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quaranmine · 3 years ago

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The Babysitting Game

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, Grian doesn't have a child but he does have an egg and a village. That’s basically the same thing, right?

Grian acquires an egg. His friends help him.

No romantic relationships or content warnings. Mainly fluff! Hermits: Grian, Mumbo, Pearl, and Scar. My first publish fanfic since 2016 and my first hermitcraft fanfic :D ao3 link and some inspirations to be linked in a reblog

Words: 2862

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"What if I touched it really quick?" Scar asked.

"No, don’t-don’t touch the egg," Grian said seriously. "Look, I even made a sign! It specifically says ‘Do not touch.’" He gestured to the sign in question, but Scar ignored him.

"Can I rub it?" he said. The man leaned over it, studying the object carefully. Grian hadn’t known where to place the egg when he got it, and it was just sitting on an anvil for the time being. He didn’t even have a starter house yet, but clearly he was going to need something soon if he was going to protect the egg from some of the more . . . mischievous residents of their Boatem village.

“No, don’t touch the egg! Scar-” Grian walked closer, hands outstretched, just in time to see Scar reach out with his hand and pat the egg.

Vworp!

The egg disappeared into thin air.

Dragon eggs had a tendency to do that. It was a survival tactic--Grian didn't really know how it worked, but just as endermen could teleport away from danger, so could the egg if it were touched. Now whether or not Scar was dangerous remained up for debate…

Scar giggled. "Oh, where did you go?" he sang, hunting around the area.

Well, he COULD be pretty scary sometimes.

"Scarrrr," Grian whined, helping him look. "I told you not to touch it!"

"It's over here!" Scar shouted, finding the egg at the bottom of a small slope nearby. "Just one more time…." He reached out again.

"No!" Grian said, slapping his hand away. "Look, you've got to pick it up the right way." He demonstrated, carefully lifting the egg and placing it in a pouch slung over his back. He had hurriedly stitched it together not too long ago, worried that transporting the egg normally might break it. “If you do it roughly, you’ll scare it and it’ll teleport away again.”

"I see!" said Scar.

"Now, please, don't touch the egg.”

"Oh," Scar said. He straightened. "You're really serious about this."

Grian glared. "I am."

"I'm sorry, I just thought it was funny!"

Grian sighed. "It's okay, Scar. It's just--this thing is a baby, it needs to be handled gently! You can't just go around scaring it! What if it falls into a hole or something?" he hissed.

"Oh my god," Scar laughed, "you're its mother now!"

"No, no, I'm not!"

"You are!" Scar cried. He suddenly stopped. "Oh no, didn't you kill its mother?"

"Well it doesn't know that!" Grian snapped. "Truthfully I didn't realize there would be an egg! And I couldn't just leave it, you know! Here, look at this." Grian gently withdrew the egg from its pack, and Scar moved closer. He held it up to the sun. "Look at that."

The sun shined dark red through the deep purple shell of the egg, making it glow within. In the middle, the silhouette of a curled up creature was illuminated. Blood vessels radiated outward, and at the bottom there was a blank space that Grian assumed was air. The egg’s shell was too thick for any detail to be made out, but the processes happening within were clear. Grian was enchanted with it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

"Wow," Scar breathed. "There's actually a dragon in there! What're you gonna do with it after it hatches?"

"Well, I haven't exactly thought that far--I just want to worry about keeping it safe first. I mean, what do you even do with this thing?" Grian put the egg back in its satchel, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I suppose you keep it warm and safe but, like, I don't know what else-"

"I could help!" Scar said.

"You were just playing with it!"

"Hey," Scar said defensively, "that was before I knew more about it!"

Grian rolled his eyes.

“What are you guys doing over here?” said Mumbo, wandering over. Grian just knew he’d been up to something, and sure enough, there was a new tree next to his little collection of chests. Grian wasn’t very bothered by it, because he already had a plan to get Mumbo back for it.

“Grian is just showing me his new baby!” Scar teased. “He’s a mom now.”

“I am NOT its mother,” replied Grian tiredly, but he smiled at the sight of the other man.

“A baby?” Mumbo asked, choosing to ignore the rest of Scar’s statement.

“A dragon egg,” Grian answered. “I found it in the End.” He paused for a moment, feeling almost bad. “After I killed the dragon.”

“Grian! You’ve orphaned it!” Mumbo sounded scandalized.

“Why do you all keep bringing that up!?” he defended, glancing between Mumbo and Scar, who both gave him disapproving, albeit playful, looks. “I know you’re Mr. Peace, Love and Plants this time, but we’ve always killed the dragon in every new world!”

“Well, I guess that’s true, but it is a little sad isn’t it? You’re taking care of it but only because you killed its mum.”

“Yeah,” was all Grian said. The dragon always needed to be taken care of in each new world they visited, and while it was always a bit of a shame, he’d never really contemplated it that much. After all, he normally wasn’t the one who fought it--that last time in Evo aside. He didn’t really know what he had gotten into but he felt deeply like he needed to protect this egg. It was like a tug in his chest, drawing him into the egg and telling him not to let go.

“Show him the egg!” Scar said.

“You just want to see it again,” Grian replied, but pulled the egg out of the satchel again anyway for Mumbo to see. The surface of the egg wasn’t smooth, like a chicken’s egg, but bumpy. The purple spots almost seemed to glow, and occasionally little violet particles drifted off of it. Grian felt like he could stare at it in awe all day, and apparently his friends felt the same.

“How’re you going to keep it warm?” asked Mumbo after a moment of admiring it. “That satchel isn’t going to be enough, and to be frank, I don’t see you spending any time sitting on it, even if the mental image is pretty funny.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the comment, but thought about it. How would he incubate it? He may have had wings, but he didn’t know anything about eggs, other than that it was a safe bet to assume it needed to be kept warm. “I'm not sure, actually.”

“Hey, let me design something for you!” Mumbo said excitedly. “I could probably use some redstone and make an incubator of some sort for you.”

Grian smiled. “I’d really appreciate that.”

Asking Mumbo to create a contraption for him--what could go wrong?

•·················•·················•

“I’m not wearing this thing, you know.” Grian said, holding the contraption while Mumbo wheezed with laughter in the background. The design that Mumbo had come up with was essentially a backpack with heating elements strung through it, except for one thing . . .

“You-you wear it in the front,” Mumbo choked out, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Yes, I see that,” Grian replied, unamused.

“Like a swaddle!”

“Yes, I see that.”

Mumbo laughed harder. Grian had to begrudgingly admit that it was well designed, however. It would fit the egg perfectly, keep it warm, and most important it was mobile to ensure that he could take the egg with him. It was thoughtful, especially since Mumbo knew Grian was quite protective of it.

“I’m not wearing this thing,” Grian repeated. “I’m not going to let you all laugh at me while I walk around the server with an egg swaddled to me!”

“I thought you’d say that,” Mumbo chuckled. “Here, you can switch the straps around and turn it into a backpack.” He unclipped the straps and moved them into the new configuration.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” he said gratefully. “This will certainly do the trick.”

“Glad to hear it mate,” Mumbo replied. “Now, while you’re here, may I ask why there is an incredibly tall tree on top of my camper?”

“Sorry, got to go!” blurted Grian, snatching the backpack from Mumbo’s arms and flying off in a burst of feathers.

“That’s unfair, I don’t even have an elytra yet to go chase him down with,” muttered the man as he watched Grian disappear.

•·················•·················•

Grian sat in the grass in front of his starter home and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was exhausted. Is this how all parents feel? he wondered. Was he just uniquely unqualified to be one? After all, this was only an egg! It hadn’t even hatched yet and he was already tired of keeping up with it.

Carrying it in the backpack was heavy, and Grian tired out quickly. It was hot on his back, and Grian found himself having to take breaks to avoid overheating. It was also cumbersome, and he found it difficult to build with as it shifted his weight. He almost fell off the roof once while building it! Of course, having wings meant that Grian could catch himself easily, but it had still given him quite the scare. Dragon eggs were pretty sturdy, and would teleport themselves out of danger if possible, but he was still so paranoid about breaking it. And now there was the Boatem Hole to worry about--what if it teleported itself into the void? These things kept Grian awake at night.

But if he left it...well, just like Grian had a tendency to lose items in his chest monsters, he also had a tendency to forget where he placed things. He had been forced to go back and rescue the egg from some place he’d left it more than once, which he wasn’t exactly proud of. What sort of parent forgot their child?

. . . He was definitely not admitting to being its parent.

Oh God, what did I get myself into?

“Hey Grian, what’re you up to?” came a voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up and saw Pearl standing over him. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her hands were in her hoodie pockets. She took a seat on the ground next to him, and followed his gaze overlooking the Boatem village. “What’s on your mind?”

“This--this egg,” said Grian. It sat next to him in its backpack, still radiating heat. “I don’t know what to do with it. I’m just so tired of carrying it around!”

“I have to admit,” Pearl said, “I didn’t expect you to immediately adopt a baby dragon the very next time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, it was an accident.” Grian groaned. “I don’t know what to do with it now, let alone when it hatches!”

Pearl thought for a moment. “You know, the rest of us are all here for you. The other hermits would be happy to help out, I’m sure.”

The other hermits . . . well of course they would. If it was one thing they were all good at, it was supporting each other. Scar had already taken a particular interest in the egg, although Grian was still a little suspicious of him scaring it again. Mumbo had specially designed an incubator for it. Pearl was visiting him to check up on him and offer help.

All Grian had to do was convince himself to let it go. To let them help.

“I know that but . . .”

“But what? Have you had any reason to believe they wouldn’t?” Pearl asked.

“Well, no.” He thought for a while. He thought of how his friends would lend materials when needed, or how they’d help replace someone’s armor and items if they were lost. He thought about the days where they all teamed up and chose one hermit to help out, and he thought about all the things they did for the good of the entire community without even being asked.

His desire to protect the egg was strong, and putting it into the hands of another person almost felt like simultaneously a betrayal of the egg itself and the biggest leap of faith he could take. But the hermits were good at leaps of faith, because someone was always there to catch you.

“You think it’d be okay?”

“I know it’ll be okay,” Pearl replied. “I haven’t been here very long but from what I’ve seen, I know they’d all help. They wouldn’t hurt it. They might be a little mischievous sometimes,” she said, glancing at Scar’s house, “but they know how important it is and would be happy to help. They helped you before, didn’t they?”

Pearl was right, of course. Nobody on the server had any desire to hurt the egg. He trusted that. If there was anyone that he could trust, it was them.

But how would he get them all to essentially sign up for babysitting?

An idea struck him, and Grian scrambled to his feet. “Pearl, you’re brilliant. Thank you!”

She blinked, a little startled. “Always happy to help.”

•·················•·················•

Grian stood back, admiring his work. A near perfect duplicate of the egg that was currently sitting in the backpack slung around his shoulder, but at a much larger scale. It was built out of obsidian blocks and crying obsidian for the spots, and if Grian was pretty proud of how it looked.

If Grian knew anything, it was that his friends loved minigames. And Grian was not above gently exploiting that fact to get a little help--just like barge game from the last world, where he managed to get his friends to help mine out the stone from next to his mansion. Just slap the title of “game” on something and you could get a hermit to sign up for anything.

“Now . . . I just have to write the signs on the inside.”

The game Grian had come up with was officially called Tegg--he needed to stay on brand with his tag games in every world--but he’d mentally been calling it “The Babysitting Game” for a while now. Because that’s what it really was--each hermit who signed up would also sign up to watch the egg and keep it safe. He set to work outlining the rules.

RULE ONE: Protect the egg and keep it safe.

RULE TWO: Keep the egg incubated or it’ll die.

RULE THREE: Keep a close eye on the egg.

RULE FOUR: Call Grian if it starts to hatch.

Satisfied, he wrote out the rest of the instructions. Because it was a game, he wanted to make it fun for the hermits too, so he’d decided to make it like a scavenger hunt. People were allowed to take the egg, provided they adhered to the rules, and were encouraged to hide it and keep it safe. Otherwise, someone else who wanted to have it could get it. The safer the egg was, the less likely for someone else to find it. The winner was whoever had the egg the longest when it finally hatched. Grian didn’t know how long that would take, but he didn’t want to miss it either, hence rule four.

Yep, totally outsourcing his babysitting onto his friends.

Grian squinted at his wall of signs, before placing one final sign at the bottom: Grian will track the game and has final say on points and rules!

“That should do it,” he mumbled. He still wanted to keep an eye on the egg, to make sure that he knew who had it and how many people’s hands it had gone through. After all, he was the one ultimately responsible for it.

Grian pulled the egg out of the backpack and carefully placed it on the ground. He’d somehow made a habit of just speaking to it every now and then--he had no idea if the little dragon could hear anything in there, but he liked to think that it could. “Hey there,” he whispered, and stroked the top of the egg. “Some new people are going to start taking you pretty soon, but it’s okay. They’re going to give me some help and make sure you’re safe.”

He paused, taking in the little room he’d made and the wall of signs he’d written with meticulous instructions for the egg’s care. It may have been the first thing he’d built for this egg, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be his last. A baby dragon was a commitment and for the first time Grian really let himself think about what that meant, beyond just an egg that he had to carry around. Would he house it? Train it? Let it stay by his side? Would he love it?

I think I already do, he thought.

He thought of the hermits--their mischievousness, their pranks, their hard work, their friendship, and their goodness at heart. They were his family, now. What was one more addition?

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the egg. “I trust them all with my life, but more importantly, I trust them with yours.”

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft fanfic #quara fanfic

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redorich · 3 years ago

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First of all I really love your Hermit Canyon au and have read throughathe posts multiple times. Secondly I think Tango deserves to open up a bedrock service to trap the unsuspecting dsmp members. And thirdly I'm a bit sad that this au is going to be coming to an end but it's been lovely to read.

There's a problem on the Dream SMP that needs to be addressed. None of them realize that canon lives are gone, because they don't lose them often enough to notice. The Hermits wrack their brains trying to come up with a solution, some way to prove it.

Grian suggests a death game, like Demise. The idea is immediately vetoed. They're trying not to traumatize these people further, thank you. Joe suggests a treatise on the fleeting nature of life and how embracing it in order to reject humanity and become primatial will allow one to achieve a higher state of being which can then be conflated with the concept of immortal life. Just as Joe is really hyping himself up, getting ready to write and mass-distribute a pamphlet like Thomas Paine's Common Sense, Cleo bluntly informs him that that's too many words. Next option.

Some ideas are thrown around of Hermits killing each other in fun games to show the other players that a little bit of death is harmless, a fun treat.

Meanwhile, Scar, who forgot to show up to the meeting, is up on the surface wandering around as he surveys the land for a good spot to put a megabase. This would be much easier with an elytra; however, when he asked Xisuma why they can't go to the end here Scar was bombarded with a slew of confusing admin words. He's sure Xisuma will explain later.

There's a little shop down the road that Scar hasn't seen before. He's certain that it has Hermit written all over it-- not literally, of course, but the structure, size, and blocks used make it obvious. There's a group of native Dream SMP players huddled around the entrance, which grabs his attention.

"Well hello there," he says, channelling his inner Obi Wan Kenobi as he always does when he says that.

The other players, who he recognizes as Foolish, Tubbo, and Ranboo, whisper among themselves and immediately straighten up when he addresses them. It's as though they're attempting to say with their body language, Hello! No shenanigans here, nope, none at all.

"Hello," Foolish says. "Would you happen to know who built this store?"

Scar makes a considering noise in the back of his throat, pacing around the side of the build and back as he tries to guess. "Definitely a Hermit," he says. "and probably one of the redstoners. This doesn't look like Mumbo-- or Etho for that matter... Maybe Doc, or possibly Tango or Impulse? That would be my guess."

The nervous-looking ender-boy (Ranboo, Scar believes) leans down to Tubbo's height to whisper in his ear. Tubbo nods, waits a second, nods again, and Ranboo stands back up.

"Are they trustworthy?" Tubbo says.

Scar's brows draw together slightly at the question, wondering what the group is getting at. "What do you mean?"

"Jack went in that shop half an hour ago, and he still hasn't come out yet," Foolish says plainly.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Scar says with a relaxed smile, opening the door. "I'll go check on him, see? There's nothing dangero--"

The others watch as a piston triggers and Scar immediately plummets into a hole far below. The piston fires again and covers up the scene of the crime as though nothing ever happened. Tubbo snorts a laugh, and Ranboo and Foolish look at each other over Tubbo's head.

------------

Jack bashes his forehead against the bedrock in front of him like he has been doing for the past half-hour. He's absolutely stuck, and the only way out is death.

All of the sudden, another man's voice comes screaming toward the bottom of the hole, and before he knows it the piston has activated and two people are stuck in this bedrock box.

"Hello there," the other man says. "My name's Scar."

"Jack. It's a pleasure. I don't suppose you have any ender pearls?"

Scar considers. "No, but you can punch me to death and I can come back with some."

What? Hello??? Is this man not worried about canon death??? Jack expresses this to the man in vulgar detail, and though the man winces at the language he seems otherwise unperturbed. With a sigh, Jack acquiesces and punches the man to death. Scar apparently had full saturation when he fell into the hole, so it takes quite a while.

Scar explodes into a shower of items and Jack can't help but feel a little bad for killing him, even if it's what he wanted... Until he sees one of the man's items. A trap door. Quickly, he uses it to escape, scooping up all of Scar's items and climbing a tower of scaffolding to the surface. Up top, he's greeted by Foolish, Tubbo, Ranboo, and a red-faced and huffing Scar who must have run the entire way back all the way from the canyon.

"Oh, how did you get out?" Scar says curiously.

"You had trapdoors on you, you dumb shit!"

"Huh. I forgot about those. Aw man, my levels!"

Jack sputters in his anger. "Wh-- Do you-- How are you not bothered by this?! What if that was a canon life?!"

Ranboo watches the conversation go back and forth like a tennis match.

A look of realization comes across Scar's face. "That's right," he says, "I forgot you Dream SMP guys have that whole thing about dying-- Xisuma fixed that."

Everyone goes dead silent. Finally, Jack utters, "...Huh?"

"Yeah, no, dying isn't permanent anymore," Scar says.

Jack, who literally crawled his way out of Hell at one point in time, knows with a sinking feeling in his soul that Scar is telling the truth. Fuck the Hermits, he thinks. What the fuck.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #grian #joe hills #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #xisuma #tubbo #ranboo #jack manifold #foolish gamers #me.cpp

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scriptaed · 4 years ago

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bygones of the sun. 10 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok

length: 7.2k

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Egocentric to pray for a delay in sunrise, but you would do it for a fracture in time would serve well as a sanctuary for your dormant star; nonetheless, when night ends and day arrives, the sweet tears of midnight will vaporize into inexistence.

Night strings along irrationality in an overexposure of our deepest subconscious. At the deepest of troughs and under the darkest of skies, there, we lie more vulnerable and prone to false hope than ever, for last night is the ultimate testament to mankind’s greatest fear.

Emotions could have been running high, lethargy could have gotten the best of him, anything could have and would have shattered the boy of last night's scattered soul poorly taped into a fragile whole; ironically, however, it is exactly the spill of burdens and truths of the night to the attentive ears of a beholder, you, which had saved him from such atrocities.

So you prayed, prayed for dusk to drown dawn in an endless embrace with itself until the boy could finally relish in the long awaited night's rest, and yet, still, you feared the longer he slept in the comforts of superficial dreams, the stronger his demons would return; and so, with a heavy and anxious heart, you had found yourself trapped in your own double edged sword of a state—basking in his warm presence, shivering in your guilty conscience.

In the end, all is for naught when the peak of sun rays through the slit of the curtains showers upon your cheeks perched on the armrest of a couch.

Squinting, you groan in a groggy voice before regretfully slipping the first word which comes to mind.

“Hoseok?”

Your following silence meets its own reflection.

With stained efforts, your body slumps into the couch as your half awakened state scans through the room that remains perfectly untouched. The remnants of your memories recalls how you had somehow stumbled your way to the couch sitting beside the bed of your motel room, refusing to fall asleep just inches beside the boy in your bed; although, said boy remains nowhere to be seen as of now.

Heavy steps and rowdy mumbles muffled by the floor beneath convince your unwilling self to drag yourself off the couch, slipping the blanket you recall being gently draped over and tucked under you in your sleep last night to the floor. Matters of the previous night forgotten, your feet stumble its way to the bathroom, disregarding the perfectly folded and tucked sheets of where he should have been lying. A few splashes of cold water to your drowsy state are surprisingly enough to fully awaken you after a relatively nice albeit anxious night of rest; with alertness, however, floods the remembrance of him.

“Jimin!” you call out, weaving through the incoming crowd of camp attendees packing their bags. Catching sight of the rather petite boy chatting away with his usual friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, you take one final stride before urgently pulling off to the side.

“Hey, Y/N,” his eyes widen in confusion by the sudden greeting, “what’s up?”

“Do you know what’s going on with Hoseok? Did anything happen to him yesterday evening?” you blurt, pausing for a second until another thought comes to mind. “Oh, and what do you mean he wasn’t on patrol duty last night? Then what—” you stop abruptly when you realize Hoseok’s likely desire to keep things between you and him confidential “—who was on patrol?”

“...I was?” Jimin arches a brow. “Why? Did something happen? Is there something wrong with Hoseok?”

So he doesn’t know.

None of the boys know the real reason behind Hoseok’s reluctance to return—or at least the surface level of the seemingly endless depth to that facade of his.

“No,” you quickly deny, shaking your head and scanning the bustling entrance hall; as if innate, your line of sight naturally draws to the centripetal force of your Earth’s center.

“Then why—”

“—hey, I’ll catch up with you later, alright? I still have to pack my bags…” your voice trails along with your eyes which follow Hoseok as he glides from one side of the room across to the other. Hand drifting from Jimin’s shoulder, you gradually whirl around and follow the beckons of your heart akin to pearls under the sway of the ocean’s waves. “Hoseok!”

Body beneath your sway, Hoseok whirls around to face you with a quizzical look glancing down at the hand which grasps his arm.

“Yeah?” he asks gently, arching a brow at you when a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Is there something I can help you with, babe?”

Initially, you had approached him with the intent to confront him about last night. His behavior, his words, his burdens, you know he's hurt and there's nothing you want more than to help him, not to mention the unreasonable guilt stirring inside you for failing to tackle the situation efficiently then and there; but even despite the momentary shock of the return of that egotistical mien of his, it's impossible for you to see him the same way after witnessing his sheer vulnerability.

For once, you must be selfless. Push aside your wants for that of his own, because unbeknownst to you, his own needs became your wants somewhere along the irrevocable path of time.

“About last night…” you start and the crease above his brow only deepens. “I just… I'm sorry I didn't comfort you or ask you this earlier…” you prim and trace your hand along his arm to meet his hands. Peering up to meet his gaze, he flinches yet you refuse to turn a blind eye. “...”...but are you doing alright, Hoseok?”

“What…” he frowns and stiffens in place, “...do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” you clear your throat, shifting your weight, “are you okay? Is there anything you want or need to tell me? Or anyone? Because I just want you to know I'm always here to lend an—”

“—look, I don't know what you're rambling on about,” Hoseok chuckles, retracting his hands from yours to nonchalantly ruffle your hair before crossing his arms, “but all I recall from last night is a certain someone refusing to sleep on the same bed as me. I almost forgot I was dating the most pristine of the untainted.”

“...rambling on about?” you repeat in a mumble, frowning and shaking your head. “No, Hoseok, listen, when you mentioned dance and… and your passion for it, I didn’t know how to respond because you were actually opening up to me.”

Hoseok blinks blankly, deep breaths in and out as his chest rises higher and steadier with each puff before he equivocates, “Y/N, I don’t recall anything of such sorts, and even if they did happen, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Hoseok—” you pause when your voice fails you “—I’m not forcing you to talk about it, I just want you to know—”

“—Y/N,” he sternly articulates, gaze affixing to yours with impatience. “I have to help the others load their bags onto the charter, and from what I can tell,” his eyes scan you up and down as he chortles, “don’t you have to go pack your things? So if you don’t have anything else important to say, your boy has important matters to attend to.”

The crowd migrates in clutters from the lobby to the coach parked right outside, only adding to the urgency for you to get your point across; but when you recall the events of last night, how he had so defensively proclaimed to abide by the duties of his role as the dance captain, you come to the epiphany that you really are just another roadblock in his tracks at this very moment. So, naturally, you step aside with a short bob of your lowered head.

The boy chuckles softly at your surrender, taking one large stride to enclose the gap between him and you and stroking your cheeks just briefly until the warmth of his touch subsides to his sides. “And about last night… I’m sorry if my stay made you uncomfortable. I think I was just… a bit tipsy.

Clearly, he was sober, but you’re reluctant to further the discussion without the right time and place.

“Don’t look so sad or I can’t bring myself to leave you here,” he laughs bittersweet chords to the pluck of your heartstrings, especially when you notice the lack of effort in his disingenuous grin as he crosses his arms. “Come to think of it, I seem to neglect my duties as the captain whenever I’m around you, huh? Maybe we should be more cautious of our relationship around others, don’t you think?”

In one ear, out the other; more often than not, his incessant teasing would elicit a snide remark from your intolerant state, but after the events of last night, nothing seems to be the same. Rather, his own flirtations are now construed to be poor fruitions to mask the pleas crying yet buried beneath.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you press your lips into a thin line, “let’s talk more later.”

An immediate downturn of his lips tugs at your heavy chest, but never-minding his equivocal language, you turn away and depart to your room in deep pondrance.

Just what could you do to help the real Hoseok?

