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ficfanatictrf · 2 years ago

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The Night Stand (Part 8)

Summary: After waking up the following morning, everything finally fits itself together in Viktor's mind.

Word Count : 2.5k

Edited and Proofread by nobody...

A/N - I apologize for not writing for a long while. Things have been rather difficult and as such all creativity has felt like pulling teeth. Hopefully this wasn't horrible...

@cheeriecherrymain and @fairy-writes - thank you both for reaching out to see if I was alright. I was blown away that not just one, but two people actually cared to check in on me. I am just used to being the one that takes care of other and not the other way around so it was different. And seriously...thank you for that.

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When he had snuck into your hospital room the night before, he had been planning on being able to just see that you were alright. He had just needed to see you, to know that you were safe and healthy.

It had been his own anxiety and nerves that hadn’t allowed him to remain away any longer. Knowing that you might be hurt by the flowers that Jayce had mistakenly brought to you? That had just cemented the fact that he had no other choice but to slip into your room that night.

However, the one thing that he had not expected and had not wished to remain there the whole night and find himself blinking awake to find that the sun was beginning to rise.

To say that his heart nearly stopped would have been an understatement. The sheer panic engulfing him in mere seconds as his mind caught up to just what the situation was.

At night there were far fewer employees and guards, there not being many that would really attempt to break into a hospital of all places in Piltover. But with the day shift beginning to make their way in for their shift, that just meant that it would be nearly impossible to escape without being seen. Without it being clear just who he had been here to see…knowing that they would begin to question why he had been so instant to seeing this pregnant woman, why he had such a need to be around this unborn child - a child whose father had yet to be named.

It broke his heart to slip from your hold, the soft whines that escaped from you nearly bringing him to tears as all he truly wished for was to remain with you. In that moment, he would have given anything in the world to just have the ability to hold you till you awoke. To kiss you good morning, to make you breakfast in bed and to see that pretty flush on your cheeks when you brought it in - making sure that it was made exactly how you liked.

Ah.

It would appear that he had figured out where he had been making such a grave error in his thinking till then. He knew that what he was feeling for you was love, that was undoubtable. But it had taken him to lament about all that he wished he could have with you that it finally became clear to him that the things that he had wanted with you…were undoubtedly the very same things you wanted from him.

You had tried to say as much and yet he had only been thinking about all the negatives that could come from the two of you being together. The health issues, the rude comments, the hostile looks, all of these were things that he still knew that you would receive if he were to claim this child.

However, as he looked down at your sleeping self, just how peaceful and content you were in that moment. He knew that if the roles were reversed, if you were the one pushing him away before you believed that you were damning him…he would give up all he had to simply just have you. To have you despite all the negatives that could and would come along with it.

He had been deciding your life for you, never allowing you to have a decision on where the two of you would go from there. If you knew about all the hostility towards those from the Undercity, would you still choose to remain by his side? Would you want him to be named as the father? The sad fact was that he didn’t know. Not because you wouldn’t answer, but because he had never asked - he had never allowed you to know everything that you would need to know to make a decision.

He was of a mind now to explain everything to you once you were feeling better, planning on coming back the following night just like he had done the night before.

But life seemed to have determined that he had pushed the conversation off long enough.

He had not even made it down the first hallway before he had needed to double back in hopes of avoiding one of the many nurses that were already starting to be making their morning rounds. Only to nearly run right into a doctor that was leaving a different patient's room.

With the two of them crashing to the ground, his cane painfully dug into his side as he did his best to remain on his feet. He didn’t waste any time in rushing back to your room, tripping a few times as he did so.

“Security!”

Panic shot through him as he rushed through the door, slamming and locking it behind him before he began looking through the room for anything that would help him gain a bit more time.

The man was vaguely aware of the fact that you had awoken and were rising from your bed as he was quickly finding anything that would allow him to makeshift a way to keep the door closed even if they unlocked the door.

He needed more time, that was all he could think as he strung the door to the furniture near it in the hopes of keeping the door in place.

“V-Viktor? Viktor, what are you doing?”

Using one of the IV poles in the room to create even more of a barrier, he hoped that it would be enough to at least give him enough time.

“Something I should have done weeks ago” He said, moving to gently pull you to sit back down on the bed, all the while he nervously ran his fingers over the back of your hand in the hopes of calming his nerves.

“There is much that made it so I didn’t wish to claim the child. None of which had anything to do with you, you have done nothing but make me long for the privilege to claim this child as ours. I am aware you are from Piltover and as such will probably not know of many of the policies and rules that are set up against those of us from the Undercity -”

A loud crash was heard from the door, like someone had tried to open it only to end up fully stepping into the door when it didn’t budge. The sounds only seemed to grow louder, more and more people beginning to take notice of the fact that there was someone unwanted having barricaded himself inside one of the patients’ rooms.

And yet, that did nothing to stop Viktor from explaining what he felt he needed to do.

“Most hospitals refuse to treat us. That is why I haven’t been here. I am not allowed on the premises.” Freeing one of his hands, he reached out to gently place it on your stomach, his eyes flickering from where his hand was placed and back up at your eyes.

“I have no doubt passed on my health issues to this child. It will need more care than most, so I need you to decide. I need you to know everything and decide on what you wish for me to do.”

A heavy slam was heard against the door, this time causing panic to steadily grow in Viktor’s golden hued eyes.

“Believe me. I want to claim this child. You would be making me a father, a thing I never even dared to dream about. And it would be with you, a person I adore and cherish. To have a child in such a situation is a miracle.”

“Wait, please…back up, they didn’t allow you here? They don’t give you health care when you clearly need it because of such nonsense and bullshit as that?!” You could feel the beginnings of a burning starting to build, now aware of just one of the large pieces to the puzzle. It fits into place to explain so many of the things that Viktor had been so vague about in the past. Why he thought he was ‘damning’ their child by claiming it, why he didn’t wish for others to know that it was his while doing hours and hours of research on how to be the best father he could be - it all finally clicked into place.

“D-don’t get worked up, Love, please please…the baby..”

Pushing him away, you were back to your feet and heading to the door - already working on removing the items in the way.

“Darling, stop”

Ignoring him completely, it didn’t take you long to remove the barriers that were keeping the door closed.

And to say you got satisfaction from the looks on everyone’s faces when you wrenched open the door was an understatement.

“Get me the fucking person in charge of this place!”

“M-maam, you need to return to bed. It is not good for the baby”

The poor nurse that had spoken to you was the first on your shit list, the rage that was steadily growing to an all engulfing inferno being directed at her first simply because she spoke to you about the baby.

“Don’t you dare talk to me about my child. Not after I’ve now been made aware of the fact that you have been the cause for why the father of my child hasn’t been able to see me!”

You didn’t even seem to care about the looks they shot at the two of you, much too preoccupied with the one guard that seemed to be trying to slip past you to get closed to where Viktor was standing - the world soon having a twinge of red as the rage before was completely overshadowed.

“You touch him and I will kill you.”

The man froze, clearly taken aback by such bloodthirsty hate being directed at him from someone who had been nothing but kind only days if not hours before.

Pushing him roughly and rather cruelly aside, you went and took hold of your lover’s hand to pull him behind you. Already he was fretting over you, being far too preoccupied with wanting to keep you steady than anything else.

“Darling, please…you know as well as I that during pregnancy that you will have hormones that make it easier for you to become enraged, but please breathe. For me, my love, breathe.”

Glancing over at him, it took only the look in his eyes, the love that clearly was shown as well as the concern that was etched into every feature to finally start to put out the burning inferno that was eating you up from the inside.

Taking a deep breath, a shaky breath out as you tried to control your emotions - the rest of the staff watched as Viktor was able to finally get your attention to be on something other than those around you.

However, all of that was dashed as the hospital’s CEO was making his way down the hallways towards the large crowd.

Wrenching your hands away from Viktor’s hold, you marched towards him to meet him halfway - not even wasting a second thought on what you were going to do as you slapped him across the face with as much force as you physically could.

You were getting ready to swing again before you felt the inventor’s touch return, pulling you away from the man with a gentleness that wouldn’t have worked for anyone else but him.

“What is wrong with you?!��

“What is wrong with all of you?!?” You screamed, never feeling this level of hate and rage ever in your life before. It finally made sense what all the papers had said about pregnancy rage being something that wouldn’t completely take over.

“Denying care to someone who needs it simply because of where he was born?! You should all be ashamed to call yourself healers! You will regret ever meeting me, ever keeping me here when I asked to be released, when I demanded to be let to go home. Yet all you had to say was that I needed my husband for that to be possible -”

The grip on you stiffened as information that even Viktor hadn’t been aware of came to light.

“We are leaving. You will not touch him, you will not do a single thing to him. Believe me, I will already be raining hell on you and all the hospitals in Piltover over the shit I’ve learned but I dare you to make it worse - I fucking dare you to make my hate grow”

You were sick of all of them, of looking at their dumb faces as they glanced between themselves as they knew just how annoying this was most likely going to become. