think I would have left my hometown if there were any opportunities other than timber, fishing, and tourist traps? Sorry, but the longer we stay in the past with coal the lesser we can look forward to a future where a planet can sustain human life. If we want our planet to live then coal needs to die.

No, the left isn’t “just as bad” as the right

This is a fucking gas lighting farce that immediately falls apart when put under scrutiny. Are there extremists and crazies on the left? Of course there are, but they’re entirely different beasts as those found on the right. The left is more of a “eat enough kale and you can talk to dolphins” or “sleep with crystals under your bed and you can see the future” kinds of crazy, whereas the right is more of the “kill all the queers and let the brown babies starve” kind of crazy. Oh, and to each and every single person who said “Clinton is just as bad as Trump,” y’all can cover your reproductive organs in honey and stick them in a mason jar filled with live bullet ants and tarantula hawks, you ignorant scare mongering shitheels!

“Captain Marvel doesn’t smile!”

So what? She’s a space Navy Seal, not a boy scout like Captain America or Superman; she’s not supposed to smile.

No, the ‘alt left’ doesn’t exist and Antifa aren’t the same as Nazis

Are Antifa breaking the law? Yes. Should they be held accountable for their actions? Yes. Are people who want to kill Nazis exactly the same as people who want to exterminate the Jews and subjugate anybody who isn’t white while wiping other people’s culture off the face of the Earth under an authoritarian rule? Hell to the no and “Antifa is just as bad as the Nazis” is right up there with “Vaccinations cause autism” and “the Earth is flat” on the scale of “If you believe this, you are STUPID.” If Nazis and white supremacists went unopposed they’d go around raping and murdering Jews and non whites until there were absolutely none of them left. You know Antifa would be doing if there weren’t any Nazis around? Sitting in their crappy apartments smoking weed, sipping craft beer, eating pizza, and laughing their asses off at 20 year old Saturday Night Live skits. Ooooooh, scary! Yes, Antifa are assaulting people and destroying public property and yes they should be held accountable for their actions. But I’m not going to pretend, even hypothetically, that Nazi apologist scumbags like Tucker Carlson having his door banged on or actual Nazis like Richard Spencer getting punched in the face is on the same playing field as babies being put in cages, innocent black people being murdered by cops, or Jews being put into ovens, you fucks!

New She Ra is better than Old She Ra and 80′s cartoons in general

If you don’t like the new She Ra and prefer the old one, fine, you do you, but don’t act like the original is “So much better” because it isn’t at all. The villains were jokes, the animation was beyond cheap, the characters all looked the same, there were stupid talking animal sidekicks, and the story went nowhere really fucking fast outside of “Bad guys are doing bad guy stuff, our heroes must stop them” because they were commercials to sell toys. Nothing more, nothing less. If the new She Ra isn’t your bag then that’s all well and good, but don’t be a stupid asshole about it, talking about how it wasn’t featured at PowerCon like it’s a big fucking deal when only sad dorks like us give a shit about conventions, or whine about how you’re being oppressed and censored because a 16 year old isn’t rocking 44DD’s, or talk about “CalArts style” like that’s a real goddamn thing. Oh yeah, and speaking of which...

“CalArts style” is not a thing

Shut the fuck up, no it isn’t. It’s a stupid, meaningless buzzword hurled at people who never fucking went to CalArts in the first place. If you’re perplexed as to why modern cartoons all look like Steven Universe, the simple fact is that cartoons are made predominantly for children and shows are made to be aesthetically pleasing to them. With shows like Adventure Time, Regular Show, Steven Universe, Star vs the Forces of Evil, and Gravity Falls being soaring success stories while shows like Young Justice, new GI Joe, and 2011 Thundercats ambitious failures, it’s obvious that formal abstractionist non angularity is in while aspirational human physical fitness is out, and a big reason the latter was even a thing in the first place is because they were toy commercials first and there were only so many variations on plastic molds to form the fucking action figures and because it was the 80′s and Arnold was the biggest star at the time.