But who really is Hoseok? And did you ever come to know him?

Rather, did he?

Life truly has its own quirky way of doing things. One second you’re debating between the absurd albeit enticing offer in the kitchen of your house and the next second you’re already packing up your clothes on a journey bound for home.

Piles upon piles upon piles, the abundance of snacks and clothes you had brought but failed to utilize drives you to your wit’s end before you finally toss the last pair of shorts into your luggage, let out a loud, cathartic sigh, and jump into the comforts of your bed.

In reality, this position with your face buried in the depths of your pillow and your arms and legs sprawled across the soft cotton sheets would spell for doom had the occasion of falling asleep and missing the departure of your only ride home, especially since Hoseok doesn’t appear to be in his right mind nor favorable towards you against his prioritized club members enough to catch the one insignificant, missing member; fortunately for you, a good night of rest stirs you awake and incapable of slumber… plus, it turns out someone other than the names of Hoseok seeks for your attention.

Ring, ring, your phone’s vibration tunnels across the pillow to your ears.

Was Jimin asking for your assistance? Or was he wondering about the origins of your odd question earlier this morning? Could it perhaps be a message from the boys you had met and exchanged number with during camp?

Regardless of the myriad predictions, there really is only one thing that’s set in stone: it can’t possibly be Hoseok, because as much as it pains you to admit, you’re the last thing he wants to contact at this moment…

...and to your dismay, you’re right, but what really debunks your seemingly accurate theories is the name glaring from your brightly lit phone screen.

Unknown [2:06 PM] Hey, Y/N. This is Keiko. I was wondering if you have time to chat with me over dinner tonight when you return?

Straight to the point, but still lacking in details.

You can’t quite believe your eyes when they incessantly glide across the word ‘Keiko.’

What could she possibly want from you? After her ambiguous request for you during the last and only time you had interacted with the ex dance captain, you had never expected to hear from her again; in fact, to be quite frank, you had nearly forgotten about her… you had nearly forgotten Hoseok’s relations with her.

A past unrequited love? A past relationship gone wrong?

The endless possibilities tug at your chest in the familiar weighty burden you had so carelessly forgotten in the past month. You’re not exactly sure why the blur of a mystery regarding Hoseok’s relationship with Keiko pains you so, but the panic rising in your beating chest at this very moment is surely elicited by the fear of what this “conversation” could entail.

Slamming your luggage shut, you do a quick scan around your room and grab your last leftovers, but before you could roll your suitcase completely out the doorway, the sway of an unknown force rooted deep in the room keeps you from doing so; and when you glance over your shoulder to assure yourself not to linger any longer, you arrive at the epiphany of reasons residing beneath your reluctance to depart.

Because lying there on the now nicely made up bed is a couple, one asleep and one vigilant, both too vulnerable, too wary to let down their walls against the dangers of the dimming lights and the emerging night.

The longer you stand there watching, the more vividly you recall the subtle glint of his eyes—begging or pleading, you’re unsure—and your sealed lips incapable of appropriate assurance akin to a stuck zipper deserving neither the label of new nor broken; and before you know it, the desire to set things right with Hoseok rises once again within the pits of your wrenching gut.

“Y/N!” you flinch when a voice hollers at you from down the hall, causing the door to slam shut with the absence of your jutting foot. Whirling around, you find Jimin jogging towards you. “I was looking everywhere for you! We’re basically almost all ready to go in ten minutes or so and Hoseok noticed you’ve been missing for a while now, so he told me to find you.”

“Oh—” so he did remember about you “—hey, how did Keiko get my number?”

“Huh?” your peripherals catch his eyes widening into circular orbs when the two of you begin heading down the flight of stairs and he gasps in remembrance. “Oh! She asked me for your number this morning. Why? Did you not want me to? Did she text you?”

“No, that’s...” you quickly answer until your words are interjected by the sight of Hoseok standing alone in the lobby and it’s like the force field of his prevents you from moving your gaze elsewhere, “...totally fine…”

“...do you need to talk to Hoseok?” Jimin asks but proceeds to grab your luggage and head down the stairs before you. He glances over his shoulder at you and nods his head at the figure your eyes struggle to keep off of. “Here, I’ll load your bags onto the bus and you take the next ten minutes to talk it out.”

“What?” you quickly frown and shake your head, attempting to grab the bags from him in vain, “no, it’s fine. There’s nothing to talk about anyways.”

“You won’t have a chance to talk to him again anytime soon after this,” Jimin utters under his breath, gaze firmly affixed to yours. “He looks dead tired. This camp took much more of a toll on him than usual. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling he won’t be hanging around with us much after this.”

Us? Does that include you?

The thought is all too daunting, you simply can’t fathom the thought of Hoseok dropping from your life without a single word or warning; because the scariest thing is… it’s much too real, too similar to something Hoseok would do.

Just. Like. That.

“Okay… I’m sorry,” you regretfully mumble, “I promise I’ll treat you and the boys to dinner someday.”

“Nah,” Jimin chuckles and heads off on his own, “bringing him back here is already enough of a favor for us.”

Gulp. Breathe. In. Out.

His words should be reassuring, yet you find them wrenching at your heart.

Is this really for the better?

Was bringing him here really the right choice, when at the end of the night, you just know Hoseok must be crawling back into the cold embrace of his mattress, shivering from what he can’t even call home, whimpering from the throbbing pain of every inch of his body and the nightmare of a camp’s threshold.

Maybe you had inflicted more pain than cure.

“...Hoseok?”

Your voice stutters amidst the thick silence of the air as you hesitantly take one step and other towards the one boy at the end of the hall, Hoseok.

Turning around, Hoseok spots you and simply arches a brow; the dark purple bags beneath the void in his eyes and the lack of vigor in comparison to his usual smug response to your calls plummet something deep within your stomach.

“Are you… done with everything?” you take one final step to enclose the distance between you two before uncomfortably hooking a hand over your right elbow and peering up at him, who gazes at you from above. “Can I help you in any way?”

Hoseok smiles gently and shakes his head, “no, everything is loaded and the camp ends here. I’m officially free of my duties as a captain and you’re officially free from that bet of ours.”

“What bet?” you let out without a thought, mind too preoccupied with the real question which loiters in your mind: why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to me?

“The bet we made in your kitchen,” he cocks his head and flashes a crooked smile, “a euphoric kiss for your attendance at camp.”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot I wasn’t an actual member of this club…”

He grins, “and I almost forgot I wasn’t the captain of this club anymore.”

Please don’t say that.

“Hoseok…” your voice nearly cracks, eyes averting to the side in fear of impending waterworks, “I know you don’t want to talk about last night—”

“—then why are you bringing it up,” he deadpans, jaw tightening with the grinding of his teeth.

“I just…” you shake when you take a breath, “I just want to lend an ear. I think it would be helpful for you to let it all out.”

“Or do you just want to fulfill your own curiosities at the expense of my own requests?”

“What?” you immediately peer up at the sharp edges of his eyes with your own wide ones. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry… I just wanted to help…”

Silence floods the stagnating air and you’re nearly drowned with it—but not nearly as close as the effect his next words has on you.

“...can you stop prying?” he finally utters. “Can you stop mentioning it? I’m a player, don’t you remember? I only started all of… all of this because I was curious. I was intrigued by you only for a second because for once a girl wasn’t fawning over me like the rest.”

His confession plucks at your heartstrings, but your most pressing concerns lies elsewhere beyond your own state; when will he finally confide in you?

Hoseok grabs your shoulders and lightly shakes you, whether as a plea or an attempt to garner your divided attention, you’re unsure of. “I started all of this because of a dare, remember, Y/N?” his voice sounds all too desperate for you to bear. “So don’t fall too hard. Stop burying yourself into my mess and just play along without worrying, okay?”

“I don’t,” you mutter before clearing your voice and swatting his hands off you, “I don’t care, Hoseok! I don’t care how invested I am, because it’s already too late for me to back out and I don’t want to back out! I care about you, can’t you just accept that?”

Can’t you just accept me?

“Don’t you get it?” he groans, pacing in frustration. “I don’t want any help! I don’t need help. Don’t pry into my own business and stop asking Jimin and Taehyung or any of the boys about me. Get it over your head and stop investing so much time in me before you realize just how you right you were that night on our first date when you called me out on being an ass!”

The words echo along with your stunned silence. You had never seen Hoseok so infuriated before, and for the first time in a long while, you’re scared.

You’re scared he’ll drown in his own demons without your help.

You’re scared your own help will turn out to be a manifestation of your own wants over his own needs.

You’re scared the boy you love and care for isn’t the passionate captain you knew nor the renowned heartthrob around school but a enmity completely unknown.

Mostly, you’re scared because fear is the last thing you thought you would ever experience in the wake of Hoseok.

And maybe you’re too transparent or perhaps his words truly did hurt you to the point where even he could decipher, but your entire body language reclines—your eye glued to the floor, your head ducked in shame, and your body facing slightly askew—and Hoseok quickly reaches his hand out in aid.

From the top of your head down to the nape of your neck and to the stroke of your cheek, the cup of his hand brings you a step closer to him until he places a chaste kiss to your temple and retracts himself from you once again.

“Just stop worrying about me, okay? That’s the only way we can keep this…” he struggles to find the right words as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your right ear. The boy takes a deep breath and neither a sigh nor a chuckle descends from his barely parted lips, for all you hear is a weighty pant crafted of obligations. “...this thing we have going on between us. We’ll both be better of that way, alright? Even if it’s ignorant to do so. I just don’t want us to end.”

Physically, his voice drifts into the foreign wind which sweeps your grasp of time shortly afterwards; but you hear him loud and clear within the resonance of your heart, for his actions speak louder than words.

You don’t expect him to greet you, not to mention even sitting within your vicinity on the ride back… but he does. In moments when you avoid all eye contact the second his foot sets weight onto the bus, shifting towards the windows by your seat and wishing with every ounce of your will for your rather isolated choice of seating and lack of friends to go unnoticed; but he reads you like an open book. With footsteps skimming across the floor, soft yet firm enough to mark his ambitions, the boy beelines to the seat by your side. The lethargic timbre of his murmured “hey” elicits a prim response from you as he plops into the empty seat and fills the painfully heavy air of his absence.

The forecast predicts a dayful of sun, but you don’t quite realize until now, just how reliant you’ve become; for at some point in time, the sun has somehow become your everything.

You don’t expect him to spark any conversations—no, not after that discussion gone astray—and he doesn’t; but the watchful gaze of his, wandering from his chattering friends straight up ahead to eye occasional roll of your sore ankles, inquires more than you could ask for. In fact, it doesn’t take very long for his desires to bloom into fruition when, the next thing you know, he gently lifts your right leg to prop into the lap of his own and begins kneading the knots from your muscles.

“It’s fine,” you mutter through barely parted lips, attempting in vain to retract your leg when his hands firmly hold them in place.

“It’s your first bootcamp, isn’t it?” he continues to knead. “I remember how exhausted I was for my first camp. Just let me help you.”

His words sweep your own right off of your lips.

Glancing him up and down, the courage to speak doesn’t come to you until the charter enters a tunnel, blackening your sights from his soft brown hair, beautifully tan skin, and mustard tee.

“Can you stop playing around with me? Things like this mean so much more to me than what you’re asking for from us.”

The boy doesn’t answer, instead, he pauses; and after a few seconds of silence, he persists to knead for a minute longer before letting down your leg once the tunnel ends and you’re blinded by the incoming flood of sun rays.

Incapable of sight in the bright sun after a long nap, the thought of Keiko’s text remains imprinted throughout your conscious. Weighing heavily in your hands, you grab your phone and swiftly jog off the bus on a mission to inquire advice from the rest of the boys.

While Hoseok lends a hand in unloading the endless stream of camp attendees hastily lining up to grab their bags and head on home, you find the rest of the boys standing in a semicircle, conversing away and responsibly keeping watch on the slowly dwindling crowd as members of the official performance unit.

“What’s crackin’, Y/N?” Jin questions, the group following suit as they peer at you with curious eyes.

“I just,” you glance around, particularly assuring yourself of Hoseok’s distant position before whirling around and proceeding in a hush, “I just wanted to ask you guys for some advice.”

Taehyung wiggles his brows, “you need some dating advice?”

“Ooh, for Hoseok?” Jungkook adds in.

“No, it has nothing to do with him, okay? Well, sort of,” you reach out your phone to show the text to a intrigued group of boys leaning in. “Keiko wants to meet up with me.”

“...okay?” Yoongi frowns at your lack of context.

“No, I mean, she wants to meet up with me and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Hoseok. It’s literally the only reason she would know me or even talk to me.”

“But what’s so wrong with that?”

Jimin purses his lips at Yoongi’s remark, “you think Hobi would be okay with that? With us talking behind his back, especially to his former teacher? He doesn’t even tell us anything anymore, and we used to be his closest friends.”

“Yeah, so I don’t know what to do,” you shake your head. “I want to know what Keiko needs to tell me. I feel like it’s something important that might help Hoseok…”

“...but…”

“...but I’m scared I’m just taking advantage of Hoseok’s situation for the sake of my own curiosity. I don’t want to accidentally hurt him.”

The boys exchange glances at each other, because they, too, are as abandoned in the shadows as Hoseok had kept you, yourself.

Finally, Namjoon shifts his weight, a stance demanding attention and respect, before asking, “well, do you think Hoseok is going to get any better at this point?”

To be painfully honest, the truthful answer to his question would simply and brutally be a “no.” Just as Jimin had pointed out, Hoseok carries an even more lethargic, poignant mien in him than he had prior to camp. Maybe bringing him here really is a mistake, after all, because now he seems worse than ever before.

Without dance, it’s like he’s a completely different person.

“No, I doubt he’ll be hanging around us anytime soon,” Jimin quickly answers when he notices your downcast eyes. “I don’t think it’s just me when I say: right now, Hoseok despises dance.”

Hoseok. Despises. Dance.

You never thought those three words could ever coexist.

“Then I don’t think there’s any harm in meeting with Keiko,” Namjoon elaborates. “Yes, you might be butting into someone else’s business, but from what I can tell, Hoseok isn’t just ‘someone’ to you and you aren’t just ‘someone’ to him. If you’re doing it out of good intentions, I doubt he would hold it against you for—”

—his words are cut short when everyone in the group removes their eyes off of you and darts to someone from behind you. Suddenly, a heavy arm slings over your shoulders and the rough edge of his masked voice echoes in your right ear.

“Hey, what’s with all the long face?” Hoseok feigns a laugh after glancing at you. “What’re we going on about this time?”

Rather than his untimely presence, it’s his nonchalant performance of swinging his arms over your shoulders which catches your infuriated attention. Not only is he lying to himself, yourself, and his closest friends, but now he’s acting as if he owns you, as if you two were an actual couple, as if he didn’t just tell you to your face that your relationship meant nothing more than leisure to him.

“Why do you care so much about my mood? Actually, why do you pretend to care so much?” you rebuke in spite, pushing off his hands and relishing in the sudden downturn of his lips and furrowed brows. “I thought we weren’t a thing. You told me not to be attached, so why don’t you follow your own advice?”

Your curtly remarks evoke worried albeit curious glances from the boys, but all you care about is the fury boiling under Hoseok’s poor attempt at suppressing with a smirk.

“That’s more like it,” he smugly grins, cocking his head and raising his hands defensively, “the more you push me away, the more I’ll fall. Isn’t that what you want?”

As if.

Scoffing and rolling your eyes, you shake your head and return your attention to boys before bidding them goodbye and walking off without another word to Hoseok.

There isn’t any reason nor thing for you to stay around Hoseok for, and neither does he for you; he doesn’t run after you and he doesn’t even attempt to explain himself nor demand an explanation, because to him, you simply aren’t worth the effort.

To him, you’re just a simple text away.

Hoseok, my beloved [6:56 P.M.] Well played. Let’s keep things that way.

Clink, clink, the glasses of wine tipping against its own fills the rather lavish room you hadn’t expected nor asked to be seated in; and while others hold their own in formal gowns and suits, you sit uncomfortably across Keiko decked out in sweatpants and a messy bun from lack of time between departure and arrival.

Dressed in a sleek black blouse and dangling earrings, Keiko remains the classy woman you had met the first time around; to others, you must seem like a child next to her.

The only perk you could scavenge from your ostracized self is having your expensive dinner, sure to empty your wallet along with college tuitions, paid by a responsible, full-time employed adult.

“So,” she takes a sip from her glass of wine, “how’re you doing?”

“He’s doing…” you quickly respond before stuttering, “a-alright.”

To your surprise, Keiko chuckles a sultry laugh as ripened as red wine. “I was asking about you, not Hoseok; but I guess you have some sort of a guess as to why I called you here, and to be completely honest with you, you’re right.”

“Oh… sorry...” you mumble, eyes wide and enraptured by her poise. “I, um, hope it’s not inappropriate of me to ask this, but why are you asking me and not the boys?”

Keiko cocks her head as if the answer was obvious enough, “because you're the closest one to him right now, are you not?”

“Emotionally? No… physically? Not really,” you frown, especially when she just chortles at you.

“Well, that's what I've deduced from what the boys have told me.”

“They told you about me?” your eyes immediately widen in panic, because for some odd reason, you want to at least appear somewhat decent from someone as respectable as Keiko; and it isn't a competition between you and her in vie for Hoseok’s attention, it's the elegant way she holds herself which has earned your utmost respect. “What… did they say?”

“Oh, nothing too much,” she chuckles with a shrug. “Don't worry, I have other reasons for my deduction.”

The vague answer intimidates you from inquiring further as your gaze becomes affixed to the empty plate splattered with leftover sauce from the now ingested steak. Instead of probing at you to answer her question, she allows you to recollect yourself and your state of mind in silence; and eventually, you do, for your train of thoughts stumble over the real reason you had agreed to this meeting tonight.

“About Hoseok…” you start, eyes lifting to meet Keiko’s, her brows raising to encourage you further. “He's still… reluctant to dance. I don't think he had the best time at camp.”

“Really? Spring boot camp was always his favorite time of the year,” she prims, but all you can do is sigh in a mix of awe and regret, wondering just how much more she knows about Hoseok than you do him. “Well, do you plan on helping him still?”

Helping him? Does she not know about his injury? Hoseok’s voice reverberates in your mind—stop prying—for a remark both raw and real is all too painful to hear and to forget.

It isn't your business neither is it your secret to reveal, especially not to someone he must hold so dearly—in both respect… and love.

“I don't get it…” you stealthily tiptoe around the subject. “Why aren't you helping him? You're much closer to him than I am. I can't do much… we're just acquaintances. It's not like we're dating.”

Your question elicits a loud intake of breath followed by a sigh as she reclines into her seat and crosses her legs, “because I can't.”

'What do you mean…?”

Her fingers begin to play with the glass of wine, swirling the drink round and round and creating whirlpools in the tips of her sleek red nails.

“Are you aware of Hoseok’s main reason for his hiatus?”

Sneakers squeaking and machine buzzing, collapse.

“Well, I can't because…”

Your line of sight subconsciously travels to your leg where you can practically see Hoseok's own, swelling and throbbing as you clutch it in plain just like he had on the blackest of nights.

Keiko looks you straight in the eye.

“...because I'm the one who caused his injury.”

Injury. His injury. Keiko. She caused it.

How did any of this make sense?

“Wait, what? Are you sure?” your brows cinch in confusion. “Maybe he… he…”

Your voice trails to nothing. What else could have evoked someone to blame themselves over something so horrid other than the truth itself?

“I pushed him too far,” she says after a long sigh, staring at the swirl of wine in her delicate fingers. “I was training him into a captain capable of handling anything that would come at him, be it pressure or stress, he has the potential to be the best we've ever had… I don't know if it was me or him and his own expectations which pushed him too far, too fast, but he crumbled.”

If you knew the old and new Hoseok correctly, the latter would be the valid reason. Hoseok pushed himself too far in the face of pressure.

And as much as you know the blame can't be held entirely by Keiko but Hoseok, himself, a part of you errs in the sudden impatience arising within you.

Crumble, she said.

The sun doesn't crumble, it sets.

“...weren't you watching over him…?” you frown at her.

“I did,” she simply nods. “He practiced day and night. There never was a single day when I entered or left the studio and Hoseok wasn't there. Sometimes I think the poor boy even slept in that sweaty old musty room.”

You let out a scoff under your breath, appalled. “And you didn't tell him to stop—”

“—you’re not a dancer, are you, Y/N? You think I can tell someone to stop doing what they love, what they’re so passionate in? You think we have it easy? That talent and a few hours a week are enough to make up for what we lack? You think he would listen to me if I told him to stop? I thought you knew him well,” Keiko rebukes, calm but reprimanding enough for you to wince. “Being a captain requires you to put in time and stress and pressure just comes with it. And even despite that, yeah, sometimes I do wonder if I was asking for too much. If he or I had said something, if he had quit a bit earlier, maybe he wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“Quit?” you articulate, narrowing your eyes at her. “I don’t have to be a dancer to know that trying to prevent an injury isn’t quitting.”

“You sound like every other person who begged me to stop when I was training to become the captain myself,” Keiko chuckles, lips pressing into a thin, curved line. “I handled the pressure. I bore all the stress. I conquered it all and I thrived, Y/N, and you and I both know how talented Hoseok is. If I could do it, he most definitely could, too. I don’t know what got to him, but something did.”

“Not everyone’s body works the same…” your words become muffled by your own lips.

“Oh?” she laughs. “You almost sound like you know him better than I have in the past four years.”

Past four years? It’s almost certain they share a history together. Your gut instincts painfully tell you so.

“Anyways, I’m not here to argue with you, Y/N. I apologize if I stepped over the line just now,” her hand reaches for yours over the table and she smiles. “I get it. To you guys, us dancers seem reckless, and I admit it, we go overboard sometimes. That’s why we, especially Hoseok, need people, like you, by our sides to tell us when enough is enough.”

Her gaze sees right through you and there’s nothing you could do other than avert your eyes to the side to prevent her from reading through your transparency. It feels like she’s telling you something, hinting at an implication, but you just can’t quite get it.

You can’t read her like she or even Hoseok does to you.

“If his injury really is the reason behind his hiatus, then why hasn’t he tried to recover? Or,” you nearly choke on your own gasp, “has… he?”

“As much as I seem to know him, Y/N, I actually can’t answer that question. I really don’t know,” she sighs. “Even I’m surprised. I thought he would bounce back. He truly loved dance. He loved it to death… but maybe he never did. I don’t know if I overestimated him. I was hoping you would know. He won’t let me anywhere near him now.”

Of course not, you bite your tongue. As much as you admire Keiko for her sheer willpower, her constant disregard for Hoseok’s well-being and even questioning his passion irks you the wrong way.

“So,” she softly utters, holding your hand to avert your gaze back to hers, “can you help me, Y/N?”

Stop prying, his voice echoes; even your deepest conscience knows Hoseok doesn’t want you to help.

“Why would I do that? We’re not close or anything. I’ll be sticking my nose into someone else’s business.”

Your remark elicits a slight scoff of disbelief from Keiko as she grins at you with furrowed brows.

“Don’t you like him? Don’t you like Hoseok, I mean?”

“W-What?” you immediately shake your head. “No, I don’t know what makes you think that or whatever the boys told you, but even if I wanted to help, I can’t.”

“Oh, but I think you can,” she leans back into her seat and crosses her arms before turning to glance out the window displaying the black silhouette of the cityscape. “In fact, you’re the only one who can. At the rate Hoseok is going, I don’t think he’ll ever return to the dance scene… but you can change that.”

Everyone seems to have expectations from you, but it doesn’t matter when the person in need of help himself refuses your aid.

But you want to help him, even if that means he won’t ever dance again.

You’ve come to realize, through trial and error, all you could wish for him is bliss.

“...what makes you think that?”

“I promise I’m not doing this to gain your favor or try to persuade you, but,” she turns away from the window and leans into the table with a smile, “I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he mentions you.”

“But… but I thought…”

...I thought you never met up with him before after his injury, is what you meant to say, but the rapid beats of your heart elicited by her confession prevents you from budging a single inch.

Maybe they really are dating and you’re just being toyed around by the both of them.

“I… I just have one question,” you blurt before your more rational self could talk you out of it; for once, you’re acting on impulse and ego, but perhaps you deserve it after everything you’ve been through for the sake of him. It’s time you do something for yourself. “...did you and Hoseok ever have a relationship?”

Keiko arches both brows at you in surprise, “a relationship?”

“As in… have you two dated before?”

Silence ensues as she ponders for a few seconds and smiles, a soft chuckle drifting from her lips, “and what would you say if I said yes? Would you dislike me? Would you not do me this favor?”

Immediately, your heart sinks and something in your stomach drops.

Ah, so it’s a yes; crestfallen for reasons unknown, you begin collecting your things.

“I’ll think about it because I want to make sure this does Hoseok more good than it does me or any of us waiting for him to take the stage again,” standing up, you continue, looking her straight in the eye, “and I’m not doing this for you because I don’t appreciate the way you demean Hoseok and his own health and efforts.”

“Then who are you doing this for?”

You frown; isn’t the answer obvious enough?

“Hoseok.”

A wide grin spreads across her lips from ear to ear as she suppresses a giddy smile, quickly grabbing your hand and squeezing it firmly, “thank you, Y/N. Really, thank you. I mean it when I say you’re the only one who can bring him out of his darkest times. I’m counting on you.”

Gradually and hesitantly, you nod, slowly turning your back on the exit to make your way out the way you made it in.

Step by step, they gain momentum until you find yourself marching out of the restaurant on a mission to brew a storm in search of the world’s ends, for the hidden sun is long due for its rise.

314 notes · View notes

fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years ago

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 18 -Chemistry

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, what will they do?, 2.5k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17

“Two, three, four!” Alex counted off and the band sprung into action inside the studio. The one good thing about the drums was that it made him hyper aware of every limb on his body. There was no room for distractions or intrusive thoughts when he was keeping time. It was almost like the euphoria of being dizzy, only without the dizziness. He could be okay in this state for a little while - just long enough to reset his mind and declutter itself.

As they finished their take, they heard a familiar voice from the sound booth.

“Sounds incredible boys!”

Caleb. There went the whole ‘reset and declutter’ thing he had going.

Each of the guys looked around at each other, knowing they would have to do their best to pretend they didn’t know anything. This was the first time they were seeing him since Alex had given the news to the rest of the band. None of them had actually discussed what they would do the next time Caleb happened to stop in. Setting down their instruments and slowly filing into the sound booth, they all greeted Caleb, trying to appear happy to see him.

“Let’s hear that playback, shall we?” he said as they all sat together. He pressed a few knobs on his soundboard and they all listened closely to their own song. It was just gonna be another session with notes on where they could dub vocals here and there or duplicate tracks to fill things out - it had to be normal, Alex prayed.

“And let’s stop here for a minute,” Caleb was saying after getting into a couple minutes of the track. “Reggie. What happened to the bassline?” Reggie sat up, blinking at being called out. “That’s not what was on your demo; why did you change it?”

Reggie’s face had already fallen as he made flustered attempts to respond.

“I-I...I just liked that line better...I think it fits the style and the direction of the song,” he stammered, shoulders slumped, avoiding eye contact. His hands came together in his usual fidget - the one he did when he got yelled at. Alex saw Bobby’s hand curl into a fist.

“Alright, alright, trust me,” Caleb placated. “I understand, probably more than any of you, why improvising a part feels so good. I wouldn’t host a jazz club if I didn’t get that. But here the difference is that no one knows your songs yet, boys.”

“We’ve had faithful fans for years,” Luke interrupted.

Caleb cut him off with a mere look. Shutting his mouth, Luke scratched the back of his head nervously. After taking a breath, Caleb simply let out a sigh.

“Boys.” His tone was really drawing on the charisma, Alex noticed. “My job in helping you reach the stardom that you all one hundred percent deserve is to help you create a footprint on the walk of fame. A footprint means as beginners we can’t mess with the core elements that make your brand. These songs need to stay consistent until we have thousands of fans singing back to you in the audience the very lines you wrote in your humble garage. They need to know the first few seconds of that drumbeat and recall who you are on the radio. They are going to learn those basslines and those chords and add them to their own repertoire while they aspire to be legends like you! Don’t you see how important that is? I know. Playing around is fun; experimenting with new ideas and sounds is the whole reason we’re here. But from now on, I want you boys to stay in one lane, and I will match your speed.”

Eyeing each other warily, they all awkwardly murmured and nodded to agree with him. None of his words had been all that comforting. Alex was stuck thinking about how Caleb had made an appeal to every single one of them and somehow been right on the nose. It was like he could read their minds and it felt rather invasive.

“We’ll remember that,” Alex told him. He knew the other three were battling with their fight or flight responses and it would be suspicious.

“Oh, good,” Caleb replied. “I can see we’re having an off day, but maybe Alex can get the rest of you on board. Let’s run that song again.”

Exchanging glances, the guys stood up and headed back into the recording booth.

“Man, chemistry sucks,” Bobby complained from his seat in the armchair in his garage. Books were spread out around him, as well as about a dozen crumpled up pieces of notebook paper. “Reggie would get this.”

Alex looked up from the history homework he’d been focused on. He was gaining such an ear for whenever Reggie or Bobby mentioned one another and it made him laugh inwardly. For now, though, he had to hide the smirk.

“Well, I would call him, but he’s taking care of his sister tonight.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to bother him anyways.”

This was one of the rare occasions where it was just Alex and Bobby together. Usually at least Luke would be around, but he was out on some date with Julie and there was no telling when he was expected back. Bobby had been helping Alex with history for a little bit but about half an hour ago remembered his own homework in a panic. Now they were both having trouble focusing. Their time in the studio that morning was clearly still on both of their minds.

“Hey, did Reggie tell you we were playing for his cousin’s wedding?” Alex asked in a non sequitur fashion.

“What?” Bobby said, finally sitting up and tearing his eyes off the diagram he was making. “No, he didn’t. Since when was that happening?”

“I’ve known for a couple weeks,” Alex told him casually.

“Oh.” Bobby looked down at the floor. “Any reason you haven’t mentioned it until now?”

Alex shifted in his seat on the couch at the suspicion in Bobby’s voice, but tried to play it off with a shrug.

“I just forgot. We’ve had a lot going on since he mentioned it to me.”

It did the trick. Still, Bobby sat in thought for a while, playing with his tongue inside his mouth absent-mindedly. Alex physically bit his own tongue to keep himself from asking what was on Bobby’s mind and pretended to turn his attention back to his history work. There was a long, static pause.

“Reggie’s been really weird lately,” Bobby said.

“Is that so?” Alex didn’t look up this time.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s always been goofy and everything, but I mean, he’s been unusual even for him. You know what I mean?”

“I guess I haven’t been paying as close of attention.” Alex flipped a page in his text book. “But I’ll take your word. Are you worried about him?”

Furrowing his brow, Bobby frowned in thought.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I mean, I always worry about him, you know, cuz of everything he deals with at home. But I don’t know...this is different.”

“Is it because of what Caleb said today?”

“I didn’t like that either, but no, that’s not it.”

He looked so serious that Alex couldn’t find it funny anymore. Actually, Bobby seemed so distressed by it that it was making Alex distressed.

“Hey,” he said with concern. “Why do you look so bummed about it?”

He received a glance as though a great weight sat upon Bobby’s shoulders. It was so familiar it shot him in the chest. His friend looked so lost and uncertain, so afraid to speak his mind. And Alex thought Reggie had been conflicted. It was a little worrying.

“I think you actually know what's going on, huh?” Bobby said in resignation.

Nope. Now it was just frustrating. Alex sat up and looked at Bobby directly.

“Okay, I know expressing yourself isn’t your strong suit, Bobby, but please say it out loud. You can do it. Especially with me.”

His friend’s eyebrows knit together even further, trying to convince himself to get it off his chest. A minute passed, and finally he shut his chemistry book, set it aside, and faced Alex.

“I have feelings for Reggie.”

Thank god.

“Good job! You’re officially the last to know!”

Bobby’s face fell into a confused expression.

“What?”

Alex merely shrugged. They were so helpless, but luckily he was better at trying to solve others’ problems than his own.

“I had to let you come to your own conclusion. It was exhausting; you took forever.”

Bobby folded his hands and fidgeted with his thumbs.

“How long have you noticed?”

“Technically? Since before playing at the Pearl. But that’s when it really started to be obvious.”

Smirking, Bobby just bowed and shook his head.

“You know,” he began. “When I was first getting to know you, I didn’t trust you. Luke and I were already so close, and he introduced me to you and Reggie and you two already were such good friends. For a while I couldn’t figure out when you were being sarcastic or serious and I didn’t want to admit I was too sensitive. Reggie helped me figure out the difference and I just sort of dropped anything I was upset about.”

Alex listened carefully, nodding at his words.

“And now you’ve started getting all personal because you know I’m the most trustworthy one here, right?” he half-teased.

Nodding, Bobby smiled a little.

“I guess this is the part where you tell me to get my crap together and tell Reggie?”

“Yep,” Alex said. “But go at your own pace. The last thing I want is you two making things even weirder than they already are by trying to discuss things when you’re not prepared. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great, but don’t forget the rest of the band in the process.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bobby pondered. “You have a point. Speaking of weird business, I’m still not cool about us pretending to go along with making the album while knowing what we do about Caleb.”

“Me neither, but I think Luke was right. We’re just being careful.”

“Since when is Sunset Curve careful, though? We would just set up and play wherever we could until we got chased off the property, and then we’d just find a new location the next night.”

“The difference is we were nobody fifteen year olds who didn’t have contracts signed. You said it yourself, we could risk losing the rights to our own music if we break things off.”

“We read the contracts, though, right?” Bobby insisted. “I made sure we did. I don’t remember anything that seemed too controlling in them.”

“Would we have known what to look for?” Alex responded.

Sighing heavily and flopping back into his chair, Bobby stared up into the ceiling. It felt like no good answer could be given. Alex was frustrated too, but he remembered what Tía Victoria had told him as well. He believed Willie, of course, especially since Victoria hadn’t actually seen or spoken to him. She hadn’t been able to get a sniff of Caleb’s true nature, and she was a professional investigator. If Caleb could fool her that easily, he’d tied their hands while they willingly held them out.

“Bobby,” Alex started. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we should stop laying ourselves on the ground and letting him walk all over us. None of this ‘establish the brand’ B.S.”

Straightening his posture, Alex sat up and folded his hands. That was exactly what he wanted to do, too. Even if he didn’t know anything else about Caleb, the way he’d gone after Reggie had left a sour enough taste in his mouth. Before he could say anything else to Bobby, Luke stepped into the garage.

“Guys, I was thinking - ” he started.

“You wanna go after Caleb too?” Bobby said.

“Whoa, how did you know?” he sat back in surprise.

“Bobby and I were just talking about it,” Alex told him. Luke raised his eyebrows as he flopped onto the couch beside Alex.

“Were you guys mad when he singled out Reggie, too?”

“Yes!”

“Nobody shames Reggie like that!”

“Bobby, you should go cheer him up,” Luke suggested. “We all know you’re in love with him.”

“Oh my god!” Bobby cried, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation. Immediately he stood up and gathered all his books. “Just for that, I’m turning in you guys. Have a nice night, Alex. Luke, I hope it’s cold.” He stormed out of the garage and into his house while Luke and Alex simply laughed together.

“I, uh… I already gave him a speech about it,” Alex told Luke, smirking.

“Thank you!” Luke cried. “I know they tease me about being dense but at least I go for what I want! And so do you!”

Smiling at the acknowledgement of him and Willie, Alex slowly started packing up his homework. He could finish it tomorrow night.

“By the way, how was hanging out with Julie?” he asked.

Placing his arms behind his head, Luke got that dreamy far-off look on his face. The ‘Julie on the mind’ look. He smiled like he’d seen an angel and the angel had smiled back in kind.

“Oh, she’s awesome. She’s way better at roller skating than me. I wish there were two of me just so one of us could hold her hand while skating with her and the other could sit down and watch.”

Alex made a face at the odd visual, but he understood what Luke was talking about. He wondered what he and Willie looked like from an outside perspective. Did they look as happy as he felt? Did Willie bring out something in him that he’d never seen in the mirror? Or even something the rest of the guys didn’t know yet? That was something he really wanted to discuss with Willie now.

“I can’t wait until her mom gets out of the hospital,” Luke was saying. “I want to learn everything she can teach me. She told me she took two years just working on the production of an album for her band. Imagine what we could do with our songs if we had her in the studio instead of Caleb.”

“Wow,” Alex commented. “At this point, I really wish we were working with the Molinas. At least they seem to get us.”

Luke looked at him and Alex knew he’d heard all the underlying meaning in that sentence. All the guys had been accepted by Julie’s family in a way none of their own seemed capable of. Alex almost wished he hadn’t said it out loud because it only tempted him to forget about heading home.

“Maybe one day, we will, Alex,” Luke said, giving him an encouraging smile.

He chuckled as he shouldered his backpack and headed out the door.

“Yeah. That’d be sweet.”

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #sunset curve #alive au #willex #willie #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #julie molina #caleb covington #viva las vegas #vlv #chemistry #fiddlepickdouglas

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years ago

Text

♡ f l u f f v e m b e r 2 0 2 0 ♡

♡ week three — kuroo tetsurou | first date

♡ summary — it was just a boba date, what could go wrong? apparently, everything or highschool student kuroo tetsurou finds a way to epically mess up his first date with you

♡ masterlist ♡

It was Kuroo’s first date.

No, scratch that. He had had dates before. But it was the first time he had ever asked someone out. Kuroo had managed not to stumble over his own words as he invited the libero from the girls’ volleyball team to a boba date. Kuroo waited for you after class and walked you to the gym, as your team was using the space that day. He noticed the blush on your cheeks as you agreed, trying to play it cool. He couldn’t blame you as he was trying to do just the same (he did wish he was doing a better job, though). You gave him your number and waved him off as you joined practice.

“What do you think about them?” he asked Kenma, as he walked him home after school. He hadn’t stopped talking about you in the past few weeks, bothering his friend about this joke you had made or the way he caught you staring in awe at a stray cat on the street. ‘Ask them out’, had been Kenma’s only advice (and a not-so-direct manner to shut him up). He then had watched Kuroo rehearse the question about whatever a boba date was in front of his mirror for a long time while he played with his Switch.

Kenma let out a long sigh, his eyes darting to the sky.

“They’re okay.”

“Just okay?”

“They offered me their notes one day I missed class,” Kenma remembered. Kuroo smiled and kept walking, hands in his pockets.

Tomorrow was going to be easy. He would meet you near the park and you would walk to this boba store he had found out was very popular on Instagram. You would walk around town, it would get cold and he would offer his jacket. Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou had it all planned and he was confident it was going to be a date to remember.

He really wished he had chosen his words more carefully.

Kuroo was already at the park when he realized he had forgotten his leather jacket. He cursed under his breath as he sat on one of the park’s benches. It’s going to be fine, he told himself. So what if you can’t lend her your jacket? That doesn’t mean anything. You both can still have a good time. He sighed and passed a hand across his face.

Keep it together.

He looked up at the sky and saw the grey clouds from that morning still lurking around. It had been raining for a couple of hours, but it had thankfully stopped before ruining his date. The air was cold, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He just had to focus on being himself, relaxing and having a good time.

“Hey!”

Kuroo turned around and saw you walking to him. It felt unreal to see you without your uniform, but he had to admit he liked it. It was like getting to know another part of yourself, a bit of what you liked and the knowledge you had dressed up knowing you were going to meet him. Still, you looked comfortable and he greeted you with a smile. He didn’t fail to notice the sweater you were carrying on one arm. Of course.

“Hey,” he replied, standing up and going to meet you. “Should we go?”

The walk to the boba store was filled with small talk and your laugh as he cracked a joke or two. He remembered why he asked you out in the first place, how your sole presence could brighten up even the grey clouds above both of you and make him forget all about the forgotten jacket. He watched you stare at the menu board and hum to yourself as you picked your order and told the girl behind the bar something he didn’t pay attention to.

“And you?”

Your voice brought him back from his daydreaming, and he finally looked at the board above both of you. His eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the different combination and options shown there. Four steps? Thirty five flavours? Wait-- did he read correctly? Thirty-five? Kuroo was convinced it would be like going to Starbucks and just now he was realizing his mistake. Who invites someone over for boba tea when they don’t know anything about those stores themselves?

“Do you like mango?” you asked, once again bringing him back to reality. “The matcha mango one is really good and kind of sweet. I think you’ll like it,” you said, offering him a smile.

“Sure, that sounds good,” he said, his eyes darting to the other options on the board. “And also a couple of chocolate chip cookies,” he told the cashier, who added it to the list.

“Oh, I love those,” you muttered to yourself, and he grinned at your excited expression. Kuroo took his wallet out to pay for your drinks.

A chill ran down his spine as he found his card slot empty. Scared, he looked in every compartment of his wallet, and then inside his jeans pockets. Nothing. A vague memory of him needing some cash and taking out the card from his wallet to go to the ATM the day before crossed his mind. Of course. He hadn’t put the card back to his pocket when he returned home.

He couldn’t face you now. Who the hell takes someone to a boba store, not only not knowing anything about boba, but also forgets his money? He counted the cash he had and realized it wasn’t enough to cover for everything. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry, I left my card at my house,” he said, his eyes fixed on his almost empty wallet.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say, taking out your wallet and handing your card to the girl in front of you.

“I’ll pay you back, I’m actually so sorry”, he apologized, masking his deep embarrassment with a smile. You smiled sweetly at him while shaking your head and he managed to feel even worse than before.

As you waited for your orders, you looked at how nervous Kuroo looked. He didn’t look like the confident guy who you had been talking to the past few weeks, who always had a funny remark or proud smirk when he won a debate. You nudged your shoulder at him, forcing him to look at you again.

“Hey, did you manage to talk to the science teacher about that problem he got wrong?” you asked, trying to take his mind out of it. His eyes lit up, and he started rambling about the chemistry problem he noticed the teacher had been wrong about.

You kept listening to Kuroo as he picked up your order and looked for an empty table to sit with you. He found one at the back of the store and led you there. Kuroo sat in front of you and you watched him take special care in popping the lid of his drink with the straw, as if he was scared of somehow messing it up. You hid your smile and poked the lid of your own drink, taking a sip and humming at the known flavour.

“Had you come here before?” he asked.

“No, I usually go to one that is next to my house, but this is really good. The thirty-five flavours plus the toppins really gives you a lot to choose from,” you smiled, taking another sip and munching on one of the pearls. “How is practice going?”

“It’s good. We’ve actually invited some schools over next week for practice matches, so it should be fun. How is your knee going?”

You blinked at him in surprise.

“Hey, you remembered,” you said, a smile drawing on your lips.

“Of course I did,” Kuroo said, rolling his eyes playfully. “I’m a nice person.”

“No doubt there,” you chuckled. “I’m actually feeling a lot better. I still have another appointment with the physical therapist tomorrow and--”

You proceeded to explain about how your therapy was doing and Kuroo listened to you, all his senses focused on no one but the person in front of him. He wondered if you knew about the little mannerisms you had when you talked and daydreamed about telling you all about them, only this time you would be resting in his arms. He thought about taking the hand that was resting on the table but forced the thought out of his head. No, maybe in a while. It was too soon.

Kuroo has been on dates before, sure. But it was the first time he was the one who asked someone out. His previous dates had been fun, but they had also felt like he was talking to any other friend, hence why there never was a second date. So, this newfound nervousness was tearing him apart, forcing his confident self into unknown territory. He took a sip of his drink and noticed a combination of citrus and sweetness. Somehow, knowing you had picked it made it even better. You laughed at your own joke and he smiled back, entranced by your spontaneity, being thankful you had agreed to go out with him. Maybe--

Kuroo coughed.

You kept talking, unbothered.

He coughed again.

It took a couple of seconds for you to realize he was choking.

“Oh no, water? Do I bring you water?” you asked in fear. He saw you standing up, attempting to go ask for some water, but he tapped the table, making you look back at him. Kuroo shook his head and patted his chest with force twice. He coughed inside his hand a couple more times and finally he felt the damn pearl travelling down his esophagus and the air entering his lungs once again.

You took his drink and moved the straw up, making sure he only drank liquid and handed it to him, trying to soothe him. He didn’t look at you as he drank a few more sips, mentally kicking himself for being so entranced in watching you he forgot about the damn pearls in his drink. You waited for him to take a deep breath and continued your conversation.

(You didn’t mis the way Kuroo was way more wary whenever he brought the straw to his lips).

Almost an hour later, you decided to walk around town, finding a small volleyball court behind an Elementary School. You convinced him into joining some kids playing volleyball there, who were in need of someone to set for them. He watched in awe how you laughed, even if both you and him were not used to setting for someone. By the end, the sun was setting and you said goodbye to them, getting lost in the streets of Tokyo as the night started.

The signs from the stores shined brightly against your skin, making you look even prettier than before, Kuroo noticed. He knew it was almost time to let you go, but he had to admit he didn’t want to. Still, he was thankful he had gotten over the initial awkwardness. Spending the afternoon had only taught him more things about you to like, and he wished there was a way both of you didn’t have to go back home that night.

As you were both waiting to cross the street, he thought about holding your hand again. It was a small gesture, but he thought it was enough to let you know how he felt about you, in case you had wondered about the nature of the date. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t intoxicated in your existance, the sound of your laugh, the way you talked with the kids as you played volleyball with them or the way you handed him his drink after he choked. Kuroo was falling, and he was falling hard. Honestly, if he didn’t end up kissing you by the end of the night, it would only be because he wanted to take his time and do things right by you.

The traffic light changed from green to yellow and Kuroo noticed a car speeding up. He put his arm in front of you and pushed you slightly backwards, shielding you, as the car passed in front of both of you.

Immediately followed by a big splash of water staining his white shirt.

Of course. It had been raining earlier after all.

The light turned red and the rest of the people started crossing the street, a couple of people looking back at the highschool student with the wet shirt.

Okay, it was a sign. Maybe it just wasn’t a good day to go out.

Kuroo let you move him aside and grab the hem on his shirt, squeezing it and trying to get rid of all the excess water. He watched you as you did, knowing there was no point. Even if it magically dried, the water was dirty and had already left an ugly grey stain.

It was time to call off the date.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his shirt as much as you could. Kuroo shook his head and gently guided your hands down. That wasn’t the way he expected to touch your hands for the first time.

“No need to be sorry, it wasn’t your fault,” he assured you, forcing a smile. “I’ll just throw this to the washing machine and it’ll be as good as new. But, um-- probably should head back now. Can’t get sick when we have those practice matches next week,” he explained, with a small shrug.

You nodded, slightly biting your lip. Before he could talk again, you took the sweater you had been holding under your arm and offered it to him.

“It’s over-sized, so it will fit you just fine,” you say, holding the sweater in front of him. You noticed the doubt in his eyes. “C’mon, I don’t want you to get sick either. And it isn’t really cold anymore, so I’ll be fine.”

Kuroo took your sweater and put it on. You had been right, it was big so it fit him nicely. Not to mention your scent was now even closer to him, a lovely mix of flowers and a bit of sweetness filling his senses. He looked at you, who were smiling softly at him and wished this date had turned out different.

“I’ll give it back to you Monday,” he promised, but you waved your hand.

“Don’t worry about it, take your time. Kind of looks nice on you,” you joked, pinching the hem of your sweater.

Why were you so sweet? You were trying for him not to feel as bad as he felt in that moment. It was probably one of the most laughable dates you had been in, he thought.

Forcing another smile, he offered to walk you to the station, to which you said it was fine. He should hurry and get home, so he didn’t catch a cold due to his wet shirt. Right. It was understandable you would want to finish the date soon.

Kuroo said his goodbyes and turned on his heel, the fake smile dropping from his face as soon as he did. He hadn’t taken more than two steps when he felt someone gripping on the sleeve of the sweater, forcing him to stop.

“Kuroo!” you called. He turned around again and faced you, his right eyebrow raising questioningly. “We should keep going back until we try all the thirty five flavours,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, but this time, it was different. Despite everything that had happened, your eyes were still looking kindly at him, your lips slightly parted after basically asking him out on a second date.

And there wasn’t anything in the world Kuroo wanted more than that.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed his lips against your forehead. He heard a small gasp eliciting from you, but then felt your hands closing on the sweater he was wearing. When he looked down at you again, he noticed how red your face was, all the remains of the confidence you had just shown him gone.

Kuroo smiled again. He could get used to seeing you like that.

“We should,” he agreed with a small nod.

In the middle of a busy street in Tokyo, no one paid attention to the tall highschool boy threading his fingers on your hair, but you could have sworn the whole world stopped every time Kuroo Tetsurou set his golden eyes on yours.

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #fluffvember #fluffvember 2020 #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 4 years ago

Note

I'm curious about "a history of dead women in the city" (and also the Wellington one, of course)

Yusss!

“History of dead women in the city” - oh man one day I will write this. It's part of this world I'm creating called Babel and it follows this woman as she tries to figure out what happened to her sister who died years ago.

A long excerpt:

Here is a scene from our childhood: It’s a sunny day. Dappled. Portrait worthy sun. It brings out freckles. We are in the courtyard, my sister drawing and me watching her draw. On a large blanket by the well sits our parents. Our mother is laughing, her arms entwined with our father’s, they are so in love. They do not notice us. It’s one of those loves that perfumes air, that is intimate and consuming, where only they exist and nothing else.

‘That is what I want,’ Bellefrey says to me. She’s drawing my round face. Squinting, holding up her thumb, making a show of it. ‘I want a man who makes me feel sublime.’

‘Don’t you mean loved?’

Oh no, she means sublime. She wants to be a thunderstorm. A tsunami. A hurricane. Something you stand in awe of.

‘The word awesome is overused,’ she explains. ‘We use it too much. Everything is awesome. The food-stalls at the mid-summer carnival are awesome. The paintings by George Dier are awesome. The play at the Round was awesome. I’m awesome. You’re awesome. Everyone’s awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome.’ Her voices becomes mocking at the end.

‘But I am awesome,’ I protest. ‘I know how to make a penny appear from behind your ear.’ I sit up to perform the trick and she lets me fumble through it.

That was over thirty years ago when Bellefrey was seventeen and me, a mere ten.

Bellefrey wrote to me a week before she died saying that she hoped her daughter Lyra would make up her mind about the name for her daughter. The child was two weeks old and still no name. How was that to be countenanced?

Lyra was Bellefrey’s third child, though second to survive. Perhaps she thought you should have all these things planned. Bellefrey was a great believer in organization. She planned out all the names for her children. Lists tracked down the side of commonplace books next to recipes and almanac predictions. Boy names, girl names, names that could go for either.

As soon as she missed her third course she was to the local midwife to read leaves over her stomach so she could prepare properly. Will it be a boy? Will it be a girl? Will it die and so there is no need to prepare a name?

Johan is her son, first born. He followed his father into the merchant trade and sells all manner of fabrics and spices. He visits me, aunty I’ve black tea pearls for you laced with lavender, hounded by dried ginger, protected by saffron. We brew fragrant drinks and he shows me his art. All those drawings of places I will never see but he has and oh isn’t that wonderful.

Havel was her second child, a boy, but he died at three weeks. One of those deaths where the babe goes to sleep and doesn’t wake up. Gay in the morning, dead by dinner except there is no fever to blame this on.

Lyra is three. First daughter and pulled out a screaming child with spindly legs and a too-large head. Her hair is the thick curls that is our mother’s inheritance, her grandmother’s inheritance. Married to a lawyer who aims to one day be well connected through the inns of court, she means to make herself into something. Daughter three was named Belle. She wagged a finger at me, never a word about beasts and fairy tales.

I don’t tell her that a woman I knew said that fairytales are our collective neurosis born out in repeating tropes. Patterned to go down forever and on.

The fourth had no name because the leaves read by her midwife told her not to bother. It was born early and without heartbeat.

Guilluam is fifth and last. She swore he was conceived ready to escape her belly. He patted the inside of her stomach as soon as he could move. Once born he clung to her then didn’t anymore, running away at sixteen. A year before she died.

What would her most difficult child make of all of this? I remember his sneering face. Where Johan was gentle kindness, Guilluam was sharp. He cut with a look. He cut with a laugh. He could be a harsh, cruel boy. Probably is a harsh, cruel man.

Or maybe he’s softened. Maybe as he ages he’s gentling. Some people do that. But in all honesty, I don’t think Guilluam the sort.

What am I trying to do? I’m trying to introduce a woman. A girl. A child. A person whom I have loved all my life and will continue to love all my life. Though I am so angry with her for leaving us it wasn’t her fault.

See, I’m guilty as all of us are guilty.

Bellefrey got caught up in something bigger than her death. She was hidden in the shadows of a great anger and a great brutality.

Bellefrey died and was found months and months later wearing a green dress and purple shoes with pearls on them.

No one knows what she was caught up in and no one knows about this great brutality, this great anger that once stalked through our less than fine and noble city.

I do not have my sister’s blood on my hands. But I do have her gravedirt.

---

The Wellington one! I completely forgot about this one. It's part of the ridiculous Woodford Napoleon AU where Napoleon ends up in England and there are murder fairies. In this story, things are starting to come through a mysterious mirror that someone shipped to Napoleon for unknown reasons. Arthur shows up to investigate.

Another long excerpt:

In the drawing room rests the mirror. It was received a little over a month ago wrapped in brown paper with no information on sender or purpose. It is a heavy, old thing. Age-spotted, warped, the frame is heavy, gilded wood. Napoleon says that for him it’s Tuileries. Has he told Arthur about Tuileries? The sacking of it?

‘Only that you said vive la revolution and someone asked if you were from the south and you said yes and that is what saved you.’

‘Southerners have to stick together,’ Napoleon’s sphinxian smile. Then he goes into himself, how he does when he’s formatting a memory — twisting it into some form of narrative that will make sense to those who were not there. Bertrand told Arthur once, It’s the revolution, we can’t really explain it. How we went about our day but also checked this list that was kept of everyone taken up as enemies. You went every morning to make sure your friends were still alive. Then you had breakfast.

Napoleon shrugs at Arthur’s patient waiting. ‘It was messy. There was a man’s head on a pike. He had a beard, brown hair that curled, blue eyes. And the floor was scattered with torn drapes, rags that were once kingly gowns, shattered statues, remains of old portraits. A lot of broken glass. Windows and mirrors.’

And as for this mirror? With its growth that says: come come come. Nothing happened the first little while. Oh yes, various and sundry people of the neighbourhood came to view the mirror — to see if they recognised it.

‘And did they?’ Arthur asks.

Yes and no for all who saw it. Mrs. Topsom said it reminded her of a beautiful manor in the Scottish highlands she once visited as a child. She did not seem comfortable with this recollection. Mrs. Phillips said it brought to mind a book she once read which told the story of a young woman trapped in a tower whose uncle froze time. Lady Preston said it was something from the Assembly Rooms in Bath.

‘And your household?’

Napoleon shrugs. What is there to say on that? Nothing. It was the revolution and it was abdication and it was family homes that are no longer homes of families.

Arthur shifts his gaze from the pensive face of Napoleon back to the mirror and he looks at it for a long moment. Studies the carvings of the frame — the flowers, vines, mischievous eyes peeking out from behind leaves. ‘I suppose it’s something from Spain, if I think on it long enough. A wealthy home we stayed in, during the campaign.’

‘A bit of something for everyone.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur agrees. Then he adds, ‘and no.’

The main issue with the mirror is this: that there is a staircase growing out of it.

When Arthur approaches he can hear whispers crawling through his mind. Slithering down the back of his head.

‘How long have the steps been here?’

‘Week and a half. It formed slowly, so we were able to document it in a thorough manner. Bertrand will give you his notes.’

Arthur hums as he inspects the object, pondering cause and effect. And, more importantly, who sent it to the exiles and to what purpose. There is nothing behind the mirror, only the wall it is propped up against. The stairs themselves are made of oak, and descend as three steps out into their world. Within the mirror they meld into an old stone walkway that climbs into a forest and is lost amongst trees and brush and forest fog.

There are leaves on the floor. And dirt. Detritus of autumnal life. They crunch beneath Arthur’s boots. Everything smells of decay.

‘Has anyone touched the mirror?’ Arthur asks. ‘Seen if it’s solid?’

‘We had Sir Hudson Lowe test it.’ Napoleon replies with an air of innocence. Arthur casts him a look. ‘What? Would you rather him disappear forever into the mirror or my good self? And no need to answer. You can save your blushes, we’re alone.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘It’s one of my finer points.’

‘And? Was it solid?’ Arthur asks.

‘Yes and no.’ Napoleon approaches and touches the glass. His palm rests against it for a beat, then it begins to go through to the other side. Napoleon lets his hand sink through up to his wrist before withdrawing. ‘No one has walked through yet.’

With this touch the whispering decreases. Though, there remains the feeling of being watched. It is not that they are hunted, Arthur thinks, but rather they are being inspected. Something is curious about them.

Reaching forward, he places his palm where Napoleon’s had been. The glass is cool to the touch and when his hand begins to sink through his skin buzzes with frisson of magic, that unfurling warmth crawls up his arm as his hand enters the other side where the air is cool yet humid. That sticky feeling of late winter.

He pulls his hand away.

‘What are your orders?’ Napoleon asks.

‘To investigate.’

The whispers return. Arthur rubs the back of his head. Such an unpleasant feeling, something else in your mind speaking a language you cannot understand in a collection of voices none of which are your own.

‘Maybe we should put a sheet over it,’ Arthur suggests after a moment. ‘Just in case.’

Going over to the window seat Napoleon opens a cupboard beneath to pull out a heavy blanket. He holds it up showing the shredded fabric.

‘We tried,’ Napoleon says. ‘Mrs. Phillips recommended salt so we put a circle around it but found strange footprints in it the next morning. We tried the blanket, but it was clawed through. We collected iron implements and made a circle around it with those and that seemed to work better than the other options. I still think they got out, though.’

‘And you’re just keeping it here in your house?’

‘Oh yes, it’s fine.’

Arthur rolls his eyes. Trust Bonaparte to think it’s fine keeping a mirror-doorway to the land of fairy in his house with potential creatures coming and going out of it at all hours.

‘We leave food out for them.’

‘They’re not pets!’

‘No,’ Napoleon pats Arthur’s cheek with a warm smile. ‘But that’s what you’re supposed to do to keep fairies happy. Come now, you should know this. Milk, bread, sometimes a brandy.’

‘I give up!’

‘Young Napoleon Bertrand has suggested names for them —‘

‘Good lord.’

‘Ferdinand, Finnegan, and Felipe.’

‘Christ’s blood.’

‘Excellent,’ Napoleon enthuses. ‘You’re cursing like a Catholic. I knew I’d be a good influence on you. Come, we shall have a late supper.’

---

Thank you so much for the ask! <3 <3

[das meme]

#ask #reply #writing #ask meme #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #arthur wellesley #duke of wellington

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: All I Want - part three Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (Bobby Singer, Castiel Mary Winchester and many more mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part three: Still in shock after Y/N’s unexpected return, the Winchesters fill her in on what has happened in the past ten years. Learning about all the ones they have lost, is a little too much for her to take in. Warnings part three: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff. Swearing, alcoholism. Descriptions of flashbacks and memories. Mentions of character death, time in Hell, torture and nightmares. Anxiety, grieving over lost loved one. Confusion that comes with time travel. Word Count: 5377 words Author’s note: Part three of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage, @winchest09, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, and @thinkwritexpress-official. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

“So, long story short,” Y/N summarizes, “Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding piggyback, Cas pulled him out but forgot his soul. There was a civil war in Heaven. Cas declared himself God and released the Leviathan and when those ugly suckers were defeated, our angel buddy and you--” she nods at Dean, “- got sucked into Purgatory, which is a place that actually exists, apparently.”

They are in the kitchen, seated at the four-person table. The hunters raided the liquor cabinet, all in need of a drink after the rather unexpected and staggering turn of events. Y/N takes a shot of whiskey and puts the tumbler down on the varnished wood with a bang, shoving it across and motioning the older Winchester for a refill.

“Meanwhile, Sam hit a dog and you escaped Purgatory, but Cas didn’t. Then there was this whole deal with the tablets and the trials, which almost killed your brother. You let an angel - who actually turned out to be a different angel - possess Sam in order to save him. There’s a second civil war upstairs…” She knocks back her head, downing the glass in one go. “I mean, what is it with those halo idiots? Haven’t they learned anything from watching humanity slaughter each other for centuries?” “Y/N, I know this is a lot, but you need to slow down a bit,” Dean advises, but she snatches the bottle from his hand and pours herself another. “I’m nowhere near done. Where was I?” She looks up at the ceiling of the kitchen for a second while thinking, until it comes to her. “Oh, right! The angels fell, you took on the Mark of Cain, beat that Knight of Hell chick Abaddon, then got yourself killed. Again. But, oh wait, it gets better! You woke up a demon and had a fun summer with Crowley.” Her voice pitches a little higher, a hint of panic audible now. Dean watches her process the information which is so clearly overwhelming her and eyes Sam, who is fixing her something quick to eat behind the kitchen counter. Their gazes lock on each other, both men wondering in silence if telling her the whole truth was a good idea.

“Sam cured you, but you still carried the Mark. You killed Death.” She laughs, cynically. “I mean, c’mon! Death! It’s ironic to say the least. Anyway, the Darkness was released, which - I kid you not - is God’s sister. Oh, and God? Turns out that horrible tween girl novel writer Chuck is actually the almighty creator! Ha!” “Why don’t you eat something? You’re probably hungry,” Sam suggests, putting down a plate in front of her. But Y/N isn’t interested in the sandwich and instead picks up her crystal glass again, having another royal amount of the brown liquor. Holding the tumbler to her lips while letting the whiskey linger in her mouth, she points her index finger at the younger Winchester now, who sits down opposite of the woman from their past.

“Your mom is back from the dead, the British Men of Letters turned out to be stuck up dicks. Lucifer was sprung from the cage, became President of the United States, and knocked up an intern. He had a son, his name is Jack. How am I doing so far?” she rants, setting down the empty glass in front of her. Dean looks at her, a worried frown drawing lines on his forehead. He knows her well enough to sense she needs to blow off steam. Interrupting her might not be his best move, but that doesn’t stop him from growing concerned about her current state of mind.

“There was a rift between our world and this - this Apocalypse world, you called it? And Mary and Lucifer ended up on the wrong side before it closed. Luci killed Cas, Dean was sad, Cas came back. You guys went on a rescue mission, Sam got killed. Again!” She sighs deeply, burying her face in her crossed arms on the table. “Seriously, the amount of times you two have died is giving me a fucking headache.” “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam says, shooting her a sheepish smile before she continues.

“So Apocalypse!Michael possessed you in order to kill the Devil once and for all.” She looks up again, focusing on Dean. “But he didn’t check out like he promised - shocker, by the way. He wreaked havoc here, then out of the blue let you go. And now you guys live here in this Men of Letters bunker with a Nephilim, an angel and your undead mother.” “That’s about right,” Dean confirms. Y/N lets a breath slip from her lips and stares past him absently, the gears in her head still on overdrive. “I need another drink,” she eventually mutters, not even bothering filling up her tumbler, but taking a swig directly from the bottle. When she sets it back on the table top and lets her fingers slip from the glass, Sam is quick to get up and take the bottle back to the kitchen, putting it away in one of the cabinets; she has had enough for one day. “And I died…”

The younger Winchester turns around and leans over the counter while observing his friend, his knuckles white on the surface. He studies the breadcrumbs that litter the stainless steel surface after he cut her sandwich in two, having difficulty addressing that topic. When Lucifer flung her into that wall with such magnitude that it killed her instantly, Dean lost the woman he loved, but Sam lost his best friend. He didn’t realize how he felt about her demise until after he got his soul back, which somehow made it even worse. Like he didn’t do her justice, didn’t mourn like he should have. He doesn’t have to reply to her words, though, because Dean beats him to it. “On May 10, 2010,” he states, averting his gaze and focusing on his folded hands in front of him, still wrapped around his own whiskey glass. The date is forever etched in his memory. Her mirage haunts him on a regular basis, but on the 10th of May she’s all he can think about, like a fog that refuses to lift at daybreak. It’s one of the hardest days to get through, the day that he misses her the most. Dean’s jaw flexes and he tries to swallow down the pressure that’s gradually building in his chest.

“That’s - that’s in a year and a half,” Y/N stammers, after quick calculation. “At least in whatever time I’m from.” “Yeah, just before the big title fight between the Archangels,” Sam confirms. Y/N glances up at him, then back at Dean, who still can’t force himself to look at her. “Who killed me?” “Lucifer,” Dean recalls, venom in his voice. Her brow lifts up at the reveal. She was killed by the Devil himself? Well, at least that would make a cool inscription on her tombstone. “You guys salted and burned me, right?” she double checks, even though she cannot imagine the Winchesters giving her anything but a hunter’s farewell. Dean pulls at his lip with his teeth, the memory of the burning pyre flashing before his eyes. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. The funeral that made sure her death would be irreversible, permanent. The sight of her body set alight. In order to stop the Apocalypse from happening, he lost his brother and his girl. Sam was suffering endless and horrific torture in the pits of Hell while she was going up in flames before his eyes. God, he was a mess. His brother came home, but looking back now, deep down Dean knows he never really recovered from losing the woman who will forever have his heart. “I did,” he confirms. I did, he said. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes Sam was gone too at this point; Dean didn’t even have his brother to lean on. Pitiful she watches the hunter, who has endured so much already. He lost the two most important people in his life in a day’s time. “Then… how am I back?” she wonders. “You said something about summoning me?” “We found a magical artifact called the Pearl of Baozhu. It grants your biggest wish, basically,” Sam begins to explain. “Apparently, it’s so powerful it doesn’t need remains to resurrect someone.” “And I am your biggest wish?” She chuckles. “What? Not winning the lottery? Peace on Earth?” A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dean’s mouth; oh, he missed her wit. “No, it’s you,” he states after a moment of quiet, finally meeting her gaze.

Astonishment silences her as she stares at him, the pain of having to go through life without her still evident in his eyes. He looks so much wearier than she remembers the tough hunter, the soldier who always marched on and kept grinding. Even after he came back from Hell, the experience that tore open wounds which bled even worse than those inflicted the night the hellhounds took him. Honestly, there were plenty of times she thought he would never recover, whenever he woke up screaming from another nightmare and she had to hold him until he calmed. And yet, he didn’t seem as burdened as he does now, and that is saying something. It’s as if time broke him down bit by bit as he grew older, until there was nothing left but a ruin.

Dean said it’s 2019, which means he’s forty years old now. His frown lines lay deeper, so do the crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes. There’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before, covered by his stubble. His hair is a little longer, but only by a quarter of an inch. Age has not done a number on him, because he’s still handsome, but trauma and loss surely have. Knowing that her own death had a substantial part in the neverending sorrow and guilt she knows the hunter carries breaks her heart, because if anything, she would never want to cause him such agony.

“We were together,” she says, ending the silence.

It’s more a realization than it is a question, but Dean nods either way. Her jaw lowers slightly, her mouth opening, but she has no idea what to say. She was frightened when she heard she was on a collision course with death. But now she’s made aware that her future self and Dean are going to face evil as one hell of a power couple, that fear diminishes. She was a teenager when she first started developing feelings for the oldest Winchester brother. She never acted on it, the hunter’s life always getting in the way of their romance. But somehow, despite destiny, despite the horror show that is their reality, they found their way to each other.

Seeing just how much her departure wrecked him, she reaches out, moving her hand across the table to take his. She squeezes softly, running her thumb over his skin, rough from the many fights he’s faced. He visibly relaxes, cherishing the moment he never thought he’d have again. Y/N forces herself to avert her eyes, aware they aren’t alone. She glances at Sam, who watches the two, smiling, but his content expression dissolves when she inadvertently turns the conversation in a harrowing direction. “What about the others? How’s Bobby?” she wonders, oblivious to the painful reply that is to come.

Dean’s face falls, closing his eyes in apprehension. Shit, he wishes he didn’t have to break the bad news to her. Bobby Singer was like a father to all of them, but Y/N spent the majority of her childhood under his wing. After her parents died, he took her in and raised her as his own, made sure she could go to school, that she could be a kid. Hell, he was her father, maybe not genetically, but he was the wise man who taught them that family doesn’t end in blood.

Sam stares back at her, then swallows thickly, letting his head hang. Analyzing his stance, the smile on her lips dies down, frantically searching for an indication that says it isn’t so. When the tall hunter is unable to return her gaze, she fixates on Dean, tears already glazing over her eyes. “Y/N...” He takes her hand in his now, trying to sooth her and cushion the blow, but he knows there’s nothing he can do that would take the pain away that is about to hit her like a freight train. “No...” She shakes her head, unable to accept it. “No no no no...” “I’m so sorry,” he says softly, his heart breaking as he breaks hers.

Her bottom lip begins to tremble, her face contorting as she fights the emotions that quickly overpower her. Shimmering pathways of anguish find their way down her cheeks, eventually falling to land on the wooden surface. Y/N wipes her cheeks dry, but it’s no use, new tears forming faster than she can erase. And so she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, holding back a sob. “W-when?” she stammers, her voice shaking. “How?” “In 2012. He... he was shot,” Dean explains, trying to get the words across as gingerly as possible.

She shuts her eyes now, her throat closing up and she bites her bottom lip, trying her hardest not to break down in front of the boys. She has so many questions of which the answers terrify her. “Did he die alone?” She barely dares to look up again, meeting Sam’s gaze this time. He shakes his head, offering her a comforting smile. “No, we were right there with him,” he assures. “He’s in Heaven,” Dean consoles, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. “Cas double checked.”

Y/N nods slightly, sniffling as she digests the news. Knowing that he’s in a good place right now doesn’t stop the grief from tearing her apart, because she has no idea how to go through life without her mentor to council her, but at least he’s not suffering anymore. A shuddering breath escapes from her lungs as she collects herself. “What killed him, is it--” “- dead. Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean guarantees. “Good,” she says, her voice having gained some strength. “What about Rufus? Ellen & Jo?” Sam sighs and looks down, painfully confronted with how many people they’ve lost over the years. “They’re all gone,” he states, still leaning heavily on the countertop. Shocked, Y/N stares at him, unable to believe how many have perished. “So, of the original crew, you two are really the last ones standing, huh?” “Yeah, I guess we are,” the younger brother confirms. “But we met some great people along the way, I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you. We’re not fighting the good fight alone, by any means.” “Glad to hear that. Just, not today? I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she almost pleads, her voice raspy from crying.

Dean watches her closely, guilt constricting in his gut. Unknowingly, he has pulled her from a time where things weren’t all that bad. If she’s from October 2008, he has just returned from Hell. Bobby was alive, Sam was okay, so were the other people she considered family. They were growing closer, on the verge of giving in to the attraction they felt for each other. But now it’s just the three of them and a ten year gap between her lifetime and theirs. She must be feeling completely out of place, disorientated, exhausted. “Why don’t we go pick out a room for you, so you can lay down for a bit?” Dean offers, squeezing her hand gently to get her attention. She agrees and gets up from her seat without another word, mentally too tired to argue. The alcohol is coursing through her system, and although she doesn’t feel highly intoxicated, combined with the range of emotions she just went through, it’s doing a number on her. Honestly, she’s down for a nap, preferably one that lasts a day or two. Dean lets her go up the two steps first, ready to catch her might her coordination fail her after all. He glances over his shoulder at his brother, who picks up the untouched sandwich and carries the plate to the sink. “Go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Sam offers. Thankful, the older Winchester forces a small smile before he leaves the kitchen.

Quietly, Y/N follows the broad shouldered hunter who leads the way, her arms crossed in front of her chest, the coolness from the stone walls chasing chills up and down her spine. It’s not just the cold, though, it’s everything. Too much information to process, too much heartbreak to endure. Her brain is overloaded, fatigue hitting her like a ton of bricks. She watches Dean turn the corner and stroll into a long hallway with doors on either side, gold plated numbers below the Men Of Letters emblem. They stop in front of room 12. “You can take this one,” he suggests, opening the door for her and flicking on the lights. “I’m right next door if you need anything. Sam’s in room 21.”

Y/N steps inside, taking in her new accommodation. Despite the use of mostly brick and concrete and the lack of windows, the glow coming from the ceiling light and the lamp on the nightstand feels warm and welcoming. A large mahogany bed is situated against the far end, a matching desk on the left with an old typewriter and a radio sitting on top. Directly behind the door there’s a sink and a medicine cabinet with a mirror on the lid, and a wardrobe next to it. “We can put a rug on the floor, if you want. I remember how you always had cold feet,” Dean suggests. She turns in the middle of the room, a small smile on her lips; he’s not wrong. “I’d like that,” she says, grateful.

A little uneasy she lets her gaze linger over the still empty cabinets and bookshelves again, feeling foreign in this future that didn’t include her, before Dean wished she was. She realizes there’s nothing to fill them with, no clothes, no books, no picture frames. “Could I maybe borrow a shirt and some sweats from you? I’m gonna have to buy some new clothes later today,” she asks, a little flustered. “Sure, but actually, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. “I never threw away your stuff. It’s been in boxes in the storage room, so your clothes are probably gonna need to be washed--” “- Wait, you… you saved my stuff?”

She stares at him in awe. It’s been almost ten years since she died, and he still held on to all that she owned. Sure, it wasn’t much, since they were on the road most of the time, but still. They didn’t find this bunker until a couple of years later, which means Dean had stored it in a locker somewhere, or maybe at Bobby’s, and picked it up again when they found a permanent home. He had moved her things around for almost a decade, yet never threw them out, even though he knew there was no purpose left for the items that once belonged to her. Just painful reminders of what was and what was lost. “Yeah, I - I couldn’t really bring myself to throw it out,” he claims, as if he was dodging a task that should have been done long ago. He isn’t lying. Even though he knew she was never going to return to him, that her life was lost and his love was hopeless, he kept everything she held dear. Her books, her mixtapes, her photos, her jewelry. The clothes she wore, the guitar she played. The stack of coasters she collected, picking one up at every bar they ever had a drink at, from every town they ever crossed. The old school Polaroid camera she brought everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that caught her eye along the way. Sunsets, funny road signs, captivating landscapes, interesting people. There are a few of him, of the Winchesters together, some more portraying the three of them, all squeezed into the shot. She even caught Bobby on camera, ignoring his grumpy mutters when she had fulfilled her seemingly impossible mission. There’s the music box she got from her mother when she was little, her parents’ wedding album. Lore books, weapons and crystals that Bobby gave her when she first started hunting. The enchanted good luck charm Dean gave her for her birthday. He held on to it all, because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to let her go completely.

Sympathetically, Y/N observes him. His tough exterior only lets a hint of embarrassment over something so sentimental seep through. But she knows him, she has seen the knight without his armor. She knows how badly he’s hurting. “Anyway, I’ll - uh, get you some clean clothes and dig up your stuff from storage.” He points his thumb over his shoulder a little awkwardly, excusing himself. She nods. “Thanks.”

With a faint smile on his lips he disappears, leaving the door ajar. Y/N breathes in deeply and allows the air to flow out, trying to calm herself down. It’s her first moment alone since she found herself in the year of 2019 and she cannot begin to comprehend what is happening to her. How she time-jumped a decade into the future, having history with Dean she cannot even recall. It feels like she’s in a bad daytime television show, where one of the characters has hit her head too hard and suffers from amnesia, not remembering her lover. Rubbing her forehead she turns around, trying to massage away the headache. Her eyes glide through her new bedroom again. This is going to be her home now. After moving out of Bobby’s place, she never really had that kind of stability. The closest she came to a roof over her head was her minivan, her little house on wheels.

Fingertips grace the covers of her bed, the material soft under her touch, when she hears Dean’s boots echo in the hall. She turns around as he comes through the doorway, holding two boxes with a bundle of clothes laying on top of the stack in his arms. He lowers the neatly taped carton containers to the ground, her name written on them with black marker. Dean made sure to file on the label what’s inside them. “There’s one more box, your clothes are in that one. I can put them in the washer now, so you’ll have something better to wear than my oversized stuff,” he offers. “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she objects, but he shrugs it off. “It’s no problem.” His voice is kind, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the first time he has moved her belongings without having to fight the tears, without having to pause in order to stop himself from breaking down. He wants to make sure she has something clean and fresh to wear when she wakes up later, finally being able to take care of her again.

Dean turns the corner and heads to the storage room, his heart finally calming with the simplicity of being able to do something as domestic as washing her clothes. After picking up the last big box, he exits the storage and pulls the door shut behind him, making his way to the dorm where the washers and dryers are situated. He sets the box down in front of one of the machines, pulls his pocket knife from his belt and cuts through the duct tape. The first item he pulls out, however, steals his breath; it’s the leather jacket she wore that night in Detroit. Two days after they lost her, Dean wrapped her in linen before he laid her down on the pyre he and Bobby built, her lifeless body still in the jeans and band shirt she had on when she was killed. He took off her favorite black leather jacket, though, wanting to preserve it, even though it was a part of Y/N - or maybe because it was. Traces of faded crimson still stain the collar. Dean shakes his head, trying to ban the image from his mind. The image of the blood running from her nose and mouth as she hung from his arms, dead weight, the spark of life in her eyes long gone.

After a deep breath, the hunter collects himself and lays the leather jacket aside, then begins to carefully pick out some of her clothes. He makes a selection that fits in the drum, adds a laundry pod and turns the machine on. He hopes the old thing does a better job at washing away the memory of her death than he’s doing.

When he enters Y/N’s room again, she has changed into the black shirt and grey sweatpants he offered her. She spins when she hears him, an amused grin adorning her face. “Nice socks,” she chuckles, showing off her novelty footwear with burgers and milkshakes on them. “Shut up. Sammy gave them to me for Christmas,” he utters, a blush on his cheeks. “Your stuff’s in the washer.” “Thank you,” she returns, grateful.

A silence followers as Dean lingers in the doorway. This would be the moment to give her some space and retreat to his room, but somehow he can’t make himself step outside. He has spent too much time without her by his side already, he doesn’t want to waste a second not being with the woman he’s still unmistakingly in love with. She’s his girl, afterall. But that’s where it gets confusing, because he’s not sure how she feels about all this. Y/N was zapped from a time where they weren’t in a relationship yet, so where do they stand in this messed up mayhem? “Y/N, about that kiss earlier…” he starts off hesitant. “I, uh - I didn’t know you were from a place where we weren’t… y’know, together.”

The smile on her lips dies down as she watches the hunter, skilled in the field when fighting evil, but now stumbling over his own words. It’s only now that she realizes how surreal this must be for him. His mind probably has archives full of memories she has no clue of, simply because in her time, they didn’t happen yet. “What I’m trying to say is…” Dean takes a breath, trying to get his message across. “If I came on too strong, or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’m sorry.” He glances up now, watching how she slowly approaches. Gently, she takes his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. After studying their hold for a few seconds, she tilts her head and restores eye contact. The look she gives him is so warm and kind, it mends the broken man that he is. “I’m not,” she responds, her voice soft.

She leans in, tiptoeing, and presses her soft lips against his. For a good moment all his grief, the endless regret, the physical pain that became chronic, is forgotten. He closes his eyes and melts into the touch, returning the kiss without hesitation. The voices in his head are silenced, his anxiety calmed. After eight years, eight months and twenty eight days, he has found his missing piece. If her departure from his world didn’t make him realize how much he loves her, this moment surely does.

The kiss lasts a few heavenly long seconds, but then Dean parts from her, resting his forehead against hers. He sighs deeply, the air leaving him with a shudder. Still high on the ecstasy that the undeniable connection induced, she opens her eyes, but his remain closed. Wondering why, Y/N squeezes his hand. When he does look back at her, the tears bring out his green irises, like holding an emerald gem against the light. Compassionate, she cups his face, tracing the lines of his jaw. “You really missed me, didn’t you?” she perceives. He huffs; she’s putting it mildly. “You have no idea,” he breathes.

Y/N does, though. Last thing she remembers is how Dean just returned from Hell. In the four months that he was gone, she was completely at a loss. Wildflowers blossomed on his grave from her tears alone. Knowing he was enduring unimaginable torment only made it worse. But when he returned and she was able to close him in her arms again, it magnified everything she had ever felt for the man who went to Hell and back. The rollercoaster he’s riding now is one she’s been on herself, but she doesn’t tell him that; it’s not about her right now.

She kisses him again, shorter and more sweetly now, smiling at him afterwards until he returns her expression. His eyes are still shimmering, but it’s not sorrow she finds in the depth of his pupils, not anymore. It’s gratefulness, appreciation, love, for her, the girl he lost so many years ago. “You should get some sleep. You had one hell of a morning,” he says after a quiet moment, unable to look away. She scoffs. “Understatement of the week.” He nods grinning, admitting she’s probably right. “I’ll leave you to it.” Dean is about to let go of her hand, when her grip on him grows a little stronger, causing him to glance up at her, questioning. “Could you…” she pauses, not sure if she’s asking too much. “Could you lay with me, just for a while?” He reads her carefully, pained to see the hint of fear; she doesn’t want to be alone. “Sure,” he agrees, the single word soothing her.

Y/N allows his hand to slip from hers now and circles the bed, folding back the covers as Dean sits down to take off his shoes. When he leans back into the pillow, his upper body still slightly elevated against the headboard, tiredness overwhelms him. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, Michael always waiting in the shadows when he dares to close his eyes. But when Y/N crawls into his chest, filling the vacant place that has been cold for so long, he sighs content, letting the worry fall from his shoulders. Who knows, maybe with her by his side, he might actually be able to rest.

She pulls the sheets to cover the both of them, feeling Dean’s sheltering arm wrap around her and pull her in. The kiss he presses to her hair has her bite back the tears yet again. She tries to hide it, not wanting to come across as weak or emotional. The man who has always cared for her, doesn’t fail to notice, though. “Hey…” he says, softly. “You had a lot on your plate today, huh?” She sniffles and nods, not brave enough to test her voice. “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out,” he promises. “You got me, Y/N.” “Yeah…” she whispers. “I got you.”

Dean holds her close, giving her the security and the comfort she is desperately seeking, hoping she might forget about the world she’s in now and the one she was ripped from. Absently, he rubs his fingers up and down her arm, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling her to sleep. Within minutes she’s out, the warmth she radiates slowly melting away the tension in the hunter’s stiff muscles, tired and worn from endless battles with both monsters and himself. Exhausted, he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut as well. The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls asleep is a promise. Past, present, or future, Dean will always be there for the woman who makes him believe in their little slice of apple pie life. A decade of time difference will not change his word of honor.

It took me long enough, didn’t it! Stay tuned for part four, I hope I have gained some momentum now and will able to finish this series sooner than later.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

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#All I Want #Dean x Reader #Dean x Reader series #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Dean Winchester reader insert #dean angst #dean x y/n #Dean Winchester x Y/N #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Sam Winchester #Castiel #kate huntington

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peak-dumbass · 5 years ago

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Thoughts on Sons of Garmadon cuz redesigns :]

Also instead of watching all of the season and then adding my thoughts later I instead took notes while watch the season so that’s why this post is incredibly long, sorry about that :/

Anyway enjoy :>

Sorry for the accidental posting and I don’t want to rewrite everything so here’s from the original post

Lloyd reading the title of the episode also caught me off guard the first time I watched this

Basically Lloyd caught me off guard entirely the first time I watched this

Also his eyebrows are now THICC

“Still thirsty?”

...

I can see why people like Nya a lot (._.’)

Nya’s badass and f—king love her

Also the water bubbles she makes look really nice

Jay mimicking Cole is adorable

The first time we see them after a year and the first thing we see them do is argue and disturb a group of people that took a vow of silence

I love them

“Did I call you at a bad time?” They’re in the middle of a fight with the mechanic, what do think?

Also Pixal calling Lloyd “Master Lloyd” :’/

“Whoever said fight fire with fire clearly didn’t know what they were talking about.” “Hey, you’re stealing my lines!” I love you Kai

“Who likes ice cream? I do! How was that line Kai?” I love you Zane

Them teasing Lloyd for his deeper voice and them just genuinely having family fun bonding time just fills me with such happiness that I can’t describe with words :’’’’’’’’>

Misako abandons Lloyd yet again, and she was just starting to act like a good mother in Hands of Time >:/

Jay is not understanding a single thing being said to him, but at least he’s trying 👌

Their excuse for not mentioning the royal family throughout the series is “they like their privacy”? Really? Like really? Are they expecting us to believe this bullish-t?

Lloyd seeing Harumi for the first time: Can You Feel The Love Tonight🎶

Now Cole’s the only one who hasn’t had a crush in the series he is so gay and the writers can’t convince me otherwise

Can I just say the lighting for the inside of the place is beautiful? Cuz it is.

Also I just realized Cole’s the only ninja that isn’t wearing sleeves on his ninja suit, that’s cool👌

Since Harumi’s natural hair color is white, does that mean she’s albino?

“The maskes must never be reunited” Says the person who reunited the mask >:/ I know she’s acting good here but still

“No thank you, I actually gave up sweets. My body is a temple.” The moment I heard that for the first time I was like “WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO MY BOI?! WHO HAS HURT HIM?!”

Lloyd, stop stalking the princess, that’s illegal >:|

“Don’t worry, we’re ninja, we’re experts at this kind of thing” They proceed to loose the mask, let their main villain onto their ship, and Lloyd gets a crush on her :/

Grade A ninja-ing right there 👌👌👌

I’m on episode 2 and seeing Harumi acting nice and sweet and connecting with Lloyd and knowing that she’s faking all of it, I just feel so so so so bad for Lloyd :’<

Cole, don’t try to give Lloyd advice about girls when you aren’t even attracted to them

Ok so I procrastinated a bunch on doing this for some reason so Yee, let’s continue

I’ve only seen Mystake for 1 scene and if anything ever happens to her I’ll kill everyone in this room and myself

Oof I’m now sad and realize why everyone likes her

Ok so we all agree the tea Mystake gave Jay and Lloyd to see the drawings move is weed right? Or had weed in it?

Why is Cole hiding in a garbage bin when Zane is using a perfectly good newspaper? Also oh boy can’t wait to see Rocky DangerBuff and Snake Jaguar in action :3

The way Snake walked into the bar Jesus

and I’m trying to watch this without skipping it cuz to me the whole thing is very awkward and I can’t stand awkward stuff like this but I also heard there was glacier so I’m gonna try to watch this without yeeting my phone and burying my face in my pillow

Chloe: Snake is gorgeous and we stan

Me: I know he’s beautiful look at him, he’s amazing

He’s bad boi and baby boi at the same time and I love him

Just added Cole into a scene with the ninja when he’s actually still kidnapped by UV so noice job Ninjago HQ 👏👏👏

Zane looks so weird in the flash of Wu finding him dear god

Stop bothering him Cole, let Zane Rp as Snake for a little bit longer

DAD COLE DAD COLE DAD COLE DAD COLE DAD COLE DAD COLE

Cad is what Cole would have named the baby if it didn’t turn out to be Wu cuz Cole + Dad

Ali: "Why cad?" "Its cooler than Chad cause you take out the h for hoe"

Ali/clumsy you’re a genius

”you didn’t think it would that easy, did you?”

Guys is weird to think that UV is 100 times hotter after saying that line?

Mommy UV vs Dad Cole, Mommy UV is fighting Dad Cole for the baby

Oof I remember what’s gonna happen to Zane y’all and I’m not happy plz Mr.E stahp plz

Mr.E to the SOG after he kicks Zane’s ass: Guess who just got murdered!

“Not all men-“

Me: You’re right, Zane Ninjago would never do this

Mr.E: I’m on my way, I’m on my way, I’m on my way to kick Zane’s ass :D!

Cole is Pearl from SU confirmed, he was staring at baby Wu sleeping

Harumi: Maybe we can use this blanket at a Parachute?

Lloyd: What do this is a cartoon?!

Lloyd proceeds to do the exact thing he said wouldn’t work

Also Harumi is the best actor I’ve ever seen like seriously 10/10 👌 actor, playing with Lloyd’s heart strings like she’s been doing it for years

“How to be a heartbreaker” is Harumi’s jam and theme song

SO I WAS ADDING MY THOUGHTS ON HERE AND TUMBLR JUST DECIDED TO BE A LITTLE B-TCH AND CLOSE ON ME BEFORE I SAVED MY THOUGHTS AND NOW MY THOUGHTS ON HALF EPISODE 5 AND 6 ARE GONE OOF SO I’M JUST GONNA SAY THAT PIXAL IS HAVING SELF ESTEEM ISSUES OR SOMETHING SIMILAR AND SHE’S AMAZING AND IT’S MAKING ME SAD THAT ALL SHE SEES HERSELF AS ASSISTANCE AND NOTHING MORE

Also Lloyd falls onto a few branches and gets a hurt arm that requires a blanket while Nya was at the front of the ship with 0 protecction and was basically yeeted to the main deck while it crashed into the jungle and she doesn’t even get a break?!

I know Nya is stronger than Lloyd but GOSH DIDDLY DARN I didn’t know she was that STRONK!

Baby Wu: “Ninja never quit hehehehehe”

The ninja:

Lloyd: Confused Green Bean Noises

Harumi: kisses him on the cheek

Lloyd: •////• completely forgets what he was confused about

Harumi saved by lovestruck Lloyd and boners

Cole to Baby Wu: You took care of us, it’s only fair that we take care of you.

Me:

GOD I LOVE COLE HE’S AMAZING

Harumi and Lloyd during that one waterfall scene in Episode 6:

Also Harumi’s backstory for why she likes Garmadon and hates the ninja including Lloyd, it completely makes sense cuz she was a child that over heard that the ninja didn’t do sh-t and Garmadon saved the city so it makes sense why she hates the ninja and believes Garmadon should be Ninjago’s leader, and since it happened when she was young she didn’t think things through, she didn’t think about it from the ninja perspective and especially didn’t think about it from Lloyd’s perspective cuz she was a child, kids don’t tend to think about the other person’s perspective on things, so I think it makes sense and it’s really good 👌 also this is Ninjago’s first main female villain, all the other ones were either second in command or were in a crew that worked for a bigger villain so yeah that’s cool

“Don’t you guys have any idea what she’s doing? She’s resurrecting Garmadon! Lord Garmadon!” Yeah no sh-t Kai, the name of their gang is “Sons of Garmadon”, of course they know and of course they’re ok with it why do think they’re helping her?

“Then it’s a good thing the Quiet One isn’t a bad guy but a bad girl” It doesn’t matter that Pythor, Chen, Morro, and Garmadon had dicc, what matters is that the greater evil didn’t listen to them dipsh-t.

Harumi screams a lot, like Princess Peach/Damsel-in-distress amount of high pitch screaming and I’m surprised Lloyd or the other ninja haven’t told her to shut up at one point.

a slightly dark room suddenly turns a little bit darker

Harumi:

Lloyd: Jesus even when I was a kid I had tougher skin then you, I know this is a little hypocritical for my to say, but grow the f—k up god

Ok woah woah woah, how did Lloyd go from “I didn’t tell you about the fact that I’m part Oni, Mystake only told me and Jay” to “You’re the Quiet One” like he isn’t wrong but how did he put it together in such little amount of time?

Ok this is how the Lloyd vs Harumi fight should have gone down:

Lloyd: Give me a good reason not do destroy it right now.

Harumi: I’ll give you 2. You want to see your father again and you love me.

Lloyd: HAH! While you busy being a heterosexual b-tch I studied the blade!

Lloyd kicks Harumi’s ass and the day is saved

Am I wrong? Lloyd only met Harumi a couple of days ago, it’s like Anna from Frozen but LEGOs

“Love is an open door” is Llorumi shippers theme song

“I WANT YOU TO FEEL THE EMPTINESS THAT I FEEL”

B-TCH HAVE YOU NOT SEEN HIS F—KING CHILDHOOD HE HAS MORE TRAUMA THEN YOU WILL EVER GET YOUR F—KING LIFE TIME!!!

I KNOW SHE IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER AND THAT SHE HASN’T SEEN HIS LIFE LIKE WE HAVE BUT DAMN IF IT ISN’T ACTIVATING MY PROTECC-LLOYD-AT-ALL-COSTS-AND-THAT-THIS-IS-TOTAL-BULLSH-T INSTINCTS

“Or we’ll have to get all ninja on you!” “What does that even mean?” “I don’t know I was improvising” Tbh that’s a mood Kai, at least to me

Lloyd: Guys, Rumi is the Quiet One!

The ninja who are currently surrounded by the SOG including Harumi: Oh really, ya don’t say?

Lloyd just got yeeted out of a waterfall so it sorta makes sense why he didn’t notice

Lloyd said I won’t let you get away with this and Harumi said YEET

They have Lloyd they have the masks and we have trouble

Baby Wu: Puppy!

that ain’t a puppy Sensei it’s a giant underwater scorpion monster

I forgot they tamed the giant underwater scorpion monster and named it Crabby, and Jay hugged one of Crabby’s claws, Jay’s favorite pet the ninja have ever had is Crabby confirmed

“So this is your true face without the mask, no wonder you covered it” Damn Lloyd is salty, LET LLOYD SAY F—K 2020

Chloe: Lloyd said "bitch u ugly" poetically

Me: Yeah, he got the saltiness from Kai and the poetic speech from Zane

“There was never anything between us”

One episode earlier

“You want your father back, and you love me”

One episode earlier

Harumi kisses Lloyd on cheek and proteccs him from the corrupted Samurai X suit

Me:

Harumi gets close to Lloyd

Me: KICK HER IN THE NONEXISTENT BALLS

Yay the most useful and totally not child abandoning character, Misako, is here and giving Lloyd information that he already knew and is being incredibly useful buy not only abandoning Lloyd for a second time in his life but also finding Baby Wu for the SOG Hooray

“Stop Rumi, this isn’t you!” B-tch you’ve only known her for a couple of days, and she has played with your heart, in dangered your friends, and tried to kill you and your friends on multiple occasions, and she nearly succeeded on killing Zane (though tbh Zane gets nearly killed every season so that isn’t a surprise)

“You were right, this isn’t me” YOU SERIOUSLY BELIEVED HE’LL FALL FOR THAT BULLSH-T AGAIN? AFTER YOU TRIED TO DROWN HIM AND HIS MOM WHILE SUMMONING HIS EVIL DAD FROM THE DEAD? HAH, B-TCH YOU THOUGHT!

“Stop. Save it for someone who cares” Yesssssss I love youuuuuuu by baby boiiiiii

Sees the arm coming out of the anvil-thing

Me: Terminator Garmadon? Also this is what happens when we complain too much, we also gotta be more specific people! We can’t ask for just Garmadon, we need to ask for Good/Sensei Garmadon or else we’ll get bullsh-t like this!

THE SCENE OF THE NINJA SINGING WEEKEND WHIP JUST PLAYED AND THE HAPPY WHOLESOME VIBES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Also there’s no way harumi gets the resurrection spell right on the first try, like no way, impossible, like she even gets interrupted by Lloyd and the ninja at the end and then Garmadon appears after that? Like I’m not a witch/wizard myself but I’m pretty sure that’s not how spells work? You don’t just start a spell, stop before the spell is finished, and the spell still works :/

Also how the hecc did Garmadon know where to find Harumi? It was never explained, he just like punched his way into the police station and was like “Yo b-tch what’s up?”

“I can turn him once, I can turn him again” ends up getting his ass handed to him and nearly dieing for the millionth time in his life

“That sounds like a really bad idea” “And Kai knows bad ideas, he’s full of them” Oof Kai just got roasted

“Lloyd, what are you doing?” “I’m sorry, Nya. I have to confront him” OOF HE REALLY DID JUST PULL A KAI DIDN’T HE

I’m not gonna quote everything Lloyd says here cuz there’s too much but DAMN HE’S REALLY PISSED OFF AND IS REALLY DOING A KAI JESUS

I know we all wanted Sensei Garmadon back but I’m ngl this Garmadon looks really cool and gives really good evil speeches to unmotivate his opponent

OOF Y’ALL REALLY HAD TO ADD LLOYD HOLDING OUT THE PHOTO OF HIM AND GARMADON WITH LLOYD STRUGGLING SAYING “FATHER” AND THE PHOTO GOING INTO THE WIND DIDN’T Y’ALL MY HEART CAN’T TAKE THAT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AND I STILL HAVE TO MAKE IT THROUGH EPISODE 10 WHERE I KNOW LLOYD’S HEART IS GONNA BE RIPED OUT OF HIS CHEST AND STOMPED ON WITH A SPIKED SHOE

F—K HARUMI F—K NINJAGO HQ F—K EMPEROR GARMADON F—K THE SOG JUST LEAVE MY POOR BABY ALONE

Y’all I don’t think I can make it through the next episode f—k man

Holy f—k I forgot Emperor Garmadon reads the title card in episode 10 oof

“Not so fast!” “‘No so fast”?! You used that ages ago!” True, it sucked then and it sucks now

“My brother is coming” “How do you know?” “I know” Dang even baby Wu doesn’t tell people sh-t

“You sure you’re up for this?” “I was married to him once, I’m up for anything” Ok so you’re saying that as if you were the one that was treated badly in that relationship and not the other way around like it should be but whatever floats your boat pal

“Careful!” “Are you actually doubting my ability to closely approximate the true value of our surroundings? I’m a nindroid.” Damn Zane is pissed

COLE LITERALLY JUMPED OFF THE BOUNTY TO CATCH BABY WU NOT KNOWING JAY WAS GONNA CATCH HIM AKA HE WOULD HAVE DIED FOR BABY WU I’M SCREAMING GOD I LOVE COLE

Ok so Lloyd you are excellent at fabulous/eat-a-dicc-b-tch exits like wow 👏👏👏👏👏

Also the scene with the 4 OG ninja and Baby Wu traveling to the first realm looks really really nice ngl

All in all I really really like this season, it’s great 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

#ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago jay #ninjago zane #ninjago lloyd #ninjago cole #ninjago nya #ninjago harumi #ninjago ultra violet #ninjago mr. e #ninjago misako #ninjago garmadon #ninjago wu #ninjago pixal #ninjago mystake #ninjago incorrect quotes

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nightgirl250 · 5 years ago

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Follow your orders

fic where the reader is the very first vampire like the mother of all vampires and she visits the volturi and scolds them for their bad behavior like their 1 year olds and this is around the time the cullens are there because edward was gonna expose himself. Maybe she’s actually like a vampire (like fangs, blood red eyes, dark cloak: the stereotype vampire)

Request by @fandomnationwhore

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sighing, I look towards my children. As of late each of their actions have been displeasing. Exposure of our kind. Controlling other covens. The only one who gets to control is me.

I am the mother of the night. Giver of a second life. Regeant for all new beginnings. Creator of a superior species. Queen of the vampires. A blessing upon strong and curse upon the weak.

Standing from my throne, I toss the letter of recents reports my spies have gathered and clicked my tongue.

My children have displeased me, acting like worms and leeches to each other. Snapping my fingers once, my servant and son James walks through the door.

“You called Mother,” he says getting down on one knee, bowing to me.

I gesture for him to rise and continue “ I have a situation. You James are one the best trackers, locate the Volturi and Olympic covens, and find when the are meeting. You have 35 minutes to do so. That is more than enough time, so go,” I say staring down at the feral blonde.

“Yes mother,” he says and turns to complete his tasks. Heading to my chambers, I pay no mind to the hundreds of servants and pets, who bow down as I pass.

“Novia,” I call. Within seconds the short Cameroonian girl appears behind me, already bowing. I don’t turn to look at her

“Yes Queen Mother?” She says sweetly, making me smirk. I’ve always loved how her voice sounds, especially right after she has eaten.

“Prepare a warning to the Cullens and Volturi. They both need to taught a lesson about order,” I says calmy.

Novia stands and smirks. “Yes mother. Who shall I have complete the task?”

“Who you shall deem fit, I trust you are ready for such tasks,” I say turning to the girl.

I can hear the excitement and energy coursing through her veins as she says “right away my queen,” and skips out to complete her task.

Walking to my closet, I walk past the dozens of boring outfits, each covered with diamonds,pearls, and other crystals.

Past the organza, satin, and neoprene. Beyond the blood reds, matte black, and ash gray outfits.

Stopping in front of my velvet cobalt blues. Using my powers, I breeze through the different options till I find the one I want.

“Finally,” I say levitating the dress off the rack. It was a slim long sleeve dress, that tightened around my top half and lightly flowed at the bottom. With the dress ending just below my feet.

Within a snap of my fingers, the dress was pressed, ready and on my body.

The evening sky blue inside of the dress helped complement the ice gray on top of it. The sleeves went down to the back of my hands, ending in points as light blue and gold embordiary lay across the gown.

Putting on the matching shoes. I walk further into my closet for my crown. Walking past several others before I stop infront of the gold sapphire crown.

Placing the fifteen pound, 17th century crown. A gift from the Queen of France for my blessing. It wasn’t a favorite, or most expensive or meaning.

Picking up the trinket, I gently place it on my head. Giving my self one final look. I say “ this will do for now,” and walk out of my closet.

“Oh mother,” says James, waiting out my chamber doors. I walk over to the blonde and frown seeing him struggle to rise.

“You have returned from your task,” I state taking in James injured appearances, “yet you are injured. Step forward to I may heal you, James,” I say putting one hand out.

Clutching his torso and limping, James steps closer to me. I gently place my finger tips on to his forehead, making the cracks in his skin and fractured leg, heal into plus, while cleaning up his hair, and putting fresh clothes on him.

