#i will die on this hill the passive voice is not always bad

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 8

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Breeding - Bang Chan

Word Count: 8.4k

Summary: Your family’s yearly vacation is here and once again, you’re single. To avoid having your dating life be poked and prodded by your relatives, you decide to turn your best friend for a little help. Everyone already knows him! What’s the worst that could happen if he pretends to be your boyfriend for the week?

—————————————————————————

“It’s going to be a disaster,” you lament, leaning your head back over your couch. Your coffee mug gripped tightly in your hand.

A random movie is playing on your TV, but neither you nor your best friend are paying attention.

“It will not,” Chan chides and nudges your arm with his elbow.

He sips his own drink slowly, watching you throw your arm over your eyes.

“Yes it will! Every year my family goes on this vacation to the mountains, and every year I’m reminded that I’m the only single adult in the family.”

You sigh.

“You’re not the only single one, what about your cousin?”

“He started dating someone about a month after last year’s vacation. They’re still together, so she’s coming on the trip.” Your tone switches to something less dramatic. “She’s lovely, by the way, you’d like her. Very friendly.”

Chan laughs. “So, you’re single and alone there, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s your family. ”

��They make fun of me the whole time! And if I do anything my mom doesn’t like, she’ll go ‘this is why you don’t have a boyfriend, Y/N.’ Ugh!”

“Aren’t there only four ‘older’ cousins?”

“Yes, and I’m the only single one above the age of seventeen. I’m twenty four and I am going to die alone.”

Your arm drops from your eyes and you stare up at the ceiling.

The air in your apartment is warm and comfortable. Candles burn on the table beside you, filling the house with a pleasant warm cinnamon scent.

It was always one of Chan’s favorites.

“How long until the trip?” he asks.

“Next weekend.”

“Not enough time for a dating app, huh?”

You force a laugh. “No. Can you imagine? ‘Coffee was great! You wanna come on a week-long vacation with me and my giant, loud family?’ They would run for the hills.”

“Your family is great and you know it.”

“I know, they’re just… obnoxiously close, that’s all. I love them, don’t get me wrong.” You motion your arms up to the ceiling wildly in an exasperated movement. “But if I need to listen to my aunt nitpick my appearance in passive aggressive ways to ‘help’, I might kill myself.”

Chan takes a long sip of his drink. “They’re not that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “They love you so much, what would you know? Every time I bring you around them I always get tons of questions afterwards about you. I think my cousin is in love with you.”

“Which one?”

“Lily.”

“She’s twelve.”

“Twelve and in love with you.”

Both of you sit in silence for a moment. Chan’s attention slides back to the TV. He’s looking at it, but he’s not absorbing what’s really playing.

Same with you, you’re too busy wrapped up in your thoughts when an idea hits you all of a sudden.

“That’s it!” you yell, sitting up straight. Your voice startles Chan and he almost spills his drink all over your couch.

“What? What’s it?” he asks quickly, checking his pants to make sure nothing spilled.

“You can come with me!”

“You want me to go on your family’s yearly vacation in place of a boyfriend?”

“I want you to come on my family’s yearly vacation as my boyfriend.”

Chan’s head snaps over to you, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. You’re already looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Chan!” you beg before he has a chance to say no. “Please, please, please!” you repeat over and over again.

Placing your coffee on the table, you crawl closer to him on the couch, begging over and over again.

“They already love you so much! It would be so easy ! Plus, it’s all expenses paid! It’s a free vacation to a lake house in the mountains with your best friend!”

“Felix isn’t going.” Chan teases.

You whine and grab his free hand. “No, me! Your best friend! Pretty please Chan! I’ll owe you big time!”

He stares at you for a long moment, thinking it through in his head. You’re staring at him with big, pleading, sparkly eyes. He’s never been able to say no to that look.

He sucks his teeth, head cocking to the side for a second. The hand in yours twitches and he holds it, like a faux-shake.

“Fine,” he says. “But, you owe me dinner.”

Squealing, you throw your arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He wraps his beverage-free hand around you and hugs you back. “You’re seriously the best, thank you!”

“I know, I know. Now can we please finish the movie?”

——————————————

The trunk to your car slams shut, Chan dusts his hands off and then rests them on his hips.

“You look like a dad,” you tell him while coming up to the car with your backpack slung over your shoulder.

“A dad who packed the trunk of your car perfectly.” He eyes the backpack on your shoulder. “That goes in the backseat. I’m not opening the trunk again.”

Giggling, you open the backdoor and toss it in.

“Can you drive?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. “You know how much I hate driving.”

Chan sighs and holds his hand out for the keys.

“You’re the best!” you cheer and toss them to him.

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” Chan rolls his eyes and ducks into the driver’s side of the car. “Do you have the address?”

You duck inside the car and start typing on your phone. “I should have it in my texts, one sec.”

Scrolling through your phone, you try to find the text that your aunt sent you with the address. Your family has rented the same AirBnb every year since you were fourteen and yet you could never remember the address of the place.

As you’re searching for it, a phone call from your mom comes in.

“Oh, hold on.” You say to Chan and hit the answer button.

“Hey, ma!” you greet into the phone.

“Hey, sweetie! Are you on your way yet?”

“We just got into the car, actually. We’re about to leave.”

“I thought you would’ve left an hour ago.”

“Chan got held up at work, actually. Not his fault.”

At the mention of his name, Chan perks up and looks over at you, listening to the phone call intently.

“Ah, gotcha. I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you two finally started dating.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still kinda new,” you lie through your teeth. You look up and make eye contact with Chan. “We only became official about…”

His eyes widen and he looks around panicked. Quickly, he holds up three fingers.

“About three week-”

He moves about wildly.

“Months! Three months ago! Sorry, I’m a little distracted putting all the bags in the car.”

Chan reacts to your lie comically, his chin jutting forward, head cocking to the side. You wave him off silently. Your mother doesn’t seem to clock your panic about the situation.

“I always saw how the two of you looked at each other, it was only a matter of time, really.”

A blush crawls up your neck and turns your ears and cheeks red. Chan looks down at his lap and coughs nervously, a blush of his own making its way onto his skin.

“Anyway, we better get going, mom! You know how talking on the phone while driving is illegal and all.”

“Make Chan drive! He’s the boyfriend.”

“You’re so right… And he should do so without putting up a fuss.”

Chan motions down to himself, as if to say ‘I’m already the one in the driver’s seat’. You wave him off again, trying to focus on your mother’s voice.

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you soon, but I expect some questions to be answered when I see you, Y/N!” Her voice is teasing, but it makes your blood run cold.

“Of course, mom. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye, love you!”

You don’t give her a chance to answer you before you hang up.

The silence in the car is so loud, the air is so still.

“So,” you say slowly. “We need to come up with a backstory, huh?”

“It seems so.”

Another bout of silence.

Neither of you are looking at each other, you’re both facing forward, staring out the windshield.

“I’ll uh… find the address.”

“Yeah.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and scroll through your phone. Chan waits a second before starting the car.

——————————————

Chan turned one of the final corners of the trip onto the street.

“Our first date?” he asks.

“Coffee at the cafe by my apartment.”

“Second date?”

“Movies, we saw Barbie. We went out to eat afterwards. A diner.”

“When did we become official?”

“Three months ago. May 6th. You asked me after our third date.”

“And?”

“You kissed me at my door.”

“Good.”

You both pause for a moment.

“How come I can’t be the one that kissed you?” you tease him.

Chan laughs out loud and turns the car into the driveway. “As if you would ever make the first move.”

You look at him incredulously. “I so would! You’re the one who gets too nervous to do anything. I say I kissed you, not the other way around.”

“No way, I kissed you.”

Chan puts the car into park.

“Absolutely not. I kissed you first.” you reply.

“Keep dreaming. I walked you to your door, we stood there and talked for a minute. You went to walk inside, but I stopped you and kissed you.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt.

“No, after we talked, there was an awkward silence and I could see how nervous you were and how you kept looking at my lips. So, I took the first step and kissed you.”

Grabbing the door handle, you wrench it open before Chan could issue a rebuttal again.

He calls your name from inside the car and lets out a loud groan afterwards.

“You can’t have all the firsts, now can you?” you call back, walking around to the trunk.

The front door to the house rips open and two of your little cousins come tearing out of the house with happy smiles.

“Y/N! Y/N!” they both call out, sprinting up to you.

Leaning down, you scoop both of them up into a hug with both arms, giving them an equally excited hello. Both of them hug you tightly.

They’re five and nine years old, girl and boy– the youngest of the cousins.

“Look who else I brought with me,” you giggle and look over at Chan, who was watching you from the side of the car. The door still opened, his arm leaning on the top.

Both of their tiny gazes turn towards him and just like that, you’re forgotten about.

“Chan!” They both cheer and run at him full tilt.

He wraps both of them up in his strong arms and picks them off the ground.

“Hello, you two!” he coos and gives them both kisses on their heads.

Something twinges within your heart seeing him interact with the two of them that way, it goes through you like an arrow. His brown eyes are so warm and sparkly holding your two little cousins close to him.

A genuine, bright smile pulled across his beautiful face.

Chan steps away from the car and puts them on the ground, they both complain. “Come on, I need to help Y/N with the bags. I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if I made her carry them all by herself.”

Your heart thuds again. Boyfriend.

The two kids groan and give in, running back into the house, telling everyone of your arrival.

Chan watches them for a moment before turning to look at you with a sheepish smile. You smile back and knock twice on the hood of your car.

“Come on then, boyfriend. These bags won't carry themselves.”

He laughs and grabs the bags from the trunk, arguing with you when you try to lift some of the heavier bags. Well, you weren’t going to argue about carrying something if you didn’t need to.

The cold air conditioned house was a familiar sight when you walked through the front door. One of your aunts was near the entrance when you first came in.

“Y/N, Chan, you’re here! We have you both in the room down here, I hope that’s okay.” she says, pointing to the room down the hall. It’s one of only three bedrooms on the first floor.

“Yeah! That’s totally fine, thank you.”

You smile and walk to the room, dropping your bags down on the bed.

The singular bed in the room.

Chan follows you inside the room with your bags, plopping them down on the floor by the door. You turn to look at him, he’s staring at the bed, most likely thinking the same thing that you are.

He closes the door behind you both.

“I didn’t think about this part.” you say quietly just in case someone was outside the door.

He shrugs. “Just don’t hog the blankets,” he jokes. Chan brushes it off so easily.

What you don’t know is his heart is racing just as much as yours is. His mouth has gone completely dry and he had to gulp down some nerves before jesting with you.

It’s just a bed, right? Both of you can share a bed, no problem. Not at all.

The two of you have fallen asleep on the couch together before. But, it’s not quite the same as sharing a bedroom for the next week.

“I didn’t think you would need any blankets since you’re a human space heater.” You open your one bag and pull out a few smaller things.

“You’re just jealous because you’re cold all the time.” Chan stands on the other side of the bed, plugging his phone charger into the wall.

“I’m not cold all the time.”

“You’re in a sweatshirt and it’s eighty five degrees outside.”

“We had the air conditioning on in the car.”

There’s a few knocks on the bedroom door. “Dinner!”

——————————————

Contrary to what you both originally thought, your family did not grill the two of you interrogation style about your relationship. Instead, you were met with a lot of “It was only a matter of time”.

Each time one of your family members said something along those lines, both you and Chan would grow extremely shy, faces flushing and hearts racing.

Dinner was held in the back room attached to the large kitchen, a long dining table sat in the room, benches full of your family members lined it.

There were so many of you: eight cousins, three aunts, two uncles, two parents, one sister, one brother in law, one grandmother.

This was not the first time Chan had been around your extremely large family, not at all. He’s around you all the time, especially when he can’t go home to Australia for holidays. You always invite him to your family celebrations, and each time he’s more than thrilled to be there.

Everyone was so happy that he was there; part of you thinks they’re happier to see him than you.

Dinner came and went, it was filled with laughter and stories, like it usually is. Your dad and his brothers all teased one another, bringing up stories of being young in the 70’s and 80’s.

“Let’s do a movie night!” One of your younger cousins turns to her older brother. “You’ve been promising me that we would watch Star Wars.”

“You want to watch Star Wars tonight?” he replies.

“Yes, please! Cousins movie night!" She cheers and grabs her plate. “We can set the couches up like last year!”

Chan leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Movie night?”

“There’s a den upstairs with a couple couches, we push them together to make a giant bed and all watch movies at night. Very common L/N Family Activity on vacation.” you answer, leaning closer to him. “The adults usually go to bed and all the cousins watch movies.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Both of you chuckle and smile at one another. His dimples showing. You two seem to be in your own little bubble.

Chan’s leaning so close his body heat is radiating through your clothes. The fabric of his shirt is brushing against your bare arm.

“You’ll find that there’s a certain schedule to each day, breakfast, play down at the lake, lunch, back to the lake, get ready for dinner, eat dinner, movie time.”

“I think I can get used to that.”

“You better.”

A throat clears by you. Your aunt is looking at the two of you with a playful smile. “Are you both going to help clean up or what?”

——————————————

“Dibs on sitting next to Y/N!” One of your little cousins calls out after you all finished pushing the couches together.

“No, I want to sit next to her!” Another yells out.

The youngest runs up and throws his arms around your hips, hugging you close to him. Both arms don’t make it around you all the way.

“No, me!”

You laugh and ruffle his hair. He holds you tighter and it knocks you off balance slightly.

“Come on, hon, you got to sit next to me at dinner, let someone else have a turn.” you coo down to him.

“No!” he pouts and hugs you tighter. You grimace and try to pry his arms off you.

Chan comes out of nowhere and picks your cousin off the ground in one fell swoop. “How about me, huh?” he teases and tickles your cousin with his one free hand.

Your cousin starts giggling like crazy.

“Don’t I get to sit next to my girlfriend?” he jokes and tickles him even more.

The biggest smile stretches over your face, heart warming once more.

Chan drops your cousin onto the couches, he bounces a bit, still laughing.

The tickle torture continues now that both of Chan’s hands are free. Giggles turn into cackles.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t fight the smile on your face and the feeling that stirs in your stomach. Are you ovulating? You have to be. There’s no other explanation for the flutter within your chest.

He just looks so natural like that. The teasing looked adorable.

It wasn’t until one of your older cousins came into the room before your gaze was taken away from Chan.

“Lovesick, eh?” he says in your ear.

“Oh, shut up.” You hit him in the arm.

“I know that look anywhere, Y/N. You can’t fool me.” He laughs and then walks to take his spot on the big couch huddle with his girlfriend.

Chan picks your little cousin up by the ankle and starts dragging him around. Both of their laughter was music to your ears.

“Okay, okay! Move time!” You call out to the two of them. Chan looks over at you immediately with the goofiest grin on his face.

Your little cousin groans.

“Give me my boyfriend back,” you tease and climb onto the couch.

After several minutes of figuring out seating and finding the movie on the TV, everyone was finally settled.

Chan sat directly next to you, his arm on the back of the couch behind you. Both of your legs stretched out in front of you and a shared blanket draped over you both.

The opening title sequence of Star Wars starts playing and silence falls over your cousins for the first time since you got there.

Absent-mindedly, Chan’s fingers lightly brush over the skin of your exposed shoulder from behind you. They trace small shapes lightly.

You can’t even focus on the movie in front of you, Chan’s touch is too distracting.

Your sister and her fiance sat on the other side of you. She leaned over and whispered in your ear about twenty minutes into the movie.

“You can cuddle with your boyfriend, you know.”

A flush crawls up your neck. “Yeah, of course I know that. I just didn’t want to–”

Chan must’ve heard her, his hand closes over your shoulder and brings you closer to him. Your body turns into his, head tucked underneath his chin. His body warmth seeps into you as soon as you press into him.

The cherry on top is when he presses a kiss to the crown of your hair before resting his chin on top of your head. A shockwave of goosebumps ripples through your body.

Thinking you were chilly, Chan wraps his other arm around you and holds you even closer.

Well, if he’s playing the part.

You intertwine your legs with his underneath the blanket. His heart jumps in his chest and he has to fight the urge to press another kiss into your hair.

Chan knew he was pushing his luck with the first one, but it just felt so natural, he couldn’t help himself. Every single time the two of you touch, he instinctually takes it further into a romantic zone.

Previously, he would restrain himself from advancing these moments with you, but now? He doesn’t need to hold himself back. He can let his body react naturally.

The movie continues on, whenever a younger cousin would ask any questions about the movie, one of the older kids would answer.

Whenever Chan was the one to answer, his voice would rumble deep within his chest. The later it got, the raspier it sounded.

Throughout the movie, you both just got more and more tangled up underneath the blanket. You slid an arm around to rest your hand on Chan’s chest; fingers mindlessly playing with the fabric of his t-shirt.

Chan melted into your touch so easily.

In all the years you’ve been close friends, you’ve never been this level of a human pretzel while hanging out. He’s relishing every moment of it. Your shared body heat mingling is intoxicating to him.

He’s such a tactile person, physical touch is definitely his love language.

Chan can’t remember a time he was ever this cozy while watching a movie.

One of his hands moves from your shoulder and into your hair, running his fingers through the strands gently.

Every muscle in your body relaxes when he starts scratching at your scalp lightly. His soft exhales puff out on your head. Normally, this would bother you, but instead you find it soothing.

Both of you were fighting against your eyelids towards the end of the movie. The little kids fell asleep about ten minutes before the credits rolled.

Chan squeezes you tighter for a moment before whispering into your hair, “Time for bed.”

Your heart squeezes. “I gotta help get the little ones to bed.”

“I got it,” he answers. “Go wash up and get to bed. I’ll be downstairs in a few.”

Words can’t even describe how much your heart melts at his words.

Pull it together, Y/N. He’s your fake boyfriend for the week, remember? Not your real one.

It’s Chan – Bang Chan. The same guy who held your hair each time you drank yourself sick in college. The guy who camps out at your dining room table to work because he claims the Wi-Fi is better at your apartment.

Nevertheless, you peel yourself off of him, untangling your limbs and sitting up.

“You’re the best,” you say to him with a sleepy smile.

“I know.”

——————————————

Sunlight streams in through the bedroom window and the air conditioning unit continuously hums in the room.

A strong arm squeezing tighter around your body is what drags you out of dreamland.

A searingly hot body is pressed flush against the back of yours; legs tangled up, back to chest, soft exhales blowing into your hair lightly.

The haze of sleep still has your mind in its grip. All you know in that moment is that it’s so cozy, so warm, so nice that you can’t help but press your body backwards into that serene clasp.

The arm tightens again and brings you even closer.

A nose nuzzles further into the back of your head.

Chan, it’s Chan behind you.

You should care. You should be prying his arm off your waist and scooting over away from him.

But you don’t want to. It’s too nice.

It’s so peaceful, you’re about to drift back to sleep when the sound of two separate footsteps run towards your bedroom door.

They’re so loud, it rips you from sleep and you tense up, preparing for impact.

Your bedroom door is practically flung open.

Chan jolts against your body at the noise, his eyes snap open, arm tightening around you even more in a protective manner.

He has about two seconds to get his bearings before both cousins leap onto the bed, yelling at you both to wake up.

Chan releases you and turns over onto his back with a deep groan.

You groan and squint your eyes closed, bringing the covers up over your head.

“Noooo…” you moan out.

Chan laughs and grabs one little cousin closely, hugging her close to his chest. “Are you in here to sleep in bed with us? I sure hope so since it’s still soooo early.”

She giggles and tries to fight against his strong arms. “No!” she cackles. “You have to eat breakfast so we can go swimming down at the lake!”

Your other, more calm, cousin squirms underneath the covers and cuddles up to you. Slinging an arm around him, you keep your eyes closed and try to let your mind drift off again.

This is not the first time he’s done this, and it most likely will not be the last. It breaks your heart thinking about the year he feels like he’s too old to do this.

Chan is practically wrestling with your cousin next to you. She squeals when he turns on his side with her encased in his arms.

“Chaaan!” she giggles.

After a few moments, he lets her go and she clambers off the bed.

“Come on, Chan! Come sit next to me at breakfast!” She pulls on his hand closest to the edge of the bed.

He laughs and turns his head to look at you. You’re fast asleep again with your younger cousin asleep in your arms.

Chan’s heart slams against his ribcage and his stomach does a cartwheel.

Your sleeping face is so peaceful, and the way your little cousin has the same hair color as you had the cogs in his mind turning.

What if that was your kid in your arms, not just a cousin?

What if it was his?

His eyes flicker all over your face.

Something stirs in his mind, shooting down his spine. If it wasn’t for your other little cousin yanking on his arm over and over again, probably would’ve watched you for a few more moments, allowing his mind to roam into dangerous territory.

——————————————

“You’re staring.” Your aunt sits next to Chan with a plate full of food.

He’s camped out on the back porch of the cabin. It overlooks the wooden stairs that lead down to the dock hanging over the lake.

You’re lounging out on a floaty, pina colada in your hand– courtesy of him. He had walked it down to you only a few moments ago.

When it was announced that it was lunch time, you told Chan you wanted to work on your tan without worrying about your cousins splashing you every five seconds.

Maybe making you a frozen drink was just an excuse to see your face light up when he brought it to you. Maybe it was an excuse to watch the water droplets slide over your body up close.

Chan clears his throat and tears his eyes off your lazing form. Clearly, he’d been caught staring at your bikini clad form.

She nudges his arm playfully. “Don’t be embarrassed, it would be weirder if you didn’t stare, you know.”

Your family can be so crass sometimes.

Chan laughs and takes a bite of the sandwich on his plate. “It’s just nice to see her relaxing for once.”

“Has she been working herself into the ground again?”

“She never stops.”

Your aunt nods and looks back down at you before taking a bite of her own food. “Also helps that she looks good in that bathing suit.” She pauses. “Damn, your kids will be good looking.”

Chan chokes on his bite of food, his body jerks forward and he slams his fist into his chest to try and get it down.

Your aunt pats him on the back a few times, laughing at his expense.

“What?” She questions with an evil chuckle. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

“We’ve only been together for three months,” he wheezes out, still hitting his chest. The clump of food is sitting in his throat.

“And?”

“It’s too early to think about stuff like that,” he lies through his teeth.

You’re not even his. You’re not. This week will end and you’ll have to go back to just being best friends.

He’ll have to pretend that he wasn’t fake sleeping for the last hour before you woke up just to have his arms around you for a little while longer.

“Please.” Your aunt rolls her eyes and goes back to her food when another family member joins the table.

Chan takes a long swig of water before letting his eyes flicker to you once more. Your free hand hangs down in the water, head tilted back to dip into the cool lake, exposing your long, beautiful neck.

In his swim trunks, his cock twitches and he takes an even bigger drink of water.

——————————————

The torture continues endlessly for the two of you.

It’s the fourth night when it’s just you and Chan left awake.

Rain is pouring against the windows outside, the fireplace is lit, TV playing something in the background.

“I’m never going to get to bed.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t have had coffee with dessert,” you tease Chan, nudging his arm.

“Your uncle offered me a cup and I panicked.”

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“I know!” He whined.

You laugh at his expense. “Come on,” you tug on his arm. “You promised you would play pool with me.”

“When did I say that?”

“Literally this morning!”

“Fine, fine.”

He allows you to pull him off the couch with a dorky smile on his face. He loves giving you a hard time for no reason at all.

The pool table sat in the front room, just a few steps away from your bedroom.

Every time the two of you had gone to play pool, other family members would get in the way and pull one of you two in another direction.

Tonight was really the first night you both had to yourselves.

“You break,” you tell him once everything is set up. He nods and lines up his shot. After a second, he hits the cue ball perfectly into the cluster and all the balls scatter along the table, but nothing sinks into the pocket.

“Pity,” you tease him.

“Pity,” he repeats, mocking your tone.

Laughing, you bend over and line up your own shot. From across the table, Chan watches your form bend over, his lip pulling between his teeth mindlessly.

You hit the ball and sink one in.

With a cheer on the quieter side, you look at him with a smirk. He rolls his eyes playfully as you line up another shot.

The game continues just like this for a bit. Both of you going back and forth, missing most shots, but also nailing some good ones.

You’re tied at the end, racing to try and sink the 8-ball before the other person.

Leaning over the table right in front of him, you try and set up your aim.

“Wait,” Chan says quietly before you can pull the pool stick back to take your shot.

He leans down over you, pressing his back into yours, arms coming around you. He guides your aim to hit the cue ball differently.

The entire time, your heart rate is increasing exponentially.

“Just a bit more to the left,” he whispers in your ear. Chills rip down your body and you gulp. His voice sounds so low and sensual.

His hand over yours adjusts with tiny, miniscule movements. He keeps changing the aim a bit to the left, then a bit to the right, like he’s prolonging the contact.

Behind you, his hips are pressed into yours. It’s taking every ounce of willpower and control for him not to get hard in his sweats.

Especially, since in this position, he potentially could–

“Pull back,” he rasps. You follow his instructions immediately. He helps guide the pool stick back, hesitating for a moment. His chest inflates with a deep breath.

He breathes in the smell of your shampoo.

“Shoot,” he exhales.

With his guidance, you both shoot the ball, standing up quickly to watch it bounce off the 8-ball and then sinking into the corner pocket.

You cheer and jump up, turning around to face him directly.

“Take that!”

When you turned to face him, he hadn’t backed away yet. You’re practically nose to nose with Chan. A gasp catches in your throat from his proximity.

And yet, he still doesn’t back away. He continues to stare at you, his eyes dart from yours, down to your lips, then back up to your eyes again.

“Y/N,” he breathes out.

You swallow nervously and hold his eye contact.

Chan’s jaw clenches once, his hands ball into fists at his sides. Every single ounce of constraint is being tested within his body right now.

Cracks are going up the dam of his self control.

You’re not moving away; why aren’t you moving away from him?

He watches your eyes flicker down to his lips once and that’s all it takes for his mind to snap.

Chan lunges forward, grabbing your face with both of his hands and smashing your lips together. You let out a surprised noise against his mouth, your pool stick clattering to the ground.

Every bit of pent up aggression from the last few days is poured into the first kiss.

His hands aren’t on your face for long. He can’t keep still, sliding them all over your body; into your hair, down your sides, grabbing your hips, he’s everywhere.

“Fuck,” he growls against your lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N. Shit.”

Even though he’s apologizing, he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop slotting his lips over yours, devouring your very being.

Chan’s eyebrows are pinched together painfully. He’s pinning your body against the pool table with his hips.

You grab at his shirt and pull him closer.

“Shut up,” you say in between heated kisses.

“But I–”

“Shut up.” Your tongue runs over his bottom lip and his mind whites out. Every rebuttal fell from his mind, through the floor and into the Earth.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his face even closer to yours as he licks into your mouth. With each turn of your heads, your noses brush against one another.

Chan runs his hands down your body and grabs underneath your thighs, picking you up and placing you on the pool table.

Your legs part and he stands in between them, never leaving your lips once.

As he runs his hands up your legs, he squeezes your bare thighs every few inches. It makes your core clench and body tingle.

