#in this swirling mess of an episode that made me so emotional because it's so earnest and real to life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

florencwrites · 3 years ago

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ignoring is bliss 〚technoblade〛

in which [reader] struggles with her lover's inconsequent affection, and a good talk is unfortunately inevitable; the silent treatment has never worked well with techno.

"I don't know what you want me to say." His back had still been turned towards me at this point, the rake heavy in my hands as I tried using it to steady myself in the muddy stable. He kept loading dirty plucks of hay onto his pitchfork, the thinly lined buttoned shirt he was wearing easily letting his back muscles shine through.

I stood silently behind him, deliberating my words thoroughly. I hated when he acted like this, I absolutely despised him. He was one of the smartest men I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, however, the second things went sideways conversation-wise he always played it painfully personally. He would start correcting my grammar or suggest synonyms for otherwise satisfactory sentences. "I don't either."

"I guess that marks the end of this conversation." He turned around to dump his gathered muck in the makeshift wheelbarrow Phil had built us. His face was hard, his brows furrowed and his features lax. He seemed indifferent, his attitude scaring me to pieces.

"Tech, please." I tried, putting one of my hands up to gesture for him to stop walking. He was now barely lifting the barrow from the ground, ready to head off to the dump. He huffed, his eyes meeting the floor as he put the wagon down. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I'm sorry," I muttered softly.

He ducked to grip his hands around the handles again, lifting it from the ground. His knuckles were white where they held onto the leather-covered grips. "Speak up."

"I want to have a conversation with you, okay? Stop acting so fucking stuck up and talk to me." His shoulder brushed past mine as he exited the stables, my voice was high in emotions, definitely on the verge of breaking with desperation.

He snorted. "I'll listen to whatever you have to say when you've calmed down."

"He won't talk to me, Phil." I groaned almost obnoxiously loud, taking a sip of water to wash down both my dinner and my agitation. "You know how he gets."

"All pissy? Tell me about it." He chuckled softly, his forearm shielding his bowl from my sight. He shoveled another spoonful of beef stew into his mouth. Phil and I had never been extraordinarily close, he reckoned Techno and me to be undeserving of each other. A terrible pair. And perhaps we were, at times like this I couldn't help but doubt whether or not we truly were the destined lovers we often thought ourselves to be. "I'll bring him some food later."

I laughed at him, a father at heart. A father to anyone but his actual sons, really. A playful grin on my lips, "You're an enabler, Phil."

That night I crawled into an empty bed. One I hadn't even doubted would be just that; empty. He was weak like that, he'd do anything to avoid conflict. Whether that was because he was afraid of what his blinding rage fits would conjure, or whether he was just an impotent coward. Someone who didn't know how to act around uncertainty and immorality and thus resorted to blaming everything on his treacherous temper.

The sheets still smelled of him, I held them to my nose.

There was no reason for us to fight, I hadn't meant to start one. I simply wanted him to realize how different he acted towards me when surrounded by any crowd. He acted so distant it made me doubt not only us, but myself. My heart ached anytime he pulled his hand away from where I tried leaving him a subtle touch. My skin crawled when he no longer referred to me by the mild, but unmissably warm names he had for me.

However, nothing would ever hurt me as much as meeting his eyes in a room of our friends and seeing the love seep from his irises. Physically witnessing his affection turn into nothing short of mere acquaintance.

Everyone knew us. There was no reason for him to act so cold, so distant. Though, I also recognized that perhaps there was an underlying reason. One I simply hadn't thought of, or perhaps one that I couldn't ever imagine. One that he had retained from his troublesome past.

The thing is, it hurt me to think he didn't trust me enough with his reasoning. That he didn't want to tell me about his thoughts. I'd been extremely careful and meticulous with any information he'd granted me, I was sure to never let what he told me change my opinion of him. I vowed to never look at him any different.

So, why could he not promise me the same?

There was no point in pushing myself from my sheets the next morning. I knew how long his episodes usually lasted, I wouldn't even have to try talking to him for at least two more days. Normally, I'd try, though. I'd sit in the grass right next to where he was working outside, just talking to him about anything and everything I could think of. Back then I thought for his silence to mean confusion, I thought his swirling mind simply needed a break. That a distraction would do him good.

I sat in the barely-molten grass for hours, never getting a reply.

His smell was constricting my airways slowly, every inhale making it harder and harder to breathe. What if Phil was right, what if he truly didn't love me, or not anymore at least? What if it was all an act to have a warm body to fall asleep next to, to have an extra set of hands around the cottage.

I kicked at the sheets, desperate to get them away from me, to get them from clinging to my sweaty body. I only tangled my legs further into the mess. The bed creaked loudly against the wooden floor of the attic, a gust of wind running through a small gap in the roof.

I shot up, finally being able to rid my body of the sheets. I huffed a few times, the annoyance getting the better of me. I slung my legs over the side of the bed, now just sitting on the wooden frame, letting my eyes wander over the walls. The pictures of us that were tightly tacked to the planks, photos of our favorite pets and our best of friends. Photos of us with Phil and Tommy, and even a stray photo of me and Wilbur, back when we were kids.

My gaze found its way towards the singular window behind our bed, the only one of two walls that weren't entirely slanted. His red robe stood out like a sore thumb in the feeble blanket of slushy snow that had been slowly accumulating over the course of the night. Summer was officially over once again, and the cold would soon make it so we could no longer afford to sleep alone.

He rarely wore his robe outside of special occasions, he usually would simply opt for one of his brown ones. One was trimmed with a thick deer fur, the leather on it sure to keep all frost out. The other one was his summer one, the more dirty one of the two. It was always stained with blood, since it would also be the one he went hunting with. He disliked hunting in the winter, the harsh winds and easily discernible prints made it no fun, according to him. He stacked up during the summer, drying his meats to allow them to be kept safe for months, if not years.

But now he was wearing his red robe, lined with the finest of polar bear fur. The one that had the special compartments for his potions, and the one I had sown a totem into. For good luck. He rarely wore it for any occasion but war.

He pushed himself from the ground, turning around swiftly; the velocity making his cape whisk dramatically up in the wind. His eyes seemed fixated on the ground until they unwarrantedly shot up to the window I was sitting at. Any other day, I would've averted my gaze. Not now. He knew I was staring, and he was allowed to know so. I held my eyes on him until his feet carried him out of sight, into the house. I sighed softly, I felt entirely forlorn without him, without his caring hands and loving eyes. I let myself fall back into the bed, cuddling the sheets once again as I curled away from the entrance. I reckoned he would have to change out of his robe soon, and I didn't want to face him when he did.

I heard the front door slam, and as predicted the rungs of the many ladders soon creaked in his hold. The worn, practically ancient, trapdoor was pushed ajar behind me. I couldn't be bothered to turn to meet his eyes. However, instead of quietly changing out of his clothes, I felt the bed dip. He sat on the side of it, much alike to how I had found myself just minutes before.

"I don't like feeling weak." His voice was rougher than usual, it kept its usual monotone aura, but for some reason, it felt more emotional than ever before. He cleared his throat as if to try and mask it, to no avail, "I don't love you any less."

I shifted in the bed, though, he quickly stopped me, "Don't look at me, that just makes it harder."

I obliged. He let out a trembling sigh, taking his sweet time to deliberate his next words, "Sometimes we are outside together and I'm afraid that when they see how much I care about you, they will realize that you make me weak." I stared at the wall, still curled into the blankets. I wanted nothing more than to hold his face, look at him as he spoke. Instead, I had to make do with the pictures of his face plastered on the wood. His pointy, flappy ears and peaked nose. The two sharp-looking fangs set in the corners of his lips, ones that seemed to disappear when he smiled. He didn't like smiling for pictures, I didn't have a single one of the two of us together where he smiled. The only ones that showed his beautiful pearly whites were the ones that had me behind the camera, something I only then realized might've not been a coincidence.

"It scares me to think they could hurt you for loving me, that's why I don't like holding your hand in town." I shot a quick look over my shoulder, his back was slouched over, his head in his hands with his elbows propped on his knees. He wasn't crying, he simply seemed lost."I never realized that what scares me even more is the idea of you not loving me at all."

I slowly crept from under the sheets as his words fell silent. I crawled over towards where he was sat, near the foot-end of the bed. I took one of his hands from where he had rested his face on it and pulled it out of the way.

I snaked my arms around his neck, pulling my body into his. I draped my legs over his lap as I held him. His built arms felt tender against my exposed back, however, he held me tight. He squeezed softly as another quivering breath escaped his lips. We sat in embrace for a while.

"That's all I asked for, Tech." I smiled into his neck. "I just wanted to talk, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Shut up." He playfully tried pushing me away from his torso, underestimating the power of my cling. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years ago

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Worth the World

Spike x Reader

Words: 2459

Summary: On a particularly bad day, the reader can barely bring herself to get out of bed. Spike does his best to comfort his girlfriend without being overbearing.

Notes: This is inspired by one of my favorite fics ever by @suckmysupernatural. I got this idea when having a depressive episode myself, so I hope you guys enjoy a little comfort fic with one of my favorite vamps. Plus, I’ve never written for Spike before and since I’m getting back into Buffy, I thought this would be the perfect time. (Also, this is entirely based on my own experience, so it might not be everyone’s experience with this kind of thing {but please be nice, I just used a few of the things I felt so it’s all based on my own emotions and insecurities!}) Enjoy!

Warnings: Depression, self-loathing, anxiety (This imagine was really just a way for me to put down my emotions and write something comforting, but I hope you all like it too)

You didn’t want to move. You weren’t really sure if you could. Your limbs just felt… heavy. Forcing your legs to move, you slowly swung them over the side of the bed, using all the strength you could muster to sit up straight.

It wasn’t that something terrible had happened. In fact, the day before had gone pretty well. You’d spent most of it watching movies with Willow and Buffy and, when the sunset, you went on a long evening walk with your boyfriend. There were no deadly forces plotting world domination, no vengeful vamps after you or your friends. Hell, your favorite restaurant was open and you brought home leftovers for breakfast.

Now, the idea of eating made your stomach turn. You managed to shuffle your way to the kitchen of your apartment, but just stood in front of the counter, leaning on the marble top for support. Just standing there felt like it took every ounce of energy you had. It was almost painful, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You did your best to keep them from falling. You had places to be today, meeting up with the gang and you didn’t want to worry them with your moping.

With slow steps, you made your way back to your room to get dressed. Of course, most of your clothes were dirty and you didn’t care enough to wash them. So you threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and put on some shoes, hoping no one would ask about it. You caught your reflection and felt that dark, empty feeling in your chest grow. Pathetic. Your shoulders sagged forward and you blinked away more tears as you watched them well in your eyes. You didn’t have the right to feel like this. How much had Buffy been through and she still greeted every day with a smile. Everything was perfect and yet you were pathetic enough to still want to crawl back into bed. You just hoped that you would feel better by the time you saw everyone. Especially Spike.

You sat with your legs pulled up to your chest. Xander and Willow were debating whether or not using wooden bullets would be a good vamp killer. Buffy was listening in amusement and Giles just looked exasperated, distracting himself by putting books back in their proper place on the shelves. No one said anything about your pajamas. You actually felt kind of invisible, like no one even really knew you were there. It made the empty feeling that much worse.

“What do you think, Y/N?”

“Xander, don’t you think that’s a little insensitive?”

“What? It’s not like we’re planning on dusting her boyfriend. Even if he is annoying and evil and-”

“Xander.” Willow said sternly. When you looked up, everyone’s eyes were on you.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Your voice held little to no emotion. You were almost too exhausted to feel anything. You just felt hollow.

“If I shot Spike with a wooden bullet do you think he would, you know,” Xander made a motion with his hands that was meant to simulate a vampire dying. “Just theoretically, of course.”

Everyone was expecting a witty remark. You and Xander were close and teased each other often, especially about your relationship with Spike. Instead, you just shrugged, your eyes fixating on a spot on the table.

“Maybe.”

The group collectively exchanged a look of concern, but didn’t press anything. After all, what reason could there be for you to be upset? They knew that if something had happened with Spike, you would tell them and there weren’t any recent deaths to worry about, so they continued on with their playful conversations about breaking curses and some movie that they had watched recently. It felt like you were intruding- like an unwanted bystander that everyone wished would just disappear. While no one had said anything like that, the thoughts filled your head nonetheless.

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but you’d never told them. An episode like this hadn’t happened in months so you had hoped they had stopped. Some days you were as happy as you ever had been, but others you felt like a burden. Worthless and pathetic- pitying yourself for no reason at all.

Spike didn’t even know, even after almost a year of dating. You never dreamed of telling him. Spike was always saying that you were the strong one. You were the one that helped him through every day of his endless living. He got his soul for you. What would he say if he saw you like this? If he knew the doubts and loathing going through your head. He would know that you’re weak and vulnerable and you didn’t want that to happen.

So you didn’t tell them. You kept all of your thoughts inside of you as they ate away at your mind. On the outside, you just looked tired. Everyone knew that you stayed awake into the late hours because of Spike, so you hoped that’s what they would think. You were tired, but it wasn’t from lack of sleep. It was like your body just wanted to give up. Maybe if you could just wake yourself up, everything would go back to normal.

Buffy and Willow went out for coffee, so you went with them, hoping the caffeine would be enough to shake you out of this. Instead, it just made you more jumpy and anxious. The cup shook in your hand, but you kept drinking, still hoping that it would give you enough energy to fake it. This, like your out-of-it demeanor, did not go unnoticed.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Buffy asked, suddenly stopping her conversation with Willow about shoes. At first, you didn’t realize she was talking to you. You were so focused on the thoughts swarming around in your head, you hadn’t noticed they were both looking at you with concern.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been spacing out all morning. What’s going on?”

“I guess I’m just tired.” You shrugged, grimacing from the effort the small movement took.

“Are you sure? Did Spike do something stupid, because you know I’ll-”

“Really, Buffy, I’m okay. I think I just need to go home and rest for a while.” You finished the rest of the coffee, feeling your heart beat faster as the anxiety built up in your chest. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

“Okay.” Buffy gave you a skeptical glance and Willow smiled sincerely.

“Feel better, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you guys later.” You faked the best smile you could before turning away from them.

“Is she going to be okay?” Willow wondered, watching the way you nervously messed with the hem of your shirt as you walked. Buffy narrowed her eyes and grabbed her bag.

“I don’t know, but if she won’t talk to us about it, there’s one person she will.”

“Oh do we have to go there? You know that place gives me the creeps.” Willow whined. Buffy just gave her a look and the two trekked off in search of your sun-hating boyfriend.

You stood in the middle of your living room as the tears slowly started to pour down your cheeks. The coffee must have given you enough energy to cry and now you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you just stood, frozen by the overwhelming emptiness inside you. Pathetic. Useless. Worthless. Everything was swirling around your head, breaking you down further until you had to lean against the window sill to stay standing.

You could faintly hear something outside your door, but you made no motion to open it. It sounded far away, or maybe you were just blocking it out. All you could hear was your heart pounding, along with the hundreds of doubts rattling in your head. It was until the door burst open that you flinched.

“First, the slayer comes banging on my crypt, telling me that something’s wrong and then you leave me to break down your door- if I could die, you would have scared me to death. Why didn’t you open the door?” Spike huffed in frustration. You didn’t turn around. Frankly, you hardly noticed he was there. His irritation quickly faded, replaced by worry. “Y/N, love, what is it?”

You still didn’t respond, keeping your back turned with your hands clinging to the window sill to keep from falling. Spike approached you slowly and you thought you heard his footsteps, but part of you thought you were just imagining him. Why would he come for you? It was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky. A rush of guilt washed over you. He came here despite the danger of being burned and you didn’t even have a reason. You’d put him at risk for your own pitiful problems.

“Darling, why won’t you look at me?” He took another step towards you, but stopped. The sun’s rays created a shield around you, preventing him from pulling you into his arms. “If you could just lower the blinds, that would make this far less awkward.”

“You d-didn’t need to come here. T-the sun.” You stammered. You wanted to reach for the curtains, but you still couldn’t move your arms without your legs giving out.

“A little sunlight isn’t going to stop from me from getting to you,” he said sincerely. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him rush to the window, the sound of his skin sizzling in the light made you let go of the ledge. Your legs buckled just as he got the curtains closed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You had hurt him. All you had to do was reach up and shut out the sunlight and you couldn’t even do that. He burned himself just to reach you.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s alright.” He held you up for a moment before sinking to the floor to hold you in his lap. “I’ve got you love, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you shouldn’t be here, Spike. I’m not-” You hid your face from his view so he would see the tears. “I’m not worth all of this. There’s something wrong with me. One minute I’m fine and the next I’m like this and I don’t even know why. I don’t have a reason to feel like this. It’s like I’m… broken or something.”

“You aren’t broken.” Spike said softly, tucking your head under his chin and gently rocking you back and forth. “You’re human.”

He held you like that for a long while, not saying anything or even moving off of the floor. He didn’t make you look at him until he was sure you had relaxed enough. Putting a finger under your chin, he gently lifted your face to meet his.

“I’m sorry about all this.” You sniffed, using your sleeve to wipe some of the dampness off your cheeks.

“I don’t want to hear those worse from you for the rest of the day.” Spike gave you a small smile and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I would trek across deserts wrapped in a blanket if it meant being here with you. Every second is worth it.” Now, he lowered his lips down to yours for a slow, sweet kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with the soul of a man in love. “To me, love, you’re worth the world.”

You stared into his eyes and knew that he meant every single word. While it didn’t chase away your doubts or the empty feeling in your chest, it helped you see that this feeling would end. And for now, that was enough.

“I love you.” You whispered, pulling him closer. He kissed the top of your head.

“I love you too, darling.” He hooked his arm under your knees and stood, holding you against his chest. “Now, why don’t I get you something to eat and we can spend the day in bed?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Spike.” You laughed lightly.

“There,” He beamed, “I knew I could get a smile.”

He carried you into your room and placed you on your usual side of the bed, laying your fluffiest blanket over top of you. Then he vanished into your kitchen, the sound of your cupboards opening and shutting reminding you that he had no idea where anything was. It almost made you smile. He came back in with a bowl of your favorite cereal, a class of milk, and a thin leather bound journal.

“What’s that?” You wondered as he climbed into the bed beside you. He handed you the cereal and milk and put his arm around you, pulling you close.

“Eat your cereal.” He ordered teasingly, opening up to the first page. You tried to look over his shoulder, but he pulled the book away, laughing. “Do you want me to read or not?”

“What is it?” Your curiosity made your tone amused and playful. You were starting to sound like you again.

“Well, ever since I got this pesky soul back, I’ve had an unbearable amount of feelings running about in my head, so I figured I could at least put them to good use.”

“Spike, are they…?” You perked up with excitement. He smiled sheepishly.

