#literally I have been sitting here just reliving that high for days. god. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chenziee · 3 years ago

Note

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

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A Divine ball of fluff

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Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp— “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you. Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

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Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

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makeste · 4 years ago

Text

BnHA Chapter 276: Our Turn to Save You

Previously on BnHA: In a refreshing change of pace from the usual “the adults refuse to tell the kids anything” shtick, Deku and Kacchan flew around trying to get Tomura’s attention while refusing to explain jack shit to Endeavor! Deku eventually thought to ask Kacchan why he was getting in on this, and Kacchan launched into a two-page Denial Speech which seemed expressly designed to prime him for losing his quirk any fucking second now! Tomura then showed up and the two of them were all “KJSDLFK” but thankfully Gran dove in to rescue them from dying INSTANTANEOUS HORRIBLE DEATHS, and reminded them that there are practically SIX WHOLE GROWN-UPS left who can definitely still fight Tomura and won’t die at all!! And one of those grown-ups is Aizawa! Who’s getting ready to fight Tomura now! Listen Horikoshi you fucker, when I asked for more Aizawa angst and badassery this ISN’T WHAT I –

Today on BnHA: Tomura is all “THIS QUIRK WON’T STOP ME BECAUSE I CAN’T READ” and sort of shrugs it off and continues to kick ass even though his Decay and AFO powers aren’t working. The pros all try to stop him with Endeavor taking the lead, and because THEY ALL SUCK, APPARENTLY, nothing they do is effective in any way whatsoever! Meanwhile Gran dumps Deku and Kacchan off and is all “YOU’LL BE FINE HERE” which is the most ridiculous thing anyone in this manga has ever said, and then pretty much as soon as he says it at least nine more High Ends (excuse me, NEARLY High Ends) just POP UP OUT OF NOWHERE and are all “RARR” and the heroes are all “oh shit” and Tomura is all “lol yeah I actually had more High Ends this whole time” and Ujiko is all “it’s true!” and, fuck. The chapter ends with Tomura charging in to kill Aizawa only to be intercepted by MY TWO PRECIOUS BABIES, MY DARLING LITTLE HERO HATCHLINGS, and...!! I blame Gran for this.

gotta say, my sense of time is distorted enough as it is these days without chapter leaks coming out A WHOLE ENTIRE DAY EARLY out of nowhere. not that I’m complaining, because I want to see Aizawa kick some ass & immediately lose his fucking quirk as much as anyone, but it is disorienting

anyway time to dive into this chapter which I predict will be titled “everything instantly goes horribly wrong.” I’ve had a lot of time these past two weeks to think about what is going to happen next, and I’m pretty sure I nailed it you guys

so we’re opening with a familiar sight

I like that Horikoshi thinks that helicopters go “chop chop.” well, close enough

anyway, so yet again we have a scene in BnHA of a town in the process of being destroyed by villains while a helicopter whirs (WHIRS, Horikoshi) and chuffs (SOMETIMES THEY CHUFF TOO) anxiously nearby. I wonder if this helicopter is going to fucking disintegrate. that’d be something new

ARE YOU GOING TO DIE, MISTER LIVE REPORTER SIR. OH MAN. OH GOD I’M ANXIOUS

dozens, you guys! there are dozens of them left! not to worry then. the good guys definitely still got this

oh hey it’s that news anchor with the cutely fucked-up backstory of chopping off his own horn so as to more handsomely report the news

oh god don’t tell me this whole thing is going to be broadcast live. that’s all we fucking need right now. I wonder what’s going to throw society into chaos more, the reveal of just how powerful Tomura is now, or the exposure of what the government-mandated child soldiers get to do during their super-educational practical on-the-job training! no coffee-fetching for these kiddos! we’ve got ‘em rolling up their sleeves and getting their hands good and dirty!

oh hey and it looks like this means that All Might will get to watch protege #2 lose his quirk live on TV -- HEY WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

BAD BABYSITTER!! MY GOD MAN, I KNOW YOU’RE THE INDULGENT GRANDFATHER TYPE, BUT MAYBE CONSIDER CHANGING THE CHANNEL TO DOC MCSTUFFINS FOR THE TIME BEING??!

also I know this is just a perspective thing probably but lmao his hand on her shoulder is fucking huge. All Might you been working out again

but seriously this is not good for either of them to witness. they don’t need more trauma in their lives! All Might doesn’t need yet another thing to blame himself over! and he has conflicted feelings about Tomura still on top of that which I’m sure isn’t going to make this any easier. ANGST ALL AROUND. EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK, EVERYWHERE YOU GOOOO

MOTHERFUCKER I --

is Mitsuki looking at fucking baby pictures of Kacchan. reliving the memories of the good old days, thinking about how far her baby boy has come and how proud she is. that’s just great you guys. that’s just fucking great. these aren’t even red flags at this point these are red fucking tapestries

(ETA: and this basically goes without saying, but I’m sure the fact that not one but THREE Todorokis are represented in this little montage means that Endeavor and Shouto are also going to be just fine.)

HE’S SO HAPPY just fucking try and tell me he doesn’t have a mental fucking link to Tomura and Deku you guys. this bitch knows exactly what is going down right now and he is LIVING FOR IT. that does it. someone please save my spot in the chapter for me I am going to go take a quick walk to calm down

and of COURSE that’s a fucking lie though, god -- [frantically clicks to next page]

LOL HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

FUCKING MANUAL IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY LMAO. YOU CAN ALL FUCKING RELAX NOW. and fuck me, I’m so fucking happy RockLockRock is still alive as well but WHY ARE YOU STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO AIZAWA IN WHAT I LIKE TO CALL THE “CAUTION: YOU WILL GET SHOT” ZONE. swear to god Horikoshi THAT MAN HAS A FAMILY don’t you even think about -- !!

sigh, anyway so then the rest of the page is panels of Gran & The Boys, Endeavor, and Tomura, along with the text “WHICH SIDE IS THE VICTOR”, which is not helping matters any! also the title of the chapter is “Cheating” which I assume is a reference to both the erasure of Tomura’s quirk, and the soon-to-happen permanent removal of Aizawa’s. I’m just an optimist like that

oh hey and Tomura’s sending out some quick orders to his squad as well

and to think this homicidal maniac is in my top ten favorite characters. sob. I do love you kiddo so please don’t take it personally that I have to unequivocally root against you here. maybe if you listened to me once in a while and would even just consider my radical alternate plan of not killing anyone in sight

anyway lol but here everyone including myself thought he was going straight for the bullets and instead he was pulling out his phone. shows what we know. [braces myself for the follow-up panel of him putting the phone away again and THEN reaching for the bullets!!]

meanwhile we’re being introduced to some new sidekick of Endeavor’s who’s probably going to set the record for shortest time in between being introduced and dying horribly. sorry Kido. I’m just jaded

don’t mind me I’m just putting up emotional walls in between myself and any new lovable characters as a means of self-preservation. mmhmm. he can manipulate the trajectory of things. that’s nice. he seems nice. wouldn’t that be a nice quirk for Tomura to steal and then trajector a bullet straight towards Aizawa ffffff

(ETA: watch this space, everyone. Endeavor’s Sidekick Kido. gonna fuck everything up for everyone, mark my words.)

so I can’t help but notice that now that Tomura can’t use his quirk anymore and is helpless, they have all decided to just sit around doing nothing again?

like. far be it from me to openly wonder why they are not immediately knocking him out or setting him on fire again or whatnot. I am just a lowly civilian. it’s not my job to question these things

(ETA: I must learn to be patient.)

also lmao at Manual saying Aizawa’s ankle is “twisted”, similar to how Deku is constantly “twisting” all of his arms and legs all the time. or did he mean “twisted” in the sense that his leg was pretty much literally wrung out like a fucking towel

anyway so Manual is waterbending liquid into Aizawa’s eyes like that’s supposed to help him NOT close them

has Horikoshi ever had water splashed into his fucking eyes. he and I have had very different experiences as to the effects of this apparently

there we go!!

at least someone out here is fucking trying. for a second there I was honestly worried we were going to see a repeat of “oh well he seems dead enough, let’s just leave, see you at the victory party this weekend, X-Less”

LMAO WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE

[GRABS THESE PANELS AND WAVES THEM IN FRONT OF THE UNCONSCIOUS HAWKS] DID YOU HEAR THAT. DO YOU SEE THAT, BOYO. FACTS. BEING WEAK TO FIRE IS, IN FACT, 100 PERCENT A CHOICE. IF YOU HAD JUST DONE MORE PUSH-UPS AND TRAINED HARDER YOU WOULDN’T BE IN THIS SITUATION RIGHT NOW. SMDH. YOU FUCKING WIMP. YOU RECREANT. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED

hooooh man. hokay. whew. has anyone seen my suspension of disbelief. I’m so used to having it on me at all times when I read this manga that I must have let my guard down and now it seems I’ve spaced it out. well we’ll just keep a lookout for it

so now we’re cutting to Ujiko who is gleefully bragging that Tomura’s strength is on par with All Might Prime’s, which is just great. and now he’s also starting this sentence and then just... not... finishing it

that’s fine. you just trail off, then. hang those implications. whatever dude

meanwhile RLR and Manny are helping Aizawa limp away while he awkwardly has to twist his neck around to be able to still keep Tomura in his line of sight. I feel like there was probably a better way for them to do this but whatever

anyway thanks for confirming that Ujiko did make Tomura into a Noumu in addition to giving him AFO, though, Horikoshi! that’s very nice of you to unsink one of my theories like that. appreciate it

and hold up, so it occurs to me that “Being Fireproof” could still be a quirk, but just a mutant-type quirk rather than an activation type, meaning that Erasure would have no effect on it! aha! oh, there’s my suspension of disbelief lol it was in my pocket the whole time!!

anyway so Endeavor and Tomura are tussling but I really wish they’d be more careful because if Tomura is still capable of super strength and super speed then he could propel himself out of Aizawa’s line of sight really easily and I feel like this isn’t really helping

is it just me or do they look like they’re TRYING to jump in between Aizawa and Tomura, like?!?! GUYS

LMAO now Gran is just

SHUP. toss. dusts off hands. well that takes care of that

and apparently he’s under the genuine impression that a mere “now stay put you dumdums” is going to have any effect on these two whatsoever. lol okay. we’ll see

anyways YESSSSS, KACCHAN MEET GRAN, GRAN, KACCHAN

meanwhile Kacchan falls silent as he mentally tries to work out who tf “Toshinori” is lmao. I’M SO CHUFFED ABOUT THIS. YES THAT’S ANOTHER USE OF THE WORD “CHUFFED.” VERY VERSATILE AND REMINISCENT OF HELICOPTER BLADES WHIRLING

and now here’s a convenient map showing how far away Deku and Kacchan are from safety!

thanks for that. that’s so reassuring to have this nifty little visual

OH MY GOD GRAN

DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?? DOES EVERYONE IN THIS FUCKING ARC HAVE A DEATH WISH. MY GOD

“BUT FAR BE IT FROM ME TO LEAVE WITHOUT ANY OMINOUS FORESHADOWING!!” NO INDEED WE CAN’T HAVE THAT!!!

rather than focus anymore on how goddamn foreboding that is, I would instead like to take this moment to call attention to the fact that Gran apparently knows Bakugou’s name but not Present Mic’s. that’s amazing

sob

what good indeed. imagine if they couldn’t even do that. I imagine that would have some far-reaching consequences which might even be interesting to explore as part of a story

I made the same face as them just now fyi

fucking Schrodinger’s High Ends. they only exist when the plot says it’s convenient for them to exist. maybe they’re like fairies and if you say you don’t believe in them they drop dead. where the fuck did these things actually come from?!

WAY TO DROP THE BOYS OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF NOUMU FUCKING CENTRAL MY GOOD MAN. MAYBE WE SHOULD SCROLL BACK UP AND UPDATE THAT MAP. GOOD JOB LMAO

WHAT THE FUCK

welp. they deleted Tomura’s quirk and then sent the strongest guy they had after him, annnnnnnd he went and beat him anyway in like two fucking seconds. so that’s. ... wowee. ...so do we have a plan b, or...

like, holy shit though?? and can you imagine the kind of psychological impact this is having on everyone watching this live on TV right now?? this is literally the anti-Kamino. holy fucking shit. also did Tomura lose an arm or am I just not understanding this image right?? NOT THAT IT SEEMS TO BE BOTHERING HIM IN THE SLIGHTEST??

(ETA: somehow I missed the fact that he is even calling attention to it lol. “I’ll raise [the other hand] when it’s back.” fucking look at Mr. Transcendent here who’s so powerful that when you tear his arms off all it does is make him more sassy. is he secretly related to Mirko.)

idk guys I really think my original chapter title was better

at least Endeavor isn’t fucking dead just yet. four more pages and you might actually make it out of this chapter alive my good man

blah blah blah flashback to Ujiko explaining that the Noumu could be activated by an electric current flowing through them, and that they’re programmed to move only on Tomura’s orders. you know. just more good news

oh hey but at least these ones are mindless so I guess it’s okay for the kids to kick their asses without feeling too conflicted. it’s just too bad “their strength is higher quality than the others” but you win some, you lose some

OH GOOD, THEY’RE GOING STRAIGHT FOR AIZAWA

I’M SURE THAT MIDORIYA “MY BODY MOVED BEFORE I COULD THINK” IZUKU AND BAKUGOU “I’M THE ONE WHO’LL GET PAYBACK FOR THAT DAY” KATSUKI WILL TAKE THEIR GRANDPA’S SAGE ADVICE AND GO AND HIDE WHILE THEIR TEACHER IS IN DANGER. IT’S NOT LIKE THEY’VE LITERALLY GONE TO SCHOOL FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR EXPLICITLY MAJORING IN NOT DOING THAT. YES THIS IS FINE THIS IS FUCKING FINE AND GREAT

NOW WHAT’S HAPPENING THERE’S LOTS OF RUBBLE FALLING AROUND AND STUFF MOVING AND SOMEONE IS TALKING

OH IT’S HIM

excuse me. EXCUSE ME. no, you are NOT. going to fucking die, Aizawa Shouta. HORIKOSHI KOUHEI!!! YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR THE CRIME OF DRAWING THIS FUCKING PANEL. THIS ONE, RIGHT HERE. YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING. HOW DARE YOU. how FUCKING dare you sir

and if anything happens to RLR I SWEAR TO GOD!! you know what?! you know what?!?

STOP IT

[sitting curled up into a little ball with my knees drawn up to my chest, drawing little finger circles on the floor] I see. so he’s not even concerned about himself at all. it’s his two tiny little hero eggs, his problem children, and the fact that if he dies here there won’t be anything preventing Tomura from finding and killing them. ahh. okay. it’s okay. that’s fine

and goddammit what is he pulling out from his belt. everyone is on the same page here, right? Aizawa’s Not Allowed To Die. that was the deal. WHAT HAS THIS ALL BEEN FOR OTHERWISE

(ETA: yeah but he seriously did just pull a knife out of fucking nowhere though like the kid in that fucking vine lmao. APPARENTLY HE’S HAD IT THIS ENTIRE TIME?? “what if I just stabbed him” lulz. based on the way things were trending, I’m willing to bet it would have literally bounced off of Tomura’s chest at this point, but I’ll give him credit for making the effort.)

NOPE NOPE NOPE NO

(ETA: Shinsou being in the bottom corner... ;_; )

is anyone listening to me!??! I’m over here screaming myself fucking hoarse??! AIZAWA ISN’T FUCKING ALLOWED TO DIE??!! HELLO!?!?!

lol well at least RLR didn’t get steamrolled over

well everyone. we’ve reached page 18. one more to go. what are the odds we end with the boys arriving in the ta-da nick of time to defend their teacher. just who is watching over whom

THERE IT IS!!!

OH NO OH GOD AM I CRYING??! YOU HAD TO GO AND PUT THOSE FLASHBACK PANELS IN?? HIM SAVING DEKU AND CO. AT USJ, PLUS THAT ONE TIME HE DEFENDED BAKUGOU DURING HIS MOST VULNERABLE MOMENT IN FRONT OF A NATIONAL AUDIENCE??? “IT’S OUR TURN TO SAVE YOU”???

and they look so determined and desperate?? and the “Aizawa-sensei!” echoing in both their minds?? and meanwhile Aizawa looks fucking horrified though, because of all the... [gestures] you know? the Terrible Danger?? sob??

anyway. I really let this manga do this to me every damn week. let it just have its fucking way with me. at least Horikoshi didn’t end up breaking the law after all. I don’t know if I could continue to support a mangaka who is willing to commit an actual war crime. no touching Aizawa. OKAY?? OKAY

#bnha 276 #aizawa shouta #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #gran torino #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #so what sound do *you* think helicopters make?#I googled this and found some excellent answers #my favorite one was dubdubdubdubdub #but tocotocotoco was a close second #whop whop whop #batabatabata #wuppa wuppa lmao

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bondsmagii · 4 years ago

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This is definitely one of the… wilder stories here, but as always, I suppose people will believe what they will.

This will unfortunately require some backstory, but I guess you could say the long and the short of it is that I played at being God, and it. Well. Kind of sucked, actually.

So, the backstory. I’ll try to keep it brief. I grew up in a small country village about forty-five minutes away from Belfast, Ireland. There wasn’t much going on there, as you could imagine – just a standard rural Irish town, where the most exciting thing that might happen in a week was old Farmer Joe getting a new tractor or something. Anyway, I’m not sure how many of you know about Ireland’s rather troubled past, but for the most part I missed all that. I was born around the time things were finally settling down, and while my earlier memories are filled with bomb scares and low-flying helicopters and gunshots in the night, the distant sound of shouting and the acrid smell of smoke burning a little too close for comfort, by the time I hit my teenage years most of it had wrapped up. Of course, there was the occasional scare here and there, and I’m not saying my friends and I didn’t go out looking for trouble once we were old enough, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not saying that out of a sense of, I don’t know, regret or annoyance or anything. Now I’m older, I’m not so enamoured by the idea of that much violence. I’m just saying it wasn’t really a patch on the kind of violence that used to happened there – the kind of violence that fascinated my friends and I so much. It sounds bad, but really we were just kids being kids. Little boys everywhere play at war games. It just so happened that the war we were playing had happened in our own country. It’s difficult not to be obsessed, when you see the reflection of history on the faces of every generation around you. Even slightly older siblings would know all about it – it wasn’t something you asked your grandfather, distant war stories over some vague European country that you’ve only seen on a map in your Geography classroom. This was our street corners, our high streets, the road outside the house. Here the grass verge at the side of the road where the bodies were dumped; there the lay-by where over a dozen people were blown to pieces. It was awful, but we were children. We were enamoured.

Anyway. The only violence we got really involved in was the summer rioting that happened yearly, like clockwork. It sounds like a joke, but that’s how it goes. You don’t need to know the details, but suffice to say in mid-July every year, the city would light up like we were back in the 1970s. Localised, of course, and still nowhere near as drastic as it used to be, but enough to get a taste. Petrol bombs. Police lines. Armoured cars. Water cannons. Unrestrained summer fun, you could say. But that’s for a bit later.

I’m a writer. I have been since I was four years old. Generally speaking I’m a horror writer, but I’ve branched into historical fiction a fair bit over the years. Living in Ireland, growing up how I did, it was inevitable that I would develop a fascination for Irish history. I was always a very curious child, my head in books, chasing up stories that would keep me awake at night. I never knew any boundaries. I would go after answers with military precision, asking questions, going places I shouldn’t. Dangerous for anyone, of course, but in a country like mine, where crossing the road could quite literally lead to your murder? It was reckless. I was reckless. But that’s the thing about being that age. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything.

I was about fourteen or fifteen, at the height of this obsession. I believe I was fifteen when I wrote this particular story, but it’s difficult to say. It was part of a series, and I was going back and forth on it and other projects for many years. Here we finally get to the point of the whole story: I had developed an obsession with Irish history, as I said, and specifically the more “modern” history – from 1916 onwards, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, all that. I was fascinated by the Irish struggle for freedom, and while age and hindsight has lessened my… enthusiasm for the violence, I do maintain a strong opinion towards the whole thing, which is not the point here so I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is that my stories reflected this enthusiasm, and were undoubtedly glorifying in nature, and also at that age I was more concerned with living the fantasy than doing the research, so it was all very self-indulgent. I’m sure anyone who wrote at that age knows what I mean.

My main character… well. I’m sure you know what to expect. He was—well. Me, really. In the way of all main characters at that age, and perhaps a little even as we get older, there’s a piece of us inside all our main characters. Sometimes a little piece, other times just a cooler and more badass version of yourself. Michael was that for me. I suppose that must is obvious; I wasn’t even trying to be subtle. My name is of course Miceál, which for those of you keeping track is the Irish form of Michael. I’m just grateful that I didn’t go as far as to give him my last name, too, but everything else was there. He looked like me, he held the same views and beliefs as me, he acted like me – or at least, he acted in the ways I liked to think I’d act, or how I imagined acting later that night in the shower, reliving the scenario again. He was the best kind of self-insert character, indulgent and fun and a good friend to me. I poured a lot of myself into him. I poured everything into him. He was a constant companion, something that became ever more important to me as my real life—well, went to shit. To put it mildly. I would sit in my room writing my stories, and Michael would go out there and fight the good fight, killing and bombing for good old Ireland, and then I’d shut my computer down and go to sleep feeling just a little better than otherwise.

I’m not afraid to say that I can be obsessive. I like to get into the heads of my characters; I like to know them as well as I know everything. Yes, Michael was me, but he was also a version of me who had done things I have never done. Sometimes I would try to imagine myself as him; wonder what it was like to see through his eyes. Wonder what a me who had done that would look like. Wonder what he would do in a situation. I asked myself that a few times; a lot of times. What would Michael do? I could have put that shit on a wristband. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I’ve always been a bit of a method writer like that. It was normal, until it wasn’t.

I first saw Michael on a hot July day, in Belfast. What we call the rioting season had come around; my friends and I were there to take advantage. Just at the sidelines, mind you – nobody wants to get a face full of water cannon, even on the hottest of days. Michael was in the thick of it though. Of course he was. I’d written him to be that way.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. At first I thought I must be seeing things, but the more I looked the more I realised he looked exactly like me. Only he was a little taller, a little fitter, and his hair looked different. His clothing was different, too; perhaps a couple of decades out of date, but looking at him I saw his clothing didn’t remain consistent. The changes were subtle – material, tone – but I noticed. Looking back, I assume it’s because I never did give a specific date for his story to occur in. Well, wherever he was from he was there now, throwing rocks with the best of them, skipping from stone to stone and hurling them at police lines with an easy swing that could only come from years of practise. When we had all finally cleaned out the area – soldiers coming, a helicopter, the kind of trouble you don’t want to toy with – I managed to catch up with him. He was talking to my friends. They noticed we were both there, but didn’t seem to realise we were two different people. The whole time we were all talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael. I tried, because I knew how obvious I was being, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t work him out. I couldn’t even trust that’s what I was seeing. And the whole time, Michael watched me back. I knew the look in his eyes. It was his smug little, I know something you don’t know look. Of course I knew it. I had made him like that. I had given him that look.

I didn’t see him for some time after that. Believe it or not, I put it out of my head. I mean, come on. It was probably some other guy that my friends knew. We were in Belfast enough, and Michael isn’t exactly an uncommon name. I put it out of my mind, but I was sure that sometimes, I saw him. I was sure I’d see him in Belfast, ducking down side streets or leaning in close conversation with someone I couldn’t make out. He was always watching me. Sometimes I’d feel eyes on me and know it was him, but when I looked around I wouldn’t spot him. On some occasions – and these were always the worst – I would feel his eyes behind my own. Like he was on the inside looking out, moving independently in there, a set of eyes swivelling around over my own. It happened most often when I was trying to write his story. As you can imagine, I was nervous to do so. The more I thought I saw him, the less I wanted to write, but I didn’t think that was a good idea either. I didn’t know what to do.

It was a sunny weekend just before school started back after summer that I finally resolved to do something about it. I didn’t even feel stupid as I booted up my old Windows 95 desktop and opened Word. Michael’s story was there, in 12-point font as I always wrote then, plenty of enthusiasm but a lot less technical skill. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then I typed.

Hello?

Nothing, of course. I deleted the word, wondering what I had expected. Feeling a little stupid now, I tried to think about where to go with the story. It was difficult to write now I had some kind of real person to assign to it all – what were the ethics here? How could I—

I won’t get into that. It would be a philosophical essay all of its own. I sat for a while wondering what to write, and then it hit me that the story had changed. The words Michael had spoken, in the paragraph that I had left off – they were no longer the words I had written. I forget what the original words were now, but they were something relatively simple; some response to another character, and I remember that another name was mentioned in it – the name of Michael’s in-universe best friend, Eamon. Now that name was gone, and the rest of the text had changed, too. Now the writing read something different entirely.

I thought you wanted to know?

I lied earlier. I said that age and experience and perhaps some more emotional maturity had led me to turn away from the kind of violence that fascinated me so much then, and I have no doubt that under normal circumstances it would have done. I had somewhat of a speed run, however; I turned my back on it because

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had often wondered what it would be like to do what Michael did, of course. To kill and risk death for a cause, to face down prison, torture, exile. I had wondered what it would be like to commit those acts; how easy or difficult it would be to pull a trigger or push a detonator. I liked to think, in my foolish, idealistic teenage mind, that if it came down to it I could. Of course, I was in the very privileged position to not have to actually answer that question.

Michael, on the other hand, knew. And Michael was, if not me, than a product of me. Could it be possible that he could show me?

I ignored the message for several days. I didn’t know what to think. Truth be told I thought I was going mad. School started again and I got so busy that I almost, almost forgot about it – and then I opened the document by mistake one day, got into reading it over, laughing at my brilliant comebacks, you know how it is. And there it was again.

I thought you wanted to know?

Yes, I remember thinking. It stunned me – I remember that. I didn’t want to mess with this kind of stuff – I’ve always been a huge believer in the paranormal, always been cautious when it comes to fucking with that kind of stuff. I believe that magic like this, it requires intent. It needs you to be sure. It knows how you feel, true in your heart. So even when I ignored it again, even when I deleted the words and re-wrote whatever the original had been, even as I didn’t reply… I knew in my heart that my question had been heard by something. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me again, though now I wondered if it was Michael’s eyes, or something else entirely. It felt like a weight. Have you ever been in an old, old place, where you can practically feel the people who lived and died there; reach out and touch them? It felt like that. Like the weight of history was pressing down on me. I didn’t fall asleep easily that night, but when I did sleep was dark and endless.

I don’t know how long I spent in that state. In reality it was only seven hours; I woke up with my alarm. In that time period, wherever I was – because I was not living – I seemed to witness a hundred different lives. Over the course of Michael’s story I had him do all kinds of things; live all kinds of situations. I deleted things, changed others, added things in. I wrote what would now be called alternate universes. In that night I experienced them all. I know how it feels now. I know how it feels to pull a trigger; to watch the spray of someone’s life splatter a wall or a windscreen or the screaming backseat passengers of a car. I know how it feels to push the button, the one that sends a charge surging down a wire or flickering out over my head in an invisible wave of death, notifying the bomb, detonating the explosives. I know how it feels to sit in a hotel bar across a border, listening to the news, sipping a drink and feeling my heart beat in my chest as I add more numbers to the tally, more blood to my hands. I know how it feels to be shot, to be beaten, to watch a friend die, to kill someone who used to be – who still is, despite everything – a friend. I know how it feels to cough blood into my hands, onto the ground; to grip a wound that won’t stop bleeding; the blinding flash of an explosive detonating too soon and how the whole world seems to roar and how there’s a difference between the thud and slap of wet mud hitting the ground and the warmer, denser rain of something that used to be human. For days, weeks, years – I walked in Michael’s shoes, I lived his life, I committed every act.

I felt his pain. His fear. This hellish world that he lived in, created to kill and die and lose and fear, over and over. To meet his God and to finally, finally ask – why?

And what could I say? Because I wanted to know?

Well. Now I do.

#creeptastic #creepypasta #my creepypasta #writing #my writing #short story #fiction #can you tell i've been listening to tma lately?#anyway VERY tempted to record this seems i'm a decent voice impressionist and i have the right accent for the statement lmao

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 44: Tim

Tim can pinpoint the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Later, when he takes the time to think about it, he’ll be able to trace the progress of things and see all the signs, from his fear for them to his instinctive desire to reach out for them when he’s scared to the quiet comfort he feels when they’re together. He’ll remember that weird knot of jealousy he felt the very first morning when he saw the Primes cuddling and realize that it wasn’t a general I-wish-I-had-someone-to-love-me thing, it was specific to who was involved. He’ll figure out that he’s been quietly in love with Martin probably since the moment he saw him trying to apologize and look contrite with an armful of spaniel doing its level best to lick his face off with its tail going like a windmill, and that if there’s a moment he can point to later and say is the one where he completely fell for Jon it’s probably the soft look on his face as he tucked a quilt around Martin’s sleeping form.

But that’s all going to be in retrospect. The moment he knows comes a lot later and is a lot easier to detect.

After an exceptionally extended lunch that only ends when the afternoon crowd starts shuffling in, they part, Melanie with a promise to come by the Archives on Monday, Georgie with an offer to stop by and tell her story after she’s put her next episode of “What the Ghost?” to bed, Sasha with a cryptic reference to some sort of appointment and a promise to see them later. They discover what she means later that night when the doorbell rings and Tim opens it to find her and the Primes on their doorstep. Neither of them seem surprised to learn that Elias is forcing Jon on his grand tour, but they don’t seem pleased about it either. Jon Prime warns Jon, over and over again, to be careful. Tim would almost expect Jon to get exasperated, but he doesn’t. They actually have a pretty pleasant evening; Jon Prime cooks for them while they take turns telling him about dealing with Elias. He does seem pleased to hear Jon has reconnected with Georgie, and he and Martin Prime make the others laugh by sharing stories of dealing with their Melanie and Georgie. They pull out some board games after dinner, and while they all agree that with at minimum three people at the table who can literally access the sum total of human knowledge at a whim, Trivial Pursuit is right out, Monopoly is fair game.

Charlie comes over Saturday while his grandmother hosts one of her bridge nights. He’s extremely distressed to learn that Jon is going away again already, to the point that he throws himself into Jon’s arms and starts to cry. It takes all three of them the better part of an hour to get him calmed down, and it ends with Charlie curled on Jon’s lap, the two of them sandwiched between Martin and Tim. Tim looks at Charlie’s tear-streaked face and the heartsick look in Jon’s eyes and the tender concern in Martin’s, and he tightens his arms around them and tucks his chin over Jon’s head and hopes.

It rains pretty much all day on Sunday. Martin makes breakfast and brings it into the bedroom on a tray, and they sit close together and eat quietly and don’t talk about what’s bothering them. Finally, in desperation, Tim reaches under the nightstand on his side of the bed and fishes out a book he’s been meaning to read for years. He wraps his arm around Jon and manages to get a hand on Martin’s shoulder; Martin, evidently taking the hint, scoots closer and does the same, and Tim begins reading out loud. It transpires that the book is one of Martin’s childhood favorites, but Jon’s never read it before and is both delighted at the novelty and enraptured by the story. They spend the whole day curled up together, rain lashing at the windows, underneath the apple-leaf quilt Tim’s grandmother made him, heads touching as they take turns reading aloud. It’s a stolen moment of peace in a world gone crazy and Tim tucks it away in his memory to cherish later when he needs it.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and rolls onto his side, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The first thing he’s able to make out is Martin, doing the exact same thing he is—just watching. Jon, curled into a knot between them, is still asleep, but from the twisted, pained look on his face, it’s not an easy slumber.

Tim meets Martin’s eyes over Jon’s head and reads there the same worries and fears he has himself. Jon’s nightmares are bad. They’ve known that from the beginning, when Martin was recovering from the worms and they were all camping out in Tim’s living room, and they’ve only grown worse as time goes on. The screaming terrors from reliving what he went through with Orsinov have stopped…for now…but Tim knows in his heart of hearts that what’s making it easier these days is him and Martin bracketing Jon and doing their best to physically shield Jon from the Eye. There’s no real stopping it, but they can at least help.

But now Jon is going to Beijing, and God knows where after that, and he’s going alone. They won’t be able to help him with the nightmares if he’s not there to protect. And that’s besides the fact that Tim knows they’re both trying not to consider the possibility of some other monster trying to take Jon away from them when they’re not there to protect him. It doesn’t even have to be a supernatural one. As easy as it is to blame every horrible thing that happens on one of the Fears, there are ordinary people that are perfectly capable of being horrible on their own, and it would be just Jon’s luck to be caught up in something at random and get hurt, or worse. And they won’t be there to help. Again.

“I guess we could just…go with him,” Tim says, keeping his voice low. “Whether Elias wants us to or not.”

Martin shakes his head slowly. “I still don’t have a passport. And…I don’t think we can leave Sasha alone in the Archives. You can go, maybe.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Tim sighs and gently tucks a strand of hair back from Jon’s forehead. His skin is damp and clammy. “It’s a mess. He might be safer away from the Archives than we are, but…I worry, you know?”

“I know. I do, too.” Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “We just got him back. And we’ve got months to the Unknowing.”

Tim hesitates. He’s been thinking about that. “I don’t know that we do, actually. I—I don’t think it’s time-sensitive. I mean, I don’t think they have to wait for a certain time or anything. I think they just have to be…ready.”

“How will we know when they’re ready?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re waiting for.” Tim stares down at Jon’s face. “I can’t decide if I’m afraid they’ll be ready before he gets back—”

“Or hoping,” Martin completes. “Because if the Unknowing happens while he’s overseas…at least he won’t be caught up in it. At least they’ll leave him alone.” He’s quiet for a moment. “At least it’s one thing we can protect him from.”

“God. I just…want to wrap him in bubble wrap and a blanket and fight off the world with a stick. Or at least keep him right here with us. I wish we could just stay here and let the world sort itself out for a change. Why do we have to be the ones doing all this?”

Martin reaches over and brushes Tim’s cheek with his fingertips, ever so lightly. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for,” he says softly.

Tim reaches across Jon’s sleeping form and pulls Martin closer, but he doesn’t say anything further.

The alarm goes off not long after; Jon is taking an early-morning flight by virtue of it being the cheapest available option, and he’s got to be there close to three hours early to check in. It’s too early for any of them to be properly hungry, but Martin makes tea while Jon takes a shower and Tim…sits around feeling useless.

As if sensing that, Martin glances over his shoulder at Tim. “Does he have any statements with him?”

“Oh, God, yeah, let me check.” Tim heads over to where Jon’s bag is. It’s a simple messenger bag he’s probably had since university, if not longer, frayed in spots and festooned with patches and pins. Jon never brought this to the Institute, instead using a professional faux-leather laptop bag, which isn’t surprising; it’d be pretty hard for him to sell the “serious academic” persona if he’s walking around advertising that he listens to Sinner’s Gin.

He opens the bag and looks through it. Jon’s packed a couple changes of clothes, some toiletries, a couple of paperback books, and of course the tape recorder, his personal one. But no statements.

Quietly, Tim goes over to the end table and opens the drawer. Inside are two tapes and a slim folder. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his hold on his powers, bracing for the colors to pop up. It’s surprisingly easier to filter out the Eye and see the beneath colors than usual—whatever’s in the folder glows orange around the edges but green in the middle, and one of the tapes just seems to have indigo stripes through the green rather than them being layered on top of each other. Like the Eye isn’t hiding the truth from him anymore, like it’s letting him really See.

He files that information away to deal with after he’s got some caffeine in him and nudges the Stranger tape out of the way; it’s probably the one he and Martin listened to, so it’s no good, it’s already been used. The other one is pure, blinding green—an Eye statement that Gertrude recorded, which is unusual. Tim seals off his ability and reaches for the tape. It takes him three tries to pick it up without dropping it—his hands are shaking, he guesses because he’s upset about Jon leaving—but he finally carries it and the folder over to tuck them into Jon’s bag, then seal it up again.

“He didn’t,” he tells Martin, heading back into the kitchen. Martin sighs and hands him a cup of tea. “But you never took back the ones you brought home after that whole thing with the Not-Diana, so I put them in his bag.”

“God, I can’t believe I forgot about that,” Martin murmurs. “Still, it’s been a hell of a week.”

Tim pauses, cup halfway to his lips. “God, how has it only been a week?”

Jon comes into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower; it’s down to about his collar now and takes a while to dry. Martin silently hands him a cup of tea, too. None of them speak while they drink. It’s as if these last few minutes at home are too precious, or too heavy, for words. At last, though, Jon glances at the kitchen clock and swallows hard. “Time to go.”

Pure devastation flashes through Martin’s eyes, but he simply nods and takes the cups from him and Tim to put them in the sink. Tim worries at his lip as he studies Jon. “You’ve got everything? Passport, wallet, phone?”

A faint smile tugs at Jon’s lips briefly. He reaches into his pockets and produces the requisite items—a burgundy passport in near-pristine condition, a black billfold that’s seen better days, and the new phone they picked up for him Saturday morning that he’s gone to a lot of trouble to set up. “Charger’s in my bag.”

“Okay. Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s it, then.”

They take Tim’s car, not because Jon minds them driving his car but because Tim’s has a column shift and a bench seat in the front, which means Jon can sit between Tim and Martin for the journey. Traffic isn’t too bad this early in the morning, at least not until they get closer to the airport, but Jon is apparently far from the only person traveling today, so there’s a bit of a snarl before Tim is able to navigate up to Terminal Three.

He hesitates at an intersection and looks at Jon. “Do you want me to drop the two of you off at the door or—”

“No. There’s time,” Jon says softly. “You can park first. Then you’ll both know where it is.”

There’s more to that than what Jon is saying, but Tim doesn’t question it. Instead he finds a space in the short-term lot for Terminal Three, and if it’s one of the farthest spots from the terminal doors, well, there might not be a lot of people here dropping off or picking up at this time of day, but who knows what the situation will be by the time they go to leave? Jon slides out of the car and doesn’t take Tim’s arm or Martin’s, but they walk close enough together that it doesn’t really matter.

The doors open up into an enormous space. Martin, who’s clearly never flown before, looks around him with wide eyes, and Jon shrinks back slightly. Tim gently ushers them to one side of the door, where there are a couple of benches, and heads off to the departure boards to make sure they’re in the right terminal. Once he’s located Jon’s flight on the boards (on time, unsurprising for an early-morning flight), he makes his way back to where he left them. Jon has edged closer to Martin and Martin has an arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders, and both of them look both terrified and heartsick. Tim looks at them, unobserved for the moment, and he’s struck by the urge to drag them both home, shut the door of their bedroom, draw the curtains, and stay there until the Unknowing collapses on its own. As badly as he wants revenge, as much as he wants to hit back at the thing that murdered his brother, he’ll give that up in a heartbeat if it’s the only way to keep Jon and Martin safe.

The penny drops then, bounces off just the right pegs, lands squarely in the right cup and oh.

