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starlessea · 3 years ago

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𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 2. Manic Pixie Dream Bitch

A/N Make sure you read the prologue and other chapters first! Things are starting to pick up - I hope you stick around for the ride.

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 5374

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury, Domestic abuse mentions

The evening was cool, and a breeze hung in the air.

The midday Georgia heat had all but melted away, leaving behind tepid winds that rustled leaves on the trees — and the canvas tents. They fluttered around you as you walked, like the beating of butterfly wings, or ripples atop the ocean.

It was peaceful. It felt safe.

All eyes were on you as you followed Daryl to the firepit, taking a seat on a low log beside him — but not too close.

The night was still too young to turn in yet, so the man had begrudgingly led you out of his tent when the silence became stifling. For some reason, conversation didn't come as naturally to the two of you as it once had.

There was tension there. You could feel it.

But you didn't have the slightest clue why. The last time you had seen Dixon, it was in the midst of a tremendous thunderstorm. The two of you had laughed, and ran through the rain until your clothes were soaked through, and your skin was cold.

It was one of the best nights of your life.

Yet, here you were — sitting beside the man in stagnant silence as he kicked at coal embers with his boot, and pretended not to feel your stare seeping into the back of his head.

Across from you were the people you had briefly met earlier — the two officers by the names of Shane and Rick, or helicopter boy — the asian man named Glenn, and Carol who was sitting beside her husband. Their individual conversations were low, barely audible against the crackling fire, but one-by-one they seemed to filter off, until there was nothing but silence once again.

Shane stood up.

He stoked the fire a little with a branch, careful not to let the flames rise too high. "So, tell me," the man spoke, his voice wide and assertive,"how's a sweet young thing like yourself figure out how to fly a Sikorsky Hawk?"

His presence was big.

It made you shuffle in your seat as his eyes dragged down you, resting on your arm — which was bound by a sling. "Well, minus the landing part," he murmured below his breath.

You didn't like the way he smirked when he said that, like it had been amusing to him — funny to him that you'd almost died. Daryl let out a sound beside you, a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat that only you could hear. But you didn't bite to his words.

After all, men like that could only bark.

"I was in the military," you answered, meeting his eyes and not breaking the stare.

Your throat was still sore, but your words rang out clear, atop the thrum of the evening air, and flickering flames. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on the balls of his feet — as though he was putting on some type of show.

"Air force, then?" he questioned, but it was starting to feel more like an interrogation.

You caught the whites of Carol's eyes across from you, as they darted between the officer and yourself, and to her husband, then back to the other officer. She seemed as skittish as a person could possibly be — just watching, waiting, for something to happen.

You cleared your throat and forced a smile. "Training to be," you clarified.

For some reason, the exchange didn't feel like a conversation. The mood was too tense, too untrusting. It reminded you of the few minutes you'd spent alone with Dixon, back at his tent.

Something felt wrong.

Shane stalked around the firepit, his police boots crunching against the leafy bed, and kicking up dirt where he walked. He stopped directly in front of you, looming a shadow down onto you and Daryl — and making the other man scoff as he looked up.

"So not actually a pilot yet?" Shane smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile faltered, he was asking too many questions.

The other officer, Rick, took off his sheriff's hat and tracked his partner's movements with his eyes, as though anticipating something that hadn't happened yet. It made you feel a nervousness you were ashamed of.

You never did play well with men like Shane.

"And tell me this," he said, lowly, as he crouched down to your level, "why aren't you at Fort Benning?" He looked back over his shoulder, at Rick who was sitting stiff as a board, before cocking his head back to you."Or were you part of the group that showered Atlanta with napalm?"

The word hung heavy in the air — even though he had practically whispered it.

Your mind flickered back to the day it rained fire down upon the city, to the sounds of screams, and the charred remains you'd stumbled across on the occasions you wandered too close to the centre.

You shook your head immediately, feeling the pain shoot up your shoulder. "I had no part in that," you hissed — much more viciously than you anticipated.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you curled in on yourself. You didn't miss the way the man recoiled slightly from your face, and you'd even caught a fleeting glimpse of your reflection in the blacks of his irises.

You wore a look of pure disgust.

"I was discharged," you whispered, after taking a few moments to collect yourself. "Couple months before all this." You glanced to your right, to where the former mechanic was sitting — trying to pretend like he wasn't watching you. "Got sent to Georgia afterwards, which is where I met Daryl," you explained, noticing his eyes narrow at your words. "Briefly."

He looked away. He didn't seem to like that choice, either.

Shane stood back up, stretching out his knees, and then his neck. He rolled his head back in a circle, before glancing to and from you and Daryl with a smirk.

"Makes sense," he murmured, before turning on his heels to walk away, "dropouts tend to stick together, no?"

And for the second time today, Dixon went wild.

The tension finally snapped, like an elastic band having been stretched to its limit, and Daryl shot up to his feet, lunging for the man.

But you reached out for him at the same time, trying to grab his hand so that the night didn't end in the way you were almost certain it was going to end.

After all, you'd only seen Daryl go off once before — back in the old world — which had left an aftertaste of bloodstains over your bar, and maroon-tinted bruised knuckles that needed tending to well after your closing time.

But now he seemed even worse — more tightly wound than a coil beneath your boot, always ready to jump up and spring.

He was playing the part of a man far more angry than you had ever known him to be.

Although you still couldn't figure out why.

The ticking of the wall clock was stark against the silence. Joe's Bar had been cleared out more than an hour back, but the two of you remained — like ghosts haunting whiskey bottles and looming around the jukebox until it played a song you liked.

Dixon hissed as you tipped alcohol over his knuckles, watching as it seeped into the cuts and spread over his bruises like a clear film. They weren't that bad, really — only a purplish hue to them.

After all, you'd seen the other guy.

But you'd never seen Dixon get so riled up before. He'd always been a cocktail of shy glances and dumb wonder around you. That was until tonight at least, when a drunken customer slapped your ass at the bar, and the mechanic beat him bloody.

He'd probably seen how rattled it had made you, and how you looked ready to either snap or break.

"Ya don' have to do this," the man rasped, purposefully avoiding your eyes. "Save the vodka."

Your hand stilled over his knuckles, as you breathed in the strong, sharp scent which made your lungs burn. You laughed, pointing back over your shoulder at the shelves atop of shelves — stacked with an array of bottles, all different shapes and sizes.

"We've got plenty to spare, don't you worry," you hummed, before tipping more Smirnoff onto a cotton pad. "And you didn't have to do that, either," you chided, narrowing your eyes at a particular cut — which had already begun to crust over. "I could've handled him."

The mechanic scowled, glancing back over his shoulder to the place where it had all gone down — as though watching the scene play out once more in his mind.

He shook his head. "Ya could'a lost yer job."

"I'm used to that by now," you bit back, not once looking up from his bruise-splayed knuckles. "But Dixon," you cautioned, "don't go doing that again."

A car drove by outside, its headlights streaming in through the window and illuminating the dark husk of the bar — the pool tables that had been otherwise cloaked in shadows, and the expression of the man sitting opposite you, studying your every word.

"Joe might bar you next time," you whispered, screwing the lid back onto the bottle.

But Dixon only laughed.

"Barred from a bar?" he scoffed, stretching out his fingers to inspect your work, "he ain't gonna do tha'."

The stool squeaked as the man stood up, dusting off his jeans and retrieving his jacket. It was long past midnight, and you knew you'd be catching a ride back with him as he sped down the streets, reminding you to hold on tighter.

"What makes you so sure?" you teased, untying your apron and leaving it at the end of the counter.

Daryl held the door open, and fished around in his pockets for something that jingled — pulling it out to show you.

It was a set of car keys, with a tacky coke-bottle charm hanging from them.

"Still got his truck sittin' in the shop," he smirked.

The scuffle between Shane and Daryl was interrupted before blows could even be exchanged. Rick grabbed a hold of his partner, whilst you pulled the former mechanic back down to his firepit seat, trading places with him until you were face-to-face with the other asshole — a few inches shorter but a whole lot more pissed.

Daryl tried to stand back up again, but you flashed those eyes at him — the ones that made him immediately second guess the action.

"Sit down," you seethed, punching out each word as you spoke them.

And surprisingly, Dixon did as you said.

You weren't angry at him, exactly, but you didn't want him fighting your battles for you anymore — especially not whilst he had a chip on his shoulder more noticeable than the sling on yours.

Then you turned back to Shane, looking up at him as he stood with his chest almost flush to you, completely ignoring Rick's pleas behind him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That comment wasn't off-handed — he made sure you could hear it.

"I don't like you," you said lowly, not backing down from the glare he shot your way.

You didn't want things to turn out like this. There was nothing more you hated than making a scene.

Well, there was one thing, you thought.

You couldn't fucking stand men who abused their power.

"Don't have to like me, princess," Shane retorted, reaching out a hand in your direction. "I'm just here to keep you alive."

You smacked his palm away — as though it were a fly buzzing much too close — before he could make contact with your skin. And you saw red.

Daryl would have punched a man for less, if you'd so much as given him the right look. But this time, you shot a warning glance at him, telling him to stay put.

"Don't fucking touch me," you whispered, but your words held more weight than if you'd screamed them — and Shane retracted his hand. "I can take care of myself."

Except, he made a point of letting his eyes drag over your injuries, lingering on the makeshift sling, before settling on your stomach — as though he could see your stitches underneath the material of Daryl's shirt.

"Clearly," he remarked, before turning on his heels once again.

Nobody stopped him this time — not even Rick — as he stalked around the fire, and into the night. You caught a glimpse of his metal dog tags as he did, glinting off the light of the flame and jumping around his neck with every step he took. You thought it was ironic for him to even wear them.

Or maybe not.

After all, he seemed the same as every other military man you'd encountered — a goddamn animal.

"Make sure you take care of your manic pixie dream bitch," he yelled, probably directed at Dixon. "Wouldn't want anymore helicopters fallin' from the damn sky."

And so Shane disappeared into his tent — into the shadows you couldn't quite make out — and Daryl stood up straight after, heading in the opposite direction. The remaining group was uneasy, tentative almost, as they watched your head whip back and forth between them and the mechanic as he left.

Dixon stalked away into the brush, despite the shouts and warnings not to stray too far from the campsite.

And you followed him.

With each step further from the flickering flames of the bonfires, it became harder to navigate the night. Your injuries had slowed you down, and you flinched every time a twig snapped, or leaves rustled near your ear. You didn't even have a weapon anymore — since it had burnt up with the rest of your gear in the crash.

But it didn't take you long to track down Dixon. After all, his smoke trail gave him away.

He was sitting on a grassy bank, over facing the quarry waters. There was a full moon out, and you could now see it peering above the tops of the trees — ghostly white against the stark, black sky. And cigarette smoke swirled around it, leading back down to the shadowy figure on the ground, legs tucked up to his chest as he breathed deeply.

You approached, wincing as your shoulder caught on a low-hanging branch.

"Yer gonna bust ya stitches messin' 'round like tha'," Dixon spoke, not even turning around to confirm it was you. But still, he outstretched a hand, helping you sit down beside him.

The moonlight was beautiful. It drizzled over the treetops in the distance, and the spindly branches that reached up to the sky. It even reflected off Daryl's skin as you glanced at him in the corner of your eye — watching as the smoke poured out from his lips and settled in the air.

You tucked yourself into his side just a little, missing the heavy feeling of your jacket which smelt like him — and was almost just as warm. Part of you expected him to shrug you off, or make some remark in-keeping with how withdrawn he'd been throughout the day.

But, he didn't.

He let you sit beside him, as he blocked you from the breeze — as though you weren't the one person who would be used to it.

"Got a spare?" you asked, eyeing his packet of cigarettes.

Dixon hesitated for a second, before placing them down in the space between you. "Thought ya didn't smoke," he replied.

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't."

In truth, you'd only recently taken up the habit — smoking much too scarcely to even call it a habit, really. It had all started when you'd stumbled across a rundown convenience store, and looted a packet of cigarettes without thinking — just because they were the brand that Dixon smoked.

The first time you lit one, you'd cried. They smelt like him.

They'd smelt like your only friend, and reminded you of just how lonely the end of the world was. So, you started to smoke — only when you missed him — and you continued because, even though he was now sitting beside you, for some reason you still felt empty.

Neither of you said anything after that, but you could hear his thoughts — those questions he wanted to ask but didn't. After all, he'd voiced them once before, back before the world ended. Except, it was you who wasn't willing to answer.

"What'd ya do tha' got yer ass sent here?" Dixon asked, one day whilst you were hanging around at the auto-shop, watching him scrub down that Honda bike. "Y'know, locked away in rural Georgia."

You laughed at his words, taking a swig from the ice cold cola you'd skimmed from Dean's fridge.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I was training to be a helicopter pilot," you admitted into the air, answering that question truthfully for the first time.

But he'd already guessed — after the day you'd both had.

"Why didn't it work out?" Daryl mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke the words.

You watched as the smoke formed white clouds against the black night, before finally reaching for the packet yourself.

"Fear of heights," you told the man, letting out a breathy chuckle that blew out the lighter's flame.

It was a lie, but the truth was much more bleak.

Though, perhaps that was what nights like this were for. Out here, there was no one else to hear you speak your thoughts, or even see the two silhouettes sitting in the dark. Maybe you could even start trusting the man called Daryl Dixon, since he'd done nothing but pick you up and set you back onto your feet ever since you fell from the sky — and even some time before that.

"No matter how long I would fly for, I always had to land at some point," you explained, though it didn't really sound like much of an explanation. "But the people on the ground made me wish that I never had."

Daryl met your eyes, and in that moment you swore you saw a glimpse of that former mechanic — the one who was street smart but still clueless to people.

"That was until I met a man at a garage who promised to show me the world on his bike," you smiled, before letting the smoke trail from your lips, "but we ended up watching the stars instead."

Dixon didn't smile back.

And somehow, the smoke on your lips tasted more familiar — felt more like Daryl — than the man sitting beside you.

"Ya can take the tent tonight," he mumbled, snuffing his cigarette butt out on the grass.

You pulled a face, but he didn't retrieve it like he normally would — he probably thought there was nothing left in the world worth preserving anymore.

"And what about you?" you asked, making an expression he couldn't even see. "You should rest up before tomorrow."

But the man shook his head in the dark, pushing back on his knuckles to stand up — and offering you his hand once more.

"I ain't none of yer concern," he dismissed, whilst his palm was still warm in yours, "'m gonna sleep out under the stars."

The stars were bright overhead, with no light pollution, or mysterious blinking flickers that could have been mistaken for planes of satellites. But somehow, you didn't fully believe his story.

You laughed, but it wasn't the warm kind. It was the kind that felt foreign on your tongue, because it was a far cry from the fits of giggles the man normally had you in.

"Well, enjoy the view," you replied, shortly.

But you failed to notice the way Dixon watched you the entirety of the way back to camp — as though he already was.

Once Daryl had walked you there, and left you at the tent doorway, he did indeed roll out an old blanket over the grass, to lay back underneath the stars — just as promised.

He was far enough away that he didn't feel like you were right beside him, but still close enough to make out your silhouette against the lamp-lit canvas walls of his tent. That way, he didn't have to worry about walkers — but he didn't have to worry about you, either.

The night was quiet. The full, bright moon beamed down on him like a streetlight and the stars blinked in the sky like peering sets of eyes — staring back at him whilst he looked up. Daryl sighed, and crumpled his packet of cigarettes in his fist, crushing any left inside.

He needed to stop smoking them, because now they'd become tainted by you — and had become another thing that inescapably reminded him of you.

The lingering scent of them on his fingertips alone made him remember just how intoxicating you were. It made Daryl feel like he'd gotten a high from the scent of unbottled moonshine, or from that smile of pure starlight which could make a man go blind.

Though, he'd only had the pleasure of seeing it once today. The rest of the time you'd been pissed, confused, hurt.

He'd probably caused a lot of that — he wasn't that oblivious.

But you were the type who could break his heart without even knowing, and then offer to mend it like it had been someone else who'd done the damage.

He didn't understand how you could act so nonchalant, so blasé, as though you hadn't nearly died, and as though you hadn't just come back from the dead — where Daryl had thought you'd been this entire time.

He laughed, and it almost sounded as cold as the one you'd directed at him earlier.

Merle always called him naive, but Daryl often overcompensated for the fact with blind curses and bruised knuckles from butting heads those who suspected him of being as much.

But it had been the truth.

He was naive — especially when it came to you.

But, Daryl was also angry and hurt. And he didn't know how to fix that without bruising his knuckles — or his ego.

He bit his lip, wetting away the dryness with his tongue, whilst trying not to focus on how dry his throat felt, too. Then, Daryl rested his arm over his eyes.

He didn't feel like watching the stars anymore.

When you awoke, light had filtered into the tent through the mesh netting, speckling over your face like glittering gold as you blinked.

But when you awoke, the man was gone — leaving only another shirt behind in his place.

It almost made you cry, because of how familiar it felt. It smelled like Joe's Bar, of Marlboro cigarettes, of Georgia, and of home.

But you couldn't cry; you hadn't done since the day everything fell apart. So instead, you pulled on your big-girl shirt — the one belonging to the man twice the size of you — and grit your teeth as you threaded your bruised arm through the sleeve, and caught your stitches on the buttons.

You spent the whole morning trying not to notice the glaringly obvious absence in the camp — the men who'd left in search of Merle Dixon. But at the same time, you grimaced at the sight of the ones who hadn't left, the ones like Shane, and Carol's husband — who leered at the women as they washed his fucking underwear.

"Carol, why don't you ask Ed to come and help us," Andrea remarked, glancing towards the man resting languidly by his jeep, "make himself useful instead of just standing there smoking cigarettes."

Beside you, Jacqui laughed a high-pitched laugh, as she wrung out another damp t-shirt in her fists. You had only been formally introduced to her this morning, but her smile was infectious — and for a minute, it made you forget about the anxiety deep in the pits of your stomach.

Carol was quiet, but eventually chirped up once she mustered enough confidence.

"If I knew how to get him to do that, I would have done it years ago," she muttered, and shyly rolled her eyes.

Andrea boomed out a laugh, whilst the others chimed in at the appearance of Carol's unexpected humour. You tried not to let the chuckle wrack up your body, since every slight movement sent shockwaves to your injuries. But at this moment, you didn't really mind.

Carol had a pretty smile, and an even nicer laugh.

Except, her husband didn't seem to think so.

He stalked over with the same bravado Shane had mastered the night before — probably taking inspiration from the other man who wore boots three times his size. You could make out the sneer on his face before he even got within a few steps of you all. It was just that deep.

The man flicked his cigarette in your direction, and it barely missed the toe of your boot.

"What's so funny, hmm?" he jeered, but his tone was anything but light. You didn't have to hear them twice to recognise those words as a threat. "Gotta be somethin' if it's got you ladies so distracted."

Each of the women stayed silent as a grave — as though in some secret pact Ed was unaware of. He sauntered around, weaving in between Jacqui and Andrea, until the latter eventually snapped.

"Is it really any of your business?" she remarked, frustration clear in her voice. "After all, we're the ones doing your laundry."

She thrust the damp clothes she was holding at the man's chest, before letting them fall to the floor. The moment you heard them hit the ground, your hands were already shaking with adrenaline. You knew that look — the one Ed wore — and nothing good ever came from it.

He stepped up to Andrea, his pride damper than the shirt at his feet. "Know your place, little bitch," he hissed, shoving her back with his shoulder.

And chaos broke out.

Jacqui's screams sounded very much like her high-pitched laughs had done, and Lori called for Shane like a broken record that only knew a single name. You wanted to get everyone to calm down. You wanted to diffuse the situation like how you'd been trained to do.

But all you saw was red.

Carol interjected, lacing herself around her husband's arm as she begged for him to stop. "Ed, please don't-"

The man backhanded his wife, sending her to the ground with a single strike.

And that was your queue.

You rushed over, feeling your feet sink into the pebbles deeply with each step. You had a dozen stitches in your stomach, but you would rather pop every damn one open than let him get away with that.

"You dare lay your hands on her?" you roared, approaching the man — the monster — from behind as he loomed over Carol like a shadow of cowardice.

Ed reacted out of instinct, flailing his arm backwards and hitting you across the jaw with his elbow as you tried to pull him away. Immediately, your mouth pooled with the taste of copper, and you spit it out onto the pebbled stones beneath your feet.

You looked over at Andrea, who was dumbstruck as she watched blood drizzle from your lip, before you wiped it away by the sleeve of Daryl's shirt — with your one good arm.

"Get Carol out of here," you said, so quiet that it might as well have been a whisper.

You looked at the man, sizing him up as he stared you down.

"She isn't gonna want to see this."

The evening sunset was a vibrant salmon, tinged with deeper, darker hues the further you got from the sun. Those parts of the sky were the same maroon colour as your jaw — you'd caught glimpses of it in Andrea's compact mirror.

You'd spent the latter part of the day avoiding Shane's lectures, and the women who meant well but fussed over you far too much. So, you retreated back to Dixon's tent — icing the ripe bruise on your chin with a pack from Dale's RV cooler.

The scent of Marlboro cigarettes lingered around you — faint but still present in the fibers of the blankets beneath you, and in your shirt which was now bloodstained. You tried to ignore the pull of it, not wanting to smoke.

The tent puckered as someone fumbled with it, and soon the entrance flap was unzipped — revealing Carol, who timidly ducked inside.

"We meet again," you greeted her, thinking back to how she'd tended to your wounds in this very spot, not even a full day before. "I was going to apologise for beating your husband into the ground, but I couldn't bring myself to say that I'm sorry."

You grimaced as the words left your mouth. They sounded a lot more sharp than you'd intended.

But she still smiled warmly at you, a smile that you didn't think you deserved, and shook her head. The woman sat down on her knees opposite you, coaxing the ice-pack away from your skin for a second to inspect the damage.

"I don't blame you," she said, as gentle as her touch. She smelt like citrus, and summer days as her palm ghosted over your face. "I came to thank you, actually. For being the first to stand up for me."

Your gaze dropped down to where her sleeves had risen up, revealing the yellowish bruises dotted over her arms — in the shape of fingerprints.

"Well, someone had to," you noted, sadly.

She caught the way your eyes lingered, and quickly adjusted her shirt, pulling it back down to her wrists.

"Was it really that obvious?" she chuckled, nervously.

But you felt like she already knew the answer.

Her stance was practiced, even sitting down. She wasn't at all relaxed, hovering on her knees like a small rabbit, ready to dart to safety at a moment's notice. You felt like you were looking into a mirror — one that only reflected the past.

You nodded. "When you know the signs, it is," you admitted, sitting back against Dixon's pillow. "I had my suspicions before."

She hummed in return, acting much more casually around you than she had done a mere moment before. "What gave it away?" she asked — curious more than anything.

Light streamed in through the little plastic windows on the tent, falling in a stream between you — warm against your lap.

"Your hair, for one thing," you confessed, gesturing with your free hand. "You shave it yourself? To stop him grabbing it during fights?"

She remained silent at the accusation, but her eyes gave her entirely away.

You nodded. "They always tend to stoop that low."

And Carol bit her lip in response, not pointing out how you'd done the same with your braids — keeping them tight to your scalp, not even a strand out of place.

She excused herself then, making some remark about how she best ought to go check on her husband, before letting you catch a glimpse of the brave scowl which made its way onto her face as she said it. The sun hung high in the sky as she ducked back out, almost as bright as that full moon had been the night before.

"Hey, Carol," you said, loud enough for her to still hear it, "if he gives you trouble again, don't hesitate to come find me."

The woman nodded once more, and waved you off.

"Just you wait until my good arm heals," you called after her. "My right hook's even better than my left."

Then, you winked — watching as she debated letting out the laugh she had stifled — as you recalled the actual reason that got you hauled off to Georgia in the first place.

Dishonourable discharge, my ass.

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jpat82 · 3 years ago

Text

Worth A Shot

“You’re not my favorite person today.” You growled pushing yourself off the mat. Pain flared through your side as you stretched to the side. Every day, every day single mother loving day, you had to train you always ended up with same training partner. And every single day you had your ass handed to you. You lost count of the bruises, even the new bruises over your old bruises, hell you weren’t even sure if skin could ever go back to its original color anymore.

“I’m not your favorite person any day.” He chuckled deeply as he ran his fingers through his chocolate hair. Again he smirked, that stupid smirk that you would just love to knock off that stupid face of his.

“One of these days old man, one of these days..” You breathed in deeply as you lunged at him, a horrible attempt at an attack. He simply stepped to the side and watched as you ran past him.

“One of these days? What? You’re going to remember your cardio? Training?” He replied as you whipped around to face him again. “How to roll out of being thrown to the ground so your body doesn’t take full impact?”

You turned to face him, sweat trailed down your temple dripping onto your already sweat dampened shirt. He, however, hadn’t even broken so much as a single drop. That pissed you off even further, and to make matters even worse is you had to knock that damn fool to the ground. In the two dozen or so times you had been paired with him you had never successfully knocked him so much as an inch to the side.

“I really hate you.” You breathed out, as you rolled your head from side to side watching him as he paced in front of you.

His arms were crossed in front of him, one hand brought to those stupid full lips of his. Blue eyes watched you as you studied the way he moved, still no closer to knocking the man down then when you started four hours ago.

In the past you had attempted to go after the legs, that proved useless, for one he was to fast and the second you had a better chance of pulling a 100 year old tree out of the ground. You had attempted throwing him, that proved two things, a.) solid muscle doesn’t move unless it wants to and b.) you would have a better chance at flying.

You also went toe to toe in hand to hand. The man giggled, legit giggled, when you tried. You had never heard an assassin, let alone him, make such an unassassin like noise come from anyone.

Bucky was, and has always been, the one person you were unable to get to the mat. And he knew it, he also knew it drove you crazy. He also wasn’t one to go on the offense, if you get him on the offense you may have an better attempt. Maybe he would leave himself open, maybe that was the key to knock him over.

“So, are you just going to stand there?” Bucky asked, the corner of his mouth pulling back. “Or are you done trying?”

“Am I done trying?” You scoffed, crossing your own arms in front of you.

“Tired?” He asked cocking his head to the side as he continued to watch you.

That’s when the idea finally hit you, the were other ways to get him on the mat. Ways that didn’t include you being tossed around like a rag doll. Naturally, you pulled your shirt off, making it seem like it was you were just hot. After all the training rooms ac was out and it was stuffy in there after the amount time you had been in there.

“Nope just needed a moment to cool down.” You replied casually, tossing the shirt out of the way. Bucky’s brow lifted just slightly as his eyes glance across you.

Time for your plan to go into effect. You had to get closer to the ex-assassin without him realizing what your little nefarious plan was. You lunged toward him, but not really putting your whole self into. He side stepped, narrowing his eyes at you as you went past him.