Your fingers run up through his hair, grabbing tightly and pulling. Chan moans into your mouth and moves his hands to grab at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

“Chan,” you whisper on his lips. He responds with a grunt. “Need you.”

God.

His hands fly to your legs again, grabbing you by the knees, he yanks your hips forward. Your clothed core comes into direct contact with his erection.

“I can give you exactly what you need, baby.” he nips your lip with his teeth. “I can take good care of you, yeah?”

Trailing his fingers up, he toys with the waistband of your shorts. At the same time, he moves his kisses down your neck. You tilt your head back to give him more access.

“Wanna take these off, babygirl?” he moans when you roll your hips into his.

“Yes, please.” you hiss in response.

Lifting your hips, he grabs the fabric and slides it down your legs, tossing them onto the floor with the forgotten pool stick.

Kisses trail lower and lower down your neck as he lowers to the ground.

Chan pulls away to kneel onto the ground.

His eyes are heated and strong when they meet yours. A dark scarlet color covers his cheeks and down his neck, disappearing into his sleeveless shirt.

Both of his hands grab at your thighs when he looks down at your glistening cunt. You’re absolutely soaking wet by now.

Since the moment he helped you line up your shot, you felt your panties dampening.

Wasting no time, Chan leans forward and runs his tongue from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the top, swirling around your clit and sucking gently.

Your hand flies up to cover your mouth, the other rests on the table behind you to keep your balance.

He repeats the action again, this time with more fervor and you squint your eyes shut, head tossing back from the pleasure that rips down your spine like a zipper.

Chan’s hands tighten around your thighs, eyes staring up at you and studying each reaction closely.

You taste so fucking good. He can’t get enough of you. His tongue greedily scoops up your juices, licking around your clit to feel you grind into his face.

His cock throbs with each moan, each whine that makes it through your fingers held tightly over your mouth.

After one long suck on your clit, Chan dips his tongue inside you, licking at your walls. Your eyes roll back into your head, the hand over your mouth flies down to grip at his hair.

He can’t help but smirk into your folds.

Every single moan is music to his ears.

Slowly, he inches his fingers over and when he moves his tongue up to your clit, he slides a finger into you, immediately curling it up to hit that spongy spot inside you.

“Jesus fuck–!” you cry out as quiet as you can manage.

It doesn’t slip your mind that you’re quite literally in a house full of relatives who could wake up and come into the front room at any moment and see the two of you.

But the fear just adds an extra layer of arousal to you.

“Does that feel good, babygirl?” Chan mutters into your cunt. “Does it feel good to have my fingers inside you?”

He thrusts his finger in and out slowly, those brown eyes studying you like a predator studies prey.

You bite your lip, eyes closed, and nod your head.

Chan adds a second finger and your head tosses back again. He can feel you clench down hard on his fingers when he licks your clit in long, even strokes.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your body.

“Chan,” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” he teases, licking up slowly, the pace of his fingers is equally as slow. But, regardless of the pace, he’s still coaxing you towards the edge of an orgasm. It’s building slowly, you can feel it in the pit of your stomach.

“Shit,” you buck your hips into his face when he does one particularly hard thrust.

“Use your words, little girl.” He bites your thigh and then goes back to your folds. You clench around him hard at the name.

How are you supposed to use your words when your voice keeps getting caught in your throat? When every time you think you can open your mouth, a sultry moan tumbles out.

“N-Need you,” you manage to strain out.

A devilish smile pulls at his lips. He begins to thrust faster with his fingers, licking your clit quicker.

“Need me?” He asks in between licks. “You need me?”

Veins are popping in your neck from straining to keep your voice down.

“Yes, fuck!” You hiss out. “ I need you.”

In between his legs, Chan can feel his cock weeping with precum. His mind is so clouded with lust he can barely think straight.

Desperately, he wishes that you didn’t have to keep your voice down. He wants to make you scream.

Faster and faster he thrusts and licks at your soaking cunt, greedily tasting your juices.

Your thighs twitch on either side of his head the closer you get to your orgasm.

“Chan,” you grab his attention by yanking on his hair. He grunts and looks up at you through his lashes, lips still devouring you. “Inside, inside. I need your cock inside me.”

Your words go straight to his dick, he licks at your cunt a few more times before standing to his feet quickly to lock your lips together, fingers still buried inside you.

When you taste your own slick on his tongue, your eyes roll back in your head and you clench around him. Chan smirks into the kiss, curling his fingers up.

He’s relentless. Tongue sliding over yours, moans being eaten up by a greedy mouth while his fingers fuck into you.

With more strength than you thought you had, you pry Chan’s lips off yours by pulling his hair back.

“If you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’ll pin you down and ride you until your cock can’t cum anymore.”

An exhale is punched from his chest. His mind whites out. Chan’s mouth drops open and his fingers stutter within you.

Did you really just say that? That sounds like a fucking dream.

“Babygirl,” he growls darkly. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

Your eyes darken and you pull his hair again. “Fuck me until I can’t walk, Chris.”

Chan rips his fingers out of your cunt, grabs both of your hips and roughly pulls you off the pool table.

He fists a hand in the back of your hair and spins you around, shoving your head down, bending you over completely.

You’re lucky you had half a mind to put your arms out to rest your weight on your elbows.

Using his one foot, he knocks the inside of yours outwards to spread your legs even more.

“Fucking look at that,” he marvels, running his free hand up your ass and kneading a handful. After a second he reels back and brings his hand down with a painful smack.

Your one hand flies to your mouth to cover the squeak that you make.

“Bent over, soaking wet cunt just fucking waiting to take my cock.” His hand tightens in your hair. The other hand rips his sweatpants down to take his cock out. “What a good girl you are.”

Chan can’t remember a time he’s ever been this hard.

Casting a look over your shoulder, you look back at Chan. His eyes are blown out, lip pulled in a sneer as he fists his cock, staring directly at your fluttering walls clench around nothing.

“You wanna fill me up, Channie?”

His eyes snap up to yours with a predator-like stare. His hand stops pumping his own cock, hell, he even stops breathing.

Chan’s jaw clenches, every ounce of self control is being drained. How much more of this can he fucking take before he passes out?

“What?” His voice is so strained and hoarse.

Your eyes narrow and you wiggle your hips tauntingly. “Come on, Chan.”

Chan’s eyes darken. He fists your hair and shoves your face down on the table and slams his cock inside you.

Your mouth stretches open in a silent scream, but you don’t let the noise make it out of your body.

Chan’s eyes roll to the back. You feel so fucking good.

“Holy shit.” He moans out. “Jesus fuck you’re so fighting tight.”

He wastes no time, pulling his cock out to slam back inside you. Your back arches and hips press into his to meet his thrust.

Each sharp wave of pleasure shoots down your legs and into your toes.

Small gasps and whines make their way through your lips.

Chan leans down, yanking your hair back to pick your head up slightly. His face comes down next to yours.

“You like this, yeah?” He whispers harshly. Thrust after thrust slams against your cervix. “You like when it’s rough?”

Closing your eyes tightly, you keep your mouth shut, trying to nod with his hand so tightly wound in the crown of your hair.

“Better be quiet, then. Don’t want someone coming out and seeing you look like a cum hungry, whore.”

Over and over again he fucks into you.

After one harsh thrust, your mouth drops open and before you can moan loudly, Chan’s free hand covers your mouth tightly.

“Feels that good to have my cock inside you, huh? Can’t control that pretty mouth, you’re so fucked out.”

You whine and nod again. Nails digging into the felt of the pool table underneath you.

Hot, white pleasure is coursing through your veins. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life.

Chan leans down more and bites at the side of your neck, lapping at the skin and leaving small marks that will fade by the morning.

“You’re fucking lucky you have to be in a bathing suit in front of your family tomorrow. Otherwise I would leave my fucking mark all over you.” He bites, but doesn’t suck. “Make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Another whine is stopped by his hand.

“I have a better idea, babygirl.” He bites your earlobe, pace slowing down within you. Instead, he thrusts deeper, you can practically feel him within your gut. “I’m going to do exactly what you said, yeah? Fill you up? Make that pussy sloppy with my fucking load.”

Your hips jerk back into his to try and encourage him to pick up the pace. Chan only tightens his hold in your hair.

“You’re going to take whatever I give you, every last fucking drop. Even after I pull out, I’ll stuff you with my fucking fingers so nothing gets wasted.”

Arching your back, you press into him more.

“You want that, huh?” He growls, biting your ear. His pace picks up gradually, each thrust rougher and faster than the last. “You want my seed inside you?”

You nod pathetically.

“You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

His thrusts start growing erratic.

You never expected him to be this talkative during sex. But he hasn’t shut up once.

Another nod accompanied with a whine comes from you. You’re absolutely drowning in pleasure.

“Gunna carry my kids, got the fucking perfect hips for it, yeah? You’ll look so fucking hot all pregnant with our kids. Fuck.”

He’s so lost and fucked out, he can’t stop his mouth from running, spewing all his fantasies.

Moving his hand from your mouth, he trails it down to grab at your throat.

“Chan!” You moan out, licking your dry lips.

“Can feel you clenching, babygirl. You gonna cum for me? Gunna cream on my cock? Suck up my cum and hold onto it with this tight fucking pussy?”

“Yes yes yes yes.” You pant over and over again. “Kiss me, kiss me, please”

When you turn your head, your lips smash together.

The coil in your gut is seconds from snapping.

You bite Chan’s lip and pull back.

“Fuck me full, daddy.”

Every muscle in his body tensed and his thrusts turn into something animalistic. The hand in your hair is so tight your scalp is screaming.

“Say it again.”

“Fu-huck,” is all you’re able to manage.

“Say it again.” He barks in your ear. You’re not going to be able sit down tomorrow.

“Daddy.”

A bite to your neck.

“Again.”

“Daddy! Fuck me, daddy!”

“Holy shit.” He whines in your ear. Hearing you say that makes him feel fucking insane. His body is acting on its own.

With a few more thrusts both of you are thrown over the edge at the same time. Your cunt clenching around him so tight, Chan can barely breathe.

His cock spurts and sprays within you, painting your walls white.

Every single sensation feels so good you think you leave for body for a few minutes. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks.

His entire body is wrapped around yours. Grunts in your ear keep you grounded.

You feel so full.

Chan came inside you so much that it’s leaking out and dripping down the inside of your legs.

He pants heavily into your ear.

Releasing your neck, he lovingly runs his hand down your side, caressing your hip, massaging circles into the bone.

His hand slides around and cups your lower stomach tenderly.

Slowly, he unwinds his hand from your hair, kissing at the roots he’s been relentlessly pulling on. He scratches and rubs at your scalp to ease the ache.

But still, he hasn’t pulled out.

Chan kisses the top of your head and down to your face, kissing the cheek he’s able to reach.

You can’t catch your breath.

“Y/N,” he whispers into your hair.

You hum back to him, eyes still closed in bliss.

“I love you.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, Chan feels you clench around him.

“I love you too.” It falls from your lips so easily, like it’s been sitting there for so long, just waiting to be heard.

Both of your heads turn to kiss one another.

It’s so ungodly sweet for the events that just took place minutes ago.

His lips are so soft and plush, especially from being swollen from your steamy kisses.

Inside you, you can feel his cock twitch. Is he…?

Breathlessly, you pull away from his sweet kiss.

“Are you still hard?” you pant.

Sheepishly, he smiles and ruts into you. A moan catches in your throat.

“Babygirl, I’ve been waiting for so long to fuck you. It’s going to take a few times before I’m ready to call it a night.”

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

“press a kiss to [body part]” > “kiss their [body part]”

“he was being kissed” > “[name] was kissing him”

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

What happened w the rationalist community, if you’re ok talking about it?

LONG REPLY TIME.

In my Wild Youth (tm) I was hardcore in the rationalist/skeptic/humanist community. You know, the New Atheist types (the vast majority of the community didn’t call themselves New Atheists, that was mostly American Dawkins fans, but we were those kinds of people, just less arrogant-PR about it). For people who don’t know, the core philosophy of this subculture basically comes down to: - humans are mostly good people, or try to be good people, and we should act in ways that are good for humanity, the environment, etc. - people with better or more accurate information about the world are capable of making better decisions - it is therefore vitally important that we view the world as accurately as possible. Truth is inherently important and valuable. We should do everything we can to make sure that our beliefs about the world are as accurate as possible. - your mind will lie to you. Cognitive biases have their social and evolutionary uses, but they result in bigotry and bad information. We should do everything we can to identify and compensate for these, and think as rationally as a human is capable of. - while it’s not perfect, science is the most effective tool we have for determining what is most likely to be true. Rationalism is therefore massively pro-science and pro-science education. (This isn’t a blind trust; most hardcore rationalists are scientists and fully aware of the limitations of the messy reality of how science is funded and published and the biases that introduces. These are taken into account. The other hardcore rationalists tend to be magicians/illusionists.)

All of this is perfectly fine and a hill I’m still perfectly willing to die on.

When you get a bunch of people together who are sincerely seeking truth and want the world to be a better place, there are some fairly obvious groups that they’re going to tangle with. Before my time, when we were just called skeptics, the main targets had been psychics and life-after-death spirit-communing con artists (this is where our magicians came from, the philosophical descendants of Houdini, one of the earliest voices in the movement, and later James Randi). But the big proponents of harm in my time were the healing crystals/essential oils/faith healing people, and the ‘Creation should be taught instead of evolution’ creationists. We spent a lot of time trying to stop people from selling oils that they said could cure cancer, and fighting against science education being replaced with religious belief inserted in science classes. (I spent a lot of my teenage years debating creationists on the internet. I can summarise this experience as a frustrating waste of time on both sides of the debate. Neither side was going to accomplish anything in these discussions.)

This is all perfectly fine. I won’t pretend I’m completely happy with everyone’s actions; it’s the internet, so of course there were subgroups doing things like mass trolling conservative religion forums and stuff, which had no purpose except to piss off people we happened not to like, but you get that. The problem with this is that it’s easy. People can believe what they want, but if you’re coming into a rational debate, every pro-Creation, anti-evolution argument is complete and utter bullshit, mostly demonstrating nothing beyond the fact that the creationist debater a) doesn’t understand the most fundamental things about biology or b) does understand and is willingly misleading the audience. Every pro healing crystal, pro astrology or pro telepathy argument is fatuous nonsense. Twelve-year-olds could walk into these discussions and completely shred every argument put forth by big-name “creation scientists” in minutes -- I know, I watched it happen regularly. I was on our conservative creationist Christian-owned community TV station for awhile doing a little ‘creation vs evolution!’ debate against the wealthy station owner’s son to fill air time, and I’d see him do a couple of hours of research for anti-evolution arguments every time we filmed, and it always pissed him off that I’d shred anything he said immediately, having done no research whatsoever, because even to me, a child, the giant drive-a-bus-through-this holes in his arguments were obvious. (Also, they were old hash; I’d read all the books by his idols before and checked the reasoning myself long before.)

Fresh voices in the community came from two main sources -- people who’d been pro-people and pro-reason/science for years finding others like them, and ex-creationists and magic healer victims who’d eventually found the holes in what they’d been taught. This second group, for obvious reasons, tended to be the most passionately pro-reason and pro-science people, and discussing different experiences in a place where people could feel safe being critical and actively celebrate doubt was great. But, inevitably, we got lazy.

A lot of the ‘laziness’ was perfectly reasonable and practical. Time and attention is always limited, and when you’ve dealt with six claims of “the eye is too complex to have evolved!” and explained the flaws in the irreducible complexity argument four times that fortnight, when someone walks in with “blood groups couldn’t possibly have evolved, therefore the earth must be 6,000 years old”, you just don’t fucking bother, and you shouldn’t fucking bother, there’s no value in that discussion.

That’s not the kind of laziness I’m talking about. I’m talking about the part where we got so used to ‘that sounds so fucking stupid’ leading directly being able to tear an argument to pieces,that it became normal to assume that anything that sounds stupid on the surface MUST be obviously wrong. Where ‘this is weird, let’s examine it and check for flaws’ became ‘that person disagrees with my preconceived notions, let’s double down and explain why they’re wrong, because I’m already assuming that they’re wrong’. At some point, “we want to be as rational and accurate as we can be, we call ourselves rationalist and work towards that” became “we’re rationalists, so we’re more accurate and rational than average and probably right”.

You might recognise that as in fact being *the exact opposite of the proported philosophy*. There were always some overenthusiastic idiots in any group, but watching it slowly become normal for rationalising to replace active rationalism and for the names of cognitive biases to be thrown around as gotcha buzzwords rather than things people were seriously considering in their own arguments was... concerning. (There were a lot of very smart people in the community, which unfortunately made it far more vulnerable to this particular kind of thing. Smarter people are better at fooling themselves; a person good at reason is also good at rationalising, and you can’t tell the difference between these things when you’re the one doing them.)

In practical terms, this doesn’t matter that much when you’re playing in the easy leagues of explaining to someone that the overpriced eucalyptus oil they bought from an MLM won’t protect them against chicken pox. The person who’s gotten lazy is shit at being a rationalist, but your reasoning skills don’t actually need to be all that impressive for this. You know what they do need to be impressive for? For when somebody says, “women are taken less seriously than men in science and biased against in hiring, payment and promotion”, and this hypothetical you, a male scientist who’s never noticed this and already knows that his profession is full of smart and reasonable people who wouldn’t do something stupid like that, thinks “that is fucking stupid” and automatically, without thinking about it, puts their energy into shouting down and dismissing alternate evidence. Or when somebody points out islamophobia in the community, or passive racism, or... you get the picture. Social issues can (and should) be examined and interrogated using rational philosophies, but it’s so much harder to do that than laugh at creationists who are sending you abusive messages about going to hell. And given the particular hot-button issues in the community, most of the people there were interested in biology, chemistry or physics and simply had no idea how to *do* social sciences, treating the parts that were familiar from their own specialities as valid and the rest as irrational nonsense. And now, you have prominent rationalists panicking about Sharia law, sneering at the made-up problems of feminism, and generally making fools of themselves... because they got lazy.

Because, like how it’s hard to be a liberal (American definition) but easy to be a conservative in a gay hat, it’s hard to be a rationalist, but easy to be an arsehole with a big vocabulary. And that’s why I can’t gush about how great Richard Dawkins’ early science books are without somebody bringing up his bullshit twitter opinions.

[strawberrylemonz]

Disc(o) Boy

Part 4

Part 5 [CURRENT]

Part 6

DT: @bargledblocks @snapdragonfirefly @artistconk

“Chat, I’ve been thinking-”

“That’s not good.”

“Fuck you! You know what? I’m not telling you what I was going to tell you-! Oh, look at the sunset.”

Chat clucked and chuckled as Tommy pulled out his camera, snapping a photo. Humming as he waited for it to develop, he nodded to his voices.

“Can’t wait until I can get a new camera, one that can record, too! Don’t get me wrong, the camcorder dad left behind works well, but it’s becoming a hassle, innit?”

The sound of disembodied voices harmonizing agreed with the child, watching as he put away the photo, swapping it with his water bucket. Jumping off the side of his cliff, he hummed as he landed perfectly, avoiding damage.

“Poggers.”

Phil couldn’t help but smile at his youngest son, watching as he conversed with his voices in a friendly manner. He was certainly skilled at mediating his voices, not letting them annoy him and corrupt his thoughts with their sometimes questionable suggestions. He watched as his boy collected seeds, changing course to collect skeleton bones. Before anyone knew it, tiny Tommy began obsessed with trying to use a creeper to get a disc.

Tubbo almost laughed as he watched his best friend scurry around, worry-free as he tried so hard to get a disc, determined to succeed. It was nearly sunrise when Tommy finally loosened his grip on his quest.

“I’ll read your “subs” in a minute, I need to try and kill a creeper with a skeleton. You know what? No. I’ve got my bones, that’s all I needed.”

The group was almost baffled with how tiny Tommy and his voices easily decided to drop the disc quest. Tommy’s precious discs were so close to never being discovered. 

“Quick! Before you die!”

Tommy navigated through the plains, avoiding arrows and zombies as he did so. His bright blue eyes, shining with adventure and joy, widened the moment he saw the arrow kill the creeper. Cheering alongside his chat, he scurried over to put the disc, examining it. Quickly stuffing it in his inventory, he happily ran away from the mobs as he made his way back to his house, full of excitement.

“And so it begins, the beginning of the end.”

“The kid was excited to get his very own disc. I don’t understand how a kid enjoying something he worked hard to get led to all of this.”

“Because he decided that those stupid things are worth more than people! Do you know how many things we’ve lost because of them? How many canon lives were wasted because he can’t let go of them?”

“He’s a kid, Jack. He shouldn’t even have to make such a stupid decision at such an age! No one should make that decision, so stop putting this all on my son!”

Jack huffed as he crossed his arms, biting back a comeback at the sight of both Philza and Kristin’s expressions. Sharing a look with Niki, he shook his head as he turned to face the small child he despised.

-

Ponk smiled at the memory, amused to see the young Tommy he had met so long ago. He watched as the child grumbled to the regular chickens and his Chat, leading the regular chickens back into their pen. He remembered the simple times he had with Tommy when the boy first joined. He remembered the quarrels they had as they bordered each other. He also remembered the moments of peace the two had in their own little corner, how he’d sit against the base of his tree, listening to the discs that Tommy would put on from his side of the fence. He didn’t care much for kids, but Tommy was some form of a companion in their little corner. Letting out a snort, he shook his head as Tommy half-heartedly dissed him to his Chat, a passive-aggressive tone when Chat mentioned that they enjoyed Ponk’s voice. He didn’t even realize that missed the kid’s company until now.

-

“What is that growling?”

The group watched as Tommy dug into the hill, searching for the source of the undead groans. Amusement filled Sam as he watched Tommy shrugged it off, deciding to head back to his home. It wasn’t until the vast amount of clucking and moans that Tommy realized what he had come across.

“A spawner? Do you reckon?”

The boy dug into the cobblestone, excitement and pride filling him as he saw the zombie spawner. Running about in joy, he finally composed himself long enough to secure it. After he was done, he happily made his way to the chest.

“Oh, what’s in the chest? What’s in the chest-”

Tommy froze for a moment, but only a moment, before breaking out in cheers. Doing laps around the small room, he paid no mind to his cheering Chat. Laughing, he pulled out his latest find, a disc. Running his hands over its surface, he smiled as he recognized it in an instant.

“Cat! Oh, I definitely need that diamond now!”

-

“Where do you want to listen to the music? Here?”

Tubbo smiled as he watched his younger self walk around with Tommy, joyful. Both boys were content, not yet in the hands of unfit responsibilities. No trauma, no wars, no exile, just Tommy and Tubbo.

“I’ll make us some chairs, one sec.”

The group watched as the younger boy scurried to craft chairs, his best friend waiting as they spoke.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following, I’m just watching. You’ve made us some chairs, this is nice.”

“Do you want our chairs next to each other or one block apart?”

“Uh-”

“I’ll just make us a bench.”

“Yeah, a bench.”

Tubbo and Tommy both sat down on either side of the bench, leaving room for each other to feel comfortable. Humming, Tommy set down the music box, opening up his inventory to grab a disc.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, we’re gonna start with-”

-

“I like the sound of this one!”

Wilbur froze at the voice, eyes widening. He ignored Ghostbur’s squeals of joy, spewing ‘awws’ and ‘how adorable!’ every chance he got. Clenching his fists, he glared at his father and brother as they perked up, eager to see a memory not familiar to them.

“You like the sound of all of them, you cheeky little gremlin.”

“Wilby! Take that back! I’m a big man!”

Wilbur smiled as sat on the couch, peering over to watch as his six-year old brother watched the disc rotate. Tommy had always loved music, always eager to listen to Wilbur play his guitar. He used to watch Technoblade play his violin, that was, until Techno dropped the hobby. Humming along to the tune, he nodded to his older brother.

“Yeah, this one. Hey, Wilbah?”

“What’s up, Toms?”

“Is it okay if I learn how to play music?”

Philza perked up at this. Music? Did Tommy learn to play music?

Wilbur feigned being in deep thought, before smiling as he tickled the boy seated next to him. Tommy giggled and squealed as he squirmed out of his brother’s grasp. Smiling, Tommy playfully stuck his tongue out at his brother, making the older boy roll his eyes. Standing up from the couch, Wilbur stopped the disc and put it back in its sleeve, much to Tommy’s disappointment. Biting his lip, he made up his mind when he held the packaged disc to Tommy. Tommy gently accepted it, eyes sparkling as he followed his brother to the front of the music shop. He watched as Wilbur paid for the disc, thanking the employee before leading Tommy out. Tommy was practically radiating with joy at this point. 

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not a problem, Tommy.”

“Oh, I can’t wait until Dad and Techie come home tomorrow so that I can show them my new disc!”

Wilbur froze, furrowing his eyebrows as Tommy bumped into his legs. Sighing, he bent down to face his brother.

Quackity let out a nervous laugh as he pulled Karl and Sapnap close, enjoying being between the two.

“I know that look, it’s the bad news express.”

“Listen, Toms, I know you were looking forward to having those two spend the day with us tomorrow, but that’s not happening. I just got a letter from them that said that they’ll be gone longer this time.”

“Wha- but that’s not fair! It’s my birthday tomorrow! You only turn seven once, you know. They promised me!”

“I know, Tommy, I know. Oh, come here.”

Tommy bit back tears as he accepted his older brother’s embrace. Sniffing, wiped some tears away as he tried not to sob.

“They promised me, Wilbah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? ‘S not your fault. I love you, Wilby”

“I love you more, Toms.”

Wilbur smiled as he ruffled his brother’s hair. Giving a small smile, he nodded as he motioned for him to follow. 

“Come on, now. We still have your birthday party to look forward to! Besides, don’t you wanna show our new neighbors your disc?”

“Yeah! Tubbo’s gonna love it!”

Letting Wilbur carry him back to their little home on the outskirts of town, Tommy smiled as he traced his fingers along the pattern of the packaged disc. Nodding, he laid his head against his brother as he spoke up once more.

“Wilbah? What’s the name of this song?”

“Hm? Oh, that song is called-”

-

“-Cat.”

Silence filled the group as they turned to face the Minecraft family. Phil refused to face his sons or his wife, opting to stare at his hands. Techno kept his eyes closed, refusing to open them. Whether it was to put up a front or to be alone with his thoughts, no one knew. Wilbur and Ghostbur just stared ahead, the image of their younger brother being so small stuck in their heads. Kristin just wished that one of them would look at her. She opened her mouth to address her family, but she was beaten to it.

“You just...left them. Why?”

Phil pressed his lips together as he turned to make eye contact with Puffy, taking note of the anger in her eyes.

“I did what I thought was best at the time. It was for their own good.”

A scoff escaped from her throat as she shook her head. Puffy stood up, prepared to scold the man, only to be cut off by Tubbo.

“He waited every day for you two. He’d collect items and write down his fun moments so that he could share with you two. Tell me, Philza, Techno, when was the last time you spent a birthday with Tommy?”