Tim stands stock-still for a moment, stunned by the swift and sudden revelation. In retrospect, he doesn’t know why it surprises him so much; it’s not like he hasn’t known he’s polyamorous since he was fifteen, and God knows he’s wanted to kiss both of them more times than he can count. But, somehow, he’s been convincing himself they’re just friends, as close as brothers maybe, but nothing more than that. And, well, maybe they are. It’s more than that on Tim’s end, though.

He’s in love with Jon and Martin both, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses either of them. And Jon’s about to go haring off across the world alone, and Martin keeps accidentally coming to the attention of things that want to hurt or kill him, and oh, God, Tim is so incredibly screwed.

He shakes himself out of the stupor. He can deal with this later. Or never, as the case may be, but he promises himself he’ll deal with it later and heads over to the other two. Jon sees him and pulls, with obvious effort, away from Martin. “Is this the right terminal, or—?”

“No, you’re good. Your check-in counter is down this way.” Tim indicates the large sign for the airline Jon will be flying on the first leg of his journey—he’ll apparently be changing planes in Copenhagen.

They stay at Jon’s side all the way up to the check-in counter, where he provides his identification and credit card to the rather stiff old man behind the counter, who keeps sneering at the three of them in a way that makes Tim very much want to hit him. The man asks rather more questions than Tim is used to, even for an international flight, and he’s about to step in and explode when the man finally, finally hands Jon his boarding pass and moves on to the next person waiting.

“How did he manage to make ‘have a good trip’ sound like a curse?” Jon says under his breath as they turn towards the security checkpoint.

Martin snorts. “It’s like ‘may you live in interesting times.’”

“I’ll pass. After this, I would like my times to be as un-interesting and quiet as possible, thank you.” Jon smiles, but it melts away almost instantly.

There’s virtually no wait at the security checkpoint, Tim notices, or at least not compared to how it would be later in the day. Jon will be able to breeze through it in a matter of minutes. And according to the signs posted everywhere in huge letters, Tim and Martin won’t be able to accompany him. Martin stares at one of the signs boldly declaring TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT for a long minute. His face is implacable, but Tim knows what’s behind it, because he’s feeling it too.

Jon looks at the queue, and the security gates, and the signs telling him to remove his shoes and have his ticket and passport ready. He turns to face Tim and Martin, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then suddenly gives a small, choked sob and lunges forward, clutching them both by the front of their shirts and burying his face in the narrow dip where their shoulders touch.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Tim wraps one arm around Jon and the other around Martin; Martin does the same, and the three of them cling to one another tightly. He can feel Jon trembling and hear Martin’s breath hitching in his chest and he almost dares to let himself hope, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself think that, not now, or he’ll drive himself crazy with wanting and fear. And if he’s wrong, if they don’t…it’s better to assume they don’t and possibly be surprised later than believe they do and almost certainly be crushed.

There’s soft music coming from somewhere, a gentle and soothing melody in a choked and broken voice, and it takes Tim a second to realize that it’s Martin, singing quietly so that just Tim and Jon can hear him. It’s a plaintive melody and the lyrics are a little melancholy, but the line when I return united we will be does at least warm Tim’s chest, just a little.

Jon gives a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back, almost reluctantly. “I—I’d best—I shouldn’t miss the flight.”

“We’ll wait,” Tim says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Until—until you’re through.”

Jon nods. “I’ll let you know when I get to the gate, and when I board.”

“And when you land,” Martin insists. “I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise. I—” Jon swallows hard, looking from Tim to Martin and back, then steps forward and hugs Martin tightly. Martin hugs him back, and they murmur something to one another before Jon eases back, turns, and hugs Tim just as fiercely.

Tim hugs him back. He’s still too thin, feels too frail, somehow. He’s barely recovered from the hell Orsinov put him through and now they’re sending him off on his own, and Tim wants to keep him here, but he knows he can’t.

“Please look after him,” he whispers in Tim’s ear.

“I will,” Tim promises. “You be careful, you hear me?”

“I hear you. And I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.” Jon squeezes him briefly, then slowly, almost reluctantly, lets go. He takes a deep breath, slips out of his shoes, and heads over to join the queue.

He doesn’t say goodbye. Tim’s strangely relieved by that.

True to their promise, Tim and Martin stay where they are, side by side, watching as Jon inches ever closer to the metal detectors and security checkpoint. When Jon places bag and shoes in a bin to go on the conveyor belt, Martin reaches over without looking and grabs Tim’s hand. Tim grips his tightly in return, and they only…watch.

They can barely see him on the other side of the security gate, but for a brief moment, Tim sees Jon hesitate and look over his shoulder. Tim waves, Martin does too, and Jon raises his hand in farewell before slowly turning and walking away.

Martin lets go of Tim’s hand, but before Tim has time to regret its absence, he puts his arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. Tim slides his arm around Martin’s waist. They don’t need to say anything; they just turn and walk away.

People mostly ignore them, although one or two give them inscrutable looks. Tim doesn’t know if they think they’re a couple and disapprove or think they’re mourning something or what, but he decides he doesn’t care as long as they leave him alone. They make their way slowly back to Tim’s car, but don’t get in; Tim leans against the back of it, and Martin joins him, arms folded as they look up at the still-black sky.

“What song was that?” Tim finally asks. “That you were—before he left.”

Martin rubs a hand over his face. “It’s called ‘The Leaving of Liverpool.’ I think. It’s—it’s the song my dad always sang the night before he left, when he was putting me to bed.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then adds softly, “I fell asleep.”

“What?” Tim turns to look at Martin, frowning.

“The night he—we had this whole routine at bedtime when he was about to leave for the fishing run, and one of them was him singing that song to me. I sang along on the chorus, once I learned it, which didn’t take long.” Martin isn’t looking at Tim, his eyes still on the sky, but Tim can see the glint of tears in them. “Normally I’d settle down and close my eyes after he left, but that last time…I was tired. I don’t remember why, but I fell asleep before he got to the last verse, so I wasn’t awake for the whole song.” He turns to look at Tim. “And then he never came back. I thought it was my fault. I thought—it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, but at first I thought it was like a-a magic charm or something, and I broke the ritual and that’s why he didn’t come back. I thought something had happened to him and—”

“Oh, Martin.” Tim reaches over and pulls Martin into a tight hug. Martin hugs him back, and Tim can feel the tears spilling over. “It’s not your fault. And—and Jon’s going to be okay. He will. He’ll be back soon.”

“I know,” Martin says softly. “It’s just…”

Tim doesn’t need Martin to finish. “I know.”

They don’t go anywhere. They probably should, probably don’t need to sit in the parking lot, but they do. They lean against Tim’s car and watch the stars, occasionally punctuated by the lights of planes taking off or landing. Jon texts them both to let them know he’s through customs, and then that he’s at his gate. Still they don’t leave, and still they don’t speak.

Finally, finally, the text comes to both of their phones. [Just took my seat on the plane. Have to turn my phone off now. Will text you when I arrive.]

Martin’s hands shake as he sends the reply. Tim waits for it to pop up on his own phone. [Have a safe flight.]

Jon’s next text comes almost at the same instant; he must have been typing it to send while Martin was trying to reply himself. Three simple words. Their meaning can’t be clearer. Still, Tim has to stare at them for a long moment.

[Miss you already.]

Slowly, Tim raises his head to look at Martin and finds Martin staring back with a look that’s probably identical to the one on Tim’s face. He’s pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but he’s not crying. They’re probably both past tears at this point. It’s just fear and longing and the ache of missing a part of themselves.

Tim fishes out his keys and holds them up; Martin nods, and they both climb into the car. When Tim turns the ignition on, the entire dashboard flashes for a moment—there’s a short in the electrical system somewhere; he’s been meaning to get it looked at, but he doesn’t drive much these days and this doesn’t happen every time, just occasionally—and the radio kicks on of its own volition. A reedy American tenor belts out the last line of the first verse. Already I’m so lonesome I could die…

Tim scowls at the radio. “It should be illegal to play this song within ten miles of a major airport.”

Martin gives a soft, slightly broken laugh. “Breakfast?”

“I don’t know that I can eat, but we can give it a shot.”

“Yeah, but…” Martin gives Tim a sideways look. “I promised I’d look after you.”

Tim grins and tries, once again, to kill the sudden flare of hope in his chest. “Same.”

“God, he’s such a worrywart.” Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know, pot, kettle, et cetera. Want to call Sasha and see if she’s up?”

“No, I don’t want to die today.” Tim puts the car in gear and backs out of the space. “Come on. There have to be a few places open this early that won’t be too expensive for us to not eat at.”

Martin reaches over and puts his hand over Tim’s, not squeezing or holding, just resting it there. Tim slips his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand and rubs it gently, feeling it catch against the very, very slight roughness of Martin’s skin. The scars from the worms have faded as much as they ever will, mere pale circles against his skin, but there’s one on his right pinkie finger where the worm very nearly went all the way through, and there’s an ever-so-faint ridging there that Tim keeps rubbing at, over and over, as if he can erase the hurt and the marks from Martin’s skin.

It’s not until they get to the café that it occurs to Tim that what they’ve just done is exactly what the Primes did in those early days when they were still trying to conceal their relationship. It seems too dangerous to consider the ramifications of that, though, so Tim settles for sliding into the same side of the booth as Martin and leaning against his shoulder, needing some of his strength and warmth and softness.

Martin lets him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim #WE'VE GOT TWO OUT OF THREE REALIZATIONS FOLKS #angst #pining #heartbreak #look Jon's leaving for America and Tim has just figured out he's in love #what did you expect to happen

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softboywriting · 5 years ago

Text

Haven Port | Chapter Five| Shawn Mendes

Summary: Shawn and his pack have moved to your tiny town of Haven Port. You’ve never met werewolves other than your dad before and you’re infinitely curious. You may be only half werewolf but you and Shawn have a connection that will send you on a wild romantic journey in this small town you call home. [hybrid reader] [werewolf shawn]

Word Count: 2k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Things with Shawn and the pack have been going great over the past two weeks. Ava and Jo invited you over for a girls night that included placing bets on who dies first in horror movies and enough popcorn to make you see yellow. You and Shawn went out together for dinner at a place by the docks that has the best seafood in town. You spent the night at Shawn's place a few times, becoming very attached to his bed, and Lindsay and Ryan have quite literally disappeared.

You haven't asked why, or when they did. You know it's because they didn't like you, and you know it's because Shawn told them off. No one seems to miss them, and if they do they don't say anything. It's a little awkward, knowing you're the reason they left, but it's like Shawn said. If they can't get along with the pack then they can leave, and he would expect it of any one else.

"Shawn! Shawn!"

You sit up right, woken out of a dream about running with the pack. You rub your eyes and look around the dark bedroom. It can't be morning yet, the sky is still dark through the open curtains.

"Shawn? Hey." You shake his shoulder and he rolls over.

"Mmm? What?"

"I heard someone yelling your name. It sounds like a guy but...I'm not sure...maybe it was just my dream."

Shawn sits up and grabs his phone. "It's four in the morning. Are you sure?"

"Yes it sounded real. It woke me up. I don't think it was-"

The voice comes again, it's definitely a male and it sounds like it's coming from the front door. "Shawn!" Followed by loud knocking.

Shawn pushes back the blankets and goes to the bedroom door. "That's not just some random person." He pulls open the bedroom door and there is no one there. You get up and follow after him as he jogs down the stairs to the front door.

"Who is it?" You ask, looking around for the source of the voice.

"Peter." Shawn opens the door and sure enough there are two people on the front porch. "What're you doing here?"

The man you assume is Peter because he is the spitting image of Shawn save for longer hair and he's got a bit less bulk and height, steps forward and wraps his arms around Shawn. "Thank Gods you're here."

"Of course," Shawn says softly, embracing his brother just as tight a hand in his hair. "What happened?"

"Hunters." Peter says and the two exchange a look. "It's just me and Tia now."

You look past the guys to a shorter girl standing behind Peter on the steps. She's beautiful with her jaw length red hair and round cheeks.

Shawn steps back and takes your hand, leading you forward. "This is my mate," he introduces you and Peter smiles. "Is Tia your..."

Peter looks back and gestures Tia to come forward. "No, she and I found each other a few months ago. We're not sure why but we know there is something connecting us."

"There is a bond." Tia says. "But not mates. Something in me says not to leave Peter, not until I've found the reason for this bond."

"Come in," Shawn holds the door open. "We'll get everyone up."

____________________

The moment Jo walks into the living room and sees Peter you can see her begin to tremble. She balls her fists in her night shirt and stares. Peter has his back to her, talking to Tia and Ava. You get up and go over to where she is frozen in place at the entryway to the living room.

"Jo, are you alright?"

She nods.

"Do you need to talk to Peter?"

Another nod.

"Peter," you say loud enough to get his attention from across the room.

Peter turns around and the moment he sees Jo he grins slowly. "Joanne," he breathes as if it's the only word he knows. He crosses the room in a few quick strides and pulls the girl beside you into a crushing hug.

"Peter, did you know?" Jo cries, hands gripping his back desperately.

"Not until we parted ways." Peter lifts her up and buries his face in her hair. "I should have found you sooner, I should have went back."

Shawn takes your hand and pulls you aside. "I didn't know Peter and Jo were mates."

"She did." You run your hand up Shawn's back. "Once she realized it wasn't you that she was meant for, she suspected it was Peter."

"That makes sense. She has been so down since she joined the pack, but she never wanted to talk. I worried about her."

"No need to worry now." You lean your head on Shawn's shoulder. "She just missed her mate was all."

Shawn chuckles and puts his hand in your hair. "Come on, let's get seated, Peter has some information for us."

______________________

Shawn takes you home later in the morning. No one went back to bed after Peter broke the news about hunters. To you it's a new concept, people who want werewolves dead. They're literally hunters, humans who don't think werewolves should exist and they murder them in cold blood for doing nothing but living their lives. The thought makes your stomach hurt. At least Shawn and the pack could hide their true nature, they could pass as humans. You have ears...very visible ears. You're a target.

You get ready for work, and Shawn leaves for work himself. You grab a headwrap from the box in your bathroom cupboard. It has been years since you wore one, and as you hold the soft jersey material in your hands you feel a deep sadness. Hiding from people is the worst, it's why you don't travel, it's why you stay in Haven Port. Your ears draw too much attention from people who don't know you. The headwraps you have are from when you were in high school, when you would hide yourself to spare your sanity every day. It hurts, remembering your past and having to relive it now.

With your hair and ears tied up in the soft material, you head out to the shop. You've decided to bring Parker with today, knowing he misses you. So off you go down the street with Parker in his pet-o-porter and some ribbon you ordered under your arm.

The shop is quiet, not busy at all. You're not surprised. It's a Monday and most of the big ships don't start coming into port until Wednesday. That is when you get the big orders for coffee and tea. You don't mind, you've got online orders to focus on for now.

Just after noon you walk over and join Parker on the window seat that overlooks the hill down to the docks. He's asleep, passed out in the warm sunlight. Maybe you could go see what Shawn is up to down at the repair shop, or maybe you should just close up and head home. You know what you can do. You'll make some tea blends to take to the pack, gifts to ease the tension.

Just as you finish packing up the last bit of tea the door chimes. You look over and greet the person, leaning over the counter to see who it is. Sure enough it's Tia.

"Hey!" Tia says, waving as she approaches the counter. "I didn't know this was your place!"

"Oh, yeah. It's my shop, did you want something to go?"

"Just plain black coffee and a pack of sweetener." Tia plays with your decorative spoons in the cup on the counter. "How did you and Shawn meet?"

"Here." You pour her a cup of coffee and put a lid on it. "He walked in one day and it was like magic."

"So you knew right away?"

"Not right away, but I was definitely attracted to him. He was unlike anyone else." You slide her the cup and punch her total into the register. "Two dollars."

Tia hands you two ones. "I didn't mean to be nosy."

"No, I don't mind. Shawn and I are still very new, I'm getting used to the idea of being a mate and being around wolves in general. Everything is new."

"Oh! Wow, you handled the hunter news well then." She sips her coffee. "Are you scared?"

"Terrified. But you and Peter said you aren't sure if the hunters have followed him. I'm nervous though, having ears like mine make me a target." You fix your headband and make sure you're all tucked away. "Until we know for sure, I'll keep my ears hidden."

"Good idea."

"Yeah, so hopefully nothing comes of these hunters. It's a small town anyway, who would come all the way here to find werewolves?"

Tia nods and smiles softly. "That was Peter's thought process too. I hope you're right."

"Me too."

_____________________

"Come here," Shawn says softly from across the living room. You turn from where you're folding laundry and raise your eyebrows. "Yes, you," he chuckles and motions for you to come to him.

You drop your laundry and walk over. He pulls you down onto his lap and you position yourself so you're straddling his thighs. "Yeah?"

Shawn runs his hands up your legs and settles them on your waist. "I just want to talk."

"This is very intimate talking."

"I like being close." He smiles and brings one hand up to your head. He pulls your wrap off and your ears spring up, a bit achy from being pressed down all day. "There we go, there's my mate."

"I know you don't like it." You reach up and massage your left ear a bit. "But I have to."

Shawn bats your hand away and takes over the rubbing. "That's what I wanted to talk about."

"The hunters?"

"Yes. I want you to know I'm going to keep you safe in the event anything happens."

"I didn't doubt you wouldn't."

"Good, I just needed you to hear it from me."

You nod. "I actually wanted to talk to you too. I know things are tense right now but there is a huge party going on in a few days at the town hall. It's the town founding festival. I always go and I thought maybe this year you and the pack could come."

Shawn smiles big and cups your face. "I'd love to bring the wolves."

"Really?!"

"Yes. The pack could use some fun and since we're going to be here a while, it's best we try to be part of the community."

You wrap your arms around him and hug his head to your chest. "I can't wait."

_____________________

Please send feedback in asks, replies or reblogs. Let me know if you’d like to read more of this story. Thank you so much -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

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softlass27 · 4 years ago

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a wee fic based on the chas/al affair rumours :)

AO3 link here

(obviously robert never went to prison in this universe)

“No, Nicola, I don’t know what your anniversary plans are – nor do I wish to know – and Jimmy really needs to be in that meeting so just tell him… ” Robert trails off when he spots Aaron trudge through the front door looking like someone had just run over his dog.

“Gotta go, tell Jimmy to be ready first thing tomorrow.” He hangs up the call, indifferent to the sound of Nicola’s indignant shrieks on the other end.

“Hey,” he calls tentatively as Aaron kicks his shoes off and enters the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“Just come from the pub… ”

“And?”

Aaron slumps down into the chair next to him and sighs heavily. “My mum’s been havin’ an affair.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Robert’s mouth curls into a sly grin before he can stop it. Oh, how the tables turn.

Aaron catches the look on his face and gives him a light smack on the arm. “Oi, this isn’t funny!”

“No, sorry, course it isn’t,” Robert clears his throat and schools his face into a more sympathetic expression. It’s not like they hadn’t thought something was coming – Aaron had been convinced Chas was acting suspiciously for weeks now – but it’s probably still a bit of a shock for his husband. “What happened, then?”

“Dunno how it all came out, I got there just in time to see the whole thing kicking off in front of everyone. Mum crying, Paddy storming out, the works. Half the village probably knows by now.”

“God. Who’s she been carrying on with, then?”

“Al.”

“Al?”

“Yep.”

“Al who slept with Marlon’s wife and still goes out of his way to make him miserable at every opportunity? That Al?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

“Wow, after all the grief she’s been giving Belle about family loyalty these last few months… I’m shocked. Shocked and appalled.”

“Right, if you’re not gonna take this seriously, I’m gonna walk right back out that door.” Aaron scowls and rises from his seat, only for Robert to grab his arm and pull him down again.

“No, wait, I’m sorry. I’m listening, I swear. You have to admit, though, it’s a bit ironic.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, but gives a reluctant nod.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Aaron shrugs, though his eyes look sad. “Just… sucks that they’re breaking up like this.”

“Well… it’s been on the cards for a while, I suppose.”

“What’re you on about?” Robert winces when Aaron frowns at him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. “Okay, yeah, they’ve had a rough go of things but they’ve been alright. They’ve got Eve now and I thought – I thought they were doin' better.”

“Aaron,” Robert gently takes his hand, feeling his heart give a painful tug at his husband’s downcast expression. “You remember what they were like on lockdown, right? The endless calls you got from your mum ranting about how Paddy was driving her mad. Or vice versa, if he was feeling brave enough to dare complain. Frankly, I’m amazed the pub didn’t turn into a crime scene.”

The longer lockdown had dragged on, the more phone calls and texts Aaron had received from Chas, to the point where Robert had seriously considered chucking his phone into the stream on their daily walk. Hour after hour Aaron – and by extension Robert – had to listen to the same complaints; another day of arguments, another day of silent treatment, another day of disagreeing about Eve, another day where Paddy’s very presence seemed to drive her over the edge.

Not that Robert could blame her, but hey, she was the one who chose to be with the man. He can’t imagine ever speaking about Aaron like that. Hell, he never would’ve spoken about Chrissie like that, not when they were together.

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I think this year… has put some things into perspective for people. Divorce rates are sky high, apparently, loads of couples have realised they’re not as compatible as they thought. And maybe Chas and Paddy are one of those couples.”

Personally Robert’s always thought of Chas and Paddy as the least compatible couple he’d ever been unfortunate enough to know, but he decides to keep that to himself for now. Probably not helpful.

“Mum and Paddy aren’t actually married,” is all Aaron says, chewing his thumbnail. “Never got round to it, remember?”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?”

No response.

“Look, I’m not saying she should’ve cheated on him – again,” he can’t resist adding, which has Aaron pinching his hand warningly. “But surely them splitting up is better in the long run, rather than staying together when they just make each other miserable? Which would probably make Eve miserable when she got old enough to notice?”

“Yeah… ” Aaron sighed. “Suppose you’re right.”

“Wow, can I get that in writing?”

Aaron huffs a laugh and shoves Robert’s hand away. “You can piss off.”

“Okay, you want me to make us a brew while I do that?”

“Please.”

Robert presses a kiss to Aaron’s forehead and goes to fill the kettle. As he pulls out the mugs and drops a couple of tea bags in them, he notices Aaron checking his phone.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, just… maybe I should track Paddy down, check he’s alright.”

“He’s probably gone to Marlon’s or somethin’.”

Aaron just hums in response.

“He’ll be okay, y’know,” Robert smiles reassuringly as he returns to the table and sets Aaron’s mug in front of him, giving him another kiss just because he can. “Yeah, it’ll hurt for a while, but he’ll come out the other end. It’s not like he hasn’t been through it before. From both sides, I might add.”

“Alright,” Aaron shakes his head in exasperation. “You got all your digs in now?”

Robert hums thoughtfully and takes a slow sip of his brew. “Give me a minute, another one might come to me.”

He grins when Aaron chuckles despite himself. They sit in silence for a few moments, drinking their teas, when Aaron eventually speaks quietly.

“I’m so glad that we’re not like… ”

“Your mum and Paddy?”

“I was going to say those couples you mentioned. The ones who couldn’t make it through this year.”

“Oh.” Robert has to agree, he can’t imagine ever getting sick of spending time with his husband. “Me too. I loved having you to myself.”

Aaron’s eyes turn soft. “Yeah, it wasn’t bad, was it?”

“Guess we’re just superior.”

“Guess so.”

“Although if I’d had to watch you play Call of Duty in your pants for one more hour, that might’ve been the breaking point, so it’s probably a good thing lockdown ended when it did.”

“Oh I’m sorry, d’you wanna talk about the mess you made in the kitchen every other day? Trying out another recipe for somethin’ we’d literally never eat.”

“Now hang on a sec – ”

“’Cause I think the garlic sourdough incident might count as grounds for divorce.”

“Whatever,” Robert huffs, before raising an eyebrow. “I made that up to you, didn’t I?”

Aaron pauses, before grinning sheepishly when the memory of how that night had ended comes back to him.

“Fair enough,” he leans forwards in his chair and smirks at Robert. “I suppose we did alright on that front.”

A wave of sudden desire washes over Robert, memories of exactly how they’d passed most of their blissfully uninterrupted time during those months hitting him vividly.

“I’d say we managed, yeah,” his voice drops an octave, gaze drifting down to Aaron’s mouth. “So you fancy… reliving some of lockdown now? Upstairs?”

“You read my mind.”

The unfinished mugs of tea sit abandoned on the table.

#catch me ignoring canon completely :)#aaron and robert are superior in every way #and they know it #my writing #robron #anti-chaddy

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ilkkawhat · 4 years ago

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For the SOULMATE Alphabet prompt, can I ask E or ESP for Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver please? All these prompts sound like so much fun!

[be gentle with me it’s been like. years since i’ve written these two. i’m being dramatic it’s only been three months.]

There’s one reason and one reason only Jack and Mac would allow themselves to be apart for long times at long distances, and that reason was something that even all of the infinite science in Mac’s brain, all of the infinite wisdom in Jack’s heart couldn’t even explain.

They figured it out when they had parted ways after Lake Como. Both had been too injured to realize that the pain they were feeling—on top of what they were already feeling—was each other’s. Mac thought the pain in his head was his mind overworking itself trying to reconcile Nikki’s (supposed) death. Jack thought the pain in his chest was the early signs of a heart attack, not uncommon in his family.

They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a month. Mac was finally out of the hospital, Jack was at his apartment. Jack didn’t quite know what to do, give the kid space or hover over him as an emotional Overwatch support, but he ultimately figured that Bozer would tend to him and that he would just pop by for a visit—which never happened because every time he thought of going, there was a forcefield of guilt that kept him from passing through the unlocked threshold to Mac’s house.

Mac, meanwhile, thought it was bad enough that he lost Nikki, he didn’t want to lose Jack, too. His fingers would constantly key over Jack’s number in his phone that he had memorized forwards and backwards. But he didn’t want to bother him. Figured that he was busy with a new job cause the older man was always working non-stop, as much as he would “complain” about the mundaneness of a nine-to-five job; all the paperwork and meetings and lack of an appropriate amount of sick days or whining for a raise, he knew that really Jack just wanted to keep himself busy, occupied.

Or otherwise he’d end up where Mac thought he was in that moment, on a couch, wrapped up in a bathrobe.

“Jack?” Mac gasped himself awake from an almost-nap. He sat up and threw his hand to his side, expecting it to land on Jack’s shoulder, or knee, or just any part of his body that would elicit some witty remark, “the lights go out in those bright eyes of yours, hoss?”

His hand didn’t touch anything. But he definitely felt Jack there with him, on his couch. Smelled him, too. And he was overcome with some strange...sadness. Remorse. It wasn’t a foreign emotion to him at the time, so he had sort of shrugged it off, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, that the pain meds were too strong.

And then Jack woke him up with a phone call.

“Were you just at my house?” his tone was laced with the usual paranoia that came when anything was out of place at his apartment, but there was an odd sort of seriousness and urgency that Mac felt, too.

“No. Did you come here?”

“No, not since I drove by last night to drop off some pizza and beer.”

“That was you? Why didn’t you come in?”

“Boze said you were sleepin’ and I didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Well...you woke me up now,” Mac smiled though he knew Jack couldn’t see it.

Yet in a way, he could.

“What is going on here, hoss? It-it’s like you’re sitting right in front of me.”

“I don’t know. You wanna come over? Maybe we can sit by the fire and try to figure it out together.”

“Aight. Be there in ten.”

Jack lived fifteen minutes away.

They sat by the fire and once they passed by the awkward small talk they were able to properly catch up; though Mac didn’t have much to offer with the bed rest he had been sentenced to, but was pleased to announce that he would be beginning his rehab. Jack, meanwhile, got a gig being a stunt coordinator—disguising the fact with a cough that he was also partaking in some of the more dangerous stunts himself.

It was good that it happened, a brief reunion before a more permanent one that came months later when they got to go back to work together, the small steps leading to a true recovery of a slightly tarnished friendship in the face of a failed mission.

It wouldn’t be the last time.

They don’t feel anything unexpected, again, thinking it was just their own emotions they were waving through and the yearning for each other’s presence, but one of the first times they were separated, it was stronger than ever before.

And it wasn’t even that big of a separation. Just a few feet. A couple more feet. Maybe the length of a basketball court, at most. Mac moving backwards. Jack standing still. Jack could feel the panic rising within Mac as he scrambled to defuse the bomb Jack was standing on. Mac could feel the sheer dread and terror pouring out of the sweat beads on Jack’s skin.

The stakes hadn’t been so high since Mac had to disarm a bomb within an impossible amount of seconds back at the sandbox—and in hindsight, he can’t help but wonder if that’s when they had formed this new sort of...bond.

Jack must have figured it out too, because the next time it happened, just a week or so later, it came after Mac had been taken and drugged by the cartel. Jack was in full on rescue mode, dressed from head to toe in tactical gear—but he had to remove the helmet when he felt like he had some sort of mask smothered on top of his face. And then he felt lightheaded. And then he felt...woozy.

He pushed through it to save Mac—and in seeing Mac the odd sensation had washed away but when Mac told him that’s exactly what he felt when he was put under, the pieces were put together in Jack’s head.

“What kind of Vulcan mind-meld shit is this!?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s like we’re getting into each other’s heads, a-and feeling each other when we’re apart.”

“You can admit it Jack, you just miss seein’ your sunshine boy,” Mac had waved him off with a poor imitation of his accent.

“I’m serious, buddy this is...this is real. I-I don’t know how to explain it but it’s like we’re...we’re…”

“Soulmates?”

“Yeah! That’s the word.”

“How romantic.”

Jack couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt by Mac’s downplay of his emotions, their emotions over their new transcended level of connection he never thought he would have with another man, let alone another person in his life.

But Mac would soften when his emotions got cranked to eleven.

It was their first real argument since the Sandbox. Jack tracking Mac down to Paris—which, with this new sixth sense of being able to feel Mac wherever he was when he wasn’t with Jack, he didn’t need to work as hard but he still explained how easy it was to track him down, even without their newfound “special powers,” as Jack claimed them to be—and beyond the confusion he was secretly pleased to have such an ability, harkening back to his childhood days of reading comic books and jumping off couches with a bedsheet cape on his back.

They both felt each other’s resentment, each other’s anger, until Jack calmed down when Mac called an apologized. He let Mac’s voice go to voicemail, but followed his call like he was lured by a siren.

Even though he tried to joke about a “groveling apology” that he knew Mac wasn’t actually going to give him despite the actual upset he had felt and truly wanted to apologize for to Jack, Jack entered the house knowing something was wrong.

Because he couldn’t feel Mac at all. Couldn’t feel him joking around with Bozer. Couldn’t feel him lost and searching for a deadbeat father who abandoned him—a sensation Jack didn’t quite understand until he felt Mac reliving it in his worst nights. Couldn’t feel him happy to be with the Phoenix family.

Mac’s house was as empty as Jack felt, and he was on the verge of losing it like never before—until he felt a cold shiver creep through is body. Felt a sharp prick, felt like his body was being pumped and drained at the same time.

Felt fear mixed with anger mixed with...vague...intrigue and the last time he felt it, Jack was at the mercy of a small red dot boring into his chest while Mac played the most dangerous game of cat and mouse.

And this time, he was the mouse.

“My spidey-senses are all telling me the same thing...It’s Murdoc.”

He hoped and prayed that he could somehow ease Mac’s terror with his own determination to find him. He swallowed down his tears, swallowed down his guilt for the sake of giving the kid some sort of hope with a forced sense of confidence that he would find him in no time.

And no time is exactly what he felt. What they both felt. Jack’s confidence turned to confusion when Mac no longer felt trapped, but instead...lost. And paranoid. Even more paranoid than Jack himself.

So lost that even when they physically found each other, it still seemed like forever until they emotionally found each other again, with more and more separations, more victimizations on their more deadly missions with gunshots and electrocutions and gas chambers. Fits of inexplicable rage and jealousy as they explored other interests besides each other. Odd sensations of loneliness when they weren’t working together.

Even when they were actually trapped together in Mac’s house, sitting on another bomb, it took them a whole episode of reminiscing how they got together in the first place that made them realize how no matter how often they would be lost from one another, they would always find each other, even in their worst moments.

And it was after that near miss they both exchanged real apologies. Mac admitted that perhaps this “mind meld” was real after all. Jack said “having you stuck with me ain’t so bad after all. Toldja I’m never gonna leave you, there’s definitely no getting rid of me now.”

“But...what’s going to happen when...one of us dies?” Mac didn’t even want to ask it. Didn’t actually even say the words.

Jack asked the same thing when he was prematurely laid to rest in a burning coffin, descending into hell and screaming for Mac both in the literal sense and the emotional sense—so much so that Mac could hardly take it—he felt like he was on fire and oh god, he actually was as he put his hands on the burning wood and freed Jack from inferno.

“Being burned alive...was always curious,” Jack breathed, putting a hand that oddly felt ablaze on his chest, while Mac danced on figurative hot coals.

“You’re insane, man.”

“I don’t think death is the end,” Jack answered him finally, when they were being wrapped up by the paramedics.

“How much smoke did you inhale?” Mac almost laughed, confused as to what he was referring to, thinking he had some sort of existential realization on the precipice of death.

“But wh-what if when one of us dies...the other will too? Kaboom-kaboom,” Mac continued the conversation after a particularly rough day spent in the war room with a beaten, sunken black eye while Jack ran around pretending to be a lone wolf yet he was wrangling up the pack and doing a favor by helping out his daughter’s real father, the conflicting emotions of which didn’t ease Mac’s troubles, either.

“Told ya, that won’t be it. There’s gonna be something after kaboom. For both of us.”

“Then why do you always fight so hard for us not to explode?”

“Cause I can’t let you have too much fun when you’re dropping those improv-bombs to get us out of sticky situations. There’s still a few things I wanna do before I move on from this world.”

“Right, your bucket list,” Mac smiled.

“Exactly, hoss. And what’s say...we cross another one off now?”

They were interrupted, as always, by an emergency call that revealed the truth about Mac’s father, and a falsification of how they had been brought together.

“Who do you think pulled the strings to pair you two together in Afghanistan?”

Bullshit. And Jack made a point of pointing that out, and how dare he even make the implication that even if things didn’t work out between Jack and Mac, that there would just be another Overwatch put in his place, and another, until Oversight saw fit that his son would be taken care of like he never had done for him before?

Needless to say, there were a lot of emotions, conflicting ones at that—even Jack himself was torn between sucking up to the boss but also wanting to punch him in the face, and do minor things like refuse handshakes, accidentally trip him, anything to just...annoy him without a fireable offense, per se.

But when Mac left the Phoenix, he may as well have gone, too.

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t. Was it some sense of duty to protect the remainder of the pack? Was it the same hesitation he had when Mac took his leave of absence after Nikki’s death, wanting to give him space but still wanting to suffocate him at the same time?

Was it fear that one day, Mac would walk away from him, too?

While the separation was brief, only a few months though it felt like years—especially when Jack felt the length of Mac’s hair on his own chin that allowed him to measure the actual length of time that had elapsed, when they came face to face again it still felt like they were worlds apart.

Because Mac abandoned his family.

Mac abandoned Jack.

And in what godforsaken world would that happen?

The same world where Jack would do the same almost half a year later.

“NO!” Mac shouted, rising from another cold-sweat nightmare.

Jack laid beside him, startled awake.

“Everything okay, hoss?” Jack whispered.

“Just...just...had a bad dream,” Mac whispered back.

They would keep their voices low, but their emotions high. There were certain things that just had to be said to be understood as felt between them.

“I missed you,” Mac gulped.

“You know I’m right here, don’t ya?” Jack laughed from his own bed, Mac felt a gentle scratching at the back of his head.

“I know. I know you’re here, it’s just…”

He turned his head, he didn’t even know why he was whispering, the house had never been so silent before. No snoring Bozer. No Jack strumming the guitar on a restless night. No keys clicking beneath the speed of Riley’s rapid fingers. No phonecalls from Matty.

“You’re not. Not even alive.”

“Who in the hell told you that?”

“The...the army.”

Mac’s phone rang, he answered without even looking at the number. The ring was for a video call, so he lazily pulled the string of his bedside lamp.

Jack was on the other side, soft fauxhawk and subtle stubble tracing the start of a beard on his face.

“My God, what fucked up dream did you have, man?”

“The kind that lasts forever,” Mac mumbled. “That felt...too real…”

“I turned down the Kovac mission, you remember that, right? The image was fake. Just a taunt. The broadcast orchestrated by Murdoc just to dick around with us again.”

“I know, I know it just...I can’t help but wonder what could have...could have happened if you…”

“You gotta stop beating yourself up so much, kid. I’ve told you, over and over, this ain’t one of those ‘you hurt me, so I’mma hurt you’ sort of games. We don’t do that manipulative shit.”

“Jack, I left you—”

“You left the Phoenix. I stayed. My choice.”

Jack suddenly felt the corners of his eyes burn. The corner of Mac’s eyes burn.

“I wanted you to come with me.”

“I know. And I wanted to.”

“I know,” Mac swallowed. “I...I felt that you did but...why didn’t you?”

“You walked away that day but you didn’t walk alone. I was there with you the entire time. You know that.”

“But you weren’t!”

“You’re right. You’re right,” Jack shook his head, squeezing his face. He waved his tongue over his lips, Mac suddenly felt freshness over the chapped flesh that was trembling as he held the tiny screen of Jack in between his hands.

“I...I knew how you felt, being abandoned by your Dad...Cause I did that to Riley.”

“You didn’t...abandon her—”

“Then what would you have called it?”

It was a question Mac didn’t have an answer to.

“Regardless, I think it’s safe to say that you’re not the only one with abandonment issues, I’m just...on the other side of the spectrum. Worlds apart from the pain you musta felt when dear ol’ Dad leftcha and I shouldn’ta tried to push you back together without thinking how you might have felt—”

“Jack, Jack, it’s fine. I-I know you just...you had good intentions. Cause of what happened to your Dad.”

Jack nodded, wiped a hand over the running nose that Mac felt, though his was dry.

“And anyway, I just. I was scared, I guess. Didn’t know what to do. Hadn’t been on that side of the coin before. It may have hurt you but it...it hurt me, too.”

“I know it did. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“So...where do we go from here?” Mac asked, clearing his throat.

“Doesn’t matter, really. Cause no matter where you go, where I go, where we both go...We have each other.”

Mac felt Jack’s touch, though it was a poor substitute for the real deal, as he closed his eyes and envisioned him sitting next to him, his arms wrapped around him, hugging him to his chest.

“Forever,” Mac sighed, and Jack smiled as he felt the reassurance that while it had been stretched and twisted and tested, their bond would never be broken.

Not even in a death that Jack oddly felt he had just narrowly missed by some sort of guardian angel watching over him.