“Poems.” He looked down at seemingly endless pages of his writings and back at you. “They’re mostly about you, of course. I thought, maybe, you’d like to hear them. See if they’d make you feel a little better.” You were almost too awestruck to nod.

“I’d really like that.”

With your cereal in hand, you curled up beside him, laying your head back against his shoulder. He read softly and slowly, his gentleness with his words almost lulling you to sleep. The poems were beautiful, forcing you to stay awake if only to hear one more word. Spike felt you relaxed against him as he read and paused his reading to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and lastly your lips.

You felt the emptiness for a few more days, but each day, he was by your side, making sure you ate and gave yourself time to breathe. By the time you started to feel normal again, he’d read most of his poems and continued to write more and you were able to go for your evening walks without feeling exhausted. Your friends were more than supportive and helped you through it all while still giving you the space you needed.

It wasn’t the last time an episode like this happened, but now you always knew that, no matter what, you’d never be alone.

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks; @kendahl0216

#spike x reader #james marsters #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs #spike #spike buffy #xander harris #buffy summers #willow rosenberg #buffyverse #comfort fic #depressive episode #comfort boyfriend fic #cute

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rare-blog-enteries · 2 years ago

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Beauty and Hatred sitting in a tree / K I S S I N G

Date: 4 September 2022

My partner in literature @pagesandproses

Sometimes I wonder if I drink moonlight. True love is often described as intoxicating. And I often find myself inebriated afterwards...as I am right now, perhaps that is why I find myself overwhelmed and yet somewhere deep down….very very very deep down, a little happy.

Thanks for all the encouragement in your previous email. I can’t begin to tell you how comforting it was.

I find myself being full of hate today. I doubt the reasons for it will be comfortable for you to read. I’d rather not burden anyone with it. However, I do not wish for that to be reflected in this email. So, here are random things I find beautiful. I will express the strength of my anger and hate through beauty. So here’s me channelling my inner Van Gogh.

As Ali Smith wrote once,’It was a Sunday in September. There would only be four.’ A simple line but it made me emotional. Perhaps it is just the emotions and hormones in me. Perhaps it is the moonlight. Perhaps I am mad. Perhaps it is just a beautiful line.

I was walking today to a really beautiful and somewhat wild park. It is very close to our hostel so we often walk there before dinner to either idle around (as we did today) or walk as fast as we can and call it ‘exercise’. While walking towards the park, I saw the sky and the brightness. I love when the street lights are not the usual white kind. When they shine that deep cadmium yellow glow into the concrete streets…oof. It just overwhelms me. It is one of those subtle moments of admiration; admiration of the world, of the concept of beauty, of the realisation that maybe humanity has not fucked everything up. So insignificant, but honestly these were the exact thoughts swirling in my brain as I walked to the playground.

Van gogh. People say that his work reflects the beauty in pain. He was hurt and yet he beautified life. He reflected the world he saw in his depressed state. I would beg to differ. I read that he was not allowed to enter his studio when he had his depressive/self-harm episodes because he’d try to consume the paint, which in those times contained toxic metals. So, he could only create art when he was trying to recover. He does not reflect pain, he reflects the desperation to get better; to regain the right to find peace in art, which was stolen everytime he got worse and to recover enough to fight the world that stood against him in every step. I find that beautiful.

And the horizon. I also love when the sky is deep blue and the horizon is just like nah man, I feel pink today. It reminds me of when I first read about Persephone on Tumblr, badass queen of the underworld and the pretty goddess of flowers. The range! This is how I calm myself down when I find myself contradicting my thoughts. If the sky, vast, immaculate and powerful can choose to be so unique and express so much at once then perhaps I will be okay too. I'm only me. Nothing more. So if the sky gets away with it then so can I. Now I just have to wait for someone to find my shades as pretty as I find the sky to be.

Sometimes I am materialistic, sometimes I wish to run away with nothing but strength to survive. And that’s okay.

I’ll be okay.

Perhaps.

Your messed up weirdo

Misty

#penpal #penpals #writers #writers trying their best

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imagine-that · 4 years ago

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Gone

Pairing: Alex Karev x reader

Warnings: ANGST! Mentions of abandonment, spoilers for season 16 episode 16

Your heart pounded against your chest as you opened the crisply folded letter with shaking fingers.

You could still remember the last time you spoke to him, the last words you shared. You were so scared he was hurt or dead or something in the past week. The letter was a relief but the idea of getting that instead of his typical lengths of communication like a text or phone call was unnerving.

“Dr y/l/n?” You heard Owen calling to you but your ears were ringing too strongly to focus on his words.

You were on his service for the day but this was immediately trumping any form of work you were supposed to be getting to.

“Y/n,

I’m not good with words. I never have been, as I know you know. So I’m just going to start out with it. I’m not beating around the bush on this one. I am in Kansas with Izzie. I know it may come as a shock or betrayal or something like that but it’s the truth. When I was reaching out to people for Mer’s hearing, I called her. A little girl answered and I had no idea why. It didn’t register at first. But then she gave Izzie the phone. Izzie was shocked to hear from me but she quickly told me about our kids. Ours. I’m a father. I never realized how much I wanted that until it was a reality. I went out here to meet them and I just can’t bring myself to leave them or to come back. The minute I looked at those big brown eyes of my little boy, I was a goner. I will always love you, more than you could possibly ever know. You’re the greatest love of my life and for that I will always thank you. I wish it didn’t have to go like this. It shouldn’t go like this. You’ve been there for me since the Dr Evil Spawn days and I’m a shit guy for not being able to say the same. I’ve left my share of the hospital and my seat on the board in your name. I know that can’t make up for this but it’s the best I’ve got. I love you. But I’m still in love with Izzie. I hope someday you’ll forgive me. I hope someday you’ll be happier than I ever could’ve possibly made you.

Alex.”

You drop the letter on the table, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, your hand covering your open mouth as a small sob escapes.

You felt more naive than ever, thinking he was just visiting his mom. Thinking he was coming back for you, coming back TO you. Your mind swirled with random things you might’ve missed, that he might’ve done or said that could tip you off.

“Y/l/n!” Hunt repeated louder, bringing you back to your senses.

“What?!” You snap, turning your tearful gaze to him.

“Are you ready to prep for our surgery or not goddamnit?” He demands. You jump out of your chair, no longer feeling like you can stay sitting down.

“No I’m not.” You mutter, running your hands through your hair.

“Did you just say you’re unprepared for a surgery we’ve had on the board since yesterday y/l/n?!” He asks, bewildered by your response.

“Yes, yes I did! And before you say anything more on the subject, it isn’t because I didn’t study long and hard or because I got drunk last night and am hungover because I’m not! It’s because I just found out my boyfriend, the absolute love of my fucking life is gone! He left me for his ex and her secret kids! I am officially alone and I can’t bear it, I can’t even breathe! The one person who matters to me is gone, without so much as a proper goodbye! So ask someone else to scrub in just this one time, for the patients sake and my own Hunt.” You cry out, your eyes stinging with tears.

He reaches over to comfort you, unsure what else to do but you hold out your hands to stop him.

“Focus on the patient Hunt. She needs you more than I do.” You instruct, blinking away the tears to try and lower his concern.

He takes a moment but finally he leaves, making sure the door shuts behind him for you.

As you hear the hinges settle, you fall the the floor in an emotional fit. Your hands rest on your head, running through your hair. The room is silent, all except for your loud sobbing.

You hiccup, trying to catch your breath, trying to find the will to get up and get back to anything.

Soon, the door opens and you gasp for air, trying to regain calmness for whoever it was.

“Save the acting job y/l/n, I just read a letter from Alex Karev handing in his resignation and came right down here. Get over here.” Bailey orders, holding her arms wide open.

You scramble to your feet, not wasting any time in getting into her hug. She holds you, rubbing your back soothingly as you cry into her shoulder.

“He-he said he’d never- never leave me.” You stammer between hiccups. “He- he promised me!” You sob, letting all your unsaid words fall out of your mouth for Bailey to hear.

“I know y/n, I know.” She says, patting down your hair.

You start to catch your breath a bit, pulling away from her and crossing your arms over your chest.

“I kind of made a mess of your sweater, I’m so sorry chief Bailey.” You mutter, staring down at your simple white shoes in shame.

“Oh please, it can be washed. You feel free to let it all out if you need to.” She dismisses, smiling sadly at you.

Suddenly your pager buzzed. With a sniffle, you checked it quickly and pulled your hair back, quickly blowing your nose and wiping your eyes afterwards.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Bailey asks, eyeing you.

“That was Dr Hunt, he needs me down in the pit while he’s in surgery.” You explain, sniffling a little more.

“Oh no. Nuh uh. You’ll send an intern for that. I’m calling Wilson up here and she’s going to take you home.” She orders.

“Bailey, I’m fine. Really.” You promise her but you both know you’re lying.

“No.” She says sternly. “Stay here!” She orders, walking out into the hallway.

It doesn’t take her long to spot Jo walking down the hall. She brings her in to the room and shuts the door.

“I trust you’ll be very, VERY discreet with this Wilson.” She warns, walking off to order someone else around.

“What’s happening?” Jo asks, obviously very confused.

Too tired and emotionally distraught to explain, you simply point at the letter laying on the table.

She skims it over and without a word, envelopes you in a strong hug.

“Wilson, I can’t breathe.” You sigh quietly.

“Sorry. It’s just- you two were perfect together. You were the perfect example of a healthy, happy couple. I thought- everyone thought you two were soulmates.” She rambles.

“Well everyone thought wrong, he loves someone else. Would you please drive me ho- to Avery’s? I just- I can’t be at home right now. I can hardly call that place home without him...” You plead, getting teary eyes all over again.

“Of course! Let’s go, I just have to change out of my scrubs. You probably should too.” She suggests but you shake your head.

The clothes you’d worn to work that day held memories. Alex had given you the shirt for your Christmas present a few years ago when he’d been too stupid to think of something meaningful. The shoes were ones you’d worn on your first official date. The jeans were the ones you’d worn the first day of intern year, the first day you’d met him.

There was no possible way you could put any of them on without your entire body aching and longing for his touch.

“Ok, ok. I’ll meet you in the lobby. Just one second.” She orders, leaving the room.

You stand there for a moment, hugging your arms around yourself.

When Jo returns, Avery’s with her.

“What is it y/n, I was about to head into a surgery.” He says impatiently.

You give Jo a tired warning look, to which she responds with a sympathetic, sad smile.

“Alex left. He isn’t coming back.” You sigh hoarsely.

He looks completely shocked, blinking at you for a second.

“Are- are you ok? What do you need?” He asks, rushing to your side.

“I’m fine just- is it ok if I stay at yours?” You ask, biting down on your thumbnail absentmindedly.

“Of course! Stay as long as you need, you have a key right?” He says, looking even more concerned than before. You simply nod.

“I’m gonna give y/n a ride over there then but could you go down to the lobby with him/her/them and just stay there while I change? No one should have to be alone if something like this happens.” Jo explains.

You numbly grab your pager off the table along with the letter and follow Avery down to the lockers where you quickly grab your things, barely glancing at them as you do so.

He leads the way to the lobby wearily, acting far over protective of you.

You stand in silence staring at your shoes, practically enough to burn holes into them. Few people try to stop and ask questions but when they do, Jackson puts a stop to it with a simple look.

Soon Jo rejoins you and takes your arm, leading you to her car in the parking lot. Avery says goodbye but you don’t respond, too scared to speak.

You sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window at the Seattle night scene, feeling more empty than you ever had in your entire life.

——————————————————

6 months later...

You wearily let your knuckle tap the door a few times, fidgeting with your bare right ring finger. Not long ago, a silver ring had a place there. Not long ago, the person who presented you with that ring had his arms around you, smiling softly at you. That smile continued to haunt your dreams, your mind, your everything.

Maybe what you were doing was a bad idea. You knew that. But you needed it. It was like an itch, you couldn’t not scratch it.

A perky looking blonde opened the door and you didn’t even have to look at her to know who it was. Her long hair was in a perfect ponytail, she wore an apron covered in flour and had a little girl attached to her leg.

“Hi, how can I help you?” She asked with a friendly smile.

“Izzie I presume?” You say, gritting your teeth and cursing yourself for your idiotic decision to come out here.

“Yes? Do I know you?” She asks, clearly puzzled.

“No I guess not. I uh... I started at Grey-Sloan the same year as you. As an intern.” You explain vaguely, feeling too cowardly to go any deeper into detail.

The little girl peers up at you, clearly very curious. It’s enough to make you want to run away, never look back.

“Alexis honey, go find daddy and tell him he has a visitor.” She tells the small girl. She nods up to her, running off with a big smile.

The blonde eyes you up and down and you nervously rub your hand up and down your arm, trying to figure out what to do with your hands.

“Izzie who’s at the do-.” A painfully familiar voice starts, his mouth agape as your eyes meet.

“Hi.” You say sheepishly.

“Y/n...” He says, more like a statement than anything else.

“Daddy who’s your friend? She’s/he’s/they’re real pretty.” The little girl says with a shy grin.

You smile at her a bit, trying to keep from crying again.

“Thank you. So are you.” You reply with a forced smile.

“Kids go with your mom and help her with the cookies. Daddy and his friend need to talk.” Alex says, his eyes never leaving your face.

Izzie watches you both for a moment, hesitant to leave you alone until Alex gives her a pleading look and she takes each kid into their extravagant kitchen.

“Let’s um... let’s go and talk outside.” He suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t say another word and you follow him out to the yard, sitting down with him.

“How did you even find out where I live?” He asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Well, I first considered paying a PI to track you down. I wanted to make you feel even a fraction of what I felt.” You admit honestly.

He nods but completely avoids all eye contact.

“But then Meredith told me you gave her the address in your letter to her. That you invited her to meet your kids.” You add, kicking your feet around to distract yourself.

“Those letters must’ve arrived pretty late, I sent them over 6 months ago.” He mutters, biting at his index finger.

“No... they got there then. I just- I couldn’t bring myself to come out here and make a damn fool of myself.” You respond, biting your bottom lip. “Kind of like I’m doing now.” You add under your breath.

“Y/n, why are you here?” He asks, finally meeting your eyes with his own.

“Well evil spawn,” you start off and he does the half grin that makes your head spin every time, even now. “I had to see you. I had to see what it was you- you left me for.” You admit with a gulp.

“Y/n-“ he says but you shake your head.

“No. Let me finish. Please.” You whisper, your eyes watering again. He nods for you to proceed. “When I met you, that first day of intern year, you were a complete ass. Charming, funny but a complete ass. I got to know you and I fell for you, fell hard. My heart practically beat just for you. When you left... I was devastated. I didn’t know how I could live. I didn’t know how I could do what I love and work with all these kids, some of which you treated their entire lives.” You explain.

“Y/n I never meant to hurt you.” He promises, gulping down a lump in his throat.

“Don’t you think I know that?” You ask with a sad laugh. “God, I know you would never mean to. But I just- we have this... this story. I loved you. I loved you with everything I had and I just- your shares and your seat don’t make up for those years of love and memories I have. That WE have.” You say, tears streaming down your face.

“I remember the first time we were in the on call room together and you were already asleep and I came in and turned on the lights and you were so angry until you looked up and saw it was me. You started flirting, suggesting we share a bed to keep room for other Doctors. You actually fell off that bunk and said ‘guess I really fell for you huh’. That was the first day you made me smile the way you always did. It was the first time I took any kind of liking to you whatsoever.” You go on, smiling sadly at the past.

“I remember that. I had a bump on my damn head for weeks but it was worth the headache to see you smile like that at me. Because of me.” He chuckles.

“Yeah. I know, you kept trying to tell people it was because I was a freak in bed.” You roll your eyes at the thought that the man in front of you would ever say something like that.

“Anyway, my point is that I have all these great memories and experiences. But they’re all tainted with this one thing.” You sigh, staring at the gravel road.

“I’m not in love with Izzie.” He blurts, making your head shoot up to face him. “I don’t... I don’t know why I said I was in that letter. I think it was just to make it hurt so you wouldn’t hunt me down.” He continues.

“You always have liked keeping people at arms length.” You murmur.

“That’s not fair, you know it isn’t.” He exclaims in defence.

“I don’t even know what fair is anymore Alex! You took that from me too when you left!” You cry back. “You left me! You took off, taking everything of me with you. My dignity included. I cried, no I sobbed in front of Miranda Bailey, my boss! I cried in front of her and all over her scrubs! I can’t even enter my own home! It’s been 6 whole months but I can’t bring myself to go back in that loft because it will drown me and I won’t be able to come up for air Alex!” You shout.

He looks to the ground, keeping his distance and not speaking.

“And Alex? That feeling? It hurts. It hurts so damn much, I ache all over trying to control it, trying to stop it. My body, my heart, everything aches for you even now and I can’t do a thing about it.” You continue, too worked up to stop.

“You left me stranded with not so much as a proper goodbye. THAT is why I am here. I need at least some fraction of myself back.” You say quietly.

“I love you y/n. Like I said in the letter, I always will.” He says sheepishly, pursing his lips as he stares down the ground.

“What, you think that letter of all things helps me or even helps you? It doesn’t.” You mumble.

“What else do I say exactly. That I miss you? Because I do. I miss you like crazy. But I can’t- I cannot leave my kids.” He sighs.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m not asking you to come back either. I’m not asking for anything. I just needed to say SOMETHING to you. I needed this for myself. It might be selfish or stupid considering you didn’t give me permission to come here like you did for Mer but I honestly don’t care.” You rant.

“Y/n, you’re kidding me right? I’m the selfish one here! I’m the one who made an idiot of myself, leaving the people I know, the people I love for this.” He exclaims, hand running down his head. “I mean I love those kids with everything I’ve got but I don’t belong here. I’ve tried to make it work with her but it’s become even more abundantly clear that she and I never have and never will work.” He admits.

You look at him, wide eyes, taking in everything he just said. You could feel yourself trying to resist him, trying to ignore the way he still looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

“I should’ve never left.” He mutters, head in his hands.

“Alex-.” You start, not wanting to hear the words you knew he would say, that you know would make you weak in the knees.

“No y/n, for real. It was stupid of me to think I could just abandon everything I cared about to move here.” He mutters, running his hand down his jawline.

You sit in silence for a moment, trying to process.

“You’re right. It was stupid.” You agree, avoiding his eyes. “But it’s a little late now. You have kids Alex. They... they depend on you. You can’t just leave that.” You say with a sad smile his way.

“I wouldn’t have to! The kids, they would love Seattle. And everyone there would love them! Not to mention, they would absolutely adore you y/n. Just like I do.” He says excitedly.

“Alex... Something tells me that Izzie would never be ok with that. And we both know with your situation she would win a custody battle. Not to mention the fact that you shouldn’t put them through that in the first place.” You argue.

“God, you’re right. You’re always right y/n. It’s annoying how much you’re right about things.” He groans.

You laugh a bit, getting to your feet.

“And it’s funny how wrong but cocky you always are.” You counter, giving him a goofy smile.

“I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed seeing that smile until you were already thoroughly pissed at me.” He laughs.

“I was not THOROUGHLY pissed at you...” You say and he raises an eyebrow.

“That’s not what Mer told me.” He teases and you blush pink.

“Fine I was practically throwing darts at your picture. But I got over it. Eventually.” You grumble

He nods, clearly understanding why you would have been angry. You already knew him well enough to know he would be just as angry at himself as you were.

“You know the reason I didn’t give you the address right?” He asks suddenly, his head bolting up out of his hands. You shake your head no and he starts to chuckle a bit, the half grin spread across his face. “I uh... I already knew that if I did, you would storm your way down here to yell at me and I would’ve taken one look into those big, beautiful y/e/c eyes of yours, I would never be able to stay here. I should’ve known this was a bad idea from just that alone. I’m in love with YOU. Izzie may be the mother of my children but you are the love of my life. I wish I’d never left you.” He reveals.

“I really mean that much to you Karev?” You ask, biting at your lip unsurely.

He looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind. “Of course you do y/n. You always have and I already know you always will. You’re my world, even now. Just the idea of you moving on drives me insane, no matter how selfish it is for me to say.” He rants.

This time, you can’t control your emotions or your movements. You go up to him and grab him gently by the back of his neck, pulling him in and smashing your lips on his. He immediately gives in, grabbing at your back and pulling you even closer, as though he was scared to let go.

You pull away, stopping yourself and him from going any further.

“I’d say that was the most proper our kind of goodbye could get.” You say quietly, touching a finger to your lips as you slowly step backwards, moving away from Alex.

“Y/n!” He tries to stop you but you’re already on a sprint down the driveway, not wanting to mess things up for his family anymore than you felt you already had.

And with that, you ran from the love of your life, not even looking back to see if he was chasing you this time or not.

#imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fic #greys anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy imagines #greys anatomy #greys anatomy imagine #grey’s anatomy imagine #meredith grey #alex karev imagine #alex karev #Alex karev fanfic #angst #fanfic angst #alex karev angst #greys anatomy fandom

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Mold Me New (5) — Kim Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 5.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Smut, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog gets to see the final results of her hard work. Taehyung, feeling extremely proud of her, is in the mood for celebation. He invites her for dinner, but eventually the lasagna in the oven is not the only tthing getting hot — and the cheesecake is not the only sweet thing on the menu.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing. mentions of alcohol. smut: making out, grinding, humping, groping (ass, breasts) hair tugging, fingering, very soft overgrown teenagers being inappropriate and horny and tenderly feral on the sofa. Also cramps cause topping ain't easy folks.

A special thank you to @taegularities, my cutest, most adorable, Taehyung stan, The Radiant Rid. I love you, babe. Can't wait to read your next masterpiece 💕

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. And in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Enjoy 💜✨

You were falling for Kim Taehyung.

This was by far an undoubtable truth, like the butterflies in your stomach, like the softness of his hair and the plump curve of his lip, like the excruciating, painfully perfect beauty of his face.

He was a gift to humankind, you realised.

You were sure that by now your heart eyes showed in a three-mile radius, and from the way he looked at you in return, you could tell the sentiment was somehow returned.

What made you insecure was his lack of initiative.

You noticed he enjoyed being on the receiving end — which had actually shown a few days before, when he’d fallen asleep in the comfort of your lap, you reading your book while he recovered from the stressful day.

You could still remember the soft golden light coming in through the window, the way his breath got heavy with sleep, his hand laying just an inch above your knee, growing clammy with sweat as he heated up under the blanket. And the feel of his fluffy locks under your fingertips.

He’d looked adorable, a gentle blush on his cheeks, his cherub face relaxing, chubby and plump with the sweet abandon of sleep.

His hands suddenly laid delicately atop yours. “The kiln has cooled up. Would you like to see?” Taehyung asked quietly, trying not to wake you from your reverie too abruptly.

“Oh, yes!” you replied as briefly as possible, hoping he didn’t catch you daydreaming while staring at him with a fond expression.

“Be very careful, they’re hot,” he said, lifting the top of the kiln slowly and letting the remaining hot air come out a bit at a time, without having to feel the heat hit his face.

“Are they going to be good?” you asked curiously. Not all your pieces had made it through bisque firing, and the idea of having something that actually looked like a finished, real work of art was getting you excited. You had been taking lessons for six weeks now and it felt about time to see some results.

“I think I can spot a good one,” he mused as he lifted the lid, bright blue glaze immediately catching your attention.

“Did the bowl survive? The one with the golden swirls? Please, tell me it did, I love it so much!” You felt ready to beg, pray, cry if something had gone wrong.

“It’s on the middle shelf. Be patient, you golden retriever,” he joked, wearing a pair of latex gloves to make sure the temperature was okay without damaging the glaze.

“It was my first to survive bisque, I am invested!” you argued back, peering from over his shoulder, noticing that your vase for Terry had survived.

“Vase accomplished, Frog. You should be excited about that one,” he said, moving it to a shelf. “It means you worked it nicely.”

You shrugged. It was one of your latest pieces, so you weren’t too surprised about it. Still, considering that shaping a vase with consistent walls is a feat in itself, you smirked. “You taught me well.”

“I did,” he replied, lifting a large, low bonsai plate. “Ready to see your bowl, Frog?”

“If anything happened to it, I’m going to kill you.”

Taehyung turned to you, grinning, his nose scrunched in a way that made you sure you would never lift a finger on him.

Your eyes closed: because you were nervous about the bowl, you told yourself — not because you couldn’t stand Taehyung’s expression without pressing your lips to his.

He lifted the shelf from the kiln. He turned to look at you.

He did not resist.

It was like you were waiting for him to kiss you, fist pressed underneath your chin, eyes screwed shut in excitement and fear.

He touched his lips to the apple of your cheek. Your eyes shot open, but the gentleness on his face calmed you. “Congratulations, miss Frog, you have a beautiful blue baby,” he declared in a very medical fashion.

You threw your arms around him, jumping up and down as you giggled hysterically.

“And she cheers for the bowl,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “As if she could mess it up after that vase.”

“Screw the damned vase, show me my baby,” you said, going grabby hands to the kiln.

“No, Frog. Wait,” he said, picking up the piece and bringing it to the table, you in tow like a tail-wadding, restless puppy.

“It’s so pretty,” you mused as soon as he set the bowl down. “It’s so sparkly. So glittery. Taehyung, it’s perfect,” you whispered in awe, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you turned to him.

Fondness overwhelmed him as he saw your amused look, so dreamy and happy and satisfied.

It was your baby. Your special creature. Selfishly, he felt like he had contributed to the creation.

For a second he thought that’s what it must feel like to be a father. “Watch over it while I finish the rest,” he said, taking a step away.

You grabbed his wrist.

He turned, waiting for you to explain.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice emotional.

He twisted his arm in your grip until his hand could reach for yours, engulfing it.

And right in that second, he felt he belonged. Somehow crazily, stupidly, innocently, he felt at home. “Anytime, darling.” He rubbed his thumb against your inner wrist before letting you go. He still had half a kiln to unload.

Bowls and mugs came out easily, some of them even presenting unintended variations that would for sure attract buyers. He felt proud.

But most of all, he wanted to go back to your bowl, to you worshipping it like a little miracle, the poor vase sitting unattended on a high shelf, out of harm’s way.

He closed the lid and took the vase, bringing it to you and placing it on the table.

“You did a very good job, Frog,” he complimented you, placing his hand close to yours, hoping to rekindle the affection he had felt only a few minutes ago.

“It’s not like I did it by myself,” you admitted, beaming up at him.

“Stay for dinner,” he blurted out, “Seokjin brought a cheesecake this morning, I still have half of it. And I have his lasagna in the freezer. We could cook it and eat that — I don’t trust myself making anything edible.”

You snickered. “You don't want me to cook?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to… To celebrate.”

You smiled, standing up, his mouth right before your eyes, “What are we celebrating?”

He looked at your lips as they moved. “The vase,” he replied seriously, although the tone of his voice meant a thousand other things.

“Of course,” you conceded. “Let’s go. I’m hungry,” you confessed, grabbing his hand, tugging at his arm.

Taehyung could swear he was floating a foot off the ground out of happiness. He realised he’d been happier than usual lately; he’d been selling more pieces and his part time job was finally giving him some satisfaction.

He felt like he was drifting across the kitchen as he put his phone in a wooden box as an amplifier, playing an old jazz tune as he put the lasagna in the oven.

You sat at the table, watching him move around with a small smile, your head leaning on your palm. You were such a sucker.

“Wine?”

You shook your head. “You’re gonna get me drunk,” you smiled.

He sat at your side, “why not,” he teased, “just vaguely tipsy. I promise I’ll be a gentleman.” He placed a hand on his heart and bowed his head slowly.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” you murmured, looking down before meeting his eyes again.

He licked his lips. “Who is it, then?”

“Me.”

“What about you?” His fingers skimmed the surface of the table, sliding all the way to your elbow and tracing your inner forearm.

A shiver ran down your spine. “I get clingy. And slightly inappropriate,” you chuckled embarrassedly.

“I could never be bothered by that,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “I bet you’d look so adorable.” His hand opted to cup the back of yours before you slipped your hand away, making his palm touch your cheek instead, your face leaning in. “Which would make you absolutely irresistible,” he admitted, nodding fondly at your display of trust.

“Thank you,” you replied to the compliment, feeling your face heat up.

“Let’s lay the table.”

Let’s lay down and make out for three hours and fall asleep under the stars in the back of a pickup.

You gave your brain a second to calm down. “Sure. How can I help you?”

In twenty minutes, the tasty smell of lasagna began drifting in the air, making your mouth water as you and Taehyung talked about his other job — the one that actually paid the bills and brought food on the table. “I just love them, they’re adorable. I managed to practice when my granny used to babysit.”

You pouted, starry eyed as he talked about the children, going on and on about the five year old that always wanted to curl his hair and paint his nails.

Most of all, you loved the idea of him sitting on a baby chair, all curled up, giant hand sprawled on the table while the girl spread lacquer on his pretty nails.

“Your granny babysat?”

“She raised a few of us, yes, and then she was the babysitter for all the kids of the street,” he explained.

“I thought you grew up with your mom?” you said confusedly.

“Yes, we stayed with my mom until we turned four, but then she went back to her job and we started staying with my grandmother. And when I was ten, my mom started dating a good man. He’s one of the greatest people I know, but unfortunately, he was transferred out of state and my mom decided to go with him. I didn’t want to leave and my granny let me stay with her.”

You nodded, taking in more details about him. “Are you happy about the situation with your mom? Do you miss her?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. But I like seeing her happy. She got married and she’s safe. Her husband spoils her, he takes care of her and he’s well off. She won’t need to worry about her health.”

“That’s a good thing,” you nodded, getting startled once the timer rang.

“Thank God,” he muttered, getting an oven glove as you stepped away quickly.

Dinner was a quiet ordeal, with easy chatting and small pauses. Silence was more than welcome as you slipped into the quiet comfort of sharing a meal. It was all so natural, effortless. And the food was delicious, filling your stomach but also pleasing your tastebuds; Seokjin was famous for his culinary skills, but he really outdid himself with the cheesecake, so creamy and perfectly sweet that you asked for a second serving, Taehyung more than happy to comply.

You kept chatting as you helped him clear the table, washing the dishes while he dried them.

“Last one,” you called, rinsing a plate before passing it to him.

You watched him as he diligently dried it, your gaze meeting his in his peripheral.

You tried to find something to say as his stare focused on you, his hands placing down the plate as he fully turned towards you.

“What?” you murmured hesitantly.

“I might do something stupid,” he said, his voice deep and barely audible, his face getting closer to you. “But I haven’t done it in a very long time.” His hand landed on your waist. “Stop me if you find it outright idiotic.”

There was nothing idiotic in the way his mouth looked so inviting from up close, all its curves too inviting for you to stop staring.

The mole on his lower lip teased you in ways that made you want to throw yourself at him. You couldn’t even understand how the attraction worked, you were simply needy, praying for his mouth to finally meet yours.

“Close your eyes,” he breathed out, trying to find courage.

You followed his suggestion, putting yourself out of misery and standing on your tiptoes before leaning in, finally joining your lips with his.

He didn’t even pretend to keep calm, both arms wrapping around your waist as he held you, delivering a string of small pecks with his lips slightly ajar, offering you the soft plumpness of the inner flesh, vaguely humid and hot.

You loved it.

All you could do was exhale, a tiny cry leaving your throat as your vocal cords caught the breath leaving your lungs. Your hands flew to his hair, hiding in him as embarrassment set you aflame.

A low grunt echoed through his chest as he felt you tug the locks at his nape gently, your body pressing harder against him.

He tried to hold you back, not sure he was ready to admit the carnal way his body reacted to you. He wanted to be gentle, delicate, cautious, but the tightness of his trousers around his crotch was anything but.

“Darling, I need a minute,” he mumbled against your lips in an almost tickling motion.

“Just one more,” you replied, your voice so heated and thin.

He tutted. “Let’s not go too fast.”

You stood straighter and chased his mouth as he tried to retreat, your eyelids lowered as you stared at the sweet, tempting mole.

“Just one…” you whispered before sucking his lower lip, licking it with the tip of your tongue.

His hand moved to your tailbone, pressing you closer. Rational thought abandoned him as he pushed his tongue against the seam of your lips, rubbing it against your palate before letting it tangle with yours.

That’s when you noticed the hardness between your legs, his thigh slotted there comfortably as you pressed your hips to it, eliciting a moan from Taehyung.

“Sofa,” you murmured, trying to hold him to you as you walked backwards to the door.

“Wait,” he breathed out, trying to part from you, causing you to whine.

“Don’t go,” you said with a pout. “I need you,” you almost whimpered, touching his nape, his neck, his chest.

“I’ll be there in a second. Don’t go all cute grumpy on me, I just need to grab my phone,” he explained, unglueing your body from his. Reluctantly made your way to the kitchen door, waiting for him before heading to the sitting room, refusing to let him out of your sight anytime soon.

Once he’d pocketed his phone, he turned towards you, his eyes getting dark and lascivious as he studied your frame while you leaned against the door jamb.

He strolled casually towards you, your eyes following his sinewy limbs.

You realised you were eager to see him naked, the thought making you pause mid-breath.

Once he stood in front of you, his arm slipped between your back and the wooden frame of the door, holding you as he leaned down. “Smartest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“Even smarter if you’re gonna do me,” you quipped, biting your lower lip and cringing once you realised you had said it out loud.

He snickered and kissed you, your hips pushing forward to grind against him, his cock too hard and large for you not to notice it. His hand wrapped around your asscheek, helping you grind even harder, his lean, strong fingers squeezing and kneading your flesh deliciously. Carefully walking towards his destination, he helped you navigate the corridor in a slight penumbra, a thin ray of moonlight slashing the floor before he pushed the door open and entered the sitting room. The space was illuminated in a blue-grey light coming from the full moon shining outside the windows.

Haphazardly, you managed to sit down, pulling him with you, making him lose his balance and stumble a little.

“Are you okay?” you asked, worried about the stupefied look on his face.

“Yeah, just thinking how to…” he fixed his stance, wondering if he should pull you on his lap or make you lay down or…

“Come here,” you murmured, kissing the mole on his cheek. “I’ve got so many kisses to give you.”

“They’re all mine,” he cooed, turning adorable for a second.

You melted. “Yes, now come here, don’t make me beg.”

He turned and leaned into you, cupping your jawline and holding you still before he slipped his tongue across your mouth. “You’re too far like this,” he complained, ignoring the fact that your bodies were literally touching shoulder to ankle.

“Wait.” You quickly bent your legs underneath you, thankful for the no-shoes rule in his house as you sat on your heels. “Like this?” you asked as he mirrored the motion almost too rapidly, his body rocking dangerously.

He immediately realised his trousers were tighter like this. He tried to ignore it, his only goal being for his mouth to meet yours, feeling the hot, milky taste of your tongue that still held some memory of the cheesecake. “Come closer,” he breathed, hoping to get some friction, the softness of your breasts against his torso, crying out at how much he missed the stand-up position, allowing the front of his body to adhere to yours with alarming precision.

“Can’t get any closer,” you chuckled desperately. “Can I lay down?”

He nodded, he needed close.

You untucked your legs from beneath you, bending them at each of his sides. “We can go to my room—”

“I like it here,” you replied, tugging him into you, his eyes shooting open once he’d risked falling from the sofa.

You managed to catch him, thankful for the wide cushions of the seats. “Be careful,” you giggled fondly, kissing his brow, his nose, following his moles like fire flights. The whole night felt magical. It felt even more magical once you managed to get his playlist to play again, placing his phone on the ground and enjoying the round fullness of his backside.

“You really have hands made for pottery,” he mused as he kissed your brow, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your chin, the shell of your ear. “I like them there,” he confessed, pushing his pelvis against yours, meeting it mid-thrust and coaxing a whine from your throat and a growl from his.

One of his arms lifted from beside your head. “Can I?” he asked politely, letting it hover just a few inches over your breast.

“Please do,” you replied, leading his hand with yours, his wrist and fingers immediately catching up on how to grab it, squeeze it, roll it in his palm and toy with the nipple.

“Harder? Softer? Just like this?” he checked in, attentive and concerned.

“Just slightly harder,” you panted. “Slower too, please.”

His pace changed immediately, getting you to whine as you completely connected with his touch. The soft, slow massage was making you hyper-aware of every inch of skin, every single part of your breast, every nerve ending and hard edge and soft curve.

“I wanna take off my bra. Can I?” you asked in the heat of the moment.

Taehyung was vaguely confused for a second, so lost in the feel of you that he barely understood the question. “If you want that, I want that,” he replied, his breath laboured.

Quickly, you arched your back, Taehyung’s lips reaching the column of your throat and peppering it with soft pecks. “Do you need help?”

You tutted and moaned as his teeth scraped your skin lightly.

With some gymnastics, you managed to tug the garment out of your shirt, Taehyung moaning at the increased softness underneath his palm. “Goodness, they’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing his face against one, rubbing it as he turned his head side to side.

“Please, keep touching them,” you mumbled, your voice rough with the way you struggled to breathe.

He changed the arm propping him up, switching sides as he started to tease your other breast. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” you managed to confirm before your hands grabbed his ass to push him against you.

He paused for a second.

“I’m getting out of control,” he warned you.

“And?”

“I’m gonna cum in my pants if we keep this up,” he confessed, purring as you nibbled his jaw. “Slow down, please,” he panted, lifting his hips away from you.

“Tae,” you called, breathing heavily, almost begging him.