“Star Wars: the Last Jedi” is a good movie and fanboys can eat bantha poodoo

I’ve heard all the reasons for why The Last Jedi is a bad movie and they’re all either stupid nitpicky bullshit or meaningless fanboy gripes. I could write an entire essay debunking those reasons point for point, like how the reason Holdo didn’t tell Poe a damn thing because no admiral would ever a tell a lowly grunt anything about their plan, especially after being demoted for being a hotheaded little fuckup. Or that Rey being related to Obi Wan or any previous Star Wars character didn’t happen because that would have been stupid and the definition of predictable. Or that the reason Akbar didn’t do the suicide run is because he’s a meme that the general audience doesn’t give a shit about and that there’s no way in Hell that the Mouse would allow a character named “Akbar” to do a suicide run. Or that Kylo Ren not being an intimidating villain is the whole point and that you’re supposed to hate him because he’s a petulant Darth Vader wannabe and a snake to boot. Or that the effectiveness of said suicide run, where Snoke came from, or the state of the Resistance by the end of the movie, or that any other so called ‘plot hole’ doesn’t matter because this is a movie about space wizards for children and paying obsessive attention to meaningless and pedantic details is exactly how we end up with stupid subplots in the Beauty and the Beast remake and Metropolis and Gotham City being across the river from each other! But the biggest one is Luke wasn’t portrayed as some Jedi Clint Eastwood (why fanboys want that eludes me; the EU did that a few times and they were all terrible) and that him exiling himself doesn’t make any sense.

Sorry, but no, Luke running off to a far and unreachable island makes perfect sense. For one, it’s kind of a thing that disgraced Jedi do, and for two, Star Wars is a fairy tale in space. All of the characters draw inspiration from characters and archetypes from fairy tales and fables of old, and the one Luke Skywalker resembles most (largely by design) is King Arthur. Think about it. Common boy who doesn’t know who his real parents are, meets an old wizard, gets a legendary sword, discovers he’s of noble lineage, tags along with a few colorful characters, goes on a quest that’s bigger than him and the life he knew, hits a few bumps down the road, and then eventually he saves the kingdom by overthrowing his father who once was a great man and a hero but gave in to power and corruption and became a dark reflection of his former self.

You will never unsee that.

Oh yeah, and remember how things turned out for King Arthur in the end? He started a whole new kingdom, he had a few good years, he grew arrogant, things started to fall apart, and suddenly he and everything he worked to build up were undone overnight by a younger, more vindictive relative. Disgraced, Arthur was whisked away to an unreachable island deep rooted in his own legend and mythology where he remained until Britain had fallen to darkness and needed him again. Now of course Britain as we know it has yet to see such a thing (we’ll see how Brexit turns out) but Luke did exactly that. And no, sorry fanboys, but The Last Jedi wasn’t a failure in any sense of the word. It grossed over a billion dollars, received critical praise, the DVDs and BluRays sold like hotcakes, and was adored by kids, teenagers, and young adults, the primary audience that Star Wars is for in the first place. And I don’t give a shit what the audience score on RT says, because for one aggregate sites are a blight on film criticism and we went from this;

“Batman v Superman and Suicide Squad are AMAZING, Rotten Tomatoes is biased and paid off by Disney!”

To this...

“Star Wars: the Last Jedi is TERRIBLE, Rotten Tomatoes says so!”

In just over a year. To say nothing of the fact that what you’re currently saying about The Last Jedi was also said about The Empire Strikes, and like ‘Empire’ twenty years from now people will look back on the fanboy outrage and say “Wow, what a bunch of babies.” And before the inevitable response...

“But Solo bombed because of The Last Jedi!”

Nooooo, Solo bombed because it came out right between Infinity War and Deadpool 2, was rife with development issues since day one of production, it was aimed overwhelmingly at fanboys obsessed with Star Wars deep lore answering questions that the general audience doesn’t give a shit about, nobody was even interested in the thing until the Lego Movie guys were signed on for a hot second, moviegoers aren’t currently hurting for cocky space cowboys...

...and because of the simple fact that it’s a solo movie about Han Solo...and it’s not 1995 and Harrison Ford isn’t in it. See, fanboys don’t realize that just because nerd and geek bullshit is mainstream now doesn’t mean that everyone is now a fanboy deep rooted in everything from where the characters are from to where they’re going, because when people say “I love Star Wars and Han Solo is my favorite character” what the vast majority of them mean is “Those movies with the space wizards and the laser swords are a lot of fun and Harrison Ford is a great movie star.” That’s it. That’s extent of why people like Han Solo. Sad dorks like us may care about stuff like where and when he got the Falcon, how he met Chewie, where the dice came from and all of that and more, but the general audience just wants to see Harrison Ford do cool shit in space. That’s it. To say nothing of the fact that nobody was even interested in the spinoffs in the first place. When Disney announced that they were making episodes 7,8, and 9 everyone went “Oh Hell yes, sign me up!” Then when they followed up with that they were also making spinoff movies about stuff that happened off screen or between movies the same audience was like “Oh...well that’s neat, I guess.”

And no, that stupid fanboy boycott had nothing to do with. Even the dude who started that petition to strike TLJ from canon admitted that he was in a bad place and that he was being stupid and angry, and I can promise you that all the shrieking dorks on Youtube are the buzzing of flies to Disney. If that crowd had any box office and movie making decision influence whatsoever, the next spinoff we’d see a trailer for would be “My Twi’lek Waifu: a Star Wars Story.”

PewDiePie is the worst thing to happen to video games this side of the gaming crash of 83 and he needs to fuck off

Yes, you read that right, and I don’t say that lightly. All sorts of terrible things have happened in the gaming industry since the gaming crash of 83. The console wars, the Atari Jaguar, the Philips CDi, Jack Thompson, the death of the Dreamcast, WoW, an entire console generation packed to the gills with homogenous gray and brown shooters with protagonists who all looked the fucking same, GamerGate, microtransactions, DLC abuse, the death of Maxis, an increasingly toxic fandom, “women are too hard to animate,” the degradation of E3 from a showcase of the biggest and bestest in gaming to a corporately sponsored circlejerk of self congratulatory backslapping and so much, much more.

I don’t care how much PewDiePie gives to charity, or how many fans he has, or how many people think he’s just the greatest, because he’s not. He’s an embarrassing, stupid asshole who constantly gets busted for making stupid racist jokes and by extension making his fans and everyone who has even the vaguest ties to the word ‘gamer’ look like stupid, racist assholes. He’s a corporate ass sucking apologist who gives exposure to anti Semites and racist wastes of space to his audience of mostly 10 to 15 year old boys, and he’s more terminally obnoxious than an Adderall addicted Pomeranian.

The day he posted his first video of him overreacting to a jump scare while making loud screeching noises on top of edgy rape jokes was the day the progress of “gaming as an art form” was shot between the eyes, placed in a box that was then filled with concrete, and thrown into the ocean. He’s a dumbass man child that’s making all of us look bad and he needs to take his millions worth of corporate sponsorships and fuck off forever into some dark, lonely corner of the Internet where he’ll never be seen or heard from again until an inevitable meltdown that lands him on an episode of Down the Rabbit Hole.

And that concludes this post. I’ll give my final thoughts tomorrow, and on Saturday I’m closing this account forever.

#unpopular opinion

132 notes · View notes

ankhlesbian · 5 years ago

Text

FE Femslash Week: Day 3

Prompt: cheer/guardian, for @fireemblemfemslashweek

Fandom: FE Echoes

Pairing: Clair/Faye/Silque

Rating/Length: T for violence, ~3k words

Title: into the abyss

Celica asks old friends for a favor. Hidden deep within an ancient dungeon there is said to be a spring that can revive the dead, though it is guarded by powerful, mystical means, as few who enter in search of it return alive. Clair, Faye, and Silque must work together to get through the challenge without dying.

“Well, this is just great,” Faye commented, pinching her nose. Clair frowned, poking at the rubble with her spear.

“I did not expect a cave-in, of all things, to be part of the dangers Queen Celica warned us of.”

“She did say she barely explored the place before deeming it too difficult to go further. I suspect the skeletons scared her party off before they ever got this far.” Silque added, seemingly unperturbed by being trapped in a strange dungeon full of undead monsters.

She was facing away from where the ceiling had fallen in, examining the rest of the cavern. It was large, but full of a dense fog that made it impossible to see much more than a few feet. Strangely, the sound of waves upon a shore echoed in the chamber, along with the occasional ominous rattle of bones and odd moan from a revenant.

Faye sighed, picking up her shield and staff and giving up on trying to move any of the rocks.

“There’s no way to go but forward, then. There’s gotta be another way out. The water must come from somewhere.”