#nonny #macgyver fic #macdalton #angus macgyver #jack dalton #mk.op #mk.fic #ya know if a certain thing didn't happen in canon this fic would have ended a lot differently but i just #i couldn't #only happy endings for jack from now on i don't make the rules #though i know i really have no right to be here anymore lol

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bangstanfics · 5 years ago

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Ode to Safe Travels || JJK

☆ Pairing: Knight!Jungkook x Princess!Reader

☆ Word Count: 4.8k

☆ Rating: 17+

☆ Genre: Medieval au, royalty au, star crossed lovers, romance, angst, and more angst

☆ Warnings: Major character death, implications of smut

☆ Summary: It was a forbidden romance that was bound to end up in tragedy. You both knew that, and yet that didn’t stop you from falling hopelessly in love with your metaphorical and literal knight in shining armor, Jeon Jungkook.

☆ A/N: My first ever fic, oh gawd I wasn’t sure when (or if) I was going to post this, but Valentines Day seemed like a good day. This short story is part of my “A Second Chance at Love” series (a series about lovers whose circumstances caused them to not end up together during their first life, but are given a second chance when they are reincarnated) and is the prequel to my main story “Chasing Stars.” Also, all the italicized writing is the present, and the regular text are flashbacks of the past. Yes! That was done with a purpose and no I won't directly say why (unless you figure it out owo). Enough of my blabbing, I hope you all enjoy!! :)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

I’ll be with you, forever.

It was his promise to you as he sat in his barren cell, deprived of the basic necessities of life - food, water, human contact. The shackles around his arms denying him access to one last touch of your skin, to caress your cheek and brush away the tears that you couldn’t stop from falling. His big doe eyes that reflected stars now reflected your contorted expression, overtaken with grief. Despite his circumstances, he managed to smile and attempted to ease your fears with his words.

God, how you hated yourself in that moment. There he was, waiting for his moment to come on death’s vendetta, yet he was comforting you. You, the princess who spent her sheltered life behind the castle walls, ignorant to famen, war, and poverty. You, the princess who was always draped in the finest silks and gold and carried herself with too much pride. You, the princess who was always pampered by servants and knights alike, adored by the entire kingdom.

Finding solace in his words was a privilege you would not allow yourself to have in that moment.

“Would you like to have a different meal prepared, your Highness?” the voice of the servant cut through your heavy thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You glanced down at your untouched food before turning your attention back to the girl. She was new, you noted, and unaware of the fact that your lack of appetite had nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the memories of him that constantly flooded your mind.

“No,” you answered after a moment of silence, “This will suffice.”

She waited, as if expecting more, but when you offered nothing of the sort she bowed her head respectfully and left the dining hall, leaving you alone to replay that fateful day over and over again.

He was right, though. Even after his passing, you saw and heard him everywhere you went. His hushed voice in the wind, calling your name. His shadow trailing your footsteps of abandoned corridors. His lingering scent in the sheets of your chambers. Even now, in this massive hall with the long table stretched out before you, you could feel the weight of his presence sitting in the empty chair across from you. The ghost of his smile barely visible to your eye and yet you can remember it so distinctly. However, rather than comfort, it only served as a bitter reminder of the future that was abruptly taken away from you.

You closed your eyes once again and allowed your consciousness to drift back to that day, resuming from the point where you hopelessly reached your hand through the bars in an attempt to seek refuge in the warmth of his arms. He did the same, extended his hand out towards you, but the chains that restrained him to the wall only allowed him to move a few feet. Your desperate attempts to reach each other proving futile against the cell bars.

“Please don’t leave me,” you pleaded through your sobs, “Please don’t leave me all alone. I can’t do this without you.”

His smile was weak, but reassuring, “My love,” his voice barely above a whisper, all the might and confidence you were so accustomed to hearing had disappeared, “Don’t say that. You are the strongest person I know. Hell, the strongest person in this nation. Do what you always do when you fall, jump back up and keep moving forward.” You shake your head, unable to speak through your broken sobs. You wanted to tell him he was wrong. The truth behind your unwavering nature was not an iron will, but the knowledge that if you fell, Jungkook would be right there to catch you and help you back up.

“Jungkook please,” you tried again, “Let me fix this.”

“But there is nothing to fix,” he tried to reason, “Our destiny had already been mapped out in the stars long ago. I know you do not believe in these myths and folklore, but sometimes there are moments in this lifetime that are meant to happen to allow others destinies to fully take course.”

This destiny he was so fixated on, meant nothing to you if he wasn’t there to take part in the journey with you. You wanted to tell him that, but the words stayed as a lump in your throat as you stared into his brown orbs. The unwavering determination was set ablaze in his eyes, as he sent you a silent message - he was doing this for you. In that moment, you were faced with a burden so great that the mere thought of it left the impression of the universe’s vast loneliness coursing through you.

You had to leave him.

Turn around and allow him to take part in fate’s cruel plans.

“I love you,” were the final words you had to offer, “I love you so damn much,” your cries growing louder with each passing declaration, knowing it will be your last.

“And I love you,” he projected what little strength he had into this confession, so they would never leave you, “Even after my time in this world has come to an end, my love for you will not end with it.”

You felt your hands tremble at your sides as the desire to embrace him one last time overwhelmed you. To brush your lips over his and murmur sweet nothings into his ears to reassure him that your heart was forever his and nothing, not even death, could break that bond. Your lover, your best friend, your world. He was it all and so much more.

With a heavy heart, you rose from your spot on the ground and left without a second glance. Too afraid that if you did, your resolution would break and you would run back to Jungkook’s cell. Instead, as you traveled down the dimly lit hall, you broke into uncontrollable sobs. The force of your whimpers reverberating through your chest, causing the halls to echo back your sorrows. Your hands found their way to your hair as you began rummaging through your locks, searching your head for an answer. A swarm of profanities whirled your mind as they attempted to escape through your mouth. You physically had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from revealing your location to the castle guards. But the insanity of the situation was getting too much and with each passing second your hope continued to dwindle close to nothing. You frantically shook your head, forcing the negative thoughts away. Jungkook already had given up, so you knew you couldn’t do the same.

You were at a loss for breathe as you found yourself hyperventilating, knees succumbing to the reality of the situation. Was there really nothing you could do to save him? You clawed at your chest, desperate for air as your head sunk lower and lower, eyes meeting the concrete floors. Your vision was filled with nothing but the gray cracks and crevices, hoping to find a silver lining in any one of its imperfections. But there was nothing and when you realized this, you screamed. An ear curdling scream meant for the heavens, hoping they would hear your plea and allow Jungkook to live.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” a heavy breathe brought you down from the memory you were reliving and you realized you were no longer seated at the dining table. To your side, the familiar face of the Head maid with a look of concern etched onto her features. Of all people you had to encounter, you just had to encounter her - Mrs. Kim. The same woman who helped raise you and feed you when your parents were busy managing their kingdom. The same woman who kissed your wounds and was your shoulder to cry on. The same woman who gave birth to one of your closest friends, Kim Namjoon. The same woman who betrayed you.

“Don’t touch me!” you immediately recoiled from her touch, the momentum of your movements, bringing you down to the floor as a result.

“But Your Highness--” Mrs. Kim reached out to help you up, but you responded by scurrying further back, until your back hit the end of a wall.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t look at me! Don’t help me! Just get away!”

Mrs. Kim was visibly hurt by your words, you could tell by the way her eyes clouded with tears, but you couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Afterall, she was the one who revealed your relationship with Jungkook to your parents.

“What if… we ran away together?” you whispered to Jungkook one night after love making. Your naked bodies intertwined between the silk sheets of your bed, as the soft rays of the moonlight peeking through your windows enhanced Jungkook’s features. His doe eyes seemed to sparkle more, his smile was bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen it. Then again, you could attribute that to the fact he had an orgasm not even ten minutes ago, but still - he seemed different. A radiating glow. You wondered if you had one too.

“Where would we even go?” he decided to entertain the idea, although deep down he knew it was impossible. Your parents would spend whatever resources necessary to bring you back here to Reeva. Afterall, you were, not only the eldest, but the most qualified of your siblings to inherit the throne. Your younger sister, a carefree spirit who would rather spend her time exploring the city than learning how to write eloquent letters to convince an enemy kingdom to decrease their tariffs, did not have the knowledge or skill to be a bridge between the people and the law. Your younger brother, a fool most people would describe him, but you saw him as a man with no ambition. He was indifferent to the world and would rather spend his time exploring the beds of the young maidens in the castle. That left Reeva in your hands.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” You finally decided as your answer, “The world has so much to offer us, Jungkook. Why stay in a place that forbids us to love each other just because I’m seen as heir to the throne and you’re seen as my protector.” Jungkook loved hearing you talk about your immense love for him. The way you would sacrifice everything for him. He had never known a love so deep and pure. Growing up as an orphan, he thought love was a concept that didn’t exist. People would abandon each other eventually, it was only a matter of time. Yet, with you, no matter how many times he failed or made himself look like a fool, you remained by his side and encouraged him to get back up. He reached out his hand and gently stroked your cheek, admiring the way you released a content sigh at the physical contact.

“A place where we could love each other freely…” he tested the idea with his tongue, saying it out loud for the first time. He had to admit, a swarm of butterflies invaded his chest at the mere thought of being able to hold your hand freely in public. Without any spectators giving him dirty looks, or covering their mouths to point out how you carried an air of grace, while he carried himself with the mannerism of a commoner.

“Mmhm… Doesn’t that sound nice?” you smiled sleepily, your previous activities with Jungkook draining you of most of your energy, but you still had enough power to lean forward and press your lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. You could feel him smile against your lips before releasing a low hum of agreement.

The moment, like every beautiful moment in life, did not last.

The door to your chambers was forced open with a great kick. Startled, you and Jungkook pulled away from each other, as your first instinct was to cover yourself up with your linen. Guards came swarming into your space and surrounded the bed you shared with Jungkook. You couldn’t even process everything that was happening. The motion of the clustered bodies moving like a blur, until two distinct presence made themselves known. Your blood ran cold as you noticed the fire that ignited in your father’s eyes as he took in the scene before him - you and Jungkook in your bed together, naked and covered in love bites. He didn’t even give you time to explain yourself before he was marching over to Jungkook’s side and drawing the tip of his sword to your lover’s neck.

“Father wait--” you tried to reason with him, thinking he was about to drag the blade against Jungkook’s throat, but he proceeded with words rather than action, much to your surprise.

“You will be tried for high treason against the royal family. You will be stripped of your title as a member of the Battle Triumph Soldiers. And you will no longer be known as a knight of Reeva. Should you be found guilty of your crime, there is only one punishment fitting of such betrayal - death. Do you have any objections?”

You sucked in a deep breathe at the word “death” knowing well that the council (comprised of your father, mother, your father’s advisor Sir Lee and Commander Bang) would unanimously find Jungkook guilty. The hard stare your father sent Jungkook was meant to be intimidating, you could tell, but all you could see in his eyes was pity and despair. He was, after all, the one who took Jungkook under his wing and trained him to be the man he is today. Despite the tough front your father always portrayed, you always knew he had a soft spot for Jungkook. He was every inch of what the king wanted your brother to be, but could never achieve. But at that moment, he was casting all emotions aside and using his head to make every decision. The King couldn’t risk a scandal like this being exposed to the other kingdoms. They would seize it as an opportunity to cast doubt over his authority and possibly overthrow him. Jungkook was no longer a boy orphaned by war, he was a man who had to take responsibility for his actions.

“No, I have no objections.”

Wide eyed, you whipped your head to the man next to you and looked at him in disbelief. Was the post-orgasm high interfering with his brain? You sat up straighter, carrying an air of dignity that had been instilled into you since birth - you weren’t about to let these men make you feel ashamed for making love to the man you love - and started to protest on his behalf, “On the contrary, he objects to every statement you just made!”

“You will hold your tongue until--” your mother began, but your father raised a hand to silence her.

You decided to use the opportunity to continue talking, “Father, I beg of you, hear me out. None of this was Jungkook’s fault. It was I who initiated this- this- this whole thing. He refused all of my advances, saying he knows his place, but I convinced him that his rightful place should be with me because I--” you paused, unsure if your words was making the situation better or worse for Jungkook, but you were desperate to cling onto anything that would resolve this mess, even if it meant revealing the truth, “Because I lo--”

“I’d hate to reveal my intentions in front of everyone like this, Princess, but I thought I should save you the embarrassment of your next words by speaking my truth.” All you could do was blink inquisitively at Jungkook, whose demeanor and attitude had suddenly transformed into one you had never seen before, “And that truth is… I used you. Well, used your body more specifically.” It was like choking on air as you listened to Jungkook’s confession. Nothing was holding your throat hostage, yet you were finding it difficult to breathe. Why are you doing this? You wanted to scream at him. Why are you lying so effortlessly in front of everyone? Why are you trying to take all the blame? “You made it so easy for me too. With the way you practically flung yourself at me every time we were alone. I almost felt bad stringing you along... Almost. Then again, sleeping with you did also pose some benefits seeing how I got to sleep in these luxurious chambers rather than my worn out closet space.”

Jungkook’s “confession” landed him a swift blow to his face, courtesy of your father who either believed his story or wanted to believe his story just so he could portray Jungkook to be the villain in this entire mess, “Father, stop!” Your first instinct was to jump in front of the dark haired boy and use your own body as a shield, but the guard closest to you captured your arm, preventing you from doing so. Your father took another swing at the knight and the momentum of his hit threw Jungkook to the floor with a loud thud. You watched in horror as the King pulled his leg back and swiftly landed a kick to what you presumed, judging from the suffocated groan, was Jungkook’s abdomen. “Enough!” you finally yell with a force so great, that even the guard gripping your arm was startled. With a ragged breath, and tears on the brink of escape, you yanked your arm from the guard and crawled to the other edge of the bed to where your father was standing, “Please, have mercy on him,” you begged, head hung low and hands clasped together as if you were praying to a saint. From the corner of your eye, you focused on Jungkook’s remorse expression and apologized mentally that you couldn’t do more for him. You couldn’t gauge your father’s reaction, but you knew he must have been furious seeing his heir to the throne on her knees, for a man who didn’t possess an ounce of royal blood.

Your father cleared his throat, a sign for you to raise your head. His eyes lacked emotion so you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, “Guards, dress him and lock him up in the dungeons. I don’t want him in my sights for another second,” he finally commanded. Two men quickly found Jungkook’s discarded articles of clothing and dressed him before dragging him out of your room. Your eyes followed his body’s movement, even when he was out of sight, all you could do was stare helplessly at the door, “Leave us,” your father commanded the remaining guards, who quickly scurried away from his tone.

“How did you know?” you finally decided to ask after a moment of silence. Your eyes were still transfixed on the empty doorway, waiting for his answer, until a new figure came into view. She hung her head low in shame and her shoulders slouched forward to make herself seem as small as she felt at that moment.

“I have eyes all over the castle, my dear. As loyal as they are to you, they will always prioritize their loyalty to me, their King.” You couldn’t even process his words as an overwhelming sense of denial rushed through your system. Not her. Of all the people to betray you, please not her.

“Mrs. Kim?” you called out weakly, afraid that speaking her name out loud would confirm your fears. However, as soon as her name was called, she took the remaining steps to enter your room and make her presence known, “How- How could you?”

She bit her lip back in guilt, seemingly a loss for words to justify her actions. However, what came out next only made your hatred for the woman grow, “I’m so sorry. I have nothing else to say except that I’m so terribly sorry and that I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

A harsh tug on your shoulder brought you back to reality as you realized that Mrs. Kim pulled you back to your feet and began shaking you frantically.

“I know you can never trust me again after what I did to you, but all I ask is that you listen to my reason for doing so.”

“I refuse! No explanation can take back the consequences of your actions. You have betrayed not just me or Jungkook, but Namjoon and the rest of the Battle Triumph Soldiers. Do you not see the pain in their eyes during war tactic conferences as they stare at the empty seat that once belonged to Jungkook? Or how Namjoon still expects Jungkook to pull one of his antics right before training? Maybe you’ve seen how Seokjin still sharpens and polishes Jungkook’s sword every morning? Or noticed how Yoongi still eats half his meal because he thinks Jungkook would ask for the rest of it? Can you tell Hoseok is still the first to take off his gear because he expects Jungkook to jump on his back? Do you see Jimin linger at Jungkook’s door? Longing for a friend to confide his struggles to? Have you watched Taehyung visit Jungkook’s grave with flowers and just cry uncontrollably? Because I’ve seen it Mrs. Kim. I’ve seen it all. And seeing them go through that reopens every wound Jungkook’s death has caused and refreshes every ounce of hatred I have towards you.” Mrs. Kim can’t even think of a response to your confession. Her grip on her shoulder fell as she stood motionless in the middle of the hall. A quick observation of your surroundings helped you determined that you were in the middle of the West hall, the hall that leads to the battle arena.

Your blood ran cold as the gates of the arena stared you down, taunting you with the knowledge of what that place represented. As you expected, Jungkook was found guilty of treason sentenced to death. How you wish your father showed mercy by making it a quick execution. Rather, he chose to spark a flame of hope within you by sentencing him to a duel - a battle to save his life. Jungkook was a talented knight, that was an undeniable fact that the entire kingdom knew, but his opponent, Sir Hyun, was exemplary. As the Head Knight, nations quaked in fear when they crossed his path and would rather be met with a death by a blade than at the hands of Sir Hyun. He was relentless when given a task and always made sure to leave no victim behind. A madman is what most would call him, and they would be completely justified in their beliefs. The bottom of your lip began to quiver as flashes of that day played out.

Jungkook dragging his practically lifeless body to the center of the arena.

His opponent’s merciless attacks on his weakened body.

Jungkook’s poor attempts at defending himself.

The battle ending with a fatal blow to your lover’s chest.

“Princess?” Mrs. Kim tried capturing your attention when she noticed your rigid state, but it was no use, you couldn’t escape the image painted inside your head. The only man you ever loved lying in a crimson pool, choking on his own blood. The way you ran to him and held his head in your lap as your tears decorated his pale face. The quiet hush that fell over the crowd as they watched you cradle your lover back and forth. The heartbroken wails that escaped your lips as you desperately yelled for anyone to help him. The audience only offered silent murmurs of what they speculated was going on. Your parents, the King and Queen of the kingdom, astonished by the events unfolding in front of him.

“Mother! Father! Please, I love him!” Their silent judgment only brought fresh tears to your face as you realized they would offer no aid to the dying man. His voice called out what sounded like your name, so you focused your attention back to him, leaning closer so he wouldn’t strain himself trying to speak up.

“D- Dont be afraid of go-goodbye.”

You frantically shook your head, refusing to believe this is where it ends for the both of you, “No, no, no. This isn’t goodbye, it can’t be. I refuse to accept it.”

His weak smile caused you to grimace, knowing how much effort it must take for the small action, “It’s okay…” he muttered, his voice notably getting fainter, “Because I promise you… I’ll find you again.” Your brows knitted together in confusion at his words.

“Wha-What do you mean you’ll find me again?”

He broke into a smile at your inquisitive stare. How is it that even as death lay waiting at his door he could still see every detail etched into your face. From the small crease in your brow, to the small crinkles around your glassy eyes as you tried to decipher his words. Knowing that it would be Jungkook’s last time seeing your face he made sure to take in every detail and appreciate the beauty that you are, “One day…” he began, the throbbing pain in his chest was slowly subsiding. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but he welcomed the peace, “We’ll be together again.”

Still confused by his words, thinking his wound was making him confused, you shook your head once again, “I don’t want to wait until one day. I want to be with you right now. Now. I wanted to live the rest of our lives together. Have children together along the way and start a family. To grow old and watch our generations prosper. Doesn’t that sound nice, Jungkook?”