“What are you up to?” He asked as you turned to face him, not nearly standing as far as you had been.

“What?” You asked throwing a half hearted punch, Bucky blocked it, taking step back.

“Oh, you’re up to something.” He stated as you threw another punch, this time you made sure to step closer to him as you did. This time he caught the punch and held your wrist in his hand.

“Me?” You asked, throwing another punch with your non-dominant hand. Bucky never looked but caught the other hand as well. The two of you were now standing and facing each other less then a foot away from each other.

“Don’t see anybody else in here with us.” He replied, you took a step into him your eyes locked on his. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, as the two of you stood. There was less then an inch between you, his eyebrow raised again as he looked down at you.

“That is true.” You smiled up at him. “Just the two of us.”

“You’re up to something.” He stated, slowly you pulled your hands down out of his.

“And you’re paranoid.” You replied, feeling your hands slip into his. His right hand was heavily calloused, but it was warm as you held it. His left hand was smooth and cold, which was a stark contrast, it was to be expected considering it was made of vibrainun.

“I’m an assassin, it’s kind of in our nature.” He replied as you continued to slide you hands down, feeling the muscles in his forearm. The man was solid, a solid wall of muscle but it was different actually feeling the muscles that made it hit home. Your fingers slowly started to slide over scars, here and there, your eyes drifted over to the marks.

“I never noticed the scars on your arm.” You said softly, more to yourself then to him.

“Kid, I’m covered in them.” He replied quietly, as your hands found their way to his chest. You felt him take a deep breath, you had never been that close to him before. A part of you wondered what the hell you were thinking but you had to go through with this.

You slid your hands up his chest, and stepped even closer to him. His brows knotted up as confusion took hold. You smiled up at him slowly slipping one of your legs in around his, not quite touching so not to ruin your next move. You took a deep breath as those blues bore into you.

Suddenly you shoved as you pulled you leg back catching him behind his knee. In the second it took you to do that Bucky grasped your hand and spun. You landed hard on the mat with Bucky laying on top of you.

“Nice try kid, think that one hasn’t been played?” He smirked, his eyes still on you.

“It was worth a shot?” You shrugged the best you could under him.

Permanent tag-

@kitkatkl

@octobermermaid @ajosieface @instantnoodlese @crystlblu @coffeebooksandfandom @thisismysecrethappyplace @the-wayward-robot @lokilvrr @shynara51 @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @loislp @savedbyimagination @bubblycypres87 @ifyousayyouloveme @courtmr @blue-cat-1989 @saharzek @lokiodinsoninwriting @silverhart93 @rynabarnesrogers @geeksareunique

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky one shot #bucky oneshot

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nahoyaglock · 4 years ago

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↬ KARASUNO AS COUPLE PICS! + headcanons

karasuno x gn!reader, headcanons, fluff

A/N! im so sorry that this is so long hhh + reblogs are appreciated and feedback is too :D i also did not read this over so im sorry if it sucks and theres errors

Daichi

Daichi would walk home with you since you lived nearby him

and since it was the weekend he thought he would hang out with you at your place

you two would stop at a nearby convince store, spliting up and searching the aisles for some ramen and chips

you ran over to the chips aisle after grabbing the ramen and saw daichi grabbing multiple bags

he shot you a big smile and you just scoffed and playfully kicked his shin

"we dont need that many bags daichi!"

"of course we do babe"

you left with 4 bowls of instant ramen and 7 different bags of chips

Sugawara

sugawara had planned this for a whole week

his sweet s/o had a hard week? prepare for some clingy bf sugawara and to be spoiled

he picked you up at 4pm to let you sleep in from staying up studying all night friday

once you arrived at the lake nearby his place, you saw the little picnic blanket

he had brought out a little speaker, playing some soft, relaxing tunes

you guys ate and talked, and even just watched the trees blow in the wind

you would hear a song you like, and you would pull sugawara to his feet to dance to the song

he would twirl you and at the end of the song he would dip you, kissing you softly

"thank you so much suga"

"anything for my sugar~"

Asahi

you were a very reckless person, and asahi loved that about you

he would always be by your side for all your adventures, but one day you decided to settle down

you invited asahi over to your small home, your parents out for the day

your small radio played some old tunes as asahi laid on your bed watching you tend to your plants or ramble on as you always did

you cuddled with him a for a few hours until you saw the orange rays come in through your window

"asahi! asahi watch the sunset with me!"

you shot out of bed and pulled your large boyfriend after you

you opened your window and sat on the window sill, swinging your legs around to the other side

being on a second floor, you started asahi

"Hey, be careful"

"get your big ass over here!"

he followed after you, sitting next to you and wrapped an arm around you as the two of you watched the sun set

Tanaka

fools. you are a pair of reckless fools

tanaka had proposed the idea of a late night hang out

you being just as wild you agreed, and thats how you found yourself with tanaka running around at night, nearly 1am

on your adventure, you found a shopping cart knocked onto its side, you and tanakas eyes meeting with a devious smirk

next thing you knew, tanaka had turned on his speaker and shuffled his spotify playlist as you climbed into the cart

"awe, i wanted you to push me!"

"slow poke! now push!"

he pushed you, running while you two shouted and laughed into the night, doja cat and NIKI playing on his speaker

i just know this mans is a doja cat fan

Nishinoya

nishinoya was a very energetic and fun person, and you were as well, but you just weren't as reckless

as you two walked down the road to your house, nishinoya rambled on and on about practice and his day

you didnt mind, being way less talkative than him, you liked to listen to him

he suddenly jumped into the air, a big happy and excited smile on his face as you could practically see a light buld above his head

"can we take a picture?"

"whats the catch?"

"okay okay, what if we do a handstand!"

you giggled at his request and he looked at you with hopeful eyes

"yes, but if i get hurt your gonna give me a piggy back!"

he sets up his camera against his school bag and sets the timer, running back to where you were

"okay okay, GO!"

you both did a handstand and held it until the timer went off and his phone clicked

Hinata

hinata loved going anywhere with you, as long as you were by his side he was already having so much fun

one day you asked him if he wanted to go to the beach, and he practically shouted in excitement

the next day, saturday, you two left in the morning to take a bus to the nearest beach, and hinata brought his bike

when you guys arrived he walked around with his bike as you ran around slightly ahead oh him in the sad

hinata had to watch over his bike so we couldn't run around with you, but then he got an idea

"hey, do you wanna go on a ride along the shore?"

"OH. MY. GOD. YES!!"

he hopped into his bike and you climbed onto the back, and you two ride along the shore at a decently quick pace

the air in your face made you feel free and you lifted your arms up, closing your eyes as you let the air hit you

hinata would take a quick glance back, but it was just long enough to see the beautiful look on your face that made him smile

Tsukishima

even though tsukishima was cold to everyone else, he was slightly less cold towards you, and hed never admit it but you made him soft

i hc tsukishima secretly being a soft boy who enjoys relaxing and reading in his alone time, sometimes even with you

one day you come over to surprise your boyfriend, his brother opening the door for you as you greeted him and his mother.

you made your way to his room and turned the door nob

"oh tsukki!"

you opened the door and saw your boyfriend laying in a pair of yellow and black plaid pajama pants and a navy green sweater, reading as some music played on his speaker

he groaned and closed his book as you walked over to his bed and jumped into his arm

"you had to come over today? you didnt even tell me."

"i like seeing tsukishima kei in his natural habitat"

you pulled a book out of your bag, one that you and tsukishima read together often and he pulled you into his lap and opened to where you had last read

the orange rays of the sun filled his room as you two read the book, soon falling asleep in each others presence

Kageyama

constantly everyday, this boy was trying to find a way to let you into his life or show his appreciation with more than just holding your hand

one day you guys were chilling on the grass infront of his home, his mothers music playing through the living room window, loud enough for you to hear

the sun was starting to set and a slightly blue hue painted the surroundings

"hey, do you dance?"

you were a bit shocked by that question since you were usually the one to ask random questions like that

"im not that good at it but sure, why?"

kageyama stood up and held out his hand

"may i have this dance?"

you laughed at his question and took his hand, pulling yourself up

"yes you may~"

kageyamas hand rested on your hip, your hand on his shoulder and your other hands were connected at your sides

you guys slow danced, mimicking a waltz, stepping on each others shoes occasionally

kageyamas cheeks were red the whole time as he twirled you and connected his hands with both of yours

he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and you stared up in awe as your boyfriend shot a wide smile at you, one that you havent seen before

"y-your smiling!"

"w-what?"

"what did you do to kageyama!"

"i am kageyama!"

Yamaguchi

you and yamaguchi loved to be together, bestfriends and lovers, tsukishima falling victim to third wheeling, not as if he cared much tho

yamaguchi loves flowers almost as much as you do, so when he found this small flower field a few miles past his house he knew he had to take you there

you and yamaguchi walked hand snd hand to this "surprise" place he wanted you to see

when you were close, he covered your eyes and led you past the trees and rocks, placing you in the middle of the large flower field

"ready annnnndd.. open!"

you opened your eyes and froze in awe at the colorful flowers that dotted the field

you turned to your boyfriend and wrapped your arms around his neck, tackling him to the floor

"I LOVE YOU SO MUCH TADASHI!"

he winced softly as you whispered apologized and peppered his cheek in kisses and he just laughed

"I love you too y/n"

he turned to his side and plucked a daisy, smiling softly as he turned back to face you

he pushed some hair back behind your ear and placed the flower behind your ear, smiling widely as his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink

"i think you're the prettiest flower in the WHOOOOLE world!"

he placed soft kisses to your lips as you laid in the middle of the flower field

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insomniamamma · 3 years ago

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Late Bloomers: Ezra x F! Reader w/Cee

A/n: Set in the "Liminal" AU in which Ezra becomes his niece, Cee's legal guardian after a car accident kills his brother, Damon, and costs him his arm. Set sometime between "Ferris Wheels Are For Old People" and "Surf City Goodness." Reader is Ezra's neighbor. Established relationship (sort of, IDK how to tag what they are). For @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape Writer Wednesday.

Warnings: Not a whole lot. Kissing. Touching. A little spicier than I usually go, which isn't saying whole lot. A little language. Cee, as usual, needs her own warning. Set during the pandemic shut down. Mentions of covid. Also, I feel like 'The Apple' needs it's own warning. I'll link the trailer at the end.

"You sure you don't want to come with us, Birdie?" Cee sits at their scarred kitchen table, her laptop, textbooks and a pile of papers around her. She frowns. "I gotta study," she says, "Ms Stewart is really serious about this quiz. She's not grading on a curve this time." Ezra narrows his eyes. "You have never spent a Saturday night studying in your life," he says. Cee frowns up at him. "You've never been in Ms. Stewart's physics class," says Cee, "She's a hard ass. Anyway, I'm still pulling an 'A' in her class, but I don't want to fuck up my average." "Jesus, Cee," Ezra mutters, and you have to smile. She rolls her eyes. "I know, I know--" "Don't say 'fuck' at school," they say in unison. "They're doing double features all summer," says Cee, "I can miss one. I've seen all these movies anyway." She smirks, "I want to hear what you think of 'The Apple.'" Ezra rummages around for his keys and Cee drops you the most exaggerated wink you've ever seen in your life. "Have fun, guys," she says.

Covid has nuked most of the things you used to do for fun, restaurants and shows, hell, even the libraries are closed. The only business in town that's thriving is the Star-City Drive In. There haven't been any big studio releases in a while, so they've been doing Fright Night Fridays and Sci-Fi Saturdays. Tonight's double feature is Flash Gordon and The Apple. "They've got this weird way of operating the concession stand now," says Ezra, "Cause of the pandemic. You've gotta text them your order and I guess they bring it out to you--" Ezra's gotten pretty good at working his phone one-handed, but you can see the frustration clouding his face. "Let me," you say, loading the menu onto your phone, "Let's get a big popcorn and share it. You okay with the fake butter?" "Of course I'm okay with the fake butter, what kind of monster do you take me for?" "How about candy?" You ask, scrolling through, "It's the usual suspects." "Sno-caps," he says, "How about you?" "I'm thinking Milk Duds," you say. "Now that is an excellent way to lose a filling, Sunshine." "Popcorn and Milk Duds together? Worth the risk," you say and text your order off to the concession stand. It's not quite dark yet, a reel of movie trivia that no one cares about shines ghost pale on the screen. Ez has got the radio tuned to pick up the sound, but there's not much to listen to yet so it's turned down low, background noise with the cicadas and birdsong. The big screen backs up against a farmer's field run wild and a dark stand of trees. "Switch places with me," says Ezra, and gets out of the truck. He comes around to your side and opens the door for you. "Why?" "Indulge me," says Ezra, so you do as he asks and settle in to the driver's side. Ezra's truck has bench seats with vinyl that creaks and cushions that hiss slightly as you move around. There's a tap at the window and you hook your mask over your ears and crank it down, popcorn and candy and you already payed with your phone, but press some rumpled bills into their gloved hands. "Why'd you want to switch places?" You ask around a mouthful of popcorn. "Shhh," says Ezra, "The movie's starting."

Flash Gordon is just as fun as you remember it being, majestic in its absurdity, a big love letter to all the terrible pulp sci-fi movies that came before, the two of you watch and snark and laugh and sing "Aaa-ahhh" whenever someone says Flash's name. We owe it to Queen, you say, and Ezra smiles big the way he does when something's caught him off guard, the way that crinkles his eyes and reveals his dimples, indeed we do. We owe it to Freddie Mercury. At some point his arm finds it's way around your shoulders and you lean into him. "So this is why you wanted to switch spots," you murmur. He raises his prosthetic arm, flickering movie light shining on the double hook at the end. "Can't exactly get handsy with Mr. Claw, now can I?" He grins, "These hooks might be a little chilly." "And pokey," you say, demonstrating with a dig to his ribs. The end credits are rolling. "You ever seen this next movie?" "The Apple?" He says, "No. Some sort of cult-movie thing. Cee made me promise not to IMDB it. She said I should go in with an open mind." "Oh boy," you laugh. "Right? Cee's tastes are all over the place. I suspect this will be either amazing or terrible on a scale that recalibrates our internal gauge of what terrible is." "You know she set us up, right?" "Yeah," says Ezra, "Little Bird fancies herself quite the matchmaker." "She winked at me." Ezra dimples. "Did she now?" "She looked like a cartoon," you laugh, "About as subtle as a ton of bricks." Ezra brays laughter and leans against you, squeezes you closer to him at the same time. He is beautiful when he laughs, all dimples and teeth eyes screwed shut in mirth and you take this opportunity to press a kiss against that tender place on his jaw where his beard refuses to grow. Ezra freezes, you feel his body go rigid against yours, and your first thought is to apologize, to pull back, and then he reaches for you, his broad, calloused palm cradling your face, drawing you to him, presses his lips to yours, a soft, reverent kiss that he does not fully withdraw from, his hand now resting on the nape of your neck, forehead pressed to yours, somehow more intimate than a kiss, this closeness, breathing each others exhalations, leaning against each other. "Cee's not wrong," you say, "We're good together." "We are, aren't we?" He gives your nape a gentle squeeze, and lets you go. The opening titles of The Apple flicker on screen and the music starts up.

"Oh, Ezra, what the fuck did we just watch?" "I don't know if 'watch' is the right word, Sunshine, we did not 'watch' The Apple. The Apple happened to us." "I don't think I've ever understood Stockholm syndrome until now." "I have been assaulted," says Ezra, "My civil rights have been violated." "It's like..." You trail off, "It's like if someone took '1984', 'A Star Is Born' and 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' and put them in a blender. I'm pretty sure this movie violates the Geneva conventions." Ezra laughs and so do you, leaning in to each other, giggles that become kisses, soft at first, but increasingly hungry, laced with need, your arms twine around his shoulders, his hand lingers at your side, toying with the hem of your shirt. "S'okay, Ez," you say as he nips at your jaw and then your neck, gentle graze of teeth that makes you shiver, "You can touch me." He kisses you deep, his tongue fever-hot against yours, hand sliding up the soft slope of your belly, cupping your breast, and you arch into his touch-- Tap Tap Tap. And there's a bright light shining through the passenger's side window. "Oh shit," says Ezra. You frantically yank your shirt back down, heat creeping up your neck, your cheeks, your earlobes flaming. "Movie's over guys," says the shadowed figure behind the flashlight's glare, "Take it someplace else." You open the door to switch places back with Ezra, the overhead light shows him red faced and horrified. "I'm sorry, I just--" "Get us out of here, Ez."

You stare out into the dark past the window, half-moon shining over fields and trees like a lazy eye. You snort laughter. "What's so funny?" "We got caught," you say, "We got caught necking at the drive-in like a couple of teenagers." "You're laughing because we got caught?" "I'm laughing because I've never made out with anyone at a drive-in, even when I was a teenager, and I'm laughing cause we got caught. After watching that trash-fire of a movie. We got caught making out over the end credits of 'The Apple'. I feel like we deserve some kind of award." You rest your hand on Ezra's leg, can just pick his smile in the dim lights from the dash. Ezra chuckles. "I never made out with anyone at the drive in before tonight either," says Ezra. "Bullshit," you say, and give him a good-natured poke. "It's true," he says, "For one, I didn't have access to a car. I would've had to borrow Ma's car, and there was no way that was ever going to happen. Also, I was not what the girls back then referred to as 'dating material'. Skinny as a rake with a mouthful of braces and an obvious birthmark? I was like a puppy trying to grow into it's ears and feet, a late bloomer if you will." You move your hand higher up along his thigh and give him a squeeze. "Better late than never." "Indeed."

Flash Gordon Trailer

The Apple Trailer

#writer wednesday #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x f!reader #ezra and cee

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fictionadventurer · 3 years ago

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Father Brown Reread: The Absence of Mr. Glass

The consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green marble.

I like how the first and second collections both start with a story focusing on a professional detective who’s not Father Brown.

True to form, we’ve got a color word in the first sentence. And not only that--a hypenated color word! You don’t get much more Chesterton than that.

Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home. Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into those long, strict, sea-flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most startling opposite of them and their master.

Highlighting this because “Fate, being in a funny mood” is a great phrase.

But also because I love when the stories contrast Father Brown’s clumsy, homely shabbiness with characters who look more distinguished and accomplished.

"My name is Brown. Pray excuse me. I've come about that business of the MacNabs. I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles. Pray excuse me if I am wrong."

It’s odd that Father Brown is consulting another detective on this. He doesn’t seem the sort to seek out other help. He usually just winds up on the scene of the crime by accident.

It seems like he should have the confidence to solve the mystery himself.

It seems like the more natural way to bring Hood into the story would be to have the girl approach Dr. Hood and Father Brown just to be at the house for priest reasons before figuring out the mystery.

But maybe Father Brown’s stumped from lack of evidence and doesn’t have the time for an investigation. (Actually paying attention to his priestly duties for once?)

After all, it’s only luck that the crisis that gives them an excuse to investigate the apartment happens two minutes later.

And of course, the whole point of the story is getting this Holmes detective to the same crime scene as Father Brown to contrast their methods, so it doesn’t much matter how he gets there.

And there is a lot of fun in seeing shabby little Father Brown in this professional detective’s immaculate study.

"Oh, this is of the greatest importance," broke in the little man called Brown. "Why, her mother won't let them get engaged." And he leaned back in his chair in radiant rationality.

It’s not a full-fledged Father Brown story unless the mystery is centered on a romance, is it?

A stock Chesterton exchange: foolish-looking character says simple, silly-sounding statement as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world, before being forced to elaborate by a confused listener.

This story gives us Father Brown at his most silly-seeming. Here he’s not just unassuming and sheltered; he seems like one of Chesterton’s holy fools. He hasn’t looked this simple-minded since “The Blue Cross”

"Mr Brown," he said gravely, "it is quite fourteen and a half years since I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor's Banquet. It is now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter. Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman. I will take it on. I will give the MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and the King of England--no, better: fourteen years better. I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Tell me your story."

Sure, he’s a condescending ass, but I can’t help liking this guy. He’s got a good heart and a good sense of humor.

I kind of wish he’d have showed up in at least one or two other stories (preferably with a better end than Valentine).

The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, but still with a queer kind of simplicity. It was rather as if he were thanking a stranger in a smoking-room for some trouble in passing the matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four-leaved clover.

I like this metaphor very much.

Brown is still very, very much the simple little curate of “The Blue Cross”. But with the bumpkin traits turned up to eleven.

I’m very curious about Dr. Hood’s past cases, and how he achieved such renown.

"I told you my name was Brown; well, that's the fact, and I'm the priest of the little Catholic Church I dare say you've seen beyond those straggly streets, where the town ends towards the north.

Yet another parish! How many is this? This seems like the most distant, rural parish that Father Brown has yet had.

And Father Brown’s actually doing some work at it!

He seems to have quite a pocketful of money, but nobody knows what his trade is. Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably connected with dynamite. The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and studies something behind a locked door. He declares his privacy is temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding.

Doesn’t the landlady have a key to the door of her own lodger? Can’t she just demand to look?

British people, I tell you.

Unless the daughter is preventing her from looking, out of respect for her beloved.

And, you know, he does promise to explain, so it’d be rude to just barge in.

So why bother consulting the great detective in the first place? If Todhunter’s really on the up-and-up, he’ll explain eventually, they’ll get engaged, and all will be well.

he is tirelessly kind with the younger children, and can keep them amused for a day on end

Given Todhunter’s chosen profession, this makes perfect sense.

You see, therefore, how this sealed door of Todhunter's is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of the 'Thousand and One Nights'.

Another Father Brown mystery built upon a fairy tale atmosphere.

To the scientific eye all human history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring. Now the root fact in all history is Race. Race produces religion; Race produces legal and ethical wars. There is no stronger case than that of the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens. Small, swarthy, and of this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you and your Church represent.

A lot of the most racist characters in Chesterton are the most educated, scientific and progressive.

Granted, Chesterton does a lot of stereotyping along national lines himself. But usually it’s not with the idea that these differences are bad things. And certainly not with the idea that race is the cause of all war.

the door opened on a young girl, decently dressed but disordered and red-hot with haste. She had sea-blown blonde hair,

Is this the first blonde female love interest in these stories?

They were quarrelling—about money, I think—for I heard James say again and again, 'That's right, Mr Glass,' or 'No, Mr Glass,' and then, 'Two or three, Mr Glass.'

Given the eventual explanation of what’s really happening here, wouldn’t she have heard some other noises (possibly crashing noises?) alongside this?

"I do not think this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed. As I have nothing else to do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you."

Wow, you were really just going to disbelieve her because of her nationality, weren’t you?

Playing-cards lay littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had been interrupted. Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side-table, but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet. A few feet from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against the leaden level of the sea. Towards the opposite corner of the room was rolled a gentleman's silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling. And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles. His brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly.

The clues are laid out very nicely here.

This is one of the most Romantic (in the literary sense of the term) crime scenes in all of fiction. Every clue is as picturesque as possible.

"How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the presence of Mr Glass's hat? For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his clothes. That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and burnished, though not very new. An old dandy, I should think." "But, good heavens!" called out Miss MacNab, "aren't you going to untie the man first?"

This entire segment is so funny. I laugh every time one of his long-winded deductions is interrupted by the common-sense demand to untie the man.

Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind of man who is blackmailed. And surely it is equally obvious that the faded finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him. We have the two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money:

So much of the Holmesian deduction process relies on stereotypes, doesn’t it? Sure, Holmes doesn’t label people in “types” quite this way, but it relies on using the evidence to reach the most stereotypical conclusion without factoring in the random possibilities of life. (The suspect might have ink on his hands, but it doesn’t mean he’s a clerk). It’s fun that this story calls out that conceit.

"No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police bring the handcuffs."

Okay, so there’s a sensible explanation for why Hood ignores their cries to untie Todhunter. But it doesn’t make the previous exchanges any less funny to read.

"But the ropes?" inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a rather vacant admiration.

It’s interesting that Father Brown’s actually buying into this. My memory had him being more skeptical of the deductions, but he’s admiring the chain of logic being built here.

It’s kind of a nice change from the usual Chesterton tack of the mouthpiece character disdaining every scientific explanation.

It was not the blank curiosity of his first innocence. It was rather that creative curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea. "Say it again, please," he said in a simple, bothered manner; "do you mean that Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?" "That is what I mean," said the doctor. "Jerusalem!" ejaculated Brown suddenly, "I wonder if it could possibly be that!"

And we’re off! I always love the moment when Father Brown puts everything together, and it’s especially satisfying here, after he’s spent the whole story sitting back and letting another man do all the detective work.

"His eyes do look queer," cried the young woman, strongly moved. "You brutes; I believe it's hurting him!" "Not that, I think," said Dr Hood; "the eyes have certainly a singular expression. But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing rather such slight psychological abnormality—" "Oh, bosh!" cried Father Brown: "can't you see he's laughing?"

Each sentence gives a vivid picture of the three different personalities here. The tender-hearted young woman. The too-practical man of science. And the brash common sense of Father Brown.

He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it.

Irritating to watch, I’m sure, but very amusing to imagine.

"But a hatter," protested Hood, "can get money out of his stock of new hats. What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?" "Rabbits," replied Father Brown promptly.

I love the hat conversation and these lines in particular.

He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers

According to Wikipedia, the Davenport Brothers were an American magician act that toured England in the 1860s. They built on the Spiritualism craze and claimed all their tricks were done by spirit power. There isn’t much about what their tricks wer, (besides a couple of escape tricks and spirit cabinet things). Most of the Wikipedia article is about the many times their tricks were debunked. (Naturally, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle refused to believe they were frauds).

But the mere fact of an idler in a top hat having once looked in at his back window, and been driven away by him with great indignation, was enough to set us all on a wrong track of romance, and make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by the silk-hatted spectre of Mr Glass."

This isn’t so much a debunking of the Holmesian deduction methods as a case study proving why logical deductions have to be built upon sound premises. One mistake at the beginning can send you in a completely false direction.

"You are certainly a very ingenious person," he said; "it could not have been done better in a book.

I love when the characters get meta.

This is a very snide remark in context, but of course Father Brown proves himself.

Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle. "Well, that," he said, "that's the silliest part of the whole silly story. When our juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch them. What he really said was: 'One, two and three—missed a glass one, two—missed a glass.' And so on."

I can’t explain how deeply I love that the entire mystery is built on a pun. This one section is the reason this is one of my favorite Father Brown stories.

This drives home the idea that mysteries and jokes are the same types of story. They both require laying out information that’s put together into a surprising conclusion.

There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one accord burst out laughing. As they did so the figure in the corner complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish. Then, advancing into the middle of the room with a bow, he produced from his pocket a big bill printed in blue and red, which announced that ZALADIN, the World's Greatest Conjurer, Contortionist, Ventriloquist and Human Kangaroo would be ready with an entirely new series of Tricks at the Empire Pavilion, Scarborough, on Monday next at eight o'clock precisely.