I never understood why he chose those filthy rags of ripped up jeans and a necklace but it made him happy. So, I gave him a fresh pair of jeans with a new belt and a leather jacket. I didn’t bother with a shirt on him.

Removing my fingers from his forehead. James releases a soothing and relaxed sigh that brings a smile onto my face.

“Good as new, my boy,” I say as he is about to bend down, “there is no need for that my child. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t heal you,” I say cupping my hand around his gentle face.

“Yes mother,” he says prepping his arm out. Even though James is one of my more actively hunting kids. He and his coven always came to see me.

Taking his arm, we walk steadily as we arrive to the doors of the castle. Novia and two guards stood together at the doors.

“Hello Mother,” says the trio bowing to me.

“Hello children,” I say letting go of James’ arm. He moves next to Novia as I say “have you all completed your tasks from earlier?” I ask.

James gives me a curt nod, as the two guards each pulls out a small chest. Novia opens the chest and reveals two shimmering orbs.

I smile at the kids. “Well done, my sweets. Come come it’s time to go,” I say as Novia closes the chests.

“Wait Queen Mother,” says a high pitched voice coming towards us.

I look towards that direction of the child like voice to see Katja running down the hall with a giant cloak above her head.

“Hold on, mommy. I have something,” she says finally reaching us. The young 6 year old vampire smiles and holds up several cloaks.

Wearing a little black sundress, she skids into a halt infront of the group.

“You nearly forgot your cloaks,”she says. I smile at Clara, one of the physically youngest daughters I have.

“Thank you little one,” I say as Novia takes my dark bison hide cloak and drapes it across my shoulders and secures the leather straps and covers my head and crown in the wolf fur hood.

I give her a simple thank you as I drape on her dark navy cloak and fix her hair a bit before standing straight.

One of the guards holds their hand out for me. I gently take it, as the other guard grabs James and Novia.

Within the blink of an eye, we leave my castle and enter the hallways of the Vulturi home. Letting go of the guard, I frown at the stench of old blood and the decapitated human head on the floor.

“Disgusting,how do you kids live like this?” I say, “honestly this place is a mess. Dust,blood, and bones are everywhere. Ugh I must talk to A—,”

Looking to one of the guards chests, I sigh. “Right, I ordered you to handle that issue. Well then come,” I say as the scent of blood hits my nose.

No one else notices the scent, since it was far out of there range. Slowly and quietly we walk to main room of the Vulturi home as Calculate how man humans there were.

There were 12 in total. *Must be tourists* I thought since it there was some festival or celebrations outside.

There were nine females and three males in the group. From the foot steps they were all in good health, under thirty years of age, with steady heart beats.

I turn away from the sweet coppery scent as my children turn and growl at it. “Come now children we must work first then eat,” I say as they continue to look down the path towards the humans.

I frown slightly seeing how James struggles to compose him self. As all of my children struggle to compose themselves.

My heart tingles seeing their hunger,but they must learn to hold their own as Vampires. Clapping my hands, the children send me a glance as I look at them.

“Come my loves,” I say holding out a hand to them. Slowly and fighting their hunger one by one my children hold hands together. And we walk away from the scent of human blood.

With each step they regain their composure until they are no longer holding my hands and standing tall.

I give a smile to them but as soon as my smile came it went away as we stood in front of the doors of the Vulturi main room. I could smell who was behind those doors.

All of the members of both the Vulturi and Cullen clans and one human.

My two guards draw their weapons and open the door. Both of them moving in complete synchronization as light from the room entered on their gold and black armor.

No one could see my face but everyone instantly bowed and got down on their knees. All besides the human.

I opted to ignore the human upon seeing my poor grandson Edward being held in chains by his Vulturi brothers.

I don’t bother to tell any of them to rise as I walk over to the poor boy.

Cracks and fractures cascaded down from around his wrists and neck. Barely able to bring his head up. I run my fingers through Edward’s smooth hair.

Letting the chains turn to rust and ash as his wounds heal. He takes deep breaths as he slowly rises to his feet and open his mouth.

“Hello Queen Mother,” he says meekly. I could tell he was nervous like most of my children meeting me. I wanted to hug him. But I couldn’t not right now.

Not if my children think it’s okay to hurt and harm eachother for some fake personal vendetta.

“Go join your coven and human while I discuss with your Vulturi brothers,” I say. Edward nods and bows and walks off to his coven before I turn to the Vulturi with a scowl on my face.

With their red and clad black cloaks on their backs and still on their knees. I walked up to Aro and Marcus and smacked them.

The boys winced. I could see the small cracks on both of their faces. But I would not heal them.

“Does any one know what that was for?” I say scanning the crowd filled with members of the Vulturi Coven. My children. My babes. “That was for the mistreatment of your siblings.”

I watched as some of them tense and fidget. “Because you lot have seemingly forgotten that family comes before all. That you don’t fight each other. Than you are a family before you are a coven!

“This is unacceptable for you kids to genuinely think it is okay to even raise a hand upon your siblings and believe that I won’t know it. That I your mother, your queen, the first Vampire, Leader of this Race and Species would not know that you are trying to execute your siblings,” I scream making the children since as the ground shook beneath me.

“Stand up all of you,” I say. Synchronized all of the Vulturi children rise and stand.

“You believe that due to your covens power. A power that I have blessed you with and can take away any moment. That you are better than your siblings. Right! Right?” I ask.

Some of the children take a step back as the collectively say yes.

“What was that ? I couldn’t here you,”

“Yes, Queen Mother” they yelled.

“When what is the truth? My dear Jane,” I call making the nervous short blonde take a deep breath. “What is the truth?”

“The truth is that we are all a family, no matter our coven, our belief, or our differences. We are a family. You as our mother and queen. Us as your subjects and children.” She says timidly.

“Say it again for your siblings my dear,” I command. “But this time Aro will say it. Seeing as he is your coven leader that you have chosen. My dear Aro, please educate your younger siblings on the works of family,” I say coldly.

Aro slowly steps forward and calms his nervous facade. And with grace and elegance says “The truth is that we are all a family, no matter our coven, our belief, or our differences. We are a family. You as our mother and queen. Us as your subjects and children.”

Aro says it perfectly and so will his coven. Slowly yet surely. I call each of my children’s name and make them recite of the family values. One by One. Word by Word.

I could hear the humans light giggles as my last son and newest member of the Vulturi Coven Daniel finishes.

“Good Daniel,” I say turn to the Olympic coven. “Now Carlisle I believe this human is Isabella Swan,” I say making the young girl gasp and look at Edward terrified.

“Yes, Mother this is she,” says Carlisle calmly.

“Good. This is she want to be a future Vampire especially of your coven then she is the perfect person to start us off.” I say making Edward and Carlisle open their mouths to objection only to be met with a flick of my wrist.

“Isabella,” I call, making her straighten up. “Recites the values of family. Surely you have been paying attention. Seeing as over 20 of my children have said them.”

“Y-Yes your Highness,” She says timidly and clearing her throat before saying “The truth is that we are all a family, no matter our coven, our belief, or our differences. We are a family. You as our mother and queen. Us as your subjects and children.”

I give the small girl a smile and a curt nod before the rest of the Olympic Coven says the values.

Once every one of the two Covens had said the values I turn back to the Vulturi.

“What have we learned today or for some been reminded off”

“That we are family that goes beyond our covens and should not act in childish manors. And that if we should have a dispute come to you and handle them.” Says Daniel leaving everyone else in the room to nod and agree.

“The next time I come here and see that your have forgotten your values it’ll be more than some words and a flick. Be sure that due to your recent actions, I will checking up on all of you so expect visitors. Clean your homes and prepare for the family,” I say.

All of my children and the human bow their head before saying “Yes, Queen Mother.”

#twilight imagines #twilight imagine #twilightforever #twilight fanfiction #twilight #nightgirl250 #the cullens #emmit cullen #edward cullen #bella swan #vulturi #requested

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leah-halliwell92 · 5 years ago

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Sex, Love & Rock ‘n’ Roll

Request by @ohmybribri: So you and Brian are FWB and you hook up after a concert in the bathroom. He pins you up against the wall, lifts your skirt and had his way with you... 🤤🤤🤤🤤

Another day, another concert. That’s how it had been since you’d joined the boys on the second leg of there American tour. According to Freddie, Brian had been a bit of a pain since leaving home because all he would talk about was you. You doubted that very much laughing off as he walked you to the cab he came in to pick you up.

You expected for the rest of the boys to be there but was reassured by Fred that they were at the hotel catching up on much needed sleep. That and trying to keep Brian busy considering you are his birthday surprise from Fred, and the boys, to him.

“I swear on my mum (Y/N) he’s been driving all of us mad!” Fred said being as physically emphatic as he could in the cramped space of the cab stating that, “He really needs to shut up about his girl if he’s so set on not telling her his feelings.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes at that and focused on the speeding scenery. There’s no way Brian sees you that way...they way you see him.

You met Brian at Uni he needed a hand understanding Shakespeare. You were working on getting your major in child psychology and a double minor in art and English lit. Through Brian you met the rest of the band and was soon part of their rag-tag family which suited you just fine, more than fine even. You and Brian made great friends and soon found the effort they needed to put into just getting laid to be too great to spend outside of studying and raising a band in Brian’s case. This led to Roger jokingly/drunkenly suggesting you and Bri should, ‘fuck for the sake of fucking’.

At first you’d laughed it off but then found that it wasn’t such a bad idea. You’d been surprised to find Brian at your dorm door giving your silent self-agreement to the friends with benefits idea a try and the rest as they say is history.

That had been close to three years, give or take, ago. The agreement had just been for sex, we could if we liked date or go on dates and at first it worked great on both sides. He seemed more confident in himself if still a little shy but better at talking to other ladies. You hadn’t realized you’d fallen for him until you saw him at the school’s cafeteria talking to Laura Clark. Your ex-best friend who thought she deserved the world on a gold and pearl studded platter.

You’d brushed it off at first but that night when he came to you the sex didn't feel like sex per say. It was sex but it felt different...

He was gentler when he caressed you and nibbled at your neck. He’d take his time getting you to completion and sometimes would forgo finishing himself in exchange for giving you pleasure when he knew you’d had a trying day.

And in turn, you stopped leaving at the crack of dawn. Some of your things made their way into his room, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom and you’d often wake up to find him somehow tucked under your chin his hair effectively waking you up. That morning had been the morning you realized how good you’d be as a couple. That was the morning you also realized he couldn’t feel the same way...

“We’re here!” You heard Freddie say.

You smiled at him and nearly choked on spit when you saw Prenter standing outside what you thought is the boys’ room smoking. You didn't like him one bit and Freddie knew that. You were more than a little close to asking Miami if you could take Paul’s place as the band’s PA just to get rid of the leech.

Anyway...You nodded politely at the Irishman and let Fred walk you into the first of the shared double-rooms to find Deaky downing what looked like crap hotel coffee.

His tired eyes sparkled and you soon found yourself enveloped in the bassist’s arms.

“Finally,” he said as he kissed your forehead.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again knowing where that was coming from and dove into your bag pulling out a gift meant for him from Veronica.

Deaky resembled a puppy at the sight of the parcel and went to open it in an out fo the way corner of the room.

It was no surprise to find Roger face down on the bed passed out as you thought with a laugh, ‘play my little drummer boy play.’

You shook your head and went into the room Deaky nodded at you leaving Freddie with him.

You couldn’t help the fond smile that graced your face at the sight of Brian face down and sprawled all over his bed hugging the second pillow to himself. You put your stuff down and stripped down to your light tank and underwear before closing the door. The boys had seen you in your undies before so you weren’t bothered to be seen by them, they’re brothers after all.

That done, you went to the empty side of the bed. You noticed it’s the side you normally slept on back home and grinned tenderly before you began the process sliding under the blanket and trade places with the pillow. You must have been more tired than you thought as the familiarity and warmth of Brian’s arms surrounded you when he subconsciously sought out the now present source of warmth.

You threw your leg over his thin hips pulling his body close to yours and placing his head under your chin. You hummed and fell asleep quickly as your body and mind recognized that they were finally home.

You came to to the feeling of gentle calloused fingers caressing your cheek. You kept your eyes closed as Brian ran his fingers over you tenderly before slipping them under the waistband of your underwear.

You moaned at the feel of his middle finger drawing circles around then over your clit.

“Good evening (Y/N),” he said as he repeated the hand movement over and over until you gasped and moaned as your completion washed over you.

Brian looked pleased with himself at having made you cum so quickly but that changed into something softer as he gazed at you as you caught your breath.

‘To hell with it,’ you thought throwing in the towel, ‘If this is as close as I’m going to get so be it.’

You snuggled into him humming happily and said, “Happy Birthday Bri.”

You felt more than heard him chuckle.

“What?” You asked when you pulled away to look up at him.

“Thanks dear but that wasn’t the birthday present I was expecting,” he said with a shrug, “Don’t get me wrong, having you here is an amazing unexpected surprise.”

You were about to kick him off the bed in anger when he continued, “There’s this one thing I’ve always wanted to do...”

You listened to what he wanted his present to be and nearly jumped out of bed in glee, tonight’s concert was going to be good.

That night you stood back stage singing along with everyone else as they played. You cheered extra loud when Brian did his solos loving every time he did his thing with his Red Special. For a moment you forgot you were just friends who fucked and let the thought of being his run through your head.

You cried when they performed “Love of my Life” and applauded when they song ended.

“He’ll find someone better you know,” you heard Paul say as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You ignored him focusing on the boys.

“You're just his friend,” he pressed, “What will you do when he falls for someone? Someone better than a nobody from his hometown.”

That hit you hard, he was right after all but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You saw him smirk as he saw your face fall.

You stood straight as a smirk appeared on your face.

“What’s with the smile?” He asks a bit taken aback with the sudden change of emotion.

“Fred and I talked on our way to the hotel today,” you said, unbeknownst to you and Paul the concert had finished and the boys were there looking as well as listening to what you were saying, “He said he wants me to the band’s personal assistant.”

He scoffed taking a nervously long drag from his cigarette, “Meaning?”

You smirked and said, “Your fired.”

He coughed at that and said, “You can’t do that!”

“Oh yes she can darling,” Freddie said surprising the both of you.

“Fred,” Paul began.

“Goodbye Paul,” he said and made his way to the nearest telephone to call Miami and inform him of the sudden change.

You’d seen the looks of relief and happiness on Roger and Deaky’s faces but before you could say anything else Brian was dragging you away from back stage giving the nearest roady his guitar before pulling you into the nearest empty bathroom and locking the door before laying a hard kiss on your lips.

Brian reached down and pulled you up to wrap your legs around his waist lifting your skirt up as he continued on kissing you.

You gasped and moaned as he ran his tongue over hour bottom lip asking for permission. You gladly opened your mouth to him and moaned at the sudden chill that met your crotch as he tore away your underwear.

He pulled away to work his pants open.

“Brian–” you began but was interrupted as a moan broke out of you when he entered you.

The air was filled with moans and grunts as you shifted your hips meeting his pace with every thrust.

You were close now, so close to cumming when you said, “I love you...make me yours.”

Brian’s eyes lit up at this and he stilled.

“You mean it?” He asked eyes alight with wonder.

“Yes,” you say taking a leap of faith, “I love you Brian Harold May.”

He smiled and his kiss went from hurried and hungry to love filled and tender.

“Happy birthday to me indeed,” he said with a smirk and made to finish when you heard banging at the door.

“Get a move on lovebirds we want to go eat and sleep!” Roger yelled.

“Bugger off!” Brian yelled before reluctantly helping you down.

“Should do as he says,” you say as you fix your skirt, “he won’t leave us alone otherwise.”

He nodded looking every bit a lost puppy.

“I can warn Deaky and Fred to be out for bit,” you say with a playful smirk.

Brian pulled you into a loving embrace and kiss suddenly eager to be back at the hotel to finish what was started.

#brian may #brian may request #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #70s brian may

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writingonthemoon · 5 years ago

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Old Clothes Part 6

Masterlist

Word Count: 2846

Warnings: Mentions of death and survivors guilt

Author’s Note: God, guys, I feel so bad about this. I don’t even actually know when part 5 was posted, but no matter what, I feel awful. I lost my direction for the story for a little and I’ve been… struggling with some things recently. But I’m back. Don’t know how consistent I will be or how this is all going to play out, but I figure y’all are here to help a little with that. So, enjoy the first part of Old Clothes of 2020.

Old clothes would help you to stick out in a crowd. Seldom if the correct outfit was chosen, but there were always those instances. A single mistake, one misstep while dressing, and you’re outed, done for. But there were assurances one could take. The chest buried under the motley coats in the attic was always a good place to start, but one must be wary of their findings. Games of dress-up weren’t the same as hiding in plain sight. My mother burned the chest once I had found it.

Was I supposed to be in the attic that day? Yes, I was. But I wasn’t supposed to go beyond the wicker basket that held my mother’s sewing supplies. I’d seen something, though, something that was amiss in the dusty space. Rays of golden sunlight shone upon an old chest beneath the round window. Plumes of dust floated into the sun as old folds of fabrics fell to the ground at the cause of my curiosity. A lock caused my childish curse to come forth as my eyes laid sight upon the blockade. My gut commanded an attempt anyway, just to be sure.

The hinges cried with age as my fingers pried the lid away from the box. The contents were all mismatched and random, but all were surprising to me. None of these items should be with us. There were books and letters and keepsakes that were supposed to have been burned years prior. Ribbons from the old country were neatly rolled and placed in boxes along with the jewellery from generations ago. It was like a glimpse into times long before the Davenports became what they were.

My pockets sagged as an array of artefacts found their way inside. The steps of my mother sent my heart racing and I jumped away from the box. The lid slammed shut and my lungs sharply collapsed in a violent cough at the dusty cloud that filled the atmosphere. A lie was lost in a maze on the way to my lips and I was caught red-handed.

The scraping of the box on the floor still echoed from time to time, when my mind was at its quietest and there was no better time to ruin my false sense of security. My skin prickles with searing heat and during the summer, I can only hope for a rainstorm to cool the pain. She forced me to watch. Forced me to watch the consequences of another mistake I had made. All those ties back to our family, gone. The memories from my parents’ previous lives, gone. Everything and every one of the items still in there vanished into the night sky in flakes of ash. Except for the stowaways that were in my pillowcase.

My pocket held many small things. A crumpled sketch of London was dated back to 1743 when America was still a colony and pleased about it. My gran must’ve drawn it. She was always the artist of the family, so my father said. There were some stamps contained in a small coin purse that jingled as it swayed from side to side. They were from the Stamp Act and dated the day of the Boston Tea Party! Incredible detail was put into the small drawings. Tiny notebooks were chock-full of random notes and ideas and appointments and thoughts, different handwritings on each page muddling the narrative further.

The other pocket held one item that turned multitudinous. An ornate tiara lay resting in blue silk. When could that have been from? Why was it here? Pressed flowers were held between thin wax pages. Delicate strings of pearls twisted and curled among the contents. Stubs of charcoal were wrapped in tissue from burns before. I guess the charcoal tradition was older than I thought. And a golden ring, whose one side had been flattened and carved, was carefully stowed in a smaller box inside the first. Initials were worn away from decades of existence and I had no clue who this had come from. All I knew was that it was important.

I could feel a nervous and surprised energy radiate off of Sean. He’d heard of me already. Word travels fast between the boys, it seemed, “Huh, Odette?” He nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought. My hands found their way into my pockets and I twirled the ring around my finger, my mind mulling over the ancestors that it could’ve once belonged to. “Pretty name. That’s from that show or whatever with the birds and stuff, right?”

"Swan Lake?“ My tone was a mix of surprises. One that he forgot the name of the ballet and the second that he had even heard of it. "You know Swan Lake?”

"Now, don’t act oh so surprised, Miss Odette. We Newsies know ‘bout more than all youse people.“ He gestured to my outfit as if making the point I was wealthy in some way.

I floundered for a moment, my mouth opening and closing like a fish in the Fraser, "You’re right, I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. My deepest apologies to you.”

"Nah, I understand where it’s comin’ from. Just don’t do it again, you here? Else you ain’t 'llowed here anymore.“ The tone he used was almost threatening, but I could tell by the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth that it was a joke.

I shrugged, a grin spreading across my face like butter on bread, "I suppose I should keep my belongs on my person for a quick getaway whenever I’m here. Just in case I cause a revolution.”

Spot took a step closer to me. The smell of rain and mud wafted off him and I could hear his breathing, “I wouldn’t doubt a lady like you causin’ trouble.”

"Well, I am British. That can cause quite a controversy when I voice my opinion on this country’s state of affairs, even if I grew up here.“ An exaggerated frown made its way to my face, "Though many of the crazy old men that run this country say a woman shouldn’t have those sorts of opinions.”

A voice from up the stairs startled me and I jumped, looking up to see a boy standing there, “You a reporta?” Almighty forces of the universe, the boy was practically naked! I know I was intruding on the home at night, but his undershirt looked as if it had been worn as his only shirt. Coordination between his suspenders and blue bandana weren’t helping his case either. And the way he eyed me, stared me down as if choosing how to fight me best.

Spot moved to stand between the boy and me, “Now, Myron, don’t be lookin’ for a fight.”

"No, Sean. It’s fine.“ I placed my hand on his shoulder and lightly applied pressure to move him, "He has every right to ask questions as the others do.” My gaze locked with Myron’s, the tension growing with an impending silence, “What does it matter to you if I’m a reporter or not, Myron? Unless you have something to hide, my presence shouldn’t bother you in the slightest.”

"So you are a reporta.“ The whites of his eyes flickered as they rolled and he mosied down the creaking steps. He was only the slightest bit taller than I was, but I was hardly intimidated. I had faced worse in much more stressful situations.

"No, you misunderstand. I said if I were a reporter, not that I am a reporter. I wasn’t quite clear though, so I can understand your confusion.”

"Ay, no, you said it don’t matter whether or not you a reporta. And I should only be bothered if I’m hidin’ somethin’.“ He stood before me, a dirty musk his cologne and arms crossed in defiance, "Now, I ain’t hidin’ nothin’, but I don’t much like reportas.”

"That’s a bold opinion of an entire career. Might I know why?“

"They’re never lookin’ out for the little guy. Never caring about anything but the story that’ll make their name get out into the world. An’ once they’re done with you, you’re dirt.” His face was in mine now, our noses just brushing, giving me a good look at his face. Dirt coated his face, filling crevasses created from scars. They were in strange patterns, the markings. And they were so pale too, his flesh like marbling. I looked into his eyes and saw my pain staring back at me. It was too much for such a short lifetime.

I raised my hand slowly, the sight of it in his peripheral causing a flinch as if I were to strike him across the face. My fingers lightly met his cheek, which was burning to my cold skin. He pressed into my palm, savouring the gentle human touch. “Oh, little darling, what did they do to you?”

His walls crumbled at my words, every emotion flowing over the rubble, “They’re gone 'cause a me. An’ those bums in their clean shirts and with all their money, they treated me like a criminal.” Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall at a moment’s notice, “I swear the fire wasn’t my fault, but I know that they were.”

"Why would it be your fault?“

Myron wiped at his eyes, hoping the tears would go away, but new ones replaced the old and started running down his face in a race to the ground, "I-I was stuck an’ they came back in for me. All I remember is being pulled from underneath the ceiling and her holding me as she moved me to the exit.” He sniffed as he stuttered and choked on his words, “But they-they didn’t come out after me. I swore I could see them through that door I was pushed outta. They was so close.”

"Who did you lose, little darling?“ Myron shook his head in response, knowing the words will only make his state worse, "Was it your parents?” He nodded vigorously, turning away from me. “It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault. It will never be your fault.”

"B-bu-but it was. It still is.“

"No. It was the fire, not you.” My hand came to rest on his shoulder and I turned him back to me. I gave him a soft, understanding smile, one I would’ve wished to have been presented to me when I was coming to terms with my losses. A little bit of pressure from my hand moved the fragile boy to the staircase, where I sat beside him with my arm around his shoulders. The boys around us watched on before I moved my head to send them away. The two didn’t question anything and left without words.

"Have you mourned?“ I asked out of the silence. I could feel his confusion at the idea, "I hadn’t mourned when I lost my family. I suppose I’m still avoiding it.” I stared at my shoes as I thought of all my adventures, all my distractions from the truth.

"You lost your folks?“

"Not just them. I lost my brother and sister too that day.”

"What happened? If you don’t mind.“

"Not at all. We moved a lot when I was younger, going from place to place, never settling for too long. During one of those moves, I got separated in the woods. I searched for hours and hours, all through the night and into the morning. All I could find was some of the family heirlooms scattered on the ground in a clearing. No sign of them or the rest of our belongings. They had just vanished.” I felt awful lying about my past to this boy, but it was difficult to explain the immortality when it’s to be a secret.

"Boy, that is awful.“ There was a sad chuckle as he spoke, which I returned as an agreement. "So, you’re an orphan like the lot of us and you’re still a reporta?” He turned his head and looked at me, some form of shock and respect on his sad face.

"I am not a reporter.“ I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed cleaned the tears from his face. I wasn’t too attached to the fabric. I had stolen it from a man’s coat pocket when I 'accidentally’ fell into him while on the trolley. I swiftly left after the incident, escaping my mark and the fact I hadn’t paid for the transportation.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Press.”

I rolled my eyes at the boy, “My name is Odette.”

"Nah, Imma still call you Press. It’s your Newsie name. The lot of us have all got 'em. You should too.“

"Oh, I’m one of you now? Why’s that?”