His smile turned into a painful one. Not because of his injury, but because he could perfectly see the future you described. Two children, one boy and one girl, running around a small cottage as you sat in his lap with eyes full of love at the children you two had created. At night when the children were in bed, you and him would be awake, confessing your heart’s desires through touches and kisses. He could see it so vividly in front of him that he almost convinced himself that he wasn’t currently dying, but Jungkook knew. He knew it was unattainable.

“It sounds wonderful.” he confessed, voice growing weaker, “And we don’t have to say goodbye to that dream, just… until next time.”

At the mention of ‘until next time’, you understood what he meant. Reeva had a tradition when seeing their knights off to battle in foregin territory. From a young age, every inhabitant of the kingdom was required to memorize a stanza entitled an Ode to Safe Travels. You always found it ridiculous because you thought it was nothing but a poetic way of saying goodbye. As you grew older and wiser, you realized it was not a poetic goodbye, but a promise to be reunited once again, whether it be in this life or the next one. And so with a tear stained face, you inched your face closer to Jungkook and whispered your farewells.

“For honor, you part from this kingdom,” your voice was broken from tears as you recite the lines you have spoken countless times to Jungkook before he was sent off to battle, but this time it was different because you knew he would not return from the place he going to, “In glory, you find victory in the next.” He raised a hand to brush away a few of your tears and hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. You welcomed his touch by leaning into it and holding it firm against your face, “Safe travels wherever the wind carries you.” You watched as tranquility took over his features and his eyes began to flutter close. Your heart clenched painfully at the sight and you squeezed his hand that was resting against your cheek in hopes of transferring some of your life force into him. However, dragging on the seconds into minutes would not extend Jungkook’s life so you forced yourself to finish the rest of the poem, “And may the stars guide you back to me,” He used his remaining strength to force a smile, sealing his promise to be reunited with you once again, whenever that may be.

“For honor, you part from this kingdom. In glory, you find victory in the next. Safe travels wherever the wind carries you. And may the stars guide you back home.”

-Reeva’s parting ode to their knights

#btsbookclub #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #reader insert #bts #jungkook fanfic #bangstanfics #Ode to Safe Travels

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jacnaylor · 5 years ago

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romance book recs!!

romance is my feel good genre, and it’s also usually somewhat easier to read during stressful times, so here’s a list of some books that are either romance or have a romance element i feel like mentioning.

(EDIT: I STAYED UP TILL 2 AM DOING THIS HELP. this is why some of the comments. don’t make any fucking sense.)

romance books and authors:

CONTEMPORARY:

1. The Bromance bookclub series by Lyssa Kay Adams (A group of men form a bookclub dedicated to romance books in order to understand women, improve their relationships and become better men. It’s funny, cute, and all about dismantling toxic masculinity one romance book at a time)

2. Mariana Zapata books (The queen of slowburn romance. The only book I’ve read by her is ‘Under Locke’, but ‘From Lukov with love’ and ‘Kulti’ have rave reviews. There is so much build up and SO much sexual tension with a great pay off)

3. Milly Johnson books (A uk author whose books are primarily set in the north, these are total feel good books. Not so much graphic and more romantic, but her characters are great and her plot lines really hook you in.)

4. The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren (Super cute, quick enemies-to-lovers story about a bridesmaid who has to go on a honeymoon with the best man when the bride and groom get food poisoning. Obviously this means the holy of holies: fake relationship!)

5. Well met by Jen De Luca (Oh my gosh! Super fun, the characters are just wonderful especially our heroine. A hate-to-love romance set at a renaissance fair! All about overcoming the limits you set on yourself and rethinking your first impressions.)

6. Katherine Center books (My personal favourites are ‘How to walk away’ about a woman who falls for her PT after a near fatal plane crash. And ‘Happiness for beginners’ about a woman taking part in a wilderness trail with her brothers annoying best friend. She writes such great plots and you really feel all the emotions!)

7. Mhairi Mcfarlane books (my personal favourites are ‘Here’s looking at you’ about a woman who comes face to face with her high school bully years later - only he doesn’t recognize her. And he’s not awful? Don’t worry. I know how that synopsis sounds. He’s not excused his actions, but you also understand how he’s grown and changed. It definitely gets you in the feels though. As does ‘You had me at hello’ Which is about a couple from university meeting again years later. God this woman can write angst and yearning!!)

8. A part of me by Anouska Knight (On the same day she and her husband have been accepted into the adoption process, their marriage implodes. This has such a cute romance which follows hate-to friends- to love and it’s v funny)

9. Southern Eclectic series by Molly harper (Just as it sounds. Southern small town romance with a great, quirky cast of characters)

10. Maggie’s man by Lisa Gardner (writing as Alicia Scott) (An escaped convict kidnaps a woman from the courthouse to act as his hostage whilst he tries to prove his innocence. Surprisingly funny and warm. Maggie as a heroine is an absolute joy. They’re sort of chaotic together and it’s a wild ride.)

11. The Mister by E.L James (LISTEN OK - SIT BACK DOWN - It’s not winning awards but it’s actually decent! I was skeptical, but I will admit I was won over. I mean parts are cheesy but it’s so addictive. Basically a rich man falls for his cleaning lady - but it’s also about the yearning. It’s also quite action packed as there’s danger, drama and a chase across europe to get the girl.)

12. RECENT Colleen Hoover (Now, you may enjoy older CH books. Personally I find them very problematic. Now I’ve really enjoyed her recent books though. Especially ‘Without Merit’ and ‘It ends with us’ and ‘Regretting you’. High angst, high drama, dark topics for all of her books. But you can tell she’s matured with her writing. She isn’t for everyone but they’re addictive, fast paced reads.

13. The Austenland duology by Shannon Hale (You might have seen the Austenland movie - The cutest, cheesiest, sweetest, campiest movie ever. Well there’s a book! It’s about women who go on a holiday and live their own Jane Austen story with actors. The first book leans towards Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield park. The second book is more Northanger abbey and Emma.

14. Brigid Kemmerer contemporaries (She is an auto-buy author for me, especially her contemporaries. She writes the best teenage characters, the best teenage boys I’ve ever read about. Her characters are real, she writes about kids trying their best, struggling, and being good, and kind, and the world not being kind to them. Usually the books have a pov from both the female and male love interest. I would rec any of them tbh. ‘Letters to the lost’ comes before it’s companion novel ‘More than we can tell’. I loved ‘Call it what you want’ with has modern Robin Hood elements!!!! seriously she is my favourite YA contemporary author.

15. Sophie Kinsella books (If you haven’t picked up her stand alone novels then what are you doing???? she is the queen!!!! Personal favourites are ‘Can you keep a secret’ and ‘I’ve got your number)

16. A quiet kind of thunder by Sara Barnard (I love her ok. Her books are short and sweet but she packs a punch. TBH these aren’t primarily romance, they’re more just about teenage girls but this one has a good romance element so I’m putting it on here. It’s about Steffi, a selective mute who sometimes communicates with basic sign language who is assigned to look after the new boy at school Rhys, who is deaf.)

17. Meet me at the museum by Anne Youngson (GORGEOUS! moving, tender. A lonely housewifes strikes up a correspondence with a widowed museum curator in Denmark. Oh gosh. I just love this one. It’s about friendship, love, grief, second chances, the choices we make. Seriously love this one and it’s not that long.)

FANTASY:

1. Sorcery of thorns by Margaret Rogerson (Elisabeth has grown up in the great library, protecting grimoires with powers and fearing sorcerers. When a dangerous grimoire is released, she’s forced to team up with an enigmatic sorcerer and his demonic servant in order to save the world.)

2. Sky in the deep duology by Adrienne Young (A viking inspired story about a warrior who is captured by the tribe she is at war with. Such good tension and it’s also got a lot of action. Battle couple romance! Mutual respect! Hate to love!)

3. The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley (I’ve reread this book once but will end up reading it again. It’s a time travel romance about a woman staying in cornwall dealing with the death of her sister who is transported back and forth to the 17th century. It’s a favourite. The romance is wonderful but the stakes are really high too. I also love ‘Belleweather’ by the same author)

4. An ember in the ashes series by Sabaa Tahir (Oh god, the romance. THE ROMANCE! it’s so much. The angst, the pining, the longing. The first book follows Laia, part of a slave class in a roman inspired world. She begins spying in the top military academy and meets Elias, a reluctant soldier. This is a proper fantasy series with only the first three books out, but it’s so great.)

5. Alias Hook by Lisa Jensen (Let me just copy the blurb ok: “Meet Captain James Benjamin Hook, a witty, educated Restoration-era privateer cursed to play villain to a pack of malicious little boys in a pointless war that never ends. But everything changes when Stella Parrish, a forbidden grown woman, dreams her way to the Neverland in defiance of Pan's rules.” I MEAN COME ON. a gorgeous adult fairytale with love and redemption at the center.

6. The Mediator series by Meg Cabot (Obviously Meg Cabot is the most iconic and we stan. But this series is my absolute favourite by her. About Suze Simon, a kickass, no nonsense mediator - Someone who helps ghosts move on to the other side. Sometimes by force. She has to move house and ends up sharing her room with a 100 year old hot ghost named Jesse. The tension. The angst. THE BANTER!!!!)

7. House of Earth and Blood by Sara J Maas (a half fae half mortal girl tries to solve a murder with the help of a fallen angel. It’s a LONG book, but for me personally it flew by. It’s a big new fantasy world but the romance has a great build. Overcoming grief! Being normal together! Being in danger together! THE UST! the characters are so good. I ahven’t been this impressed by a new series for a while)

8. Cursebreakers series by Brigid Kemmerer (yep, she gets another mention. This one is a beauty and the best retelling about a man forced to relive the same season over and over, becoming a literal beat, until a girl from our world can break the curse. The second book, following secondary characters, is my fave so far. But both feature kickass ladies and those small romantic moments BK is so good at)

9. A court of thorns and roses series by Sara J Maas (a fae inspired beauty and the beast retelling. The only time you support a ship switch. Also the secondary ships are getting their own books and oh my god. I’m so excited.)

HISTORICAL/CLASSICS/MILLS AND BOON

1. Jane Austen (The original rom com queen, obviously. Pride and prejudice and Emma are faves. Also I have a major soft spot for the alwayc chaotic and underrated Northanger Abbey)

2. North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell (Actually might be my favourite classic ever. Often described at an industrial p&p. Margaret, from the south, comes face to face with the harsh reality of the world when she moves up north and comes face to face with a brooding millowner. There’s obviously a lot more nuance than that but. THE PINING!!!!!! THE MISCOMMUNICATION! THE DRAMA!)

3. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer (You might have seen the film. Please also read the book. Told entirely in letters. The sharp witted author Juliet Ashton falls in love with Guernsey and it’s characters whilst researching what happened there during the war. Funny, moving and romantic.)

4. The Veronica Speedwell series by Deanna Raybourn (A butterfly hunter foils her own kidnap and is paired together with a reclusive natural historian. They solve mysteries together. They can’t admit they wanna sleep together. The tension.......unbearable. See also the Julia Grey mysteries by the same author)

5. The warrior knight and the widow by Ella Matthews (So last year I discovered Mills and Boon and I have no shame about it whatsoever. This is a medieval beauty and the beast retelling about a woman being escorted to her fathers estate by an enigmatic and scarred knight. She’s hoping to convince her father to let her steward her own lands, and of course trying not to fall for her escort.)

6. The bareknuckle bastards series by Sarah Maclean (A badass, brooding trio of siblings who rule the underbelly of Covent Garden fall for smart, beautiful women. Opposites attract, Good girl/bad boy, strong women, banter. Super fun historical romance)

7. Redeeming the reclusive earl by Virginia Heath (I just read this and it was seriously cute!!!! And book where the hero blushes even once is a good book in my opinion. Basically aspiring antiquarian named Effie barrels into the life of a new earl - who really just wants to be left alone to be grumpy and sad and disfigured. ALONE. But Effie wants to dig on his land. And she won’t take no for an answer. She also talks A LOT.

8. A family for the widowed governess by Ann Lethbridge (Technically this is part of a series but you don’t need to read them in order and this is the best one. A widow who is being blackmailed accepts a governess post. She can’t tell her employer about the blackmail especially when she starts falling for him.)

9. The bedlam stacks by Natasha Pulley (I read watchmaker and didn’t like it but you might like it. This one also FEAUTRES A M/M ROMANCE. I know this list was super straight im sorry. Anyway this is about a botanist falling in love with a priest in the jungle.

10. The wilderness series by Sara Donati (Think outlander without the time travel and also not set in scotland. Basically Last of the Mohicans fanfiction about Hawkeye’s grown up son. An english woman moves to america when her father promises she can be a school teacher there. Little does she know he actually has plans to marry her off. Things get more complicated when she falls for Nathaniel Bonner, a white man raised native american and who’s daughter and extended family is Native American. Like outlander there’s romance, adventure, history. But unlike the outlander books the love interest is a decent guy (i say as if i don’t love the tv show)

STUFF THAT REALLY ISN’T ROMANCE AT ALL. BUT I SHIP A SHIP.

1. The Lacey Flint series by Sharon Bolton (Lacey Flint is a police officer who becomes involved in the hunt to catch a Jack the ripper copycat. There actually is a strong romantic element with the other lead police officer.)

2. The last hours duology by Minette Walters. A novel about the black death and a closed estate lead by a woman who’s trying to protect her people. There’s also a kind of murder mystery. But she also has a close relationship to one of the surfs that I got super invested in.

3. The Strike series by J.k Rowling (I know we don’t stan anymore but. This series about PI and his assistant slowly growing closer? Becoming best friends and partners? Not acknowledging any feelings for each other?

#books #book recs #literature #romance #romance books #romance reads #penvenens #romance recs #romance reader #historical romance #probably forgot loads

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hyukiee · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1: Destiny

warnings: cussing, drug use, mental illness (future fluff, smut, angst, etc.)

this is my first story i’m writing on tumblr, I hope y’all like it. I’ll probably update once or twice a week. I plan on this not so lovely love story to be pretty long.. and angsty. Enjoy :)

Dreams are one of the most unknown things we experience, yet no one questions our lack of knowledge about them when we lay in bed at night. Not everybody dreams. Some people only dream when their happy... or sad... or scared... or it just happens every blue moon for no reason at all. You dream every day, to the point where you feel a little depressed if you don’t have one. They never take you to wonderland, their never right, something is always off but you liked them anyways. They gave you an escape from reality, until reality started showing up in your dreams. The reality that you’re slowly killing yourself when really this was supposed to be the peak of your existence. The reality that you literally gave the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, the ugliest look in downtown Hollywood and the reality that you know you will ruin his life or get close to it.

‘That stupid fucking asshole, I can’t believe that no good piece of shit left me to fend for myself. It’s so fucking hot. Fuck off Karen, my face is easier to look at than that awful sweater. Fuck. I need to sit down.’ You stopped walking and you look at yourself through the reflection of some enterance to a cafe, it smells like. Jesus christ, those eye bags look like black eyes. You went to your closest friends party the other night, you didn’t want to go so that explains the oversized grey hoodie and grey sweats that... have dirt on them? How the fuck- you know what, you’ve seen worse. You can’t go inside the cafe looking like this though. The shady floor will do for now. Everyone is wearing work clothes so you must of slept through all of Sunday. Alone. Because your dick head of a friend abandoned you, god knows when but for someone that slept through an entire day, you’re tired. Maybe it’s just the mental exhaustion you live with but god you could use a nap. “E-eguse me ehm here you go,” you look up and see the most perfectly built man you have ever seen, holding a.. $10 bill? You unknowingly glare at him after noticing his arm holding out the money to you. He looked nervous, and foreign as fuck what accent is that? “I’m not homeless, fuck off.” Who the fuck is he to assume your homeless? Cant someone sit in piece for a little? Prick. You stood up, hitting his shoulder as you walked away, not ever looking back at his beautiful face.

Wake up, go to the beach, take a xans, go to work, go home, sleep, wake up, eat, sleep, and wake up to repeat the process. You always hated living by a constant schedule, but at this point you do anything you can to hurt yourself. The weekends are different though, its always spontaneous. Will you snort a line with the crackheads down the street or will you go to a party because you know the college kids adore their new interest in drugs? You really don’t need drugs. You’re fine. Depression put you in this place and god you feel like a coward. People go through so much more and stay away from drugs. Coward. Your thoughts consist of things like this often, even when your supposed to be hearing your idiot friends excuse for abandoning you last week. “Y/n, seriously, I could of sworn you were dead.” “Wow, thanks Julian, i’ll make sure to leave your lifeless body instead of calling 911 like a sane person when I get the chance.” You both rolled your eyes in sync. You loved Julian, he’s such a dumbass but despite saying he’s your closest friend, your hardly friends. You met before you dropped out of college, he was your dealer, one of the nicest ones you’ve met. You ran into him often and bought from him often as well so you would talk but the reality is he only stays because you’re his best costumer and you frankly don’t care because you are too lost to even care about someone else.

“Y/n, I think you should lay back on your habits a little bit,” Julian broke the silence you both had on the pier. You both liked to meet up at the pier and smoke a little. “Oh please, don’t act like you care. Drop the act and be a fake friend to me, please,” you spoke unemotionally, making eye contact with him. “I’ve never met someone asking for a fake friend.” “Real ones require you to love and deal with them. I can’t do that for you Julian but I know that’s not what you wanted anyways. I practically pay your rent, just thank me and change the topic.” He sighed. Not a disappointed one, a relived one. Julian has been a dealer for a very long time, he stopped caring about his costumers decisions. He didn’t truly care for your health, it was the sad truth. He did get worried that night at his party but only because he isn’t heartless. You knew that though, you seemed so lifeless and incapable of feeling anything to him. He wondered about your story at times but he knew somehow he would never get it. You’re easy to talk to though, it’s nice. “Thank you.”

Ever since you were little you wanted to live in a big city like L.A. Although, you imagined you would be going to UCLA and going to study on a beach just because you could. Standing next to Julian in line at Coachella, you just now take in how completely different your life turned out but at least you did end up here. Julian gets into Coachella for free every single year so your always his +1. You love gatherings like this but this one is just a little too Pg for you. You always end up spending most of your time at the food trucks. But according to Julian, ‘so many people would kill to be around this many celebrities’ so maybe you could get a drink or two in and mingle or whatever. It won’t kill you. So here you are, waiting to get a margarita because god knows you can’t be any type of social while sober. “I guess you weren’t homeless after all, my apologies,” you turn around and see the beautifully built man leaning down towards you. You could run. You’re not to far from the exit and it would be impossible to run into this guy for a third time... right? “Are you following me?” That was supposed to stay in your thoughts.. Is he though? How the hell do you see each other in two different cities? Sure, everyone knows about Coachella but how does he recognize you, you look good today, not homeless or drugged up, whichever works. “Ah, sorry, my english bad,” He stood up straight rubbing his hand on the back of his neck nervously. Right. Foreigner with a unknown accent. “What language do you speak?” It’s not like you’re going to understand his language but your curiosity is getting the best- “Korean.” You know it really isn’t too late to run. This man could be lying, trying to kidnap you and sex traffic you. What are the chances he just happens to speak the one other language you do as well. He could be faking this for all you know. “Hello,” You haven’t spoken in Korean since high school. You dont know why you even let that out. “You speak Korean? Wow, hello!” He bowed to you slightly with a box like smile on his face. That’s cute. It’s different. “I really am sorry for mistaking you the other day, do you mind me asking what happened?” “I was on a lot of drugs at a party and my friend abandoned me because he thought I overdosed.” You learned a long time ago to leave your addiction to yourself. People look at you differently when you do drugs, even your closest friends. That’s one of the first lessons you learn as a drug addict, keep it to yourself. The only people that know you do drugs are the ones that do them too. You could of lied to him, but the self destructive part of you couldn’t help but push this stranger away. You turned around to look at him after it got awkwardly silent. “What? You surprised? Scared? No harsh feelings, I don’t even know you.” You held in a laugh from his shocked and awkward expression. “Your right, we don’t know each other, I’m Taehyung,” He held out his hand replacing his taken aback expression back to his box-y smile, pretending what you said just never happened. ”Y/n,” You sighed. He won’t give up whatever this is. Fantastic. “Well actually, i’m supposed to be talking with famous people or something like that so I should get going,” You didn’t know how to get out of this situation. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with him standing so close to you. This conversation gets more and more awkward everytime you speak. “Then why are you leaving?” You both stared at each other, surprisingly not awkwardly. It was comforting looking into his eyes. “What? “You know what, I actually should go before i’m late, i’ll see you later,” he gave you one last smile and patted your shoulder before leaving you. “But- Why? What?”