I grew up on cheesy sitcoms. I’m a sucker for the “everyone laughs” ending.

If Todhunter’s willing to admit the truth here, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just admitting the truth right away. (I don’t buy the “he keeps it secret to keep his tricks secret” explanation. You can tell people you’d a magician without giving away everything about your act).

Does Mrs. MacNab let them get married? Now she knows he has a harmless vocation, but it’s not exactly a stable one. Would she let her daughter marry a guy so flighty that he can’t even settle on a coherent focus for his own stage show?

Given that the story ends here, we’re supposed to assume that she does. I guess he must be a successful performer--part of her mistrust came from the fact that he had too much money. So he and Maggie should have a comfortable life together.

I’m glad. He seems like a nice young man.

#lb this is all your fault #father brown reread #father brown #g.k. chesterton #the wisdom of father brown #the absence of mr. glass #i remember why i stopped doing these things #they take forever #'but they wouldn't take forever if you didn't comment on every second sentence'#'be quiet logical brain'#this one feels very subpar but i'm out of practice

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softowlhours · 4 years ago

Text

by the lakeside

bokuto koutarou(horror!AU)

it should’ve been the perfect summer getaway. you were both in need of some down time away from your busy careers. but things get a little eerie when there’s a voice in your head that isn’t yours and you find out that you’re not alone in that pristine white house on the hill.

genre: horror, angst, fluff if you squint

tw: descriptions of drowning, asphyxiation, strangulation. suggestive sexual situations.

a/n: i promise i’ll proofread this later and also write an epilogue but until then please enjoy this story it took me way longer than necessary to write. i’ve read it so many times that i don’t find it scary anymore. but i hope you do! :)

word count: 6k

my body feels like an empty shell sometimes, a carcass I am dragging around. when I look into the mirror I don’t recognise myself. i don’t recognise him, either.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

bokuto’s hair gleams silver in the glorious morning light. wind blows through your own strands as you zip past the lush green meadows. you could see the sheep dotted on the grassy planes like puffs of pure white clouds. far away, there stood giant mountains. their high peaks looked like they were breaching the baby blue ceiling of the sky. you only notice your gorgeous surroundings with half a mind, because your eyes keep trailing back to the man besides you. you admire his profile, the sharp slope of his nose, the chiselled cheek bones and jaw line. you zero in on the plush of his lips and it is then that you notice his teasing grin.

‘admiring the view?’ he asks.

‘mhmm. a sight for my sore eyes.’ and he truly is. your gaze drops a little lower. his toned chest peeks from where the buttons of his shirt have come undone. his biceps flex and strain against the fabric as he manoeuvres the steering wheel. he looks like a movie star, straight out of the golden age of film. the red vintage convertible he drives only adds on to your day dream. you can’t help but feel like a heroine starring in your own block buster romance. heat rises to the tip of his ears and the back of his neck at your shameless appraisal. bokuto notices the way lust is barely concealed on your face. he fucking loved the way you looked at him, like he was the guiding star you were always attuned to. the one for whom you’d always search for in an endless night sky.

‘your eyes are sore from staring at your computer screen all day everyday.’ he ignores your attempts at flirting, and instead addresses what has been eating away at his mind lately. he’s been worried about you. you often called him out for pushing himself to the point of breaking when it came to volleyball. but, you never noticed how you were inclined to do the same when it came to you own work; buried under papers and ink, day after day as your work ethic kept you confined to your study room. you being a best selling author, him a pro volleyball player; you truly were the power couple worthy of everyone’s envy and admiration, but your lives could get stressful at times.

‘kou, I’m sorry ‘m dragging you away from your routine. the game season starts in two months. you should be hitting some balls right now.’ you withdraw your hand, and he instantly misses your touch. you appear a little crestfallen as you opt to idly fiddle with the lace bordering your sundress.

‘hey,’ his voice is silky, tone slightly chastising. ‘don’t apologise. this was my idea anyways. we need some time away. from everything.’

‘you know that,’ he continues, ‘i’ll never be too busy for you, right? it makes me feel lonely when you just withdraw from me... shut me out.’ his face eyebrows furrow a little. ‘for you I’ll always carve out time.’

bokuto had a way with words that always left you stupefied. they weren’t embellished and gaudy, like yours. all you ever did was spin fairy tales. Yes they were beautiful, but they were also false. unlike you, he always spoke from his heart, and you wonder if that was why his sentiments without fail reached others.

‘oi- don’t fall asleep.’

‘i’m not sleeping!’ you snap out of your reverie. ‘i’m sorry i… never realised you’d feel that way’ puffing out a sigh, you lean back lazily on the leather seat. ‘i haven’t been feeling much inspiration lately, and when i do write i just hate every word of it.’

‘maybe I should retire,’ you muse. ‘never write a word again. let people remember me as the genius author I’m not.’

‘but you are a genius writer!’ bokuto insists. ‘give it a fifty years and they’ll be teaching your work as a part of the curriculum. i’ve never read anything better!’

‘that’s because you rarely read!’

‘i am a picky reader,’ bokuto shrugs, cocking an eyebrow as he looks at you haughtily. ‘so congratulations that your writing actually piqued my interest.’

snorting, you pinch his thigh.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

it’s almost evening by the time you drive past a small sleepy town. the few houses have their curtains drawn. there’s a small supermarket and a polyclinic but you notice how the streets are mainly empty, save for a couple of children who play seven tiles on the roadside. fifteen minutes and more grassy meadows and sheep later, you arrive at what looks like the edge of the world. surely you’re being a little dramatic calling it that, but the road winds up the gentle slope of a hill and on top of it sits a pristine white house. bokuto pulls up the car in front of massive wrought iron gates, a chain holds it shut.

‘okay, but when nori said ‘vacation home’, this is not what I had in mind. Is he actually the heir to a conglomerate or something?’ you observe, definitely appalled.

‘uh- knowing his stingy ass, i’m not sure?’ bokuto sounds and looks puzzled as well, so you know he wasn’t expecting it either. he reconfirms the address konoha had messaged him. ‘do we climb the gates? because he never gave me a key or anything. he said the place has a caretaker who’d-’

‘how can I help?’

your heart leaps to your throat, and both you and bokuto snap your heads to your left to look at a man who stands on bokuto’s side of the car. neither of you had seen him approaching and it was as if he were a magician, materialising out of thin air. old, sinewy and dressed sharply in a suit, he’s hunching to be at your eye levels. upon closer look the fabric of his clothes looked worn out and they fray at the edges. his hair is slicked back and he wears gold rimmed spectacles, its lenses the shape of half moons. his smile is serene, demeanour dignified but there’s shrewdness in his tone.

‘um- hi.’ bokuto greets recovering first. ‘i am konoha’s friend. i assume you’ve been expecting us?’

a beat passes.

‘indeed. allow me to show you around.’

bokuto parks the car under a shed close to the gates and you walk down the stretch of the garden. it is immaculately kept, and roses of all colours bloom neatly in rows. a giant sycamore tree stands close to the house, its branches brushing the roof. when you stand on the porch of the house the gate seems miles away. bokuto wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side. he sneaks a soft kiss under your left ear as the caretaker opens up the door for you.

the inside of the house is splendidly furnished and it leaves you awestruck. simple but gorgeous, a modern castle of sorts. a cream colored leather sofa sits in the centre of the living room, the rug in front of it is white and fluffy. There is a box television- the kinds popular decades ago, and you wonder if it actually works or if it’s just for show. the chandelier above is a million crystals and an open kitchen makes up the far end of the living room. a stair case winds its way up. but, what truly catches your eye are the massive french doors which open up to the stretch of a green lawn. calling it a backyard would be a bit inadequate; for the trimmed grass meets the surface of a great lake, its water like molten lava reflecting the evening sky. you can see the outline of ducks waddling away, probably on their way home. the lake stretches out for almost a mile and after that you see nothing but the thicket of the woods. it is almost the end of july, so while the days are warm, the temperatures tend to dip quite a bit at night. you shiver a little and snuggle closer into bokuto’s side. the caretaker, in his monotonous voice, explains to you how your room shall be upstairs, the one to the right. there were four other rooms which were mostly empty and locked for the sake of easy maintenance. you tune him out when he moves on to the instructions regarding the heating and locking systems.

you’re entranced by the house, and standing there in its magnanimity you feel like you’ve been drawn into a picture book. you can imagine breakfasts every morning on the front porch. afternoons spent lolling on the grass besides the lake. you would keep a vase filled with freshly cut roses from the garden, in the centre of the kitchen table. spend the nights sitting in front of the fire place when winter laid its thick blanket of white snow outside. your high flying careers felt like a distant dream. your laptop back home could collect all the dust it wanted to. you could just stay here forever wrapped up in each others arms.

i’m lonely. i hate how you’re always away from home because of volleyball.

bokuto notices your distant look , the slightest way your lips are set in a grimace. it tugs on his heartstrings. makes it difficult for him to breathe.

bringing his mouth close to your ear, he whispers your name bringing you out of your head. you blink, biting back the ugly realisation that had just intruded your brain. you had never felt that way before, you had forced yourself not to. it was long ago when you had decided that you’d never make him choose between you and volleyball. or maybe that loneliness was something you’d always felt. but because you were afraid of it; you had hidden it under your skin, in between your bones.

if i could, i’d steal you away and keep you all to myself. in a cage just for me and you.

too afraid that he’ll somehow read your mind, you step away from him, disoriented by the venomous voice of your subconscious as you look around for the old man.

‘he left while you were zoning out, princess. said he’s going home.’ he pulls your back against his chest, long fingers begin snaking up a well known trail up your thighs. your cute little sundress does little to stop him. ‘he’ll be back by noon tomorrow, to tend to the garden and all that.’ bokuto speaks in between the kisses he’s placing along the side of your neck. ‘apparently, he lives in that town we drove by earlier.’

‘mhmm.’

‘want to live in a house like this someday.’ he asks you, his voice hushed. you rest your head back on his chest, as love and lust pools in your stomach and clouds your thoughts.

i’m scared someday you’ll leave me behind.

“me. you. maybe a dog. maybe… children?” he continues and your eyes widen at that.

‘you want all that?’

‘with you? yes I want everything. i’ll take everything that you can give me.’

liar.

you turn around and pull bokuto into a heated kiss. his chapped lips meld into yours and your teeth clack a little from the suddenness of your movement. by now it is completely dark outside and the living room is dimly lit by a lamp. bokuto seems unaware, too lost in you to be notice space and time. but, a weird sensation surrounds you. you feel the whisper of a cool breeze, a murmur disturbing the stillness of the house. with one hand, bokuto cups your behind. the fingers of his other rake through your hair. it’s a buzz now, like a thousand bees hovering over your heads. you feel dazed, you’re needy, you’re confused.

there’s someone else here. the two of you are not alone.

‘ow,’ you yelp in pain.

bokuto jumps away from you, but his hands are badly tangled in your hair.

‘I told you to tie your hair in the car!’ he is laughing. ‘it’s a nest in here!’

the buzzing dies down. the silence that follows is deafening. you wonder if you’re delusional with the lack of sleep.

as bokuto carefully weaves his fingers out he places a chaste kiss on the little crease in between your eyebrows. he finds you so cute, it physically hurts him.

‘don’t worry, babygirl,’ his voice drops a few octaves. ‘windswept looks sexy on you.’

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

later that night as you are lie under the drapes and canopies, you notice how the bedroom is much like the rest of the house- fit for royalty. bokuto snores softly, but you lie awake with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is a mind-numbing rhythm. a thin sheet of sweat covers your bodies and you try to ignore the wetness in between your legs. you should probably change the sheets as well, but your body refuses to move and you don’t know where to find any new ones. sleep evades you so you let Bokuto’s question roll around in your mind. a forever with him. of course you would say yes. there was nothing more that you wanted than that. but the dread from earlier which you had managed to keep at bay with lust, slowly begins to resettle in the pit of your stomach.

he promises you an eternity now, but he’ll leave you behind soon.

you somehow clamber out of bed, making sure not to awaken bokuto. picking up his shirt from where it lies on floor, you put it on. the bedroom has identical doors from the living room, made of glass, and they open onto a small balcony. you draw open the lacey curtains and step out into the chilly night air. the sight that awaits you makes you gasp. a fine mist rolls over the water, but the lake itself is still. its surface is like taut cellophane. beyond the lake where the woods begin, it is pitch black darkness and you cannot tell where the woods meet the moonless sky. it’s a new moon night, but where you expect to see the stars is an empty hollowness. its eerily silent. too silent. no insects trill. no wind blows. you stare intently into the water for so long that you swear you see something lurking just underneath its surface. the mist that hovers slowly inches towards the house, coiling like endless bony fingers.

that pool of velvety darkness, i wonder what it’d feel like against my skin.

come to me then. feel it for yourself. your voice, no, her voice purrs.

you whirl around to see bokuto. he’s standing a feet away from you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

‘whoah! easy,’ bokuto exclaims, surprised by your jumpiness. no way it had been him who had spoken moments ago. ‘what are you doing outside?’ he asks. ‘i nearly got a heart attack when I saw someone standing out here.’

you look back towards the lake, and you’re utterly confused. the mist seems to have instantly vanished. you can even hear the water now, softly undulating. it appears akin to a creased sheet of silk.

had you been hallucinating? dreaming with your eyes open?

you fight down the growing panic and instead walk over to him, squishing his cheeks. you softly kiss his pout. ‘aww. baby’s scared?’ you coo.

he grumbles something about you catching a cold but tugs you inside and you decide to let it all go. you’re tired and tomorrow will be a new day.

had you turned around, you’d notice how the stars were glittering like cold hard gems in the night sky.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you were pleasantly lazing about in the sun. the lake was a glittering blue and the woods looked benign during the day. they weren’t as dense as they appeared to be in the absence of light. from where you lay, the house looks like an entity of its own. imposing and regal. bokuto is dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants as he plays around witha volleyball, tossing and spiking it all by his lonely self. you didn’t remember seeing him pack a volleyball, but then again somehow he always seemed to miraculously have a one at his disposal. today, he hasn’t gelled his hair up in its usual style, so it flops onto his forehead in a way you wished he’d leave it more often.

‘y/n! nice receive!’ he hollers at you.

he spikes the ball aiming straight for your stomach and you somehow manage to block his assault. thank god he hadn’t used a quarter of the strength he usually puts into his spikes.

your strong and annoying man.

‘you trying to murder me or what?’

he pulls you up to your feet. ‘i’ll be teaching you how to spike, drama queen. it’s insane how you’ve been with me for all these years and haven’t learnt a thing or two about volleyball. people would die for a one on one training session with me.’ he brags as he fetches the ball from where it had rolled off to.

you try to copy his motions, but what he can effortlessly pull off is an impossible feat for you. you send the ball upwards and jump as you try to match your timing to spike it. but before you can hit the ball it lands on your head.

bokuto is losing his shit, doubling over with laughter. and you try to look angry but end up giggling with him.

‘i give up!’ you complain. plus my boobs jiggle since i’m not wearing a sports bra,’

‘babe, thats kinda the point!’ he beams.

a perfect spike lands on his face.

‘owww, that’s foul play, y/n! ’ he yells. rubbing his nose, he walks over to you.

‘you should be punished!’ he scolds you, but places a kiss on your temple. his hands wander downwards to unzip your dress. he lets it fall to the ground. you know where this is headed. you think he’s going to kiss you so you close your eyes and lean towards him but before you can react, he’s bending down and suddenly you’re being lifted. he has you over his shoulders and your peals of laughter warm his heart. he hadn’t heard that sound in a while.

bokuto marches straight into the lake and dumps you in. the water is cool and refreshing, just as you had imagined it. it’s shallow enough so you’re chest deep in the water when your feet are planted at the bottom. his body glistens with dampness, hair a floppy wet mess. he was so beautiful, that even though it was irrational you felt a little bit shy. you’re splashing each other with water, the atmosphere’s light and bubbly with amusement. bokuto tries to catch you but you slip out of his reach. he is being his loud and dramatic self as he falls face down into the water, complaining as he comes up with his eyes screwed shut.

‘i swear i’d rather be blinded by your beauty than this water.’

you shake you head, feigning disdain and then you’re swimming away from him, towards the safety of the house. it must almost be noon, and you vaguely remember its time for the care taker to come around. you did not want to be seen in your wet underwear. bokuto calls out to you, apologising. there is water in your ears, it laps all around you as you swim. it dulls all sound and every other sense until the only thing you hear is your thumping heart. when you come up for air, you can see the blue sky, when your face is in the water you can see the stones and pebbles littering the bottom.

but, when you come up for air again, the sky is overcast. laden with dense gray clouds.

the water runs icy, lead flows through your veins. your body is sinking like a ship. it feels like you’re trying to move through viscous jelly. when you try to pull up for air you cannot break through, the surface traps you like its the cellophane you remember seeing the night before. a tight grip on your waist, abruptly pulls you under. your flailing hands try to grasp at nothing in particular. you wonder if its bokuto just messing around, but you know it isn’t. you don’t feel his presence anywhere. your fingers suddenly entangle into something. your eyes burn when you try to open them and look. jet black strands of hair, a bone white face, a mouth that is open like a gaping wound. you scream and nothing but gurgles and air bubbles escape you. you try to pull back but your hands are stuck in the weedlike hair. Funny you think of the evening before, when bokuto’s fingers had entangled in your messy hair the same way.

‘kou…koutaro!’ you try calling for him. you hear your disembodied voice, feel the water flood your mouth, your nose. but you feel all alone with that woman straight out of nightmares. fear has you in its grip, your minds a mush.

you hate him so damn much. you hate him, you hate him, you HATE him. a voice repeats the same words in your head. you wonder if it sounds like your own or someone else’s. you cannot tell the two apart.

you feel a hand wrap around your arm, its large and warm and it feels like home. as it drags you out of the water the ashen face seems to quiver and distort. her eyes flicker open. they roll in their sockets but when they fixate on you, you see eyes just like your own. but they are transparent like marbles; burning with betrayal and accusation.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you wake up with a start to screams piercing the air. they are shrill and blood curdling. your hands are on your ears as you try to block out the sound but it only gets louder. it takes you a moment to realise that the screaming had been you. bokuto holds you in his arms, you can feel him shaking underneath your palms that grapple at his back.

he’s crying.

no! why is your bokuto crying? you pull away a little just enough to look at him, but the way his features are twisted in melancholy punctures a hole through your heart.

‘y/n, babe… babe,’ his lips quiver stealing away speech but he forces himself to speak. ‘ i looked everywhere in the water but I couldn’t find you. you were swimming and then you just stopped. i thought you were fooling around but you were down there for too long. so i come over but... I couldn’t see you anywhere at first. i panicked! holy shit... i was panicking.’ he shifts away from you, an arms length away. leaning back on the sofa, he stares up at the ceiling. ‘You weren’t even struggling, just stopped moving. Do you remember what happened?’ bokuto drags a hand down his face. he’s visibly distressed.

‘i don’t know what happened,’ you croack. ‘it felt like I was stuck. my feet wouldn’t come lose. as if someone was there with me in the water, holding me down…’ a sob escapes you.

bokuto pales a little at your description. but there had been no one but the two of you in the water. hell he hadn’t even seen any fishes.

he had pulled you under in the first place hadn’t he. there’s no one here but the two of you.

you remember not being alone in the water. you remember the heaviness. but nothing else.

bokuto opens his mouth to say something, but you cannot concentrate. the urge is too strong. before you can think, before you can answer. you are bending over and puking your guts out.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you spend the rest of the day, clinging to bokuto. and he doesn’t mind. he seems to be craving that constant feeling of your skin on his. something to remind him that you were okay, that you were here now. he makes his way around the kitchen with you stuck to him like a little koala.

“sit down on that chair just for a minute, y/n. i can’t find the plates!” he tries to loosen your chokehold on him but you only tighten it and bokuto booms out a laugh.

‘i swear you’re lucky you’re cute.”

‘just consider this weight training.’

bokuto had put together a light meal. you reckoned you’d be unable to stomach anything too heavy.

‘we were supposed to be having fun. i feel like i’ve ruined everything.’ you mumble gloomily. you’re sitting on the chairs you pulled up around the kitchen island. a make shift dining table.

‘it’s okay. its enough to just be together.’

‘oh no been away from you for a five whole minutes.’ your expression is of mock worry as you rush over onto his lap. you immediately bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent calms you down. he chuckles at your antics.

‘do you think we can just go home?’ you ask apprehensively, still feeling bad about having spoilt your perfect little getaway. ‘i don’t feel like staying here anymore.’

‘sure, baby girl .’ bokuto replies in a heartbeat, and you wonder if he feels the same unease in remaining here any longer.

‘we can leave tomorrow morning.’ he suggests. ‘it might be a bit too late to leave now. plus, caretaker-san didn’t even show up today.’

‘is it okay to just leave?,’ you ask.

from where bokuto sits on the dining table in the kitchen, he can see the doors in the living room that open up to the porch. it’s around three in the afternoon. the weather was beginning to turn awfully gloomy.

clouds slowly fill the sky eclisping the sun that had shined all day. it leaves everything in shades of gray.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

you wake up alone in bed. the remnants of an eerie dream still lingers in your mind. you had been combing your hair, which was unusually thick, dark and long. you kept brushing the silky smooth strands, on and on and on, until they started coming loose in your hands. shuddering as you recall it, you turn around to see the wall clock read nine p.m. where was kou? at some point you had fallen asleep although you did not remember coming upstairs to the bedroom. he must’ve carried you from where you and him had been lying on the sofa downstairs, idly chatting.

your body is still heavy with exhaustion but you force yourself to sit up. hearing the water running in the bathroom, you call out to bokuto. ‘kou?’ you pad your way over to the bathroom. when you open the door there is no one inside. water drips from from a leaky tap into an empty bath tub. strange. where had the sound been coming from then?

you find yourself mesmerised by your reflection in the mirror right across from you. when you step inside the bathroom, the tiles are dry and frigid underneath your feet. the lights are off, however, the bathroom is faintly lit up by the light filtering in from the frosted windows. the bags under your eyes are dark and puffy, your lips look ashen. you look like you had lost a tonne of weight over the span of the past few hours. tracing a finger along the outline of your reflection, you notice how your eyes were a forlorn abyss. hollow like the dead.

mine. stay with me. don’t leave me alone. a voice whispers to you and you listen, enchanted.

you see the corners of your lips quirk up in your reflection. your expression twists into that of deranged happiness.

so, you’ll stay?

you don’t feel the smile on your face.

you’re backing away slowly. a scream dies in your throat.

that isn’t you. it’s her.

you’re running full speed out of the bathroom and you make it just in time as the door slams shuts behind you. the edge of your thin white slip gets caught in between but you yank it loose with enough force. bursting out of the room like a bat out of hell you’re hurtling downstairs. you have to look for bokuto. you must leave. now!

you’re me, i am you. he doesn’t love you, so just stay with me. I’m lonely.

you try to call out to bokuto but you cannot find your voice.

and then you see him. sitting on the sofa. the relief you feel is momentary. the old television is on, and the screen is grainy with static but bokuto’s eyes are intent on it. he’s still as if he were carved out of stone. he doesn’t acknowledge your presence just keeps staring ahead with an owlish gaze. you place a shaky hand on his shoulder and he finally turns to look at you.

his eyes that usually are like pools of golden honey are dark and murky like cheap kerosene. his features are sharper, more cunning. a devil in your lover’s skin. the mist outside thickens, appearing as if they were pale white walls surrounding the house.

i told you to just stay with me. you should’ve stayed with me in that cool dark water.

he doesn’t love you, i do.

suddenly bokuto is stalking towards you, his movements hypnotic like that of a panther, sinuously fluid, predatory. a feral look glints in those foreign eyes. he slams you against the nearest wall, his hands tightening over your neck. your head meets the hard surface with a thud. those large arms that have always felt like home suddenly feel empty and cold like a prison cell.

you’re just a prisoner in his cage. he doesn’t love you like I will.

black spots fill your vision, as your air supply is slowly being cut off. ‘kou- please don’t.’ you whimper. a flicker of recognition flashes through those eyes, but the grip around your neck only tightens. ‘kou-’ you call again softly. tears fall freely down your face. your hands go limp by your sides and in the process you knock over a vase that had been on table besides you. it falls to the marble floor with an obnoxious crash. the ceramic splinters into a hundred pieces. bokuto’s eyes widen and the darkness from his face lifts. it is as if a thick patch of clouds obscuring the moon had drifted past, letting its pure light fall to the earth once again. he’s your bokuto once again.

horror struck he lets go of your neck and catches a glimpse of the angry red fingerprints left behind like a morbid necklace. you collapse to the ground.

a door bangs shut somewhere in the house, startling you both. bokuto is about to crouch down next to you when suddenly the volume of the television is cranked up. the harsh static sound grates your ears, like a drawn out growl. there’s thumping coming from behind every surface of the house- the walls, the floors, the ceilings. every door, every window swings open only to shut back with a bang, over and over until shards of broken glass lie like a carpet all over the floor. the house is alive with the breath of countless souls that live in its every crack and crevice. you both look on with horror as heavy mist begins to pour into the house. bokuto’s teeth chatter with fear, and he tries to get you to stand. he follows your gaze which is fixed to where your bedroom had been. and he sees it then. on the door which opens into the room, there’s a shadow of a woman. he can discern the long straight hair which she combs on and on and on.

‘f-fuck!’ he spits.

he harshly pulls you over his shoulders but transfixed you crane up your neck to continue looking at the shadow. hastily he manages to grab the keys which he had hung on a hook by the main door. the shadow grows darker, more defined as if whoever it belonged to was coming closer. he feels you struggling and you scream to be let down.the main door to the house is already open so with one last glance at the chaos behind, you are both bolting out of the house.

‘y/n, run! to the car. hurry, hurry, hurry!’ he shuts the door, hoping it would buy you some time. he’s not really sure what he’d just seen or what any of it meant. but thinking would come later. he grabs your hand as you start the mad dash across the front garden. you notice despite your compromised vision due to the mist, how the roses look wilted. the grounds gooey and wet underneath, and your feet sink into the soft mud making movement sluggish. but you don’t stop. moments later, the door behind you flings open with enough force that it comes loose from its hinges. the whole house seems to be angry.

come back here.

don’t leave me alone.

an overgrown root coils around your calf and yanks you back. your hand slips out of bokuto’s and he turns around, horrified, to see you being dragged into the ground. like you were falling into quicksand.

‘hold on to my arm,’ bokuto bellows, ‘and just don’t. let. go!’

the circulation in your leg is being cut off and you cry in pain. you can feel the disgusting way the soft earth keeps parting further to let you in. you want to let go, give in to the struggle. maybe it’d be better to just lie buried here, decomposing till you forget whats fear, whats pain.

your name is rolling off bokuto’s tongue like a chant. his muscles burn with strain. the sweat and slick makes his grip on you weak and he notices how you’re letting go. he reads the resignations on your face. but why are you letting go? why are you trying to leaving him alone?

bokuto loses his footing and falls backwards and almost loses you, but he manages to interlock your fingers. he’s grunting with effort, and roars with frustration when it doesn’t seem to be working. it is then when you see the blood covering his feet, the glass splinters buried deep into his soles. in your haste to get away you never noticed how he had walked all over the shards with you over his shoulder. the ache in your heart swells. you know he’d never leave you behind. it was the two of you, or none of you who’d make it alive out of here.

the thought of bokuto buried deep into the ground, lips blue and crusted with mud gives you a renewed conviction. with the last spurts of energy you hold tight onto bokuto’s arm with one hand. the other digs into where you find soft but solid ground. you attempt to claw your way out and fight the drag of the noose around you ankle that tries to pull you in the opposite direction. away from bokuto. bokuto is inching backwards, his voice hoarse with all that screaming as he does his utmost to haul you out.

rain begins to pour in heavy cascades even though there hadn’t been a single cloud in the obsidian sky. and suddenly you feel earth’s hold on you go slack. bokuto and your efforts come to fruition as your foot comes loose and you tumble straight on top of bokuto’s body. but its too early to celebrate. a loud thunderclap spurs you both into action and you run and run, fighting the burn in your lungs until you reach the car. bokuto, is grateful, infinitely grateful that the keys had remained in his pockets during that struggle. he hands you the keys and with no time to waste you’re running to the car, afraid that something inauspicious might happen again if you didn’t hurry. bokuto notices with relief that the iron gates are not chained shut like they had been upon your arrival, and with some effort he swings them open. bokuto clambers into the passenger seat and you floor the gas as you drive straight out of the gates, into a calm quiet night.

it takes you a moment to notice that the rain had stopped.

∷ ∷ ∷ ∷

the two of you are covered in dirt, in blood. absolutely shattered with exhaustion. bokuto finally feels the pain that had been dampened by adreneline. it now ignites like an inferno. he almost tears his lip trying to bite back a whimper. in the rear view mirror, you catch a glimpse of the house. it looks regal and imposing, as it had when you’d first arrived. you can see the dimly lit bedroom, the curtains billowing gently in a slight breeze. the glass on the doors is intact. the garden is immaculate once again and you can see patches of soft grass spread out where the mud had almost eaten you up alive just a few moments ago. a shaky laugh escapes Bokuto, and before you know it, feeling delirious, you’re laughing with him.

bokuto’s phone rings and the sound cuts short your hysteria. with some effort he retrieves it from the dashboard where he’d left it two days ago. he had planned on not letting anything distract him from you on this short getaway. he puts it on loudspeaker.

‘they picked up!’ you hear Konoha say to someone and the collective sighs of relief are audible.

‘dude, where have you both been? we’ve been calling you all day. ms. nakamura told me that you never made it to my vacation home?’

‘ms. nakamura?’ bokuto rasps.

‘yeah, the caretaker I told you about?’

‘the caretaker was a man!’ you snatch the phone with from bokuto with one hand while other remains on the steering wheel. you’re yelling at the receiver like a mad woman. ‘we came to your villa, but that man opened the gates. listen, there’s something wrong with the house and lake behind it is-’

‘what lake? there are only corn fields behind my house. which is, by the way, a traditional japanese one. where the fuck have you both been?!’

you and bokuto look at each other in confusion, and you hit the brakes. you glance back at the house which is now far, far away. if you squint your eyes you can see the outline of a man at the gates. the lamp in his hand glows golden like a distant star.

a woman’s shadow is dark and lonely against the delicate lace of the bedroom’s curtains.

#bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!!#hq #haikyuu angst #bokuto angst #bokuto fluff #bokuto imagines #hq scenarios #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff

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suckmyballshoney · 4 years ago

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Mini prompt that became way too long, for @moony-jamie 💙 Esteban/Lance first date (uni AU)

Esteban adjusted the collar of his shirt for what felt like the hundredth time, nerves almost making him run away in the opposite direction. He took a deep breath and got out of his old rusty car. His eyes were stuck on the large mansion facing him, making him feel way too small for a boy as tall as him. His hands nervously clutched on his side, he dragged himself to the immense front door, as his heart was beating way too fast for his liking.

Lance had told him his parents were quite rich, but for Esteban who lived in a dormitory to be able to pay for his studies, that could have meant anything. So really he hadn’t expected his classmate to be loaded.

He thought he already knew a lot about Lance, from the moment they met the first day of uni they were glued together despite everything opposing them. Esteban knew almost everything about his best friend : his favorite color, how his sister drags him everywhere to show her “smart baby bro”, he even knows which pencil is the one Lance prefers to chew on when he gets stressed before an exam. And when he started developing feelings for the sweet cheeky boy, he knew that even if it wasn’t reciprocated, Lance would always treat him with respect and not break his heart harshly. So when he proposed to take Lance on a date, Esteban knew from the second he saw the red grow on his cheeks and the way his brown eyes started shining that Lance would agree.

And now he was there, anxiously ringing the bell of the front door of a house at least ten times bigger than the flat he lived in when he was a kid, to take his best friend and crush on a date in his ugly and almost dead Renault R5. He gulped, he looked completely ridiculous in the cheap button-up he stole from his dad’s closet and worn out baskets. Self-consciousness started to settle in his mind but the second he decided he didn’t want to ridicule himself in front of Lance, the door opened and he froze on his spot.

A tall man with white hair and a shiny watch on his wrist was holding the door and looking Esteban up and down in a suspicious manner.

“Lance, your friend is here !” He suddenly yelled, extending his hand toward Esteban. “Hello Esteban, I am Lawrence, Lance’s father.”

Eyes blown wide in anticipation, Esteban shook his hand as he returned the greeting. He didn’t have the time to try and find something else to say that a blurry figure quickly made its way toward him from the back of the corridor and jumped on him.

“Hi Este ! I’m ready so let’s go !” Lance blurted out happily before grabbing his hand and pulling him outside.

Esteban let him drag him toward the car, awkwardly waving toward the older man who chuckled in return, politely waving back at him.

“Have fun, boys !” He snickered and Lance huffed indignantly.

“Gosh he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.” He complained, trying to open the passenger door on the rusty car.

Esteban was still stuck in place, trying to digest all the information. “You’re fucking rich.”

As an answer, Lance stopped harassing the car door and gave him a deadpan look. “And you have your driver license so open the car so we can go eat, I’m starving.”

Esteban tried to protest but the intense impatient look he got made him press the button on his car keys and Lance happily opened the door, jumping on the torn out seat and looking around as if it was the coolest experience of his life and not the complete opposite of the brand new Maserati car parked in the mansion’s alley.

The older boy bit his lower lip anxiously and climbed in.

“Soooo…” Lance started, suddenly looking more shy and stealing a side glance toward his driver. “Where are we going ?”

Feeling uneasy, Esteban went through the plan he had prepared for the evening and found himself thinking it could never impress Lance if the boy was used to a very luxurious life. His silence must have lasted too long however, as the hand softly grabbing his wrist made him jump. “Este, is everything alright ?”

Esteban swiftly turned toward him, looking directly in his worried eyes. He blushed, even when he was upset Lance managed to be the cutest boy he had ever seen. Esteban swore himself to never again be the reason for the frown on those pretty lips.

“Yeah of course, sorry I’m a little nervous.” He smiled, and Lance rolled his eyes, never pushing his hand away.

“Me too, but I’m sure it will be nice, and as long as I get to spend time with you, it is perfect for me.”

Esteban couldn’t help but smile at that, sliding his hand in Lance’s and squeezing it. They stayed like this for a few seconds, shily looking into the other’s eyes lovingly before Esteban shifted to grab the wheel.

“Let’s go then.”

The plan was simple : they would go to a nice cozy restaurant in the city before walking along the river where were installed light decorations that Esteban was sure would have Lance in awe.

However, when they arrived at the little restaurant, he instantly regretted his decision. It was a normal burger place, nicer than what Esteban was used to but barely fitting in his tight budget, which, now that he saw in which environment Lance grew up in, would probably not be enough. Closing his eyes, he started counting his economies, hoping that if he skipped a few meals or two he could afford a better place for the boy he liked. Again, he was interrupted by said boy who jumped out of the car and giggled at the sight of the statue of Elvis Presley in the entrance.

“This place is so cool ! It looks like the restaurants on the road 66 !”

Esteban got dragged out of his trance - and car - when Lance opened his own door and pulled him out. “I love burgers, you’re the best.”

The look on his face was genuine excitement and Esteban felt like a small weight got carried away from his shoulders, and he smiled again, more relieved this time. “I know you do.” He winked and Lance looked even more excited than he already was.

They entered the restaurant and got placed in a small booth in the back. Esteban silently grabbed the menu, going through it and biting his lips as he counted his budget again to check what he could and definitely couldn’t allow himself to-

“Stop it.”

He frowned, looking up at an unimpressed looking Lance.

“What ?”

“What what ? That thing you’re doing, stop it right now.”

The half serious, half mocking smirk he wore on his lips confused Esteban more than it helped him understand what Lance was talking about and he lifted an eyebrow as a silent repeat of his question. Lance shook his head, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” He muttered, looking away as he sank lower in his seat.

That was not how their first date was supposed to go, Esteban thought, he was supposed to make Lance as happy as possible and instead of that, Lance looked very uncomfortable, deep frown on his face and passing his hand nervously in his hair.

“Lance, I…” Esteban didn’t know what to say, not entirely sure what he did to upset his best friend.

“Please” Lance mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m begging you, Este, stop immediately trying to impress me, I don’t care at all about anything like that.”

Esteban froze, suddenly feeling cold.

“How did you know ?” He wondered aloud, and it pulled a smile on the beautiful boy facing him.

Lance leaned front, crossing his arms on the table and offering him a soft look.

“Because I know you, you idiot.” He softly whispered, reaching out to grab at Esteban’s arm and take his hand. “You saw the house, the cars, heck you saw my dad. I didn’t lie when I said I was rich, but I don’t care about it, okay ? I didn’t agree to go on that date so that you could show me how much you can spend for me. I agreed to go because I love spending time with you, you make me laugh and I feel good when we’re together.”

Esteban found himself speechless, shamefully blushing at his own idiocy and doubts. Lance tightened his hold on his hand, and Esteban rubbed his thumb on the skin under.

“I love spending time with you too.” He whispered, giving Lance his most genuine smile of the evening.

After that, the dinner went without any more pressure, both of them talking and laughing as if nothing happened. They kept holding hands as long as possible, and when they got out of the restaurant, Esteban immediately reached for Lance’s hand again before the younger boy tried to walk toward the car.

“We’re not going back ?” He asked, intrigued.

“Not yet, I have another place I want to take you to.”

The way Lance’s eyes glinted was all Esteban needed to know he was now very curious about it.

So they walked hand in hand for a few minutes, Lance trying without stopping to make Esteban tell him where they were going. At some point, they turned right at a crossroad and the soft gasp Lance let out told Esteban he had a good idea there.

The street was beautifully decorated in the warm spring evening, strings of orange lights hanging on the trees and controlled lights turning on the walls around them. The reflexion on the water of the river along the street gave a very warm and romantic atmosphere to the place, and the whole effect seemed to work as Lance walked closer to him, both arms holding Esteban’s arm as he looked around them, fascinated.

“Este, it’s so beautiful !” He exclaimed cheerfully, pulling his date along to the barriers so they could look down the river.

Esteban mentally slapped himself when he almost said that Lance was the beautiful one here, cursing his own cheesiness when it came to the beautiful tall boy clutched to his arm. Instead, he just hummed in agreement, enjoying the moment as much as possible.

“Hey” Lance broke the silence a few minutes later, making Esteban turn toward him.

“Hm ?”

“You’re the best.” Lance murmured, his brown eyes shining with emotion in the warm lights of the street and Esteban gulped as they were very, very close.

However, he didn’t have the time to go further down this train of thoughts when soft lips pressed against his and his brain shut down completely.

The kiss was perfect to him, Lance pushing himself against his chest and moving his hand on Esteban’s cheek to steady himself. Esteban circled his arms around his waist, happily humming when Lance tried to deepen the kiss.

Out of breath, Esteban leaned back and the two boys looked at each other with eyes full of love and kindness. Lance suddenly started laughing, eyes closed with happiness and he glued himself against Esteban’s chest to hug him tightly.

“Does-” Esteban cleared his throat, “does that mean you would agree if I asked you to be my boyfriend ?”

Lance laughed some more, tightening his hold.

“As if you don’t know the answer.” He teased him, and Esteban chuckled to himself.

Of course he knew.

#flo writes fics #prompts

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forever--darling · 4 years ago

Text

the frat boy’s boxers - s.m.

college frat au

warnings: 5.7k words of new beginnings, first day jitters, and the meeting of the roommate

prologue

It was late, dark, and the sun was no longer looming over campus. Your pulse quickened and your palms were dripping in sweat as you stared up at the three story house. The window was left cracked open and you watched as the breeze swayed the white curtains from side to side. This was insane and beyond anything you had ever done but you knew it was unavoidable. If you wanted to get into Alpha Delta Pi, it had to be done.

You could feel the lingering eyes of the sorority girls as they crouched behind a line of bushes and internally cursed. Emily had to set up a car wash by herself, Maggie had to teepee another sorority house, and those both sounded better than this; standing in front of frat boy central, forced to steal sophomore and hockey player Shawn Mendes’ boxers.

2 weeks ago

As you drove down the winding road, you couldn’t help but come to a stop in front of the entrance. The large stone sign stood proudly for all to see as they drove by and into the start of the next chapter of their lives. Tan bricks and copper letters stuck out from the sign marked the beginning of everything. In your packed black Volkswagen golf, you twisted your neck down as you stared out the window towards the sign. You blinked at it, hardly believing it was real and with a small uneven breath, you pushed your foot back on the gas and surged forward. Within seconds, you were back driving on the road, hands tightly around the steering wheel as your eyes scanned the newfound area.

Two years ago, no one ever expected that you would venture more than a few miles away from your house. That you would settle into the local university because that’s what your parents wanted. Or more specifically what your mom wanted. No one ever thought after what happened in the winter of 2016, you would have left your hometown in exchange for another state entirely. It was two years of being locked away in your house with little access to anywhere except school or your bedroom, and you had quickly gotten sick of its light yellow walls.

Your junior and senior year were spent bent over your homework and college prepping. You were doing anything to get you as far away from that place you used to call home. You needed to get away for a while, from your overprotective and over loving parents and your twenty-four-year old sister who had moved back home.

You used to love high school. With so many friends and guys wanting your attention, it was a fun two years then somehow the other two went down the drain by the two people who procreated you. Junior and senior you worked your ass off and above all else, obeyed your parents and clearly it paid off when you finished third in your class. You obeyed your parents, so it came much of a surprise when you told your family that instead of the local university that only stood ten minutes away, you would be attending the University of Washington.

It came to quite a shock, not only was the college in another state but on the other side of the country. Thousands of miles away from the only place you had ever known. It became even worse when you had packed up your car and refused to let your parents drive you. They were so shocked and so heartbroken that they barely were able to protest when you gave them a faint goodbye, long bone crushing hugs, and pulled out of the driveway.

Maybe, they were so certain that you relied on them and that town so much that you would never leave their sides. Or maybe they felt like they didn’t need a large goodbye and that you would be back in their arms within months of being away. That the thought of being alone in a foreign place would send your anxiety through the roof and ultimately drive you back home after what happened when you were just sixteen.

You had thought about the incident plenty of times. It was what changed your family and ultimately broke it. It was that very terrifying memory that drove the scary thoughts that you would be back in that small town in records time. And throughout the whole drive that took days to get to your destination, the reality hadn’t set in until you saw that sign. It was then as you stared at the letters, that you knew that if you didn’t want to run then, you weren’t going to want to run back home maybe ever.

Some time between graduation and driving onto campus, things changed in you. You felt like you when you were sixteen again except this time more free. Changing that obedient student who stayed in on the weekends to study for tests weeks in advance, to someone who wanted to go out and do all of the things she missed out on. She became someone that wanted to be the one who went out with friends and got drunk at parties on the weekends.

She wanted to be the girl that went on dates with random college guys on campus. She wanted to sleep with a boy and then kick him out of her dorm room the next morning. Somewhere between being eighteen to nineteen, the old you resurfaced. Like your parents weren’t there, trying to hide the world from you anymore. You were now a young adult who was capable of taking care of herself. In fact you were a college student who had no intentions of returning home to just sit back in that sad house and stare at those walls all day, separating you from the world that you had yet to know anything about.

Now here you were no longer dressed in those baggy grey sweatpants and holey oversized hoodies, face bare, with your hair pulled out of your face. Instead, hair flowing freely down your back, makeup gracing across your features as you wore a pair of tight fitted blue jeans with a white long sleeve t-shirt and a red flannel. Bunny slippers left lazily behind in the closet that was filled with your brother’s t-shirts and cozy socks. In their place was a pair of white converse laced tightly against your feet providing comfort and style. This was who you were at the moment and you couldn’t wait to go and have some fun.

As you were pulling into a parking lot near the hall that supposedly housed your dorm, you had caught a glimpse out of your window at the quad. A vast green area filled with small paths and large cherry blossom trees. They scattered the lawn providing shade and comfort away from the raging halls and campus parties. There was a part of you that wanted to just pull the car over and run to get a better look at the area, but knew that you had other things to do like eat and unpack. Maybe sleep. You had been in this car for far too long and now that you were here, there would be plenty of time to explore later.

Pulling the car into an empty parking spot, you turned it off and took the keys from the ignition, stuffing them into the pocket of your jeans. You opened the door and climbed out, stretching your arms over your head as you did so. Looking around, you could only see a few students hugging their parents goodbye all having tears in their eyes or traveling down their faces. You knew if you had successfully found the main hall to ask someone about where the keys to your dorm and schedule were that you would no doubt see the same thing but to a higher level.

You could have easily stopped and asked the many students that had been walking around the campus, especially the ones that were dressed in purple school tee shirts, bright smiles pulled across their faces about where to go. But for some unknown reason, you kept driving towards Parker Hall, thinking that your roommate was probably already settled into your sharing room and could just escort you to get your keys and your schedule. It was the best idea you had at the time since you were a freshman and didn’t know where anything was. Also considering, you were there without your parents, your roommate was the only option you thought you had at the moment.

You convinced yourself so much that you wandered into the building and up the stairs already gaining a sniff of the musty hallways that were coated in white paint. Your eyes scanned the hall that seemed to be empty with doors closed and already decorated with pictures and names of the girls that resided with them. Suddenly at the sound of a small hiss, your eyes directed towards the end of the hall and felt relieved at the sight of one door open on the end where a blonde girl was struggling to pull in a large mattress. Were we supposed to bring our own mattresses? You thought to yourself as you approached the girl trying to wipe off the confused and slightly frustrated look on your face.

“Need some help?” you asked, your voice gaining the attention of the girl.

Her head lifted revealing her smooth pale skin and large green doe eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the top of her head, curling at the end. She was around the same height as you dressed in a pastel pink sweater with a white collar and a pair of jeans to go with her squeaky clean white sneakers. Realizing you were talking to her, she nodded with a soft smile as you proceeded forward and grabbed the other end of the mattress. You began to push as she pulled, already feeling the mattress slowly shift forward through the door.

“Were we supposed to bring our own mattresses or something?” you asked, glancing at the stainless plush padding in your hand as your grip on the corner tightened, feeling your nails sink into it.

“No,” the girl replied, yanking at the mattress as her cheeks puffed out in discontent, “I just prefer it more than the ones they provide.”

“So, is there a reason you are trying to pull it into your room by yourself then?”

“Oh, yeah well I told my mom that I could handle it so she left and as soon as my roommate laid eyes on it she stormed out of the room,” she explained as the mattress moved forward about halfway into the room. “I’m Emily, by the way. Emily Willard.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you chuckled at her attempts to make introductions now of all times.

After that, silence consumed the both of you besides the casual grunt or hiss as your muscles burned from pushing and lifting at the mattress. Minutes later, you had managed to get it all the way into the small quaint room and nestled into the wooden bed-frame that sat up against the wall of the room. It was opposite of the other bed that was already made and full of decorative pillows. You let out a loud sigh after the mattress fell into its place onto the frame and ran your fingers through your hair, feeling the small beads of sweat that had gathered at your hairline.

“Thank you,” Emily smiled while bending over and holding onto her knees.

“Yeah, no problem,” you laughed, smiling back at the blonde.

As another minute passed, she finally stood back up seeming to have recovered from the lifting. She began to put a few boxes onto the mattress as she made conversation, “So have you gotten moved in yet?”

“Actually, no.” you admitted, causing her movements to stop and look over her shoulder towards you, “I was wondering if you knew which room was Maggie… Harting’s. I’m her roommate.”

“Oh, yeah. I met her. Dressed in leather. Total badass. She’s actually just across the hall, met her when my mom and I were unloading boxes,” Emily said, gesturing towards the hallway.

“Cool. Thanks.” the words were short as your attention now was drawn to the hallway and your new roommate that you had yet to meet but now were intrigued by.

“Not have your keys yet?” Emily’s voice perked up causing you to turn back towards her.

You shook your head as your hand found its way into your jean pocket fiddling with the material on the inside, “No, I don’t know where to get them. Just thought it would be easier to find the roommate and ask her instead of question one of the purple greeters.”

Emily laughed as you referred to the upperclassmen that were sprawled across campus ready to help and answer any questions to settle in the freshman or new students. “I completely understand. Well, if your roommate turns out to be anything like mine. Feel free to wander across the hall and I’ll be more than happy to show you where to go or help you move in.”

“Thanks, that sounds great. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” you waved, stepping out into the hallway with a small smile on your lips.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied reciprocating the wave before her door slowly clicked shut, leaving her to unpack and settle into the small room.

You took a deep breath as you walked over towards the door that held where you supposedly were going to spend the next, however, months of your life with a stranger as your roommate. Staring at the empty wooden door, one that wasn’t covered in pictures or had a name written across a white board, you lifted your hand and knocked softly. Your heart was beating loudly in the base of your chest at the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Before you could even think it was pulled open quickly and you were met with exactly what Emily had described.

Badass dressed in leather. A girl who was a few inches shorter than you stood on the other side of the door with dark black hair that had pink ends pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. She had olive skin and dark brown eyes that supported a black liner drawn with a wing. With black studded earrings that matched the black choker around her neck, she was wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket that hung over the blue tank top she wore underneath. As your gaze fell towards the ground, they fell on a pair of chunky black boots that had safety pins sticking out of the shoes’ flaps. Slowly, as your eyes lifted back up towards her face, you were met with a smirk etched across her mouth, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I was beginning to think you were dead or lost or not going to show up at all.”

You smiled sheepishly at how she was right with one simple glance at you, “Yeah and you must be Maggie.”

“You bet your ass I am,” she grinned, throwing the door open to reveal her -- well your room to you. “So what did you lose your key already?”

You stepped in slowly and shook your head as she closed the door behind you. Scanning the room, you took in the small space. On either side of the room, there were two twin size beds pushed up against the walls, one of which was still left bare. In between the two beds were two nightstands that sat under the only window. Just below each of the beds there were two desks sat up at the wall, yours being the one that sat really close to the door.

Over towards the bed that Maggie had obviously claimed was two closets one that was probably already filled with her black leather and jeans. With just being in Emily’s room, it looked almost identical to hers except it was in the opposite direction, but you were too focused on trying to drag a mattress through her front door to actually take the time to really look at it. The room still looked not all the way settled though Maggie’s black bedspread was wrinkled and there were clothes thrown over the chair at her desk. She was already settled but with your side still untouched and completely bare, the room overall looked incomplete.

Realizing that you had yet to answer Maggie’s question, you turned on your heels to see her leaning up against the door looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no. I haven’t gone to get them yet. I was hoping you would show me where I’m supposed to get them and my schedule if you’re not busy.”

She snorted out a small laugh as she pushed herself up and off the door, “Please, I’ve been here since this morning practically waiting for you to get here so I’d be more than welcome to escort you to your keys.”

With that, she pulled open the door and strode out in the hallway giving you a view of the shave at the back of her head that was right above her neck. You stared at it for a second before you followed, closing the door behind you. From there you walked alongside her down the stairs and out of Parker Hall. She led you past the parking lot where your car sat, abandoned, and full of your shit towards who knows where.

For the next seven minutes, Maggie walked you down towards the main hall passed the groups of settling students and towering pine trees. All while making conversation of her home. She lived around an hour and a half away with her parents, younger sister, and Nana. Her dad was a huge business man and had a lot of money which was partly the reason she was able to get into this college. Not once had she seemed bothered by her father’s money and was rather comfortable explaining to you what her relationship was like with him and back at home. She also talked about what high school was like and how she had broken off things with her hot boyfriend of four years that drove a motorcycle.

Your favorite part was when she talked about her old friends and though people thought that they were bad news because they wore leather, they really were just hilarious outcasts that pulled pranks on each other all day. Just as you gained sight of the main hall that was lined with college students and parents all signing in and getting their own keys and schedules, you were pulled aside by Maggie’s arm gripping your elbow.

“What?” you asked, eyeing her raised eyebrows and curious smile.

You may have not picked up on it because you were pulled into her stories of home but she had easily noticed that you hadn’t said anything about yourself or your family. “You haven’t said anything about what it’s like where you’re from. Why aren’t your parents here dropping you off?”

Sighing at the question, only made her raise her eyebrows higher and you knew that because you would be living with her for the school year that you wouldn’t be able to keep everything from her forever. “It’s a long story. Simple answer, I didn’t want them to so instead I just packed up my car and drove here myself.”

You went to turn back towards the line but Maggie’s hand refused to fall from your arm and instead tightened causing you to look back at her, getting a little annoyed. “Wait, where are you from?”

Taking a deep breath, you muttered the name of the small town and watched as no recognition passed over her face but only scrunched up further into confusion. “Where’s that?” she asked.

“It’s across the country. Twenty-six hours across the country,” you replied, rolling your eyes lightly as hers widened, causing her brown orbs to broaden and her mouth to fall open. “Look I’ll explain as soon as we get my keys and schedule okay?”

Her confusion instantly fell away and in its place was pure determination. She smirked and her head tilted to the side as a glint filled her eyes. Her hand that had still yet to fall from your arm yanked as she turned around and began to drag you up towards the tables that sat in front of the main hall. She pulled you behind her as she passed fellow new students and parents resulting in some to gasp or call out the fact that you were cutting.

As you made it to the front, Maggie pushed aside a tall raven haired boy who was in the middle of asking the girl sitting at the table something, who was dressed in the same purple shirt you had seen on many people by now. He hissed as he stood off to the side feeling his mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glared daggers towards Maggie and your eyes widened as his arm reached out to grab a hold of her leather jacket.

“Hey, don’t you know it’s rude to cut. We all want to get settled in as much as you do, alright,” he hissed again, his chest rising up and down as he spat the words.

Maggie finally turned to look at him, seeming unbothered by his killing glare so much that she sent a smug grin instead. “Oh, put a sock in it. It’s not like we’re going to stand around asking questions to stall having to say goodbye to mommy and daddy. We just need our keys and schedules then we’ll be on our way.”

You could hear the gasp came from the boy’s mother at his side, causing his face to swell and turn red in anger but instead of stepping forward to spit more insults at your roommate, he looked away from her and began to tap his foot impatiently on the concrete ground. Maggie rolled her eyes at his childish antics before turning back towards the upperclassman that stood silent watching the scene play out. She was tall with straight honey colored hair and pale skin, her award-winning smile now vanished. Though looking like she was about to protest, she was silenced by Maggie’s piercing glare.

“Okay, we’re here to get keys and a schedule,” she said calmly, leaning down with her hands grabbing at the end of the table.

“What hall?” the girl asked, her voice soft, still refusing to look up.

Maggie bit onto her bottom lip as her index finger began to scrape against the table, “Parker Hall, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Silently the upperclassman began to push through the files sat on the table and after about a minute or so pulled out a cream colored folder along with a key hung around a dark purple spiral wrist key chain. Holding out the folder and wrist band, Maggie plucked it from her hands and smiled sweetly, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

She then took a hold of your elbow again and led you away from the table making sure to send a shit eating grin towards the boy and his parents. You were still shocked by the whole thing even as you were walking back towards your hall folder and key in hand.

You began to thumb through the folder, locating your schedule that had your classes and where they were located but were pulled away from the wristband in your hand. The silver whistle was colliding with the set of keys causing a small clink as you walked. Your eyebrows furrowed on it and as you looked up towards Maggie, who was walking eyes glancing from the sidewalk to her phone, you spoke up to ask.

“What’s with the whistle?” you asked, causing Maggie to look over towards you and the wristband in your hand.

“U.W. rape whistle.”

“What?” you asked, surprised by the answer but realizing that it could have made sense with that it was a much bigger campus smacked in the middle of a city.

She looked back over towards you and perked up before opening her mouth for a high pitch voice to replace her own. “Blow it only if it’s actually happening.”

You quickly caught on that she was imitating the upperclassmen or whoever clearly gave her the set of her keys and schedule. Chuckling, you shake your head and move the spiral wristband around your wrist putting the whistle aside from your thoughts. You didn’t talk again until you got back to the hall and as Maggie went to head towards the door she stopped upon noticing you walk into a different direction. She followed to finally lay eyes on your Volkswagen golf that was all the way filled from the trunk all the way to the passenger seat with boxes and suitcases.

“Okay, wow,” she said, shoving her phone back into the pocket of her jeans as she watched you pull open the passenger door and grab a cardboard box.

“What, didn’t I say that I drove here?”

“Yeah, but I never expected this,” Maggie shrugged as you grabbed a backpack and swung it on your shoulders while taking another smaller box for her.

“Well, I did drive twenty-six hours and I don’t plan on driving back any time soon,” you admitted, closing the passenger door and heading towards the door of the hall.

Maggie followed all the way in and up the stairs towards the hall. You stopped in front of your door as you noticed a blonde ponytail in the hall writing on a whiteboard with a pink dry erase marker. At the sound of your steps, she turned a smile instantly falling on her face as she saw it’s you.

“Hey,” she said, moving away to reveal the door to her room. It was decorated with pink cut out hearts and flowers all surrounding a whiteboard that had ‘Lindsey & Emily’ written across in perfect cursive with the color pink.

“Hey, nice job on the door!”

“We are so not doing that to our door,” Maggie leaned over to you, mumbling underneath her breath.

Emily ignored Maggie’s comment, “Thanks, need some help?”

You nodded, moving to open the door to your room, “Yes, please.”

Once you unlocked the door, Emily held it open for you as you walked in and dropped the box that happened to be filled with books onto your bed, a sigh leaving your lips as you did. You turned back to the door to see Maggie following and setting the box at the end of the bed just as she a glance towards the blonde in the doorway. “Maggie, you’ve met Emily right? She’s just across the hall.”

“Yeah we have,” Maggie smiled, sending a short wave, “Hey!”

Emily smiled as you exited back out of the room and began to head down the stairs towards your car. They both followed you, hot on your heels when Maggie’s voice broke the silence as your vehicle came back into view. “So, can I ask questions now or do you need to wait until Em is out of ear shot?”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you popped open the trunk and began to look at what had been stuffed in a day or so prior. “You can ask.”

“What are you asking about?” Emily voiced, curious at her name being brought up by Maggie.

“Oh, Y/N here lives in a small town twenty-six hours away and drove here by herself without her parents,” Maggie replied looking over towards Emily, who’s eyes had widened into saucers.

“Maggie!”

“What? I have a feeling that she is going to be around with us for a while. She’s cool so she can probably know.”

You nodded as you picked up some boxes and began to place them on the ground for them to pick up, “Alright fair enough. You can ask two questions, that’s it. Then once everything is unloaded out of the car and into our room, I will allow you to ask more as I unpack. Okay?”

They both nodded in agreement as they went to pick up the boxes. Maggie being the first to ask a question. “So why didn’t you want your parents to come?”

Picking up another box full of clothes, you followed them as they turned towards the hall, “It’s complicated but basically I wanted to do this on my own. Prove a point, plus I didn’t want them to have to drive all the way over here and then drive back.”

“Fair enough,” Maggie said, beginning to climb up the brown dirt covered stairs.

“One more,” you stated voice sharp, “Better make it good because it will be at least twenty minutes before I answer any more.”

“Why here?” Emily asked cutting off Maggie before she could get the chance, “I mean I can barely stand that I’m two hours away but twenty-six. Why choose Washington?”

You were about to walk through the door of your room but stopped in the doorway, looking over your shoulder towards the two girls you had a feeling were going to become close friends of yours. You sighed, your eyes falling to the floor as you spoke, “It’s far away that no one knows who I am and I can get a fresh start, plus it’s so far away that I won’t have to go back.”

After you gave two curt replies to the questions asked, the next twenty minutes unloading the car was spent talking about what the school year was probably going to be like, since they couldn’t ask any follow up questions until after everything was unloaded out of the car and up into your dorm room. You could tell that even though they were enjoying the casual conversation, Maggie and Emily were still well intrigued about your intentions of leaving home and coming here. You knew from just looking at them and hearing their lame jokes about the upperclassmen and the purple shirts, that by the time you were upstairs and in your room they would be jumping you with their questions.

So much so that the second the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the three of you enclosed in the room filled with unemptied boxes and cases, they were basically screaming. After they calmed down, you stuck to your word and told them basically everything. Well most of it.

The tragedy in your family and the secret with it, you couldn’t mumble out because they were basically still strangers and this was too important. Instead, you told them of what you were like as a kid and why your parents were so set on the idea of you going to local university or taking online classes. You explained the anxiety that had formed in your stomach as a teenager and why you had grown to be so used to blending in with everyone else. By the time you had said that you were here to start fresh and resign from your spot on the sidelines watching, there were smiles spread across both of their faces.

The first one to speak was Maggie who had expressed her opinion by sending you a solute and yelling out, “you’re a doer not a watcher.”

They obviously felt that it must be hard being so far away but admired your efforts to break out of your shell and flourish out in the real world. So much that within the next three hours, you all spent time in the dorm room unpacking and talking about everything about one another desperate to gain any information about the new friends you all had made.

You were straightening out the grey comforter on your bed and fluffing out the pillows when you heard a gasp come from the other side of the room. You turned at the sound towards Maggie’s bed where she sat criss-cross-applesauce, leaning against the wall with Emily’s legs swung over her lap. Her eyes were wide in excitement as her mouth was left slightly parted showing the smile that had formed. You and Emily shared a glance before looking back towards Maggie.

“What?” Emily asked leaning up on her elbows as Maggie sent a smirk from her towards you.

“Oh, no. What is it?” you questioned, already having a feeling that whatever was going to come out of her mouth was bound to be trouble.

Maggie was practically glowing as she moved from the bed and stood up causing Emily’s legs to fall from the bed in the process. “We are now college students and I say it’s time for us to celebrate.”

“Celebrate, exactly how?” you asked cautiously as she crossed her arms over her chest and popped out a hip.

“It’s the first day of everyone being back on campus there is bound to be a party somewhere,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

That’s when you noticed Emily sit up from the bed raising a hand to interject, “Yeah there’s one at the sorority house. Alpha Delta Pi, I think. Usually their parties are for sororities and fraternities only but my roommate said that because it’s the first official day of everyone being back that it’s open for everyone on campus.”

“I knew that I liked you for a reason,” Maggie stated proudly, “So what do you say, Y/L/N?”

“A party?” you asked, getting a nod from her causing her bun to bounce a little, “No, I don’t think so I haven’t even finished unpacking yet.”

“So, you can do that tomorrow,” Maggie persuaded, moving towards your closet that held half of your clothes so far. She thumbed through it before stopping at one hanger that held an off the shoulder black long sleeve shirt that still had the tag on it, “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to have fun.”

At her smooth words and the hanger she plucked from within the rack, you felt your heart flutter with nerves. As your eyes scanned from the smug look on her face towards the shirt, and then to Emily who sat with a raised eyebrow and sweet smile, a smirk fell onto your lips with ease. “Yeah, I guess I did. So where’s this sorority house located?”

a/n: hey! here’s the first party of my new series and sorry if it’s a little boring but I wanted to get introductions and the reader’s backstory out of the way. don’t worry shawn will be in the next part! :)

next part

#shawn mendes #shawn #mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #my writing #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes au #college au #sorority #fraternity #shawn x reader #shawn x y/n #shawn x you #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x you

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years ago

Text

i'll be with you (but it'll be a different kind)

pairing: yoonkook/yoonjin | rating: G | ao3 read here

a short study on moving on

Yoongi broke the vinyl like he would a plate, a quaint awareness of a disaster but the quick denial of letting it fall – on the floor, in pieces. He swept each shard, vacuumed, and threw them in the bin. He crushed his music sheets and notes, thought better of it, and lit them with a scented candle.

Well, for fuck’s sake, the candle was his gift too.

So Yoongi walked to the collection area at three thirty in the morning, against the gusts of cold November wind, carrying all the evidence of the killer and the remains of its victim. He stood in front of the stack with an impulse to do something. Say a prayer? Curse them? Curse himself and bring them back to his apartment?

Ah, he wasn’t that stupid.

He truly wasn’t.

His stupidity was drained when he decided to fall in love with his roommate and friend that couldn’t be his in this lifetime.

So he came back to his home rid of everything Kim Seokjin owned and touched. Yes, even the bedsheets he washed yesterday.

“The couch it is.” He plopped down to its uncomfortable mattress and was immediately lulled not by the comfort of sleep but by the escape it offered.

He lost track of time in the next days… or probably weeks because the next time he went out for a walk to the mart, he was greeted by imposing Christmas decorations and too tall synthetic trees that wouldn’t look good in apartments that only housed one.

He came back, still alone, but at least joined now with ingredients for proper homemade food. He won’t be lonely on Christmas, not with two bottles of wine, a variety of seafood (which Namjoon hated the most, and Yoongi would order in the largest serving just to spite him), and his good old comfy socks.

He switched on the television to watch Melancholia, a fitting holiday movie in his honest opinion, and turned it up to the highest volume to tune out the looping Christmas carols outside his window and across the hallway where other occupants have rooms over to tide away the lonesome.

It was two thirty and two disaster films later that he heard the ghost of his broken heart.

It was one of the songs he wrote for Jin, the notes not at all the same, but the melody line was correctly embodied. He started up from his drunken stupor on the floor and trudged towards his kitchen sink where he dabbled his face in water.

It wasn’t the alcohol. So it certainly must be the crazy in him… well, until he realized the notes were coming from next door. The walls were thin anyway.

He nonchalantly knocked on the door of his neighbor, not caring at all if it was the devil’s hour, not when the tenant itself did not care about public disturbance.

It opened a crack wide enough for Yoongi to sweep the whole place up in seconds. Tidy floor, unmade bed, three monitors on a desk, neon lights, a christmas tree unabashedly decorated with the most frivolous pieces beside the dining table, and a guitar on top of it.

“Did I wake you?” He was taller than Yoongi, buffer, and very decorated like his Christmas tree. Daith, lobe, and eyebrow piercings, sleeve tattoos on his right arm, and shoulder-length electric blue hair tied in half-ponytail. But what caught his attention the most was the doe eyes that seemed too innocent, but Yoongi was familiar with the pretension that hovered on the surface. This boy knew pain enough to effectively cover it.

“That was my song,” Yoongi said in his usual deadpan delivery. He couldn’t get any cheerier than this.

John Doe perked up (if it could be any more possible). “Ah so you’re the one!” Then his expression immediately shifted to wariness. “Oh wait, you might be offended. I should apologize – “

“Some notes were mismatched, yes. Couldn’t be helped when you learned it by ear.” Yoongi looked at him for confirmation, and John Doe nodded enthusiastically. “But it’s all right. You played the piece so beautifully for someone who did not know it was a love letter.”

The way John Doe changed his smile to a thin line Yoongi knew at once that this was a person who simultaneously wore their heart on a sleeve but chained it before it could truly fall.

“Is it safe to assume the letter’s non-reciprocation when you haven’t played those songs for a month?”

“What else could there be?”

The neighbor bit the inside of his cheeks before answering, “Maybe you just didn’t need love letters anymore?”

Yoongi sighed. “Just keep it down. It’s three in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas?” John Doe’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my manners! Merry Christmas Sir!”

“I don’t believe in Santa Claus. Or Jesus. Or capitalist splurges.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his sweatpants. “I have marinara surplus. Do you want a plate?”

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

When New Year rolled again, Yoongi knocked on his neighbor’s door. He slept with headphones in full volume, god be damned his hearing, on newly bought bedsheets that did not smell of Jin and pillows that did not have a strand of his hair. He really couldn’t turn down John Doe’s question of whether he could still play the cursed song or maybe he was two-bottles-of-wine-disoriented enough to put up a rather good argument why he shouldn’t.

“So will you cover your ears when you go to sleep?” John Doe asked after his second slurping of seafood marinara.

“Why should I?” Meanwhile, Yoongi surfed Netflix for his disaster anxiety fix.

“Try Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.” John Doe finished his plate clean. He let out a burp with an apologetic smile to his temporary Christmas host. “Well, I was wondering if I could still play the song. It’s yours anyway so you have all the rights.”

Yoongi’s eyes glazed over the first few seconds of the film, slightly amused at the insurance agent selling an apocalyptic package. “When music is released to the public, it never becomes the composer’s alone. It is also owned by the listener…and whatever they deem the music to be.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“I just let you eat my food.”

“I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

A beat. “Fine. Min Yoongi.”

But it was a week of listening to ragged notes and misplaced sharps, and his (still) perfectionist ass wanted to right it.

“It’s open,” Jungkook yelled from what Yoongi presumed was his computer chair.

He sauntered inside with measured caution and watched his neighbor tick away in codes on three different screens. Yoongi silently slid the music sheets on a small free space on Jungkook’s desk.

“Software developer?”

“Not really. I’m a solutions specialist, the yes-boy,” Jungkook replied with a smug grin. He hit enter and the lines start to jumble together as he swiveled to face Yoongi. “You re-wrote your notes. You must be a producer or something.”

Yoongi clucks. “Close. A film composer.”

“Do you go to Hollywood?”

“I’m not made for performative limelight. The shadows are bright enough.”

“Cool. I want to make a film someday.”

“You have a day job.”

“Can’t a man have two dreams?”

“Touche. One can never have too many.”

“What’s yours then, Yoongi?”

“Just one but it won’t be mine.”

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

March. Spring coming alive, and for the first time in months, Yoongi genuinely thought he was getting better and over him. Jeon Doe (maybe he’ll always call him this) was a light companion – not imposing, a bit fluttery, but steady in his essence. Perhaps it was the continuous wonder that ebb in his eyes or the utterly soft disregard of pain for something nonchalant.

On the eve of March 1st, he stroked again the keys of his piano, and Jungkook came into his unit and accompanied him with a guitar. It was an improvisation of chaotic notes in Yoongi’s head and by magic, Jungkook floated with that tornado. The contrast and the blend gave way to an unlikely partnership of melody and rhythm.

And on March 1st, Yoongi felt butterflies again when Jungkook joined him on the bench and giddily watched his fingers dance on white and black.

But on the second day of the month, the butterflies were replaced with quicksand.

Kim Seokjin called and wanted to meet. It was funny how in a moment of hesitancy, it was his heart who doubled and his feet that led. Their favorite bar, whiskey on the rocks for Jin, dry scotch for him, and an expanse of silence of between them.

“He’s too busy with production at the moment.” Jin downed his drink in one gulp. Yoongi didn’t even need to ask.

And I’m the only one who’s available. “At the moment is how many months?”

“For three months now.”

“You should break up.” An unsolicited advice Yoongi gave more than twice with not much success.

“If I was a music company, maybe he would do me,” Jin jested, holding the empty glass in his hand. “Should I buy one?”

“Buy his affections as well and monopolize them.” It was a banter Jin was used too and maybe by now, he should have known that Yoongi hid half-truths in them.

“They’re too intense for me alone. He’s always destined for the world.”

What could Yoongi do but surrender at the unspoken request of comfort. “There’s someone who treats you like you’re his whole world.”

“I wish I did too.”

Yoongi never had a sip of his scotch, but Jin’s languid kiss was enough to get drunk on. He lost the flutter and the lightness, and dove headfirst in heavy, steely waters. Yoongi missed the suffocating pressure and the sensation of bursting at the seams. If his heart would burst at this moment, it would shatter a hundred times more for the many touches and whispers to follow. He would gladly die in this misshapen illusion.

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

“Your door was always locked,” Jungkook greeted a month after, carrying a big tub of fermented kimchi. “My dad dropped by to give me spares.”

Two weeks before this, Jin left in a hurry to go to the airport, saying Namjoon had been in an accident, and two weeks after, Yoongi never heard back from him.

He accepted the side dish from his neighbor, but nothing went past Jungkook. Realization was plain in his face, but he chose not to comment on it.

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm.” It was danger meeting Jungkook’s eyes so Yoongi kept his downcast.

“I told you before.”

“What?”

“That I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, and Jungkook took the cue to leave.

He repeated that same line later that night when he heard Yoongi trash his place, his bare arm catching the brunt of a baseball bat just before it landed on the piano keys.

“Why would you go so far?” Yoongi sneered, anger seeping through his controlled demeanor.

“Why would you go so far?” Jungkook cradled his arm like he cradled his pain. Like it was nothing. “It’s the end of the world.”

“I need a friend.”

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

It was easier being with Jungkook – lighter, happier, with no care in the world. He was also honest in a straightforward, unassuming, and endearing way especially when those doe eyes of his were used to an advantage.

When he told Yoongi in the middle of Battle Royale, out of the blue, with no precedence whatsoever that “I don’t want to be just your friend”, it knocked the air out of the latter. And when Jungkook followed it with “You can use me, however you want”, Yoongi knew he had to get things sorted.

Lest he wants Jungkook trapped inside the vortex of unresolved feelings.

So Yoongi didn’t give him a tangible response. He just skidded closer to him on the couch and Jeon Doe took the cue to lay his head on the crook of his neck as another student was slashed to their death on the screen.

When credits rolled in, Yoongi dipped his head and found Jungkook already waiting with bated breath.

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

“Ah, you found me.”

Jin was back in his penthouse in Seoul, alone with no Namjoon in tow.

“Am I a week early?” Yoongi asked.

“I just got in today.” True enough, unopened suitcases littered his living room. Too many suitcases for a vacation. “I’m relocating back. Is there such a thing?”

Yoongi went to one luggage and punched in the password Jin used when Namjoon and him got together, it did not open, so he tried another combination. Ah, only his birthdate. Yoongi packed the first of his clothes to cabinets he was all too familiar with. He went on with this rudimentary task with Jin at the kitchen, cooking up something for the two of them.

In a parallel universe, Yoongi would have been happily contented with this.

Tidied up, folded, and free, the two went through a simple steak and pasta dinner.

“We broke up.” He twirled his fork endlessly. “It hit me when I saw him go to an award show. I could never keep up with him, Yoongi, not when I’m taking a backseat while his dreams sit in the front.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jin stared at him like he was betrayed.

“Don’t be silly,” Yoongi repeated, drawling each word. “Namjoon and his goals sit in another sports car while you drive a rundown secondhand.”

That made Jin laugh. “You’re merciless.” And then he grimaced. “I never felt this neglected. It was never this way when I was with you.”

“We’ve never had anything, Jin. You didn’t let me have anything,” Yoongi finished clean his pasta. He folded his napkin like a good guest and waited for Jin’s retort.

But he just sighed, defeated. “I destroyed what good we had. I’m afraid I also lost the friendship.”

“You know I can’t go back again to you.” Yoongi didn’t know if he threw a question or a statement.

“I saw it the instant you came through that door.” Jin put down his fork and trained his eyes on his best friend. “Happiness looks good on you.”

“You would have known already if you had just looked at me.”

Jin gave him a sad smile. “And it would have been the best sight had I tried harder.” He picked up again his fork, his lips pursed, his eyes brimming with tears. It was a foreign scene, Jin coming undone in front of him, not because of Namjoon, because of him. “So who is this guy?”

“I call him Jeon Doe.”

Jin kept brushing the side of his eyes while he twirled strands of noodles in his fork. When he opened his mouth to eat, tears brushed down his cheeks, breaking in rivulets as he chewed. “That’s a stupid name.”

Yoongi noticed the upwelling – the comeuppance of what was lost trying to mask itself as the crescent emotions. He knew it when Jungkook kissed him back that night, that he could never go back to this uncertainty. “And stupidly in love with me too.”

Jin continued to chew with salty tears. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

His hands clenched at the name that left his lips. “I got tired of being your placeholder. You couldn’t just leave and expect me to stay in one place. I also crack every time you touch me, and I shatter every time you go. I broke, Jin. I got torn apart, and I wasn’t sure whether I could still handle your overspilling love for someone else when I couldn’t even hold any for me.” Yoongi’s fingers stretched to touch the dam that escaped his friend’s eyes. “You must understand.”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Jin repeated. “And I understand it. I get it now. I see it. It’s just overwhelming – this mountain of regrets and what-ifs and utter disregard I made for my own happiness.”

“I got in the crossfire.”

“A victim willing.”

“But not anymore.”

Jin shook his head. “No, not anymore.” He intertwined his fingers with Yoongi. “I hope it works out for you and Jeon Doe.”

Not a minute longer, Yoongi pulled away from Jin’s touch. “I hope you heal.”

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

Jin saw them on the same piano bench, playing a duet in the middle of a wedding reception, hands flying about, touches fleeting but enthralling, releasing captivating, fluttery sounds – almost akin to freedom.

He was seeing now in full high-definition panorama the gravity of his consequences. He let go of his two great loves, one he loved with no fail, the other he took to fail.

And so he welcomed the splendor of pain. He had two great loves, and regardless of how they ended, they deserved a thorough journey of grief. He could only hope that at the end of it was what he saw in Yoongi.

Freedom.

#yoonkook #yoonjin #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #mention of namjin #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

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tackyink · 4 years ago

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The only reason I've decided to post this is that I think unless I do I won't stop anxiety-editing it and I'd like to move on to something more interesting. And maybe pick up Veleta again, because I had written more than what I posted here and I want to keep working on her.

I can only offer for context that I hail from real life Dressrosa and one day someone asked me what, as a historian, I would do if I ever came across a Poneglyph in the OP world.

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 1

In a remote corner of Paradise, outside of the main travel routes, there was an autumn island called Harlun, and on its shores there was a place called Duster Town, remarkable if only for the fact that every day was exactly the same and nothing of interest ever happened.

Duster Town was acceptably hot in summer, relatively cold in winter, and unavoidably wet and muddy the rest of the year. This had been a big reason for Alex’s stay to last as long as it had: five years and counting. She was fond of the weather because that was what living in summer islands for nearly twenty-two years did to a person.

She had been working in Duster Town’s old, old library since she had arrived there, having secured the job through contacts she had made while studying. Alex was a historian, and there weren’t a lot of secure jobs for people in her field unless one wanted to work under close supervision of government officers. She had never liked research that much, anyway – or rather, she had liked sticking her nose in archives for the sake of it, but the actual process of searching for documents, putting the pieces together and then writing papers sucked. Learning to satisfy her own curiosity was fun, being forced to share that knowledge was not. Besides, if there was an area of research that grabbed her attention more than anything else, it was that conspicuous century-wide blank in human history, and everybody in her profession knew what happened when someone tried to look too closely into that. Ohara was the biggest ‘accident’ that came to mind, but it wasn’t the only one. Things happened to people who knew too much. Everybody was aware of it, but complicit silence was a healthy tactic that her sensible colleagues employed.

Alex had opinions on that, as, admittedly, did most historians she had met, and since opinions were like assholes, she wasn’t going to be the gross weirdo showing hers to other people. Figuratively speaking or not, it was liable to get her in trouble with the law, and that was the last thing Alex wanted.

She liked her library, and even though she was incredibly disappointed that she’d never be able to set foot inside the Tree of Knowledge due to the unfortunate circumstance of having been born too late. Her job was quiet; since she wasn’t a librarian proper, they had put her at the entrance desk to check out and retrieve books, and she handled the petitions for documents researchers sent to the library. The building in which she worked dated back to several centuries, and the foundation upon which it was built, and which housed the local archive, suggested an even earlier date. It contained one of the biggest and best preserved documentary collections in that half of Paradise, so she spent a lot of time digging inside the archive to fulfill the researcher’s requests.

All in all, she thought she had had an amazing run so far, lending books, persecuting tardy neighbors to retrieve them, memorizing catalogs from too much use, and sending informative material to researchers who were actually doing important things with their lives, unlike herself. Her coworkers were few and not very nosy, which she appreciated, because she loved her time alone and wasn’t too fond of talking about the past.

She could see herself growing old in there and getting cobwebs, if sudden changes in the town hall didn’t run her out of the island, and the way things worked in moderately small towns like that, where everybody knew everybody and keeping a job was more a matter of knowing the right people and having been there for a while than being actually competent at it, meant that her position was likely secured in the long run. That said, the local mushrooms by themselves would have tempted her to stay, even without the rest of advantages. Not many of those in her hometown or Sabaody. Lots of heat and not nearly enough rain.