"I dunno. Just feels like you get us. Understand our side an’ all. And, hey,“ I could feel his tough-guy façade being put back on, "Brooklyn is the best neighbourhood in all a New York. Who wouldn’t wanna be one of us?” Myron’s walls were back up, but I could feel that they were a little shorter, not as strong. That’s progress.

"I couldn’t think of anyone if you gave me all of Time to think.“ I laughed, bumping his shoulder. This kid, I don’t know what it was about him, but he felt like my own. He felt like my responsibility, almost as if I had adopted him.

"Exactly.”

"You should get to sleep. You’ve got a day and a half ahead of you.“ I motioned up the staircase with my head, indicating exactly what I meant.

"What about you?” He asked as I stood up, eyes following me.

I shrugged a little, looking into their common room of sorts, “I’m going to make sure everyone else is resting as well.” I looked back at him, “I guess I’m never not going to be a big sister.” A small giggle escaped me against my better judgement. I pressed a kiss to the boy’s slightly damp and dirty hair, ruffling it up before walking away from him. “Go sleep, Myron.”

"I’ll see you in the morning?“ The look of hope he gave me reminded me of my little Elijah and my heart hurt just a little. That was why he mattered all of a sudden. He was another version of my brother.

I nodded, "Bright and early.” He grinned at my response and ran up to the rooms as I went to herd the stragglers upstairs. Surprisingly, it was only Sean sitting by the fire, watching it with an intense stare. I stood and waited for him to acknowledge my presence. It only felt right since he was the leader.

"I ain’t never seen Myron cry, you know.“ Spot broke the silence. I moved to sit across from him as he continued, "Not when he first came here, not even when he gets hurt. Never. Then you show up, Odette,” his eyes met mine, the fire reflecting in his dark irises, “and it’s like he’s a whole other person. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence, 'cause the way you handled that and acted like a mother to a kid you ain’t never met is suspicious. And I ain’t fond of suspicious people.”

"It’s a gift of mine, I suppose.“ I looked to the fire, faint images of my past projecting themselves on my mind’s eye, "When you’ve seen what I’ve seen and lost everything, you get good at recognizing it in others.” I met Sean’s gaze again, “And when you get good at seeing it, people get good at letting it out.”

"I dunno, you’re seventeen. How can you have had so much happen to you in those years?“

"How can there be so many Newsies like you all in such a small area? The world isn’t inherently good, Sean. I learnt that the hard way and all too early.” I leaned back and the two of us had a game of wills, a contest of resilience. For what felt like hours, we held one another’s gaze, waiting for the other to give in. “You should go to sleep, Sean. These kids are counting on you.”

"Some of them are counting on you too, now.“

"But you’ll stay with them,” I admitted, refusing to let any form of guilt creep up on me.

He nodded thoughtfully at my response before rising and moving silently to the stairs. I heard him stop for a moment, a pause in his thinking and planning. “Thank you, Odette. Thank you for helpin’ him.”

"He needed it. He deserved it.“ At my reply, he mounted the steps, leaving me to watch the fire die out the darkness from the streets outside slowly seeped into the dwelling. I was left with my inner-monologue as my eyelids grew heavy and my mind went blank in exhaustion. Sleep came after a futile attempt to stay awake. For only a few hours was I a willing casualty in the battle for rest. To others, it looked peaceful, how I slept. But the inner machinations of my mind always had other plans.

#finally #it be done #just enjoy this yall #old clothes

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fireintheforest · 5 years ago

Text

Bone earrings

Rialas’s voice trains in, calling Saufinril. The Bosmer is lounging on one of the sofas like a spoiled courtesan, decked in more jewelry than clothing. Saufinril heard it and hesitated. His hand had the latest letter that Ondacano had sent him, so he just pocketed it and dropped the rest of the letters in his bed to burn later, then headed to where Rialas was.

“Hey.”

“There you are, kynd!” Rialas looks like he always does, delighted and amused and smooth. Small sharp pearls of teeth peek from behind his lips, “I’ve been looking for you.” He doesn’t look like he’s moved a muscle. Well, that means he remembered he existed.

“That so? One didn’t hear you until now.” Saufinril sat by Rialas’s knee, similar to how he did when he arrived to Valenwood recently, around two weeks ago, “Do you need something, serah?”

Rialas smiled and moved his hand from the back of the sofa to pet Saufinril’s head like some kind of glimmering, chiming insect. Clearly one of those days Rialas had raided all the gifts he’s ever gotten to cover his hands, fingers, arms…he looks more decorated than a Khajiit clan mother or an Altmer officer. He hummed happily, nails running through Saufinril’s hair like water. Saufinril let him. He’d learned a while back that this was not seen as sexual to the Bosmer (took a while to learn, not going to lie). The Altmer’s hair was soft and he stayed in silence for as long as it lasted. Another lesson of The Green: silence isn’t always bad. After a while, Rialas laughed.

“Sometimes I wish your atta kept his hair long.” Again with the mother-father implications, but the more he’d insisted he wasn’t, the more Rialas was amused and the longer this happened. Rialas pet Saufinril’s hair a couple more times before moving his hand back to rest on the back of the sofa, “Alas, he’s adamant. Really, you might even think he’s going bald, so strongly against growing his hair out.” Rialas made a displeased hum, “Unnatural freak! Shame to his Divine spark. Has anyone ever heard of short-haired Altmer?!” he throws his head back and laughs.

“That’s been the hypothesis since the last era. Maybe he does that to hide his gray hairs?”

“He’s well over thousand! Of course he has grey hair. Look at his eyebrows, kynd!”

“Do you think he’ll shave them if one points those gray hairs out?”

“You could try. It’s your funeral.”

“And one’s debut in public entertainment.”

Rialas laughed. He would probably pay to see it (not that he has ever had to pay for anything he wants in his life).

“He did have his hair long when you both met, right?” Saufinril asked, realizing he’d never thought of it before. Lillandril with long hair was an idea as crazy and impossible as a gentle Nord or cold fire.

“No.” Rialas leaned back, arching his neck and smiling reminiscently, “When we first met he was bald, wet and covered in salt and sand.”

“…what. Scratch that, How did you both meet? One doesn’t think one’s asked before.”

“Oh it’s a long, long story…”

Saufinril nodded. The paper poked his thigh but he ignored it, changing the subject, “What’s with all the jewelry? Is it a special date?”

“Hm?” Ria seemed to pull himself back from far away, then looked at the jewelry hanging on him. He launched back, basking in the attention he draws, “Yes.”

“…is Lillandril letting his hair grow? Is that the special date?”

Rialas laughed and resumed petting Saufinril’s hair, “No. It is ‘I wanted to wear jewelry so I did’ day.”

Saufinril stayed silent, giving only a small nod. Oh by Mara, he could do this again. Wear whatever he wanted. Yesss. Ondac-

He missed him. Or rather, the Ondacano he thought he was.

After another stretch of silence while Rialas did nothing but pet Saufinril’s hair, he pulled something from between the cushions with his free hand. He stretched it towards Saufinril, whatever it was hidden inside his palm. “I almost forgot. I made these for you.” A small movement and a pair of bone earrings dangled from Rialas’s fingers. Saufinril turned to look at the object and blinked, not hiding the surprise.

“One…thank you.” He took the earrings and observed them in his palm, “These are beautiful, Ria.” He observed them in silence, turning them around here and there, “Sorry for asking but…why, why would, why would you give this to one? It’s not that one doesn’t appreciate it, one is just curious.”

“You act like it’s first time amma is giving you things, kind. I thought you might enjoy them. But if you don’t appreciate my handiwork…”

“One does appreciate it.” Saufinril couldn’t take his eyes away from them, observing them in silence, “Ondacano always had some, some stupid condition every time he gave one something. Not that you’re the same. It’s just, a little pesky habit. That’s it. One does appreciate them.”

Rialas made a rude noise, “Well, not like it will bother you again.”

“Considering all the letters he’s sent, one hopes not. One is already on first name basis with the messenger.” Saufinril turned the earrings around, admiring them as he talked (he was always pleasantly surprised when he remembered Rialas had talent), and only sneaking a glance at Rialas when he heard his tone of voice, “ ‘I will change, I’ll be better, remember you made me a promise, please come back’, no thank you.”

Rialas snorted. He gently tapped Saufinril on the head with his pipe, “What do we say about promises like that, kynd?”

“ ‘One didn’t actually mean it’?”

Rialas smiled brightly and leaned over to kiss Saufinril on top of his head, “That’s right.” Saufinril accepted the kiss, acting like it was usual but his ears tinted a shade of pink. Rialas, meanwhile, carefully took the earrings from Saufinril’s hand, “Let amma put them on you?”

Gods, what made him jump into the family boat this morning? “Um…sure” his ears were still something he struggled with accepting being touched here, but this was Rialas. He handed the earrings to Rialas, then removed and pocketed his own. Rialas chuckled and leaned over, a multitude of necklaces spilling over Saufinril, until the earrings had been smoothly attached and Rialas leaned back again, lounging against the sofa like he owned all Valenwood. Saufinril immediately took a hand to touch one of the earrings and smiled, “Thanks, Ria.”

Rialas waved his hand, “Anytime, kynd.”

Out of thin air, Saufinril seemed to recall something: “What makes you so sure he won’t bother us again?”

Rialas looked straight at Saufinril, raising an eyebrow. After a moment he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Can you imagine your atta letting him come anywhere near here after all that?”

Lill had seemed satisfied when he’d told them he’d broken up with Ondacano. Plus…“Was it…that obvious?”

Rialas didn’t raise his head or open his eyes, “Kynd please. You haven’t talked to me properly for, what? Fifty years?”

“One thinks he was jealous of you. He’d ask one if we had anything going on, we’d argue over that. It was stupid.”

“Of course he was jealous.”

Saufinril smiled a bit, albeit bitterly. “Fifty years. One can’t believe one let him get in one’s brain like that.” Rialas made a noncommittal noise in his throat and pet Saufinril’s side with his foot. “Sorry about that.” Saufinril grabbed Rialas’s toe, then said in a more cheerful voice, “One is not going anywhere this time. One is going to stay for a long, long, long time.”

Rialas chuckled, “Just…don’t do anything too stupid.”

“What about moderately stupid? Or are the censors watching?”

“Don’t get funny with me, kynd.” Rialas gently pushed Saufinril with his foot, “Go get yourself ready. Put on all those clothes you’ve been dying to. You’re on the floor today.”

“Right.” He stood up, “By Y’ffre, one missed this.”

Rialas smiled. “I know.” He whispered under his breath.

“We’re not opening yet, though, right? One has something to do.” He looks like he has an idea, and pulls out the letter from his pocket, “Wanna do something stupid with one?”

“What is this stupid thing, hmm?”

“It’s a letter from Ondacano, it reads:” Saufinril pushed his hair back and opened it, reading it aloud, “ ‘Dear, you can’t ignore me forever! What have I done to get your silent treatment?’ “

Rialas’s lips curl in distaste and –just perhaps- a hint of cruelty. Saufinril went on, unaware of this. “ ‘I don’t even know where you are, if you’re safe, who you are with, I’m sick with concern. I’ve asked and looked everywhere for you. Please think about this, I wish to talk this over, get to an agreement if you’re willing to be reasonable.’ “

Rialas huffed, “Lowlife. Not worth even the ink soaked to that letter.”

“You guessed that just from hearing one read it? Although the ‘willing to be reasonable’ is jerk-ish.”

“You have met one like that, you have met them all. And eventually, you learn to recognize them.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Saufinril eyed the letter again, “ ‘I miss you, peaches.’ Well that’s personal. And seems one hasn’t learned to spot them yet.” Rialas listened to Saufinril reading with face of a mer completely unimpressed by what was written. Peaches, really. How unoriginal. How crude. Saufinril shrugged. Rialas’s eyes had been opened only by the barest crack, and his gaze rested on Saufinril’s new earrings. A slow, sensual smile spread on his lips.

“Anything else that that ruminant wasted perfectly good ink for?”

“Just, you know, ‘I love you, I always did, and I’m not going to give up on ours this easily. It’s the best thing that has happened to me in my life, please don’t punish me like this, not after everything we’ve been through.’” Saufinril didn’t see Rialas’s gaze on his earrings, busy finishing the letter, “Should one…no, right?”

“Should you…what, kynd?” Rialas arched an eyebrow, leaning over a bit in a soft chiming of jewelry.

“One thought of, well…seeing him?” Saufinril paced a bit, his gaze lost as he thought aloud, “To talk, maybe just tell him to quit this and that this time one is really not coming back. Maybe it’s wiser that one doesn’t.”

Rialas closed his eyes and reached a hand to Saufinril, “What do you expect me to say, kynd?”

Taking the hint, Saufinril sat back where he was and rested his head back, allowing Rialas to pet his head again, “Nothing. It’s not your relationship. One is just mad that this didn’t work out again and that one was stupid enough to fall for someone like him again.”

Rialas hummed. He can’t relate. Not really. He has always had what he wanted. Who he wanted. The one and only. And the rest were nothing but playthings. A way to pass time. A birthright. He couldn’t say he was sad that the Altmer was gone. He couldn’t even pretend. It’s not like he was angry or disappointed in Saufinril. Nothing like that. But he had missed him, and so had Lillandril. And the Altmer…Well. He had talked high and mighty but they were all the same. Just like he had said to Saufinril. He chuckled and allowed his hands to brush over the bone earrings. “If that is the stupid thing you asked if I want to do, it is not up to your usual standards, kynd.” Was all Rialas said out loud.

Saufinril, however, smiled. “No. One was wondering if you’re up for burning the letters. There’s more in one’s room.”

Rialas smiled. “I do like fires” he said.

“It’s a big pile, too.” Saufinril said as he stood up.

“Oh alright.” Rialas said, basically leaping up from the sofa, “Show this old mer good time, kynd, hmm.”

Saufinril folded the letter and started to head outside, “We just have to move them out. If one sets fire to them here like last time, Lillandril will hang one.”

“Oh but that is the fun part.” Rialas laughed

Saufinril eyed him, with a ghost of a grin, “Realy? Inside?”

Rialas purred back a “Anywhere you want.” He even winked. This kynd was a bit thick, occasionally, and it’d be such a shame to not see him blush again. He sure is thick because he just said “Alright” and moved on to the floor where the room was, not getting the innuendo. Rialas sighed. This was ok. It was a learning curve. The kynd would get it. Eventually.

They got to Saufinril’s room, where the pile awaited them. It reached up to Rialas’s knee, all letters, in the bed where Saufinril had left them. Saufinril pushed the pile to the ground and tossed the newest letter on top.

“What a waste of ink.” Rialas said

“And money, and parchment, and time. At least for one, when reading them.”

“Come on, light it. Don’t be scared. Lill is not back yet.”

Saufinril raised his hand to his face. His four fingers were curled and the thumb was up, gaze focused on his hand, and cracked his thumb’s knuckle by curling it swiftly. A small, golden spark emerged from the knuckle with a clack! sound, appearing and disappearing into thin air at the same time that the pile suddenly was set on fire, never being touched or the spell directed by Saufinril’s hand. The letters started to curl and darken as the blazes took over. Some envelopes opened and revealed things like septims, charms, pressed flowers and a white ribbon. Saufinril groaned and rolled his head back, eyes closed.

“What a fool. Pressed flowers? In Valenwood.”

“He’d say it was just a ‘fairy tale’ and that it was an ‘archaic religion’ before the Bosmer got to believe in ‘real gods’. Like one said, it was stupid.”

Rialas hummed, watching the envelopes burn.

“And a white ribbon, really.” Saufinril continued, releasing his leather strip to tie his hair again, “One accepted because it felt like one has no choice. How idiotic is that? And money, what, to buy one back?”

“Fool.” Rialas said, but it wasn’t certain which Altmer the word was aimed at. There’s silence as the paper burns.

“Did Lillandril try to win you over with flowers?”

“He wouldn’t dare.” Rialas tossed his twin braids proudly.

“What about any exes?”

“We are in Valenwood, kynd.” It was not really an answer, “Besides, I don’t have any exes.”

“…Lillandril is the only non-Bosmer you’ve ever dated?”

Rialas laughed. “Lillandril is the only one I have ever dated. I met him when I was 59.”

Saufinril slowly turned to look at Rialas. For someone that at 23 was banging two Dunmer simultaneously and from there had around 7 or 8 boyfriends…this was something. “The only one?”

Rialas arched his eyebrow at Saufinril. “We can’t all start experimenting underage.”

“No, one knows but you just, met him and decided this was the one? What charmed you, his smile?”

Rialas made his dress of gold be sound, “Hardly. It was the constant begging and whining of ten or so years.” He tilted his head, like he was thinking deeply, “And of course. He was absolutely well proportioned for an Altmer.”

“Huh.” Saufinril was going to say something else when that last comment made him give a side glance. At that moment the flames turned purple.

“Watch your fire.” Rialas said in cool tone.

“What did that asshole put in there?” Saufinril tilted his head, “Should we kill the fire now?”

“Depends,” Rialas shrugged, “do you wish to burn down the Den or only the letters?”

“Yeah, you-” from the fire, it started to come the suffocated noise of someone talking, as if it were from far away. Both Saufinril and Rialas could identify the voice as Ondacano’s, but Saufinril just gave it a short glance before using an ice spell on the miniature pyre to turn it off.

“A voice spell.”

“Crass.” Rialas said, like he was one of the Altmer magicka virtuosos and not a Bosmer with almost no magical gifts.

“Because begging in a voice spell is somewhat better than begging in a letter.” Saufinril gently moved aside his hair and earrings as he checked that no lit embers remained, “Next thing one knows, he’ll come in person to beg to one to take him back.” Rialas laughed, “How many did he send?” Saufinril kept searching, putting aside the purple-stained envelopes . Here and there some more pressed flowers swish out of parchments, one half-burned letter read something like ‘-at house trained, son of a bitch, shit-fucking Bos-’.

“Make sure you wipe all the ice away so it won’t melt. Fro will throw a fit.”

“One can say it was her 9 year old.”

“The one she has placed in care of Lillandril for the day. That 9 year old. That one who won’t get anywhere without my backup lunch knowing of it? Your funeral.”

“Fine. Damn it, and his sister is too well-behaved.” Saufinril scooped the ashes and checked for scorch marks.

“You have to learn to cover your crimes.”

“Eh, one will think of something.”

Rialas laughed, “Just make sure you get yourself ready. We’ll open in half an hour, you know.”

“One can cover this in five, get ready in the other 25. What about you, how long will you take to get ready?”

“Kynd. I was born ready.”

Saufinril looked at Rialas, then at the jewelry, then at Rialas. He looks like he’s about to say something, something that might get his tongue hunted, but decides against it, “Good to know.” He can’t help the curl on his lips. Rialas pet Saufinril’s head and turned his back, walking back out to the starting buzzle of the Den, “Twenty minutes.”

“What-but you just said-fuck!” Saufinril proceeded to make a mix of tossing as many wet big pieces of ashes on the counter, undo his ponytail, grab a comb, and overall cover the crime from Lillandril while getting ready at the same time.

#fourth era sau #bosmer #altmer #orsimer #(brief mention)#JUST MER THINGS: when you and your adoptive 'mother' burn letters from your ex #when your adoptive 'mother' kills your ex and makes you beautiful earrings from his bones #love how Sau doesn't understand having one (1) boyfriend and then marrying #like #'can't relate'#'my condolences to Lillandril but I'm different'#love it #meh-ayleidion #thank you Kris <3 #this was so much fun to rp tbh #I have another one to upload #another rp with Ria #but I'm dead tired so it might happen on friday

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cancerianprincess · 6 years ago

Text

Birkin Bag (1)

Alright peeps! This started as a cute and corny imagine based off a line from this song (2:06), and evolved into an idea for a mini-series for Erik that no one asked for 🙃Heads up: it might start off a bit slow in this one but it picks up later. Feedback is always appreciated & I hope y’all enjoy it!

Summary: Erik finds out he might’ve rubbed off on his best friend a tad too much and that she’s really with the shits