“I just had the most uncomfortable conversation of my life with this insanely perfect looking man,” you spoke almost out of breath, finally finding Julian in the crowd. “Yeah, i’m pretty sure I saw who you’re talking about when I left you,” Julian is such an old soul. He responded while looking ahead at the stage, almonds in one hand like a football dad. “Who’s performing next” “Uh, BTS.” You hardly listen to music these days. Music that doesn’t fit your ‘fuck life, love drugs’ aesthetic. BTS doesn’t ring a bell so you probably won’t like it but it’s not like you have anything else to do, you’ve had enough with weird interactions. “Remind me why we’re sober,” you sighed, starting to feel the pain from standing for so long. “I’m sober, you’re drunk.” Julian glanced at the margarita in your hand. Right, you almost forgot. “Oh, don’t judge-“ “Sh sh sh their coming.” He hit your shoulder a couple of time looking at the stage like a child. You hate when people tap on you it’s so annoying. You sighed for the one thousandth time and focused on the group of people coming to the stage. Asians, how convenient. You know if life really hated you they would be Korean just like- “Ey, isn’t that the ‘insanely perfect looking man’ you were talking about? I can’t tell.” You have got to be kidding. That’s why he asked why you were leaving. He’s fucking famous. “I need another drink,” You sighed.

#bts #fanfic #kpop #bts angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #kpop fanfic #bts fluff

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calypsoff · 4 years ago

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One. Part 2

Robyn pushed back her snapback; she is still frantically searching my eyes. I think she is taken aback by this, she didn’t expect this moment at all “I am sorry I am still in shock, you look so different” putting my head down letting out a low chuckle “more skinny huh” bringing my head back up “you was never fat, I told you that. We both had those chubby cheeks” we both said the same word and laughed “I did come back to Essex High, after I released my first song I came there. Ask Mel, I came to visit, I asked about you. Nobody had the answers, I tried to ask TJ and Barry at the time, but they just shook their head and said no. I did come back there, it was a year later but I did, I thought you would be there still” licking my bottom lip, the room is awfully silent and it’s a little awkward. Looking around me, I think that is her boyfriend and he just stared at me “can you all leave the room, I need to answer his question in private. Rich it’s ok, I know him. Just leave the room, everyone” stepping back a little from Robyn, Barry and TJ never said she asked about me, I didn’t know she came back to Essex High, it’s nothing big but I just would like to know why, she left at the most important time for what we could have been, was it me. I just need to know; I feel bad to think it was me that pushed her to go “you’re going to be long? We have the after party, this little reunion gonna take time?” her boyfriend said “Rakim, just do what I said. I won’t be long” watching people filter out of the door, I know Seiko going to be thinking what the fuck is happening because they are leaving the room “I won’t be long Rorrey, just tell Rakim to relax” her brother walking slowly behind the group, I mean she didn’t need to do this at all. Maybe she doesn’t feel comfortable with saying it in front of others, but she didn’t need too.

The door closed and that actually left us alone in this room, which didn’t bother me but I felt a slight nervousness about it “I can’t believe, like you’re really here” turning to Robyn with my hands behind my back “I am shocked you remember me” I mumbled “remember you!? Pinkie promise twin, I would never forget you. A face like yours, with your forty freckles. I mean you probably got more now” touching my face laughing “you was that bored in class you counted them, you repeated that shit so many times too” Robyn giggled “to be fair you kept moving your face and then the next day you blamed me for getting a spot on your cheek” nodding my head laughing remembering it all, she walked over to me with her arm up, another hug I didn’t think she would give but she did. She hooked her arm around my neck, this time I did hug her back “you gone taller too” she really has “same to you, so good to see you. I know it was months, but we saw each other every day Chris. It felt like years with us, I couldn’t forget that. The memories never fade Chris, they never do” I let out a deep sigh as did Robyn “so good to see you, really is” she moved back from the hug “where was you? I came there to see you again, that was the only reason. It felt like shit, you were suspended when I went and then you weren’t there when I came back. I didn’t even have a phone, I barely made it to Virginia in the first place Chris so I didn’t have a phone” I understand what she means “I told you I could get you a phone, you just went. I wasn’t there because I was busy with my cousins, making pointless money” putting my head down “you didn’t?” she said, disappointment coming from her voice “I did, and I’ve just come back out of Lawrenceville Correctional Center. I been out six months now” Robyn’ mouth fell open “I been locked up five years, possession. That was the least sentence I could do, I had to snitch on the people dealing to get that. They found out I snitched and beat me and then they put me in Lawrenceville for safety where I just did the rest of my sentence and I come out, six months ago” no words left her lips, just shock.

The look in Robyn’ eyes, so much care and hurt by what I have just told her “what did I tell you Chris? I said stay away from your cousins, family or not you had to cut them off. So you weren’t there when I came, you was busy being dumb with them, oh god. Why? You had so much going for you, you helped me with my work! You were the brains behind our group projects” chewing on my bottom lip listening to Robyn, she is right “maybe I wanted to impress you, maybe I acted clever for you” I said laughing “be quiet, I am annoyed at you. Why did you fuck yourself over your cousins. So you were locked up all this time, you told me to live my dream. I am talented, you hyped me up, but you didn’t do it for yourself did you? I am just sad for you; I feel like that place has changed you. You’re quiet and within yourself, but you’re still the same guy I remember. I can’t believe it, but you came here, and I am so happy to see you, I swear you have literally made my night, I did think to check up on you. It was weird because you came to mind just last night, when I arrived here I was like I am close but it’s too late now. We lost that contact, come let’s sit” Robyn pointed at the seating area, Robyn is not wrong. I have changed within myself; I am just trying to keep myself good and not get in trouble like I did, I was fearless when I was young. Following behind Robyn “make yourself comfortable, I uhm never forgot you. I don’t know if you were paying attention, but I have a song called photographs, it is about you” furrowing my eyebrows “me!?” I spat; I didn’t expect that at all “uh yeah, but anyways. When you get the chance listen to it, but I know you asked the question on why?” sitting down on the couch.

I did not expect that, she made a song about me, now I am shook “yeah, why did you go? I remember the weekend I did initiate sex with you, and then I felt like it was me that pushed you to go? You didn’t want it, I was cool with it, I really was. But things were weird between us but then you just disappeared, not even anything. Shit was hurtful” I just need to know this, I have always thought this all these years “shit, if you waited a little longer I was going to ask you out. You just went, it was just me and you and that was it. We were young and we had so much fun, you went and that was it. I was suspended but you could have tried. I thought I meant more to you then just that, I ain’t never forget you because you a good woman” Robyn giggled, I missed hearing that giggle “you mean you and Barry using me for my cornrow services, I had the best time in Virginia and that was down to you Chris, I don’t regret coming here. I don’t think I would have had a good time if it weren’t for you. And every second we spent time, it meant something. We were some broke ass kids, and I will never forget what you did for me. You helped me in some sticky situations too” I swallowed hard “I left you at the party, I didn’t think they would try and play you like that. Foreign girl that put out, I don’t play that. It was my bad but look at you now. You are shining, I am happy for you. Like I was butt hurt, I never told anyone. Crazy how we’ve ended up how we did, I just think if you stayed longer then you did” I drifted off “probably save you from your cousins that I kept on saying leave them” she finished off “I got called back, my gran gran was very ill. And the family I lived with offered to pay my flight back but it was for that day, I was in a bad place. But I did think of you, I went back for that reason. I love her to death, and it broke me at that time, and I went back. I had to go but I promised myself to come back, and I did come back Chris. You can ask Barry and TJ; I am surprised they never said it” I think I am more relived it was me she ran away from me “I am sorry to hear about your Gran is she ok now?” Robyn smiled a little, teary eyed “she is with the angels, but all is well, I am not going to cry. She wanted me to pursue this, she was happy for me” I feel bad, I would hug her but maybe I am doing too much “I understand why now, I am sorry about your Gran, she sounds so sweet” hearing the door open behind me “we need to leave the venue” the lady said, rubbing my face as I got up from the couch “give us a minute” Robyn said.

Rubbing my hands together “don’t want to get in trouble by your boyfriend now” I laughed it off “we still have things to discuss though” she stepped in front of me “you’re a busy lady now, I appreciate that you answered what I have been feeling all that time. I just didn’t want it to be the cause of you going, you know” she answered what I wanted “busy for my twin? Don’t be stupid, we have so much to speak on. I am still here tonight; I leave to go Oklahoma in the morning. I have an after party tonight, well just a party. Come to it” I smiled at Robyn “I have work at seven, I work at Amazon. But we can exchange numbers” Robyn nodded her head smiling “I would like that, once tour is over. My last date is in New York, I can come back without the entourage, I somehow feel bad that you ended up locked up” shaking my head laughing “aye, it’s cool. It’s life aight?” holding my pinkie out “I just can’t believe you’re here in front of me, I just was left with that image of your chubby cheeks and bright smile, it’s like life has taken it out of you. I still have that picture of us with the science project we did and I just see that” she grabbed my pinkie “don’t ever think that twin” wrapping my arm around her with our pinkie still connected “it’s been good to see you, I always thought of you and it’s good to see you in high spirits, what you deserve princess” moving back from the hug “two up, two down” I snorted laughing, she remembers “ok, we really need to go now” the lady came into the room again “also your girlfriend is worried” moving my hand away from Robyn’ as Seiko walked in all wide eyed “don’t want you to get in trouble by your girlfriend now” Robyn repeated the very words I said, looking over at her, nodding my head smiling “yeah, coming” walking around the couch “wait” turning around to Robyn “we didn’t take a picture?” she asked, placing my hand over my heart “no need” Robyn breathed out smiling as I turned back around.

Seiko been pretty quiet with me as we got escorted out of backstage and out the building “enjoy your night” the venue security said “thanks dude, damn. Everyone gone home” stuffing my hands in my pockets “where is your picture with her then?” she asked straight away “there isn’t any, I just wanted a question answered and she did. That is it” Seiko’ face is unimpressed “you were near enough half hour in there, the fuck!? What question was this? Did you just come here to make me look stupid, I mean I got to meet ASAP but still, what was the question?” she is being nosey now, I laughed walking by her “Chris! Seriously” she is straight tripping “Christopher, hey!” some guy shouted, looking behind me. That is the big nigga that was escorting us to the room “you forgot your poster” he jogged over to us, seeing the rolled up poster “I did?” he held it out “yeah, it’s yours” taking the poster from him “thank you” smiling at him as I turned back around to walk off, I am content now. I think I got my answer, and she remembers me, but Barry or TJ never told me she came, she asked for me too. Why didn’t they just mention it, that alone would have closed the page on me ever going to see her like this. It was kind of risky to even go. If she didn’t know me then that would have hit me, but she knows me.

Seiko been quiet the whole car ride home, well to her home because I need to see my dumb friends after this “why you quiet? Ok, I asked her if she remembers me and we had some jokes about school, no foul play. Happy now? Old friend, it was jokes” placing my hand on her thigh “you wouldn’t lie to me right?” shaking my head “never, I got you. I am with you ain’t I? But did you have a good night yeah?” Seiko smiled “I did, thank you. I know this was expensive, don’t be out too late with those friends, work in AM. You want me to call you, check if you’re awake?” nodding my head “for sure, I should be awake. Goodnight” leaning over the panel and pressing a kiss to Seiko’ lips “I love you boo, thank you so much for this” I grinned sitting back in my seat “it’s cool, I better get going now though. You know how TJ is” watching Seiko get out of the car with all her things, I did think she was going to kick off but she didn’t, she could have easily been worse about it all. Side eyeing her slamming my car door though, like was that even necessary. Letting out a deep sigh, that reminds me, she said she made a song about me. Grabbing my phone from the panel, I want to hear this actually and I have been thinking on it since riding back. Opening Apple Music app, searching Rihanna photographs, better not be some diss track, imagine if it’s her saying I am a wack ass nigga, that would be awkward. The song started playing, I turned it down a little, can’t be riding with that loud. The guitar started playing “Here's a little story I've got to tell, about this boy I know so well” Robyn started to sing and I started to drive off.

Replaying the same part again “And look what happened to our love, I'm like how could it be” pausing the song again, I have done this like five times now, love. I mean she playing like this, did I hurt her or was it because I wasn’t there when she came back but did she love me, is this what it is “wow” I really need to go, my friends will be waiting outside my apartment but that is interesting, I can’t believe it. And she added the kissing on the couch, and we did do that, oh my god. That is just wow, getting out of my car with the biggest smile on my face, this is just crazy to me. Closing my car door and then seeing the rolled up poster, I didn’t ask for anything, but I won’t leave it in this car. I will give it TJ, he seems to be obsessed with Rihanna, opening the back seat and grabbing the rolled up poster. Kicking the door, locking the door as I made my way to my apartment complex, let’s see what picture it is actually, taking off the elastic band from the poster and opening it up “oh” seeing the writing on the corner of the poster “you didn’t take my number! It was so good to see you so I hope you do message” I read out, she left a smiley face too “wow” she really gave me her number, dragging my eyes away from the writing and staring at those very hazel eyes “what the fuck nigga!” I moved the poster down seeing TJ “you are one creepy nigga stood there with his concert poster, hurry up!” he had to catch me.

I needed that drink, it’s been eventful “long night?” Barry said breaking the silence, I heaved out “man, she remembered” rubbing my chin “oh shit, really!? Was Psycho angry?” TJ asked “she wasn’t there, she went in before me, apparently we was in there for half hour but it was cool, she said something interesting, she said that she came back to Essex High and she asked you both about me” I pointed at them “lies!” TJ spat “man, shut up. She is right but like you didn’t need to hear that, you were barely seeing us at the time. It was a mess, then just adding that. You would have dragged her down, she is on a high and you weren’t. She asked, she hugged us and then the first thing she asked was where is twin? Is his cheeks still cute how I like it, I just said you ain’t here anymore and we don’t know, she was pretty butt hurt but we didn’t say because, I guess what is the point? You weren’t interested, what difference would it make telling you?” Barry is right “but I deserved to know she asked and cared somewhat, but it was good to see her. There was heavy connection there still, she was touching me a lot, I felt like the teenager, the tables have turned. It was wild, she invited me to the after party, but she got a man, she is dating that rapper nigga ASAP so I said I got work in AM so no, which I do” TJ gasped “don’t he paint his nails?” Barry laughed out “he do but that is not the point, but you said she was heavy on the connection, fuck dude. So what if he is a rapper” I shook my head “she started telling me when her tour is over, make time and shit. But it’s done” they know I am right, I don’t get why they are looking at me crazy “I don’t know what those nigga did to you in jail but they knocked sense out of your head, can we bring back the cocky nigga that would have snatched her up, so Rihanna is wanting to reconnect and you sat there like a flat tire” TJ snorted laughing “flat tire but has her titties grown since” rolling my eyes “I don’t know, and be quiet. I just want a easy life, I have Seiko and she has him, she is at a different point in her life too” Barry got up from the couch “you just drink more of this alcohol” they want me drunk knowing full well I will act out.

Jumping off of the stool “I am going to bed, so peace out” walking over to them, dapping them “listen to us! We are right!” Barry shouted in my face “yes boss” I said saluting them as I walked off to my bedroom, I have been drinking a little, had a blunt and I feel more relaxed now. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I have put her number in my phone now under Twin, but I will message her. See how it goes, you never know, it’s been so good seeing her, I enjoyed it.

Twin

When you walk by ……🙇‍♂️

Pressing send on the message, I mean she will work it out but if she doesn’t then my bad her man must have got her phone but she may be happy with him and I am just there, maybe I am taking it the wrong way, we are friends. That song does state otherwise, she mentioned love. Does she love me or did she love me, my phone pinged in my hand.

Twin

Every night talking sweet and looking fine …. 🤣🤣

She knows, this is why she is twin and will always be twin. She is like me because she remembers everything we did and even sang about.

#Chrianna Fanfiction #Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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mileycyprus-hill · 5 years ago

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Bumblebee

Domestic/Papa Arthur

This is a lengthy single-chapter story I decided to write after making the mistake of watching Arthur’s low-honor/high honor deaths when he goes back for the money. It put me in such a terrible mood and I cursed myself for watching it, so I decided to make myself feel better by writing a heart-warming fic. I hope you enjoy it too.

High honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

TB doesn’t exist in this storyline.

———————

For the first year since you both escaped, every night Arthur sufferered night terrors. You’re both long gone from Dutch, Micah, and the Pinkertons, but Arthur still has fear. Fear that turns to panic in the middle of the night while you’re both asleep.

You’re often shaken awake by Arthur gently thrashing on the mattress, holding his arms up as if he’s fending off an attacker. By now, you can figure out what he’s dreaming of. It’s the same nightmare each night: Micah has him pinned to the ground and is pushing the knife closer and closer to his chest. Arthur wakes up in terror right as the knife is plunged in his chest. He clutches at his heart while he pants heavily and blinks his eyes in the darkness. You hold him and give him the same little speech each night this happens: he’s alright, you’re alright, and most importantly...your growing child inside you is alright.

Arthur rarely cried in front of you until after that fateful night. That night you almost lost him, fighting off Micah at Beaver Hollow while the camp burned around them. If Dutch hadn’t shown up at the right moment to stop it, Arthur wouldn’t be here with you right now. He thought he was as good as dead when Dutch and Micah left him, until he saw you ride in on a white horse. Literally.

The sun rose behind the trees as you rode back on your snow-white warmblood and he swore he saw an angel coming to take him away. He cried into your shirt when you held him close, grateful for this final moment with you.

He thought each day was his final day with you, and waited for death to come. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. Fate granted him an extension on his life, and Arthur is forever grateful.

However, he fears his enemies will soon catch up with him and take you both away. He refuses to relive that pain.

Arthur would sell his soul if it meant preventing that from happening again.

Arthur sits up in bed and the sheets are dampened from his sweat, despite the cold winter night. His cheeks are wet with tears as he gently grasps at your growing stomach. He rests his head against the bump and attempts to feel for your child behind the barrier of your womb; to feel if it’s still there, undisturbed in its peaceful pod in your body.

There’s one comfort Arthur has and that’s the feeling of his unborn child within you. You’re only four months along and the bump has just become noticeable. Arthur’s breathing calms at the sensation of your warm skin against his flushed cheeks. His eyes feel hot from the panicked tears of his nightmare. He still trembles as the images of his nightmare blink into vision with every fall of his eyelids, but in time they dissipate. His trembling becomes faint once you brush your fingers through his hair.

The two of you lay in silence. The only sounds are the wet sniffles from Arthur’s nose while he rests his head on your torso. These nights become routine until the day your child is born.