Clair wrinkled her nose. “I volunteer to not be the one to swim around in search of an exit. Mila only knows what may be lurking in there.”

“I’m trying to be optimistic here,” Faye retorted, waving her staff back and forth in an attempt to clear away some of the fog.

“The cave-in could be part of the puzzle,” Silque broke in. “It wouldn’t make sense for finding a spring that can revive the dead to be easy. You find the spring or die trying to escape, so that only those worthy can access its power.”

“Morbid,” Faye muttered. She glanced between her two companions, thoughtful. “I’ll lead the way. You aren’t quite as resilient without your pegasus, you know.”

Clair sighed, because it was unfortunately true. Even if they had been able to persuade her mount to enter a strange underground cave, there had been no guarantee there would even be space enough to maneuver a horse. “Thank you for looking out for me, dear.” She squeezed Faye’s shoulder before falling back to stand beside Silque, who offered her a small smile.

Faye focused and called forth a glowing green light to the tip of her staff. It barely made a dent in the mist, but it was something to concentrate on. She followed the sound of the water, searching for the shore. Of course, things wouldn’t be that easy.

There was a breathy, hoarse inhale, and then a silhouette from the fog threw itself forward. Faye jolted backwards, raising her shield on instinct. Fingernails screeched across its metal surface, and before her was the rotting face of a zombie. The fog seemed to fade away, revealing three more of the monsters. Her eye caught on the oddly tinted claws of two of them, familiar from her previous times in a dungeon.

“Watch out! Those ones have poisoned claws!” She wrenched her shield from the grip of the leading zombie and brought her staff down on its head, hard, and the zombie howled as it staggered. Green magic flared from one corner of her eye, enveloping one of the poisonous zombies. A javelin pierced through the head of another. She chanted an incantation and dark magic wound around her staff in sync with a similar braid of magic around the zombie closest to her. It wheezed as it fell to the ground, life force sapped.

The final zombie lumbered forward, one eye glinting golden. It opened its barren jaw and with a click click click its skull twisted around grotesquely, now upside down. She prepared another spell, unfazed. A circle of runes surrounded it, and then another as Silque joined in. White light flared within the borders of the spell, and when it faded there was nothing left but dust.

“Not bad.” Clair said, smile on her face. “Nowhere close to a match for us.”

Silque was troubled. “Those would have been a challenge for Celica’s crew, but not one bad enough to prevent them from going further in. We need to be on our guard.”

Faye nodded in agreement. Clair frowned, retrieving her javelin and shaking off the ichor before re-sheathing it.

They continued forward in silence, until at last Faye’s boots fell into water. Gentle waves lapped at her feet, and in a blink the fog along the shore had cleared.

“I suppose that was step one of whatever puzzle we’re trying to solve.” Clair said, unsettled. “I haven’t been in catacombs as strange as this in quite some time.” They all shared a glance, recalling their time fighting under Alm. Even with Duma vanquished, it seemed dark powers had yet to fade from all corners of the world.

Faye reached for Silque’s hand with one arm and looped the other around Clair’s elbow. “I don’t like this one bit. The fog could come back any minute.” Above the water was eerily clear, the waves acting as some sort of mystic barrier to the mist. Yet, even with Faye’s staff lit up, it was impossible to see the end of the lake. Every now and then, bells chimed and something metal clinked, as if somewhere strung above them were windchimes.

“I think I see the end of the cavern,” Clair said, squinting. Sure enough, there was the solid rock of a wall. But there was also something else. The wooden carcass of a ship, crashed and rotted.

They approached slowly, circling around in case there were monsters hiding beneath or within it. Faye went in first, crawling through a hole in the hull. Her hand touched something cold, and she whirled her staff to the offending object. A skeleton. She bit her lip to stifle the noise she wanted to make. There were a few more corpses, all picked clean. No flesh, hair, or even clothes remaining.

She reconvened with a pale looking Clair. “I think I saw the captain on deck.” Clair said. “Dead, of course, and still clutching the wheel.”

Faye jerked her thumb to where she came from. “I found the rest of the crew.”

Silque emerged last, a moldy journal in one hand. “This may give us some insight as to what happened here.”

It was a ghastly tale, a group of men from a nearby village determined to find the life-giving spring for their families, all who had suffered from the recent famine. Finding themselves trapped, they had cobbled together a ship from the crates around the cavern, and set forth.

“Something repelled them.” Silque muttered. “Local legend says that beyond the waters lies the veil into the realm of the dead. That’s how the spring can recall souls that have passed on.”

“Maybe their souls got to go to the other side, at least?” Faye offered, though spirituality had never been her strong suit, skilled at white magic as she was.

“I wonder how long ago they were in here. Perhaps if we had come sooner…” Clair’s eyes were downcast. Silque flipped through the pages, rubbing them between her fingers, taking in their texture.

“It’s at least a year old. Probably more, with the reference to the famine. There’s nothing we could have done.”

“We should bury them.” Faye declared. “Or at least sanctify their bones, or something. We’re clerics, aren’t we?”

“And we should burn this book. If they truly made it that far, then this book is touched by the land of the dead. It may be playing a part in fueling the revenants around here.”

With Clair standing guard, they got to work, pulling out the bodies and gathering them in a pile. Faye etched sigils in the sand around them while Silque went through the verbal parts of the ritual. Faye had a knack for so-called religious magic, which was apparently tied more to the will of the soul than actual gods, but she didn’t have the knowledge Silque did from growing up in a monastery.

Luckily, no monsters interrupted them, and Silque clasped her hands together in prayer one last time. The book burst into flames while the bones decomposed before their very eyes, particles joining the rest of the sand on the beach.

As the journal disappeared, the cavern shook. Faye leapt to her feet, whipping out her staff and pressing her back to Clair’s.The rock around them rumbled, and slowly but surely the fog disappeared into thin air. And then cracks split the ground, and decomposed hands reached forth, a horde of revenants and zombies and skeletons ready to rise.

“Silque?” Faye called, panicked. Was she still recovering from the drain? Would one of them be able to carry her while the other fought off the hundreds of monsters?

“Give me a moment.” Her voice was quiet, but strong as steel. She pressed her hands to the ground, and wisps of white rose up around her, as if it were steaming. Her eyes glowed, iris and pupil overtaken by a blue that matched her hair. The smoke began to coalesce into loose figures, and Faye realized what she was doing.

“Clair—"

“I know! Cover us, won’t you?”

Ghostly soldiers solidified, a veritable army to match the monsters, and Silque slumped from the strain. Her arms gave out just as Clair reached her, grabbing her shoulders before she could fall face-first into the dirt. She knelt down, pulling Silque onto her back.

“Let’s go!”

They made a break for the far side of the cavern, searching for any passage out. The soldiers were keeping the zombies at bay, just barely, and Faye still had to snipe down the occasional foe who broke free.

There was, thank Mila, a tunnel to escape to that they’d missed earlier, obscured by the mist. They ducked inside, following its twists and curves until they could no longer hear the water or the sound of combat.

Faye came to a stop, panting heavily from the dash. Clair crouched down to let Silque off, keeping a grip on one of her hands.

“Are you all right, darling? That was quite impressive, even for you.”

Faye deemed the passage-way safe enough, and turned to press a hand to Silque’s forehead. Sweat dripped from her brow. Her restoration ring was still on her finger, which meant the fatigue would only be temporary.

They took a moment to rest, pressed against each other in the corner of the rocky tunnel. It was dark and musty, clearly unused for quite some time. Maybe it hadn’t even been a visible entrance until the fog had cleared. When Silque was ready, Faye summoned a light once more.

It wasn’t long before she heard heavy breathing.

“Do we need to rest ag—"

She was cut off by Clair’s hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, and she held a finger to her mouth. Silque’s mouth was flat as her eyes flitted around.

Faye cut off her next sentence as she realized the breathing wasn’t coming from either of her two companions. In fact, she wasn’t even actually sure it was breathing. With bated breath, she peered around the corner of the tunnel.

There was a large archway, pure white marble carved with elaborate spiral markings. Torchlight flickered, illuminating the large room before the archway. And to either side of it, there rested two large, rotting necrodragons, guardians of the spring. The room stank of their flesh, which was slogging off their very bones. A false breeze stirred, whistling through the exposed naval cavities of the dragons.

“The fountain has to be beyond them. That’s how they’re still functioning.”