They couldn’t answer him. They genuinely couldn’t remember, and that was something Tubbo already knew. They could only stay silent, could only think.

Tubbo smiled as he leaned back in his seat, humming as he watched the sky. Peering over at Tommy, he was pleased to see the relaxed and content expression that painted his friend’s face. Tommy hummed as he faced Tubbo, a genuine smile dancing on his lips. The volume of Chat themselves died down, mumbles and whispers exchanged as the voices enjoyed the tune. Turning back to face the sky, Tubbo nodded as he spoke up.

“This is nice.”

It was peaceful, beautiful even. Pure bliss and peace filled everyone as Tommy’s content feeling flooded into them, reminding them of their connection. This time was different, however. This time, they didn’t mind sharing such lovely feelings with the young boy. Everything was quiet and peaceful, and it was all thanks to the bond that was shared between two best friends. In that very moment, everything was perfect.

“All jokes aside, what actually is a fetish?”

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 48

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The leaf-fall rains had returned and stayed, falling in a light mist over the gray moor as Talltail and Briarface walked side by side up the northern hills to the Sleeping Glade. The place where WindClan laid their fallen to rest. As Talltail walked with his friend in contemplative silence, he still looked with suspicious concern towards the eastern border. It had been a little less than a moon since the confrontation with ShadowClan, and, though every cat was still nervous and on high alert, it had been quiet. Jake trailed behind them at a distance, practicing his stalking while they visited. Talltail had invited him, but he got the feeling Jake didn’t want to intrude. Talltail heard him try in vain to shake the misty wet air from his thick ginger pelt. That cat was nearly always damp since the rains returned, while the water dripped more easily off Briarface and Talltail’s comparatively shorter pelts. 

Talltail looked back at Jake fondly, remembering what he did in the aftermath of the fight. No one was ready to address the kittypet in their camp while tensions were high and Shrewclaw’s condition remained uncertain for days. But eventually, inevitably, Heatherstar was angry. Now of all times they could not be seen having outsiders around, and Jake must leave immediately. 

Before Talltail could try to defend him, Jake quickly responded with “Well I won’t be an outsider if I join you right?”

 Everyone gasped at the brazen tone, Talltail felt like he might faint on his paws. He was shocked and after some smoothing things over and apologizing for his lack of manners, and some charm on Jake’s part, Heatherstar, very hesitantly, agreed.

Talltail hadn’t expected it, although neither of them had done a good job of planning what exactly they did intend to do after arriving there. When Talltail questioned him later, Jake simply said he didn’t want to cause any trouble here and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Talltail had been very nervous for a while, but Jake made it hard for even hostile cats to complain. His sincere kindness in response to even the passive aggression of Whitetooth and Crowfur radiated from him. 

“He’s not so bad,” Whitetooth had grumbled the other day, which was as good as a warm welcome from the old tom. That was Jake alright. Clumsy, bold, and difficult not to start adoring.

But while Talltail grinned back at Jake, he caught a glint of doubt in Briarface’s eye. Briarface was always kind to Jake, they got along well, but he had always been a little hesitant to share in Talltail’s joy about him staying in WindClan.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to have him around, but it’s a big life changing decision, and I just worry he didn’t fully think that through when he said it,” he’d told Talltail some time ago. “I think he just wanted to protect you, and in the moment…”

“I know it was a bit sudden, but Jake is very capable,” Talltail had insisted. “We already did some hunting practice together on our travels, and he’s gotten a lot better just in the past moon! Well, he’s not much of a rabbit chaser, but he’s a natural at stalking field mice.”

“Well, I’m sure you can handle the rabbits enough by yourself.” Briarface purred.  “The fresh-kill pile has been harder to restock without you, you were among the best hunters in the clan, especially of bigger prey.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Of course! believe me, the elders certainly noticed. We’ve all missed you.’

Talltail gave a halfhearted chuckle. “I can’t help feeling like--”

“I’m not exaggerating.” The finality of his tone clearly said ‘don't try to argue with me about it.’ 

“Alright, alright. Thank you.” Talltail purred.

“You’re welcome. And just think, You've come this far beating yourself up the whole way. Imagine what you could become if you had a little faith in yourself. Every cat is impressed with how you handled yourself with ShadowClan--even the ones who were a little miffed about not charging into battle.’

 “That’s all well and good I suppose...I really don’t have any great ambition to chase, I just want to do the best I can for everyone.”

Briarface nudged him gently.  “That’s the greatest ambition you could have. Heatherstar knows it. She has to be a bit harsh on you right now, but there's never really been any question that she would let you stay.”

I hope that’s true… Talltail glanced behind to make sure Jake was going to catch up, but the ginger tom seemed to be going purposefully slow. They were nearing the Sleeping Glade now. Talltail had never come here after Brackenwing’s death. He’d been too nervous. Briarface and Talltail arrived at the clearing of soft grass and shallow mounds of dried scattered flowers. This place was strangely quiet, more so then almost anywhere else on the moor. Even after all these moons, Briarface still missed his mother and the twinge of pain was obvious in his eyes. Talltail leaned quietly against him. Some part of him still hurt too.

“It’s getting easier.” Briarface murmured. “Perhaps easy is not the right word, but I am learning how to manage...Perhaps Shrewclaw can start actually managing it as well. He kept saying he was feeling better over the past couple moons, but…I don’t think he ever meant it.”

Talltail remembered the rage lit up in Shrewclaw during the battle. It had remained for a long time, even when he couldn’t stand. The first quarter moon, many cats feared he would die, Briarface among them. Shrewclaw’s wound was bad enough, then he suffered an infection that kept him unconscious and feverish for days, unable to eat. But miraculously, slowly but surely, the infection began to ebb. His voice was weak and he was short of breath, perhaps he always would be to an extent, but he was alive. Talltail almost felt like they could start to relax.

“When you all left…” Briarface said quietly, “I started getting such a feeling of dread that something awful could happen that night. It was a similar feeling I got the day your border patrol left, before Brackenwing was killed. I think I was so close to mourning twice over and...I don’t think I would have been able to stand losing him too. I don’t know if he'll fight the same again... but he's here, and if it hadn't been for you, I think he would have died in that fight. Even a couple moments later would be all it would take. I hope you know that. I will be grateful to you for all my days.”

Talltail opened his mouth to say they couldn’t be sure it was all thanks to him. He would have preferred to stop Shrewclaw from getting hurt at all. But he simply nodded. Shrewclaw certainly had not extended any kind of gratitude towards Talltail. He hadn’t been fully conscious and aware very often when Talltail saw him, mostly all he got from the tom was a groggy glare before pointedly looking away. But the bad tempered warriors' frustration was a price Talltail was happy to pay. Maybe they could mend some things between them some day. Now that the opportunity to try hadn’t been stolen away from him too soon.

In the glade, they replaced the bones for Brackenwing. Her body was gone now, and whatever remained lay nestled in a circle of wild flowers. The first graves dug were purposefully shallow, slowly scattered in the wind or perhaps by birds. Whatever was left of a cat's body was blown away, so when their spirit could fully let go of their first life, Silverpelt would be close by and waiting for them to join the stars. Talltail realized he never really allowed himself the chance to mourn the kind molly who had always done her best to be there for him, as well as her own kits. Unlike...well, certain other cats he somehow still hadn’t seen much of since returning. If what Briarface said was true...he hoped keeping Shrewclaw alive could suffice as thanks to her. Talltail was almost surprised to realize, the sight of scattered bones did not frighten him like it did when he was young. It was merely a part of them after all, like fur, like claws. He was long past being haunted by skeletons in his dreams. And death was something he would have to learn to walk alongside. That was the path he was choosing in returning here. He would probably return here many times in life, and have many more loved ones to mourn, many more bones to replace. It was a life bound with inevitable hardships. But he knew it was better to be here with his dearest friend, and feel everything fully. Time to mourn properly rather than trying to bury and run from it. There was enough love here as well, to be worth the risk of pain.

As Talltail leaned close to Briarface, he shifted a bit, feeling a little awkward about his next question. "Briarface, what you said before about having feelings of foreboding...have Hawkheart or you...had any other bad omens?"

Briarface almost smiled. "Not recently. It's been a long while since I felt that way."

"Nothing about me? sorry, is that self centered to ask?" he added awkwardly. It felt a little kittish, but despite his newfound resolve, it was hard to get rid of that old lingering fear that he was undeserving of a place here, that every wrong step wasn’t a risk of disappointing his ancestors or clan. It was a fear so thoroughly drilled into him...he still wished for more clear confirmation, one way or another, so he didn't have to worry.

“I wouldn't consider you self centered for wondering" Briarface chuckled. "Believe me, every cat in the clan asks at least once, some multiple times. But the air around you feel different since you returned.” Briarface looked up at him with knowing sympathy. "I know what still worries you, it has worried you for so long after all...but I think you are in the best place you could have ended up. There were a lot of dangerous futures waiting for you. It was overwhelming. I certainly understand why so many apprentices quit this kind of training…of course, I didn’t really know the future for certain, especially back then, just a whole lot of tangled together hints of potential dangers and ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. But one thing I did feel very strongly was that if you had gone on the path your father most wanted for you...I think you would be buried with him right now."

Talltail felt a chill run up his spine at the idea. He sat there with that thought in the air for a long time. Buried with him... “Is that why you looked so terrified when I told you I was going to try to retrain as a tunneler?”

“Yes, but I was so inexperienced, I was afraid to give you false visions and inadvertently make things worse. I didn't trust myself much then, after Brackenwing...”

“Well we ought to both work on trusting ourselves more. You did what you could and I did end up where I needed to be.” He may not have made peace with his anger if he hadn’t found Sparrow, and meeting Jake again was worth every day of homesickness. “I think you're going to be an amazing medicine cat.”

Jake waited by the edge of the clearing for them. Talltail felt a bit bad making him come, he knew he felt out of place, but Jake’s presence comforted him. As they walked home, Jake asked, "It looks like a big place...how many cats do you think we're scattered out there?"

"More than I could count. every generation before us.” Talltail said.

"Wow…" Jake shook out his slightly ruffled fur. "Sorry I didn't go all the way with you, I just thought...I didn't want to--er…"

"It’s alright. thank you for waiting." Talltail pressed his muzzle to Jake’s cheek and Jake pressed against him in return. Jake wasn't used to that sort of thing, and Talltail certainly didn't begrudge him for feeling a bit strange about it. Death had been a stranger to him until fairly recently. Talltail had been nervous about the area himself despite being born here. It was a hard life to accept being a part of...Briarface’s worries from earlier came back to him, but Talltail quickly shook them away. Things would ease over time.

Jake wound his tail around Talltail’s. “It’s a beautiful place to rest though. The whole place is, really. I can see why you wanted to come home.”

“It will feel like home to you too,” Talltail assured him. Jake gave a quiet purr, but Talltail couldn’t help focus on the melancholic gaze Jake gave to the horizon where the Thunderpath and the barn lay.

***

There were many typical warrior duties that Jake performed awkwardly, but if there was one place he fit in seamlessly, it was in camp. An area he found he was surprisingly good with was the matter of keeping the kits entertained, and StarClan knew they could use all the distractions they could get with their seemingly boundless energy. As soon as they returned, Meadowbreeze’s three kits came barreling out to meet them. They were gaining on the size of adults now, and could easily knock a full grown warrior over if they were excited enough.

“I smell Jake! Is he home?” Pigeonkit squealed.

“I see the trouble bunch is wide awake again.” Jake purred.

Jake was a favorite of Pigeonkit, Sorrelkit, and Hopkit. He was also probably the softest cat in camp, rivaling even Woollycloud’s plushness, which made him fun to pounce on, according to Sorrelkit who was currently latched to his plumy orange tail. How much the kits liked him helped even the most wary cats in the clan have trouble showing him too much disdain. Talltail couldn’t help notice the subtle undercurrent of wistful sadness that Jake had about him disappeared quickest around those kits. They kept him distracted as much as he kept them distracted. 

At sundown, Talltail lay close to Jake’s side, while the three kits lay sprawled on top of him. They’d asked for a tale, and every cat knew that long stories were the best way to keep them still. Talltail was happy to realize that despite his long distance, he easily remembered every story he heard growing up, like they were sewn into his bones. The similar words and lessons that had been passed from cat to cat and then to him for generations. The Wind Runner and her legacy certainly had a lot of tales to choose from.

“Neither of her twins was better than the other, though they had different skills and different things that suited them. That’s what made them strong together.” Talltail said. 

The kits as expected certainly had a lot of questions. Hopkit, the dark tom kit born with a slightly crooked front paw lost his balance standing up too quickly, and tumbled sideways into Talltail. He tucked his little paw self consciously under his chest. “Would Stone Claws be sad if we don’t tunnel anymore?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” Talltail replied. “Stone Claws wasn’t just a tunneler. He taught us to be creative, solve problems with what's available to us. He was nothing if not adaptable and willing to reshape his surroundings and methods. That is how his legacy will always go on, by keeping us clever and thinking of new ways to do things when the traditional one doesn’t work.” He helped Hopkit to his paws when his siblings got distracted and took off across the clearing. “No matter what a cat's skills or calling is, you will always have a place here. Helping each other is what we do. Don’t be afraid to ask.” Talltail winked at the little kit.

Hopkit headbutted him lightly with a purr and scampered after his siblings.

Jake was watching Talltail with his chin on his foreleg and a gleam in his eyes. “See,” he purred, “you’re good at this too.”

Talltail gave his chest fur a couple of bashful licks, and Jake got up to track down the kits before they started snooping through someone’s den. Talltail allowed himself to lay there, content, just letting the sparse warmth of the leaf-fall sun soak into his pelt. He laughed to himself, watching through half closed eyes as the kits changed tactics and began trying to wrestle Jake to the ground.

“Have you altered that tale?” Hawkheart’s sudden appearance nearly frightened him out of his skin. 

“I don’t think I've altered it.” Talltail replied, shaking out his fur to smooth it. “That’s how I see it. Stone Claws was more than just his tunnels. I think it’s important for them to know that. It’s better than telling them horror stories. Fallowspring has enough of those herself.”

Hawkheart sniffed “Yes, the one she likes so much certainly was an exaggerated telling of Harehead. She’s fond of thrills more than lessons.” Hawkheart gave him a long hard look and Talltail struggled not to drop his gaze out of habit. “I didn’t come just to chat with you of course. Heatherstar wishes to speak with you.” 

Hawkheart’s eyes flicked over to where Jake was for a moment, and Talltail was instantly worried Jake had somehow done something wrong as he followed Hawkheart. Heatherstar caught his eye, sitting outside her den on the other side of camp. She gestured for him to come join her. 

“I wanted to talk to you about your place in the clan,” she said. “I see how dedicated you have been the past moon. I know no cat wants you to leave again.”

“I hope you’re certain about that…” Talltail ducked his head awkwardly. “I have heard some cats whisper.”

 Heatherstar nodded. “You were rather bold with your return. Every day I wonder if I made the right choice following your suggestion with ShadowClan...and how long it will last.”

Talltail stifled a sigh. “There must be some way to pursue peace amongst the clans that won’t be seen as weak. It’s a very far off dream, and not one with a practical path to achieve.” He said quickly when he saw her doubtful look. “It’s just something I’d like to believe.”

“It’s risky to pursue.” Heatherstar said.

She was right of course. He feared it was a foolish hope. As he thought of Darkpaw, and the burning hatred in the young cat's eyes still fresh in his mind, even more so when at the next gathering, the little bastard had somehow gotten his warrior name of ‘Brokentail’ after all. Despite indirectly causing a fight that hurt his deputy so badly, Stonetooth had been forced to choose early retirement. Still, Brokentail somehow weaseled his way out of blame. With cats like that around, Talltail’s dream was hopelessly out of reach. But he would strive for it anyway. They could not let grief and vengeance lead them into the future, at least not a future worth striving for. 

“We must take risks no matter what. Perhaps I would rather take risks in pursuit of peace than risks by way of bloodshed.” Talltail said at last.

“I cannot fault your heart Talltail, naive as I may find it. And what sort of leader would I be if I cast out a warrior who cares as much for this clan as I know you do? There is a need for battle, but a need for warriors like you as well sometimes. I think you will grow into a wise cat someday. I don't want pride to guide my decisions into fights. Not every cat is happy with some of the risks I’ve taken. For example, I am choosing to risk placing my trust in you again, and I trust you not to let me down”

Talltail met her gaze. “Thank you Heatherstar, I will continue to do everything I can.” 

“However…” She continued, and Talltail’s heart sank. “I am concerned about your companion, and his status here.” 

“But--Jake has volunteered for everything he can,” he said quickly. “He already cares for many of the cats here--”

Heatherstar raised a paw for silence. “I do not doubt Jake’s heart is good. He exhausts himself and clearly always does his best. But he struggles in our hunts, and with the cold approaching...A former kittypet has surely never fasted a leaf-bare before. And more importantly, although he has the potential to become a competent fighter, he clearly has a strong disdain for it.”

“Jake is tougher than you think,” Talltail insisted.

“I believe he will try,” Heatherstar said sympathetically. “I believe he will try because he knows how badly you want him to stay. But to be in a clan requires many things of a cat. It means living without a paw in a world left behind, and embracing the clan. Being a warrior requires much sacrifice for the way we live, you know that well by now. And loving one cat in a clan can not be someone’s sole reason to choose this path. If Jake continues to dedicate himself to WindClan, then I will accept you both, and I will award him a warrior's name. All cats have something to offer a clan if they are loyal and true, regardless of skill set. But... I want you to be sure he does it for the right reason. And know that if he does go back to his twoleg home, he cannot return here. These past moons have shown us that it’s too dangerous for the clans to have visiting outsiders--both for us and for them. A definitive decision must be made soon.”

Talltail bit his tongue. It just didn’t seem fair that one misunderstanding should lead to such drastic measures...That put so much more pressure on the decision. But he was in no position to bargain. Talltail promised Heatherstar they would both be sure. He’d make sure Jake was cared for here, and everything would be fine. 

As he turned to leave, he quickly found Briarface brushing along his side again. 

“I suppose you heard some of that?” Talltail murmured. He was anxious again. Heatherstar’s words troubled him so because they fed into something that had already been nagging at him. 

Briarface headbutted his cheek gently. “I heard enough. I know you worry for Jake.”

“Of course I worry,” Talltail sighed, “But...I have faith in his strength. Even if he is not fast, he is strong and sturdy. He could be an incredible warrior.”

“I think so too,” Briarface nodded. “But something weighs on him.”

“You have your own weight to worry about Briarface, we will find a way to make peace with ours.”

“Yes, many things do weigh on me...” Briarface murmured. “Grief of course, and now worry for my brother, worry for my father, and every cat who will depend on me this coming season. But it’s almost...a good kind of weight in a way. If something hurts, it’s because I love the ones I have lost or stand to lose so dearly. That love is worth it. It will keep me going, no matter what.” He gazed into Talltail’s eyes “You know it made me think... I let you go all those moons ago because I felt strongly that you needed to leave home to find out where you truly belonged. Partings and change will always be sad. But they are a part of our lives, and someday we must face them.”

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[flightofaqrow]

YOUR CHARACTER IN FIVE QUOTES!

( repost, do not reblog. ) Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are by five things they’ve said.

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Alright, buckle up, I’m stealing this meme and repurposing it for my own use. Probably more than five, and including some quotes from others about him, though I’m going to try to keep it in groupings, and also not meant to be exhaustive of qrow’s character, but rather, to point out some very poignant lines that have effected my portrayal and... some possibly in an unpopular way compared to what I’ve seen in the fandom? I think Qrow Branwen is more complex than fitting the broody broken boi trope would give credit for (though he at least fits it as an overall stereotype).

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1) I’m absolutely sure Qrow had a rough start and transition from the tribe to ‘civilized society’, coupled with typical teenage hormones and mood swings, but generally, Beacon was a good time, and he sees himself as a good huntsman, and (though we may joke about it sometimes) he absolutely does not have an active nor passive death wish.

Yeah, yeah, I know he has a song all about how he self depreciates and carries shame, but that’s a theme of his attitude, not backed up to be every single aspect of his life by actual canon. Quite the contrary. 

I don’t know where fndm gets the idea that he constantly lost his battles (especially to Raven) or was perpetually looked down on or stayed an angsty, broody teenager (who could never possibly have ever even breathed a single happy breath on his own without Summer??) all four years. As if school was hell and he never came into his own until STRQ was a graduated unit or something? If ever?

Leo tells Raven she and her brother are evenly matched. Raven herself - who takes pride in being stronger and more clever than others - describes them as a pair: “we were good.”

“you're talking to a member of the coolest team that graduated Beacon! ...we were pretty well known back in the day. ...hey, we looked good! and I have a number of inappropriate stories to back that up!”

“let me tell ya, these kids are way better than we were at their age. ...well, not better than me, specifically...”

“a professional huntsman like myself is expected to get results as soon as possible.”

The way Qrow talks about his past, as well as carrying a memento of team STRQ around with him, it’s very nostalgic for better times. The way he talks about his work, if not himself, can actually be to the point of being self-aggrandizing, instead of depreciating. He’s even able to admit that his dreaded semblance, Misfortune, “comes in handy in a fight.”

“lots of us thought you were just layin' low. eventually, we just came to accept that you were probably dead. but the stories about you, i based my weapon off of yours. i wanted to be as good as the Grimm Reaper.”

Qrow talks about himself as striving to be better. It seems he never really sees himself as reaching that standard, but it certainly implies he knows he’s not at the bottom - he had an ideal he wanted to reach and likely worked towards. Notice the use of “us” and “we” as well - he talks about himself as part of a group of larger huntsfolk circles. Who knows if this refers to students or licensed professionals or both, but this heavily, heavily implies that he was more than just a sad, outside loner, at least for a time; he chatted with others and traded stories about goings-on and missions and idols.

Somewhat related and leading into...

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2)  At least around this blog, Qrow does not have an inferiority complex because of Raven.

Does he have some internalized shame about being soft that he can’t quite shake? A few insecurities about being unwanted compared to her natural leadership and competence? Yes. Does he consciously view himself as lesser than her? No. 

Also... he’s not co-dependent on her. To a degree, for while? Yeah, there was probably an unhealthy reliance going on there. But Qrow and Raven establish themselves with their own identities at some point, they’d have to, to chose different paths so stubbornly. There’s a rift there, eventually, if not always having been at odds in some ways and comfort in others.

“Raven's got an interesting way of looking at the world that I don't particularly agree with. [The weak die, the strong live. Those are the rules.]”

“...they were killers and thieves.”

We are shown that the twins were raised with this weak/strong dichotomy. Raven bought into it, but Qrow explicitly separates himself from that belief. Shown again when he mocks Raven with, “because that was your rule, right?”

He believes in true family, he believes in protecting the weak, he believes in doing good, he believes in standing up for what’s right. He may not like being emotionally vulnerable, but he shows softness and kindness to others, and for as much as he likes his flourish when fighting, he also isn’t afraid to look an absolute fool either.

He is shown de-escalating conflict time and again, even if he also falls back into violent, defensive patterns at times, too. He resents Raven for the choices she made, and as far as I interpret, thinks she’s the lesser one for running away and abandoning her family and her mission. (Meanwhile, she thinks the same of him for turning his back on the tribe.)

He all but spits on the tribe’s way of life, is willing to attack them outright to get the Spring Maiden. Why would he judge himself by those standards any longer? No, he lives by his own code, a huntsman’s code, and even has some pride in that. It’s why he can call Clover out on it. It’s why he folds when Robyn holds him to it.

It’s why it hurts when he finds out what gave him more meaning, aligned more with his own heart, than the tribe’s dogma may not actually have any purpose at all...

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3) There’s so much to unpack here:

“No one wanted me... I was cursed... I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world... I thought I was finally doing some good... Meeting you... was the worst luck of my life...”

No one wanted him? I believe this means the tribe, maybe even Raven, maybe trying to make friends, but no one until Oz? Does this include STRQ? I have trouble reconciling that one with everything else we’re shown. I still maintain he was part of bigger circles, but we get confirmation that these were probably fleeting or superficial. He knew people and was known, but no one stuck around.  Also more confirmation of his values. Gave me a place sounds like so much more than refocusing to me. It’s not gave me a direction, not told me what to do, it’s took who i am and gave that person a place to thrive - despite the bad that comes with - to work towards something better. Just like he always wanted.

But then he backtracks. What is it he regrets?  We do know how he likes to go into dramatic hyperbole about these things when he’s upset. [eg. “we’re not family anymore.” “i shouldn’t have come. i shouldn’t have let any of you come.” “we can kill the man who put us here.” “gone. like everybody else.”] (I love that crwby lets their characters do it. we all say things we don’t mean in the moment, give voice to those intrusive thoughts.)

I’ve talked before about how I picture him having flashes of all the lives he could have had instead. Would he have gone back with Raven and at least still had her? Would he just have been a normal huntsman defending people from Grimm without the crushing extra knowledge? Might he have been able to have a relationship or family of his own had he not signed up for the vagabond spy life? Does he just resent losing Summer and Raven because of how things went down? We don’t know, and I think the point is that he probably doesn’t either, but the weight of sacrificing all those alternatives and putting so much faith in Ozpin, stacking so much of his life’s work and identity on being part of the inner circle, comes crashing down on him all at once. 

also quite fitting...

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

4) "Nice place to raise a family. ...If you're ...into that sort of thing."

This is from his World of Remnant narration, talking about Patch, but it hits so damn hard. The softness and warmth in the first half of the statement, followed by the harsh need to qualify it in regards to his own outlook... We learn all we need to know about his opinion of the subject. 

We see the conflict right there - the possibility of such a thing brings a wholesome lilt to his voice, yet he implies that it’s not something he personally intends to pursue. Is that because he doesn’t want it or because he thinks he can’t or shouldn’t have it? I don’t think that’s clear, and he may not know either. 

At the very least, I fall into the camp of him believing he doesn’t want it. Combine that with the fact that he does pick up that spy life, which makes keeping his distance a necessity, and makes settling down near impossible, and then he definitely knows it’s not in the cards for him. 

So I think it ultimately falls somewhere between. Why would he make the commitment to being a lone spy if he had dreams of love and a family? ...But then why would he resent making the sacrifice of that possibility later if he didn’t? 

Having his nieces around probably softened him up to the idea, but he’d already made his decision by that point. He’s also solid and generally happy with his choices at the point it would most matter. He’s married to his job. He’s fulfilling his missions well, in well-suited ways for his strengths and flaws. He has his nieces around as a balm on any sort of biological clock. He has his purpose with Oz.  Until he doesn’t.

This is an incredibly long-winded way of restating that one of the headcanon hills I do stand to die on is: Gray-romantic Qrow.

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5) “some people are just born unlucky... my semblance isn't like most - it's not exactly something i... do.”

I am constantly confused by the amount of people trying to do character analysis around Misfortune and Qrow based on standard semblance lore, when he has yet again stated explicitly to the contrary. We all have carte blanche ya’ll. We can do whatever we want with this, because he’s already told us his semblance breaks the rules. 