Since the first day your daughter arrived, Arthur hadn’t slept. He’d watch her sleep in her tiny bassinet on the other side of the bed. His arms are laid across your waist and looped within your arms. He rubs his fingers against your skin while guarding his little princess, ready to leap across at the first sign of danger. The only way to get Arthur to fall asleep is to caress his hair and whisper soft reassurances. He’d fall asleep resting his head on your chest, listening to the calm beating of your heart.

Arthur would still wake up throughout the night, listening for your daughter’s breathing or perking his head up at the sound of a little cough or whimper. The only time the poor man would get sleep is when he’d put her down for a nap. You’d walk into the bedroom and find him softly snoring with your little girl on his chest. His large, calloused hands hold her in place.

Arthur finally begins to calm down when your daughter reaches her first birthday. A warmth inside him grows and starts to bloom like the once tight bud of a rose opening to reveal its lush layers of pedals. Arthur had always struggled with insecure relationships, but you and your daughter give him the security he desperately needed all those years ago.

His nightmares are less frequent, and instead he dreams of the gang. He misses them greatly: Miss Grimshaw, Lenny, John, and most of all Hosea. At night, Arthur dreams of introducing his little girl to Hosea. He would hand his giggling daughter to Hosea’s arms, and the old man would laugh with delight. Hosea would hold her up against the sun, basking in her glory. Her little legs kick happily as Hosea spins her around before bringing her close to kiss her chubby cheek. His silver hair and her golden locks both shine as the sun.

You wake early in the morning just before dawn and roll over to an empty space beside you. You could always sense Arthur’s absence shortly after he got up. The bed would feel larger and his spot would feel cold without his warm body. Blinking your dreary eyes, you see Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed with his head down low.

“Arthur?” You reach a hand out and faintly rub his back with your fingertips. Arthur looks over his shoulder and reaches behind him to hold your hand.

“I dreamt about Hosea again,” he answers you softly. A tiny smile is visible for a short moment, before a gloomy frown returns to his face.

Scooching closer to him, you ask, “A good one?” Your arms wrap around him, holding him close to you. Arthur instinctively leans his head as soon as your chin rests upon his tense shoulder, his earlobe just within kissing range. The tension in his shoulders relax at the feeling of your warm breath against his sensitive skin.

“Yeah,” he replies solemnly. He continues to frown at the bittersweet memory of Hosea.

You ask Arthur to describe his dream to you, and reassure him that it’s okay to miss his family. You giggle at the image of Hosea proudly holding your daughter high, showing her off to all the members at camp, teaching her to read, how to hold the reins on a horse, and how to steal people’s hearts.

“He would’ve spoiled her rotten,” Arthur croaks, the richness of his voice breaks slightly.

You smile through the pain of grief you both share. “Yeah he would’ve,” you state, “But you spoil her enough.”

Finally a chuckle rumbles lowly from Arthur, like a dim charcoal that’s been gently stoked back to flame.

Your daughter is the definition of a daddy’s girl. She hardly demands Arthur’s attention, as he’s more than ready to give it to her when she needs it. He’s the first to rise when hearing her wake from her bedroom across the hall. Your daughter happily waits to hear her father’s habitual greeting.

“Good mornin’ little bumblebee. How’d you sleep?” He’d always ask, scooping her up into his arms. She is always his little bumblebee, a nickname he thought of from her given name: Beatrice. He began to call her Bea for short, then soon after she became “bumble-Bea”.

Arthur presses his face against hers and rubs his scruffy beard against her cheek. Bea squeals in laughter at the rough sensation that tickles her cheek.

“Papaaaw! Staaaa-haaap!” She yells, attempting to push his squared jaw away with her petite hands. Her cries are quickly drowned out by Arthur’s rumbling chortles that echo through your small home.

Only Arthur can make his daughter’s special breakfast: pancakes and bacon. God forbid Daddy doesn’t make them for her. Arthur swears he doesn’t make them any different than you do, but somehow his pancakes taste better. The best is when he’s able to find wild berries and toss them in the batter. Those are Bea’s favorite.

Each day Bea gets older is another day Arthur grows happier. His worries will always linger though; anxieties always creeping behind his shoulder. He is not a man without his faults. He tends to be overprotective of you two when it comes to wandering the woods alone, staying alone in the house, or riding to town without him. Arthur won’t have it. His paranoia gets the better of him and his temper flares when you argue with him. He’ll slam the kitchen countertop and finalize his decision with an angry, “End of discussion!”

His anger quickly turns to guilt at the sight of Bea’s upturned lip, quivering in fear of his authoritative roar. She stands in the entryway with her teddy bear clutched in her arms, listening to you two argue and her little heart hammering. It’s rare she experiences this side of Arthur at her young age, no matter how frustrating she can be as a toddler.

That familiar whimper slowly rises to a wail. Bea attempts to keep a tight lip, whining through her closed mouth but her cries soon take over. She sputters and sobs as you pick her up and hold her against you, running your hands over her golden head.

It breaks Arthur’s heart to see Bea so upset, especially when he’s the cause of it. When it came to her crying for attention, you had to hold him back numerous times. Too often would he run to her room in the middle of the night at the first sound of her cries. You tried many times to explain to him that he should let her cry until she goes back to sleep. You had your maternal instincts to rely on when it came to knowing when to respond.

But Arthur? He can’t stand to hear his little bumblebee cry. He’s made too many mistakes as a father early in his life, so he strives to be the best he can be. And sometimes, he can try a little too hard.

Arthur’s favorite moments are those sitting by the fireplace after a hard day’s work. His stomach is full, the sky is dark, and the fire is warm. He watches the sparks pop from the dry firewood stacked in the flames. The creak of his rocking chair syncs with your voice like a metronome. You’re reading a storybook to Bea, who sits cradled in Arthur’s arms. Her hair is still damp from her evening bath, and she’s dressed in her fresh cotton nightgown. With Arthur’s arms wrapped around her, his palms placed in the crook of her knees, she idly fumbles with the sleeve of his shirt while listening to you read. Arthur struggles to stay awake with his head dropping occasionally and his eyelids growing heavy while Bea listens attentively to the story.

The story is indeed an interesting one, a children’s biblical story you were given by a church woman a couple years ago. She had seen you passing by the church after you stopped for supplies and offered it to you. A blessing for your little one, she said pointing to your pregnant belly. The old woman was kind and asked to pray for you and your child, to which you humbly accepted.

The story was of a man named Daniel, who served under a king and was accused of breaking the law of worship that forbid any man from praying to God without the aid of the king. He was ordered to be thrown into a den of lions, but when the king checked the next day, Daniel was alive. An angel was sent down from heaven and shut the mouth of the lions, saving Daniel’s life.

Bea was enraptured by the story and asks you, “Are angels real?”

Closing the book, you open your mouth to answer until Arthur speaks up.

“ ‘f course they’re real,” he says softly, “We all got a guardian angel.”

Bea lifts her head off his shoulder and looks to him with glistening eyes, “Even me?” She asks.

A crooked smile adorns Arthur’s lips, “Of course,” he answers, breaking eye contact with Bea and gazing over at you with a loving stare.

Arthur lets you slip into bed as he offers to tuck your daughter in. Her lamp on the nightstand dimly lights her room in a honey glow.

“Y’know, yer mama’s an angel,” Arthur whispers, pulling the sheets over her. “Did you know that?”

Her eyes grow wide and she replies with a shocked whisper, “No.”

Arthur smiles and nods his head, “It’s true. Now don’t tell her,” he warns, looking back at the doorway. The door is cracked only slightly to let in the light from your bedroom across the hall. “She ain’t supposed to know that we know,” Arthur says.

“Why not?” Bea asks, gripping the edge of the quilt.

“Well, then she can’t have her powers no more.” Arthur answers.

“But how do you know she’s an angel?”

Arthur looks at your daughter with a fondness in his eyes. She has the same curiosity as you do. His thoughts are immediately flooded with memories of that terrifying night at Beaver Hollow.

Arthur breathes a deep sigh. “She saved my life,” he explains, “Y’see, Daddy was hurt real bad. And she came flyin’ in on her white horse and saved me. She told me everythin’ was gonna be alright...and then she carried me home.”

His daughter looks at him in shock, her jaw dropped. “Wow,” she says.

Arthur nods his head and smiles at his daughter’s astonishment. He reminds her, “Now remember, this is just between me and you,” he tucks her in tighly in her warm blankets, “Okay?”

She nods her head so hard she nearly makes herself dizzy.

“That’sa good girl,” Arthur praises softly, “Now, go to sleep. I love you.”

He kisses her forehead just before she wraps her arms around her neck, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too, Daddy.” She says sleepily.

For the rest of Arthur’s life, he firmly believed he had not one, but two guardian angels who loved him.

#comments welcome #this made me feel so much better #cause Arthur deserves this #my heart feels warm #arthur morgan #papa arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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szparx · 4 years ago

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regretregretregret

tw / suicide , car crash , blood , drugs , alcohol , religion

weekends don't feel the same anymore

ive been away for far too long

cruisin' and bruisin' down the highway of hell that is my poor miserable life.

gaining new tumors and ulcers and blisters and bumps every goddamned day

flying so high the birds cant even see me and then crashing so hard that even james dean himself would feel sorry for my soul

never sleeping and not eating. no drinks and no shoes and no shirt and no service, no drugs or nuclear weapons allowed inside.

wild life, right? the kind of mundane that you only get from working a 9 to 5 job in a cubicle for a pharmaceutical company

except im (insert age here) and unemployed and i have been my whole life

and i grew up too fast and escaped too slow and now i am painfully and totally trapped under the seatbelt in my flipped car on i-80 and the child locks are on

and im suspended above a holy burning fire set as a trap for the angels as they come to reclaim their vessel for lucifer himself

a devil like me that only the sweetest of grandmothers could love and care for, and take in as if they're their own

knowing full well their time is almost up and soon they'll be leaving some poor preteen to the foster system in heaven, and all of the cherubs and archangels will pass them around like a plate of chopped liver at an overcrowded thanksgiving dinner that your mom said you had to go to and, yes, you have to wear the sweater vest

it's like a party except you're all alone and there's only gas station vodka and all of the music comes in the form of clocks ticking and other cars passing you at 90 miles an hour as you lay dying.

and nobody seems to care, and nobody called the police because you finally got what was coming to you.

what has been coming to you since the 8th grade.

a suicide so potent that only the greatest alchemist could have ever even dreamed about brewing, and somehow you've done it yourself on the cold tile of your mother's bathroom.

and all of the pills once in the cabinet are splayed on the floor around you, soaking up and dissolving in the pool of warm blood that is making a slipping hazard all over the floor that she loved more than you.

and that same gas station vodka bottle that you partied with like it was your last night on earth is laying in the crook of your corpse's elbow. painfully empty and trying desperately to fill with blood as it spills from every vein in your body, terribly black and thick, and not at all how the blood of a human being who was loved would look like.

and when the police zip up your body into a black bag and send it to the lab for testing, the head officer just shakes his head and rubs his temples because even though he never knew you he still knew that this was coming.

and as your tired coroner makes the first incision of your autopsy the tox screen comes back and tells him all the pills that you ate.

hydrocodone, acetaminophen, amoxicillin, ibuprofen, codeine, alprazolam, detroxamphetamine, amphetamine, diazepam, escitalopram, fexofenadine, fluoxetine, lorazepam, ranitidine, and sertraline Vicodin, amoxil, Motrin, Tylenol, Xanax, Adderall, Valium, Lexapro, Allegra, Prozac, ativan, zantac, zoloft

not to mention a fuckton of THC and booze

and he sighs and scratches his ass and wonders if he should even bother finishing, because he already knows that your insides are mangled and black and disgusting.

and he thinks it's a miracle that you even made it this far, and he knows how much poison you used, and the officer knows how much blood there was, and your family knows how much they resent you, and God knows how much guilt you carried until the bloody brutal end.

everyone knows everything about you. except why you did it, because you never left a note and you don't have any friends to tell so you took that dark secret to the grave with you. literally.

and the funeral is sparse and quiet, and one of your high school teachers attends and tells your red-eyed bloodline how much of a pleasure you were in class and says those five words that they are so so tired of hearing:

"I'm sorry for your loss"

and they've heard it a hundred times today, and a thousand times this week, and a billion times in the last 18 years because that is the only thing you consistently said to them.

and it was always 'I'm sorry' and never 'I love you' and now you can never take that back because you're dead and six feet under, and there's not anything left of you on the mortal plane or existence to bring you back as a ghost so you have to live, or rather not, with the fact that your family thinks you hate them.

and there's nothing you can do except relive your memories, because apparently hell is a movie theater that plays all your moments back to you and you sit there and realize that everything is terrible, and you see everything that you could have done differently if you had just cared a little bit more.

and you miss your brothers, and you realize now that you did have friends and you would give anything just to see them one more time.

and you finally, finally, finally find something that you regret more than living:

dying

#poetry #art #writing #stream of consciousness #emo #goth #edgy #angsty

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saventhhaven · 5 years ago

Text

Just Visiting

Pairing: none

Tags: sister!reader, irritated!Dean, comedy (sort of)

Word Count: 1,273

A/N: Hey, guys! I realized I already posted this Friday, but it’s being glitchy, so I took it down and put it back up!

(Gif not mine)

“Hello?” you called out as you stepped into the warmth of the bunker. “Sam? Dean?” The large metal door shut behind you, a sound you were sure the boys would hear if they weren’t gone. You hefted your duffel bag over your shoulder and made your way down the stairs.

“Y/N?” Dean shuffled into the room, his gray robe wrapped around him as he squinted blearily over a mug of coffee. You snorted and looked down at your watch.

“Dude, it’s almost eleven.”

“I was tired!” he defended.

“You’re always tired,” you pointed out. Dean chuckled as he set down his mug, practically tackling you with a bear hug.

“Hey, sis.” He kissed the side of your head, and you smiled. He had done that for as long as you could remember. “What are you doing here? Did I miss a text or something, or..?” You shook your head.

“Nah, I just decided to drop in.” Dean rubbed your arms, the friction taking some of the cold out of you. “It’s not a bad time or anything, is it?”

“‘Course not,” he replied. “We can always make time for you. Besides, Sam and I were talking about taking the weekend off anyway. Come on, let’s get you settled.” Your oldest brother took your bag from you and gestured for you to follow him into the library. “Sammy!” he yelled. “We have a visitor!” Right, because the Winchesters received visitors so often. God only knows who Sam thought you were. On cue, the tall Winchester emerged from the kitchen, looking just as confused as you were expecting. When he saw you trailing behind Dean, though, his face lit up with a huge smile.

“Y/N!"

"Hi, Sammy. Oof!” The air was crushed from your lungs as he picked you up in a tight hug, spinning you a bit. By the time he finally put you down, you were breathless from laughter.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Jeez, first Dean, and now you? What, can’t I just come and see my idiot brothers because I missed them?” Dean squeezed your side, causing you to jump away reflexively.

“Hey, who are you calling idiots?” With a shake of your head, you smiled.

“All right, all right. Bring it in, you two.” You held your arms out for a group hug, which was a rare occurrence since you didn’t get to see your brothers often. Chuckling, the two tall men complied as you wrapped your arms around them. Well, as much as you could, at least. “Missed you,” you muttered into their shirts.

“We missed you too, kiddo,” Dean replied. Squeezing them one final time, you released your brothers.

“You got a room for me to throw my shit?” Sam nodded.

“We’ve got a whole bunker.” You glanced around, taking notice in how long the hallways were on either side of you.

“Yeah, I noticed.” This was your third or fourth time in the Men of Letters bunker, and the size of it never ceased to amaze you. Every time you were here, you discovered a new room you hadn’t known existed. After years of hopping from hotel to hotel, you had no doubt that Sam and Dean loved the extra space, but at the same time, you found yourself wondering if it made them feel lonely. There was a time when you had a handful of hunters that could have stayed here with the boys, but now it was just them and you. Not exactly a lighthearted topic.

“So,” Sam started as they led you down one of the hallways, “how was Montana? You just worked a case up there, right?” Your stomach gave a small flop of dread.

“It was fine,” you answered shortly as the three of you came to a stop. “You know how it goes.” Sam pushed open a door and, turning on the light switch, tossed your duffel bag on the bed. Following the duffel bag’s lead, you flopped dramatically onto the soft mattress, letting out a groan as you did.

“What do you say we go out to grab some grub and catch up?” Dean recommended. There was the dread again. You froze, caught off guard, but quickly recovered, making an effort to be nonchalant.

“You know, I’m actually not hungry,” you lied. Sam and Dean went quiet, and you saw them look at each other in disbelief out of your peripherals.

“…you’re serious?” Sam finally asked. “Y/N, you’re always hungry.”

“Wha- I am not!” Dean snorted.

“Yeah, okay.” The sarcastic undertones in his voice had you letting out an exasperated sigh. “Come on!” he urged. You were running out of excuses.

“I’m broke,” you blurted out, wincing at how high-pitched your voice sounded. Way to go, Y/N.

“Well, obviously Dean and I were going to pay for you anyway,” Sam put in. It had been too much to hope that you could avoid this. Of course, you were going to have to tell them. Besides, it’s not like you could hide anything from your brothers, anyway. They could sniff out your lies better than a bloodhound. You chewed on your lower lip nervously as you pulled yourself into a sitting position.

“The truth is, I can’t exactly… go out in public right now.”

“What?” Sam asked. “Why?” Both of your brothers stared at you as they waited for an answer, and you scratched the back of your neck, avoiding eye contact.

“Don’t get mad.” Dean crossed his arms, and suddenly he was in big brother mode.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.” Oh, boy. This was the hard part. Since you weren’t a teenager anymore, Sam and Dean didn’t really take the time out of their day to lecture you, thank God. But you had a feeling that this time they were going to make an exception. All you had to do was break it to them gently. So long as you didn’t make a big deal out of it, neither would they. You hoped.

“I may or may not be a nationally wanted fugitive.”

“What?!” So much for not making a big deal out of it.

“I said, don’t get mad!” you exclaimed, pointing at Dean. He stuttered for a moment before shaking his head with fervor.

“Like hell!” Sam stepped forward, sitting down next to you on the mattress.

“Y/N,” he began in a much calmer manner than your oldest brother. “Just tell us what happened.”

“That case I took in Montana,” you explained. “It was a shifter. He figured out I was on to him, and-”

“Framed you, so you’d get off his ass?” Sam finished. You nodded, relieved that you didn’t have to relive the entire story. “Sound familiar?” he asked your brother. Dean, who was pacing, simply shook his head again.

“Great. That’s just great.” That’s right. You had almost forgotten that they had gone through almost exactly the same thing years ago. Dean had a lot of room to talk.

“So, is it okay if I stay here? Just until I lose some heat,” you assured. Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“I knew it,” Dean grumbled. “I knew you didn’t come all the way out here just because you missed us.” Narrowing your eyes, you opened your mouth to say something snarky in return, but Sam beat you to it.

“Dude, don’t be a jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean clipped in reply. Involuntarily, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh my God, you’re still doing that? Come on, guys, it’s literally been fifteen years.”

“Some things never change, Y/N.”

Thank you for reading!

As always, links to my masterlist, taglist, and inbox (requests are open!) are in my bio!

Taglist:

@cole-winchester @alexwinchester23 @1-am-made-of-stardust @thorukindig @fiftyshadesoffandom6783 @hobby27 @supernaturalenchanted @youshrimpdickfucknugget

#Supernatural #Supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #one shot #one shot fanfiction #Supernatural one shot #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #reader #original female character #female reader #sister!reader #sister!original female character #my attempt at comedy #:)

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