The sun wasn’t yet up when she woke up with an itchy nose in the small apartment she lived in, and a flurry of sneezes alerted her that she should have taken her allergy meds the night before. Navigating the place with closed eyes, she threw on the same skinny jeans and oversized sweater that she had left on a chair two days ago for yet another day at work. It took more effort than someone who had slept so many hours at her age had a right to. Like nearly every morning, really.

The last remaining days of winter had brought the cold in full force, at least for her summer island sensibilities, and after having a steaming cup of red tea that fogged up her glasses, she bundled inside her black coat and red scarf, put on a pair of burgundy gloves, and headed for the library with a thermos full of more tea, making the usual stop at the nearest bakery to buy a croissant. Her hands ached with the chilly breeze.

(She kept a kettle in the library, but there was never too much tea, in her humble opinion, and the thermos kept her freezing hands warm on the way.)

The sun had barely risen when she arrived at the building, an old stone structure that casted its shadow over a private square, though the tall iron fence was open at all times so the people of the town could use the benches and the fancy stone fountain in the middle of it. According to the records Alex had read, the whole area was built four hundred years back or so as the private residence of some rich family that eventually lost its fortune. The basement that doubled as the archive, though, was considerably older, but records stopped around 700 years back, like everywhere else, and so she couldn’t tell how old the foundations were, or what sort of building used to be there in the past without digging a trial trench in the square, something the town hall had been vehemently against when she suggested it. The refusal only made her want to do it more.

She crossed the fence and was halfway through the square when she saw someone in front of the library’s massive oak doors. That was so unusual it made her stop in her tracks. She wasn’t ready to interact with human beings this early in the morning. In fact, the baker was so used to her being absent at that time of the day that the only things she needed to say when she picked up her breakfast were ‘good morning’ and ‘thank you.’

She repositioned her glasses to peek above them and tried to focus her teary eyes on the figure before approaching it. It belonged to a man, obnoxiously tall as many in these seas had a tendency to, who wore a long black coat with a yellow pattern around the hem and a fluffy spotted hat that looked quite ridiculous but also warm, so she wasn’t going to judge in a morning like that. Since he seemed to be looking for something and having no luck, she did what she was paid for, though she was still off the clock, and approached him.

“Hello,” she said to catch his attention. Her voice came out raspy because this was only the fourth word she had uttered since waking up, so she immediately wanted to jump in one of the flowerbeds and melt into the muddy soil. She cleared her throat softly. “Is there anything you need?”

He turned around to look at Alex. He was in his twenties, and his face was kind of familiar. His earrings caught her attention, but then again, she had a bad tendency to not pay much attention to people’s faces and fixate on irrelevant details. This individual’s entire ensemble and circumstances, though, made him difficult to forget overall.

“Do you work here?” He asked.

She barely registered the question, because it was about then that she noticed the smiley yellow faces on his coat and the long-ass sword he held against his shoulder. She hadn’t been able to see them from behind, and if she had, she sure as hell would have kept her distance until he left.

That… had the potential to be really bad.

“Yes,” she said, thinking she should have not, but it was stupid to deny it when there was nowhere else to go in the plaza, she had offered to help, and the only place she could hide in was inside.

After she unlocked the building.

With the keys she was carrying in her hand.

Yeah, honesty had been the right move.

“What are the opening hours?”

That was also unexpected. “Nine AM to eight PM. It’s on the plaque—” She pointed to the side of the door, and she saw someone had vandalized it with rude graffiti. “Not again,” she sighed to herself, and then back to him, “Nine to eight.”

There were still thirty minutes to go, and she hoped to god that he didn’t plan on sticking around until it was time to open.

“I see,” he said, looking pensively at the door. “I’ll be back later, then.”

“Of course,” she replied, smiling, relieved, and then panicking inside because there was a pirate planning on coming to her workplace that morning and this was an anxiety factor she hadn’t asked to be burdened with. He had to be dangerous. People who weren’t dangerous didn’t carry swords around. Not that people who were dangerous sometimes didn’t carry weapons, but at least those had the grace of not putting every stranger around them on edge. And wait a minute, were those tattoos on his fingers? She couldn’t see all the letters, but she could guess, and after she did, she wished she hadn’t.

When she thought he was already done and about to go, she made her even more nervous by saying, “Just to make sure, I heard you have a sizeable medicine collection.”

Ah, so he was looking for something specific. It made more sense than him simply waltzing in for some light reading, she supposed. “You heard right. It’s not updated often, but it was until ten years ago or so.” Then they ran out of funding. “If you’re looking for recent studies, you may not be in luck.”

Medicine. Why medicine? This man was a pirate. Was he a doctor in his ship? She regretted more than ever having such a bad memory for names and faces. She should take a look at the newspaper archive when she went in, just in case.

“Lucky me, then. What I’m looking for is older than that.”

She noticed a bit of a northern accent. He sounded… not quite polite, but not aggressive, either. Clinical. At the same time, it made the innocent statement sound vaguely threatening. She was curious now about what he wanted to read. What if he was one of those weird pirates? There was a chance, she supposed. Like winning the lottery twice, which she didn’t count on.

“That’s good,” she replied awkwardly, and then added in a valiant effort to be left alone, “There’s a café around the corner that’s already open, if you need to kill some time.”

He looked slightly surprised at the courtesy, and nodded before going off.

And when he was far enough to be a very stupid but not totally unsafe to say, she spoke a little louder to tell him, “Excuse me! Weapons aren’t allowed inside the library!”

The dude seemed amused when he looked over his shoulder to look at her, and he didn’t say anything as he walked off.

Nobody could say she hadn’t tried.

❦

Unbearably jittery after the encounter, Alex went on to switch on the lights of the entire building, put the last few books she hadn’t returned to the shelves the day before in their place, and picked up the day’s newspaper to sit down at the front desk to scarf down the croissant and hopefully wash down all that nervous energy with a cup of tea.

If her first encounter in the morning was a sign of what was to come, she could tell her day was going to be shit. She should have known when her own sneezing woke her up.

Alex wasn’t sure when or how her anxiety had started. It just had, a few years prior, seemingly unprompted, and though it wasn’t severe, thankfully, it had a tendency to assault her when she least expected it. Like a pirate. Pirates did that, right? Not all of them, but according to her limited experience there was a fifty-fifty chance that he would, at the very least, turn out to be a pain in the ass.

Still, without any additional intel, she couldn’t think of any ulterior motives for the guy to come to the library. Since she couldn’t do anything to stop him, for her peace of mind, she decided to be willfully optimistic and believe.

Or at least she could try. She had never been too good at this denial thing.

A several bites into her pastry and a few pages into the newspaper, she came across an article about a sunken Marine warship by a pirate submarine, and she choked on her tea when she saw the same smiley face on the picture that accompanied the article. On said submarine. Accompanied by the word “DEATH.” Good on her for guessing what was on his fingers. At the same time, a coworker arrived, and blanching, she said good morning, got up from her seat and made a run for the newspaper archive, where they also kept in storage a copy of every bounty the Marines distributed with the World Economic Journal.

She didn’t have to look too far to see that yes, the face was familiar because it was supposed to be. She had classified it a few times in the last months – every time the guy got a bounty raise.

Surgeon of Death. Heart Pirates. Captain of one of the several rookie crews that were stirring up trouble that year. Those were the worst, they thought they were at the top of the world just because they had made it into the Grand Line. She could deal with older pirates, but she had yet to come across a newbie that wasn’t an unrestrained asshole.

She thought she saw something about dismemberments in the poster, did a double-take because she had surely read wrong, and by the time she was done with all the crimes attributed to the guy she just put the bounty back in place, went to the front desk once again, and told her concerned coworker, “A famous pirate will probably show up today. Don’t mind him. Let’s hope he just wants to read.”

She looked a little frightened. “Should I call the Marines?”

“If worst comes to worst. Let’s try not get involved if we can. He didn’t seem aggressive.”

“Okay,” she replied, sounding relieved. “Good luck out here, I’ll be in the back tagging the new arrivals.”

“Some people are lucky.”

She sighed and turned the page. Sipped on her tea. It was getting cold. Sipped on it again. She just had to play it cool. She was a professional. The guy had been okay to her.

She just hoped he would come soon, because she wasn’t so sure she could drown her nerves in tea anymore.

It was okay.

Everything was surprisingly okay.

The pirate, the day, the lunch she had at the café around the corner – waitress said the guy even tipped – but yes, everything had gone fine.

Alex didn’t move a lot from the lower floor because she often had to come and go from the front desk to the archive, but she made escapades upstairs to make sure everything was still standing.

She had seen the pirate sitting next to a window in the medicine section reading one of those thick tomes that looked very interesting but made her dizzy because she suffered from having a very graphic imagination.

Her coworkers, who roamed up there more often than her, gave her periodic reports, and one of them remarked that he was kind of hot, didn’t she agree?

No, she did not. The radiator was hot. The kettle was hot. The adjective could hardly be applied to a man unless he was on fire.

Though perhaps he was not a human man, because he had spent all day long sitting in the same position, staring at that book. She had to admire that attention span, if nothing else. She was pretty short on that, lately.

And so, having avoided any type of incident during a day in which she was very tense for no reason after all, it came time to close shop.

The pirate was still there.

Her coworkers were, very conveniently, not. She was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that someone had to remind the wanted man that it was late and he had to go.

As much as she wanted to go home and have dinner, the temptation to stay in her post so she didn’t have to interact with a criminal that hacked his victims to pieces was strong, and no one could blame her for it.

But then he appeared.

The massive door in front of her began to open, and Alex thought it was one of her treacherous coworkers returning to pick up something until a head peeked inside the hall.

“Hi?” The newcomer said shyly.

Alex wasn’t sure if the gross amounts of tea she drank every day had finally caught up to her and were making her hallucinate, because she was seeing a polar bear’s face.

“Hi?” She replied, to busy processing what was in front of her to come up with words of her own.

It seemed that that was enough for the bear, because it – no, not it, he? She? How deep was a female bear’s voice anyway? – pushed the door open some more, becoming more visible. A bright orange jumpsuit was not what she was expecting, but the smiley face on its chest and the sight of the sword the pirate had been carrying that morning didn’t leave a lot of room for imagination.

The creature in front of her eyes was a bear walking on two legs. A pirate polar bear. Probably a boy, with that size. Was he a mink? She had never seen one so up close.

“I’m looking for my captain,” he said, clutching the sword against his body. “Is he around?”

Words decided to come back to her, although in a rather clumsy manner. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I think so. He should be upstairs, reading.”

The bear smiled and she melted at the sight. “Can you… tell him to come?”

“Sure,” she said, sealing her fate. She had to face it sooner than later, she thought as she rose from her seat. The bear was still half-hidden by the door, his boots barely touching the tiles of the library. Curious. Was he that shy? “Why don’t you step inside?”

“I thought you can’t enter the library with weapons.”

His reasoning hit her in the solar plexus with the force of a herd of rainbow ponies. “Right,” she breathed out, wondering how something in the planet had managed to be so big and cute at once. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll go get your captain.”

“Thank you!”

Alex walked as fast as she could towards the stairs until she was out of sight and covered her face to keep her reaction under control. So. Goddamn. Cute. Was that how those pirates lived? Trying not to squeal whenever the resident polar bear was being sweet?

Steeling herself, she walked up the remaining steps, hoping the captain had somehow vanished while she wasn’t looking.

No such luck.

She stepped a little more forcefully than necessary as she approached him from behind a shelf, always staying at a safe distance, to try to catch his attention, but he didn’t move.

(The annoying voice in her head told her that the only safe distance from that man was a sea away.)

Could he have been asleep? That would have explained things. What was his name again?

“Mr. Trafalgar?” She tried. She wasn’t sure if she should have made known that she knew who he was, but the deed was done. He looked up. “It’s about time to close and… there’s a polar bear looking for you in the reception hall.”

“Bepo’s here?” He looked in confusion at her, and then at the window. It was dark outside. “I hadn’t noticed it had gotten so late. Eight, right?”

He stretched in the chair. Between the movement and the spotted hat and jeans, he reminded her of an overgrown leopard.

“Almost,” she offered.

He glanced at the book, frowning. Granted, his face seemed to be stuck in a perpetual frown and he didn’t sound angry. “Do you have the same hours tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, we don’t open on Sundays,” she replied, wondering if this was the exact point where the conversation would go downhill. She attempted to make it better. “But you can come on Monday if you want to keep reading.”

He grimaced, this time for real. “Can’t do. We leave on Monday morning.”

“Oh.” A quick stop, then. It was a thing that happened often. The recording time for the Log Pose was less than a day in Harlun. “Well, we could make some photocopies, but…” The book was way too long for that, and he seemed to be about halfway through.

“Can I take it out tonight and give it back to you sometime tomorrow?”

She appreciated wholeheartedly that he wasn’t getting mad at her, but the thought of the book going out of the library like that made all her alarms go off. “Not without a library card.” Which was only for residents, obviously.

She braced for retaliation, but it never came.

The pirate looked kind of conflicted. She didn’t know what was so interesting about the book that he couldn’t find it in another island, and she didn’t need to know the options that were crossing his mind to realize that she probably wouldn’t like them.

Since idiots had to find ways to console themselves, she would tell herself during the following hours that the only reason she made a tremendously stupid offer was to avoid the much worse alternatives.

“I’ll actually be working here tomorrow. The library is closed, but if you’re really that interested, I can let you in.”

Or maybe she was a fucking bleeding heart who couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make someone’s day better for free. But ironically, at what price.

She recognized the emotions on his face. First surprise, then suspicion. “Why would you?”

Because she really was that stupid, she wanted to say. “You’re a doctor, right? I don’t want a dead patient on my conscience because you couldn’t finish a book you needed. Anyway… you’re free to come tomorrow.”

And she left him there, quickly making her way down to retrieve her stuff. The bear had come inside, at last, and he looked up from the documents on Alex’s desk. She would have been surprised if he could read that handwriting.

“He’s coming,” she said with a small smile, but she didn’t know if it showed. She had, on occasion, been asked why she was angry when she tried to smile. “I’m going to pick up my things inside.”

He looked pleased, though. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She went into the back room, taking extra long on purpose until she heard movement outside and the sound of the door closing. By the time she found the courage to crawl out of her hole, the pirates were nowhere to be seen.

She left a note in her desk’s drawer, just in case, saying that if she disappeared under mysterious circumstances, Trafalgar Law was to blame. She had thought about phoning a coworker to alert her, but she wasn’t supposed to let anybody in on Sundays, much less a wanted man, and she didn’t want to risk this incident reaching the ears of the mayor.

For the first time in years, her stomach couldn’t handle the tea and she had to throw most of her cup down the drain. Damn nerves. Her hands were acting up more than usual, to the point where the warmth of the thermos wasn’t doing a lot to soothe the pain. She would have worried about that if it weren’t because of more pressing matters.

❦

Even earlier than the day before, he was already waiting for her at the door when she arrived.

Alex would admit without missing a beat that she had been an idiot for offering – never mind the very real possibility that the guy could have broken in to retrieve the book and left damages the library couldn’t afford to repair – but he was either equally dumb or exceedingly confident for having shown up. Alone. Alex could have called the Marines, for all he knew.

She didn’t miss the sword he was carrying, this time around.

She put two and two together then. Of course. He had appeared before the hour to check that the surroundings were safe.

“I didn’t expect you to actually show up,” he said as a greeting, and she reached for the key in her pocket. His tone was impressed with a good dash of mockery. “Do you know who I am?”

He already knew the answer, since she had called him by name the day before. With only two sentences, he demolished most of the halfway positive impression he had made the day before, and Alex, already predisposed to think he was a dick, decided he was exactly that.

She was tired and anxious, so she couldn’t muster up any facial expression as she said, “Should I care?” Upon noticing that had sounded even worse than she meant to, she added in a hurry, “I mean, what’s the point of asking that? Do you want me to turn around and leave the door locked?”

He didn’t seem to take it badly, thank the heavens. He looked a bit amused, in fact. “I don’t need you to unlock a door.”

“I’m well aware,” she replied in a monotone. “I appreciate you had the courtesy of waiting.” The budget was tight and changing the lock would have been a royal waste of money.

She opened the door and went in first to turn on the lights. He closed the door after going in, and she would have usually locked it again, but she really did not want to be stuck alone inside of a building with a stranger, even if the state of the lock wouldn’t make much of a difference.

“I’ll be working downstairs.” She pointed to an old, reinforced door on the wall behind the front desk. “Give me a heads up when you’re done.”

That sword was making her unnecessarily jumpy. He didn’t need to have it with him.

“Alright,” he said, glancing at the staircase to the second floor, and then he must have noticed that she was giving the sword the stink eye, because he tapped it against his shoulder and smirked. “Got a problem?”

Yeah, one about two meters tall. “None as long as you don’t use it.”

“As long as you don’t give me a reason to.”

She wanted to say a lot of things. That they were alone, that he was kind of a dick, that yes, she was as dumb as he was thinking, and to please leave her alone until he was done and only then appear to say goodbye and thank you.

Instead, she picked up a folder from her desk drawer and a lantern from the wall and left it at, “Enjoy your reading.”

He took the hint and left, and so did she.

The door to the archive closed behind her with a heavy thud, and she lit the lantern.

It was a fire hazard in a library, but it was inevitable, because the basement didn’t have electricity. After many years of pressuring the city hall for a budget increase, the council had seen fit to make renovations and extend the electrical installation to the basement. She just had to keep herself from setting the archive on fire for a couple months and the risk would be no more.

She went to the farthest area from the entrance and set the lantern on an ancient wood table. The basement was pure grey stone from floor to ceiling, making it permanently cold. She hadn’t bothered to take off her coat and scarf, but the gloves had had to go and she wasn’t happy about it. She had icicles for hands as every winter, and this year they had begun to hurt earlier than usual.

Alex had decided to put in some overtime that week because she was researching a family tree that a cousin of the mayor, a pretentious git that paid very well, had commissioned. Something about proving a blood relation to a noble family from a nearby island to have a claim to somebody else’s lands. Alex didn’t care. She had been trained for this thing, a job was a job, and she was going to do it to the best of her ability. Even if she had absolutely loathed genealogy back when she was still a student.

She didn’t think her employer would be too happy with her findings, though, because so far she’d only found a mess of marriages that didn’t bring her any closer to the neighboring island. She even found some records of a family branch that had one of those pesky Ds in the name and then disappeared from record. She supposed they just left the kingdom. She had noticed that every D. that rose to prominence was an outright weirdo, and she wasn’t sure if it was just confirmation bias because boring people didn’t make the news, but damn it they didn’t seem to crop up in the most outlandish incidents. There was the infamous Monkey D. Dragon, his father Garp, who she had seen a couple of times in person and seemed frankly overbearing, the guys in Whitebeard’s crew… And the biggest weirdo of all, of course: the King of Pirates. She’d heard from an acquaintance funny stories of him to last her a lifetime. A lot of the mystique around his figure was lost, but that was one of the things that made history interesting, in her opinion.

Sitting down on the floor to open the cabinet on the lower part of a bookcase, she took a look at the bundles of papers there. It was a seriously old part of the archive, housing documents from six hundred years back, but thanks to the cold and darkness, they had stood fairly well against the tide of time.

She reached inside and pulled out the dozen of tomes at the forefront to make sure noting was trapped behind. That part of the archive had been catalogued way before Alex’s time, after all, and not every archivist had been as careful as they should have. She had learned that the hard way, finding folders that didn’t match the catalog and misplaced pages centuries into the future. Whenever that happened, she passed the mess to her coworkers, the actual archivists, who had a tendency to curse her incessantly until they fixed the issue, but it was all in good humor.

Very carefully, she took the lantern and approached it to the cabinet. She looked inside and stared at the darkness. In fact, she had to stare for a very long while before realizing that she wasn’t looking at the back of the cabinet or even the wall.

There was an empty space there.

A secret compartment?

Work forgotten, she had a good minute of doubt, sitting on the floor. She was severely allergic to dust mites and exploring further was a health hazard. There could be spiders or rats or fungi or lethal mold. She could wait until the next day and ask a coworker to check it out in her stead.

But the temptation. There was only so much willpower she could exert in less than twenty-four hours until she ran out.

Please let it not be rats or fungi, she thought as she peeled off her coat and scarf to avoid getting them dusty, and dived in.

❦

It had been eleven years since he had any anything to remember his parents by other than the bitter memories of how Flevance had gone up in flames.

If someone accused Law of dwelling too much in the past, he would have denied it with full knowledge that he was a liar. But there was a hint of truth in that, and that was that he didn’t think of his dead family often. It was another particular piece of past that haunted him.

There was nothing left of Flevance but ashes and ruin. He knew it well, and that was why he avoided revisiting those times.

And yet.

He closed the book he had just finished, running a finger over the cover. He remembered the nights his parents spent locked in their study, writing the results of their investigations in order to share their knowledge, hoping that a cure could be found in time.

He had spent the last two days reading every word in their voices, surprising himself when he could still recognize in the wording which parts had written who.

He’d been thinking from the moment he’d found the book, the first time in over a decade he had found a copy of it anywhere, that he’d have to let it go, but he wasn’t willing to. He had considered offering to buy it from the librarian, but given she hadn’t even let him take it out the day before, he had a feeling that she would refuse. She was understandably wary of him.

Well, he was already going to hell, so proving her suspicions right wouldn’t make a difference.

He slipped the book inside his coat and went downstairs to find her. He’d at least say thank you before she could find out what he had done. He was mildly curious about her reaction, but he’d make sure to miss that.

He opened the door to the place where she’d said she’d be to be greeted by darkness and a faint light, and he immediately tumbled down half a set of stairs when he set a foot down and only found air.

Cursing under his breath, he fought against the urge to leave unannounced and, going against popular advice, he followed the light at the end of the tunnel. It got increasingly brighter the more he advanced, passing bookcase after bookcase. The way they were set made the basement somewhat labyrinthine, and he was unsure he’d be able to find his way upstairs again if he had to follow the same path he was taking.

And right as he reached the source of light… it disappeared. Briefly. As did half of the librarian’s body inside of a low cabinet in which there was no human way an adult’s torso could fit.

How interesting.

He cleared his throat, and she visibly jumped, hitting her head with a resounding plunk and an ow. She pulled out of the cabinet, looking pretty embarrassed when she faced him.

“Um, oh—Are you heading out?”

“That was the plan.”

“Okay, then,” she said like nothing had happened. Her hair, brown and chin-length, was covered in dust bunnies, as was her sweater. She took off her glasses to clean them with her clothes, revealing a set of dark circles under her eyes that could rival his. When she noticed she couldn’t wipe anything with what she had available, she discarded the glasses on top of a nearby table. “The door’s open, so—”

“What’s in there?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing important,” she said calmly, and rubbed her nose with the back of a hand. “Just old registries.”

She watched her watch him. She wasn’t budging under his stare, but Law could detect lies from miles away. Also dust allergies. He hoped she was getting medicated for those, because this town was supposed to be a quick, relaxing stop, and he wasn’t in the mood to get the corpse of a librarian added to his list of crimes. “Inside the wall?”

“I guess someone saw fit to build a compartment in the cabinet?”

“A compartment where an adult and a lamp can disappear into?”

She spread her arms, as if to make a point. “I’m fairly small.”

“Don’t you say.”

Her expression went from neutral to mildly annoyed as she dropped her arms and the pretense altogether. “You really don’t have anything better to do in town?”

The question would have been fair had there been anything out there other than mud and the tavern his men had occupied since the day they arrived. “Any suggestions?”

She conceded the point. “No, not really.” With a sigh, she nudged her head towards the cabinet. “There’s no wall. I think there’s a hidden room in there. Too wide for a passage.”

“Is this something common in libraries?”

“No, but it is with old buildings, to an extent. And these shelves may be old, but they sure as hell aren’t as ancient as the basement.” She knocked on the wood. “Someone hid that room when this basement was repurposed as an archive.”

Consider his curiosity officially piqued. “Any idea of what’s inside?”

“I was about to find out.”

“So?”

“You want to check it out?” She sounded confused and like she didn’t want to hear the answer to that question.

Too bad he wasn’t feeling charitable. “Sure. You never know where a treasure may be hiding.”

If she had been tense until then, at that moment she looked ready to shove him out with her own hands. “Any objects that may be in there could be historical artifacts and need to be treated as such.”

“And are you going to stop me if I decide to take something?”

Her frown deepened, but there was little else she could do. She had to know that, even if he left just so they wouldn’t have to put up with each other any longer, he could come back any time he wanted, key or not.

There wasn’t as much bite in her voice when she relented. “Be my guest,” she said, offering him the lamp and gesturing towards the cabinet.

“Ladies first,” he replied, which didn’t win him any points, going by her huff, but she didn’t waste more time arguing and headed inside.

And then he was left without any light on his side.

“Well?” She asked, sounding a bit nervous.

“Are you in a hurry?” He said, feeling his way down the cabinet until he found the opening. There. He saw a faint light on the other side.

“Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?”

“It’s a job perk, so might as—” Thud. His hat fell off his head and rolled to the other side. “—well.”

“…Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he lied, crawling out of the cabinet and picking up his hat.

“That’s why I tried to give you the lamp,” she said with obvious satisfaction, ignoring his reply, and holding the lamp higher to cover as much terrain as possible with the light. “The floor and walls look the same as outside. This is an extension of the basement, built at the same time as the rest of it, by the looks of it.”

“Why do you think someone would block the entrance?”

“To hide something or someone, so there’s a good chance there’s going to be a corpse instead of treasure. In fact, I hope it’s a corpse,” she sentenced.

“You have strange hobbies.”

“You wouldn’t try to steal a corpse. At least I’d avoid a pointless argument.”

Well, that depended on its state. He was bored, and it couldn’t hurt to take a body part back for closer inspection.

“…You wouldn’t, right?”

“Technically, it wouldn't be anyone's property.”

“Just saying, you have no right to judge anybody else’s hobbies. Hm?” She walked forward a few steps, and the light revealed something square standing in the middle of the room.

“Doesn’t look like your corpse,” he said.

“Doesn’t look like your treasure, either,” she replied, but she seemed to tune him out as she approached the object, and by the time she was standing in front of it, her eyes were wide open and her mouth fell a little bit.

Law waited for her to say something, but she was too caught up inspecting the thing. He took a few steps forwards and saw a perfect stone cube with etched inscriptions that covered one of its sides completely, and whatever it was, the librarian must found it fascinating. She was running her free hand over the symbols, leaving trails in the dust, and looking at them so up close that she may as well have been head-butting the stone. He was fairly sure that he had forgotten he was there. And that had to mean something, since she had made clear that she didn’t want him there.

“What is it?” He asked. There wasn’t anything interesting to him about that stone, and the fact that she had the lamp he had refused to take just to be a smartass meant that he couldn’t inspect the rest of the room while she did her thing.

She wasn’t brought out of her reverie right away. When she finally spoke, she took a couple of steps back to look at the entirety of the cube. “It’s a Poneglyph. It makes no sense, but it has to be.”

That didn’t answer anything. “And what’s that supposed to be?”

“A Poneglyph’s a… a record of sorts. There’s an indeterminate number scattered across the world, and they contain… well. Historical records.”

“So something that makes sense to have it in an archive.”

“Well, yes, but no. Poneglyphs contain forbidden knowledge.” Her stare could bore a hole in the stone if she kept it up. “You know the Void Century? Have you heard about the tragedy of Ohara?”

“On passing.” He recalled the news about the Tree of Knowledge burning and the scientists being declared enemies of the World Government. “One of the people involved has joined a pirate crew recently, hasn’t she? Devil Child, they call her.”

“Do they?” It seemed to come as entirely new information for her, and that made her look at him, at last. Without the glasses and under the light of the lamp’s flame, her eyes looked yellow. “I don’t pay that much attention to pirate news. No one ever comes here.” The question of why was he there was left unspoken, and thus unanswered. “Anyway. They are the only remaining records of the Void Century, and its study is prohibited by the World Government. Rumor goes that Ohara’s experts were working on them.”

“World Government covering up stuff then. Nothing new.”

“Indeed.” She switched the lamp to her other hand and glanced back at the Poneglyph. “I wonder why there’s one here. They are supposed to be extremely hard to find.”

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know. Nobody can read them. Maybe the people of Ohara could have, but…” She shrugged. “We’re twenty years late.”

She stared pensively at the Poneglyph, the lines of frustration etched on her face showing more emotion than anything he’d seen so far from her. Then, unexpectedly, she offered the lamp to him. “You want to take a look around, right?”

Their hands brushed for a moment when he took it by the handle, and she turned again towards the stone and crossed her arms.

He was still curious.

“What are you going to do?” He asked.

“Hm? About what?”

“What do you think?”

“The Poneglyph? Did you not hear what I said? Its study is prohibited.” He tone became despondent. “And… the city hall is going to know it’s here in a few months.”

“Why?”

“Renovations. We’re supposed to get electricity in the basement. Lamps are a fire hazard.”

“So it’s your only chance. Could you decipher it?”

“With years of work and research, maybe. But that’s—nah, no way, they reduced an island to bits because of this. It’s not worth the risk. I couldn’t do it anyway.”

“Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses, but what do I know? I’m just a pirate.”

And he started walking around the perimeter of the chamber, in hopes of finding something. After a few minutes of continuous disappointment, the librarian spoke up, and she sounded oddly polite.

“Could you wait here a moment? I want to pick up some material from outside.”

It was his turn to be suspicious. “Won’t you need the light?”

“No, I can navigate this place in the dark. I’ll be right back.”

He supposed that this was too convoluted to be a trap, but he felt kind of naked having left Kikoku in the archive. He didn’t feel uncomfortable for long, though, because true to word, about a minute later and after bonking her head on the way back in, she reappeared in the room with large sheets of paper and several other packs that she stacked up in front of the stone.

“Is that carbon paper?” He asked as he approached her. He hadn’t found anything else in the room, but damn if the library’s resident gremlin wasn’t a welcome entertainment.

“That’s right.” And she climbed on top of the unstable pile of papers and started to smooth the carbon paper over the stone. “I’ll transcribe it back home.”

This was a turn of events he hadn’t seen coming. “What happened to ‘it’s forbidden?’”

“All the good things in life are unhealthy for you.” With one hand, she pulled out a roll of adhesive tape and cut a few pieces with her teeth to stick the carbon paper to the Poneglyph. “Besides, fuck the government.”

Law couldn’t help but smirk at that. “A commendable sentiment.”

“Why, thank you!” She beamed at him, whether sarcastically or not, it was hard to tell. With considerable effort, she kept sticking pieces of carbon paper to the surface. He guessed the plan was to cover it entirely.

“Do you need help?”

“Are you offering?”

For someone who had been so wary of him a few hours earlier, she was a bit of a smartass, herself.

“Good question.”

He thought he heard her snort, but he couldn’t tell if it was because she was annoyed or amused. Probably the former.

“That stack of papers looks very unstable,” he commented.

“Yes, thanks for mentioning it.”

“You aren’t tall enough to reach the corner of the Poneglyph.”

Silence, resignation, and the telltale look of someone who was looking at an infestation beyond the capabilities of pest control. “I don’t suppose you would help me?”

“If you asked nicely.”

She looked at him with a strange face, one that indicated many thoughts and the inability to pick a single one and answer accordingly.

“No?” He tried.

Her eyes narrowed as she motioned to one of the papers. “Can you hold this up for me, please?”

His reply, however, was immediate. “I’ll think about it.”

She sighed, determined to ignore him, and returned to her work like she hadn’t expected anything from him at all, which he thought was a great attitude to have. But again, because he didn’t particularly care to see her slip and crack her head against the stone tiles, he did the tremendous effort of lifting up an arm to hold the paper in place.

She paused to look at him. Stone-faced as she was, it was hard to tell if there was any surprise in there or just mere curiosity, but she smiled a little when she said, “Look at you. Maybe the real treasure was the friends we made along the way.”

He let go of the paper, but since she didn’t stop chuckling to herself, he nudged the stack under her feet to remind her who was in control here.

❦

Alex said goodbye to the pirate that had managed to surpass her admittedly low expectations, but not before filing him under the pain in the ass category. Her classification system stood the test of reality so far.

Relieved at being alone again, she locked the door, did a few stretches, and decided that she’d had a lot of emotions that day and deserved another cup of tea.

One hurdle overcome. The pirate had seemed a way bigger problem before she’d found a fucking Poneglyph in the basement. Now she had no clue what to do with the new one.

It didn’t take her long to realize that she was fucked, no matter how she looked at it.

She felt oddly calm about it at that moment. She supposed it had something to do with the shock of the discovery and that the danger was still nebulous, if certain.

She sipped on her tea.

She was the only person that ventured regularly into that art of the archive, but alerting about the discovery herself was out of the question. If they knew she knew, they’d probably make her not know anything anymore.

The problem was that the construction workers would surely find the door, and now that she and Trafalgar had been walking around the room, there was obvious tampering. Cleaning the dust would get rid of the footprints and marks on the Poneglyph, but the lack of dust would be as suspicious as the sets of footprints.

The next gulp of tea scorched her throat.

So, only two options remained: stay, wait patiently and leave up to chance whether an accident happened to her, and probably the whole library with its workers, or quit her job, take a boat somewhere else and drop off the radar. The first one wasn’t worth the risk.

Two things to take into account with the remaining option: anybody with half a brain could suspect that her sudden departure had something to do with the Poneglyph, and in that case, all suspicions would fall on her. The plus side was that her coworkers would probably be spared.

What to do? It was a long way to her hometown. She could settle back there if she was spared from the government’s suspicions. If not…

Well. There was Sabaody.

Which was stupid for several reasons, the main one being that it was on Marineford’s and Mary Geoise’s doorsteps.

The ache in her hands felt especially acute, even through the heat radiating from the cup.

It would come down to luck, no matter what she did. Maybe she was overthinking the situation and nothing would happen. Workers would move the Poneglyph in the middle of the night, or seal it away while no one was looking, and that would be the end of it.

But assuming a best case scenario would most likely spell death in this situation, and she’d like to avoid that. She may not have had a super interesting life, but she was quite fond of having it.

Reality started to sink in then. Oh, god. She had to make a run for it, didn’t she?

She left the cup aside on her desk and started pacing around and up the stairs to burn energy. She could tell the city hall that a family member was ill and she needed to go back home. That would be sensible, but all the paperwork and finding a replacement for her would take weeks. At least one month would go by before she could leave the island without raising suspicions. Being able to cross the Red Line depended entirely on travel time and the wait for permissions to traverse the Holy Land, both of which would take money she didn’t have. She could probably cover the expenses to get to the Red Line, but not the rest of the way.

She’d need to pick up a quick job in between to replenish her wallet, then.

Why couldn’t she go work to a normal library? Why had this happened to her?

She hurried towards the medical section to put the book back in its place, and when she didn’t find it in the cart, she went to check the desks. All empty. Maybe he had put it back in place?

But all there was where the book should have been was an empty space, and a nervous heat started to rise to Alex’s cheeks as she realized that she had been duped and the son of a bitch had stolen her book after she’d had the generosity to open the door for him on a Sunday so he didn’t have to break and enter.

She was too full of anxious energy, with all that had happened, to sit still and fume silently. She’d never been prone to resignation where there were still options left to try, and if what her near future held for her was a one way trip to Impel Down, getting murdered by a pirate wasn’t the worst that could happen.

Harlun wasn’t big, and it was muddy outside. Very much so. Enough that Alex picked up her belongings, went outside, and, for once, was grateful that the roads were made of dirt and not pavement.

She hurried through the private plaza, carrying her bag on her shoulder, boots stomping on the cobblestones until she reached the road and saw a recent pair of shoe imprints that headed down the street.

With her black coat open and billowing in the wind, she went on Trafalgar Law’s pursue and, to her relief, his trail didn’t lead to the port, but rather to the tavern where every single sailor that stopped in Harlun seemed to spend their days in. Not like they had much of a choice.

A friendly face saluted her from behind the counter as she crossed the door. “Long time no see, A—”

“HiAl,” she said to the bartender so fast that she wasn’t sure if the words came out properly, but she didn’t care, because the bastard she was looking for was sitting on a barstool right in front of her. She couldn’t interpret the look on his face, but what she could tell for sure was that she wanted to deck him in it. “You,” she said, accusatory.

He smirked, and her irritation only grew. “What a coincidence. Here for a drink?”

She inhaled deeply, angrily, walked up to him and dropped her bag on the nearest barstool. Damn, he was tall, and so was his seat. Even sitting down, he towered above her. Not that it mattered, because most people tended to be taller than Alex, so this didn’t register as an intimidating factor. “You know what I’m here for.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You stole my book.”

“Your book?”

She had come here to embarrass herself, hadn’t she? Too late to turn back now. “The library’s book.”

“What makes you think I did?”

Oh, he was insufferable.

“Do you take me for an idiot?” She retorted. “You’re the only person who could have taken it.”

“How so? The library’s closed today.”

Alex’s mouth fell a little bit open at Law’s flippant answer under the curious gaze of Al. “Really?” She said, unimpressed. “I can’t make you return it even if I try, and that’s how you’re going to play it?”

He wore a self-satisfied smile, and he wasn’t even looking at her. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She considered what to say for a few seconds. “Okay,” was the best she could do. She didn’t know why she felt so disappointed. It wasn’t like she had expected anything good from him, from the start. He was right if he thought she was an idiot. “Serves me right for trying to help,” she said, yanking on her bag to retrieve it and turning around without facing him. “Bye, Al.”

Being taken advantage of was the worst feeling.

She hadn’t taken a second step away from him when a hand grabbed her by her left arm and pulled her back.

“Wait,” she heard Trafalgar say. When she turned around, he wasn’t smirking anymore. “What’s the name of the book?”

“You know the name,” she said irritated, confused, and offended that he was invading her personal bubble.

“Do you?”

“Effects of heavy metal poisoning on the cardiovascular system, I think?” She said, punctuating the sentence with a tired sigh. “Do you need the reference too?”

“No. The authors.”

“Are you getting at something or are you just laughing at me?”

He let go of her to search for something in the coat he had discarded on the barstool to his other side. The book she was looking for. He held it up for her, but didn’t offer it, and Alex didn’t try to take it by surprise because there’s no point in stealing when you can’t make a swift escape with the loot.

She looked at the names written below the title. “Doctor…” She muttered, and then she read the surname, and the surname below it, and she blinked a couple of times before redirecting her attention to Law. “You aren’t old enough to have written this book.”

It said Trafalgar. Twice. Family? Was this a con? Did he come from a line of doctors?

“Obviously.”

“A parent?” No, there were two. “Parents?”

“Bingo.”

Alex’s indignation and disappointment fizzled against her will. He was a thief, he’d taken advantage of her good will and was waving the prize in front of her face, she should’ve been furious!

And yet, she had to be a bleeding heart again. “And I don’t suppose you can ask them or the printing press for another copy?”

His response wasn’t immediate, but when he gave one, it was silent. He opened the book from the back, and showed her the words printed behind the back cover:

Printed in Flevance.

That was a resounding no if there ever was one. But did that also mean…? No, he couldn’t have anything to do with that incident, there wasn’t anybody left from Flevance. Perhaps his parents had been working there when war broke out. It was safe to assume that the son of two doctors wouldn’t become a famous pirate if he still had a family to fall back onto. This was a huge can of worms that she had no intentions of opening, though.

“If you’re a liar, you’re a very convincing one,” she admitted. She couldn’t even get rightfully enraged without the universe throwing her a curveball, huh? “All right, keep it. Not that you need my permission.”

With a satisfied smile, he put away the book. “Will you get in trouble?”

“Why do you—” She cut herself short. Not worth asking. “No, I’ll blame you if anybody notices,” she replied. “Al—”

“Not a word.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, and then looked at the pirate once again. “Well, Mr. Trafalgar, it’s been…” Not exactly a pleasure. “Interesting.”

A short laugh escaped him. She had to wonder if it was the alcohol what had him in such high spirits. “Leaving so soon?”

“What, you steal from my workplace and want me to stay for the party?” She asked with incredulity.

“Is it theft if you’re allowing it, though?”

The gall of this dude. “No, thank—”

Suddenly, a red haired man wearing sunglasses indoors and a white jumpsuit entered the scene, putting an arm around Law’s shoulders. “Hey, Captain! Who’s the girl?”

“She’s…”

“A librarian,” she offered. “Just a librarian.”

“Oooh, the librarian!”

“…What—”

“Penguin, come here! It’s the librarian!”

His friend, who wore a cap with the word ‘penguin’ on it that concealed his eyes, but otherwise was dressed exactly like him, walked up to them, “Nice to meet ya!” He wave at her. “You’ve got guts!”

She sensed her chance to make a swift exit was gone. “I think I’m a little lost.”

“Captain said you opened the library just for him.”

“Oh. That.” She was still regretting that. She should have never woken up. Sundays were meant for sleeping. “That’s not guts, it’s being a dumbass.”

The two men laughed, and the first said, “Aren’t they the same?”

She tilted her head, conceding the point. The tilt of their voices was similar to the captain’s, she noticed. Northerners, too. She felt small thinking that they had travelled from practically the opposite side of the world until she remembered she had done the same. The difference was that she had managed to make it boring.

“So what brings you here?” Penguin asked. “Come for a drink after work?”

“No, not really, I was just about to—”

“Come on, have a drink with us!”

“Um, I should really—”

“You live here for long?” The redhead intervened. “I wanna hear about this town. Is it as boring as it looks? Because we’ve been trying to find something to do since we got here.”

“There has to be something.”

Alex smiled a little despite herself, feeling their plight until she remembered the Poneglyph in the archive. “There’s nothing at all.” She turned her head to look at the tables for a moment, hopefully find an excuse to escape. As expected, she saw about a dozen people dressed in the same kind of uniform as those two, but she did a double take when she saw someone clad in orange.

There was the polar bear again, toasting with his friends.

“Is he a mink?” He asked the guys, who grinned at her. She saw Law hide a smile behind his glass before returning his attention to the bear.

He was laughing as he lifted a companion from a chair one handed. Everyone looked so… happy.

“Woah!” Penguin exclaimed. “Second person—”

“Third.”

“Right, third – third person who’s realized what he is since coming to the Grand Line!”

Not surprising. She had never seen any so far from the Red Line. “Is he part of your crew?”

“Yeah, Bepo’s our friend.”

“And our navigator,” Law added.

Aw. Oh, she was getting soft with age.

“Wait here,” said the redhead, “we’ll introduce you!”

“Oh, no need, we already—”

But the two were gone before she could finish her excuse and leave. She supposed there wasn’t any harm in staying a while. She had already demolished her life in a matter of hours, and she didn’t see how this could make it worse. They seemed friendly people, even if their captain was kind of an ass.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” she said quietly, more to herself than anybody else.

Law replied, though. “There aren’t many of them around.”

“No, I’ve seen minks before. I meant a free one.”

Law regarded her with a brand interest that she hadn’t received from him yet. “Are you talking about slaves?”

“You’re headed to the Sabaody Archipelago, right?”

“Eventually.”

“Be careful. Minks aren’t safe there.”

He snorted. “I assure you Bepo can take care of himself.”

Raising her eyebrows at her dismissal, “Don’t underestimate what those people are willing to do to get their hands on a novelty slave.”

“How do you know? Have you been there?”

For longer than she had ever expected to. “Some time ago,” she replied noncommittally. “And it’s dangerous enough for boring people with the kidnapping crews, the human auction, the Celestial Dragons and the Marines so close. You already stand out, but your friend? Keep an eye on him.”

He sounded disgruntled when he said, “You don’t need to tell me,” but it sounded as close to a concession as she thought she was going to get from him.

“Coffee?” Al interrupted to offer one to her. He already had a press in hand.

“Sure,” she said, giving in. She wasn’t going anywhere soon, it seemed, so she climbed on a barstool. “How did you even meet him?” She asked Law, who seemed amused by her interest in his friend. “Don’t they live in the New World?”

“North Blue. We met eleven years ago.”

That was about the last answer she expected. “He’s been with you all along? Wow.”

She felt kind of jealous. She didn’t have any friends from when she was a child. She knew people, sure. A lot of people. Some she liked, many she’d rather not have met at all. A couple of true friends here and there, but no one close by. As much as she enjoyed being alone, and she couldn’t recall a moment in her life she’d felt lonely, she had to wonder how it was like to have such good friends around all the time. It sounded exhausting and fun.

“Yeah,” he agreed, though she hadn’t expected him to, and the admission made her smile a little. “My thoughts exactly.”

#degrees of separation

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

Text

College au part 2

Home, a place where I can go to take this off my shoulders- someone take me home (Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors & Bebe Rexha – Home)

They are there for each other, the good and the bad. That’s what family is for, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-

-I'm so gay -sighed Miguel almost dreamingly, stopping next to Slobo by the doors leading to the backyard.

Blissfully unaware of them, Tim was going through his usual routine of what seemed a mix of gymnastics, various martial arts and parkour, with a side of dancing to spice things up.

His friend snorted without even raising his eyes from the motorcycle engine he was trying to fix. A blasphemy, in Miguel's humble opinion, to have such an amazing view and to not take advantage of it.

-I know.

He dropped to the ground, head resting on Slobo's shoulder, gaze unwavering in his appreciation of slim muscles and perfectly controlled strength. Tamed power to the fullest.

-I mean like, really really gay.

-Yeah, what else is new? Pass me the motor oil.

He blindly patted the ground for it, picking something vaguely shaped like a can and thrusting it to where he thought were the other's hands.

When Tim bends over and starts stretching, Miguel wheezes and drops the can.

-I'm so stupidly, non functionally gay.

Slobo rolled his eyes and picked it up, his other hand going to close Miguel’s jaw.

-Dude that's all old news. Either come here with fresh gossip, be helpful, or leave. I don't need you making a mess of my stuff. You are getting your hormones all over my individual bubble.

Miguel sighed again, eyes almost physically turning into hearts when Tim stretched his arms over his head.

-Fuck, I can’t handle this much inner gay. It’s overwhelming.

-Nothing inner about it, dude. You’re dripping it all over my work station. Can’t you go be a disaster gay somewhere else?

-Tim is here, so no can do.

-Can’t you just ask him out and save us all the pining show and second hand embarrassment?

A few meters away, Tim had taken out the bo staff and was practicing some moves. He accidentally brushed a branch (a thick one, from the pine tree Kon’s grandparents had made him plant upon moving there), and snapped it in half. He seemed kinda sheepish about it, which was both adorable and terrifying. Miguel was scared and horny.

-He’d destroy me.

Slobo hummed, hand reaching up to pat Miguel in the shoulder.

-Sounds like something you’d be kinda into, though.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-This coffee tastes like dirt -complained Tim, while chugging half the pot in one long gulp.

Distantly, Cassie noted there was still steam coming out of the liquid. Hadn’t Tim just brew it? Also, was it completely dark? No sugar?

Like her future?

Despairingly, she let her head fall again on the table.

-Why did I get into politics?

-Your pathological need to fulfill Diana’s expectations -replied Cissie, sitting across from her, long hair in what could have been a bun once upon a time but now looked more like a bird’s nest. That had been hit by lighting. Repeatedly.

It strangely suited her. Or it could be Cassie’s adoration for her friend speaking, who the fuck knows.

-Which, I might add -interjected Tim, not waiting for them to say ‘you may’ before continuing. Because he was a rude bastard like that- you invented by yourself. Diana only hopes you don’t end up in jail. And if it's for the right causes, she might even forgive that.

He dropped to the ground for no discernible reason, back to the cabinets where they kept the fine cutlery they never used. He was staring at the halfway empty pot like it contained the key to conquering mankind.

Knowing Tim, it might actually be true.

-Don’t try to take over the world -she asked, worried he might. Cissie made a confused sound, not privy to Cassie’s internal monologue, but Tim just nodded distractedly, which was all she needed before turning back to her half done paper.

-How are you doing, sis?

-Sis like sister, o Ciss like Cissie? -came Tim’s voice from behind her, probably still sitting on the ground.

-Yes.

-Oh -the girl in front of her blinked- sorry, you were talking to me?

-I mean… Tim is not ‘sis’.

-I resent that, I totally could be. Also, seriously, why does my coffee taste like dirt?

-Don’t drink it then. You were saying, honey?

Cassie rested her chin on a hand, elbow carefully to the side of her paper.

-How are you doing?

-Wondering why did I ever thought studying psychology was a good idea. Why? Who started me on this path, and can I punch them? -her voice raised higher and higher the more distressed she got- Tim? Do you remember?

-Your therapist back in high school got you out of your toxic home life and helped you basically re-build your sense of self worth. Also you like to get into everyone’s business so Kon suggested making a career out of it.

-Remind me to punch him later.

-You could break your hand, and you have an archery competition this friday.

-Kick him, then.

-Got ya.

-Can I just die? -interjected Cassie, phone at hand. Her screen displayed a text sent by a classmate, who updated her on their due date. Apparently, she had calculated wrong and it was way sooner than what she thought- What’s the worst that could happen if I die? I’m sure people would get over it.

-You’d be losing all the progress you made in your career so far -reminded her Cissie.

Tim’s voice joined from behind- Included, but not limited to, that one class you had with the douche professor. Imagine if you lost your progress and had to start over. Imagine having class with him again.

She shivered- That was both incredibly motivational, and unholily terrorizing.

Greta entered the kitchen then. She looked fresh and cute, which was probably due to her having a full night’s sleep.

-Wow, you three have been here the whole night? -she asked, obviously concerned, looking over Cissie’s shoulder at her assignment- Did you guys even make progress? At all? -her eyes discovered Tim’s half assed project, on the place next to where Cissie sat.

If Cassie didn’t love her so much, she would punch her in the face.

Tim sighed.

-I can’t get up. I can’t feel my legs -he admitted. Cassie thinks, she should be worried. Losing sensibility seemed like a serious problem. But, whatever, Greta was here, and she was perfectly well rested. Let her take care of the worrying.

-Tim? Oh my god, are you alright? -she rushed to his side.

-I think the coffee stopped making effect, and my three-on-a-row all nighters caught up to me. Just let me die, Greta. If coffee is not longer working on my body, I might as well let the grim reaper do its thing.

Cassie couldn’t see her any longer, since she was at her back by Tim’s side, but she could still somehow sense her concern growing.

-Tim... Did you use this bag by the coffee maker to brew it?

-I can’t move my head to look up at what you’re pointing, but I guess I did.

-Oh, honey… that is soil for Kon’s vegetable plot. Not coffee grounds.

-...so that’s why it tasted like dirt. Thank god. Excuse me while I faint.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-I think Conner is dead on our living room -announced Miguel entering the kitchen. Slobo, Anita and Greta didn’t even blink, just kept their... poker? game going.

-He’s probably just sleeping -the other man waved a hand dismissively- Did you check his pulse or something?

-Ew, no. What if he’s really dead? I don’t want to touch a corpse. Greta, you go touch it.

-Why me?

-If anyone will need to put their fingerprints in a veritable crime scene, who better than the only one with no criminal record?

-Tim doesn't have it either, go knock on his door and tell him to do it. I’m about to swindle both these jerks.

-There’s a difference between never getting caught by the police, and erasing all virtual proof of your crimes. Tim belongs to the second group. Also, last I checked, he and Bart were working on something on his room. I’m not approaching that danger zone without protective equipment.

-Speaking of -Slobo raised his head, looking around- has anyone bought them food in the last couple of hours?

-Kon, probably.

-He is dead -he reminded them- Cassie and Cissie are still asleep, and I’m not waking them up. Greta?

Out of their group, Conner was Tim and Bart’s official handler (when Tim was not micromanaging them all, at least; little control freak). Many people believed he lifted at the gym to get all the girls; in truth, as the boy had once told Miguel, it was so he could carry both his friends to bed in one trip to tuck them in at the same time, because if he did it separately, the one that got to be second always tried to make a run for it.

In the event he was unavailable, Cassie took over. Her skills with a lasso and years of practice at the rodeo came in handy then, and it never failed to crack him up when he saw how swiftly she caught them both.

And if she wasn’t close or was busy, then Cissie took over for Bart and Greta for Tim, as they could only handle one at the time.

The rest of them were last resource. Second to last was Jason Todd, who as both Tim’s brother and Bart’s TA held a fair amount of power over them.

If Jason told them to fuck off, then Slobo, Miguel and Anita would talk it out among themselves. Slobo would suggest knocking them out. Which, considering Bart’s speed and Tim’s mindblowing ninja training (and where the hell did he learn that, they would never know), wasn’t a very realistic option. Anita suggested drugs; but between Bart’s ADHD medication and Tim’s antibiotics for his lack of spleen and antidepressants, the adverse effects made them all a little uncomfortable with the idea.

Miguel’s own suggestions, which involved a lot of tender care and coddling, where ignored with a few laughs and a shrug.

-Fuck you, I’m not leaving this table so close to cleaning you both up. If you are worried, you go feed them.

Slobo shrugged.

-If they die, I call Tim’s room. Having a roommate is the worst.

-Excuse you -raised an eyebrow Miguel, walking to the fridge for a drink. He might as well watch the game.

-If I have to listen to you practicing your singing before showering one more time...

-If I can deal with you cursing at your phone at five am, you can deal with my melodious voice -Miguel blinked- That’s not poker.