“I want you a lot, ____, please tell me you do too,” he was almost feverish with need, his brow furrowed, his beautiful eyes glittering in the dark.

“Isn’t it clear?” you asked in return, trying to chase him on his retreat.

He tutted and pushed you down. “I want to hear it.”

“I want you, Taehyung. I need you. I want to see you lose control.” Your mind was gone, far far away, your brain malfunctioning as his curls tickled your upper chest.

“I don’t wanna go all the way,” he murmured, “I just… I just wanna—” he huffed out frustratedly. “I just want to make you feel good. And to feel you close to me.”

You bit your lip. “Maybe—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to make love to you. I really want to. But this is going so fast and I wanna savour every step. Take my time.” He pressed his forehead against your chest. “I just like you so much and I want you to know it means something to me.” He paused and you waited for him. “I don’t want you to think this is just a random thing to me, and I don’t want to be a random thing to you.”

“You’re not.” You cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “We can take our time—”

“You must think I’m a coward,” he murmured, voice filled with self-hatred.

You held him closer, trying to convey all your affection. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe with me. I get you, baby.” You rubbed the tip of his nose with yours. “Let’s take baby steps. We can just mess around. You want to make me feel good, and I you. No need to have sex to go there.”

He nodded. “I wanna keep touching you,” he murmured. “I wanna feel you with my hands.”

You blinked slowly, eager to feel his fingers on you, inside you. “That sounds great, baby,” you encouraged him, watching his shy smile and the gentle blush on his cheeks, out of exertion and shyness.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” he whispered in your ear before kissing the soft spot underneath it, his free hand moving down, from your breast to your stomach, slipping underneath your shirt, moving up against your naked skin.

You gasped once his palm cupped the underside of your bosom.

“Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “Feels very good,” you answered, caressing his hair out of his face, his eyes moving from your chest to your lips to your eyes.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, reaching for your nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“Bless you, yes, baby. So good.” It was natural to trace his mouth with your finger, his lips parting to welcome it into his mouth. Your hips arched up, meeting his thigh to grind against him. You needed more pressure against your clit, your entrance clenching and widening as you felt wetness coat your folds uncomfortably. You refused to pressure him into leading his hand downwards, still you thanked several deities when his gentle fingertips started making their way to your belly button, dipping his digit in to study its shape, feeling all the ridges and tender skin. “It feels so cute,” he said after letting your finger out of his mouth, watching as you brushed it against your neck to dry it up. “I wanna make a little sculpture out of it.” He giggled. “Sorry, that’s so childish.” He shook his head.

“It’s adorable,” you replied, “it’s— Mmh, Tae. Yes.” He managed to scatter your thoughts across the universe once his fingers dipped into your jeans.

“Undo the button please,” he growled, reaching for the wet spot on your panties. “Darling dearest, you’re fucking drenched,” he said, a deep cry giving away just how desperate he was. “Can I get in your panties, precious?”

Mouth gaping, you nodded, an embarrassing mewl echoing across the room as he touched a slightly delicate spot. “That’s too sensitive,” you keened, a strangled purr leaving you once your back arched, his thumb relieving the disturbing pressure and wetness.

As slight friction began to build, Taehyung bit his lip, the vision of you so erotic and calming at the same time. It felt right, oh-so-right, to have you underneath him like that — maybe slightly overdressed, but adorably pliant and needy.

“Want them inside, darling?” he asked you, your head nodding yes quickly, without a shred of doubt. “Here, talk to me, sweetheart. Like this?” he murmured, waiting for your feedback.

“Yes,” was all you managed to utter, his digits hitting your sweet spot without even trying. “Rub there, please, stretch me,” you told him, guiding him as your hips started to roll, his thumb meeting your clit and causing a small whimper to exit your mouth before you clamped your lips around his neck.

“You feel amazing, darling. Soft and so hot and so velvety. You’re so dang slippery, it feels insane.” He kissed your head. “Want to make you cum so fast. I want to keep you up for hours like this, and then kiss you until you fall asleep. You’re spectacular, ____. I can’t take my eyes off you, my precious.”

You felt overwhelmed with the way he pushed his fingers inside you, pressing his long, strong, skilled, digits against your walls, stretching you so impossibly wide that you felt like you could probably fit four fingers in to the knuckles. But you didn’t have time to think much, simply arching your hips up and pushing your jeans and panties to your mid-thighs, trying to give him more space for action.

“Is the angle alright?” he checked in, binding his wrist a little lower, getting better leverage to finger you harder.

“Keep going like this,” you exhaled, your hand moving down, fixing his thumb as he struggled to find the right spot, “let me handle this, focus on the inside, please.”

He nodded and kissed your lips. “Sorry.”

You kissed him again. “No need to apologise— Yeah, right… there…” you said, starting to thrust up in earnest. “Clits are complicated but you’re doing so good inside,” you licked your lips, trying to ease the pain of them drying up with your and his breathing.

He bent down and chased the tip of your tongue as you ran it across your mouth, drinking in your soft hiccups and gasps as you neared your climax, his mouth crashing onto yours as you finally came apart underneath him, his kisses muffling your moans and cries.

Taehyung felt desperate as he slipped another finger inside you, giving you as much fullness as he could offer while you clenched around his digits, actually sobbing once you processed his generous offer.

It took you maybe thirty seconds before you could calm down, taking your fingers off your clit, whispering an “okay, slow down” to Taehyung, who halted the arching and pistoning of his fingers to simply press against your g spot and cup your mound with his palm.

“All good?” he asked, grunting a little as his arm cramped up.

“Yeah, are you?” you murmured back, noticing his wince.

“Cramp,” he huffed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Want me on top? You’ve strained yourself already as it is,” you scolded him apprehensively.

He shook his head and withdrew his hand from your crotch, cleaning his fingers with lewd, erotic swipes of his tongue. You felt ready to begin all over again. “I need to be on top,” he said, drying his hand against his t-shirt before propping himself up on both elbows before bending down, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I kinda want to grind on you, if you’re okay with it.”

Nodding, you helped your hips up, fixing your clothes back in place but also leaving your zipper and button open. “Clothes on?”

You felt his head move in an affirmative motion, his hips starting to press against you. “I know I must look like a teenager to you.”

“It’s adorable. Makes me feel very young,” you said before chuckling. “It’s been so long since I felt this good with anyone,” you confessed, holding him to your chest, assisting his motions by moving your own pelvis in a wavy pattern. “It’s so comfortable. So familiar and nice,” you whispered in his ear before biting it gently. “You make me feel like I’m not an utter mess in this attraction thing.”

“You’re not a mess. You just feel attraction differently.” He managed to gather his thoughts and words long enough to reply to you. He thought it was important for you to feel that it was okay, that he didn’t mind, that all he cared about was how happy he felt by your side. “You’re hot, you’re smart. And you’re so…” He grunted as he found the perfect angle and pressure, his high rushing towards him. “So magnetic. And good…” Another purr left his mouth as he started humping you in earnest, going so fast you doubted you would survive having him inside you, his torso crashing on you as he hummed and bit the crook of your neck, crotch attached to your thigh as he pushed, harder and harder, his glutes impossibly tight under your palms.

“Yes, baby. I’m here, Tae. It’s all okay, babe.”

“So good,” he rumbled, still hiding against you. “So, so good,” he moaned again, your face tensing in a kind, elated smile.

“Lay on me, baby,” you kissed the crown of his head. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, and it had little to do with the orgasm and the freaky show. You loved his tenderness, his gentle approach, the way he had checked in on you throughout the whole night, wide puppy eyes staring at you in focus and adoration and wonder. And the way he had asked to take it easy, the way you had felt no pressure, no need to search for attraction, but finding it there, in the way his hands felt familiar and welcome and so, so loving, in his face and his smile and his stupid, stupid, ridiculously fluffy hair. There was attraction and even though you had asked yourself why at the beginning, you didn’t dare doubt it now. It was just like oxygen in your blood, like black holes and shooting stars and the moon phases. Undoubtable. Solid. Proven. Undeniable. It had become a main axiom to your existence.

I’m in love with Kim Taehyung.

It was like the world suddenly spinned the other way around. You let the revelation sink in, your hand running up and down Taehyung’s spine.

“You’re safe with me, babe.”

He nodded and nuzzled in closer. “Are you staying?”

“Yes, sweetie. You’ll be sleeping in my arms tonight, baby.”

You felt him smile against your neck before he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes.

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x yn #thebtswritersclub #bangtansorciere #thetruthuntoldnet

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beyscape · 5 years ago

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The Intern - 1

Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: Being Andy’s intern meant you got to spend more time by his side more than anyone. This was fine, however, until feelings got in the way and made things complicated

Warnings: Age gap, technically cheating, swearing and stuff

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N Spoilers as it progresses! I’ve not read the book and only saw the first two episodes so if you haven’t seen episodes 1 and 2, what are you waiting for go watch them! I’m putting the reader around 26 and Andy around 40.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

02:37 am

You sighed at the clock, slightly feeling cheated that only 9 minutes had passed since you last checked it, when it felt like it should have been hours. Sipping at the now cold coffee you bought from the vending machine down the hall, you leaned back in your chair. You had been staring at the mountain of paper scattered around your desk for hours now, yet it didn’t seem like you were able to make a dent into it. It sat there, almost mocking you; you scowled at it.

The office was dark and empty, it had been for some time now as the last person had left sometime after the clock stroke 10 pm. Without the occasional whistling of the night guard patrolling the building, you seemed totally alone. Not just physically too, you felt like you had no one with you, supporting you. Your gaze drifted to the big desk left unoccupied behind the glass wall. Andy Barber, the plaque on the desk read, right next to the messy pen holder and another mountain of paperwork, almost identical to the one you had on your desk. Great, you thought, they could mock you both. Even the pile of paper had someone. You rubbed your eyes as even your thoughts stopped making much sense.

You were tired.

It had been two weeks now that Andy was forced to take a paid leave, following the arrest warrant for his son. Fourteen days. Then why the hell did it feel like fourteen months?

Being Andy’s intern was something you simply loved. You were excited and eager to do your job, straight out of a prestigious law school you had gotten such a good job, so of course you were fresh and happy to please your bosses and wanting to make a great career for yourself by learning from some of the very best. At least, that’s how it started almost a year ago. You had heard of Andy’s name, followed some of his cases as he was one of the best district attorney’s of the whole East Coast. The job wasn’t easy by any means, even though he was a kind man he would never go easy on you about your job. You liked that air of professionalism he carried around him though, it seemed as if he was good at everything he did.

He was incredibly smart, funny, kind, not to mention downright gorgeous, and he would always look at you with such emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t help but feel your heart jump a little every time he gave you one of his deep looks. So, it was an understatement to say you had a crush on him. It was impossible not to! That’s how you tried to comfort yourself in those late-night hours when you were up from tossing and turning and all you could think of was how his lips would taste on yours. It was just a simple, tiny crush that you couldn’t do anything about. Aside from obstacles such as the age gap between you and him technically being your boss there was also the matter of him being married. You had met his family on a couple of occasions, they had seemed like the perfect little American family. No matter how deep your feelings ran, you knew you couldn’t possibly be the reason for breaking apart a family.

It was just a tiny crush anyways.

Your mind drifted to Andy, how his once bright and sharp eyes now seemed tired and the bags forming under his eyes made him look older than he was. It was funny how two weeks can change a man’s life so drastically.

Defending Jacob wasn’t an easy job, what with so many in the office believing that he was responsible with the murder of Ben. You thought of Jacob, images of him visiting Andy in the office sometimes after school flashed in your mind, and how he would shyly smile at you when you offered him some candy or asked about his classes. You just didn’t think that a boy like him could be the murderer. You wanted to catch the actual murderer and put an end to this whole ordeal so that maybe, hopefully things would go back to normal. You had forgotten what normal even was in those two frantic weeks.

You didn’t need to pull such long hours at the office, in fact if Neil found out he would probably make a sly remark about it, but you wanted to. You wanted to catch a murderer and make sure a teenage boy didn’t go to prison over a crime he didn’t commit, but more than those you wanted to help Andy.

You thought of the times he would smile at you, thanking you for your hard work. “I have no idea what I would do without you, Y/N,” he had once said, the words still burning bright in your memory, “I can’t even remember how things were before you came in and started your internship.” His gaze was so intense at that point, his blue eyes so deep you thought you would drown in them if you stared for too long, his smile so relaxed and curved to the one side, his hands playing with the end of his tie he had loosened moments ago, he was everything you had ever wanted and some more. You had lowered your gaze back then, a bashful smile appearing on your heated face. Oh, how you wished you were back at that diner he had taken you out to celebrate after a long and tiresome case.

A sad smile played on your face as you reflected on the many memories you had made in the passing year, all of them equally leaving you flustered. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts however, you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching your part of the floor. Your head snapped as movement entered your peripheral vision, sending a dull ache down your neck sore from slumping over your desk for hours. It was too dark for you to see the face of the person approaching, but you knew him well enough to recognize him just from his silhouette.

Your mouth fell open ever so slightly, your heart picking up its speed as he made his way towards you. What was he doing here at three in the morning on a Tuesday night? He wasn’t even supposed to be allowed in the building! Despite these thoughts and many more swirling through your head, there was one main thought blaring in your mind: you missed him very much. You had seen him around town of course, but it was only here and there and in the passing. Neil had made it very clear that you weren’t to see Andy as “it would create a conflict of interest” he had claimed. You knew though deep down it was because Neil hated Andy’s guts and was probably happy to have him out of the office.

He finally walked close enough that the light of your desk lamp washed over his tired features, you noted the way his hair was a mess spiking up in different directions as if he had been tossing and turning restlessly in bed. He wasn’t wearing his usual work attire, those suits you loved seeing him in, and instead was in a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple hoodie on top. Your gaze shifted back to his face where surprise now gleamed in his eyes along with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Y/N?” He said and momentarily all you could think of was how much you loved the way your name rolled off of his tongue.

“What are you doing here so late?” He asked as he stopped right in front of your desk, hands casually in his pockets. He didn’t need an answer however as his laid on the paperwork you had sitting in front of you, going page after page about him and more specifically his son’s involvement with the murder case.

“I see. That asshole Neal keeping you here all night? You look like you need some rest.” He remarked with a darkened, displeased look in his eyes. You shook your head, wanting to explain, to say so much, yet never finding the right words.

“I’m here because I want to, Neal has nothing to do with it. I wanna figure out a way to prove Jake’s innocence, to see if we maybe missed something. I don’t believe he did it.” You replied with a fierce passion, your words breaking the silence engulfing the whole building.

“That makes the two of us.” He smiled at that for a briefly, then seemed to catch himself. He frowned, almost feeling guilty for smiling. Your heart panged.

“How about you Mr. Barber? You really are not supposed to be here.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Andy? Kingston was at night shift, told him I forgot to grab some of my personal stuff I needed. And he let me in.” He scratched the back of his neck, slightly swaying on his heels.

“No offense but if Kingston’s just letting people in maybe he needs a little talk.” You teased him, wishing to see him smile once again. He didn’t, but you could easily read the amusement in his eyes. You had spent too long by his side, watching him, to miss those little things.

“You wanna take a walk? Clear your head a little. I know I need that.” He asked in response, surprising both you and himself.

“What about those personal stuff you needed to grab?” You shuffled on your feet to pull on your coat, hoping it would be enough to brace you against the chill of the night.

“Nah, I honestly didn’t know what to do or where to go, one thing I knew was I needed to get out of that house. Next thing I know, I’m in front of the building. Figured I’d try my chance at getting inside. But now that I’ve ran into you, my night’s a bit better.” He motioned towards the door with his head, his hair swaying slightly in the same direction, “Let’s go.”

The elevator ride and the couple of minutes it took to walk through the building was spent in silence aside from Kingston wishing you both a good night at the front security desk, as if you both didn’t know what to say or how to start a conversation. In that same silence you walked towards the park close to the tall grey building you had left moments ago, shivering against the cold of three a.m.

“So,” you started after minutes of silence, not being able to take it any longer, “do you wanna talk about it?” You hugged your arms around your body, tucking your already cold hands.

“It’s just,” he sighed and rolled his shoulders, almost as if trying to drop some of the weight he was carrying, “it’s crazy how fast everything went to shit. He didn’t do it, Y/N, I know my son. And they are ruining his life just like that. I can’t believe all of this and there is nothing I can do as I watch them ruin my son’s future so easily, just like that.” He rubbed his forehead, wishing for things to go back to normal, just as you. You both knew that normal was a long memory now, things could never go back to the way they were. Not entirely.

“I’m so sorry you are going through all this, Mr. Barber. Neither you nor Jake deserve this.” You let out a sigh matching his, desperately wanting to comfort the man who haunted every waking thought you had, yet finding yourself unable to as you glanced at the ring shining on his finger under the orange-ish street lights.

“How many times have I told you to call me Andy?” He turned his gaze to you now, you swallowed.

“More than I can remember the number of, Mr. Barber.” You gave him a cautious smile, unable to hold it in. Your heart swell with happiness as he snorted at your last remark, a soft look on his face as he took you in. You bit your lip before speaking again.

“How is Laurie?” You had to know. Damn your hands which ached to hold him, damn whatever may stand between you, you wanted to take action and do something as the urge, the need to close the distance between you got stronger and stronger. To do that, however, you had to know.

Andy flinched slightly at the mention of his wife, as if he didn’t expect for you to bring her up. Or like he even forgot that he had a wife. A bitter, short laugh escaped his lips as he ruefully examined the sliver band on his finger.

“Laurie is… Laurie. We are fighting again.” He raised his gaze to meet your eyes. You were caught off guard, you raised an eyebrow at the word ‘again’. He continued when you said nothing.

“We have been having some problems, we even had counselling a while ago. Laurie was always so keen about wanting to keep it quiet and locked away, and we tried it for Jake’s sake. Coming from a broken home type of situation, I wanted to try for Jake. These two weeks however, things have been really bad, on top of everything. This whole thing brought back a ton of unresolved bitterness from years ago. I never told anyone that.” He looked at you as if he was seeing you under a new light, his shoulders stood higher and more relaxed. A warm feeling spread in you as he confided in you things he never muttered to another soul, you smiled at him softly, his eyes drawing you in and spinning your head.

“I’m so sorry, Andy.” Was all you needed to say as you lay a delicate hand on his arm, the gentleness in your eyes surprising him and make him feel things he got the taste of so long ago.

One look at the hand you lay on his arm and another at your face, and Andy found himself to be in trouble. He already was, don’t get him wrong, his life seemed to be a magnet for all things bad and problematic at the moment. This, however, was a new kind of trouble as he looked at his intern, this young girl who had diligently followed him for a whole year and always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Before he knew what he was doing, he closed the distance between you with two small steps, and now was so close that you were too afraid to breathe, scared that even the smallest of moves would fully erase the very little gap left between your lips.