My full headcanon for it is here and my opinion about the direction I hope it takes is here but tl;dr

Unless we learn otherwise, there are very, very few ways I believe Misfortune is a reflection of Qrow’s soul, if at all. This is from the first headcanon, but it’s worth restating, because it’s important to me, aaand fits the theme of pulling in some quotes from other characters:

Everyone likes to quote Ren and his description of someone’s personality being incorporated into a semblance. I don’t buy it for qrow. Here’s the FULL quote: “A common philosophy is that a warrior’s Semblance is a part of who they are. Some say your personality and character can define your Semblance while some claim that it is the other way around. Of course, there are still many who don’t see a connection at all.”

So unless we find out otherwise I will also die on the hill that qrow is an example of the middle part. Qrow’s personality/soul has nothing to do with why his semblance is what it is, but being forced to grow up and live with Misfortune has defined him tremendously.

OKAY, there are some smaller quick ones, but I’ll stick to my five points like I promised at least, and maybe do a lesser version some other time. :]

[hale-13]

Five Stages

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 22 Prompt - Grief

Peter made a promise to May that he would let her know if it got bad again. That he would never hurt himself again.

Words: 1707, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen+

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds

TW: Depression, Self-Harm

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“I’m good Ned,” Peter promised, forcing a smile on his face that he knew was wholly unconvincing. Ned confirmed this with his frown and furrowed brow that told Peter that his best friend knew he was absolutely full of shit. It didn’t matter though – this was the hill that Peter would die on. He tried to force more life into his smile.

“Why don’t you come over tonight?” Ned asked hopefully. ‘I know you love my mom’s cooking and we still haven’t finished the Lego Star Destroyer.”

“Sorry Ned,” Peter says, already feeling guilty about the lie he was about to tell. “Movie night with May tonight.”

Ned still looked a little dubious but relaxed a bit. He doesn’t think Peter would lie to him about this. It makes Peter feel even worse – he detests lying and it feels like that’s all his life has become recently between Spider-Man and… this. Why can’t he just be honest? “Okay Peter,” Ned agreed, a little uneasy. “You can always stop by later if you want.” He offered and Peter felt his stomach twist into a knot.

“Sure man,” he said, offering his hand to initiate their handshake before departing to head home.

The apartment is dark and quiet and empty when he gets there. Peter snaps the rubber band on his wrist a few times but the sting isn’t enough. Neither is the piece of ice he takes from the freezer and holds into the delicate skin of his forearm.

The safety pin he stabs through the meat of his thumb takes enough of the edge off for Peter to get his homework done though. When May sneaks in later, tired and stumbling after her shift but still trying to not wake Peter up, he feigns sleep. How’s he supposed to tell her he hasn’t slept well in weeks? How’s he supposed to say its getting bad again?

It’s okay, he’ll figure it out. He always does.

———————————————

“How are you doing sweetie?” May asked carefully, trying to look nonchalant as she sips at her tea. It’s one of her rare days off and dark circles ring her eyes. It’s been a rough few months money wise and, even though she doesn’t talk to Peter about it, he’s seen the bills marked ‘overdue’ on the counter before she’s able to hide them.

“I’m good,” Peter said as he swirled his spoon through his bowl of disintegrating cereal. He wasn’t really that hungry but May had put the bowl in front of him before he could protest. So now he’s stuck eating it.

May gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe any of the shit he was spewing and reached across the table to grab his hand in hers. “You can talk to me if its getting bad again,” she said, ducking her head so that she could make eye contact with him. Peter kept his face blank. “Is it?” She asked. “Getting bad again?”

“No,” Peter said, forcing a smile onto his face and making eye contact. “I’m just tired – school’s been really busy lately, lots of projects and stuff.” Peter winced internally, that was not his best work. He really sucked at lying.

“Peter,” May admonished gently, her eyes soft and a little wet. “You know its okay to ask for help. I’m right here for you.”

“I know May,” Peter promised, a genuine soft smile taking the place of his fake one as love swelled up inside of him for his aunt. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Alright honey,” May sighed, letting go of his hand and going back to her tea. Maybe this could be a good day. Just him and May and some old movies and gossip. He had so many things to tell her about school and he really wanted to get an update on Tammy and Ryan, two of the nurses in May’s department, and their passive-aggressive fight for a promotion.

It could be a good day.

May’s phone ringing made both of them stop and glance over to where it was resting, previously innocuously, on its charger in the kitchen. Peter’s heart sank further at the frustrated look on May’s face after she answered and the apologetic way she looked at him. He still smiled and told her it was fine that she had to cover a shift last minute. He knew that she couldn’t turn down the extra money when they so desperately needed it.

Later when he used the blade of his scissors to cut open his wrist he felt even more guilty. He promised May he would never do this again. He hadn’t broken this promise since he made it just after Ben died. He made another slice.

But he just couldn’t help it – some promises were always going to be broken.

—————————————

So there was a loophole.

It had been a rough day already when Peter got stuck in a fight with Shocker. He wasn’t feeling his best that day and he really needed to release some tension. Shocker was the blockade preventing Peter from doing that so he prioritized speed over precision and, in the process, got his arm broken.

The pain was so clarifying and he reveled in it for just a moment before he hastily finished the fight and webbed Shocker up to be picked up by the police.

“You require medical attention,” Karen’s bright voice chirped at him when he landed, out of breath and pain drunk, on a nearby building.

“I don’t think its displaced,” Peter told her, rotating his wrist and hissing. Some more fog cleared from his addled and useless brain.

“Peter,” Karen admonished, sounding disapproving. “You should call Mr. Stark.”

“I’m good,” Peter said instead, squeezing his arm. “I’m great actually.”

He had promised May that he would never hurt himself again but if his enemies did it for him…

Well.

—————————————

“What the hell Peter?” Mr. Stark sounded worried and scared and Peter blinked tired eyes open. It was hard to see since the blood had dripped down into his vision – he would wipe it off but he was just too exhausted to make the effort to pull of his mask. “What happened?”

Peter let out a wet laugh that ended with a cough. His mouth tasted metallic but he wasn’t sure if that was from his bitten tongue or if he was actually coughing up blood.

Didn’t matter. He’d heal.

He felt Mr. Stark pull his mask carefully off his head, barely getting it caught on his broken nose but Peter still hissed at the bright spots of pain. Maybe he overdid it this time. “I’m good,” he slurred, listing a little to the side.

“You aren’t ‘good’,” Tony told him angrily as he pressed a wad of gauze into Peter’s bleeding side. It made his vision grey and spin. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, choking on it a little and spitting out a globule of blood onto the ground. “I was thinking this is the better option.” Tony’s eyes were like daggers as they bore into him and Peter realized in his delirium that he maybe said too much. Tony Stark was a genius after all. “Never mind,” he said hurriedly, trying but knowing there wasn’t anything he could say right then to fix the situation.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Tony assured him in a way that made Peter’s stomach sink. “You’re stable enough to fly so just don’t pass out okay?” The man asked as he stepped back into his armor and picked Peter up. Peter’s vision winked in and out from the change in altitude but he stayed awake.

He didn’t remember the flight to the Tower. He did remember being handed over to Dr. Cho and her team. He remembered the feeling of Tony’s hand in his hair and the smell of anesthesia and then…

Nothing.

———————————————

“You’re healing is pretty amazing,” Tony said and Peter groaned, squinting his eyes open against the dimmed light of his MedBay room. It was dark outside the window and, in the soft light from the lamp in the corner of the room he could see May passed out on the couch under a light blanket.

“Thanks,” Peter croaked, throat dry. Tony held a straw up to his lips and Peter sipped at the tepid water gratefully. His throat felt raw and the water was soothing.

“It’s so good in fact,” Tony continued, setting the water down on the nightstand a little forcefully and crossing his arms to stare at Peter, unwavering, “that it almost healed up your scars from before you were bitten by the spider.” His eyes were locked on Peter’s damaged forearms and the nearly invisible scars hidden there.

Peter wanted to balk at the claim, deny it, but he was tired of lying so he just shrugged instead. Tony’s eyes narrowed further before he let out a sigh and pulled up the sleeves of his sweater to show Peter his own arm where, faintly, horizontal scars shown white against his tan.

Peter’s mind ground to a halt.

“I think we’ll skip most of the sordid tales of my youth,” Tony said sardonically as he rolled his sleeve back down to cover his arm, “but I get it. I didn’t go out and get a bunch of criminal low-lives to kick the shit out of me since my dad was all to willing to offer his services but I get it.”

Peter sniffed a little and gave a tight nod. “What did you do?”

Tony snorted. “Well I was super self-destructive well in my thirties but after… after the Chitauri and the Mandarin… well I started talking to someone. It took a lot of work and it didn’t get better quick but, well it helped.” Tony reached out and gripped Peter’s hand tightly in his. “We can work on it okay? Will you let me help?”

Would he let Tony help? He glanced over at May, still sleeping on the couch. He didn’t want to feel like this anymore. He didn’t want to hurt the people closest to him. He was so tired of being tired all the time.

Would he let Tony help?

“Yes,” Peter said with finality.

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 10: Friday

I just had this feeling this morning like I didn’t want to go to work and eh... that was probably right. Nothing really bad happened, I just felt very strongly that I did NOT want to be there.

My coworker wanted to talk to me at like 8:30 in the morning (you know those silly little ‘don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee’ signs?? literally do not talk to me before 9:30 EARLIEST) and I was supremely incoherent. Then later a different coworker essentially took out his bad mood on my department including on me personally, and it was... dumb. I got his point but I’m just, as I tried to explain to others later, unkeen on being talked to about actions I took under others’ explicit instructions. Also, in part because of that, in part because I thought he was semi-unreasonable, and in part because I just truly didn’t want to do what he was asking/telling me to do, I did not really budge on the issue. Which was very awkward because as I said I did get his point. And of course the issue is SOMETHING DUMB which is always how it is. All of these fights are 100% shit that would sound idiotic if you tried to explain it to someone else, which is why I’m vaguing right now.

And the nametags thing came up on Teams (thanks @ the same coworker), and the only good thing about that is that the director explicitly said she was against the idea so I feel pretty confident that it won’t be mandated. Also I could detect some panic in other people about it. I do NOT like the way this is being handled AT ALL. Plus it’s just the hill I’ve decided to die on (because I think I can win--so I guess it’s better to say this is the hill I’m going to defeat my enemies on) so I gotta get annoyed at it. I refrained from contributing to the conversation but I did like the director’s anti-nametag post, which I think gets my point across.

Also I felt like I spent a lot of time doing not much, to be honest. Still didn’t go to stupid compact shelving. Devoted too much time to the crap in the above paragraphs. Talked to BL over in admin and heard some more unflattering stories about a particular administrator. Like, incredibly unflattering. Which is stuff I do want to know but it contributes to the overall Mood of the day, which again is ‘I don’t want to be here.’

I took a very late lunch, and that in turn contributed to me not paying enough attention to the time and leaving late.OH AND I got 3 important emails in the last ten minutes of the day. Two were very expected because they were coming from the West Coast but the last was like.. do not make me deal with this right now.

I didn’t deal with almost any of it but I did get so distracted that I left about five minutes late, and so I missed the bus. I wasn’t too upset about it since the weather was nice anyway and I didn’t mind spending some time downtown. But I did waste time trying to see if I could catch said bus, and then more time trying to go to my favorite coffee shop, which had closed at 5. But since it was 5:15, there were still people inside (cleaning up, which is fair) and people outside (drinking coffees they’d bought before 5 I’m sure, also fair), and the sign said hours were until 7 so I spent a few confused, embarrassing moments going ????? what is the truth?

So ultimately I went to a different cafe, a newish one that opened in 2019 I think. I’ve always avoided it in part because the floor is very loud and in part because I felt like I was cheating on my main place lol. (Not that I never get coffee anywhere else... just that this place is so close to my usual place, I always feel like, if I’m in the area, I might as well go to said usual place.) I did find the inside very disorienting. The pattern of the floor is just truly A Lot. They did have these weird teacup ornaments hanging from the ceiling though. I got an iced latte, which was fine, and this delicious spinach and feta pastry. I feel like I should stop by more often for baked goods. I settled outside with what I’d gotten, mostly because of the floor, partly because it actually was nice out, and partly because I’m not currently comfortable with indoor dining, even in places with almost no one in them.

I only had like 25 minutes to kill at that point, but it was nice. I had a notebook with me and I did a teeny bit of planning on the Southern Gothic AU (still behind on this!!). Mostly I listened to the conversation next to me. I couldn’t entirely help it; the girl’s voice was carrying. She was talking to her guy friend about some recent issues they’d been having in their friendship. I was honestly...kind of impressed with them? I could mostly hear her--he was talking too but his voice didn’t carry as much--but it just overall sounded like a really open, emotionally honest, generally calm talk. Like certainly there were strong emotions in play (not exactly going to judge whether they were “warranted” given the apparent facts of the dispute, since I just ranted about a disagreement over something so dumb I don’t even want to name it in public) but they were just... expressing feelings that were difficult, and expressing displeasure with others’ actions, without yelling or being passive aggressive, etc. I mean even that they’d picked this time and place to meet specifically to discuss it I thought was commendable. And they were definitely friends, not bf/gf, because the disagreement involved his girlfriend (once referred to as his “partner”...sorry lol I judged that a LITTLE since they looked like they were maybe 21 years old--partner in WHAT??). The girl mentioned her therapist, which put a lot of her tone and vocabulary into perspective. Not necessarily in a bad way, I mean, it seemed to be working? But as someone who has never been to therapy, but is self-taught, so to speak, in gauging and describing my own feelings, I could... discern a sort of purposeful vocabulary that almost sounded scripted. I wrote down some specific quotes but I don’t want to put them in a public place. I’ll draw my respecting-strangers’-privacy line in the sand there. But a lot of, like “when you do x, it makes me feel y” kind of controlled explanations.

Anyway, I got very invested in that. Partly for future writing purposes, partly out of curiosity and partly because... I don’t know that I could have that kind of conversation NOW and I’m fairly sure I could not have when I was in college. I mean.... I don’t know... I’ve blocked out a lot of the pretentious/serious/about-our-feelings talks I did have. And what sticks out now are all the times I didn’t do that--all of the many, many issues with TA38... Even the way B and I have literally NEVER acknowledged the handful of times we hooked up in 2009.

You’re never gonna sound COOL talking about your emotions, your wants and your needs; it’s always gonna sound, imo, like a Therapy Script. And I don’t even always think you gotta have those talks. After graduation, R and I literally had this exchange where we said ‘well we both made mistakes last year, and we could try to untangle it now, but it’s just gonna bring up a lot of bad feelings. It’s done now anyway. Blanket apologies given, blanket acceptance of apologies, let’s move on.” And we did and it was fine. But if we’d had better conversations while we were living together, that would have been a different situation.

All of which is of course complicated for me personally because I am extremely conflict-averse. EXTREMELY.

Anyway, I ran into BL at the bus stop and we talked a bit there and on the bus, which was fine but kinda exhausting tbqh especially because of the topic of conversation. I got home at 6:30 and must have crawled immediately into bed and gone to sleep, but I barely remember it at all. Woke up at 10:30 and had no idea what time it was or what day it was or what I was doing.

Had dinner and then somehow went down a rabbit hole that started... somewhere?? and ended with me looking up my childhood home on Google Earth, which you KNOW is the sign of a mentally stable person who is doing just fine okay.

Now it’s the absolutely disgusting hour of 2:30 in the morning... Idk I wanted to go out tomorrow and take advantage of the nice weather but we’ll see how that goes. The thing is I feel like I need a full day to sleep but I only have two (2) days and in that time I gotta do laundry, cook for the week, preferably write one (1) whole chapter of this fic, and possibly also go on the aforementioned excursion. Which is a lot for me. It doesn’t really... fit.

Everything’s just so much all the time and so on.

[redheadedrenagade]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1: When the Lights Went Dim

credit to gamegifsdaily for the beautiful gif. 

Here’s the first chapter to Wicked Game, a Joel Miller x Female OC fanfiction. I’ll be honest, I have NO CLUE where this fic is going to go. I don’t anticipate it being super long, and I still haven’t decided if I’m going to go super in depth into the OC’s past. I really just wanted the chance to write something sweet and smutty for our Joel. And Ellie. I love them both so much don’t loOK AT ME

This takes place 2 years after the pair move into Jackson. OC came along halfway through their first year, so the 3 have had 1.5 years of time spent together so far. In this, Ellie has forgiven Joel for his mistakes and continues to have a healthy relationship with him, though it does still very much bother her now and then.

As far as WARNINGS go, this is an 18+ fic, and I fully intend on keeping it that way. Possible triggers may include sexually abusive language, especially in this first chapter, sexual language and situations (aka SMUT Y’ALL), cursing, gore, death, apocalypse horrors and I’m sure a number of other adult themes. So please, please don’t read if you’re underage. I say that with care, not contempt. 

That being said, I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with so far. :) If interested, this is the song that inspired the title of this chapter. I felt like it fit really well. 

She had no idea how she’d ended up in this insane situation. Four men with their guns drawn on her, her own gun pointed right at the leader’s forehead as Ellie did as she was asked and stayed behind her. Ellie had no gun on her, just her trusty knife. But they hadn’t thought much of it since Charlotte had her gun, they were hardly out of Jackson to feel true concern. They got complacent. And now, they were in deep shit.

She must actually be afraid if she’s listening. She never listens. God dammit, I have to get her out of this…

“How…how about we make a deal? Hmm? I go with you. Willingly. But you let the girl go,” she says, working hard as hell to keep her voice from quivering as all the possibilities of torture flash across her mind.

“Charlotte…no. NO! You can’t – “

“Quiet, Ellie! I mean it!” she cuts the girl behind her off, her heart breaking at how angry she has to make herself sound so Ellie will hopefully head her suggestion. Charlotte feels Ellie relent as she presses her small body against Charlotte’s back, her forehead coming to rest between her shoulder blades. Charlotte understands the sweet gesture and what it means. She can feel the girl’s anger and love radiating off her. She’s warm, and Charlotte lets herself compartmentalize this nice feeling for another time, when she’ll have to escape inside her own mind just to survive.

I know, honey. I’m sorry. But there’s no other way.

The group of men in front of them snicker and look at each other in a way that makes her stomach twist into a knot.

“Now why in the hell would we do that? You’re both pretty, young things. Especially that one…could be a mighty nice opportunity, trainin’ her to be our little slave,” the leader replies, and she feels her face contort with rage at the sick filth coming out of his mouth.

“We can either all die, right here, right now, or you accept my offer. If not, I’ll put a bullet in your fucking skull, and when one of you shoot me, Ellie will run. Now both of your little fuck-toys are gone. Kinda’ defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”, she hisses at them, her eyes drifting onto each one of them, sizing them up.

Ellie can outrun them. She can do it. I know she can.

Just as she’s about to risk it all and pull the trigger, the man lowers his gun and smirks at her.

“Fine. You’ll just have to care of all of us, then. You think you’re strong, sweetie? Oh, we are gonna’ ruin you,” he says, his dark eyes glittering terribly. Charlotte lets out a long breath she didn’t realize she was holding and gives him one sharp nod, her arm still holding the gun at him.

“Okay. Good. She runs away first, though. Only then do I drop this gun. Then I’m all yours, boys,” she replies, noticing how monotone her voice has become, completely devoid of emotion.

Maybe I’m numb. That’s probably a good thing.

She hears Ellie curse in rage behind her, but before the girl can protest, Charlotte turns her head to the side and lets her eyes find Ellie’s. They are angry, terrified pools of forest green, and her heart clenches hard at how torn she looks.

“It’s okay, Ellie. Go on. It’s okay,” Charlotte whispers to her, giving the girl a smile only reserved for her.

She looks as if she’s about to say something, her mouth parting slightly, but she’s quickly cut off.

“Ellie. We only got one shot at this. Don’t make it all for nothing. Go. Go, Ellie. Now!” she manages to ground out, sparks of agony twisting its way through her veins. Not because she’s scared, but because she knows this is goodbye. Her mind briefly wanders to Joel, picturing his face as he smirks at her and Ellie for doing something weird or obnoxious (which was most of the time). Picturing his dark eyes looking into hers on occasion, which never failed to make her stomach flip flop like a little kid with a crush.

“We’ll come back for you,” Ellie whispers fiercely into her ear, making sure to step to the side and glare acidly at the men, and without another word, the girl turns and starts sprinting away, her form getting smaller and smaller as she distances herself. Not until she’s over the large hill they’d come down does Charlotte sigh in relief, turning her head back to the men.

“Give it five minutes. I’m not stupid, I don’t want you just hunting her down after I give you my gun,” she says matter-of-factly, and the man raises his hands in a passive gesture as he backs up a step and then crosses his arms in wait.

Charlotte hardly registers the conversation a couple of them are having, but she hears enough that she has to physically hold back a shudder of disgust. The time comes and goes in what feels like both seconds and eons, and finally, she slowly lowers her arm and clicks the safety back on, letting the gun fall from her hand into the grass with a soft ‘thump’.

This is actually happening. Shit. But she got away. That’s all that matters. She got away.

“Good girl,” he mocks her in false praise before holding out his hand for hers to take.

She swallows the bile rising in her throat and lets herself remember one last day in the sun with Ellie and Joel. A perfect day, when they were happy, when she’d held Ellie down and tickled her into a laughing fit that made even the unbreakable Joel chuckle and shake his head in amusement. The dinners with Maria and Tommy, in their house which always felt like a haven. The townspeople she’d grown to love like family.

I’ll miss you all so fucking much.

Then, the moment was gone, and all that remained was the hand that would lead her to the end of what her spirit could endure. She takes it and says goodbye to the way things were only hours ago.

══════════════════

Charlotte is jerked awake by the sound of someone’s gruff voice near her, and suddenly, she’s slapped hard across the face. She gasps, blinking furiously while trying to see through the blur of her vision who had hit her. She tries to bring her arms up to protect her face, but she realizes slowly that her wrists and ankles are tied to the chair she’s in. Things come into focus then, the panic of being restrained sharpening her attentions, and she sees the leader of the gang bending down to leer at her, his hands resting on his thighs.

“’Bout fuckin’ time. Been waiting for hours for you to grace us with your presence,” he drawls nastily, and she looks around the small, dingy room and notices it’s just the two of them. The walls and floors are made of concrete, and the only light available are the small rays of sunlight pushing their way through a tiny window high on the wall.

“Did…why did you knock me out, you bastard? I thought…you said – “ He laughs derisively and slaps his thigh in glee, stepping back to walk over to a decrepit old desk that’s covered in various instruments. Deadly looking instruments.

“You really think I give a shit about fuckin’ you, girl? Nah, I’ve got bigger fish to fry,” he replies, picking up a knife that glints ominously in the small bit of sunlight. “We know you two must’ve come from Jackson. We’ve been working for weeks trying to find a way in without being shot, and lo and behold, we come across you two!”

She snorts, despite the consistent throbbing in her head from being cold cocked with his gun and relaxes her head back against the chair casually.

“And you think I can help you…what, sneak in? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, buddy, but it’s impossible. Truly, there’s no fuckin’ way,” she replies with ease, and for the first time since they’d met, she’s being honest with him. It just wasn’t possible.

“I was thinking of something a bit more…motivating. To the people guarding it. Now, I can’t imagine why anyone would give a rats ass whether you live or die, but I’m banking of the fact that they probably don’t wanna’ see you tortured slowly until you die,” he says smoothly as he saunters towards her, slowly making a circle around her.

She feels a jolt of fear course through her, not about being tortured, but about what they’ll do if they see her…would they give in?

God, I hope not.

“They won’t give up an entire community of good people for me, if that’s what you’re wondering. None of us would, for any one person,” she replies, her jaw clenching as she feels his presence behind her where he comes to a stop.

“That so? Hmmm. Well, I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you?” he chuckles darkly before one of his hands comes to wrap itself around her throat in warning.

“Whatever you say, boss. It’s your show, not mine,” she hisses through clenched teeth, wanting so badly to recoil from his touch.

Fuck. This could be bad. Really, really bad.

“Good girl. Let’s get started then.”

Without warning, he stabs the knife deep into the meat of her shoulder, and a sound she doesn’t even realize she can make is ripping its way out of her throat. The unbearable pain is like nothing she’d ever felt as he twists the blade inside, and instead of crying, she roars. Even through the haze of agony, she refuses to let tears fall.

“Aw, I know, honey. But if you cooperate, we’ll save the brutal shit for the townspeople. Have to give them a good show, y’know?” he says as he grips her braid and yanks her head back hard enough to where she can look up into his eyes at an upside-down angle.

She spits into his face in rage, surmising that if this is her last day on earth, she wasn’t going to go out without a fight.

He yanks the knife out of her body and her back arches unnaturally in her chair as she screams again, all anger and no surrender. He walks around to the front of her now, his face far less at ease as he wipes her spit off angrily with the back of his hand.

“Little bitch likes it rough, huh? That’s fine with me.” He then swiftly sinks the blade into her thigh, crouching down close to see her expression. She almost goes deaf from the sound of her own scream in the small room, and out of instinct and adrenaline, starts thrashing against her restraints in earnest.

“What’s that? You want more?” he asks, his expression mockingly soft as he places his free hand against her cheek. She turns quickly and bites a couple of his fingers as hard she can, picturing her canines cracking the bones in half. He wrestles his fingers out of her mouth as he yelps in pain and surprise, then looks at her incredulously as her chest rises and falls rapidly. She stares straight into his eyes, her mouth now filling with a copper taste, and she gives him a bloody, feral smile.

“Do you?” she whispers, and her voice is acid. He blinks a few times before his face twists into rage and he starts to fumble with his belt before ripping it off. She doesn’t have time to anticipate what his intentions are before he’s stomping around to the back of her as he quickly wraps the belt around her throat, squeezing harder, harder, until little white spots start to erupt across her vision.

“Fuckin’ cocky bitch, I’m gonna’ make you wish you would’ve turned into one of those fucking monsters when you had the chance,” he rasps against her ear, but she can barely hear him through the sound of the blood rushing behind her ears. Her heart is trying, and failing, to keep her alive, and the panic of truly not being able to breathe hits like a freight train. She’s turning absolutely animalistic under her restraints, knocking the chair side to side in her desperate attempt to breathe, to escape.

Please, please, air! Please, god!

She’s practically deaf now as the room starts to shrink, dimming around her like theatres used to do before a movie started.

This is it. Oh, god, this is it…

Just as she’s slipping over the precipice of unconsciousness, the belt slackens, causing her to breathe in a horribly painful, ragged breath that claws its way down into her lungs. She immediately starts coughing so hard that she’s barely able to suck in the sweet, precious air given to her, and nothing matters more at this moment than filling her lungs with it greedily. She feels an agonizing pain start to ripple through her shoulder, and then an almost unbearable sensation of the knife being pulled out of her leg in a swift, precise motion. She screams again, her cry broken and raspy after her throat was crushed so tightly by the belt.

“…….hear me?”

“…………I’m here….”

A low, gentle voice rumbles into her senses from across the world and she wonders for a moment if she’s already dead.

She cracks open her eyes as she feels light pressure being applied to her wounds and realizes there must be people here. She croaks out a feeble warning.

“Who…don’t touch – “

She hears it again then, that low cadence of baritone hushing her gently, wrapping something around her leg.

Her understanding seeps back into her brain as her eyes finally start to clear, although things are still a bit blurry as the intense pain throbs and flows through her.

Then, all at once, fear grips her heart hard as memories come flashing back into sharp focus behind her eyes.

Ellie. ELLIE.

“Where’s Ellie?! ELLIE!” she screams, her voice cracking in panic again as the figure of…Joel?…comes into focus before her. Suddenly, she’s awake. Truly awake.

“She’s fine, Char. She’s okay, she’s right here with me, see?” Joel says in a shockingly gentle voice she’d never heard him use before. Not with her, at least. Sure enough, Ellie pauses tending to her shoulder and walks around to look at her, taking her hand gently. The expression on her face breaks Charlotte’s heart.

“God, they really fucked her up, Joel,” the young girl says with a wince that held equal parts compassion and fury as she surveys Charlotte properly.

“Barely…barely a scratch,” she mutters, grinning crookedly at them before furrowing her brows in pain again and letting her head fall back against the chair.

I’m so tired. But I’m safe. Because of them…is this really even happening?

Before she can say anything more, Joel is gingerly scooping her off the chair – when did her restraints come off? – and starts to make his way out of the building with Ellie in tow.

“We know, tough guy,” Joel whispers to her, the barest hint of a smile in his tone as he jostles her into a sturdier embrace. She can’t help but let out a small whimper and she hears him curse under his breath at himself for being too rough. Her vision is starting to grow a bit fuzzy around the edges, and a feeling of calm starts to wash over her as he holds her close.

Suck it up, buttercup. He just saved your ass. Don’t make him feel bad.

In and out, her consciousness weaves as she registers a few bodies here and there on their way out, Ellie marching resolutely in front of them. Joel is so warm, and he’s breathing hard from having to support all of her weight, but he doesn’t slow down for a second. The light of the already darkening day starts to seep into black and white as she starts to black out, and her mind can only think of Joel and Ellie.

They’re okay. She’s okay.

“I’m sorry, Joel…my fault…I’m sorry,” she grumbles groggily into his shoulder, guilt snaking its way into her heart. She’d put Ellie at serious risk. Now, she was doing it again, but this time with Joel in tow.

I’m supposed to protect her. Not the other way around.

“S’all right, sweetheart. Just hang in there. We’ll be home soon,” he replies, and she can feel the comforting vibrations from his chest as he speaks. She giggles lightly at the pet name, her mental awareness no longer coinciding with reality anymore.

“Sweetheart…” she whispers in a small voice, burrowing her face into him closely enough that her lips graze the pulse point beneath his strong jaw. He inhales sharply through his nose and squeezes her a little tighter in his arms but doesn’t reply. Ellie jogs further ahead to keep an eye out, gun in hand as Joel does his best to move as quietly as possible.

The ground starts to be swallowed up by the sky, and she wants to stay awake so badly, but she just can’t. She slackens her hold around Joel’s neck and her body slumps in his arms, all of the fight leaving her at once. She hears him pleading, jostling her a bit to get her attention, but she just can’t. She just needs to rest, just for a minute.

“M’sorry…so tired…” she mumbles before the darkness floods her vision and the world is swallowed by silence.

[barnesandco]

Nikah: October

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight language, mild angst. 

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​​ ‘s writing challenge. Only two more chapters left! Thank you for commenting and reblogging on the previous chapter - I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond to it all yet. It’s been a busy Monday, but I’ll get around to it. I hope you enjoy the rest!

It's quiet, all acoustics numbed by the blanket of snow that surrounds them, untarnished for miles on end with the exception of the bunker they're observing. Bucky and Peter lay on their stomachs, the former's fingers adjusting his rifle, and the latter fiddling with his mask, twisting and turning it between nimble fingers. The gigantic block of cement that will soon house their targets is a sitting duck below the hillside they are situated on. 

Bucky can see the hazy outline of the quinjet cloaked by the invisibility shield above the bunker, where Sam and Clint hover like eagles awaiting the rabbits they are to prey on. Wanda and Vision are on the adjacent hill-top, camouflaged to the best of their ability. No red coats or blue skies today, amidst the white world and gray sky. 

Whoever is orchestrating an arms deal in Greenland of all places, is bearing the brunt of all of Bucky's curses. They've been hunting this particularly nasty international gang for months, and the finish line is now in sight. Can't come quickly enough for Bucky, as the snow is more a sheet of rock under his body. 

Still not as stony as Peter's attitude, however. The teenager has hardly spoken a word to him since they left the Compound, clearly disgruntled and wearing it on his face like the special white suit crafted specifically for snowy climates. From his peripherals, Bucky can see that he's giving him a displeased side-eye, but the moment he turns to look at him fully, Peter shifts his eyes forward. Wordlessly proclaims innocence.

"What's the matter?' Bucky asks, caught between frustration and concern, turning off the mic in his communications device. Peter shakes his head, brown curls somehow bouncing, the only live thing left in miles of desolation, aside from the coniferous bushes they're using as cover. "Listen, kid. I don't know what I did but I want to fix it if it's makin' you-"

"I can't believe you split up," Peter says suddenly, his downcast gaze indicating that it isn't disbelief he's struggling with, it's agitation. 

"This was the plan, Peter. I vouch for her as her husband so she gets her permanent residence, and then we separate." He ignored the fact that they know full well that the plan was to divorce, not separate in the quiet of the night, like burglars in the dark. However, when the time came, she had pointed out - and rightly so - that divorce would paint a bad picture of both of them. The media has yet to discover that their marriage has ended, because legally speaking, it has not. 

"That was before you two caught feelings," Peter grumbles against the fist he's pressing to his chin. Bucky's eyes widen, eyebrows rising to meet the hem of his hat. He composes himself.

"Son, I hate to say it, but there weren't any feelings. She never-"

"Never what, Mr. Barnes? Liked you? Loved you? And they say us kids don't know how to communicate in real life." The last comment is delivered under his breath, passive-aggressive, soul-burning anger and irritation radiating like waves of heat from him. Sighing heavily, Bucky navigates the battlefield that feels more dangerous than the one he's laying on. 

"Peter, I'm sorry, but me and her were never meant to be. Life is like that, y'know," He says, distant, eyes focusing on the crosshairs of his scope. Life is like that - throws your hope out the window and forces you to live with the feeble remains you have left. All he has left is a broken heart and cold feet, but hell, that could be the names of his memoir, for all his heartache and cowardice.

"And you think that this is what you were meant to be? You're lonely and she's miserable, and you both act like it never happened. Like everything never happened." Peter rants, whisper-yelling at him as he shifts to sit up on the snow that's now a good way into melting below them, creating Bucky and Peter shaped indentations in the hillside. Like a fish, Bucky's mouth opens and closes for a response, no words. 

"I know you think I'm too young to understand any of this, but I know that losing people you love hurts. And you know as well as I do that life is too short to stay away from those people. So yeah, confessing that you need her is hard, but it can't be as hard as living without her." 

---

Bucky gets home bruised from the barrel of an intergalactic weapon and craving pakoray and chai, but has no energy for anything other than the bathtub. He's using the bath bombs she bought for him because he was reluctant to pamper himself in any way. The lavender scent envelopes him but he misses her jasmine perfume, the scent of her lemon-tinged shampoo, the hint of raspberry from her lip-balm if he got close enough. 

It's a damn shame that he'll die without tasting her lips. Without feeling the skin on her hip against his lips the way his hand has so many times in the past few months, her palm on his chest, his arm, when they wake up. Rarely entangled, but perennially connected.

It takes a grand total of fifteen minutes in the warm, purple water for Bucky to suspect he's losing his mind, his delicate, butter-fingers grasp on a reality already so fragile. A reality that balances like a car on the edge of a cliff in one of those action movies. The kind that only takes a pigeon to land on the hood before everything goes tumbling down. This is, in part, due to the ineffable silence.

He used to appreciate it, letting his eardrums rest after years of hearing fists meet Steve's face, the cracks of gunshots in the blood-infused trenches of the War, Hydra's orders barked angrily at him. Silence was a blanket of peace, but it's now waging a war against him. Wrestling with his mind to suffocate his sanity. So he does what he always must do ground himself - he thinks of her. Of the best way he remembers having his silence broken.

Her taste in music is... eclectic, to say the least. Bucky learns this upon returning deon a post-nightmare walk he insisted on taking alone to find his wife planting seeds in windows boxes at two in the morning. 

The cotton shalwaar kameez she's adopted as her night suit dances in the wind to the ending notes of Laung Lachi. That in itself wouldn't be unusual, if the next track on the playlist wasn't a fifties jazz song. The one after that, a Latin hit. Shakira, Bucky guesses. Eleven minutes and three genres later, he makes his presence known.

"Doll?" He calls, walking onto the balcony. She gives a soil-stained wave. "I thought you said you couldn't garden?" He asks, taking in her work. Three out of five boxes have been filled with soil, and she's tenderly brushing soil over the seeds in the second box. 

"Did I?"

"You were quite clear about it, darlin'. My thumb's as green as Trump's environmental policies, I think you said," He teases gently. She opens her mouth to rebut as the beginning notes to Summertime start up, and his feet itch with the will to join Ella's voice in dancing to the melody. He decides to skip the words - he knows he doesn't have the right ones right now - and holds out his hand, palm up, interrupting her explanation.

"I can't dance, Bucky."

"I'm pretty damn sure I've forgotten how to, too. Let's learn together?" 

She makes to wipe her hand on a nearby cloth but he takes it before she can. Grasps it in his own gently, places her other on his shoulder and his own on her waist. The balcony is black, dark, the scent of earth and her shower gel driving away the top-note of his nightmares as they sway, still a fair distance apart, but hearts growing closer.

Dancing on the balcony now feels like nothing more than a ghost of a dream, coming back to haunt him like a wicked lover. Bucky recalls her moonlit face, her star shine eyes, and thinks: Peter's too smart for his own good.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique​ @samingtonwilson​ @alyxkbrl​ @bucky-smiles​

[kasprzaks]

eddie kasprzak, reactionary extraordinaire

both   balloons   tethered   to   the   microfilm   recorder   now   read   ASTHMA   MEDICINE   GIVES   YOU  CANCER!   below   the   slogan   are   grinning   skulls. 

eddie’s characterisation flooding its way into the third person narrator in the book ESPECIALLY in eddie’s bad break is amazing and i’d die for it. his voice elsewhere in the book is very poetic and looks at things more conceptually than solidly, but the more of a grounding in this chapter while his head runs wild continues and tries to comprehend such a horrible conversation (specifically looking at his convo with mr keene in eddie’s bad break p2) succeeds so much to solidify him as a character outside of just what he says and does. i love it so here’s an entire collection that shows his reactions and the intensity he reaches as he buries himself in his brain in such a difficult situation and how it’s integrated into the prose in such a way we really feel like we’re living in his head despite the third person gap we have to cross to get there.

                 ‘Mr Keene,' he says, and his voice sounds distant to his own ears, without power. 'It was Mr Keene.'

                 'Not exactly the nicest man in Derry,' Mike says, but Eddie, lost in his thoughts, barely hears him.

... eddie always always has a whole thing of trying to be brave (and in this chapter he’s always saying something along the lines of what would big bill do?) but, in the process, manages to get so worked up he’s at a disconnect to what’s actually going on. as he starts to recall the memory with the rest of the losers 27 years later, he starts retreating into his own head because that’s simply how he is. he’s such a thinker that even the second he says it, he’s fading out. he barely hears him. this follows on as he recalls the memory and it’s contrary to the rest of the book where, normally, since we see eddie through someone else’s eyes (third person limited omniscient since the book is made up of multiple third person narrations), we only really see him being quiet as opposed to the actual physical disconnect we see when it is an eddie third person limited in complicated moments.

                 Mr Keene sat down in the swivel chair behind his desk and took one. Then he opened his drawer and took something out. He put it down next to the tall bottle of licorice whips and Eddie felt real alarm course through him. It was an aspirator. Mr Keene tilted back in his swivel chair until his head was almost touching the calendar on the wall behind him. The picture on the calendar showed more pills. It said SQUIBB. And —

                — and for one nightmare moment, when Mr Keene opened his mouth to speak, Eddie remembered what had happened in the shoe store when he was just a little kid, when his mother had screamed at him for putting his foot in the X-ray machine. For that one nightmare moment Eddie thought Mr Keene would say: 'Eddie, nine out of ten doctors agree that asthma medicine gives you cancer, just like the X-ray machines they used to have in the shoe stores. You've probably got it already. Just thought you ought to know.'

... he struggles to stay in the moment and this is just how he is his whole life. i’m gonna reference it chapter two for a second but the fact that his job in that version was a risk analyst? god send, they really hit the nail on the head for what they were trying to do in that interpretation there and i totally see how they got to it because risk analysing is just what he does. in this part where he sits down with mr keene, the convo hasn’t even begun. no one’s said a word and yet the second mr keene shows promise of saying anything, mr active imagination risk analyst eddie kasprzak has already thought up everything and dreamt himself into oblivion. scenarios exist without ever fully existing and in any given moment he’s already left reality and hopped onto another universe where the worst has just or will just happen.

                 Mr Keene wrapped a bunched, bony, liverspotted hand around the balloon and squeezed. The balloon bulged over and under his fist and Eddie winced, trying to get ready for the pop. Simultaneously he felt his breathing stop altogether. He leaned over the desk and grabbed for the aspirator on the blotter. His shoulder struck the heavy ice-cream-soda glass. It toppled off the desk and shattered on the floor like a bomb.

                 Eddie heard that only dimly. He was clawing the top off the aspirator, slamming the nozzle into his mouth, triggering it off. He took a tearing heaving breath, his thoughts a ratrun of panic as they always were at moments like this: Please Mommy I'm suffocating I can't BREATHE oh my dear God oh dear Jesus meekandmild I can't BREATHE phase I don't want to die don't want to die oh please —

                Then the fog from the aspirator condensed on the swollen walls of his throat and he could breathe again.

                'I'm sorry,' he said, nearly crying. 'I'm sorry about the glass . . . I'll clean it up and pay for it . . . just please don't tell my mother, okay? I'm sorry, Mr Keene, but I couldn't breathe —

... gets very caught up on one thing. he does this whole whole chapter. it goes on in the next quote here ...

                'Good,' Mr Keene said. 'We have an understanding. And you feel much better now, don't you?'

                Eddie nodded.

                'Why?'

                'Why? Well . . . because I had my medicine.' He looked at Mr Keene the way he looked at Mrs Casey in school when he had given an answer he wasn't quite sure of.

                'But you didn't have any medicine,' Mr Keene said. 'You had a placebo.A placebo, Eddie, is something that looks like medicine and tastes like medicine but isn't medicine. A placebo isn't medicine because it has no active ingredients. Or, if it is medicine, it's medicine of a very special sort. Head-medicine.' Mr Keene smiled. 'Do you understand that, Eddie? Head-medicine.'

                Eddie understood, all right; Mr Keene was telling him he was crazy. But through numb lips he said, 'No, I don't get you.'

... it’s hard to understand that this is the truth, let alone why he’s being told this. obviously eddie’s determined on the fact that he’s not crazy, but the main part up until this point i got caught up on was his continued disconnect and mostly passive not wanting to change at all attitude so he can get out of there. the numb lips and the references before to having his voice being distant, him constantly disappearing off into the tangents his head brings him on. there’s few and far between moments where he actually responds in between mr keene telling him what he’s telling him, and the prose between that is him thinking (panickingly thinking), filled with him trying to dream up other things and trying to ground himself in thinks he can compare the unfamiliar to. i especially love the cut in, in the first quote that sk puts through the whole book of another narration coming straight from eddie’s head. the stream of panic to really push it through.

                Eddie said: 'My medicine does so work.'

                'I know it does,' Mr Keene replied, and smiled a maddening complacent grownup's smile. 'It works on your chest because it works on your head. HydrOx, Eddie, is water with a dash of camphor thrown in to give it a medicine taste.'

                'No,' Eddie said. His breath had begun to whistle again.

                Mr Keene drank some of his soda, spooned some of the melting ice cream, and fastidiously wiped his chin with his handkerchief while Eddie used his aspirator again.

                'I want to go now,' Eddie said.

                'Let me finish, please.'

                'No! I want to go, you've got your money and I want to go!'                 ...                'I'm not crazy,' Eddie whispered, the words coming out in a bare husk.Mr Keene's chair creaked like a monstrous cricket. 'What?''I said I'm not crazy!' Eddie shouted. Then, immediately, a miserable blush rose into his face.

... the moment the panic finally takes over and becomes enough. strangely (thought it makes total sense when thinking about how internal eddie is versus when he’s finally had enough and gets pushed over the edge) he really does lash out. he’s immediately embarrassed that he’s done it, but he does do it. he switches from the passive life line carrying on in his brain he’s hoping will carry him out of the situation, and tries to get out of it before the emotional gets too much and really tries to put a stop to it. all in good time, too, because when eddie finally does leave ...

               Eddie's brain thudded and whirled. Oh, he felt sick, he felt very sick.                 ...                 He slipped it into his pocket and watched the traffic pass back and forth, headed up Main Street and down Up-Mile Hill. He tried not to think. The sun beat down on his head, blaringly hot. Each passing car threw bright darts of reflection into his eyes, and a headache was starting in his temples.

... emphasis on the sensory and the physical manifestations of his emotions. he feels so strongly and the physical ramifications comes as a result of his anxiety. his head aches, his ‘asthma’ is acting up. of course he takes his inhaler but a few moments later and ... 

              He looked fixedly at the aspirator, unaware of the old lady who glanced curiously at him as she passed on down the hill toward Main Street with her shopping basket over her arm. He felt betrayed. And for one moment he almost cast the plastic squeeze bottle into the gutter — better yet, he thought, throw it down that sewer– grating. Sure! Why not? Let It have it down there in Its tunnels and dripping sewer-pipes. Have a pla–cee-bo, you hundred-faced creep! He uttered a wild laugh and came within an ace of doing it. But in the end, habit was simply too strong. He replaced the aspirator in his right front pants pocket and walked on, hardly hearing the occasional blare of a horn or the diesel drone of the Bassey Park bus as it passed him. He was likewise unaware of how close he was to discovering what being hurt — really hurt — was all about.

... this is straying away from the actual point of the post slightly, but, as it says, habit remains too strong. he’s a character that almost always returns to the ‘comfortable’, though familiar is actually a much better word for it. to return to the point of the post in regards to this, though this time the technique isn’t exclusive to eddie centric chapters, all of the losers get cut in moments of it, i especially love eddie’s thought process tied into this moment straight up verbatim. though it’s tragic that he doesn’t follow through and chuck the aspirator down the drain (though completely understandable too), this moment ties into everything else we see of the intricacies of eddie’s inner world and how it’s obviously a full one. he really does live up there. humouring any and all possibilities no matter how out there or terrible they may seem is something that he constantly does, it’s who he is. eddie lives in the hypothetical. i think this chapter really demonstrates that and lets eddie’s discomfort become so overwhelming that it’s so difficult to even pay attention to what’s going on which totally brings us into eddie’s psyche. concentrating is difficult when you could run upstairs and live there. it’s comfortable, it’s familiar, and it doesn’t really hurt as much as the real.

[fromthadiningtable]

BEST OF LUCK

(Set in an AU with Victorian era! Harry) You love another from afar, but your hand is already promised to a very snarky and at times, pompous Mr. Styles. Your mother and father are rooting for the relationship wholeheartedly while you pine for some distant, beautiful creature. Will you condemn yourself to love someone who’s affections you can’t reciprocate? Or will you finally admit the truth and live your life as you’d wish?

Warnings: angst ??

A thick fog covered the ground, hovering in a ghostly fashion like some restless spirit waiting to be seen. The sun was just breaking into the morning sky but the fog and the blanket of clouds blocked it from coming out into full view, casting a faint yellow glow in its place in the eastern sky. The birds in their respective trees on the edge of the expansive land in front of you, sang their tune, letting you know that the day was finally beginning. Though empty, the glittering fields standing in between the woodlands held some sort of story, a past that needed recollecting. You’d recall playing with your cousins, tumbling down the small hills and getting dried grass all over your clothes and in your hair. The woods held all of your secrets and magic that you had created in your childhood, and they’d never utter a word.

Your family’s home stood behind you nearly two hundred yards away, each soul still sound asleep in their bedrooms. The brick farmhouse was beginning to show its age, the once deep red hue was now a peach color and the black shutters were beginning to chip away from the many storms and years that plagued it. The glass in the windows was even aging, apparent from the ripple-like appearance it had. The roof had patches of shingles that were either missing or disheveled. The chickens in the coop behind the house were clucking and like the birds in the trees, were ready for the day to start. The grass beneath you was damp with dew, you let your feet relish in the feeling, squelching every time you dared move them. You looked down and saw the dirt and grass clippings caked to your feet, knowing your mother would have something to say when you decided to meander back to the house. But for now, in your white nightgown and your hair tied back with some string, you would be one with the ground and the sky that threatened to brighten at any moment. When you had these little meetings with the earth in the early morning, you felt invincible like nothing could tear you away from it.

That was true until she came.

To others, she may have just been a passing figure like a ship in the middle of the sea when all is quiet and dark. To you, she was always present in your mind, never ignored. Your heartbeat quickened when she came around the side of the house, carrying feed for the chickens that were still continuing on with their noise. Her golden hair cascaded down her back in waves, tied back much like yours was but with a white ribbon. Simple accents like this always drew your attention for the fact that that it seemed so effortless on her part. A ribbon, a different colored garment or even a slight blush on her cheeks, it always causes you to take notice.

As she neared the chicken coop, her eyes never met yours. Desperation was all you could feel, desperation for her to look up and see you sitting in the grass almost like a child, for her to meet your eyes and smile. Only on two occasions could you remember her smiling at you, a genuine smile, not those smiles she would exchange when she passed you in the house or when you swapped pleasantries throughout the day. A real smile was what you longed for. The type of smile that would send you over the moon if she dared let her guard down for even just a moment.

She never wavered though. She always kept about her business and didn’t give you a second thought, at least that was what it felt like. You knew in the deepest parts of your heart that even if she did happen to glance up one day and acknowledge your existence, you might just die on the spot which could be even more damaging than the fact that she was in her own world without you. The longing you felt to be under her skin, to smell her hair and meld your bodies together, it drove you insane.

Her name, was Elle. Elle didn’t come from a prominent or wealthy family, you weren’t even sure she had a family at all. There always seemed to be a loneliness buried under her warm exterior but you couldn’t be sure. If she was lonely, her demeanor never let on.

She tip toed around the chicken coop, being careful not to step on any of the birds running underneath her feet, spreading the feed around and letting it run through her fingers. She smiled to herself and your heart fluttered inside of its cage — did she know you were watching? Or did the thought of another cross her mind and cause this look of delight?

After spreading the rest of the chicken’s breakfast around the ground, she wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and looked up to the sky. Her nostrils flared as she took in a deep inhale and shifted her body from side to side, allowing the farm air along with the forest scent fill her nose. You stared unashamedly — mesmerized by every movement and facial expression she made. Elle was a beautiful girl, there was no doubt about that but it was more so her elegance even while doing the most trivial jobs, that had you wrapped around her finger. There was an innocence about her and worldliness all in one. It seemed like nothing bad could touch her while at the same time, daunting things had been seen by those bright blue eyes of hers. Of course, this was merely an assumption made due to lack of conversation and even eye contact for that matter.

“Y/N!” You nearly jumped out of your skin at the shrill voice that came from your right side. You clutched your heart and immediately turned to see your mother standing over you, already dressed for the day and probably disapproving of your nightgown clad body.

“Mother!” You said quickly, secretly terrified that she had read your mind or even worse — saw you staring at Elle. You scrambled up to get off of the ground and brush the earth off of you.

“What in God’s name are you doing out here again? I mean goodness child, it’s barely dawn and you’ll catch a chill.” You loved your mother dearly but the nagging was incessant. You knew it was all an act of love but sometimes you just wished you could communicate with her in only looks rather than words. It sure would save a lot of time.

“I was just —“ you tried to defend yourself but got interrupted.

“Ah ah — none of your excuses. Harry is on his way and we must be hasty to get you ready by the time the carriage arrives.” She granted you a look of disapproval as she grasped your wrist, not too forcefully but firmly. Your heart sank at the sound of his name. Harry. The man your father had hand picked for you to marry, the man you could stand for a mere five minutes until your blood was boiling and you would have to flee the room. A good man, your mother would always remind you and you suspected she was trying to convince herself rather than you. Really, he wasn’t a terrible human being, but you had other predelictions and those didn’t happen to include Harry. He was agreeable at times, but had a bad habit of making passive comments that had hints of poison hidden behind them.

“Pardon me mother but Harry, really? On such short notice I — “ for a second time, but it wouldn’t be the last, she cut you off.

“Yes, child, today! We discussed this earlier in the week, your father and I, and you as we sat and ate dinner the other day. You seemed very partial to it. Why the sudden change?” She rambled on. The truth was, you really didn’t remember the conversation she spoke of at all. This happened often, you’d be off deep in some day dream, a long reverie and your mother would be going on. However you wouldn’t hear it, her words were muffled as you sunk deeper into your fantasy. You would simply nod and act like you’d hung on to every word she said.

“No change mother,” You squeaked out, snapped out of your trance, fearful of being found out again. “I’m actually quite looking forward to it.” You lied right through your teeth, your jaw aching from clenching it tight.

Guiltily, you followed your mother up the path to the front of the house. Walking by the garden in the back, you took one last glance at Elle. She was checking the vegetable patch for any tomatoes or peppers that may have sprung up over night. You held your gaze until you rounded the corner of the house, the orange brick nearly swiping your arm as you lacked attention to it.

“Come on!” Your mother grabbed your hand, apparently you weren’t walking fast enough for her taste. The scene would probably appear ridiculous to an onlooker, a grown woman being dragged to the house by her mother to force her to dress for a man she would never love. Such was your life as of now though, and there didn’t seem to be anyway to change it.

The giant slate shaded front door stood in front of the two of you as you came around the house. Your mother let go of your hand and looked down the gravel curved driveway for what you assumed must be Harry.

“Is he coming soon?” You asked, praying the answer was no and that he’d arrive later or hopefully never, you thought privately.

“Y/N I didn’t startle you out of your daydreams for my health, yes he’ll be here within hours — maybe minutes!” Your mother rolled her eyes at your question. She was a loving woman really, she just had a patience as thin as freshly, frozen ice and her neuroticism seemed to grow with age.