Warning: Language, Mild Drug Use

~~~~

“I bought my bitch a Birkin Bag so she could hold my fucking strap..”

_______

Plopping down into the passenger seat of Erik’s car, you slammed the door behind you with all the attitude you could muster.

“I done told you about slamming my door like that, lil girl,” he uttered, skipping right over the formalities of a normal greeting. He didn’t even bother to look in your direction, keeping his attention on the unfinished backwood in his lap.

You simply stared at him, pausing momentarily at how much his warning mimicked the voice of somebody’s mama, waiting to see if he would provide any explanation about dragging you out your bed in the dead of night. When none came, you finally addressed the statement as he flicked a lighter to seal the blunt.

“Nigga, you woke me up out my sleep at damn near two in the morning, remember,” you snapped at him. “And now you wanna fuss at me for being grumpy when you was blowing my phone up just to have a damn session?”

Erik clutched at his imaginary pearls and feigned an expression of false hurt.

“Damn shawty, I come back from overseas after three weeks and it’s like that?” He shook his head dramatically as he sparked the weed and took the first inhale.

“That’s cold,” he exhaled. “A brother can’t get no kinda love around here.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, while Erik took another hit and passed it off to you. Despite glaring at him through sleepy eyelids, you accepted the peace offering, figuring there was no point in turning down a free smoke since you were already awake now. He grinned when you did, displaying his gold canines in knowing his best friend like the back of his hand. Taking notice, you kissed your teeth skillfully so that the blunt wasn’t at risk from falling out your mouth.

“Whatever,” you started. “Don’t think one wood is gonna make up for disrupting my beauty rest.”

“Well I woulda been here sooner to kick it with you if them white ass crackers at the airport knew what they was doing. They the reason my connecting flight got delayed so if you wanna blame somebody, you can blame them.”

As Erik launched into the tale of his troublesome journey back home, you couldn’t help but feel amused by the fact that he had suffered in some form or another tonight just like you did. You also felt a tad bit sorry for him, but mostly amused. Initially, he scowled at you when the snickering began on your end, but eventually he joined you, his nagging turned to clownery as the haze of loud filled the atmosphere. The two of you joked on into the early hours of the morning, bopping to the radio and swapping details of the events in your lives that had taken place during the redeemed Wakandan’s trip back to his true origins.

“Oh yeah, speaking of that, I almost forgot about ya shit.”

Erik was right in the middle of recounting the heated argument he’d gotten into with one of the residents from the Merchant Tribe when an afterthought struck him. You threw his form a puzzled look as he reached his arm into the backseat, causing all kinds of commotion in the floor behind you.

When he re-emerged, in his hand was a white, narrow, rectangular box. Different markings of the Xhosa language covered the package in shiny metallic grey letters, and was bound together by a gold ribbon tied off in a bow. He tossed it into your lap as he extinguished the remnants of the burnt out blunt in a nearby ashtray.

“What’s this?” You eyed Erik suspiciously, careful to be on your guard in case it was another one of his tricks.

“That,” he began, “is so you can stop getting on my nerves every time my ass go out on on these relay missions.”

Any time Erik alerted you he was flying out to handle business on behalf of the Wakandan Outreach Center, you poked at him here and there about bringing something back for you, but only out of fun, not really expecting him to follow through on the requests. Now, your gaze shifted from him, over to the giftbox, and back to Erik once again, peering past the curtain of dreads and into his eyes to search them for any trace of legitimacy. He noticed the inspection, and smirked as he spoke up again.

“I mean if you don’t want it, I can always give it t-”

But the rest of his sentence was lost among the crunch of gift paper being torn apart, sending Erik’s head back in a howl of laughter at how fast your doubt had been flushed away. You made quick work of the box’s lid and decorative ribbon, showing your best friend he had another thing coming if he even dared to pass your present off to one of his dusty ass hoes.

Finally reaching the object inside the cardboard container, your red eyes grew wide when they fell on its contents. Laying across your lap, was a gorgeous new purse, accented with gold trimming along all its edges to match its chain. You lifted it from the box, discarding it near your feet, and ran your fingers over the sleek material, absorbing the coolness of the metallic jaguar pin. Only when your thumb grazed over it, did you notice the minor pulsations the purse gave off, beginning to glow dimly upon doing so.

“I saw it and thought about the time you lost your old one at the club that night on your birthday,” Erik explained, breaking the warm silence. “So I went back to pick it up in my free time, had my little cousin tweak it for me in her lab.”

You blinked at him a few times, processing what he said as an explanation for its mystic illumination, before an ear splitting grin spread across your face with a quickness.

“Yo, E, this is dope as fuck, like I legit don’t know what to say!”

He draped his arm over the back of your reclined seat and sat back in his own, clearly pleased with himself and his present-selecting abilities.

“Yeah, well you’re welcome. Even though I ain’t get no kinda thank you or nothing like that,” he shrugged.

You cut your eyes at his theatrics once again, thinking that for him to be such a ‘thugged out soldier from Oakland’, he sure was a big ass diva on the low. Still, that didn’t stop you from leaning over and hugging his neck to express your gratitude.

“Seriously though, Erik, thank you for this,” you muffled into his ear.

He flinched at the vibration of your voice, but quickly concealed it by engulfing you with his free arm, and closing the gap with a light squeeze at the small of your back. The gesture held a particular surge of warmth to it, conveying every single emotion you held for each other.

Something about the hug made you want it to never end, and if you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn Erik felt the vibe too. You were aware of his lack of verbal expression concerning his feelings, even after he’d started his life down a new path it was a struggle for him. But you never pushed him on it. Not then, and not now. It had manifested into an unspoken rule as time went on, and as long as Erik had your back like you had his, you were perfectly content with it staying that way.

It could’ve just been an after-effect of the weed in your system, but each passing second was spent basking in the hold, discreetly taking in his scent and committing his hold to memory. It was odd that Erik let the contact go this long, but if he was okay with this level of vulnerability, even for a limited amount of time, you refused to deny him of it.

“Wait,” he cut into the moment. “You thought I did this for you?”

This caused you to draw back partially, enough to assess his face quizzically but still remaining in the embrace. One of your eyebrows shot up expectantly, prompting Erik to go on with his interjection.

He continued on in an amused tone. “Oh nah, see, I said I thought about you when I saw it. That don’t mean I necessarily bought it specifically for you.”

The smile you’d been wearing dropped into a flat line.

“What?” He questioned, trying to act innocent. “It’s true. I figured if I got Shuri to add a Vibranium lining to it, I’d have a better hiding spot for my strap, y’know?”

You tore away from his hold and merely retreated to your on seat, regarding him as best you could while attempting to maintain your composure.

Erik kept going playfully like you weren’t on the verge of smacking his block-headed ass.

“Y’know...because Vibranium doesn’t set off metal detectors…and guns are made of metal...”

That sentence had been the last straw, for you indeed, smacked him upside the noggin, and proceeded to go off on his block-headed ass.

“Nigga, don’t you think I know that witcho’ ain’t-shit-ass!?”

“Ain’t nobody ‘bout to carry your raggedy ass gun around like some slave!”

“Had me all excited for nothing, got me sitting here thinking you cared about a bitch!”

“YO ASS DON’T CARE ABOUT ME-”

You threw blows at him half-heartedly every couple syllables, sending Erik into a fit of laughter so great that he was too preoccupied to even fight you off. At first you slumped down in the seat, finally giving up on the assault and resorting to pouting, lip poked out and arms folded. It didn’t last long, though, because eventually the outburst became contagious, causing both of you to cackle like two high ass hyenas as the sun gingerly crept over the horizon.

That was one aspect of you and Erik’s friendship you valued the most: being able to kid around all the time but still realizing where your loyalties lied at the end of the day. Other than extremely rare occasions, it was how the pair of you exhibited affection, rather than having the typical sappy exchanges. You both knew that majority of the words thrown amongst you meant nothing, letting deeds truly define the bond you held.

And actions would soon be the true test of that commitment, starting the day you learned that Erik had been kidnapped.

|Part Two|

~Taglist~

@iamrheaspeaks @princesskillmonger @eriknutinthispoosy @wheredidallthedreamersgo @thotyana-in-this-hoe @sonofnjobu

(This is just to mention my usual peeps plus others but if you want to be added/removed just let me know!)

#erik killmonger #mini series #birkin bag #black panther #black panther imagines #erik stevens #u guessed it #erik killmonger x reader

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ficdirectory · 6 years ago

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Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 34

(To listen, click here) - 17:26

Dominique glances up at Levi, surprised. He’s nodding out the window, in the direction of the dock. She gets up. Goes with him.

She can’t break the habit of scanning for Pearl’s mom, and Levi can’t either, it seems. Both are watchful, until they are fully obscured by the huge white dock chair.

“Did I…” Levi starts out, hesitantly. “Did I offend you?”

“No.” Dominique blinks, surprised. “Why would you say that?”

“Because, I took your poem and made it about me,” he says, matter of fact.

“You responded to it. Said you’re with me. That’s not selfish,” she points out.

“I really related to it,” Levi confesses. “Like, before I read your poem? I couldn’t write anything. And God knows I can’t draw.”

“So, you’re not gonna use it against me?” Dominique checks. “Like, later? Since I shared with you? Is it...I don’t know...gonna come back to bite me?”

“I don’t exploit my friends,” Levi tells her plainly.

“So, no?” Dominique asks.

“So, never,” Levi confirms.

“You really think you’re rude? A liar? All those things you said?” she checks.

“Well yeah,” he says, plainly. “There’s got to be a reason that happened to me. Those seem like pretty good ones.”

“Or maybe....” Dominique ventures. “You were just a little boy. And making a mess or whatever happened, doesn’t justify what was done to you.”

“And maybe your soul’s not just dying embers. Maybe you’re full of light,” Levi returns, looking out at the water.

“There’s more to it.” Dominique blinks back tears, stunned. Swallows the emotion she’s feeling, even though it goes against Feelings Time.

“I’m listening if you wanna share. No pressure,” Levi says.

Dominique takes a breath. Another. Another. Somehow, she can still feel smoke choking her. Even out here in all of this natural air.

She shakes her head.

“It feels personal, though.” Levi says, bringing the conversation back to the poem. Back to reasons for what happened to him.

“That’s because it is,” Dominique answers. “I’m not saying that it’s not totally valid to feel like we’re the reason. But the fact is? What happened to us, would’ve never happened...if people around us didn’t make it happen. If you’re looking for a reason, Levi, it’s them. It’s her.”

“I know,” he nods. And you don’t owe me anymore to your story than you want to share. And I’m never gonna exploit you,” he reminds her.

“We gotta take Francesca down here with us before we have to go. I promised her.” Dominique says, changing the subject.

“Okay,” Levi confirms, “So...you’re really not mad I wrote all over your poem?”

“I feel...like your poem completes mine, in a way. No, I’m not mad. If you took it and wrote something unrelated, or irreverant, or silly? Then, I’d be upset, but even then I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I worry about women’s tempers…” Levi confides.

“And I worry about men’s…” Dominique echoes her own feelings.

“It’s not normal. It’s super weird,” Levi insists.

“It’s normal for us, though. Given your experience, it makes 100% sense that you worry about women’s reactions. Just like it makes sense for me to feel like I do.”

“Pearl gave me a thing.” Levi confides. “I don’t know how to respond.”

“Hmm…” Dominique hums.

“I feel like it’s supposed to be genuine but I keep side-eyeing it… She’s like, trying to make up for dismissing me. Telling me I matter and stuff. But it’s like, if I really matter, then show me. You know?”

“Maybe tell her that when we go back in?” Dominique encourages.

“Maybe.”

For Pearl, it’s much easier to focus on the present moment than it is to think about this day 22 years ago, as the last day she was her former self. The last day she wasn’t irrevocably changed.

It’s also beyond hard that Levi and Dominique seem to always prefer to go off just the two of them and discuss things in private. It hurts that he doesn’t yet trust Pearl that way, even if it makes total sense.

Speaking of, here comes Levi now. He hands her a piece of paper, folded.

Curious, Pearl opens it and her heart falls. It’s her own letter to him. At the bottom, he’s scrawled:

You keep telling me I matter but the way you treat me doesn’t match. Don’t just tell me I matter. Show me, by taking me seriously. I really need that.

Pearl folds the letter wondering when every single thing will stop feeling like rejection. Levi’s not even keeping her own letter.

“Does anybody wanna share their stuff they made? Or any feelings?” Jesus asks.

Pearl crosses her arms. Then, looks at Francesca and remembers her telling Pearl she should practice being a safe person. She wonders what that looks like.

“Francesca brought up being a safe person with me…” she ventures. “I guess I’d like to know...what does that look like for you guys?” Pearl’s got her pen poised to take notes.

“No sharing private information, like what we talk about at Avoidance,” Francesca offers.

“When somebody tells you something...believe them,” Levi adds, quiet. “Don’t dismiss it because you don’t understand.”

“Ask questions if you don’t understand,” Mariana adds.

Pearl’s rushing to keep up.

“Respect boundaries,” Dominique says, and Pearl can feel her gaze.

“And take responsibility,” Jesus adds in a soft tone that still, somehow, makes Pearl glance up. “Remember that we’re responsible to and for each other. So, respect, communicate, clarify...and if you mess up? Apologize. And mean it.”

“I’m sorry for leaving,” Levi speaks up before Pearl can, surprising her. He’s looking at the grain of the table top. “And I’m sorry for yelling and making a big deal about the cookies.”

“Levi.” Jesus says. “What are you doing right now?”

Levi glances up at Jesus. “What do you mean? I’m taking responsibility. So you guys all know I’m safe or whatever.”

“It sounds a little bit like...compliance,” Dominique says gently.

“What’s that?” Levi’s eyes are full of questions.

(Pearl wonders if he’s searching his brain for what compliance could mean. Coming up against a single context for the word. Work at the store, when somebody went overtime without taking breaks. Even though, it always bothered Pearl because that struck her as noncompliance.)

“Obedience,” Dominique clarifies. “Sounds like you might be quick to follow any kind of command or suggestion.”

“Because maybe he doesn’t wanna get kicked out of our group….” Francesca offers, distracted by coloring. “If he doesn’t follow all the rules. That’s what I use to think.”

“But what’d you learn about that?” Dominique asks. “Can you share with Levi?”

“That...being in our friend group doesn’t mean you have to never make a mistake. If you make a mistake, it’s okay. If you’re still learning something, it’s okay. Oh, you guys, we forgot consent for being safe people. Pearl, write that down. Consent is asking first before you touch or come into somebody’s space or sometimes if it’s okay to ask a question about somebody’s trauma, instead of, you know, just asking and surprising them.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?” Levi asks Dominique honestly.

“With…” Dominique ventures.

“Being compliant?” Levi clarifies.

“It’s a sign that you might be dealing with trauma…” she offers. “Because in friendship...we don’t have to obey each other. Nobody has power over anybody else.”

Levi shrugs. “I just wanna do the right thing…”

“But there’s not really,” Mariana allows. “Like, there’s honesty. There’s what’s true for you.”

“But what if I don’t want to?” Levi asks.

“That’s your right,” Jesus reminds him.

“Yeah, you can say no, or not share, and we won’t make you or ignore you,” Francesca insists.

Pearl doesn’t miss it, when Levi slides a glance her way.

“Levi…” she says, trying not to sigh. “You don’t have to do everything right. You can make mistakes. I know I didn’t make you feel safe earlier today when I mishandled your trigger. I am sorry about that. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you directly. I should have recognized you were upset. I should have respected your boundaries.”

“But why is it wrong to do what people want?” Levi asks. “Especially if it makes sense. My leaving scared you, Francesca. It probably scared all of you. Why wouldn’t I apologize for that? Or for losing it and knocking cookies on the floor and screaming?”

“It’s why you’re apologizing,” Dominique explains.

“Why am I apologizing?” Levi asks, confused.

Dominique takes a slow deep breath. Levi does, too. (So does Pearl.)

“I have a question. Are you cool with that?” Dominique asks.

Levi nods.

“You don’t have to say yes,” she tells him.

“I’m not. I wanna know.”

“Okay. When you apologized, was it fear-based?” Dominique questions.

Levi blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You started in immediately. Right on the end of what Jesus said about taking responsibility. I’m just saying...that can be a sign of stress. Or fear.”

“I don’t wanna do the wrong thing. Now, it sounds like I was wrong to apologize,” Levi lays his forehead on the table.

“Hey, Levi?” Jesus says. “Try not to shut down right now, okay?”

“I’m not,” Levi denies flatly, his forehead still against the table.

“You feel like you’re doing the wrong thing?” Pearl asks.

Levi doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything.

“I bet that feels scary,” Pearl offers, sympathetic.

“It’s fine,” he denies, his voice still expressionless.

“Or maybe it feels normal?” Pearl tries again.

“Levi,” Dominique says, and he glances up. “Hey. It’s Dominique. It’s us. We’re friends. We’re not gonna hurt you. Even if you do the wrong thing.”

Still, Levi barely reacts, except to slightly bite the inside of his lip.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you’re not comfortable with.” Dominique continues.

“I just...don’t understand.” Levi admits. “And nobody’s telling me.”

“Because…” Dominique starts out deliberately. “If you’re answering questions...out of fear...or responding...out of fear...or apologizing...out of fear...that could mean you’re triggered. That could mean...you don’t feel safe. And we...as your friends...never want you to feel...like you need to give us answers, responses or apologies...because you feel...like we might hurt you...if you don’t.”

“Less…” Levi manages.

“Less?” Dominique echoes.

“I need less...words…” he manages.

“You don’t have to do things that scare you…” Pearl begins, pausing as Dominique had. “....In order to protect yourself from our reaction. Our reaction? Will always be...to protect you.”

Levi looks about to lay his head back on the table when Francesca slides a paper over to him. “Wanna do my maze?” she asks.

Silently, he accepts a blue colored pencil, and starts completing the simple task. Slowly.

“Still need less,” he manages. Pearl’s close enough that she hears him sniff.

“Levi? It’s Jesus. Can you listen to my voice while you do that?” he checks.

Absently, Levi nods.

“You’re not in danger right now,” Jesus tells him calmly.

Levi glances up sharply. Meets Jesus’s eyes. The look is intense.

“Breathe. You’re okay,” Jesus insists.

Mariana nudges her apple hand sanitizer Levi’s direction. He opens it. Smells it. That seems to help him breathe.

“I am, though.” Levi says, after a pause.

“You are, what?” Jesus asks.

Levi shrugs.

“We have time,” Dominique encourages. “Take your time.”

“In danger…” he manages. “Of...being left.”

“You’re in danger of being left?” Dominique echoes, her voice sympathetic.

He nods. “I have to do what people want. Or else,” he shrugs. “They hurt me. Or they leave.”

“We have to leave on Monday, to go back to California. But not because we want to,” Francesca explains. “We don’t want to leave you. It’s not because you did anything wrong. It’s just how life is. Hold on. I’m making you another map,” Francesca tells him.

Pearl watches, interested, as Francesca carefully draws a path on a piece of paper.

“How do you spell Levi?” Francesca asks.

“L-E-V-I,” Levi spells, his voice soft.

She writes Levi at the top of the maze. Then Pearl near him. Then a bunch of squares. Then at the bottom right, she writes her own name, followed by Jesus, Dominique and Mariana.

“What’s this?” he asks, when Francesca pushes it toward him.

“Us, and those are Avoidance picnic tables. So whenever we need each other we can just meet at one of those.”

“But I can’t…” Levi manages. “I can’t lose you guys.”

Pearl’s stunned to see his tears. His upset that runs so deep. It’s no surprise, really, given everything he’s dealing with. Francesca stops what she’s doing. “Do you need my arms?” she asks.

But he crosses his. “No.”

“You don’t have to do everything right,” Pearl offers. “To avoid getting hurt. Or getting left. I understand having a sister is new. And it hasn’t been the best experience so far, but you are stuck with me. In a good way. I’m not leaving you. Unless you want me to.”

“I don’t,” Levi manages.

“I don’t want you to go either. And I promise I’m going to get better at not hurting your feelings. About taking you seriously.”

“You have to prove it,” Levi says, his voice shaking.

“Right, I know. Being a safe person isn’t a given,” she nods. “I do have to prove it.”

“Is it okay…” Levi starts, after a pause, glancing at Dominique. “...if I’m still afraid?”

“Yes. It’s okay.” she tells him. “It makes sense.”

Pearl pays attention to the words Dominique uses. How she avoids telling him all of them are scared, too. But instead keeps her answer short (out of respect for his requests for less words) and to the point. She validates his feelings and leaves room for him to speak again.

“If I mess up...what will you do?” Levi asks.

Pearl tries not to flinch at his direct eye contact. At the fact that this is a question for her.

“If you mess up...I’ll help you. I’ll help you fix whatever’s broken.”

“And what if...I’m the mess…” Levi croaks. “You can’t fix me…”

“No, I can’t,” Pearl shakes her head, sadly. “But I can love you. If you’re the mess, I’ll love you.”

“It’s hard to believe that…” Levi admits, hoarse. “But you believe me?”

“I do. Yes. I believe you,” Pearl tells him.

He nods a little. And it feels - plank by plank - like a shaky bridge is being built between them.

#fic: somewhere inside

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johnlarens · 7 years ago

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my great comet experience (act i + intermission)

okay so I wrote a lot so it’s gonna be split into two posts and I’ll edit this and provide a link to act two!

BEFORE THE SHOW

- So where you stand in line waiting be let in (and where you pick up your tickets) is decorated in Russian propaganda to make it look like a war bunker/safe house! And on one of the doors it says “strobe lights and haze!” (a pre warning for the show I believe?) with a hammer and sickle underneath it

- the theater is so beautiful

- decorating the walls were tons of russian paintings and my god it was absolutely stunning - okay so the lady who showed us to our seats was hilarious!!! My mom and I spent a good chunk of our time before the show talking to her- her name was Marylin! She was a cranky old lady who took her job so seriously but hey, she’s quick and efficient and I liked her! - okay so Brad Giovanine came around with dumplings and was like “who wants dumplings!” and honestly, i don’t think I’ve ever shot my hand up so fast

- i was the first one to get a dumpling in my section,,,,i feel blessed - Brad came back around and started telling us about the strobe lights and all! But the other cast member who was talking the section in front of me was all: “if strobe lights bother you then just close your eyes!” *closes his eyes* still to bright? *covers his eyes with his hand" - when the show started war sirens aired and it was such aN AMAZING TOUCH MY GOODNESS!!!! - And then the announcer with a deep Russian accent goes: “ladies and gentlemen, attention please! Cellphones!” - Cast: NYET! - announcer: texting! - Cast: NYET! - And one guy who was sitting in the section in front of me STILL had his phone out???? Even when the cast in my row pointed to him!!!!! - Announcer: googling? - Cast: NYET!

- Announcer: tweeting, photos, videos!

- Cast: NYET! NYET! NYET! - Announcer: no talking during the show! Violators are moved to security guards and KGB. Repeat offenders are sent to Siberia.

PROLOGUE - during the sick accordion provided by Pierre there’s a heart wrenching ‘NO!’ from Natasha as she’s seeing Andrey off to war - Andrey gives her a golden necklace and places it around her neck before going off through #the door - “what about Pierre?”

PIERRE - “I used to be better” he’s so upset with himself and who he his - he’s so sad and he hates himself and I love Pierre so much - “I’m married but not in love” the light shines on Hélène who’s looking down at him - “he is charming! he has no sex!” the ladies dance around him in a circle almost as if they’re making fun of him :-( - “you empty and stupid, contented fellows, satisfied with you place!” he makes a sharp turn and practically jabs his finger at Anatole - he just wants to do more and be more and do SOMETHING with his life I love him

MOSCOW - Natasha and Sonya are dressed in pretty white coats and hand warmers I love them - Grace McLean played such an amazing Marya, she looked to happy to see them - “then a game of Boston, and you’ll read to me while I knit!” Natasha and Sonya look so,,,,shook and 'no thanks’

THE PRIVATE AND INTIMATE LIFE OF THE HOUSE - those in favor of keeping Mary away from Prince Bolkonsky and loving her forever say 'I’ - As Bolkonsky is yelling at Mary she shrinks away in fear and is shaky - Andrey’s father was hilarious (minus the yelling at Mary part - “Everyone enjoys me” and he nods to an audience member - when he pats his powdered wig powder flies in the air ajdbdkdbdk - Abskdbdk this man is so shaky as he wobbles about the stage - And his servant,,,,honey I’m cackling he’s shuffling around the stage, bent over in the shape of an L

NATASHA AND BOLKONSKYS - Natasha’s 'hello’ to Marya is too abskdbdkd the way Denée delivers this line is so humorous - “says the mean old man in his underthings!” I cackled - as Natasha tries to leave, Marya follows her about the stage :-( she just wants a friend

NO ONE ELSE - natasha misses and loves Andrey so much I cry - the blue is so beautiful Denée is so beautiful I love her and her voice - the fake snow is such a nice gentle touch - Standing at the bottom of the steps, Andrey is reading (I’m assuming) Natasha’s letters and looking off in the distance, probably eager to get to her - Close to the end of the song, Andrey starts to walks off and Natasha chases after him before coming to a stop - At the end she positions herself next to an audience member and says “maybe he came today and he’s sitting the drawing room, and I simply forgot” :-( she misses him so much - but that doesn’t last for long :/

SUNDAY MORNING - when Sonya and Natasha do the candle in the mirror and Natasha sees a man lying down, she looks away, but the ensemble member that’s holding the mirror, follows her for a moment. Excellent touch - after Marya finds out how rude Bolkonsky was to Natasha she got SUPER angry and stormed off - and abskdbdk as Natasha is getting undressed, Hélène walks in and it’s gay time

CHARMING - Natasha is so shy and blushy when Hélène compliments her it’s so cute - for a little bit Natasha struts around in Hélène’s green coat and she looks so tiny in that big furry thing my goodness - When Hélène says “you will be the prettiest there” Pierre nods - When Hélène takes off the necklace that Andrey gave Natasha, and replaces it with her string of pearls, she dumps Andrey’s necklace on Pierre who fiddled with it and is like “what am I supposed to do with this??” until placing it on his desk - “She knows that I’m engaged, yet she talks to frankly, so it must me alright :-)” my mom called Natasha a dingbat and I snorted

THE OPERA - “Natasha smooth your gown” she looks so offended when they say that, my poor girl!! - I’m not sure what it symbolizes (or if it’s just part of the outfit), but as Natasha is saying how she’s not a little girl anymore, she puts on some lacey white gloves and they’re so pretty I love Denée so much I’m so gay - okay let me just take the time to say just how much I love Dolokov???? I’d let him assassinate me - before offering his hand for an audience member to kiss it- he kisses his own hand ajdbdidbdk, and then kisses her hand - “-Pierre the cuckold sits at home, the poor man!” from his desk, Pierre does a 'raise the roof’ motion before saying that he’s enjoying himself at home - Natasha is so enchanted by Hélène before Marya comes over and talks about Pierre before pulling Natasha away and brushing away Hélène - The satanic hooded figures??? A mood. The strange performers??? A big mood - Natasha’s response to the opera was hilarious ajsbdkfn first she’s roasting it then she’s praising it saying it’s the best thing ever - When Anatole enters through the door striking in different poses with the bass I nut right there right in my seat - Andrey’s guts spilling out is a good representation of me nutting over the intensity of this song

ANATOLE AND NATASHA

- first off Anatole is a soggy crocodile and needs to stay away from Natasha >:-(

- Natasha is feeling herself when she knows Anatole is enchanted with her - “when looking into his eyes I am frightened.” Natasha them kinda runs away from Anatole to try and regain herself - abskdbfkfbfkfbf kkay when Anatole grabs Natasha and kisses her on the neck, it’s so loud wtf it was a real deal kiss like, I bust a nut for that shit - when Anatole takes Natasha’s flower she looks so offended like girl!! - Anatole and Natasha’s kiss was,,,,,w ow

THE DUEL - so many strobe lights. so many colors. so amazing!!!!!!! - the ensemble was amazing oh my goodness - Grace McLean in the suit and the whip………dare I say…….mommy - when Pierre refers to Natasha as 'dear andrey’s betrothed’ Anatole shrugs and makes a 'yeah, sure, whatever’ kind of face while doing the so-so motion with his hand - “ I have known her family for years, and long carried affection for her” he puts his hand over his heart - when Anatole asks for 50 rubles Pierre coughed up a wad of cash, hands Anatole 50 and just leaves the rest (which is way more that (50 rubles) in his other hand, only to have Anatole take the larger sum of money from his right hand ! - again,,,,I love Dolokov he just saunters on in with a tray of glasses and starts pouring drinks - some (most?) of the ensemble had those light up bottom sneakers and were dressed like teens at their first rave it was cute! - pierre was drinking through the first good couple lines of it and he’s a funny + sad drunk - when Pierre is proclaiming his 'I used to love I used to be better!’ the demeanor in which he shouts it is so heartbreaking and hélène’s response is so twisted and gnarled - Dolokov is feeling all up on hélène and then they kinda made out and pierre EXPLODES - After Pierre realizes that he’s actually hit Dolokov he looks absolutely - during Dolokov’s turn to fire at Pierre, Pierre stand there arms wide open, head hanging low, waiting to be shot, and when Dolokov fires and misses, Pierre just stand completely still for a good couple moments, before realizing he’s alive - Anatole is so fucking andkdbdkbfkf as he’s saying “we love to love another day” he’s like……prancing around aND HE GIVES PIERRE FINGER GUNS until he goes off stage I’m!!!

DUST AND ASHES - I said it once and I’ll say it again: Scott was an AMAZING PIERRE - When Pierre goes “and if I die here tonight-” he picks up the gun that he used to duel Dolokov with and fiddled with it for a bit, “-I die in my sleep” and my heart broke - he’s so upset that he just slams down his book when he talks about not knowing a thing - “was a happiness within me the whole time?” he’s finally realizing that he can be who he wants to be - “they say we are asleep until we faALL iIN LOOOOOOoOoVVVVE! aaAND II’M SO REEeAADY, TO WAAaaaAAKE UuuuUUP NooOooOOWW” let me tell you I was fucking close to tears - when the song ended the crowd went crazy it was truly stunning

- i love scott

THE BALL - “Oh how I adore little girls, they loose their head at once!” Anatole you little nasty soggy crocodile get away from Natasha!!!!!! >:(((( - when Anatole presses Natasha’s arm and she says that he’s hurting her I wanted to bite Anatole’s hand off :/ - the kiss they have is insane like, it felt like it lasted forever like……..how they breathin???? - “I love you. how else could we have kissed? How else could this have happened?” - “I wiiillll loooove youu, Anatoooole,” Denée’s voice……………me? bust a nut? yes. - Abskdbfkf Anatole does a 'hell yeah! good job, anatole’ face after she says that and I……

INTERMISSION

- not much to comment about during intermission, i just stretched my legs some and walked to the merch table

- i wanted to buy a shirt but lmao i spent all my money on the ticket

- when the three minute warning was called, the war sirens sounded and it was so amazing

okay so that was part one of my great comet experience! get ready for part two (act ii and stagedoor)

#my post #the great comet

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