Despite your whole body feeling as if you were thrown into a scorching flame and every inch of your skin itching to get even closer, you waited, staring into his eyes with slightly raised eyebrows and hooded eyes. Your mouth was barely open and so was his, you were so close that every time he ruggedly breathed you felt his hot breath caress your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered before giving in and closing the distance after a painful minute, placing those soft lips you had spent hours fantasizing about on yours. There was nothing gentle with his kiss, getting more and more heated and frantic as if he was a man needing cold water after spending his whole life walking around the desert.

You whimpered against his kiss as Andy’s one hand wrapped around your waist and the other finding your neck, pulling you towards him with no more distance to cover. You were so entangled with each other in the dark, it was hard to tell where one body ended and the other started. Placing one last, this time gentler kiss on your lips, he rested his head against your forehead, his eyes for closed as he breathed a deep breath.

“Oh Y/N,” he said, his voice strained and barely above a whisper, “what are we going to do, baby girl?”

You had no answer for him, a mess of emotions after the kiss that you felt your knees wouldn’t be able to hold you for much longer. So, you clung on Andy, his tense and broad shoulders feeling like they could carry you for as long as you needed, just as Andy’s hands clung on your waist, holding you close to his chest, his forehead still laying against yours.

In the park next to the towering building you both belonged to, you stood together some time after three. The chilly wind making its way into your lungs did nothing against the heat you felt all over your body, not cooling down one bit. In that park, in the safety of the shadows and the quiet of the town, you were safe. Not a defense attorney and his intern, just two people desperately needing to hold each other, too frightened to let go and face the world.

As the clock showed a little past 3 in the morning, you and Andy were safe in the dimly lit park, unaware how much that would change so very soon.

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There you have it folks! I’m so so whipped for this man. Make sure to follow me so you don’t miss the other chapters! My inbox is open for requests, feedback or just to scream about Chris Evans! :P

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #chris evans #cevans #chris evans x reader #defending jacob fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber imagine #chris evans imagine

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tk-writer · 4 years ago

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Jealous. [Haikyuu!! - Tsukkiyama]

Tsukishima fights an intense ler mood at practice one day when he sees Yamaguchi and Nishinoya messing around.

Word count: 2693

hi there! i stole this idea from That One Scene in the baseball anime Ookiku Furikabutte (Big Windup!) i’d link it here but of course i can’t find the post with the video kajsfhajks. anyway, here’s tsukishima with a Phat(™) ass ler mood & cute boi Yamaguchi as tribute. enjoy!

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

Tsukishima could barely focus during practice that day, and it was all Yamaguchi’s fault.

The blonde barely uttered a word that afternoon, even when his fellow teammates addressed him directly. They figured he was finally taking the game seriously for once, not wanting to get left behind as the rest of them soared to greater heights. But in truth, volleyball was the furthest thing from his mind.

His thoughts - and his heart - were set on his childhood best friend, whose antics that day made it impossible to focus on read blocking, on spiking, on anything. All because of that stupidly infectious laugh of his.

While Tsukishima was taking a quick break, his steely eyes fixated on his freckled friend as he got ready for another round of serving practice. Lately he'd been flopping most of his jump floats, so today he had dedicated almost all of his time to perfecting them. He was working harder than almost anyone else, which earned him Tsukishima’s respect even though he never said it aloud.

However, instead of heading to the court to take his place, Tsukishima saw him walk towards Nishinoya with cheeks ablaze. His ears perked up as he caught the tail end of their conversation, finding it difficult to pull his attention elsewhere.

“Hey, uh… Nishinoya?”

“What's up?”

“Can you… umm… do ‘it’ again?”

Nishinoya tilted his head in confusion, but beamed with joy when he realized what Yamaguchi was asking.

“Ohh, you want me to do ‘it’ to help you relax?”

“Uhm, y... yes, please!”

“Alrighty! Lift up your arms! Hehehe…”

Tsukishima had a gut feeling about what was coming next and turned away before anyone could notice the blush creeping across his own cheeks.

A couple seconds passed before an all-too familiar laugh rang out through the gymnasium, capturing the attention of all but one blonde haired blocker who refused to look. An unfamiliar emotion swirled in the pit of his stomach, one he couldn't put a name to until much later when the two of them were alone.

“-Aheeheehaha! Gaaaaah!”

“Stop moving around so much! You’re making it difficult!”

“I cahahahahan’t!!”

Their fun was soon interrupted by the team captain, who was less than pleased to see his juniors messing around once again. As soon as the two underclassmen heard Daichi’s stern voice yelling at them from the court, they froze up and stood at attention.

“Stop fooling around you two! Yamaguchi, get out here and serve already!”

“Right! Sorry!!”

The pinch server regained what composure he could before racing out to the court while Nishinoya zoomed over to the other side. Tsukishima watched in disbelief as his friend took a deep breath, got a running start, and then successfully completed a perfect jump float, one that even Nishinoya couldn’t receive.

So that ‘it’ thing really worked, huh? He tried his best to fight the smile creeping across his face, kicking himself mentally for being so soft. Seeing that unfold before him was so lame, so ridiculous, so undeniably and indisputably...

…adorable.

Nishinoya ran up and gave his teammate a double high five, then poked him in the ribs to throw him off. Yamaguchi doubled over, clutching his sides while his high pitched laughter floated through the air.

Tsukishima pretended not to notice.

He saw it happen again later, while Yamaguchi was sitting next to Suga on the bench during break. The third year was much more subtle about it, doing sneaky things like poking his side repeatedly and whispering mean teases in his ear. Tsukishima could make out a few words here and there scattered in between Yamaguchi’s tittered giggles. The first year was doing his best to stay quiet, clamping a hand over his mouth while he squirmed in place, probably to save himself the embarrassment.

Tsukishima glanced over his shoulder, trying not to make it too obvious he was watching.

“...does it tickle here?”

“Pfffft, bahahaha!”

“...here… or what about here…?”

“Eheheheehee! Sugaaaa!”

He couldn’t tell which was worse. Suga’s soft, yet sadistic teasing, or Yamaguchi’s breathless begging. Watching his nose scrunch up, bunching the scattered freckles across his face together while he threw back his head and finally erupted into full blown belly laughs. It was all too much for the middle blocker. In his head, a single sentence repeated itself over and over again like a mantra for the rest of his time at practice, one he couldn’t ignore no matter how much he tried to repress it:

I should be the one getting him.

~~~~~

When the sun began to dip under the horizon, the two of them left the gymnasium together and walked side by side as they headed home, like they always did after practice. Tsukishima was as quiet as ever, still mulling to himself while Yamaguchi tried making small talk. He didn’t really register what he was saying, as his mind was still replaying the scenes from earlier. He was so deep in thought that he barely heard his friend calling his name.

“...Tsukki? Earth to Tsukki! Helloooooo?”

The blonde perked up, finally coming back to reality. Yamaguchi was staring at him with his big, brown eyes, like a puppy dog seeking attention from its master. He thought about the way he squeezed them shut when Nishinoya tickled his sides, and then how sweet his giggles sounded when Suga was poking him. He thought about how much he wanted to hear him laugh like that again, right here, right now.

He couldn’t deny it any longer. He really, really wanted to tickle Yamaguchi.

Without saying a word, Tsukishima slapped the back of his neck and began to give him gentle squeezes.

“Aaaaaah! Tsukkiiiii!”

Yamaguchi’s reaction was as predictable as always. He raised his arms to try and grab Tsukki’s hands, leaving his midsection wide open for an attack. The middle blocker jabbed into his sides, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly in amusement while Yamaguchi tried to fight the tickles from both ends. It was funny how much those subtle touches affected him. No wonder everyone else on the team enjoyed teasing him so much.

“Are you still spending the night tonight?” He asked, keeping a straight face as he feigned ignorance to Yamaguchi’s suffering.

“Ahahaha! I already said yeahahahaha!”

He gave him a few more rapid squeezes before letting him go. Yamaguchi let out a few more breathy laughs, then immediately started to whine, but it went unnoticed by a brooding Tsukki. He was still unsatisfied, but this little taste was enough to blow him over until they reached his house. Maybe then he’d feel a bit more bold.

~~~~~

As soon as they got back to Tsukishima’s place, they kicked off their shoes and went straight for the couch to watch some stupid TV shows. It was a Friday night, and they basically had the place to themselves since the rest of his family was out of town. Yamaguchi sat on one end of the couch, shoving fistfuls of cheese-itz into his mouth while Tsukishima sat on the other end, looking bored as ever as some dumb cartoon episode played on the screen. In reality, he was using all of his willpower to fight back his embarrassing little urge. His fingers twitched in place, tapping against the arm of the couch incessantly as if relieving pent up energy.

“Hey,” he said after an hour or so of silence.

“Yeah?” Yamaguchi mumbled with a mouthful of cheese.

“What was up with that whole ‘it’ thing earlier,” he asked casually, hoping his curiosity wouldn’t betray him.

“Huh?” Yamaguchi gulped down his cheesy snack. “Oh! You mean…”

He trailed off, the end of his sentence barely audible. Tsukishima noticed a pinkish hue forming on his cheeks as his gaze fell to the floor. It complimented his freckles quite nicely. God, why did he have to be so cute?

“Uh, well… Nishinoya suggested it ‘cause I kept getting nervous, and he said it could help me relax…”

“Uh huh. Did it work?”

“Actually, yeah! I felt like it helped loosen me up.”

“Uh huh.”

There was a brief moment of awkward silence that fell between them before Yamaguchi spoke up again.

“Uh, why do you ask?”

“You know,” Tsukishima said, leaning over his friend who was sprawled out across the cushions. “You can ask me. If you ever want ‘it’.”

“Wha, what?!”

Tsukki grabbed both of his wrists and held them down firmly, with little resistance from the pinch server who stared at him with a dumbfounded look, as if he hadn’t expected this to happen at all. He donned his most convincing poker face, hoping it was enough to mask his nervousness. His heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was climbing up his throat. There was no going back now.

“Tsukki…? What, what are you doing?!”

“Do you like it?”

“...Huh? Like what?”

Tsukki flashed a knowing smirk before he asked his next question.

“Do you like being tickled?”

There it was. He managed to spit it out, after all, as much as he hated saying that word. It looked like it bothered Yamaguchi just as much, who was already writhing beneath him.

“Whahahat?! Me? Wh, why do you ask?!”

He was giving himself away with his nervous laughter and skittish babbling. Tsukishima hadn’t touched him at all, and he was already so worked up. His smirk turned into a grin as he shuffled the trapped wrists into one hand and hovered the other over his head.

He was really going to enjoy this.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Yamaguchi pulled weakly at his trapped arms, not really trying to get away but not surrendering either. He wiggled with what little room he had, and the sight made Tsukishima even more eager to get started. He noticed that the hem of his shirt had ridden up, exposing a bit of his belly button, and snuck his hand underneath so that it rested against his bare skin. It felt warm in his palms, and it twitched a lot just from the slight movement of his hand.

“Ehehehe, Tsukki!! Wait!!”

“Not gonna answer? Mmmk.”

Unable to hold out any longer, Tsukishima wisped the tips of his fingers against Yamaguchi’s stomach. His skin was soft to touch and quivered like jello. The freckly-faced boy squealed loudly, arching his back and pushing himself further into Tsukishima’s hand. The blonde couldn’t help but smile; only he knew how weak his friend was to light tickles, and he was going to exploit that fact for as long as he could.

“Tsukeeheeheehee!! Wahahahahit!!”

“It's really obvious that you like it,” Tsukishima stated matter-of-factly, continuing to spider in a circular motion around his navel. “You were so shy about asking, and you never said stop.” He moved towards his side, raking the entire length of his waist as Yamaguchi shrieked, squirmed, and protested. His torso bounced up and down like he was on a trampoline, contorting himself as much as he could with what little room he had to move. He accidentally brushed against his hip and remembered how bad it was there once Yamaguchi shrieked in ticklish agony.

“Ahahahaha, nghhhh, noHOHOHO NOT THEHEHERE!!”

“Not where? Here? You mean your hips? You’re really weak there, aren’t you?”

Tsukishima proved himself by tickling that hyper-sensitive area, putting his thumb in the crease of his thigh while his other four fingers dug into the side of his hip. Yamaguchi bucked his hips in response, involuntarily trying to shake him off but instead pushing himself further into the blonde’s grip once again. His laughter was bubbly and wild, jumping through multiple octaves until he lost his energy and fell into silent laughter. That’s when Tsukishima knew he was getting to him. He eased up, still stroking the waist of his shorts but at a much slower pace so he could catch his breath.

“Such a big reaction from a little touch,” he whispered, ghosting his fingers up his chest until they reached his collarbones. He fluttered against them with a feather-light touch, relishing Yamaguchi’s small squeaks and flinches. He climbed further, skittering the backs of his nails against his neck while the pinch server shook his head from side to side. He tried fighting back his giggles, but they burst through despite his best efforts.

“NgghhaahAHAHAHAHA! Pleeeeease! Tsukeeheehee!”

Tsukishima moved up to his ears, jumping from one to the other as he nearly tickled his friend to hysterics. Every time he turned his head, he’d just go to the other, making it impossible to shake him off. Yamaguchi was unable to form words, once again succumbing to silent laughter.

“What’s wrong? Can’t talk? Maybe this will help,” Tsuki poked one of his underarms and nearly got bucked off the couch from how violently Yamaguchi thrashed. After grounding himself a bit more steadily, he focused his efforts on this new spot, poking the center of his pit again and again while his friend convulsed beneath him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he tried hiding his face in one arm, perhaps from shyness or embarrassment. That just made Tsukki poke his other armpit, which elicited another goofy cackle from the trapped server.

He kept it up for several more minutes until Yamaguchi’s face was bright red and his giggles turned into wheezes. Tsukki gave him a few seconds of respite, allowing him to catch his breath before things got too intense. He put his hand on his stomach again and lazily traced random patterns into his trembling skin.

“I don't think it's lame, by the way,” he said, tracing a line from one side to the other while the brunette snickered from the light touch. “You can ask me whenever.”

“Aheeheehee… aha! ...I… I cahahan?”

“Yeah. Just don't be weird about it,” Tsukishima released him at long last, taking a moment to enjoy the blushing, disheveled sight that was Yamaguchi. The guy had curled himself into a ball in case Tsukishima decided to attack again and was still giggling, even now when Tsukki was at least a foot away.

“So… you don’t think I’m lame?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned about what his friend thought of him. The blonde shrugged his shoulders, acting nonchalant while his insides fluttered like butterflies.

“Nah. You’re a pretty cool guy. I guess.”

Yamaguchi sounded a bit hoarse, so Tsukki went to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. He chugged it down so fast he started coughing, and Tsukki rubbed circles in his back until he was breathing normally again.

“Wait… why were you watching me so much at practice?” the brunette suddenly asked while staring at his friend, who looked quite taken aback from the unexpected question.

“I wasn’t. I just…”

“Hold on! You were jealous, weren’t you? Did you wanna do ‘it’ to me at practice? Did ya? Did ya?” Yamaguchi poked at his friend’s ribs, moreso to annoy him than get a reaction, and luckily the blonde was able to stifle his own vocalization. He slapped away his hand and furrowed his brows in a fake display of annoyance.

“Stop. And how bold of you to assume I was focusing all my attention on you, dummy.”

Seeing him don a shit-eating grin only spurred Tsukki’s irritation on. He felt his own cheeks burn with humiliation now that he’d been discovered. It wasn’t often that Yamaguchi got the best of him, and when he did, he made sure to rub it in as much as he could.

“Awww, Tsukki!! If you wanna tickle me that bad, you can just ask too!”

“Shut up. And don’t say that. It’s embarrassing. For you, I mean.”

“Hehe, what's the matter Tsukki? Can't say it? You can't say t-EHEHEHEHEE NOOOOOO! Please no I'm sohahahahree!!!”

Yamaguchi spluttered out pleas for mercy through more wild laughter as Tsukki latched onto his sides, tickling with much more ferocity than before. They stayed there for a while longer, just enjoying their closeness now that both of their little secrets were out in the open. Yamaguchi’s laugh rang out like musical notes, filling the house with a wonderful, heartwarming sound.

And for once, Tsukki actually laughed along with him.

#tickle fic #haikyuu!!#tsukkiyama #lee!yamaguchi #ler!tsukishima #FINALLY I FINISHED THIS KJRHKJF JEEZ #ONLY TOOK ME TWELVE YEARS #IM NEVER WRITING ANYTHING EVER AGAIN LOL OL OL OL #jk but for real its 4 am this is barely coherent i need 2 slempt

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koutarousangel · 4 years ago

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━ chaos / bokuto kōtarō.

prompt : an angel falls in love with a demon ... quite literally.

genre : angst ... a lot of it

warning(s) : religious undertones, alludes to sex, mention of a blade, slight mention of violence, reader is ... well, a demon.

song recs : falling in reverse ━ eden ; afterthought ━ joji ; listen before you go ━ billie eilish.

author’s note : i was doing a lucifer rewatch and the bit with maze and amenadiel came up and i was just like 🤔. this was originally meant for kuroo, but i have different plans for him so i was like HMMM who’s the perfect candidate for an angel and ofc .... bo fits the bill cmon now ! title’s inspired by this poem.

EPISODE ONE ━ the fallen angel.

you had pictured yourself in this position before.

more accurately, you had dreamt of it, your hellblade positioned at the base of his neck, ready to slice the skin open and get him completely off your back, so that you could continue to trapeze through earth, laying waste to the spoils humans had created and the ones they’re also subsequently punished for when they’re in hell.

but you hesitated.

there was a point when the two of you were at each other’s throats, pitted against each other as mortal enemies. fight after fight forced the string of sexual tension to grow taught and at one point it broke apart, and you’d fallen into bed one time after the next.

you hesitated because it was supposed to be a one time thing, a mistake, but you kept looking for him everywhere, and he looked for you and the pillow talk became longer and longer and you learned about each other. you hesitated because there was something in the way that he held you, how he gazed at you, how he gave you a sense of purpose.

the thought of how you would be ridiculed if you had ever returned to hell disappeared whenever his warm, honey-coloured eyes fell on you, and your heart that wasn’t meant for love beat with a different rhythm, proving so many people wrong.

a demon falling in love with an angel ; how strange.

tears stung the corners of your eyes as you shook your head out of your thoughts, almost losing your grip on the hellblade before you grit your teeth, trying to force yourself to move and get it over with, but the hesitation lasted for a second too long.

fingers encircled both of your wrists and you were flipped over, pinned to the plush bed underneath you as bokuto’s body hovered over yours.

“if you wanted to do it, you shouldn’t have hesitated,” his voice came out in an angry growl, but you could discern the disappointment weaving through the tone of his voice. his hair fell over his eyes, a stark contrast to the spiked upstyle it usually sits in, but even though the trusses of grey hair partially obstructed his golden eyes, betrayal had taken adoration’s place in them.

a coherent sentence couldn’t make it past your lips, words coming out in a string of babbles, punctuated by a gutteral sob, silent prayers to try and find the right words running laps through your head.

a demon caught in prayer ; how unique.

“i’m sorry,” your voice was a whimper. it was uncharacteristic, seeing as your voice usually drips confidence, accompanied by your snarky words and scheming smirk, traits he’d grown to find endearing, “kōtarō, i’m sorry.”

he grimaced and looked away, holding back his emotions and deciding to stand his ground instead, “no, you’re not,” he pressed down on your wrists more, frustration seeping through his fingertips, “this was your plan from the start.”

“only after i figured out why you were sent,” your confession came out through gritted teeth as you tried to get angry again, hating the helpless feeling that had taken over your body, but then letting your bottom lip tremble again as you let go of the tension in your shoulders, “i don’t want to go back kō, i don’t … please.”

his grip loosened and his eyes glazed over with tears that threatened to stain his flushed cheeks, “i was ready to follow you,” his words came out in a pained whisper, his breath fanning over your face.

wind swirled around the two of you as he extended his wings, items in the vicinity clattering to the ground and making a mess. as you peered up, a small gasp fell past your lips. instead of the pure white you remember seeing the first time, the feathers were greying, some of them had already turned black and some were singed.

your eyebrows knitted together and a frown befell your features as you gently ran your fingers along the blackened feathers, catching his slight wince out of the corner of your eye and you flinched away from his wings.

“i’m not worth it,” all the confidence that is usually present in your voice was snuffed out, replaced with uncertainty. the façade broke even further and the tears streamed freely and steadily down your face as you shook your head, “you don’t deserve hell, you’re good… you can save yourself and go home.”

bokuto let go of your wrists and shushed you as you broke down underneath him, pulling your frame onto his lap and letting you wrap your legs around his waist, cradling your face in his hands and placing his head against your forehead, “you’re worth it all,” he whispers, “screw heaven and hell, wherever you go, i follow.”

but even after his words managed to calm you down and pressed kisses to every inch of your body, you couldn’t help but feel guilt settle at the pit of your stomach. you gazed at his innocent face as he slept and imagined him amongst the demons of hell and it made you sick.

in the morning he woke up to an empty, cold bed, for you loved him far too much to let him go through hell. and after figuring out that you had left your phone behind, he yelled and broke nearly every single thing in the room, wings extended and pain running through them as more feathers darkened. as he dropped down to his knees and his wings drooped on either side of him, he looked like a broken renaissance painting; the fallen angel.

as you stood in front of the gates of hell, the elder demon towered above you and looked down at you with pure disgust.

“your heart has started to purify.”

that meant you couldn’t get back into hell and you had nowhere to go, “how? i tried to kill an angel.”

the demon tuts and shakes their head in disappointment, looking at you as if you were a toddler and not a high ranking demon, “the angel,” they all but spit, “you fell in love with him and spared his life … it’s pathetic.”

you had nowhere to go … nowhere except earth.

over the span of a couple of hours, you’d gone to hell, gotten banished and sent back to the mortal world, alone. the elder demon was right … it was incredibly pathetic.

sitting at the bar only added to how pathetic the situation actually was; as you swirled your drink over and over, eyes following the amber liquid as it chased itself in circles. a huff exhaled past your lips as you felt a presence beside you, not ready to deal with some sleazebag who wanted to get into your pants.

but when you looked over, ready to pick a fight, your breath caught in your throat as honey-coloured eyes met yours.

“heaven doesn’t want me,” he shrugged simply, smile settled on his face, the same blinding smile you’d fallen in love with, the one that had purified your heard.

you let out a small giggle, “and hell’s afraid i’ll take over,” your voice had the same cocky lilt in your voice, smirk crossing your features as you looked up at the fallen angel with pure love in your eyes. the kind of love that neither heaven nor hell could handle.

the red thread taglist : @lovingcupcakeavenue @laineywritesstuff

tell me if you’d like to be added to the taglist !

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyu imagines #haikyu au #haikyuu au #the red thread #the red thread : episode 1 #tw knife

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amy-oswin-lovegood · 3 years ago

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As always, S3E8 of Skam is incredibly good, but leaves me with a whole mess of thoughts and emotions swirling through my brain, so this is just me trying to get it all sorted out and share it if anyone's interested (tw bipolar, mania)

I think some people have an idea of mania being so obvious that of course you would know it if you saw it. But really, no one has ever known I was bipolar before I told them, even friends who had been with me every day through several highs and lows and mixed episodes.

I've never found a portrayal of bipolar disorder in media that feels as painfully right as Even's character, especially in terms of mania. I think it's really easy for mania to be exaggeratedly dramatized or played for comedy (I adore next to normal, but I'm looking at you here), and Skam did neither. The most extreme thing Even does, walking out naked, is not filmed scandalously and the camera doesn't make Even out to look crazy. And the way Henrik Holm and the production team of Skam in general portray a manic Even, starting at least from Tenke det du føler, is done in a very realistic and honest way. Straight up, as Jonas might say.

When I watch Even in this episode, I can feel the undercurrent of tension and anxiety cutting through the euphoria. I can see his brain going too fast and I can see Isak struggling to keep up. I remember the first time I watched the hotel scene, seeing Isak's smile slip off his face and knowing I was right about the feeling that had been growing since Pause, that there was something more.

Because it's not all walking around naked in the winter. Sometimes it's not sleeping for a week. Making way too much food. Jumping from topic to topic too fast for others to follow. Suddenly learning a new language. Skipping class and homework and responsibilities. And it's easy to say, they're just in a good mood, or they're sleep deprived like the rest of us, or they're just energetic, or, or, or.

As I've rewatched over the years, I've seen myself more and more in Even. My bipolar doesn't exactly manifest in the same way as his, but I've been through a lot of similar moments. And the fact that it's so well done is what makes it so hard for me to watch sometimes. Because I'm taken back to what those moments felt like, or what people have told me I was like, and what the consequences were.

But as much as it can hurt to watch, I also appreciate the care with which it's been done. It's hard to describe why, but seeing Even's episode play out through Isak's eyes gave me more of a foothold on how I felt, made it easier to understand what I was going through, allowed me to start being kinder to myself. I know for a lot of people this was their first exposure to bipolar disorder and mania, and I feel like it does a really good job at explaining what it's like to someone without any context.

I see Isak's confused face at the hotel and remember the way the interviewer looked at me as I rambled on about my favourite books in an important job interview. I see Even blowing up Isak's phone with song lyrics (in episode 9) and think of going through a 180k fic and sending my sister every single part that I found funny or cute or sad or cool. I see Even walk out and think of walking out in the cold, pouring rain with no jacket to go to mcdonalds, my friend running out after me and getting me home. I see the hotel and think of the times I've splurged on unnecessary things in bouts of online shopping. I see Sonja say that all of this was just a sick idea he had, and think of all the things that I couldn't bring myself look at after my first manic episode because it felt like they weren't mine anymore, just the product of some sick idea.

My experience with mania is different to Even's in many ways, but it resonates so strongly because it hits so many of the important notes of what it feels like to go through something like that. And of course this continues to be true of his arc throughout the season, but making this clip's gifset was draining enough that I slept for two hours after finishing, so I think I'll leave that for later. I know this is a bit all over the place, but for now I just needed to get all of this out of my brain.

#skam

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killherfreakout · 4 years ago

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half of who i am isn’t all my fault

a series about hands and where they touch.

part two: your hand under my chin

[a/n: bipolar disorder, mixed state of mania and depression.]

* * *

The world is ending.

At least, to a twenty-something artist in Paris named Eliott Demaury, it feels like it is. And he can’t decide if he wants to sit there and watch or throw caution to the wind and go down with it.

It’s another quiet weeknight in the city, late enough that the partygoers are on their way home but early enough that people aren’t up for work. So the world is continuing as normal, and yet, it feels like Eliott is on the edge of it and about to fall off.

And there’s no one to blame but himself; no one to blame but his chemically imbalanced and traitorous brain, on the brink of consuming every last semblance of control he has left, in the middle of a sleepless night. Eliott knows this feeling too well, and no matter who much he tries to fight it, his attempts are futile.

Eliott finds himself sitting on the edge of their bed, and he watches as Lucas’ parted lips huff out soft breaths in his sleep. He looks ethereal, like some kind of angel sent to watch over Eliott when he wants to give up on himself, always there when he doesn’t know he needs him. Lucas is some kind of perfect dream, in between real and imaginary, as he lays there like he has no idea the sight he makes.

Lucas said once, after Eliott made him try his special omelettes, I’m glad you have one flaw, otherwise you’re just too perfect to be real. And Eliott knows the way people look at him, like he’s an entity only good for his beauty — although, if he has anything to say about it, he would argue he’s the furthest from that — and not a person with real human emotion underneath it all. The thought makes a cruel, humorless laugh bubble up inside his throat.

And he doesn’t want to be the asshole who’s ungrateful for his conventionally attractive features, but every time it comes up, it just— it feels like it’s the universe’s twisted way of overcompensating for the ugliness that hides beneath the shiny surface. It makes this shame and guilt swirl inside of him, and there’s this voice mocking him, saying, if only they knew. If only they knew how flawed this body is, how close it is to breaking.

His boyfriend’s peaceful state somehow magnifies Eliott’s awakeness, and his body feels heavy but his mind and heart feel like they’re going fast enough to run a marathon. Like he has all this energy he needs to burn but he’s stuck inside the small apartment as the world ends inside it, and seems to keep going outside of it.

Inevitably he finds his cigarettes on the ledge of the living room window, and goes through one before he even realizes he’s smoking it; he goes to light another but gets annoyed at the busted lighter, deciding to raid the fridge for something to wash down the nicotine.

A gust of wind outside reminds him of the outside world, his body somehow not big enough for everything he feels inside, like he belongs out there. But he can feel himself coming down, feeling like he fits inside his body again the more he breathes, and he tries with all his might to stay afloat before he crashes.

Eliott lays on the cold floor of their bedroom, his head against the wall under the window and legs bent at the knee with his feet against the foot of the bed. It’s not quite comfortable but the position allows him to see some of the sky over the tops of the buildings outside, including a few stars that shine through the darkness.

He lays there for a while, just looking at the tiny shining stars and melting into the cold floor, trying to focus on the sound of Lucas’ tiny breaths from the bed.

There’s a star that peeks through a small cloud as it passes by, and Eliott can’t tell which one it is or which constellation it belongs to, but he knows that it’s one that moves around the North Star, like all the others do. Then a thought comes to him: he’s like one of those stars. He’s always changing and going in circles, sometimes hidden behind clouds in his mind, not visible to anyone. The thought could be dreamy and romantic, comparing himself to the stars, but with the current state he’s in it feels like a curse. Like the pole his life revolves around is his bipolar disorder, where he has no choice but to let it decide his course.

It makes him feel so small and so alone, always at war with his mind and with himself. The stars seem so far away, and he’s just left lying on the cold floor in his own apocalypse that no one can see.

His eyes wander across the ceiling, unfocused and frenzied as these thoughts keep swirling around his head, hands clenching at his sides.

There’s shuffling on the other side of the room where Lucas tosses in the bed, groaning before calling, “Baby?”

Eliott registers the sounds but can’t break his focus from the ceiling of his mind and the room.

“Eli, where are you?”

Lucas calls his name a few more times, the sound getting further and further away as the younger one searches the other rooms of the apartment. Eliott wants to scream for help, wants to tell Lucas, I’m here, I’m here, but he can’t.

Somehow, though, he seems to beckon him back.

There’s footsteps and then a source of light, and Lucas almost trips over Eliott’s legs where he still rests on the floor by their bed. Lucas sighs when he realizes he’s found him, sleepy features illuminated by the blue light of his phone. His eyes are squinty from the light and his hair is a perfect mess all over his head, a few strands falling down to his eyes. He still looks like an angel - and here he is, to save Eliott from himself like he knew he would.

“There you are,” Lucas kneels on the floor by Eliott’s side. Eliott finally focuses on his voice and his presence, his angel. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Eliott doesn’t move, can’t move. Lead has settled into his bones trapping him to the floor, and every nerve screams to get up, to go back to bed with Lucas, but there he lies, paralyzed.

“Oh, Eliott,” Lucas’ smile disappears, thumbing away the tears that Eliott didn’t even know were flowing. His voice is soft and loving just like he is. “What’s going on?”

His eyes close to the words, no doubt causing more wetness from his eyes. The thumb wipes it away again, so gently, it’s like magic.

Subconsciously Eliott registers Lucas’ concern and the way he asked, noticing how he asked what’s going on? instead of what’s wrong? — because something doesn’t necessarily have to be wrong to make Eliott feel like this, because what Eliott feels right now is something that happens sometimes. They’ve had plenty of experience with this exact moment, when Eliott is close to losing himself and Lucas makes sure to keep him from going too far.

“Lucas…” His voice is weak, his throat closing and breath stuck somewhere that can’t get out. Eliott can feel the touch again, this time firmer, more real. Lucas leans down to be closer to him, and keeps up that brushing on his face, but it’s overwhelming all of a sudden, and there’s no simple answer to his question and—

Eliott finds some strength, or just a fighting response, to turn over and away from the touch and warmth of Lucas. He misses it as soon as it’s gone but stays in his new position with his back turned to the other boy. Lucas doesn’t reach out again, just leaves him be. Eliott is glad his boyfriend is respecting his space but can’t help the guilt setting in that he pushed him away. Eliott lays there quietly, though his mind is anything but. He doesn’t know if Lucas is still there when he finally finds his voice again.

“I was doing so well, I thought I might have finally had some control over this. But it just came out of nowhere and—”

Sudden panic washes over him, because it never really comes out of nowhere, and if it does, there are signs he can recognize so he’s at least a bit prepared.

Eliott thinks of the fact that he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days, and how tired he doesn’t feel until right at this moment. But he was so focused on his art projects and so excited with how they were coming together, the time seemed to fly by. That happens sometimes, just getting swept up in inspiration and letting it take him away - without triggering an episode. Because he prides himself in his passion and creativity, and how he uses art to sort through his feelings and express his truest self. The thought of his recent works being the product of his mania rather than his own intention makes him so angry and upset that he was born with a brain that always ends up letting him down.

But now in hindsight he doesn’t know what to think, or what exactly triggered these feelings, or how he got here, or what will come next. Eliott had been diligent with taking his meds and going to his weekly sessions, but now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember if he took them yesterday and—

Eliott lays with his back on the floor again. “I should have seen this coming. I knew I was doing too well that something was going to happen, and it’s always the same shit.” He tilts his head back to look at the stars again, and imagines himself as one of them. “No matter how hard I try, it's like nothing I do is ever up to me. And I have to deal with myself for the rest of my life.”

It’s silent again and Eliott has a moment of terror that he’s completely alone, like he’s the last person on Earth and shouting into an endless, dark void.

“Hey,” the sound is like a beam of light breaking through the dark void, like another lost soul is greeting him, saying, I’m here, I’m here.

Lucas hasn’t left from his place next to him; he’s laying on his side facing Eliott on the hard floor. Eliott doesn’t look at him, though; he doesn’t want to see him look at how much of a mess he is. He knows Lucas doesn’t pity him, and he’s so glad for that, but the way Lucas has so much love and care in his eyes makes Eliott only feel more undeserving of it. So he stays on his back and glances from the ceiling to the endless sky.

“Hey,” Lucas says again, in a soft whisper, but firm this time. “Eli, can you look at me?”

Eliott doesn’t want to be like the stars and revolve around his bipolar. Maybe he can find a new way to navigate, by following a new star, a new pole that is a fixed point in his life. Like the one in front of him now, made of stardust and blue eyes and love.

He swallows thickly, his breath finding a way out as he catches sight of Lucas. Eliott was right, there’s so much love in his beautiful, still sleepy eyes. Even though Eliott is turned on his side to face him, he tucks his head down to his chest.

Lucas comes a little closer, and slowly reaches a hand out to Eliott as not to scare him. He runs his hand over the fabric of Eliott’s chest where his heart beats fast underneath, and gently uses it to lift his chin so that Lucas can see him.

Eliott lets him, lets Lucas position his face to open up to him, lets himself be seen. But he’s stubborn when he gets like this, so he still looks down and away from Lucas who still has Eliott’s chin in his hand.

“Breathe,” Lucas says calmly, looking into his eyes. Eliott keeps their gaze this time; Lucas’ is more direct and practical now, communicating more than his voice. Eliott lets out an excuse for a breath, more like a quiet sob, and then Lucas says again, “Breathe, in and out.”

Lucas watches as Eliott tries again, but it’s still impossible. He wants to look away again but the hand under his chin won’t let him, the fingers there softly tracing the frown on his face as if to smooth it away.

“Listen to mine and try to breathe with me.”

It’s then that Eliott decides that Lucas is his North Star, even if just for tonight. His mania and his depression and his anxiety and his sleepless nights will always be there, but right here and right now, he uses every last ounce of control he has to listen as Lucas’ chest rises and fills with air and slowly deflates.

Eliott tunes into the sound of every breath, and soon he somehow finds that he’s breathing in time with them.

“There you go, keep breathing,” Lucas reassures, his hand moving from Eliott’s chin to his shoulder and slowly down his arm to where his hands lay in front of him on the floor.

After some time, Eliott’s heart rate is slow again, and he’s exhausted. He’s about to fall, into real sleep for the first time in days, and Lucas is right there with him.

Lucas’ voice sounds like it’s on the other side of that void, far away but extremely close at the same time. “I’m sorry you feel like that, and I wish I could say the right thing to make you feel better, but all I can say is that you’re right, it sucks. I mean, I’ll never know exactly how you feel, but I’m acknowledging that it must feel awful. But I do know that you’re so much stronger than you think, and I know that you are so much more than your weakest moments, and that I’m right here with you through anything.”

Eliott’s eyes are heavy and his mind is starting to drift, but the words make him hold on just a little bit longer. He flutters his eyes open to see Lucas staring back at him, the smallest sleepy smile on his lips. Eliott does his best to return it, even if it’s a lazy slant of his mouth.

“I'm sure it must feel really lonely sometimes, but I’ll keep reminding you that you’re not alone.” Lucas’ hand is tickling down his forearm, and he intertwines their fingers to bring them to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses across his knuckles. “And I can’t wait to deal with you for the rest of my life.”

My angel. It’s the last thing Eliott thinks before he surrenders to sleep, his hand still in Lucas’ where they lay on the hardwood floor.

When Eliott wakes it’s to the sun shining at a low angle into the room, and he tosses in the bed to shy away from it, bumping into a hard body on his side. Lucas is sitting against the headboard smiling down at him, greeting him with a good afternoon, my love.

After a few long moments of waking up, still coming to and vaguely remembering his state the previous night, Eliott swallows though his throat is dry and regards his boyfriend looking all awake and beautiful.

“Did you carry me to bed?” Eliott asks half in awe and half in confusion. He’s done the same for Lucas countless times, but he doesn’t think his boyfriend ever has.

Lucas scoffs but he has the widest, most beautiful smile on his face. The kind that is contagious even when Eliott is not feeling up to smiling.

He gets him to drink some water and take his meds, and Eliott is too tired to fight it.

“Remember when I said you were stronger than you think? Well, so am I.” Lucas smirks with a quick raise of his brows, and Eliott goes to bury his face into Lucas’ neck and shoulder, his absolute favorite place in the universe.

“I love you,” is all Eliott has the energy to say, before he rolls over and goes to sleep a few hours more. Lucas laughs that soft and adorable laugh of his, and joins him under the covers. My love, my light, my angel, my star.

#skam france #elu fic #elu #skamfr fic #mywriting #hands and where they touch

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riisinaakka-draws · 4 years ago

Photo

Progress gif of this: “Would you still recognize me?”

The quality isn’t the best possible, but hopefully you get the idea how things evolved... It’s made from “the preview pics” that I saved in this painting’s draft/wip folder whenever I took a break or wanted to compare/remember something special - and also so that I’d know where I left things and wouldn’t have to open the actual psd file every time, lol. To make the gif size smaller and to have it flow better (and be less eye-hurting), I left some of the frames out.

I admit it, it’s quite fascinating to watch now after everything :D *pats myself on the back*

So that the post doesn’t become too long on the dash, I put some additional notes under the cut, mainly about the refs and wips if you want to take a look! Please, do not repost elsewhere :)

(Btw, you can just read the bolded parts if you want a quick version or get tired of the rambling.)

I want to point out that the main work always happens underneath all kinds of adjustment layers because I like to test things a lot during the process before sticking on something if I don’t quite know yet what I want. Like the colour scheme or where the light comes (or if there are multiple light sources) or if something needs more contrast etc. So I paint with simpler colours first, but already have some ideas/adjustment layers over them, but hidden and waiting until the basics are done. Then I merge things and continue to paint with the “new” colour palette.

I also often test filters to have more texture or bring out some things better - or just to find something interesting to incorporate! Accented edges, crosshatch and watercolor are things that I often test in some way over my sketches and wips at some point when the basics are done or when I need/want some kind of further effect/texture or just something to knit them together better and for balance. And also just for fun!

Then I flatten the things I like (or I am “certain about” at that point) and continue painting over that ...aaaand end up testing something else, keep different versions or parts of things on separate layer groups (to compare or to bring back some earlier things that I liked or alternative lighting solution or object/body part placement, or...) and so on...seriously it’s always a mess controlled chaos! aahahahaha *face palm*

But mainly the things keep building on top of each other instead of having neat groups for sketch, lineart, colours, lighting etc. I mean, I always try to start with that but never have been able to actually keep it very long... And on the other hand I’m too nervous and indecisive to paint with only single layer/canvas from the beginning with (like a traditional painting would be painted). Or with just a few layers for background, character(s), effects on their own and so on... So I have this chaos that swirls towards that something that I had preplanned or wanted to achieve/practise until I’m happy with it.

ANYWAY, BACK TO THE ACTUAL ART :

The original “spark” for this work was Flint at the end of the episode 1 with his bloody face and white shirt, and that nice splash of light, which made me think about the aftermath and him cleaning himself in the privacy of his cabin with some nice morning light painting his beard fiery and him lost in thoughts :) At some point that made me think of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec’s beautiful painting “The Laundress” which I have liked since I was a kid, so I started to steer towards it.

See the resemblance? (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)ﾉ ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Some of the refs for the bowl and Flint. The angle/posture ended up being a bit different and I had more refs for Flint’s face and shirt and hand etc.

Some wips:

1) basically the idea and items that I wanted to include.

2) after a break (weeks? months?) and after I had searched some more references to help. The eyes were at this point (accidentally) absolutely awful so I censored them for the sake of my own peace of mind here, lol (not sorry!)

More wips along the way, although not much difference can be seen as the pics are quite small.. :

3) I mirrored/flipped the painting constantly, to see the mistakes and also because I couldn’t decide which way I wanted him to be! This stage was aaalmost ready but I got stuck and forgot let it be for several months doing other stuff again.

4) I continued it, fixed lots of things with fresh eyes and experimented more with lighting and texture but nothing too drastic stuck in the end. I have two monitors and either (or both...) are calibrated a bit off atm, so it was quite frustrating to navigate and to know which one had the right colours that I was after... and I still don’t know but it looks nice on both screens so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ At this stage things were basically nitpicking and a bit too much honing.

The finished piece:

In the end I lost some of the things I actually liked more in the earlier versions (for example some had more of a dreamy feeling or better texture or more emotions/wearyness/anger showing that didn’t quite reach the end result again) and I overworked some other things, but nevertheless! I’m very pleased how this turned out! I reached the vision I wanted and learned a lot again :D

Thanks for reading <3

#black sails #captain flint #tw blood #flashing gif #tw flashing gif #progress gif #or is it process gif?#anyway. here's some notes and refs and ideas again #the gif shows more than the small pics later #but I wanted to point out some things from along the way #ask away if you want to know something specific #OH yeah btw this one sparked 'the first mo(u)rning in Nassau' painting with Flint and Miranda!#that I drew a while ago and finished before this #atleast I have a vague memory that these were connected #and also the one where mr Gates is patching up Flint with dr Howell xD #which I privately call 'HURGH' (because of Flint's reaction lmao)#so you see #it's dangerous to start new things because they end up multiplying and then u end up with shitton of wips #that are like 70-90% ready but just.can't.finish.nggggghhhhhh #at least some of them finally saw the light of day...#also I forgot to draw his collarbones again lol #let's pretend there's enough meat to hide them ;)

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Too Far

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy

So I was rewatching some episodes, minding my own business, when this muse blindsided me out of nowhere. It’s a lot of Virgil, specifically delving into Virgil’s head and motivations, and this is a playground that is normally locked and barred to me so I have no idea at this point how well it’s ended up from a characterisation standpoint. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand this boy.

It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct. Episode tag for 3.06 Life Signs.

“Virgil, can you come to the den, please?”

Scott’s voice emerged from his comm with no warning, not even a greeting, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.

“Is it a rescue?” he asked, eyeing the task he was halfway through and already starting to calculate the fastest way to finish it. “I’m doing some maintenance on Two, so it’ll take me a couple of minutes to get her ready for launch.”

“There’s no rescue.” Scott sounded… off, but not in any of the ways Virgil was used to hearing. It was, at least, partially familiar, but he couldn’t place it. That was concerning, but he couldn’t just leave Thunderbird Two with her dashboard strewn across the cockpit. Rescues had a habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times, and that certainly qualified.

“Then… can it wait until I’ve put the panels back?”

The weighty pause on the line gave him the answer even before Scott spoke. Whatever Scott needed, it was urgent.

“Five minutes, Virgil.”

But not so urgent it couldn’t wait? Thoroughly mystified and more than a little worried, Virgil hurried through putting his girl back together as quickly as he could whilst still being sure he wasn’t messing anything up. It was lucky he could do it in his sleep, because his mind was firmly fixed on Scott’s odd request.

Except it wasn’t a request, was it? As he screwed the last panel back in place, he realised where he knew that tone of voice from. It was the tone Scott used on Gordon and Alan when they’d done something big brother didn’t approve of. He hadn’t instantly recognised it because Scott hadn’t directed it at him in…

Virgil couldn’t actually remember. Normally when Scott was preparing to lecture him, he was laid up in the medbay with an injury Scott thought could have been avoided and there was a strong undercurrent of thinly veiled worry. That undercurrent was missing, this time, and despite himself Virgil hesitated.

What had he done to get Scott on his back like that?

Reluctantly, he left his girl to answer Scott’s summons – and that was what it was, just like Dad used to summon them if they were in trouble; after Mars and the high of Captain Taylor saying Dad would have been proud of them, the reminder of Dad’s stricter side nestled unpleasantly in his chest. Scott had even gone so far as to wait for him in the den, rather than seeking him out.

Just like Dad.

Virgil wasn’t scared of his brother, but the little brother in him was scared at the idea of disappointing Scott, and it was that part that dragged his feet along the ground, reluctant to face whatever was waiting for him in the den.

Scott was sat at Dad’s desk, glowering intently at a hologram in front of him. Virgil couldn’t see what was on it, barring a lot of text, but that wasn’t important. What was important was the strong, imposing figure at the desk, distinct from his memories of Dad only because Scott was leaning forwards, elbows on the table.

Dad had never sat like that. Sometimes, it seemed like that was the only difference between Dad and his big brother. Today, with a heavy atmosphere and otherwise empty den – no doubt cleared on purpose for this talk – was one of those times.

But for all that they reminded Virgil of each other and memories threatened to overlap reality, it was still Scott at that desk. Virgil trusted Scott with every fibre of his being, and it was that trust that shoved his reluctant feet into the den to face whatever Scott wanted to talk about.

“You called?”

Muscle memory – old, old muscle memory that hadn’t been exercised in eight years – led him to stand in front of the desk. With Scott sat in the chair and him still on his feet, he was taller. He didn’t feel taller.

The desk did funny things to perception, skewed them away from reality.

The blue eyes that suddenly pinned him in place left him feeling a foot tall, and he didn’t even know what this was about, yet. There was love in them, because it was Scott and there was always love in his eyes, even after Gordon had poured itching powder in his bed when he was ten and the sheer amount had him reacting so badly he’d had to see a doctor, but it was overshadowed by other, darker, things.

Anger. Frustration. Disappointment.

Disappointment had a way of affecting the colour that no other emotion could quite replicate. It was the only shade of blue that made Virgil feel ill to look at.

Scott didn’t say anything, making solid eye contact that Virgil wanted to break but couldn’t.

If the disappointment was heart-breaking, the silence was nerve-wracking. Virgil didn’t like silence at the best of times, and took to filling it with whatever he could, whether it was music, the sounds that accompanied engineering, or simply lingering in earshot of whichever brother was the liveliest at that moment.

But Scott knew that, and no matter how upset or disappointed he was, he wasn’t cruel. The silence lingered for barely a few seconds before he jabbed at something on his tablet.

An awful choking sound emitted from the desk’s built-in speakers, as though someone was trying to breathe but just couldn’t. It was one Virgil had heard many times before – too many times before – but this one was different.

A wave of cold – icy, Antarctica-cold – swallowed him up with the creeping inevitability of realisation, dousing him until his organs felt like they’d all stopped working and the blood had drained from his body.

He didn’t need the sound of Alan’s panicked “Virgil!?” to identify it, and his entire body cringed as he heard his own voice, too full of adrenaline-packed amusement, reply.

The finger that jabbed the pause button was full of judgement.

“I-” he started, trying to find words – an explanation, an apology…

Those blue eyes gave him a look and he quailed into silence. An excuse. That’s what he’d been leaping to, but there were no excuses. Not for that.

“Our communications lines are supposed to be used for mission-relevant information only,” Scott finally said. The disappointment Virgil had identified in the initial summons had nothing on what was dripping from his big brother’s words now. “Strictly speaking, there should be no jokes or banter while we’re on a mission, but for the sake of boosting morale, I let that slide.”

He did more than let it slide – Scott was almost as bad as Gordon and Alan for it sometimes, but Virgil knew better than to pedantically correct his eldest brother when he was like this. Hell, even John tended to let Scott say his piece without interrupting if he got this bad.

“Still,” Scott continued, “there are some jokes that go too far, Virgil, and quite honestly I can’t believe I’m having to remind you, of all people.”

He winced involuntarily. “I know, Scott, I’m sorry. That was out of line.” It hadn’t seemed it at the time, not with the adrenaline rushing and a sudden desire to lighten the mood in the collapsed tunnel, but in hindsight, Virgil could see exactly how stupid a prank that had been.

And to do it to Alan, of all people. His youngest brother who had just admitted to him that he was forgetting Dad and worried about them dying on a mission. For them to have one of their closest calls to date was bad enough, where it had been a very real possibility that not all of them were going to make it out alive, but then he’d gone and compounded it…

“Virgil.” Scott pulled him back to the present, and Virgil never wanted to hear his big brother say his name like that ever again. His admittance had done nothing to dilute the disappointment. “I’m not the one you need to apologise to.” Scott at least had enough mercy not mention Alan by name, even if it hung unspoken and heavy between them. “But we need to talk about this.”

Need to talk? Virgil knew he was in the wrong, and normally when Scott knew he knew he was in the wrong, he let it rest after pointing it out. Actually having to talk about it – worse, having to stand there and face the disappointed shade of blue – filled Virgil with something not too dissimilar to shame and apprehension.

The thought crossed his mind that he was going to be grounded. Punished.

“Virgil, why did you do that?”

“I-” he started, but broke off. Why did he do it? Adrenaline wasn’t the reason, even if it had played a part in him actually doing it. Fear, too. Fear that he really was going to die; that he’d just killed himself and abandoned Alan to dig out his dead body. But that still wasn’t the reason, was it? Not really.

Scott didn’t push him. For all he was disappointed, and other displeased emotions swirled around behind the disappointment, he gave him time to answer. But then, perhaps Scott knew he didn’t know and was waiting for him to work it out. His eldest brother could be a mind reader at times.

Virgil swallowed. “I… I wanted to be like Dad.”

The words surprised him as much as they did Scott. Blue eyes widened, and finally Virgil saw something else, something he was used to, flicker in there as well.

Worry.

“Like Dad? But, Virg-”

“Captain Taylor’s always going on about Dad, and how Dad never let fear get in the way,” he interrupted his brother, words tumbling out with no conscious thought behind them. “How Dad always had a plan, and the scrapes they’d get into. How they always got out of them by the skin of their teeth – writing the book on lunar survival and the asteroid belt’s buckle and landing on Mars in the first place.” He took a deep breath, considered looking away but Scott’s wide, rapidly changing eyes locked his gaze in place. “And Alan was talking about Dad on the way, all the little things he used to do.” He didn’t mention what Alan had told him – that had been said in confidence, and there were some things he couldn’t break, not even for Scott.

Instead, he paused to get his rushing thoughts under control. Scott’s disappointment had faded into astonished disbelief, and that hurt in its own way.

He also still looked like Dad.

“Captain Taylor was talking about Dad, and everyone knows you’re Dad’s son. And John, and Alan. Hell, even Gordon. I just wanted Captain Taylor to see I am, too.”

He knew everyone looked at him and saw Mom. Even if they didn’t look alike, he’d inherited her temperament and love of music. They never looked at him and saw Dad.

“I just wanted to be Dad’s son,” he admitted. “I wanted to do what Dad always did in the stories and lighten the mood, keep the morale up. It was stupid; I know that now. I terrified Alan. It was unprofessional and Dad would never have done that at anyone’s expense.”

His cheeks felt cramped, and his vision blurred.

“Virgil…” There was movement in front of him and then a weight on his shoulder. He knew that weight – he’d felt it time and time again.

“It was stupid,” he repeated, the words thick in his throat. “I shouldn’t have done it. But… Captain Taylor said he’d be proud of me.”

The hand on his shoulder shifted, and then there was a firm warmth around him.

“Of course Dad would be proud of you,” Scott said, mouth a little way above his ear. Virgil let his head fall forwards until it was resting on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t ever think that he wouldn’t be. You don’t have to be like him, Virgil. You just have to be like you.”

On another day, in another conversation, Virgil would turn that back around at Scott, who had spent the last eight years trying to emulate Dad.

But Scott had him in a warm, comfortable embrace and the little brother who had been terrified of those disappointed blues lapped up the reassurance that was being offered in their place. This wasn’t about Scott; this was about him and his stupid spur-of-the-moment idiocy.

And the brother he had no doubt terrified more than he’d realised.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the blue shirt. “I messed up.”

“You’re only human,” Scott reminded him. “We mess up, and we learn from it.”

Slowly, Virgil nodded. That was certainly a mistake he was never, ever going to make again.

Scott’s embrace was still comforting, but with the little brother no longer terrified, it was the big brother’s turn to make an appearance. He couldn’t put this behind him, lesson fully learnt and absorbed so intently it was imprinted on his brain for all eternity, until he soothed it over with Alan, too. Reluctantly, he pulled back, out of his brother’s hold, and Scott let him. Hands lingered on his shoulders just a touch longer, before they fell back to Scott’s sides.

Now that Scott was standing, not sat at the desk projecting Dad, he was actually taller than Virgil, and yet Virgil didn’t feel quite so small anymore.

“I need to talk to Alan,” he said, hoping Scott didn’t notice his voice cracking on their youngest brother’s name. Blue eyes – no longer disappointment-blue, but back to their default love-and-concern shade – looked him over, before Scott gave him what could almost be classified as an approving smile.

It was definitely approving, even if the twitch of his dimples wasn’t quite enough to qualify it as a smile, and that alone lifted a weight from Virgil’s shoulders.

“You should,” he agreed. “But you should probably clean up a bit, or you’ll scare him.” It was light-hearted, almost back to the teasing banter of a big brother rather than the Dad-mirage, and Virgil took it for the olive branch it was.

Nodding, he turned to leave the den.

“And Virgil?” There was something slightly melancholy about that tone, and he turned half back around again. Scott was looking at him, with a small smile on his face that wasn’t really happy, even if it wasn’t sad. Just honest. “Even Dad was only human.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #too far #thunderangst #thunderfluff

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carmenxjulia · 4 years ago

Photo

Showrunner Duane Capizzi did an informal Q&A session with some fans in a CS chatroom. There are several question askers, all marked by name. Get some insider knowledge on the show, after the break!

Duane Capizzi:

Just checking things out! Feel like I'm poking my head through a door at a party I'm crashing haha.

Fun to see everyone hanging out and talking all good things Carmen

Can't stay long - I should have taken the code name "Crimson Phantom"

Crimson Phantom - I like the sound of that (if it's not already taken haha)

Carmen:

It's an awesome nickname! Personally I'm more of a Scarlet Santa Rosa person myself- I love that little interaction with Jules and Carmen in the special

Duane Capizzi:

Scarlet Santa Rosa! Yes, that was really cute between them. Too cute in fact.

Coach Brunt had some names for her too if i recollect

Arden:

Lambkins

Wren:

Didn't Brunt also call her Monica Santa Monica once?

Mage:

Yeah in the Boston episode

Also Josie San Jose

Arden:

I personally prefer Fedora the Explora

Duane Capizzi:

Josie yes hahaha

I can't believe we got away with Fedora the Explorer! I thought that would be noted but I'm glad we did. So funny!

Carmen is amazing! She "owns" whatever she wears, doesn't she?