Your stomach began to turn at the thought of your soon-to-be-betrothed arriving at any second. The anxious feeling would always begin in your hands, a slight tingle and then your chest would begin to ache. It would start to course throughout your veins and always affect your stomach the worst — not necessarily nausea but a butterfly sensation that would cause feelings of impending doom. It wasn’t necessarily the man himself who caused this panic inside of you but rather the thought of never having Elle and forcing a feeling towards someone, no matter how incorrigible the person might be. None of it seemed fair but then again, your father always told you nothing ever would be.

Your mother pulled open the large door and waved you inside, heading straight for the staircase in the foyer to get you upstairs and dressed.

“Mother really, I can do it myself,” You huffed, not wanting her to think this was disrespect but rather an attempt at some alone time with your imagination.

“Nonsense, you never pick out anything proper.”

You wanted to scream. In some ways, she wanted you to be independent but in many others, she was suffocating. You’d been alive for two decades and some change and had enough sense to pick out your own outfit for meeting a suitor. You knew she would never let up though, so letting her have her way was easier than the alternative.

She frantically rummaged through your closet and chest of drawers, a desperate attempt to find something to make your second meeting with the man perfect. You almost scoffed to yourself at the thought of any interaction between the two of you being perfect.

“Try this one,” Your mother chose a light baby blue frock, practically tossing it behind her and almost hitting your face. You glanced up towards the ceiling, asking whatever god there was to please rescue you from this entire day.

“The color’s too much,” you had to admit, holding the dress up to you in the mirror and frowning at its garish flare against your skin.

“Alright, well — lets see,” she continued to throw around every item of clothing in the room frantically. After a few minutes of waiting on another piece of fabric to come flying at your head, you decided to take a seat on your bed. You sighed as your body sunk into the mattress, the dull ache in your gut still nagging at you.

“Now I think this one will definitely do,” she carried a cream dress out of the closet, smiling at the item of clothing like it was your matrimonial garb. You did have to admit that it was a simple but pretty gown that seemed to pair with your skin tone and wasn’t too gaudy. You rose up from the bed and reached a hand out to touch the fabric softly. You rubbed some of the cotton in between two of your fingers, your mother staring at you, waiting on approval.

“Well go on, try it on,” handing the dress to you, she began to pick up some of the others and return them to their proper place in the room.

You removed your clothes, never ashamed of your mother being in the room as you had an unspoken bond regardless of the bickering and nagging. Once stripped, you slipped into the creamy colored linen and turned to your mirror against the wall. You couldn’t be sure but you swore the woman in the mirror was almost smiling and had a twinge of confidence gleaming in her eyes. This dress would do.

Your mother turned to you, and smiled broadly. She spread her arms out and approached you, embracing you fully.

“You look absolutely beautiful, how is he going to resist?” She giggled and gave your cheek a quick peck.

“Now let’s do something with that hair.” She fussed, and you laughed to yourself, knowing that her comments always followed with another gouge at you. However, this was just how the two of you operated and it would probably always be this way. It wasn’t conventional but nothing in your life even closely resembled conventionality anymore.

———

You took a deep breath while doing one more look over yourself in the mirror. Your anxiety had been a small seed at first but grew quickly driven by the incessantness of your mother and the earlier sighting of Elle. Now your trepidation had exceeded itself and you found yourself constantly checking the window to see that black and gold ornate carriage rolling down the gravel past the forestry on both sides of the house in a familiar fashion. You’d seen many carriages coming down the road, whether it be family or close friends of your parents and even friends from your schooling in earlier childhood years, but those visits had never caused such a frantic and confused feeling inside of you before.

You’d been pacing the room for some time and decided to take a seat in the chair beside your window, grabbing a book by your bed that you’d been working on finishing. As you got sucked into the story, you didn’t even notice that the carriage had come crunching down the gravel road and was nearly halfway to your door.

“Darling! Y/N!” You faintly heard your mother call from downstairs. Your head fell into your hands and you realized it was finally time, time to face the music and begin this silly charade. After resting your head for a moment and trying to gain some courage, you looked outside with a short glance. The carriage was still coming down the gravel driveway and stopped just before the front door of your quaint little home. The driver halted the horses and stepped down off of his seat to open the door for the man of the hour. You’d only met him once before at a gathering in town, however the meeting was short lived and hadn’t gone well. You hadn’t really given him much thought until your parents had decided he would be your husband.

You saw one black boot step out of the carriage, and then a full body followed. His large green overcoat seemed too heavy for the weather and his curls were in a wild arrangement all over his head. He was brushing something off of his coat and you prayed he wouldn’t look up and see you peeking out of the window, spying from a distance. A white ruffled blouse was popping out from under the coat and his pants were perfect with no wrinkles in sight. This was a well put together man and you had no idea why he’d agree to marry you, a girl who couldn’t even make up her mind half of the time. He was speaking to the driver, probably giving instructions, and then your mother yelled more shrilly from the first story again.

“Y/N! Are you deaf?!”

You muttered curses to yourself and finally stood up, walking towards the door like it was the gallows and you were being marched towards your death. You felt a hard lump in your throat as you swallowed and sweat began to pool under your arms and near your forehead. You heard a firm knock at the front door and braced yourself for your mother to be overly zealous.

“Mr. Styles! What a pleasant day we’re having, made even better by your arrival.” She spoke calmly but you could sense the excitement she was holding back.

You took the stairs step by step, painfully slow, an act of self torture.

“It’s lovely to see you Mrs. Y/L/N, my day is already pleasant seeing you as well.” His English drawl was thick and he allowed every word to practically drip out of his mouth like honey. He didn’t enunciate but every word he spoke was clear, he was thoughtful with his speech.

You only had a few more steps left but you dared not look up from them. You feared you might fall or worse, your eyes would meet his and he’d have delusions of grandeur about the two of you together. You knew your mother was waiting for this to be a fairytale, for you and Harry to exchange only a glance and fall in love, having the perfect wedding and a child following soon after. It was embarrassing that she had this much hope, but only you felt this because your secret was still safe.

At the bottom of the stairs, you allowed yourself to glance up but never make eye contact at first. Luckily, Harry and your mother were still in conversation about the weather and catching up about their whereabouts like old friends. You had to admit, he did look quite dashing. His hair, wild but tamed in certain places and his dimples deepening into his cheek as he smiled at your mother’s pleasantries. His eyes gleamed and his teeth were almost blinding, and that jawline could slice any young woman’s heart in half. You felt like you had betrayed Elle by thinking of him like this, and a pang or guilt surged throughout you. You shook it off to be in the moment and not seem distant.

“Well might I say, you look stunning.” Harry turned from your mother to you, your cheeks instantly felt hot as you noticed his eyes wandering your entire body until he eventually met your gaze.

You tried your best to force out a smile and nodded your head slightly towards his direction. “Thank you, Mr. Styles. Lovely to see you.” You said curtly, the less conversation — the better.

“Y/N here has been elated since finding out you were coming to visit.” You could’ve slapped your mother for saying such a thing, she had to know that was a lie.

“Is that so?” He put his arms behind his back and turned on one heel to face you better. A fire grew within your belly when you noticed the triumphant smirk on his face, thinking he had you like putty in his hands.

You paused for a moment and decided now was the time to put on the sarcasm. Your first meeting with Harry had been quite the back and forth and it seemed it was going to be just the same this time. You suspected he knew this marriage wasn’t ideal in your eyes but for some reason he took some sick joy in the fact that you weren’t happy about it.

“Oh yes, elated doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You charged back at his smirk with your words. You both held each other’s stare for a few seconds, seeing who would break first.

Your mother looked back and forth between the two of you, gradually growing uncomfortable at this unspoken challenge. “Well I’ll leave you two to it then,” she said, too cheerily. She gave your back one pat and smiled at you quickly before going off into another part of the house. Now it was just and you Harry, staring each other down and allowing the silence to say more than you could.

“Is there any particular reason you’re not fond of me, Miss Y/L/N?” He finally asked, his eyes like laser beams directed right at you. His stare wasn’t harsh though, he did have soft eyes and expressions most of the time but a curiosity was burning behind those green, almost sea glass colored eyes. Most women must find him perfectly charming and handsome, a perfect match but you weren’t budging.

“No particular reason...besides all of them,” you smirked this time at your quip and absent mindedly shrugged, trying your very best to irritate the man and then maybe, just maybe, he’d leave.

Harry filled the air around you with a click of his tongue. “Such a shame.” You waited for a second part to his reverb but only received more intense eye contact, the two of you locking eyes, almost grappling, to see who would gain the upper hand.

“What’s the shame?” You shifted your feet slightly, growing tired of standing in the same position.

“That you’re not fond of me,” he boldly took one step closer to you. You stuck your chin out and raised an eyebrow to signal for him to elaborate.

“Well Miss Y/L/N, it’s just that...I’m quite fond of you so,” his smirk returned this time, the deep dimple dipping back into his cheek once more. He shuffled slightly, coat swinging behind him, trying to get closer to you.

You cleared your throat. “That is a shame Mr. Styles. I’m afraid however it’s really arranged marriages I’m not fond of, rather than you.”

“Arranged marriages are what the people of this world thrive on. My parent’s for example have had a happy arranged marriage fo’ twenty-five years.”

“Well good for them, I just don’t foresee the same for myself. Love is what truly counts in my eyes.” You crossed your arms, letting him know you were hard pressed and not budging on the subject.

He scoffed, saw your eyes widen and then tried to play it off as a cough. His smugness aggravated your nerves, you could feel it like a prickle on the back of your neck.

“You don’t share the same sentiment?” Your voice was edgy.

“Not exactly, no,” all the while he spoke, he was still looking you over and hiding a smile, which was still more of a snigger.

“Hmph, well to each his own I suppose,” you sighed deeply and rolled your eyes, not giving any inclination that you were worried about him noticing.

“Shall we go to the parlor?” He stepped back away from you and gestured to the room off to the left of the foyer. You didn’t respond with words but simply just nodded, it seemed conversation wouldn’t be conducive for the two of you today. The sound of your walking towards the parlor reminded you of the dreaded ticking of a clock, letting you know that time is slipping right through your fingers. Once in the room, your eyes flitted to the family paintings on the dark wooden walls. Staring back at you was your great-grandfather, a war hero, and aunt Sophia, who had been a midwife for nearly all her life. Your grandmother was above the fireplace, giving you a tight lipped smile. Your heart always softened at her portrait, you were close with her when she was alive and shared many fond memories together. Though grandmother was a stubborn woman, set in her quirky ways, she understood you and you wondered if you could have ever opened up to her about Elle and this marriage you opposed.

Harry was also looking around at the paintings and treasures on the shelves, walking slowly throughout the room and running his hand along the back of chaise opposite you. Your eyes fixated on his slender fingers and pondered what it might feel like to have them running down your back softly or tucking a stray hair behind your hair. Again, you shook those type of pleasant thoughts about him away. You’d only ever felt that way about Elle’s beautiful fingers, not quite as long as Harry’s, but dainty and gentle.

“The dress looks lovely on you, if I hadn’t reiterated that before.” Harry came around the side of the chaise, taking his green coat off and laying it beside him as he took a seat on the striped cushion. You tried not to let your expression change as you noticed his chest peeking out from under the white ruffled blouse. He had some kind of necklace on, a long silver chain you could barely see. His collarbones were noticeable as well as a few tiny chest hairs near his sternum.

“Thank you, nice of you to say,” you said, now smoothing away wrinkles of your dress in your lap.

“You say that as if I don’t always have nice things to say Y/N.” His expression was still one of complacent joy, a small smile on his face showing his front teeth slightly.

“You don’t seem to recall our first meeting, do you?” You remained standing, leaning on a matching striped high backed chair.

“I thought we got on quite well if my memory serves me correctly.” He sat up straight, getting ready to defend himself. You laughed, amused at his statement.

“I think our memories serve us in different ways, Harry.” You were more calm this time, getting used to the back and forth between the two of you.

“My apologies if your memories of me aren’t pleasant, I’ve been told I can be —“

“Difficult?” You interrupted, because whatever adjective he had in mind would be much too self serving. He laughed at this, a genuine, hearty laugh that filled the room all the way up to the ceiling.

“Was that amusing to you?” You asked him, genuinely confused.

Harry stood up now and began to take another lap around the room.

“Everything about you just confuses me Y/N, and yes, amuses me as well.” His hands were behind his back again as he inspected an old manuscript of the Bible on a bookshelf near the far window.

“Hm, good.” That was all you could manage to get out but this pleased you as it would confuse him even further. You were glad he wasn’t under the illusion you felt the same way and that you puzzled him. You’d rather be a mystery than understood.

“It’s not good,” this time he looked at you but his brow was furrowed and he seemed defeated. “It’s frustrating.”

“I’m sorry I...” You trailed off, realizing after saying it that you weren’t really apologetic. Frustrated? You thought, perfect.

“No....no, you’re not.” He pulled himself away from the shelves and looked deeply into your eyes, trying to decipher your code. Slowly, he began to walk toward you.

“But that’s what I like about you, you don’t seem to care.” His mouth was halfway turned into a smile, not in a smirk but more so in a satisfied manner.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, you thought. When you acted interested, he loved it and when you pushed away, the reaction was the same. How could you ever win?

He was now standing in front of you, towering like a giant in fairytales you’d read as a girl. There was a foot or two between your bodies but you knew he would want to close that gap in a matter of minutes. Your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of close contact, thinking of his fingers once more. Heat rose to your face, embarrassed of the thoughts you were having about him once again. Would he know you were thinking about him? Would Elle look in through the window and never see you in a different light like you so desperately wanted?

Goosebumps began to rise all over your arms and a shiver tumbled down your spine as he lifted a hand to your face, curling his index finger under your chin as you looked down at the wooden floor. A lump lodged itself into your throat as your anticipation grew. Gently, he tipped your face to look up at his. His eyes twinkled and the dimple nearly did you in, that knowing smile having you almost in pieces on the floor.

“You will love me one day Y/N,” he leaned down closer so you could feel his breath on your cheek. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but when you finally do, best of luck.” You were at a complete loss for words. His boldness terrified you and had you under a spell simultaneously. You cleared your throat to break through the tension in the air and clear both of your heads of whatever thoughts you were having. He removed his hand from your skin and you felt a longing to know what his touch felt like again. Stop this, you scolded yourself.

He stepped away from you, you felt like all of the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Anger and excitement coursed through your bloodstream. The triumphant grin on his face said it all, he was going to get his way. The question of all would be, would you let him?

Harry stopped in the door frame and turned to you for the last time that day.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Miss Y/L/N, I must cut our visit short for today. Just trust, I’ll be back.” his back was to you once more and you felt your eyebrows knit back together. His words weren’t threatening but rather an assurance on his part that he wasn’t going anywhere. You could be mysterious and off putting but he’d still come back time after time, and that frightened you. You walked over to the window and saw Elle, picking flowers in one of the fields beside the house. Her back was facing you, bent down picking your favorite wildflowers that always popped up in the pastures this time of year. She reached up to tuck a stray hair back into the ribbon holding it together, then wiped her brow. What I would give to know what she’s thinking, you thought. On the other hand, you didn’t even have to know what Harry was thinking at all. There was a strange comfort in that.

Suddenly, your mother appeared behind the chaise, watching you stare out of the window. You cleared your throat again to break up the awkward silence, hoping she wouldn’t notice Elle in your line of vision.

“Don’t mean to interrupt dear, did everything go alright with Harry?” She said, messing with the necklace she had chosen to wear today.

“Swimmingly,” You meant for it to come off as sarcasm but she wouldn’t take it as such.

“How lovely! Listen dear, I need you to come help the new caretaker and show her the upstairs rooms. Come on now,” she was already heading into the foyer, not even looking back to see if you followed.

“New caretaker?” You called to her, feeling as if your heart had sunken into the deepest places of you, sorrow was coming.

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention. Elle’s mother is very ill, she’ll be leaving us tonight after supper.”

“Oh,” The only monosyllabic utterance you could manage to force out at this news. As you heard your mother scurry away to another room, you sank down onto the floor. You wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and never peek out, even for your favorite meal. Elle was leaving and Harry had no intention of ever doing the same, and you had no control over any of it.

(Please leave me some comments/feedback!! I would love to know what you guys think of Victorian era!Harry and yes, there will be more parts and they will be longer including flashbacks!! Hope you guys enjoyed x)

[what-even-is-thiss]

I wrote a creative essay about my least favorite aunt. Yeet.

Read it if you’d like. I’m just happy to finally get the damage she caused me mostly dealt with to the point where I feel comfortable writing about it.

Language Barrier

Whenever I speak in German my expressions and hand gestures suddenly become ridiculously animated, like I’m trying to make up for my lack of vocabulary with a sign language that hasn’t been invented yet. One that only I know the meaning of. I flap my hands around like a maniac and point to things I don’t know the words for and make broken sentences that sound like a caveman made them as I misgender inanimate objects left and right.

Das. Das. That. That. This. This.

I can physically feel my brain rewiring itself. I speak like fool. Wrong order spoken are words. Sometimes anxiety make cry me. Social kind.

However, I speak much more German than my uncle’s mother and stepfather speak of English so I’m forced to use what I can and hope they can understand my thick American accent as we stay with them in Southern Germany. Everyone keeps trying to reassure me that my German is very good, but I can’t stop out of order speaking.

Kann ich habe Brot mehr bitte? Can I having bread more please?

I want to crawl into a hole and die.

My grandmother warned me that a person can grow tired of the amount of bread that Germans eat and according to that Bible thing that we both read man cannot live by bread alone. I’m starting to understand both of those things, eating bread and jam for breakfast yet again because I don’t like butter with marmalade and there’s no cheese left.

The weather, unlike my breakfast or Deutsche Grammatik, is perfect. Slightly cold, sunny and overcast at the same time. The neighborhood that my uncle’s parents live in is beautiful, suburban, on the edge of Schwartzwald, known in English as the Black Forest. I can’t remember the name of the town but I do know that we tried to get a brewery tour and my aunt, her twins, and I waited in the van as my uncle talked loudly at somebody in a local dialect until he got out of them that they don’t do tours anymore.

We went to a rope climbing course instead. My uncle, tall and skinny, balding, fit, took the twins, boy and girl, skinny like their dad, not taking after their mother, my mother’s sister, and went rope climbing in Schwartzwald.

I’m stuck talking with my aunt as we stand below the ropes course and I’m tired of speaking in German so we both take time to find comfort in each other’s distinctly Californian manner of speaking.

My aunt is a character. That’s a polite way to describe her if you don’t want to speak ill of someone that’s not in the room. She wears no makeup except for when she’s getting her picture taken or going somewhere important and she always looks stressed and tired with her eyes just a little too wide open. She’s maybe four inches shorter than me but she has the ability to make me feel like I only come up to her waist. In my mind she’s always wearing a knee length beige skirt and a green t-shirt even though she owns other articles of clothing than that, including more than 20 pairs of shoes. Her eyes are wide and her hands move in an animated fashion even when she speaks English. When she speaks German she becomes an exaggerated version of herself, perhaps to make up for her thick American accent and occasionally sketchy grammar. She has lived in Switzerland since the 90s and spoken German since the 80s. I once asked her how to tell what a noun’s grammatical gender is. She told me that she had no idea.

I didn’t know my mother for very long before she died but my grandmother tells me that when my mom was young, to describe her sister, she quoted a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The one about the little girl with the little curl who when she was good she was very good and when she was bad she was horrid.

My aunt’s hair is straight, but other than that the poem describes her very well. Today would be a day she was horrid.

I don’t claim to be a perfect human being. I can be a bitch sometimes just like anybody else. The thing is though, my aunt never let me know when I was doing something bitchy like a normal person would. Instead she let me keep on doing it until she was ready to explode. And then she exploded.

Or, no. Not exactly being bitchy. Just doing something that she didn’t understand or like. She’s a very animated person and her voice goes like

And

Up.

Down.

All the time.

She’s very expressive. I, on the other hand, am not that excitable. I smile, yes, I cry, yes, but I try to be stoic. I like being stoic. It feels natural. I don’t want to express to everyone around me every time I am excited or upset. In my opinion it’s none of their business. I also tend to express gratitude through actions and gift giving rather than hurting my face and voice smiling and screaming all of the time.

I had thought bringing gifts from America, delivering onto my aunt’s family the ever elusive box of grits and Bakersfield candy and trinkets from Disneyland Anaheim would show gratitude. I was under the impression that helping to cook dinner, pack the van, refill the ice trays, take care of the twins, carry the groceries, clean the house, would show how much I loved her. I learned though, in a firestorm under the canopy of dark trees and children riding on zip lines that our love languages didn’t translate properly and she thought that my lack of expressiveness meant that I hated her. She was hysterical about it. I then expressed myself by changing into a lovely shade of red and producing saltwater from my eyes.

Climbing hills is a thing you get used to when you spend time in Central Europe. Walking for three or four kilometers isn’t such a feat in a valley, where the ground is flat and rarely changes, but in hilly terrain you quickly learn just how long that distance is and how much walking can hurt. Locals take no pity on you because they expect that everyone has those muscles built up in their legs when you’ve never had to use your legs like that for long stretches of time before.

Navigating emotion and expectations at home is easy. There is one language being spoken and everyone uses it to tell each other what’s wrong. When staying with my aunt for long periods of time, however, you start to understand emotional exhaustion. Something that would take half a minute to communicate takes up ten minutes of screaming because she expected you to know everything. A flat crowded city turns into a hilly countryside with no help for miles. You quickly learn how to swear in German because she pushes her husband to screaming as well.

Scheiße.

Eventually my uncle finished with the ropes course and pulled me away from her. He gently explained to me in English what we were going to be doing for the next few days. I stopped leaking water from my eyes and tried to remember what had prompted her to start yelling at me but I couldn’t figure it out. Another talent she has. Distracting you from linear events.

While I was in Germany there was a terrorist attack in Münich. Brexit was fresh in everyone’s minds. My first presidential election would be happening in November. I only understood about half of what was said on the news. My little cousins and their dad took turns translating for me. I had the feeling that I still wasn’t getting the whole story.

My aunt and uncle have twins. Test Tube Babies. The girl is the older twin but strangely enough doesn’t hold it over her brother’s head, which would fit perfectly with her personality. The boy takes after his mother in some respects, namely her loud voice.

When we went to Prague we stayed in a campground because that’s a lot cheaper than a hotel and that family affords a second house because they’re stingy. Almost every morning it was a struggle to get the boy out of bed. He and his sister were almost ten and he screamed and refused to move. He cried. He was loud. No amount of discipline worked. His sister stood around quietly going about her business, as did I. We did the same thing when her parents got into screaming matches.

Prague is an old city. A busy city. I loved it, even with all of the pay toilets and Czech bluntness. Even when an angry Czech lady smoking a cigarette yelled at me in broken English for not knowing that I had to pay for the restroom. The old castles and cathedrals and statues and just the right amount of dirtiness in the subway more than made up for it.

My aunt payed for me to go look at a museum that she didn’t want to look at. She told me to take all the time I wanted as the rest of the family waited outside. I didn’t sense any passive aggressiveness that time, so I did. It was a complex that was part of the Prague art museum, a system spread out around the city. The section I walked through by myself was a collection of medieval Roman Catholic art. Stained glass windows, paintings, tapestries. I’m a Lutheran that lives with atheists, so my experience with Catholic art is mostly non existent. Atheists don’t have religious figures to draw and Lutherans are extremely stingy with their images, worried about crossing into the realm of idolatry.

One thing I noticed was that Mary appeared everywhere, even in stories I thought she didn’t belong. In some images she stood equal with Jesus, reminding me of a female God. She seemed mature, different from the outcasted teenage mother I had told children about in Sunday School classes. Different from the refugee that had been painted for me in sermons. I wondered what kind of mother this Mary was. I wondered what her Hebrew sounded like. Or, maybe this Mary spoke Czech and the Mary in Germany spoke German and the Mary in the Vatican spoke Latin and the Mary my Catholic friends at home looked to spoke Spanish. Maybe if I prayed to Mary she would speak English. Maybe she would turn out to speak German and would look down at the frantic dancing of my hands, trying to find meaning in it.

But I don’t pray to Mary, and neither do my aunt or uncle. I report to them what I saw and my observations about Mary. Namely that she seems to be everywhere. My aunt doesn’t quite pick up on the fact that I simply find it interesting and takes it as an invitation to rant about Catholics. I squint at her as we walk back to the subway. I’m trying to figure out if I’d somehow been speaking another language. She certainly seems to be. Maybe it’s a generational gap. Maybe it’s just her, but I try to turn the conversation back to a tone of tolerance rather than complaint. A battle I quickly lose.

Later, in a public park in that busy city, my aunt yelled at me and cried because I had been calling her by her first name rather than Aunt. I nearly start leaking again. I shake. I think she’s speaking English but I don’t understand it. I physically step away from her as she accuses me of not seeing her as family. At the bottom of the hill we’re standing on a dog plays fetch with his owner. Neither of them take notice of the screaming middle aged American woman throwing accusations her deceased sister’s child as her own children zone out and wait for it to be over. No help comes. Nobody translates for me and Google Translate doesn’t have a setting for this.

Twenty minutes later she jokes with me as we find a rare but welcome burrito shop. I buy a mango soda imported from Mexico and it softens my homesickness. We eat on the steps of a light rail station. I laugh. The twins laugh and bounce around, talking to each other in a mixture of English, Swiss-German, and high German. The boy takes a bite out of my burrito and thinks the fact I can eat something that spicy makes me the coolest person in the world. My aunt laughs with me. We make plans for when we go to Southern Germany and visit her husband's parents. That’s where his dentist is. He needs a bit of work done. We’ll have fun, she promises. We had a good time in Prague. I put the bad times in a shoebox for later and then agree with her.

After she yells at me in Schwartzwald for not showing emotion I go quiet. I put more things in the shoebox I’ve made in my mind to deal with later. I learn that all of them have been eavesdropping on the phone calls I’ve been making to my dad and friends back home. My aunt approaches me about how I complained about the yelling. I’m suddenly paranoid and wonder if she read some of the postcards I sent out. I watch my words now and put the ones that might set off her fuse in the box. The little house outside of Zurich has started to feel like home when I return to it and I’m slightly disgusted at that realization. The flowers all make my eyes water and I’m not given nearly enough allergy pills. I still don’t understand what language she’s speaking. Her words are in English or German, as are mine, but we still don’t understand each other.

Currants, especially the red ones, are beautiful fruit. Not easy to find in stores, even in Europe, so you’ve gotta pick them yourself. My aunt and uncle have a small city of currant bushes living in their backyard that hugs the bank of the stream that runs through the neighborhood. They’re beautiful and inviting, asking you to eat them please, but when you do your face scrunches up at the tartness. I never did care for sour tastes, so I found my own way to make the currants sweet by baking them into scones. At first my aunt was sceptical of my scones but after some reassurance from her kids that they didn’t taste like cinnamon she tried them and agreed that I did a good job. They were sweet and went really well with milk or tea. We all enjoyed them very much. Nobody had to translate anything.