“This would be a wonderful time to have my pegasus,” Clair said. The cavern wasn’t big enough for the necrodragons to have room for flight, but she would’ve able to slip over and behind them.

Silque patted her solemnly. “I would’ve loved to have him here too.”

Faye chewed on her lip, judging the distance. “You know, I think we could pull off a classic, if we do it right.”

Silque met her gaze, catching on as she looked out at the necrodragons. Clair smirked, twirling her lance, confidence returning.

“I have no qualms with that. Let’s wreak a touch of havoc.”

They drew their weapons, and in jumped Faye, shield at the ready. The necrodragons roared, spewing fire on instinct. Magic flared on her shield, absorbing the green flames. A javelin tore a hole in the neck of the one on the left, and she targeted the other with a blast of white and feathers.

The one she attacked lashed its tail angrily, moving with surprising speed. She managed to block its claws with the shield, but it snapped at her legs with its mouth, teeth sinking in and tearing flesh open as she jerked away. Magic exploded in its face, sending it reeling backwards.

She could feel the blood dripping down her leg, and just gritted her teeth. Silque wouldn’t be able to reach her from here. Clair was across from her, blocking blows with her lance. Silque finished her chants, and three soldiers ran forward to take Clair’s place. Clair sprinted for Silque’s side.

Faye switched up her casting, aiming to heal herself. Purple tendrils wrapped around the dragon’s limbs, sapping energy from them, the wound on her leg knitting together. Enraged, it breathed out more fire, and Faye rolled to the side. It lunged for her, saliva dripping from gnarled teeth.

She shoved her shield into its mouth, staff batting at its talons to keep them at bay, though the edge of her dress still ended up tattered. It tore her shield from her grip, rearing back proudly with its capture and crunching down, shattering the metal. And then it gurgled, twisting wildly as it fell, a spear protruding from the front of its neck.

Faye stomped the butt of her staff on the ground. Clair, falling in midair from behind the dragon’s neck where Silque had warped her, was enveloped in the magic’s aura, and she reappeared at Faye’s side.

“And on to the next one!” Clair kissed her on the cheek, exhilarated, before slipping away again.

Faye joined the ranks of Silque’s remaining illusionary soldiers, staying behind them as she weaved her spell. This time the dark magic appeared like a chain, wrapped around the dragon’s front legs. Her staff moved backwards, and the chains moved in the same direction. The beast staggered, off-balance.

This time Clair appeared right behind its head, legs gripping its neck as if it was her pegasus. She stabbed her lance straight down, piercing the skull and the chin in one blow. Faye didn’t waste the energy to recall her, seeing as the two threats were defeated.

Clair hopped off its head, tucking her loose hair behind her ears.

“I must say, I feel that quite a bit more when doing it with my own two legs.”

Faye rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t keep from smiling. “Maybe you need to work out more. Practice walking like the rest of us peasants.”

“I have to let you have something to yourself, otherwise you’d complain that I show you up.”

“You say that, but I’d like to see you do magic.”

Silque grinned fondly as she joined them.

“Now, now, let’s be reasonable. I’d say I was the most valuable member of the team there.”

Clair and Faye quieted, as they couldn’t argue with that.

“Now, let’s find this magic fountain for Celica once and for all, and get out of here.”

Stepping around the corpses, they entered the archway. Sure enough, there was a fountain protruding from the wall, filled with glimmering water. Silque approached it cautiously, eyes shut, trying to sense the type of magic that permeated the area.

Faye and Clair awkwardly stood back, trying to stay out of the way.

“This is it.” Silque announced. She dipped a hand into the fountain, and a pulse of magic swept through the area.

“That better have cleared our way out of here. I’m sick of dead things.”

The way back went much faster, though whether that was because of the atmosphere or because it had truly been shortened, they weren’t sure. They emerged back in the cavern with water, and there was no sign of any earthquakes, no mass amounts of decaying zombies littering the ground. Even the ship wreck was gone.

The rubble that had blocked them in had disappeared, too, and they all took in deep breaths of fresh air as they walked back out into the sunlight, relieved that their mission was complete and successful. Celica would be delighted.

#fefemslashweek #fayesilque #clairfaye #faye/silque #clair/silque #clair/faye #clair fe #faye fe #silque fe #fe15 #fee #fire emblem echoes #it writes #clairfayesilque

7 notes · View notes