Carmen:

She definitely owns Carmen Brand Outerwear

Duane Capizzi:

I'll share another tidbit though (along the lines of Carmen being a love story where everyone is in love with Carmen).

It was important for obvious reasons that the show be (among other things) about female empowerment. And we wanted to celebrate fashion of course. But it was super important to me to not fall into the "male gaze" trap. That was something I imparted to the storyboard crew and directors. It's a fine line, I know, but I think we succeeded.

Arden:

You sure did. What I adore about Carmen Sandiego is how unsexualized all the characters were while still being inclusive to different body types and races

Duane Capizzi:

Well artists love to sneak things in! So it was a little rule I had

They were mostly great about it - in all the 32 episodes, I think I asked to change only two shots for that reason. Where I had to go "ahem"

"Outerwear" sounds so peculiar but I think that's what made it work. I kept changing it back and forth and sometimes I'm surprised to see/hear it in the show. For the longest time it was "Carmen Clothiers." Did I make the right decision? Sometimes you can rework things too much and lose sight - it happens!

The one shot that leaps to mind was Shadowsan carrying her fireman style at top of 202, as they were escaping through the tunnels. Her, um, fundamentals were just a little too front and center to not fall into the "male gaze" trap. Nothing awful! It was borderline. We just adjusted the angle a bit

Julia:

My favorite most definitely has to be her formal wear from the "need for speed caper"

Duane Capizzi:

I'd have to think about my favorite outfit or top five. All her evening gowns of course!

Maybe "witch." We couldn't make it red because it would not have been a very good disguise (plus, you know: "Scarlet Witch" haha).

But let's not underestimate her signature hat/coat - I continue to be enamored with how we updated her look from the old trench coat thing.

Arden:

Not me suddenly motivated to draw Carmen in a scarlet witch outfit

Duane Capizzi:

Then you have to draw Zack as Pietro!

(or Player? Only his fingers are speedy)

Arden:

Idea: what if player (or Shadowsan) was Pietro

Duane Capizzi:

Shadowsan IS Pietro. He's so quick you never see him move.

Wren:

Shadowsan's fight with Brunt where it went slowmo and he moved fast was so cool!

Duane Capizzi:

Hey, Shadowsan is quite the fashion plate too - am I right?

I love the outfits on the show. So good! So perfect! But, I'm not being very modest am I

I really love SS in the dark trench coat. So. Bad. Ass.

Carmen:

Any thoughts on the Fashionista memory thing?

Duane Capizzi:

Fashionista, sure! What do you want to know?

Carmen:

Give me a second-

Duane Capizzi:

Thank you for noting the aesthetics on the show! Much effort, passion and vision from all involved - Chromosphere, our directors, animators, composers, sound mixers - everyone gave it all they had, it was so inspiring for all involved.

Carmen:

Was there any significance to that specific memory- Carmen defending Julia in the Fashionista Caper- being chosen as the first memory she remembered when she went outside? Like, why that scene specifically over any others for example?

(referring to the finale)

Duane Capizzi:

Oh, that! To be honest, not from me: we were just trying to do the "swirl of confused memories" like we did with Gray earlier in the season. We wanted to show that the ACME device had jostled some old memories loose and that "the girl agent with glasses" was now taking root in Carmen's rush of memories/emotions

But that specific memory, not necessarily from my POV - it could have been any number of Julia moments, like their first meeting on the train (for instance)

The director Jos Humphrey must have picked it. It worked for me!

Carmen:

We all loved that it was that specific memory that was chosen out of all Julia and Carmen moments, the fact that she remembered defending her was an added emotional experience to the already emotional finale

Duane Capizzi:

Well let's talk about the original scene in 204! On the surface just a light fun episode, but so many things came together there: Shadowsan connecting with Player; SS getting his new clothes; but the key thing was switching Julia back from doing Chief's bidding back to Carmen's side. The episode was built around the moment that Carmen pulls Julia on stage with her (I'm not kidding). That was THE moment

Carmen:

We have MANY questions... we should probably set a limit

Duane Capizzi:

Ask away - I don't mind. Honestly, Carmen is my favorite topic! I've been living, breathing, dreaming Carmen for the last 5 years! I don't think there's much to say, I think it's all there on screen. But happy to talk about it because I love to

Cam:

I have a question, what about the color theory in Carmen Sandiego? What do you think certain colors mean as in, blue, yellow, green, and red.

we have our own ideas about the colors but it would be interesting to hear from your perspective

Duane Capizzi:

Color theory! Well chromosphere color scripts every episode (!). If those haven't been shared publicly yet remind me, maybe I can get permission to do so or have them do it. They are lovely to behold.

But basically Carmen = red (duh); Vile = green; Acme = blue. That's the simple version. We started talking about that early on.

color scripts = they do thumbnail art of key scenes to share mood/emotion

we tried to NOT use red for non-Carmen scenes; and scenes where she was significant the color red would be dominant or sometimes symbolically precede her (for instance).

If you google color scripts I'm sure you will see some come up. Try Pixar color scripts for instance. There's a great Art of Pixar book with their color scripts.

Arden:

Do you think Julia is blue or purple?

Duane Capizzi:

Haha, Jules definitely purple! Cute.

Mage:

You've just confirmed the whole color theory these guys have been working on for a while.

Duane Capizzi:

I was actually being funny - is she actually color scripted purple in the series? Wow, my mind might be blown

Garfield:

Now I have a question!

Julia has great admiration and respect for Carmen. Do you think Carmen has as much respect and admiration for Julia as Julia does for her?

Duane Capizzi:

I think Julia might just be a little infatuated with Carmen (even if she hasn't fully articulated how to herself - remember, the show may be sophisticated but it's still a kids show). But mostly Julia just knows/intuits/deduces Carmen's a good guy, pretty much from the beginning. I think the two have a connection that defies space and time in some ways - look at how much they work in tandem without being in the same scenes together much of the time. I love that!

As for Carmen, of course she respects Julia: she knows Julia "gets" her, and respects Julia's smarts and mutual love of history/respect for cultures.

I love how Chase is the ultimate buzzkill for whatever might be stirring in Julia as she's watching Carmen fly away in the Pilot. She's like, "whooaa ..." Then Chase falls onto the windshield. Hilarious!

Nina:

I was actually wondering if Carmen and Julia were meant to have opposing color schemes? With Julia's original outfit I mean

Duane Capizzi:

Oh, good question about Julia's original outfit: I'd have to think about that or ask Jos or Chromosphere. J's colors ARE sort of a drabber distant cousin to Carmen's, aren't they? I think mostly we just wanted "drab workaday" colors for Interpol, knowing that both of them would eventually be slicked up as ACME Agents.

Nova:

Devineaux is immune to injuries it is the only reason why he has lasted so long in ACME and Interpol

Duane Capizzi:

Devineaux, one of my favorite lines: "I did not know you two kept in touch."

Am I right?

SelinIndigo:

I have one question:

Will we ever know Carmen's given name? Also, if you don't mind when is her birthday in this reboot?

Duane Capizzi:

Carmen's given name: never say never! But for where our series ended, I thought it would just interfere. That's not how I wanted you to remember her. It would have just been a label and spoiled her mystique IMO

Player, however: we totally messed with you! "Mr. Bouchard."

Carmen's birthday?

Hmmm.

Maybe month and day but not year: would hate to date the show

I also don't like naming ages in shows because it just gets weird with timelines and such. Or can be.

Carmen:

I made a post about this a while back— how did Carmen end up getting Julia's apartment address? did she just text her for it or straight up ask? did she find out on her own in the least stalker-y way possible? I just have so many theories- do you have any thoughts on it?

Duane Capizzi:

The apartment in the IA special? Oh that whole story was like one big dream sequence ;)

Arden:

What does the wink mean? Does Julia even live in an apartment?

Nina:

Does that mean Carmen dreamt she gave Julia roses or-

Duane Capizzi:

We played things faster and looser for fun there

Okay, I just saw what time it is. Yikes! Time flies when you're having fun. Well THANK YOU EVERYONE (for loving the show, for building this site, for being you.

#Carmen Sandiego #Duane Capizzi #CS Crew #Interview #Transcript

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dex-xe · 4 years ago

Note

Regarding the ficlet ideas :)

You don't have to do all or even any of these, these are just the things that popped into my head when I was scrolling through! Also if you want to write them romantically you do it, we love and support youuu!!!

Fluff: 7 (Mary and Robin, probably platonic) & 10 (Mary and Kitty, also probably platonic)

General: 18 (Julian and literally anyone, it'll be hilarious)

And General 45. With Alison and Cap (and maybe all the other ghosts) becuase I feel you'd write it really sweetly and honestly it's a scene I'd really like to see

Alison & Captain General #45: “Are you afraid to die?”

So there’s still one more prompt from this person (the Julian one) but I’m combining it with other ideas so expect that soon!! The others have also been done here:

Fluff #7

Fluff #10

But yeah,, this got no interaction at all on AO3 but that’s okay cause I actually really enjoyed writing this one there are some good lines I think. Let me know what you think either here on on AO3 I don’t mind. (Also there is a Doctor Who reference in here but I can’t remember which episode it’s from so if yall find it let me know XD)

TW:// in depth discussions of death.

The dark ceiling of Alison’s bedroom swirled in front of her as she listened to the soft rumbling of her husband’s snores beside her. The glowing red lights of her alarm clock served as a warning to her impending sleepless night: 2:15am.

Worries of life and family and the hotel and the unusual presence of 20 odd dead people inhabiting her home raced through her head as she begged for some kind of distraction from her thoughts. She tried not to set too many rules for the ghosts: whenever she did, they would work even harder to break every written order she laid down - and also every unwritten rule that common sense laid down. But one rule Alison was strict on was their nighttime curfew: do what you want around the house (as long as it doesn’t make too much noise, mess or irritance) but do not, under any circumstance, enter the master bedroom.

She’d originally given them the usual “only in emergencies” protocol but, after Robin had scared Alison out of bed at 4am having deemed a fat ginger cat on the front lawn an emergency, this had quickly been scrapped. But watching the dust flow through beams of moonlight while contemplating every life decision she’d ever made, the prospect of some inconceivable disaster interrupting the ghosts’ eternal deaths was seeming ever more pleasurable.

Alison sighed and sat up to look over Mike deep in sleep, jealous of his peaceful snoring. She swung off the bed being careful not to jostle the sheets but flinched at the freezing floorboards touching her bare feet. She tiptoed slowly through the empty corridors occasionally stopping to listen at the doors of the ghosts’ bedrooms: quiet snoring from Pat’s, mumbled sleep talking from Kitty’s, total silence on behalf of the others.

Every common room lay vacant, excluding Robin curled up in front of the dying fire, so Alison continued on to the kitchen - taking Nigel’s advice to fetch some milk when she’s stressed.

Upon entering the kitchen, she was taken aback to find it was not as empty as the rest of the house would suggest. Leaning back against the far tiled wall with his eyes shut and head resting back on the cold surface, the Captain looked as if he could be asleep standing upright. His eyes snapped open and settled straight on Alison frozen in the doorway. He blinked slowly before darting towards the corner of the room in his usual long-legged, gangly run.

“Captain?” Alison called as he turned away from her. “No, no! It’s alright!”

The Captain stopped. Still. Silent. In a moment of alarming quietness.

“Sorry for disturbing you, Captain. I’ll only be a moment!” Alison said quietly, making her way over to the fridge. “God, I hope Robin isn’t in here.” She pulled open the door with great gusto, fleetingly thrilled by the presence of broccoli, strawberry yoghurt, and half a pasta bake rather than the shouting menace of a caveman.

She shut the door with the milk carton in hand and turned to find the Captain still facing the wall, breathing heavily in what appeared to be a WW2 remake of the Blair Witch Project.

“You can just go back to… whatever you were doing, now,” Alison took a swig from the carton. “Plotting your latest hair-brained scheme to get rid of me?”

“Now, now, Alison,” the Captain said, turning back around to face her and swaying ever so slightly on his heels, stick gripped tight behind him. “I’m less inclined to dispose of you nowadays.”

“Yeah?” Alison raised her eyebrows with a knowing glance and took another sip. “Well, I appreciate that, Cap.”

“Hmm,” the Captain agreed.

“Why are you awake then? Are you awake or do ghosts sleep upright against a wall? Is this some mechanic I don’t know about? Do ghosts have to sleep?” Alison asked rapid fire.

“Of course we sleep! What did you think we do during the night?” The Captain pointed to Alison’s milk and frowned. “You shouldn’t drink it like that. That’s how disease spreads.

“It’s only me that uses it, just don’t tell Fanny, yeah?”

“Mum’s the word,” he murmured.

Alison smiled. “So why are you up, then? Shouldn’t you be getting that beauty sleep?”

“Sometimes it’s a little difficult to drift off, I’m sure you understand that being awake at this hour too.”

“Oh yeah,” Alison said quietly. She lifted her carton up in a small gesture of cheers and made a move to leave. “Well, got my milk. I guess… I’ll just head back to bed then. Good night, Captain.” She had barely made it out of the door before the Captain spoke up once more.

“You could stay for a while,” the Captain said. “If you wanted to. I mean, if you didn’t want to just lay in bed gazing at the ceiling.”

“I’d like that,” Alison pulled out the chair closest, scraping the legs across the tiled floor and interrupting the silence of the house. She left the chair open for the Captain and moved to sit opposite him, settling into the quiet comfort.

“Isn’t it weird to think the dead sleep?” Alison commented. “Doesn’t seem right, does it? Cause sleeping is a bit like being dead only without the commitment so it’s like you’re kind of double dead.”

“Death is nothing like sleeping, Alison. Don’t talk to me about death if you don’t understand it.” The Captain sniffed at her and leant back in his chair maintaining his usual stoic exterior.

“Sorry,” Alison said. “I didn’t mean-,”

“It’s fine,” the Captain said quickly. The pair fell back into silence, they had never exactly been the closest of friends and Alison certainly wouldn’t describe him as her best (undead) friend but they were friend-ly, for sure. Certainly more now that he’d ceased trying to drive her from the house at every opportunity that presented itself. Then again, death does strange things to people, Alison thought, her friends had proved that much. They showed little regard for the lives of the living, thinking very much of themselves and the Captain was surely the embodiment of that.

“It’s not awful, as such,” the Captain interrupted the quiet. Alison looked up from the table to find him watching her intently. “Death. It’s not as terrible as you might think. I know that’s what you were going to ask.”

“Oh,” Alison said. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t actually going to say anything.”

“I know. But you were thinking it.” The Captain said. “You’re in a rather unique position, Alison, I must say. Not many people can say they have a good understanding of death before it happens, but you know more than most.”

“I still don’t really get it, though,” Alison admitted drawing lines across the table with her fingers.

“If I’m telling the truth, neither do I,” the Captain confessed. “I don’t remember it too well. It was like- like falling asleep and then immediately waking up again. You know that plummeting feeling that happens right as you’re about to drop into sleep, like everything is calm and then suddenly you’re losing grip of reality, and then you’re wide awake again.”

“A hypnic jerk,” Alison quipped.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“That’s what it’s called, that falling thing. A hypnic jerk.” Alison said. “We did it in science class, I think. Your body thinks it’s dying so it does the jerk to make sure that you’re still alive. Makes sense that’s what dying feels like, I guess.”

“Are you afraid to die, Alison?” The question took Alison by surprise, it was unlike the Captain to be open about his emotions and even more unlikely for him to ask about others’ feelings.

“If I have to stay with this rowdy lot for eternity, then yes definitely,” Alison joked with a small laugh.

The Captain smiled and hummed in agreement: “Oh I’m sure I’d have agreed if given the choice before death. Not exactly the most peaceful post-death existence.”

“I’m a little bit scared,” Alison admitted.

“You shouldn’t be too worried, it’s not all that bad,” the Captain said with a shrug.

“Yeah, because you seem to be having a blast with your afterlife, Cap. Happy as Larry,” Alison said sarcastically, she threw the now-empty carton into the bin beside her and settled back towards the table, leaning forward closer to the Captain - their faces barely inches apart.

The Captain paused, his eyes boring into Alison’s sleepy face before he leant forward to match her and whisper in secret confidence.

“It is rather bad,” he reneged. “You should fear it, well done for being scared.” Alison chuckled. “Well thanks, Cap! I feel so much better now!”

“Now, you know that’s not what I mean,” the Captain said slowly, unsure of where he was going next. “As long as you die here, you have no reason to be afraid. We’ll care for you in death as you have for us in life. Be sure, Alison, we’ll teach you all we know.”

“You know, Julian has told me the ‘teachings’ you gave him when he died,” Alison chuckled.

“Somebody needed to give that scoundrel a good telling off; heaven knows no one in life ever did. Julian died much as he lived: with an air of superiority.” The Captain coughed and smirked across at Alison. “He waltzed in here as if he owned the place, demanding authority and respect and, as far as I’m concerned, those are qualities that are earned.”

“Like you?” Alison said pointedly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Did you earn the authority you have over the others?”

“That is beyond the point.” The Captain stated. “You’re rather lucky, Alison! You’ve met a somewhat tempered version of Julian, he’s actually rather bearable these days, likeable sometimes, you wouldn’t believe him in the early days.”

“Oh I can only imagine! And I’m better then, I assume? Seeing as I’m deemed worthy of your afterlife teachings?” Alison laughed.

“Indeed,” the Captain said.

“Were you afraid?” Alison asked. “Of death, I mean? Obviously like, before it happened.”

“No,” the Captain shrugged, finally heeling away from Alison and breaking their close eye contact. “A soldier is never afraid. When you enlist to serve for your country, you relinquish any right to fear your death. Service kills many who enter, you cannot fear the inevitable.”

“But you didn’t die in service?”

“I was a soldier. No matter if my demise happened during the war or 60 years later, I lived a soldier and I died a soldier.” The Captain said certainly. Whenever he spoke of his time in the military he straightened right up and masked any kind of emotion he had allowed to trickle through.

“Now that you’re not a soldier then, are you afraid of… you know, moving on?”

“Of being sucked off?” The Captain clarified.

“I refuse to say that,” Alison shook her head. “And frankly it’s cruel that Julian has kept this joke up. But are you scared?”

“I am still a soldier, Alison. I’ll always be a soldier.”

“Time has moved on, no more fighting and no more soldiers but you know that, Captain.”

“Doesn’t change anything. Time.” The Captain said, matter of fact. The darkness of the kitchen mostly shrouded his face but Alison could easily make out the outline of his sharp features and piercing eyes.

“Time changes everything.” She stated. “You should know that better than most.”

“I’m a soldier.” He repeated, mumbling it under his breath like a reassuring mantra. “For King and country.”

“Queen.” Alison corrected.

Allowing himself, for just a moment, to relinquish his solid, iron-clad grip on the past, the Captain softly whispered: “For Queen and country.”

#bbc ghosts #ficbymax

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