Every member of that family gives excellent hugs when you can get them. They share drinks and food with each other, a concept that shocked me at first, but I quickly fell into the rhythm of it with them. They bought me my first beer and took me to Worms, Germany. I loved that place. I got to see one of the first print versions of Luther’s German translation of the bible. I ate pastries and tea with them at an outdoor cafe. It was cold and wet in the middle of the summer and the cobblestones made it even gloomier. The moving feet on the sidewalk seemed to have a language of its own and the new architecture standing by the old had no words to be translated but told a story nonetheless.

My experience in Europe was like Europe itself. Americans expect it to be shiny and beautiful, and it is, but you also have to pay to use the restroom which leads people to piss in the street. You will also find cigarette machines on almost every corner. There is one right outside my aunt and uncle’s second house. The packages of cigarettes have pictures of black lungs and diseased gums on them. The people smoke anyways. Europeans are people. They have drama, they worry about money, they cry, they abuse, they kick, they scream, they love. All the problems you had in America won’t disappear over there, and in fact you might find some new problems you didn’t expect. Like not finding salsa or not knowing how to deal with carnival rides that have no line and are boarded like a much more violent version of musical chairs. And don’t expect to practice your target language there either. The people will hear your accent and excitedly try and use you to practice English. And even if you do speak the language, don’t expect to understand with everyone. Hand gestures can only go so far.

When I got home I left the German language behind me for the most part. I also slowly cut off most contact with my aunt’s family. Six weeks spent putting things in a shoebox and not speaking whatever language my aunt was speaking with English and German words was enough for me. By the time I opened my shoebox a few months later it was rotten, smelly, and leaking. It took over a year to clean it out and it’s still warped and stained, containing whispers of my own desperate language that would never penetrate my aunt’s skull or jump over the barrier we had built together.

My rotten shoebox is revolting to look at, and while I was cleaning it parts of the mess got onto the happy memories but thankfully they’re still there. The cathedrals, the warm hugs, the new foods, and comforting rain are all there. Late nights and early mornings, potato pancakes and beer, museums and trees and the times I could honestly say; Ja, ich bin glücklich. Yes, I am happy. And thankfully that sentence is easy to translate.

[maggyme13]

Line of Duty

AN: This is my entry for @caplansteverogers 4k Writing Challenge.

My Prompt was :”Why aren´t you dead?” With Deadpool….

Hope you like it!

Wordcount: around 640

Warnings: Swearing, come on it is Deadpool, but nothing major.. Use of Weapons/explosions

 Where is he? Somewhere around here was the shadow, wasn´t it? I will get you, you avocado faced bastard!

Careful the female looked around the corner, trying to not to reveal too much of her face. Her MP5 resting against her side, her finger on the trigger to shoot immediately if needed.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.”, the males voice laughed through the air.

Fuck you!

Reaching for one of her smoke grenades, she pulled the safety pin and through it towards the middle in the room to make some cover for her to be able to cross the room without being seen (to easily).

“Silent hill doesn´t scare me. Pyramid head is like a extended cousin to me. Or is this your try to turn this house into the Netherlands, wrong smoke though!”, The merc with a mouth stated.

Quick she ran across the room, her MP 5 aimed towards the high ceiling in case the man was thinking he was Spiderman again! The corridor she entered was windowless and only illuminated by the blue glowstick she through inside. She refused to use night vision. Her eyesight was incredibly good in the dark (for a human being) and she always said there was no reason to turn the world into different shades of puke unless needed, and this was not one of those circumstances. After a quick check of the little (empty) room on her right, she started to walk the steps up in front of her.

They were made of old wood and she feared a wrong step would rat out her position to her target, warning him in the process.

“Honey I am home!” The male shouted and not a second later the sound of splintering wood could be heard. “UPPS. Wrong home it seems.”

Though he made so much noise, she wasn´t able to pinpoint where his current location was.

One step after the other did she made her way up the stairs of the old mansion, her ears trained to hear any noise that could tell her where her target was hiding.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she looked around to find a good cover. But instead of one she saw a shadow disappear around the corner.

Got you Deadpool!

Taking aim, she followed the shadow around the corner, a smug smile on her face.

“Yippy Kay Yay Motherfucker!” She exclaimed, but there was nothing and no one.

“I´ll me back!” was his response (with a very bad impersonation of Arnold Schwarzenegger).

“Shut it Terminator. I am gonna terminate you!”, she growled her response and began to find another position.

“I spy with my little eye- something that is red and blinking.” She heard his amused voice and immediately noticed the C4 Pack next to her right foot.

SHIIIIT

Jumping faster than humanly possible, she tried to get cover behind a wooden box. Not a second later, the trap exploded.

“GOT CHA!” The male grinned.

“Nope!”

“Why aren´t you dead?!” He growled confused and sad.

“Because-“ She started with a smirk.”- I am Aaaaaawwwweeeeesooooome!”

“Shut it the Miz! Seriously now- how?”

“New Passive skill: 50 percent decreased damage through explosions. Told you Smoke it the best character in this game. Pizza is on you Wade.”, (y/n) grinned at her masked opponent.

“Not yet. I am not dead yet!” The man stated with a frown. It was astonishing how good his facial expressions were brought over regardless the mask covering his face.

“Yes you are Douchpool.” Negasonic stated, motioning to his screen, where his character was currently teabagged by his opponent´s.

“Ohh come on-“ he whined, ”- Your character doesn´t even has balls! FINE- Botimba: get the Pizza! “

“Who loses the next round, has to pay for dessert?” She asked with an innocent look.

“You are soooooo in. Bring it!”

And with that the next round began.

   AN: I have no Idea if a shooter with a character named “Smoke” Exost, so if there is one, the credits are with them.

As always thank you all for reading and feel free to reblog and comment. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Want to read more of my work? Masterlist

Taglist:

Permanent:

@jadepc@caplansteverogers@pacifyhxlsey@emmii4 @scarletraine @yknott81 @chuflisworld @so-finster-die-nacht @punkrockhufflefluff

[captnswilson]

Together

Written by: warlcksbane

Prompt: Steve’s hope is restored as he reunites with Tony

Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson

I’ve never written anything stony related before but I really need this reunion. It takes place two days after the tragic ending of IW. Platonic stony, a bit of romanogers and mentions of Bucky, Peter and Pepper. Enjoy! 

Everything seems to be unbearably quiet. There is a certain unspeakable rule that everyone ought to avoid unnecessary sounds and keep conversations to a minimum. It is possible that the reason for this passive, silent life of the Avengers is that they have not yet fully realized what happened just two days ago. Maybe they still don't know that hope has turned into grief as all is lost.

Steve Rogers is no different from people who only tend to stare at emptiness or walk in and out, barely making any sounds. Sometimes, as at this very moment, he catches himself looking down at his hands and waiting for a trace of ash to appear on them.

He closes his eyes and once again sees his friend's frightened face before he disappears where Rogers cannot follow him. “Steve,” Bucky whispered back then before crumbling away.

Not only the loss of Bucky makes Steve wish he had died too. He thinks of Sam who happened to be completely alone when his end came, and of Wanda who had to watch Vision's suffering before leaving this world herself.

All heads are suddenly raised, and all eyes wander to the door when Natasha appears. Steve is relieved, as always when he sees her.

“Steve,” she turns to him. “Thor came back.”

Nothing more is needed to say for him to get up and, in the company of Natasha, head to the place where the ship has landed. He cannot help but wonder if there are good or bad news waiting for him.

“Did he manage to rescue anyone?”

“All friends of Rocket have disappeared among Dr Strange, whoever he was, and Peter Parker,” Natasha informs him.

“Parker?” The image of that young boy appears before his eyes. “You mean this kid from Queens? Spiderman?”

“Yeah,” she admits, looking away. “Only one person survived. He had to see them all die.”

“Tony.”

Steve can only imagine what Tony must feel. The rest of the way Steve and Natasha spend in silence until they finally reach the ship. Thor smiles at the sight of them, though it is rather a smile resulting from politeness than from happiness.

“How is he?” Steve asks even though he expects how the answer might sound.

“Not good,” Thor responds. “I found him on Titan. Honestly, I have never seen Stark in this condition. He is completely broken.”

“Let’s go, Thor, we’ll inform the others,” Natasha suggests. “The boys have to catch up.”

At the thought of having to face Tony after two years of separation, Steve feels something crush his chest.

“Wait, Nat!” He grabs her arm. “I can’t go there. Tony won’t want to talk to me. He… he hates me.”

Natasha gives him a benevolent smile, which is the only light in the darkness that has been surrounding them for two days.

“I really doubt that. Half of humanity is gone, Steve. No time to scratch old wounds. Tony is stubborn, and he won't make it easy for you, but there is no one in the world who should talk to him if not you. He needs you, just like you need him.”

Steve stands there for a long moment, watching Natasha and Thor leave him. They are still alive and well, so maybe not everything is lost. And Tony...

He takes a deep breath and climbs aboard the ship. He finds Stark faster than he would want, and at the sight of his old friend Steve realizes that he is not ready for this confrontation.

Tony does not even look up to see who dares disturb his peace. He is sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the wall of the ship, keeping his hands on his knees and looking blindly at something in front of him. He indeed looks quite different than the old version of Tony Stark who Steve used to know. There are blood marks on his clothes, and his hands are covered with something dark, like... When Steve realizes it must be ash, he suddenly gets sick.

“Is Pepper…” Tony's voice sounds so strange, as if it belongs to a completely different person.

“She’s fine,” Steve assures him immediately. “Natasha tried to reach everyone whose safety wasn’t certain. Pepper is alive, though very worried about you. Unfortunately, we do not have any news from Hill and Fury.”

An act of nodding the head. That's all Steve gets from Tony who closes his eyes and in doing so seems to close himself from the world around him.

Steve does not know what to say to dissipate the sadness and regret hovering in the air. Finally, resigned, he sits on the floor and leans against the wall in front of Tony, who seems to be ignoring him. The unspoken pain of the past two years is consuming Steve from the inside, but he has no idea how to get rid of it. No word nor gesture seem to be appropriate.

“Who else?” Tony surprises him with this question, still not looking at him. “I figured out Vision must be gone since the purple monster managed to get all the stones. Who else is gone?”

“Wanda, T’Challa, Sam…”

“Rhodey?”

“He’s alive.”

“What about your best friend?” Tony opens his eyes; his voice as cold as his stare. “You know, the one who killed my parents.”

Steve swallows hard, not looking away from Tony.

“He’s gone. I assume you see it as an act of justice.”

“No, I don’t.”

Tony stands up slowly, wincing as if every move hurts him. He approaches the window, leans one hand against the wall and stares at what is beyond Steve's reach.

“Two days ago, I met a bunch of idiots who were so determined to kill Thanos but at the same time just as unprepared as everyone else. They did not mean much to me, but when they started to disappear…” His voice breaks only to become bitter rather than sad. “Among them, there was Dr. Strange, a wizard who gave up the time stone to save my life. My life in exchange for the half of humanity, can you hear how ridiculously it sounds? A moment later, he disintegrated in front of me, just like everybody else.”

“Just like Peter,” Steve realizes. “I’m sorry, Tony. I know how much you cared about him.”

Tony's bitter smile reflects in the window, and then he rubs his face with his hands, not paying attention to the fact that he can get dirty. Steve starts thinking that Tony will finally allow himself to release the despair which, apparently, he suffocates within himself, but he only turns away from the window and begins to walk around the ship.

“Peter,” he whispers. “All I ever wanted for him was not to get involved, not to risk everything. He was just a kid.”

“It wasn’t your fault.“

“Really? It felt quite opposite.“ Tony stopped in front of Steve, who raised to finally confront his old friend. “Before Dr Strange died, he said that it was the only way. Maybe, just maybe he saved my life because he knew I had to survive.”

Steve blinks in surprise, rather expecting words of hate than a hint of hope from Tony.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that there might be a chance to save the world. All those people... What if they aren't dead but trapped in another universe or something like that?” Tony takes a few steps toward Steve, this time speaking with strength in his voice. “Or maybe there is way of time travel without the time stone?”

It’s all Steve has needed and more. A glimpse of hope.

"I've been thinking of the same, Tony, but I would never dare to think of it as something possible.”

“Old men can have wishes too,” Stark teases, sounding more like himself than a minute before. “It's not impossible. In fact, the word impossible is getting more and more useless as we live in a world where everything can happen. Thor, Bruce, Natasha, you and me… It seems that the original Avengers are still alive. Perhaps it’s time to reunite and save the world one last time.”

“But how?”

“I have no idea.” Tony walks away a few steps, passing his hand over his face. “I only know that no matter what, I won’t give up until I’ll bring Peter back.”

His concern for that boy is so strong that it is affecting Steve. Suddenly everything becomes obvious, words flow from his mouth without any difficulty, as if they have been just waiting for the right moment.

“If we’re about to fight by each other’s side, there cannot be any remorse and sorrow,” Steve says, wishing Tony would turn to him and see only good intentions in his face. “I’m sorry, Tony. I'm sorry for turning my back on you and choosing Bucky over you. I'm sorry for being a terrible friend. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please, don't hate me.”

A short silence reigns between them before Tony turns to look at him. 

“I don’t hate you, Steve,” Tony finally addresses him by his name. “I’m sorry, too. I understand that Barnes was brainwashed and even if I don’t like him, what is hard to hide, I’m sorry you had to lose him again.”

Steve manages to smile, for the first time in two days, then hugs Tony without a second thought. Stark clumsily pats his back, apparently surprised, but does not reject him. At least not immediately.

“Okay, Cap, it’s enough. I cannot allow myself to be moved to tears, what will people say? I already look like a mess.” He steps away from Steve and looks at himself appraisingly. “I need a shower and a phone. If I don’t call Pepper she’ll give me worse hell than Thanos.”

Tony turns to leave the ship, but suddenly changes his mind, walks over to Steve and shakes his hand.

“Do you remember the word you used when we fought against Ultron? Very cliché. You said we would do this-“

“-together.”

“Yeah, and if we lose…“

Tony silences, waiting for Steve to finish his sentence. Rogers smiles again, squeezing his friend's hand more tightly and only now realizing how much he has missed him.

Bucky, Natasha, Sam, Vision, Wanda, Thor, Peter, Rhodey... Tony. Maybe grief can turn into hope again and not all is lost.

“If we lose,” he repeats, “we do that together too.”

[evangelene]

Just Happened To Be (5)

Summary: Jimin was an asshole, yes. And you were supposed to be nice, meek, and afraid of people like him. But you weren’t; even with a knife at your throat you stayed quiet and unforgiving–and he wasn’t allowed to like it.

Based off this request:

“Anonymous said:So how about bad boy Jimin I mean that’s cool I guess cause I mean who need bad boy jimin right pft not me.”

Usual warnings . This is a drug gang fic so naturally there’s gonna be a lotta shit.

Part One /  Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Six / Part Seven

"Are you sure you've got this, hyung?" Jimin whispered, fishing in his bag for the lock-pick kit while Namjoon kept watch in the shadows of the alleyway.

The older man snorted. "Taehyung knows we're coming regardless of whether I've got this or not. Besides, it isn't me that he wants to kill; make sure you watch out."

Jimin snapped the zipper closed on his duffle. "He's the one who needs to watch his ass."

Namjoon grabbed Jimin's arm as he started towards the bar, stopping him in his tracks. "Just...just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"I already did." Jimin murmured. "And you're here doing it with me."

Before Namjoon could say another word, Jimin ripped himself from his hyung and hightailed it towards the back of the bar. The initial plan was that Namjoon was going to go in through the front entrance and become an instant distraction--that would give Jimin enough time to find you and get you out. Honestly, it was stupid and bound to fail, but, then again, this was a mission that was built upon grasped straws.

Jimin started towards the back entrance--his initial destination--when, as he was passing by the wood cellar doors buried in the grass, he overhead angered mumbles filtering up between the slats. Jimin immediately changed his plan, dropping to the ground so he could press his ear against the wood. As he listened, his eyes examined the lock on the doors to see what tools from his kit would be needed to crack it.

"Yah--make sure she's still breathing."

It was Taehyung's voice.

And it was all Jimin needed to hear.

He ripped his ear from the wood, his fingers working feverishly on the padlock until it clicked open, only to be thrown and lost into the dark. Jimin slowly opened the cellar door enough to peer through, noting the long, dark hallway leading to the actual open basement. Deeming it safe enough for him to crawl in and linger in the shadows without being caught, he opened the door just enough for him to slip through with his bag, closing it behind him with as little sound as possible.

Jimin slid down the stairs at a snail's pace until he was fully on the ground, tilting his head to get a better view of the open door at the end of the hall. In the light of the other room, he could just barely make out the backs of Taehyung and Jungkook, the two of them huddled together as they blocked something or someone from his vision.

"She's breathing." Jungkook murmured, pulling himself up to his full height.

"Good--she's not allowed to die until I say so, you got it?"

"Are you going to?"

Taehyung held a pause that had Jimin's hands curling into fists, his nails cutting his skin. His once friend smirked at the maknae. "We'll see." Taehyung stepped to the side and disappeared out of Jimin's line of sight, finally allowing him to see what they had captured.

As he feared--as they all feared--it was you.

And god did you look like shit.

Your head was practically on your shoulder, causing him to be unable to get a good view of your expression--not that it particularly mattered, since it appeared you were unconscious anyways. His gaze couldn't help but linger on the bruises that littered your skin; they appeared fresher than the ones he'd seen back on the bridge. And there were so many--he could see them all now, what with your cardigan and skirt no longer attached to you. Instead, you were left in a damp tank top and a pair of short shorts you must have been wearing under your skirt, bearing every last scar of yours to the world. Hell, he could see that even your wrists were discolored and injured from the rope binds keeping you tethered to the chair you were propped on. But what Park Jimin hated most about it all, was that, when he looked closer, he could see a horrible, poisonous spread of purple inside your elbow.

Taehyung had pricked you with something.

As if to confirm Jimin's thoughts, Taehyung strolled back into view with a syringe needle full of some impossibly green drug, placing it in Jungkook's palm before stepping towards you. It was almost loving the way Taehyung's hand curved around your cheek, the way he tilted your head up to tower over you and stare down at your unconscious face. It was almost loving the way his thumb brushed across your skin.

Almost.

"Give her another dose."

"Hyung..."Jungkook couldn't tear his eyes away from Taehyung's grip on your face."Hasn't she had enough?"

Jimin screwed his eyes shut, ducking his head to the floor in an attempt to shut out the unbidden images of you fighting and pleading as they held you down--what he believed happened when he wasn't fast enough to chase you. He imagined you letting out some horrifying shriek as they injected doses of a searing, screaming drug into your system. You were alone, you were cold and wet and with people who held knives to your throat and meant it when they said that they would kill you. And you were there because of him. It was always because of him.

Jimin's head snapped up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading up to the main floor of the bar, catching the tail end of Taehyung's glare as his eyes flashed a dangerous color and his hand snaked out to grab Jungkook by the throat. Taehyung didn't even turn to the arrival of one of his men; instead, he focused his anger solely on the youngest even as his henchman murmured something in his ear. It was only when Taehyung nodded that the man left and the gang leader released Jungkook.

"They're here." Taehyung murmured. "So do as I say or I will put you in this chair and make Jin cook you a special dinner." The threat was spoken with a smile that had anything but a genuine happiness; it hung in the air as Taehyung stepped out of Jimin's sight once more. This time, Jimin could tell that he left the basement entirely, his footsteps thundering upstairs towards the bar to meet Namjoon.

Jimin didn't waste a damn second. Before Jungkook could even take a step towards you, Jimin was running full force down the hall. He slammed into Jungkook, unable to stop in time to properly rip him away from you--instead he wheeled with the younger in his grasp, flinging him backwards into the cellar wall. Before Jungkook could even attempt to get up on his feet, Jimin was there to grab his wrist with one hand and his throat with the other.

"Drop it." Jimin hissed through his teeth, his hands squeezing with his anger. He must have been glaring at the youngest with a fire never before seen, because something resonated through his skin and into Jungkook's, the needle falling from the maknae's fingers. Despite the act of defeat, Jimin didn't let up. "What did you give her?" His voice felt like it was acid, burning his ears, his throat, his chest--it hurt to speak with such venom, so he couldn't even imagine (or care) what if felt like to hear it.

"I--I don't know." Jungkook whispered, his eyes flitting across Jimin's face as if he couldn't believe it was actually Jimin before him.  It never occurred to Jimin that he'd never shown nearly half the amount of anger he was showing now; he'd been pretty good at hiding and saving that shit for Taehyung and Taehyung only.

Until now.

"What. Did. You. give. Her?" Jimin's hand tightened on Jungkook's throat and the boy let out a wincing gasp.

"I don't know!" He squeaked out. "It was a concoction of things left on Seokjin's desk! No one knows what it is!"

Jimin ducked his head, laughing bitterly to the floor. "Of fucking course." How could you heal something you didn't know? How could you counteract a drug that has never been made before? How can you counteract a drug when even the maker didn't know what was in it? Taehyung wasn't stupid, and he knew exactly what it took to make it hurt the most.

Jimin let go of Jungkook with a force that had the youngest clamoring to the ground, gasping with the sudden intake of oxygen as Jimin turned his full attention towards you.

Squatting down next to you, Jimin slipped his fingers under the rope on your wrists, trying desperately to figure out the complex knots. "Will it kill her?"

Jungkook stayed on all fours, his hair hanging in front of his face to guard his expression. "I don't know."

The sudden passivity of the youngest had Jimin throwing a glance over his shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why aren't you attacking me? Where's the big, bad maknae now?"

Jungkook's hands fisted on the ground. "I don't like repaying favors--so get her out. She saved me...so just...just get her out of here."

Jimin paused, his gaze boring into Jungkook's side. "What does that mean? What do you mean she saved you?"

"I--I was by the river when I was attacked by a bordering enemy gang. She just--god she just came out of fucking nowhere, tackling this guy like she thought she had a blackbelt or some shit like that."

"That's impossible. She knows shit nothing about fighting." Jimin focused his attention back to undoing the knots, but he kept seeing the same image of you confessing and crying at the top of the hill. He kept seeing hallucinations of you saving the life of a man who tried to kill you.

"Well whatever she does know, it saved my life." Jungkook's head snapped up. "They had a fucking gun to my head and she stopped them from pulling the trigger--whether she knows how to fight or not she saved my ass. And to thank her I--I called her name in confusion like a fucking moron. Hyung was running towards me, then her as soon as he recognized who she was. She's so slow, you know that? So fucking slow. He was able to grab her before she could get away."

Jimin stared up at your face as if that could make you wake up, as if that could give him the energy to yell at you for all of your stupidity. Instead he just fumbled with the same goddamn knots, unable to free even one of your wrists.

Suddenly, Jungkook was on the other side of you, undoing one of your wrists with enough difficulty that Jimin knew it wasn't the youngest who tied you to the chair--but, unlike Jimin, he actually released one of your wrists.

With no time to help Jimin, the youngest let out a curse--the only warning Jimin had before a bottle was crashing into the side of his head with a spray of glass. Jimin tipped to the side and onto the ground, given only enough time to groan and roll over before Taehyung was standing over him, one foot on either side of his body.

Taehyung spit at the ground just left of Jimin's face, causing the fallen man to curl his lip in disgust. "Did you honestly think it would be that easy? Did you really think that I didn't know my little maknae wouldn't try to let her go?" Taehyung squatted down, letting out a bark of laughter at the blood on the side of Jimin's face. "You're smart, Jiminnie, you should have known that I had all of this planned." Taehyung's head snapped up to look at the youngest, his eyes flashing a dangerous color that reminded Jimin of warning signs--of flashing lights reserved for ambulances and fire drills. "Kookie, I promise not to feed you to the wolves if you go get me that syringe you dropped right now."

Jungkook whispered an apology to you under his breath before hurrying to his feet and away, returning with the needle only to place the syringe in his leader's open palm.

Taehyung grabbed the front of Jimin's shirt, lifting him up off the ground with a sadistic smile that reminded Jimin less of Taehyung and more of Taehyung's brother.

"You going to inject me with that bullshit too?" Jimin hissed."Fucking do it."

Taehyung chuckled, soft at first--but it slowly built into insanity. "You really think that I would waste this on you?" He twirled the needle in front of Jimin's face with his free hand. "No. When I kill you I want it to be slow and painful. This, who knows what the hell this could do to you." He snatched the needle back before Jimin could grab it. "That one there is slippery; I want to make sure she can't run until I'm finished with you."

"How can she run if she's not even fucking awake?" Jimin howled, thrashing underneath Taehyung--but there was too much weight and too much of a hold on Jimin for him to go anywhere.

Taehyung dropped Jimin hard enough that the man's head slammed into the ground, his once-friend coming in with a one-two hit consisting of a punch to the face and a swift kick in the ribs, making sure Jimin stayed on the ground. Satisfied, Taehyung walked away from Jimin and stepped towards you. His fingers grazed along the skin of your neck before his hand clasped fully around your throat and tilted your head back, creating just enough room for him to insert his needle into a vein.

Jimin was up on his feet before the plunger could hit half-way, shouldering Taehyung to the floor--resulting in your chair crashing back and to the ground along with the two warring men.  Jungkook tugged at Jimin, but the older man was far too enraged to be able to be held down; instead, Jimin grabbed two fistfuls of Jungkook's jacket and threw him into a shelf of liquor, glass bottles raining down on the youngest only to shatter on the concrete. Taehyung was already up, pushing the liquid further as Jimin landed a hard kick to his once friend's face. Without any kindness, Jimin ripped the syringe from your skin and stabbed the needle into Taehyung's leg, slamming the plunger down with a force that had Taehyung screaming.

Suddenly the man was on his feet and knocking Jimin back to the floor, a shard of broken glass in hand. Jimin grabbed Taehyung's wrist, pushing the trajectory of the glass from his neck to his shoulder. Jimin didn't scream, didn't even feel the pain with the amount of adrenaline flowing through his veins. With a grunt of pain, Jimin's elbow met Taehyung's already fucked up face. This time Jimin didn't let him get back up; he straddled Taehyung's waist and laid hit after hit--punch after punch. Even when Jungkook was up and wrapping his arm around Jimin's throat, even when air and blood was no longer circulating to his brain, Jimin kept throwing hits. His mind was blood red, his vision dyed crimson with anger--all he could do was hurt the man that hurt you.

The only thing that made Jimin stop was the sudden reverberation of a gunshot in the cellar basement.

"You better put him down now, Jungkook." The new party demanded.

The second Jungkook's arms were off of Jimin's airway; he gasped for breath, crashing back to reality as he turned to spot Namjoon with a steaming pistol in hand--the barrel now aimed directly at Jungkook instead of at a fresh hole in the brick. When Jimin looked down, he found Taehyung out cold, his face bloody and swollen. Namjoon jerked his chin towards the same exit Jimin had come in through. "Get her out of here, Jimin."

He crawled off of Taehyung, scrambling towards you as he finally undid the other knot keeping your right wrist to the chair. "What about you, hyung?"

"Who do you think is keeping Seokjin busy upstairs?" Namjoon winked. "I'll be fine as long as the boys are here."

"I--"

"Yoongi told me if you don't shut up and get her out of here alive, he would come and kill you himself. Go."

Jimin didn't say another word; he just winced at the tug in his injured shoulder as he picked you up around your waist and hoisted you over his other. Without a glance back at anyone else, he booked it up and out of the cellar.

~.~

Jimin didn't check your pulse, didn't stop running, and didn't pause--not even when the two of you were back in his territory. He kept running with curses under his breath, half of him wondering if he was carrying a corpse over his shoulder; the other half was too consumed with trying to remember where the hell you lived. He was kind of running away in denial when he left your place however many months ago; it took every bit of focus he had just to drag himself back to that night. Ultimately, his shitty memory had him running in circles and down one too many streets before finally--fucking finally--he found a door that rang some sense of déjà vu within him.

With you slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he peered inside your front window just to make sure that it was, in fact, your front window. He nodded to himself, checking one thing off a long list of panicked to-do items. The next was figuring out how the hell he was supposed to get inside; he frowned at your door knob, for once hoping that your stupidity would pay off. With blind hope, he turned it, surprised that he was surprised it was unlocked. He should have felt angry at your naiveté, but he didn't have the energy or the mindset to be anything but absolutely panicked.

He kicked the door behind him, making a mental note to lock it later as he practically fell over himself in his wild attempt to get you to your bathroom. For some reason, your bathroom felt like the best place for you--it seemed it was the only place in your home where the injured could exist.  

He set you on your plush bathroom rug, staring down at you like a fish out of water. He was not the medic in his group--not in the slightest. He was decent at applying a band-aid and handing others gauze and tape but aside from that he was absolutely useless. He was the kid they always told to get out when someone was injured because his worry and absolute ignorance made for a bad combination.

He ran his fingers through his hair, hissing in air through his teeth."Shit, shit shit." He stared at you down on the floor, bending to hook his fingers towards your pulse; part of him shook at the thought that he had in fact been running around the city with a dead body.

But thank god there was a beat at his fingertips.

"Stable." Jimin murmured. "I have to get her stable." And to do that he had to get you awake, he had to get out at least some of the poison in your system. He ran his tongue along his teeth as he sat down next to you, letting out another curse before dragging you up and into a sitting position. Jimin used one arm to hold you up while the other inspected the fresh, bruising wound along your neck. He tried to avoid blinking, because if he closed his eyes he knew he would see images of Taehyung injecting you and Jimin being too slow to stop it.

"Fuck." He growled, cursing to curse--cursing at the stupidity of it all. He had no idea how much of the mystery cocktail you were given; if he didn't at least try to get some of it out there was a high probability that you would die in his arms. So, closing his eyes against the thought, he pressed his lips to the wound and sucked in. Hell, he even bit at the edges of the wound to gather as much of the poison in your blood as he could. He could taste it--it was like gasoline, like a bitter toxin used to tell dogs not to chew on something; it was by far the worst thing Jimin had ever put in his mouth. He twisted his head to the side to spit into the bathtub before returning to your neck to repeat the process. Suck. Spit. Suck. Spit... He didn't stop until the only thing he tasted was the coppery hint of your blood.

He rested your body against his, wiping furiously at his mouth as he stared at a point on the wall.  His heart felt like it was jack-hammering against your shoulder. "Come on, Y/N." He murmured weakly; it was much harder to save someone's life if they were unconscious. "You have to wake up now." When you, of course, didn't respond, he pulled you back to lift your eyelid with his thumb in order to examine the dilation of your pupils. Before he could even get a good look, your body was jerking in his grasp--your breathing kicking into a gear that was far too high for the amount of energy you were exerting. You shook with gasps as you desperately tried to get air into your lungs, Jimin having to hold onto you to keep you from pitching sideways.

"Fuck! Y/N!" He grabbed either side of your face, pulling you back to him. "Now's the time to wake the fuck up!" He all but shouted in your ear, practically shaking you. But when your head only lolled on your shoulders he knew that regular smacking and screaming tactics were not going to work. This was some next level shit that he had only dealt with when Yoongi drank himself into a coma four years ago. "God damnit--please." He snarled, his panic increasing when your body shifted into full on hyperventilation.

Without thinking, he turned the faucet full blast on the bathtub, splashing cold water onto the porcelain before unceremoniously shoving your head under it.

You--thank god--awoke to the ice cold water with a sputter, reeling your head as far away from it as you could before Jimin pulled you back to him. He clung to you just as tight as you did to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to cough and gasp the water from your lungs.

"Breathe." Jimin tried to speak as gently as he could, but the blood rushing in his ears made it feel like he was screaming. He held onto your face once more when you tried to escape him, as if you thought that he was Taehyung--hell, he had to force you to meet his gaze just to get you to understand his words. "Y/N. Breathe."

Finally, finally, your glazed eyes shifted into enough focus to find his and your breathing slowed to a point that Jimin felt he could handle; it wasn't great, but it was a hell of a lot better than your previous panicked gasps. Before he could even think about letting go of you, your hand was snaking down towards your bruised and abused arm, your nails starting to dig into your skin. Jimin shook you once, snapping one hand down to clasp over yours and stop you from scratching your vein out. He recognized the look in your eyes--one of the drugs in the cocktail was one Jimin had dealt with before, the side effects being that you felt the impending need to scratch your own blood vessels out.

"It i-i-itches." You whispered.

He kept one hand on your face, preventing you from looking down to see the damage--to see the scars that were fully on display. "I know." He whispered. "I'll call Yoorin for you--I'll make sure she comes here to make you better. Okay?"

Your eyes were glassy, shifting in and out of focus as your body trembled in his grasp. "Wh-wh-wh-where are you go-go-going?"

"I have to go back, Y/N."

"W-w-w-why?"

"Because--because--"

The tears were spilling over your cheeks before he could even gather the words that he needed, ripping all of his willpower from his body. "I kn-kn-knew the a-a-a-answer b-b-b-but--"

"You know nothing." He hissed, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair to prevent you from looking down even though you tried your damnedest. He knew he couldn't stop you for much longer.

"L-L-Let go of m-me!" You screamed, trying to shove him back until you finally shimmied under his grasp and escaped just far enough away to catch sight of your state--you saw the bruises, the scars; you saw just how much had been on display for him and everyone else. Instantly, you tried to cover yourself, the tears reddening your face. "D-d-d-don't look!" You shouted, "Go-Go a-a-away!" The panic was settling under your skin as you scrambled away, trying to get to a place where he couldn't see you even though there was nowhere for you to go.

"Y/N!" He tried to reach for you, but you were backing yourself into a corner, huddling over to try and cover your scars from him.

"I'm di-di-disgusting! D-d-don't l-l-look!"

He grabbed your wrists, yanking you out of the corner and towards him to get a better look at your fevered skin. "Stop! Y/N!" You struggled in his grasp, pleading with him on tears that shattered something fragile in his chest.

"I-I-I'm disgusting. C-C-Call me a pr-pr-prude and m-make f-f-f-fun of me pl-p-please--d-d-d-don't m-m-make me believe th-that y-y-y-you're k-k-k-kind. It'll h-h-h-hurt m-m-m-more later. "

He groaned to the ceiling. "You fucking idiot."

"I kn-know so--"

He cut you off with his mouth, pressing his lips against yours with all of the fury and denial that he had been in the moment he met you. He kissed you hard enough that your hands went limp in his and your body stopped shaking; he kissed you hard enough that he found his fingers tangling in your hair and, for a moment, he made you believe that there were no such things as scars, stutters, gangs, drugs--there was nothing but the two of you on a bathroom floor.

When he pulled back, your tears were drying on your cheeks, your brow furrowed in absolute confusion as he forced you to keep your gaze on him and only him. "Y/N, I wouldn't have saved your ass from Taehyung if I thought you were disgusting."

And then, as most things happen between the two of you, you did the unexpected: you twisted to face the toilet and throw up whatever food you may have had, along with a neon green mixture of drugs that Taehyung must have forced down your throat.

He couldn't help but bust out laughing, his hands automatically going to hold your hair up off your face as you emptied your stomach. You tried to push him away, tried to tell him that his laughter was affecting you and that puking and laughing was so not cute, but he slapped your weak hands away and let you do what you needed to. When you finished, you collapsed into a heap on the floor, your body shaking with silent laughs. A normal relationship was just not going to ever be in your destiny. Despite it all, you let Jimin pull you into his chest.

"D-D-Do you ki-ki-kiss all your girl-girl-girl-girl-girlfriends like th-that?"

He chuckled, resting his chin on top of your head. "Just the ones I like best--they usually don't throw up afterwards though." He knew that the two of you weren't out of the doghouse yet, he could feel the pure heat of your fevered skin through his shirt and he knew that there were more side effects to come.  But for now, it was nice to just feel you alive and breathing and in his grasp--for now, he could pretend that things would be okay.

"C-C-Can you s-say it ju-ju-just once?" You whispered, the tips of your ears reddening.

He licked his lips, staring somewhere over your head instead of at you because it was easier for him to fulfill your request if he didn't have to see those damn sparkly eyes boring into him. "I like you, Y/N."

"L-L-Like, like?"

"Damnit woman." His hands tightened on each other, resulting in him squeezing you tighter against him. "You're really testing my limits aren't you?"

You paused for a moment but he knew it was coming anyways. "S-So, l-l-lov--?"

"Yes." He hissed. "Y/N, Yes. I..." He took in a deep breath.

"I love you, Sooyoung."

She turned over her shoulder, her eyes darkening to a flat black that held nothing of the Sooyoung that had been there as a kid. There was no warmth or kindness, but there hadn't been any of that for a while now. "No, you don't. You can't because you're too kind Jimin--and I'm anything but." But she was striding towards him, walking like a predator as her lips parted only to crash onto his.

"I love you."

You shivered in his grasp, wiggling to free your spine from the goosebumps. "T-T-Thank y-y-you." You whispered to the floor. "Me t-t-too. I--I l-l-love you, too."

"Come on." He murmured, shifting to get his feet under him--but he didn't let go of you, instead he helped you stand. Well, stand wasn't really the term for it; it was more like 'lean against Jimin until he scooped his arms around you and basically held all your weight for you'. "You're a mess," he chuckled, "we have to clean you up." Before you could retort or give a sassy reply, he unceremoniously picked you up and set your ass in the tub.  "You get to do the water, I have no idea what a suitable temperature would be with you in this state?"

You craned your head up to him, your lips pulling into a shy smile. "Y-Y-You're re-re-really k-k-kind, you know?"

He turned the water on freezing, causing you to let out a scream of horror as it splashed you. While you were busy scrambling to fill the tub with something more to your liking, he started towards your closet and fished out a rag and some shampoo. "Until Yoorin gets here, you're going to have to tell me what to do to make you better--I'm absolute garbage when it comes to this shit."

"I-I think y-y-you're doing w-w-w-wonderful."

He sat on the edge of the tub, reaching to peel at the edge of your tank top. "Off." He murmured, disguising the heavy beat to his heart with worry.

"B-B-But!!" Your face heated to an impossible red, your body curling in on itself. "I--"

"Yah, I can't leave you in this shit and I sure as hell can't leave you to clean up after yourself. You look like you're going to pass out any minute now!"

With your lips tucked between your teeth, you slowly peeled the tank top off of you, ditching your now ruined bra to the side as you covered your chest with your arms. Your knees curled up as an extra barrier between him and your breasts. "I-I-I'm ke-ke-keeping the sh-sh-shorts for n-n-now."

"That's fine, not much fabric to them anyways." He snorted, dipping the rag into the water before gently rubbing it across your back. "Does this hurt?"

You nodded, your fingers tightening on your biceps. "B-B-But its o-o-okay. E-E-Everything hurts any-anyways."

"I'll have to ask Hooseok about all this--he knows more about these drugs than I do. Maybe we can come up with some sort of antidote quicker than it will take you to heal on your own."

"M-Maybe."

He scooped your hair off your neck, running the rag over the injection site you were currently not shielding. Jimin winced.

"I..." You paused, gathering your words once more. "Wh-what do y-you like a-about me?"

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow, still staring at your neck as he tried to wipe away some of the blood from your skin.

"W-Why me?"

Jimin shrugged. "There aren't always answers to such stupid questions. Sometimes we don't have to have a reason why we fall for people; it's just part of our DNA--like we were born to fall in love with certain people." He made a face at the bathroom tile. "But that's what Namjoon says. I just like you because I like you--I think you Stockholm syndrome-d me."

You let out a bark of laughter, one of your arms freeing itself to smack him--conveniently, it was the arm that Taehyung used to overdose you. Jimin grabbed it before you could pull back, running the rag across the inside of your elbow.

"No." He chuckled. "I think that you're strong in a way that I could never be."

"W-W-What way i-is that?"

"You are so terribly unafraid of everyone and everything, there's nothing about you that could ever be dark."

You shook your head. "T-That do-do-doesn't make s-s-sense."

"You're kind, Y/N. I like you because you're kind without fear."

Even though as he stared at you, he could only think back to the millions of times Sooyoung had told him that people like her burned people like him. He could only think that maybe the roles had been switched--because here you were, curled and vulnerable before him; you were injured because of him.

You almost died, because of him.

Jimin cupped his hands into the water, dropping some over your head before squeezing some shampoo onto his palms.

"Mmm." You let out a soft noise of contentment as he worked his fingers into your scalp, leaning into his touch like a purring cat.

What would it have been like if, months and months back, Jimin had walked away from you--what if he hadn't called out to you? Where would you be now?

Probably safe and unhurt on the couch watching a movie with Yoorin--and Jimin? Well he'd probably be dead.

Once he finished cleaning what he could from you, he helped you stand up, looking away just in case you slipped and he saw something he shouldn't. When he was sure you were safely sitting on the lid of the toilet, he held out your robe, helping you get into it and tie it securely around you.

He handed you fresh clothing that he'd dug from your dresser, standing at the threshold to your bedroom. "Let me know when you're done changing, okay?"

Before he could turn to leave your voice stopped him.

"J-Jimin?"

He looked over his shoulder with one eyebrow raised.

"P-P-Promise y-y-you won-won-won't leave wh-wh-when you cl-close that d-d-door?"

A tension he hadn't realized had been building in his shoulders released. "I promise, Y/N. I'll be just outside this door."

~.~

When Jimin came back into the room--after nursing his own wounds, thankful you were too occupied with your own pain to notice his--you were sitting on the bed, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts as you lay heaving on your side. His surprise that you would show that much scarred skin around him was muffled by the fact that you had paled to a ghost before him.

"Y/N?" He was there instantly, his hands pushing you up into a sitting position. "Hey--hey?"

Your breathing wasn't fast, but it was heavy--almost like you were trying to cough but couldn't. It took a while for your eyes to focus on him, but they did eventually. "I-I-I-I-It's h-hot."

He rolled his eyes at you, taking the tail end of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "We'll get you an ice pack to cool you down when we get to the living room." You leaned to rest your forehead on his shoulder, the heat of your skin scalding him. He let out a curse. "Can you stand?"

Your legs shook without even moving off the edge of the bed, your forehead breaking out in a fresh sheen of sweat to soak his shirt. "Okay, okay." He murmured, his arm snaking around your waist. "I've got you."

Your fingers dug into his shoulder as he hoisted you up to your feet; when your legs couldn't handle your weight, he hooked his arm under your knees and lifted you up to his chest.

"J-J-J-Jimin?"

He let out a grunt, carrying you down the hall.

"A-A-Am I al-al-all-allowed to be h-happy?"

He could feel your eyes on the underside of his jaw. "I like it better when you're happy. But you're hurt, so be happy when you're better."

Your fingers touched the band-aid on his temple. "So a-a-a-are y-y-you. Are y-y-you o-o-okay? Y-Y-Y-You need t-t-to rest!" He shook his head, biting your fingers away from his face.

"I'm fine, Y/N. Let...let me worry about you for a change."

"O--Okay." You whispered, helping him set you down on the couch. With all of the finesse of someone who had never once cared for anything as fragile as a life, he shoved a comforter on you--much to your displeasure. "It's t-t-t-too hot!!"

"Good." Jimin snorted, leaving you in favor of disappearing into your kitchen. "You need to sweat this shit out of your system." He shouted over his shoulder as he ran a glass of ice under the faucet. When he returned you were trying to kick the excess fabric from you, forcing him to set down the glass in favor of mummy wrapping you to the point that it was almost impossible to move your arms.  "You're seriously going to make me treat you like a child?"

You glared up at him, struggling weakly. Despite the fact that you were sick with a mystery illness, Jimin was thankful for the weakness--at least it made it too difficult for you to refuse his demanding help.

He pressed the glass to your lips, tilting it back until at least half the glass was gone--not that you didn't try to move your head before then. Setting the water down on the side table, he sunk into the couch next to you.

"I-I-Ice pack." You hissed.

He grabbed the remote, raising one eyebrow at you. "Maybe when you finish that water."

"G-G-Gimmee."

"Now you want to be nice?" He turned the volume up, cupping a hand behind his ear. "What was that? I don't think I heard you."

"I---w-w-water."

"Hmm, I dunno--so far all you've done is fight against me saving your ass. I don't think you deserve the relief."

"Fu-Fu-Fuck you."

He snorted, "Later."

"I w-w-w-want to h-h-h-hit you."

Reaching for the water with one hand, his other freed one of your arms from the confines of the comforter. "Do it after you've finished that glass--then maybe after you've finished a second I'll get you an ice pack to cool you down."

"I-I can't d-d-drink a-a-all that!"

"Sucks. Do you know how dehydrated you are?"

You paused with the glass against your lips, your eyes flitting across his face. "You r-r-r-really are s-s-s-secretly nice, you k-kn-know?"

He tipped the glass up, resulting in water spilling down the sides of your face and down the front of your shirt--but at least it was cold water. You let out a hoarse squeal from the sudden chill but downed the rest of the glass before he could torment you further. "Take it back?" He raised an eyebrow at you.

You nodded with a frown, but the corners of your lips betrayed your forced anger.

He got up to refill the glass, setting it on the side table next to you before plopping back down by your side. As if on instinct, your hand reached to lace your fingers through his. Jimin found that he couldn't look away from the point where your skin met his.

It was a while before he could find the words, nevertheless figure out how to use his vocal chords. "The person who..." He stopped himself, licking his lips. "The person who hurt you--did you love them?"

"No." You murmured as you fell to the side, resting your head on his shoulder. "I d-did not."

"What about love--have you ever told anyone else that you loved them?"

Your fingers tightened on his. "O-O-O-One man. H-he s-s-said he didn't mi-mi-mi-mind my s-sc-scars."

Unconsciously, his thumb smoothed over your knuckled. "What happened to him?"

"H-H-H-He f-f-found som-som-someone with-with-without scars." You paused, your breathing surprisingly even on his shoulder. For a minute, if he closed his eyes and pretended just right, he could believe that you were a normal couple destined for a normal life with a picket fence, 3.5 children and maybe a dog rescued from a shelter as a puppy. But your words brought him down from his momentary hopeful high. "The g-g-girl you ki-ki-killed, she hu-hurt y-y-y-you, didn't sh-sh-she?"

"She fell in love with my once best friend instead." Jimin focused on your fingers instead of his memories--he was amazed by the fragileness of them; amazed by how clean and pristine they were in comparison to his. You were soft where he was calloused and littered with tattoos that had no particular significance to him.  "Despite that, she didn't let me get closure. Even under Taehyung's wing, she kept returning to me only to leave again. Sooyoung--she was like a drug to me; one I still feel like I'm recovering from."

"W-W-Was she pr-pr-pretty?"

He shifted just enough to pull his phone from his pocket, flipping through the years and years of photos with his free hand until he pulled up the only photo he still had of her.

"Jimin what are you--"

He cut her off with the click and flash of his cell camera, creating a stupid image of her with her mouth open and brow furrowed in confusion. Anyone else would have looked utterly terrible with such a candid shot--she just looked like she was born to be frozen in images.

Like life knew she wasn't supposed to be there long, so it was okay to give her a photogenic appearance--it was okay for cameras to love her because soon there wouldn't be anything left of her to remember.

"I think she was." He handed his phone to you, forcing his gaze to the television instead of you--he didn't know if he could take you looking at her picture. It felt sacrilegious in a way--some sort of ritual that would taint you, or make your fate the same as hers.

"Sh-Sh-She's b-b-beautiful."

He let out a small noise of approval. "She never smiled though." He paused, tilting his head so he could see your expression from the corner of his eye. "I didn't realize how much I liked smiles until I saw yours."

He was proud of the red to your cheeks--for once, it was a reaction to him. You were not immune to men; well, you were--but not to him. "Ch-Ch-Cheesy." You whispered under your breath, handing him his phone. "T-T-T-T-Taehyung was y-y-y-your f-f-friend?"

"My best friend." He chuckled without any humor. "But his brother got him into this shit, then Taehyung got Sooyoung into it, and then Sooyoung got me wrapped into it when I tried to get her out of it." It was your turn for your thumb to brush across his skin in an attempt to soothe old wounds. "I was so fucking blinded by love that I thought I could save what didn't want to be saved."

There was a moment of silence, and then: "H-H-How did i-i-it ha-ha-ha-happen?"

"Girls, as you are probably aware, are rare in our line of work." He swallowed, trying to remember without actually remembering. "She was well liked--too well liked--and another enemy of Tae's gunned for her in an attempt to get to him. The only problem with that thought process is that one: Taehyung had one thing that was important to him and that was his brother and two: his brother had fucked up any sense of that boy's humanity. When I found her--when I went to save her--she was badly injured; she was begging me to end it for her."

"Fucking do it."

He screwed his eyes shut, hearing that gunshot reverberate through his skull. "So I did." The pressure of your hand squeezing his brought him to the reality where you were--where Sooyoung wasn't. "Secretly, I think I hated her for making me do it. I hated her for falling for Taehyung instead of me."

"Y-Y-You hated h-h-her for b-b-bringing you i-i-into t-this."

"Yes." Jimin turned to fully look at you--really look at you. You were nothing like Sooyoung, not in the slightest. Yet, there you were sweaty, hurt, and in danger because of him. Sooyoung would have accepted her fate--but you were smiling and giving him those fucking glitter eyes that had so much hope that he could almost believe that this wasn't his fault.

That you weren't hurt because of him because you loved him and he...he was hopelessly head over heels for you to the point that any attempt at denial died with his hope of keeping you safe and unharmed.

"I can't even compare the two of you." He murmured, shaking his head. "You are so strong compared to her. You have friends, a job, and so many people that love and cherish you. You never stop even when you should. I just can't believe you've made such a stupid mistake."

"W-W-What?"

"You've made a mistake in falling for someone like me."

You pinched his finger, causing him to snap his hand out from under yours. "Y-Y-You're the o-o-one wh-wh-who made t-t-the m-m-mi-mistake."

He flicked your forehead, lightly, but enough that you winced. "Not a chance. It's natural for someone like me to fall for someone like you; I am tainted and you are so pristine that I feel like the act of holding your hand will make you dirty. Isn't there that thing that devils just want to drag angels to their level or some stupid bullshit like that? Gah, Namjoon really just--"

You bit his shoulder since it was too difficult for you to gather enough force to hit him in your current state.

He shouted in pain, cursing at you until you pouted up at him.

"S-St-St-Stop being an A-A-Asshole."

"How about you stop being a bitch?"

"D-D-D-Dick f-f-face."

"Whore."

"M-M-Manhoe."

"Fucker."

"B-B-B-Buttface." Your lips curled into a smile and suddenly he found that he couldn't keep his chuckles buried in his chest any longer.

"Ow." He laughed, his head falling forward until his forehead met yours. "That one really hurt, you know?"

"G-G-G-G-Good." You giggled, your eyelashes tickling him.

He hated the way that he wanted to kiss you again; he hated that he wanted to hold you down and show you just how bad you had weaseled your way into his chest. He hated that you were still shaking, still burning to the touch from a man that used you as bait. He was afraid because he didn't care that you were hurt, he still wanted to kiss you; he was afraid that if he started to, he wouldn't be able to stop--he wouldn't be able to hold back.

He promised himself he couldn't taint you any more than he already had.

So, instead, he lifted his chin to kiss your forehead before helping you lay down so you could rest your head on his lap. You needed to sleep, and he was thankful that you allowed him to run his fingers through your hair to help you fall into your dreams. Sure enough, within minutes, you let out soft snores.

The mark on your neck was now purpling, signaling him that he had to call Hoseok and he had to do it before it was too late. Jimin quickly pounded his number, licking his lips as he stared at the television without retaining any of the information about E-Z soap being blasted at him by an overly loud salesman.

"Hey." He murmured as Hoseok answered with a startled 'ARE YOU OKAY' only to pause as Yoongi let out a string of curses in the background. Jimin rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. I--" Jimin paused again as Yoongi shouted something about foot up an ass and all his family will go to hell if he doesn't get his ass back there. "I need you to come here and help me--I don't know what she was given." He paused for the third time, hearing Hoseok shout something along the lines of 'I know you're worrying but please SHUT THE FUCK UP.'

"We'll be on our way shortly. Yoongi needs an ice bath to cool down the smoke in his ears."

"I can hear that. Have Namjoon call Yoorin too--I think that she needs to be here; she knows Y/N best."

Hoseok must have taken it as, 'let's put Namjoon on the line' because suddenly the other man was picking up the phone with a gentle "How is she?"

"She's...she's doing alright now; she's asleep." Jimin's finger ran lightly across your cheek; he decided right then and there that his tattooed skin looked so horribly wrong against yours. "I need you to call Yoorin." Another pause. "This is all my fault."

Namjoon said nothing, just waiting for the inevitable end to the incoherent ramblings of a man lost to love.

"I told her." Jimin whispered, half hoping Namjoon couldn't hear it.

He could. "What'd she say?"

"She loves me." Jimin's voice cracked. "She said she loves me."

"That's great, Jimin. That's really so great."

His fingers trailed down to circle the clean skin around the bruising on your neck, his chest tightening when your brows twitched in pain amongst the softness of your sleep.

"When are you leaving us and for how long?"

Jimin squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to see your glitter eyes on the backs of his eyelids. "As soon as she's better--I'll allow myself to stay until she's better. And then...and then I don't know--until she stops looking for me. Considering she's a girl who doesn't do anything crazy, I think that she will give up relatively soon."

"Should I tell Yoongi?"

"No. Don't tell anyone. I just need her to be over me and then I'll be back and we can go on as normal."

"But how long will it really take for normal? How long will it take for you to get over her?"

"Bye Namjoon." Jimin chuckled, quickly hanging up the phone before he said something that would dig himself a deeper grave in the valley of lost love.