-We are playing Truco.

-What?

-It’s a popular game in Argentina, or so Tim said. He taught us when he was having a coffee break this morning. And by the way: Truco, bitches!

-I’m in! -Slobo yelled back.

Greta looked at her cards impassively, then at the ones laying on the table between the three of them, before raising an eyebrow- I call Re Truco.

Miguel watched them go for a while. He wasn’t sure on the rules, but from the way they kept yelling, he knew it was highly competitive. It also seemed to involve a great amount of deceit, bullshiting and being as poker faced as possible. It made sense that Tim had been the one introducing them to the game. Speaking of…

-Maybe if I knock on the door with a coffee offering, he’ll listen to me without punching my nose in? -he mumbled to himself, aware that the others were ignoring him. Decided to test his luck, he climbed to his feet and readied the coffee maker.

The rest of the afternoon saw Miguel sitting on Tim’s bed, watching from the sidelines how both he and Bart built… something. It had a chainsaw and a mini shield, so maybe a fighting bot? There were some (not very legal) competitions around campus...

It was almost dinner time when he remembered a tiny, small detail.

-Man, I’m so hungry. You guys think dinner is ready? -asked Bart, hand sweeping the sweat off his forehead- Who was in charge of it tonight?

Lightning-like realization hit Miguel.

-Oh, yeah, speaking of that… Kon was probably dead, last time I checked. Maybe we should order a pizza or something?

-Cool, I could do pizza.

-I’m sorry, Kon was what?!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-You guys need jobs -told them Tim one morning over breakfast. They had just moved in together, and classes were about to start. Nobody seemed willing to talk about responsibility yet, but he felt like they needed the push to do it.

-I have a job -proudly smiled Bart, eyes never leaving the TV where his character was beating Kon’s into a bloody plump. He didn’t elaborate past that, and Tim made a mental note to investigate further later. Bart’s career was enough, they needn't add another unsolved mystery.

-Where is this coming from, though? We have loads of time for that -scoffed Slobo, watching the game intently.

-Classes are starting soon, and people will be getting all the good jobs. I did some calculations, and the money you guys have been saving for living expenses will run out in two, three months tops. Greta has the coffee shop thing and Cassie just got called back from the movie theatre, but the rest of you need to find some money maker. Stat.

-And what about you? -threw Cissie back, internally agreeing with him but despising the reality check.

Tim looked at her, completely deadpan. Silently, he took out his wallet, fishing three cards (one silver, one golden and one black) from it and showing them to her.

-Even before being adopted by a billionaire, I already was a rich trust fund baby. And now that I’ve said it, I’m gonna avoid getting punched by making my exit. Good luck job hunting.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cassie and Anita’s room was ground floor, along with the kitchen, living room, laundry area, a medium size bathroom with a shower, and a very small one with only the toilet and sink. The second floor housed Bart and Conner’s room, along with Miguel and Slobo’s, and Cissie and Greta’s, plus the biggest bathroom, with both a tub and shower. The attic had been claimed by Tim, who won that right by paying the deposit for the house on top of his part of the rent. It was the biggest room, the size of the entire house without partitions, with only one separation in the form of the small sized bathroom. He loved his room, would pay twice what he coughed up to have it. It was worth it, every cent.

He loved his attic; The bathroom, however, was another thing. It ran out of warm water constantly.

-This is the second time this month. I love you, but you aren’t burrowing our bath -denied Cissie firmly, arms crossed as she waited outside the door for Greta to finish her shower-. If it was any other day I’d say yes, you know I would, but you aren’t the only one that needs to get ready for the movie, and there’s six of us sharing here. Go ask the girls.

Defeated but understanding, he went another floor down, arms full with his skin and hair care products (he had a image to keep, and one never knew when paparazzi would be around; he and his brothers had a steady competition on who got caught in camera being a ugly mess the least, that he wasn’t willing to lose) and clean clothes.

Anita shrugged when she opened the door, still naked except from her towel and hair dripping.

-Yeah, Cassie already took hers. Just remember to lock the door, dude. Since its ground floor bathroom, someone always tries to get in to pee when you’re showering, it’s annoying. Also, don’t come at me with complains about hair in the drain, okay?

Thankful beyond caring, he nodded and hurried towards it.

He wasn’t expecting what he found there. Already halfway to the shower, he stopped to leave his folded clothes on top of the cabinet near the sink when he saw...

-Why are there weapons here? -he couldn't help but scream, clutching a towel to his naked chest. He felt distinctly like a victorian lady preserving her virtue from a foe. It was a very curious feeling.

-I said no judgements!! -Anita yelled back from across the hallway.

-Yeah, regarding hair on the floor! Nobody said anything about weapons!

-So I forgot my katana there after my shower, big deal. Just don’t fall on it, problem solved.

-No, I’m used to seeing your katana, but why the fuck do you girls have cat shaped brass knuckles?

-They are cute and useful! Aren’t you taking a shower, dude? The movie starts soon!

Deciding that this wasn't a battle worth picking, he turned on the warm water. Ahh, nice, wonderful hot water.

-Oh, Tim! -came Cassie’s yell- Don’t lock the door, forget what Anita said! I need to put on my make up and that mirror is better than the one in our room.

-I’m gonna be showering though.

-And?

Yeah, she had a point. Shrugging, he made sure the door was unlocked before stepping under the water and closing the curtain.

He heard her coming in and rummaging through one of the little bags he saw on the sink cabinet. He couldn't help but ask.

-Why do you guys keep weapons here?

-They are for when we are most vulnerable.

-With thighs like yours you’re never vulnerable.

-I love you. But just pretend I have noodle legs, for argument’s sake.

-Mkay.

-Well, name one instance when you’re more weak and exposed than when you’re taking a shower.

-...Yeah, I follow. Still seems a bit excessive, but I do like that pointy needle thing you have by the blow dryer. I need to get my sister one of those, cute and deadly like her.

-That? Oh, honey, no, that’s a hair pin.

-If you put your hair in a bun and use that as an ornament, you’d never be unarmed, that’s all I’m saying. Again, cute and deadly.

-...You’ve opened my eyes.

-You’re welcome. May I borrow your eyeliner?

-Sure, but why? You don’t usually use makeup.

-If I make myself long enough wings, maybe I’ll be able to fly away from my problems. Or look fabulous enough to not care about them.

-In moments like this I’m reminded of my undying love for you. Do my eyes too.

-Gotcha.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He came home five minutes after receiving the text, chest heaving from the run and heart beating furiously for a entirely different reason.

Cassie, phone at hand, was waiting by the door. Her eyes were solemn.

-What happened? -he asked, not bothering with niceties as he stepped in and closed the door behind him.

-Family dinner went wrong -she shrugged-, not that he told me. Bart was playing games when he walked in and he texted Jason, who told him, and then he came to me.

Fuck them, Kon thought uncharitably. The Waynes were both an awesome family, and boarding on toxic. Guessing which kind were they going to be any given week was like playing lottery. It was such a Murphy law thing that they went for shitty this particular weekend, where Tim could have used their love and support the most.

-How is Jason? -he asked, not that he cared too much, but because he knew Tim would want to know sooner or later.

-Bart didn’t say, but he did mention he was hanging out with Kori and Roy, and Artemis said in the family group chat to not bother her tonight, so I’m assuming she’s there too.

-Biz is still at the farm, but three is better than nothing -he sighed, taking off his coat and walking towards the stairs- Bart?

-He just convinced Tim to take a bath in the big tub, so he’s probably standing guard by the door.

A nod, Kon’s steps hurried with purpose now that he had a clear destination in mind.

-The others?

Cassie waved vaguely towards the arch on the wall leading to the living room. Kon could see someone moving there from the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn to check; he wouldn't be derailed from his path.

-Greta went to the attic to clean Tim’s room a bit. You know he doesn't have the strength to do it himself right now, but seeing it like that also makes him feel worse. Cissie and Anita are readying the living room for a movie night, picking up all the pillows and blankets in the house. A pillow fort might be in the making.

They were on the second floor now. Kon could see Bart ahead, back resting against the wall, just by the side of the door.

-Slobo ran to Tim’s favorite pizza place -Cassie kept going, keeping pace with him- and should be back soon; Miguel went to the store to buy comfort food, sweets and stuff. Ice cream too, probably.

Conner nodded again, glad to see everyone was following their protocol for these kind of situations. All their housemates accounted for, he stopped in front of Bart and patted his shoulder comfortingly. He was very empathetic, tended to pick up on everyone’s moods, specially Tim’s, and let himself be influenced by them. The shadows on his eyes were probably a mirror image of how their friend currently taking a bath was doing. Not so hot, apparently.

-I’ll take it from here, you guys go put on your pajamas and help the girls get everything ready -he suggested, eyes going to Cassie’s. She nodded, understanding that her mission now was to calm Bart down. Helping Anita and Cissie would do wonders for him.

On most situations, the group tended to follow Tim’s lead, their indisputable commander in chief; when he couldn’t be there, or was too emotionally compromised, Cassie would take over. However, in this particular scenario, everyone deferred to him for some reason. Maybe because he’s been with Tim for the longest time, maybe because he knew him best. It didn’t matter; all he cared about was that it made his work easier, and they seemed glad to have a task they could focus on, rather than dwelling in concern.

Softly, he rapped his knuckles against the door.

-Tim? I’m coming in, dude -he informed him, voice low as to not spook him if he was dissociating. The last they needed was him slipping in the shower.

When no answer came, he entered the steamy bathroom, door closing behind him. As Cassie had predicted, Tim was sitting in the almost full tub, knees hugged to his chest and chin resting above them. His eyes went to Conner when he approached him though, which was a good enough sign to make him visibly sigh in relief.

Tim’s eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to snap at him that he didn’t need them to take care of him, but then he just deflated and looked ahead again, not nearly strong enough to fight.

Knot growing on his chest, Kon sat by the tub’s edge- Hey there. You’re not looking very cool right now. Have I ever told you I despise like 66% of your family?

-Three out of six is not 66%.

-Three? I only like Alfred and Cass.

-You don’t dislike Jason.

-I mean, it varies from moment to moment. But I’ll give you that since you’re feeling bad, and concede on 50%.

Tim snorted a little, and his eyes didn’t look as dead as they had when Kon first came in, so he gave himself infinite Best Friend points.

-Want to talk about it? -he asked gently, hand on Tim’s wet shoulder. He felt more like saw him shrug.

-Nothing to tell, really… It was more of the same shit. I love them, but sometimes they…

-Don’t make it easy, huh?

-...yeah. I don’t even know why I’m so fucked up over it, I’m used to this.

Kon squeezed his shoulder- Your psychiatrist warned you, this week was gonna be tough even without the family drama. Your body is adjusting to the new medication, and it…

-Yeah, yeah, I know -he sighs, sinking deeper into the water- I just… I just hate this. That my brain works like that, that I worry you all, that I can’t just fucking deal with it alone. You know what Jack used to say about mental illness…

-A stupid bastard’s words shouldn't be taken seriously. And you know we don’t like the J word in this house, it’s one of the rules.

Tim’s smile, small and tentative, was a thing of beauty. It never failed to remind Kon why he put so much effort into making the situation better for his friend, when he saw that it actually did help.

-You guys can’t just erase my father from my memory by sheer force of will and avoidance of the topic.

-Sure we can -he gave his shoulder a light pat-. The boys will be here soon with food, and I heard a movie night is in order. You done with your bath? We could stay here longer if you want to, though.

Tim’s smile grew a little bit, cheeks warming, delighted despite himself at the love and care that was being bestowed upon him. Some time ago, he might have fought them over it; the progress was hard earned, but Kon wouldn't change a single thing about it.

-Yeah, I just have to put conditioner on and comb my hair -he hesitated a bit, glancing down at his arms hugging his legs and probably weighing their strength-. Could you, uh… do it for me?

Kon had already been reaching for the bottle even before he asked.

There was little he could do to help Tim, medical wise. But there were professionals for that, and after many late night talks and specially bad episodes, Tim had gotten better at seeking their help when needed.

What he could do was no less important, though; making sure their home was a safe, supportive, non-toxic place for him to come back to.

That’s what best friends-- what family was there for.

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noobsomeexagerjunk · 4 years ago

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starry song breakdowns after even more listens

(date: August 11, 2020; just these two songs this time, as i am partial to them)

UNITED IN DISTASTE

the guitar riffs that punctuate Gauguin’s first full verse (and large portions of this song) can be heard again in another pitch as the instrumental backing of WHERE ARE WE GOING

when Vincent sings “a canvas with a key, to finally set us free” the piano melodies first established in IMPRESS ME are heard

the instrumentation that plays for Segatori in IMPRESS ME play again whenever she sings here, meaning those accordions are her leitmotif/markers of Le Tambourin

this is the first character introduction song I’ve encountered in a historical musical where the introductions flow rather naturally--not with those multiple forced “I am X, and X happened to me and I did X”, but with banter that IRL would be the most likely way to know a group of individuals

in short, this shows rather than tell

Gauguin’s introductory verse has a very strong use of repetitive rhyme (corner-monsieur, find-wine-divine, absinthe’s-absence-abstinence, see-me, brush-blush-lust-bust, chagrin-doctrine-Gauguin), which could be a way to frame Gauguin’s skill (and his less flattering traits from the content of the verse) given Vincent’s eventual admiration of him

Gauguin has a strong dislike for Toulouse and Bernard given Toulouse being referred to by him as “le fou,” (”the fool” in French) and Gauguin muttering “Where’s the vermouth?” after hearing Bernard

Toulouse-Lautrec’s introduction is literally interrupted with a heckle

(Only an eccentric like that him would introduce themselves in the third-person, though)

It’s also very telling how Toulouse-Lautrec is the only one who still shows interest in Vincent during the verbal volley he was engaged with the other artists, preferring to hear him than continue his introduction

Bernard being the youngest is reflected by Gauguin being very dismissive of him, his vernacular and tone, and by deadass cutting Vincent off

Bernard’s rhymes are answered in a scattered manner (contrast-vast-ass, truth-vermouth, authentic-simplistic)

Pissarro is just old, huh

Degas and Morisot rediate haughtiness and that sense of being above the people around them (which might be a display of the fact that they are rather upper class)

Degas and Pissarro’s oddly expository jabs at Gauguin clearly insinuate their relationship with each other (in that Paul Gauguin studied under Camille Pissarro and was friends with Edgar Degas)

WHERE ARE WE GOING

The title of this song is a reference to Paul Gauguin’s most popular painting “Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?”

In which Paul Gauguin is literally leaving

The content of this song answers the questions posed by the title of the work being referenced (though this could just be me reaching here):

Gauguin frames himself as ahead of his fellow artists coupled with his desire to leave Montmartre for something more, so we can frame the first verse as the “Where Do We Come From?” section. He separates himself from the other artists by not just stating a deliberate desire to do so but by contrasting himself with the artists he chooses to separate from. The line “No, I’m not here to be saccharine. I’m not your Sunday painter!” invokes imagery associated with the Impressionists, particularly Gauguin’s rejection of these.

The “What Are We?” question is answered by Toulouse-Lautrec and Bernard when they are critical of Gauguin’s reasons for leaving. They point out Gauguin’s flaws in: TOULOUSE-LAUTREC: Don’t ignore the question. You revel in bohemia, BERNARD: And live in your own facts, TOULOUSE-LAUTREC & BERNARD: While reaping all the benefits and never paying tax!

As this is Gauguin’s “I Want” song, it is by his personal yearnings throughout the song and its choruses that “Where Are We Going?” is answered--Gauguin wants recognition, fame, and the achievement of a higher, brand new style of art to his name. This want paves his personal road to freedom.

“What about integrity?” Toulouse-Lautrec’s artworks, having the nature of recording, were known for their subject matter and the realities entailed by them. It is by his experiences (simultaneous aristocrat and outcast status, his place as a young post-impressionist, his noteriety and celebrity) and the subjects that he explores in his art (prostitutes, club performers, dandies, celebrities--people from various walks of life) that this musical depiction would care about “integrity”

“What about progression?” Emile Bernard experimented and tried to develop various art styles, theories, and ideas. He was a contributor to the development of synthetism and cloisonnism, hence the concern for “progression”

“What about the artist Paul Gauguin?” Gauguin got into art out of a strong interest in it. He did not start out an artist. From what can be garnered by his character (and the one by this musical), he does art for himself.

While “If money grew on trees, you’d be a farmer, not an artist,” is a statement the reflects Gauguin’s interest in money and status, this line may as well draw itself to the recurring themes/imagery of “the sower” throughout the musical

“You’ll understand my vision soon, right after the sermon,” references the other popular Gauguin painting “Vision After the Sermon”

if there’s anything this musical taught me, it’s that I will love Gauguin for his anarchy and hate him for his sins

#starry #starry the musical #starry musical #starry concept album #united in distaste #where are we going #paul gauguin #henri de toulouse-lautrec #emile bernard

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katsukikitten · 5 years ago

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Rouge 2

A/N PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE ON IF MENTIONS OF SUICIDE CAN OR DO TRIGGER YOU. I WILL BE UNABLE TO PUT A READ MORE ON THIS FICTION FOR A WHILE.

"I'm thinking of ending things."

A thought that has nestled itself in the back of your mind. Often creeping back to the forefront of your thoughts. Especially when things start to go right.

You stare down at the street below, many stories up. The street a long twisting river of tar, cars dwarfed boats and people much more like ants than anything else.

You thighs burn, soles of your feet tingle, urging you to join the bustling traffic below.

L’Appel du Vide.

The wind is cold as it whips through your thin shirt, chilling you to the bone as late winter refuses to die this high up, while the trees below have since begun to bloom.

Balancing on one leg the other dangles like a rag doll over the edge.

But this won't answer the call of your "dream" and you should know.

You've "fallen" from higher.

Still taking a step *is* tempting.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The voice is dark, deadly and you do not need to turn around to know exactly who it belongs too.

At least not since you were denied your one true joy. He has been like a shadow lately all though much to his dismay.

Not even Bakugou Katsuki could deny an order that came from the director.

It did not help that it was also his old Idol.

You twirl as if dancing before jumping from the ledge to the roof of the building. The hot head stands with narrowed eyes, toned arms crossed over a chiseled chest. He notices that your eyes are dull. Dead. It causes his stomach to twist in aggravating knots but you will never know what you do to him.

He stands in tones of bleached grey. Your eyes flutter from how hard they roll, especially so when he puts on this act.

You note the color fading in his eyes and wonder how much longer until it is gone. Until your world is once again plunged into a haze.

"I've fallen from higher." You state as if that is a fact he cares about. A strong hand latches harshly onto your wrist, tightening his grip as he pulls you further from the edge and to the door.

"Director wants to see you." He bites out, yanking you closer to him, "Now."

You allow him to drag you down the stairs and along the hall until the two of you stand before his door.

"Come in." His voice calls through the oak, you turn the brass handle allowing yourself in.

"Ah, Y/N dear how are you feeling?" His leather chair is turned away from you, he is still seated as he rummages through a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Unmotivated, agitated, depressed.

Suicidal.

These are all the things you want to say.

"The usual." You say instead in a joyful tone, if anyone notices that it is forced neither party says anything.

"Y/N, take a seat. Young Bakugiu, you may go." The director says still looking for that obnoxiously aloof file. You look to the man behind you who's eyes narrow into slits before a door is slammed shut. You take your seat at the large desk.

Finally the director swings around in his large chair, he is dwarfed by its size when before he would have dwarfed the chair. He is no longer the muscular poster man that he was.

No he is thin, cheeks hollowed and grey eyes sunken. He coughs into a handkerchief that is staring to stain a deep shade of grey. You wonder if it hurt when he was hit hard enough to obliterate his innards. Well you knew it hurt, you were more curious as to how much.

And was the physical pain worse than the emotional toll that came with the fall from the highest point in hero history?

You would assume that it was not.

Still you stare Allmight down, this is how he always was for you, only occasionally would he puff into his picture perfect form.

But he could no longer. He places a file on the desk.

"Y/N, you've been doing so well on your paper work. But you're behind again. Starting with the rendition of the incident with yourself, Bakugou, Tomaru and a shady alley." He flips open the mineola folder sliding it towards you. Instantly you pick out Bakugou's unkempt yet more than legible hand writing.

How could you forget it especially since Sensei forced him to share his notes with you for the days you missed class.

You read over the beginning of his account, he showed up just in time. Tomaru's hand was almost fully wrapped around your bicep. One digit away from activating his quirk.

Eyes avert to anywhere but the report, you can no longer read about yet another failure. You gulp down your sadness but all it does is lump oddly in your throat.

"Its exactly as Bakugou states." This time you hold eye contact, giving a small reassuring smile that he clearly doesnt buy. He sighs, tapping at his book titled *"Being a great boss, for dummies"*

You grit your teeth, for a moment you wonder if he would fire you.

Well the bright side of that was at least you wouldn't have any more paper work to do.

"Yes, but Bakugou showed up much later. You were the first to respond. Had he really caught you off guard?" Suspicion almost laces in his tone and you make a meek, embarrassed look. Willing the blood to flush your cheeks.

"Ah yes he truly did. He was as quiet as a mouse." You say softly. He stares you down with intense eyes while you hold his gaze.

You really needed to bullshit Allmight. He was the last person you needed breathing down your neck. After a few long moments he sighs.

"Please get as much paper as you can done. Or if you can only do one report. Please make it this one." With that he slides you the file. You close it shut, holding onto it as you stand to leave.

"I'll do what I can."

Instead you find yourself with eyes crossed as you stare at the bleak monitor.

The report you're working on filled with pages and pages of sentences.

But none that pertain to the actual events you're supposed to be detailing.

*"I'm thinking of ending things."*

Repeats itself over and over and over filling the screen as if it were an award winning novel.

Currently you've run out of "inspiration" so here you sit.

Waiting for it to come back again as the cursor flashes, ticking away the seconds.

Time lost to you as minutes bleed into hours.

"Oi, Zombie." Bakugou taps roughly on your desk, eyes mostly grey with only flecks of red.

Lazily your gaze finds his, he finds the same look in your eyes as this afternoon earning him the same gut wrenching twist. He grits his teeth, fists clenched as he waits for you to come to life.

But you never do.

"I'm not staying too late." You half lie half tell the truth. You'll move when your body is ready that or when you can firmly grasp the concept of time again.

The grey monitor stares back at you as blankly as you stare at it. You press a few keys just to keep it from locking.

Bakugou studies you and your mountain of paperwork, you always some how end of getting out of it. He knows it's not from sheer laziness and he wonders if the Director knows just how bad off you are. So he takes pity and fills it out for you.

Your mind wanders further down the silent rabbit hole, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. For a long enough time you think Bakugou has already gone so it's understandable when you almost jump out of your skin when he slams a popping palm against your desk. The fear comes and goes in a blink of an eye, his iris still only specs of red.

Better than everything being that sun bleached grey.

"Oi, I came in here because shit hair Kirishima is having a party tonight. He asked me to ask you." His voice is as gruff as ever yet you are unphased.

Another lazy stare is sent his way before you click a key on the keyboard once more. Silence stretches between the two of you, he lets out a low growl.

"Its his birthday so you have to go."

"But..." Your eyes flash to your calendar, APRIL in bold black letters stares back at you.

Had you really lost that much time? You were doing better this year, coping nicely, the world almost prismacolor yet something changed.

Snapped.

And for no apparent reason at all you were pulled by the undertow, gasping for air once more.

But seven whole months?

Maybe you hadn't been as well as you thought.

"Finish up whatever the hell it is you're doing because we need to leave, now." Bakugou snarls while you stare down at your lap.

"But I look like shit." You admit, black ripped jeans and a plain black shirt.

"You aren't fucking marrying the man, just seeing him at a party. Now. Get. Up." He leans closer to you, pushing harshly on the power button to smother your computer.

Your novel is lost to the computer God's and you're left staring at your own reflection.

God you really did look like shit. What with how harshly exhaustion and lack of sleep pulled at your once tight features. Eyes shadowed, lips in a perpetual frown.

You sigh as you stand, feeling far from wanting to socialize but it *had* been awhile since you had last seen him and since Bakugou said it was his birthday then really you had no other choice.

The air is cool with the promise of summer coming on the breeze, further sending your body into a confused frenzy.

But October could be warm when it wanted to be. Or so you remind yourself. Bakugou stalks ahead, as he normally does and has done since that incident in the alleyway.

He has a hard time letting you walk to the train station alone, especially at night. You watch as his black shirt and pants blend into the shadows, his grey hair sways in the wind reminding you of dying wheat in a field.

His hair flashes ash blonde for a moment before it returns to ashen grey. He glances over his shoulder to make sure you are still following him and when he decides be doesn't like your snail pace he shouts.

"Get your ass in gear we are already late!"

Although he stops, waiting for you before falling into your step.

Matching your snail's pace.

Before long the two of you are standing on the stoop to the Kirishima residence.

Bakugou looks down at you, he cannot tear his eyes away although he wants to. Dreading what comes next.

This was his least favorite part. He watches with close eyes as you take in a long deep breath that should end in a heavy, shaking sigh but instead it is as if a switch was flipped.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips, your eyes have some sparkle, your cheeks rosey.

It's as if you were *alive* and he loathes to know that you can fake that.

He loathes to know that not a soul can see how badly you're really hurting.

You open the door as soon as your facade sets in, shouting your arrival.

"Hellloooooo!!!" As if it is normal to pop into a home without being invited in. You seem to spy Kirishima quickly, pulling him into a tight hug.

"You wanted to see me?" You ask as you squeeze, his bones groan in protest. He furrows his brow and when he spies Bakugou glaring at the two of you from over the rim of a newfound cup he thinks he has put two and two together.

"Yea let's get you a drink!" Kirishima sing songs pulling you into the quiet kitchen. He pulls down various liquor to which you either approve or deny before he makes you a mixed drink.

"Why thank you, Birthday boy." You purr taking a sip, "Shouldn't I be making you a drink? I mean today *is* October 16th. It's crazy how quickly the year flew by."

Your stomach twists at the thought of another year gone, wasted.

You accomplished nothing. You never had and you never will.

But thankfully your worry does not show in your face or your voice.

This time Kirishima cannot keep his confusion hidden as he stares at you with dull grey eyes.

"Umm today isn't my birthday. It's not October."

"Dont be silly you must be drunk! Bakugou said this was your birthday party! I know I've neglected you all year." You laugh, a tinge of guilt pulls at your heart.

"No it's not that. How do I say this? Y/N, we're in the month of April. It's the 20th" He scratches the back of his head, "I threw this party for Bakugou."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst #katsuki angst #katsuki bakugo #katsukibakugou #katsuki bakugou #katsuki #bakugou katsuki

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years ago

Text

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused, Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.). [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest?

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom @thedragonghostofmordor @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

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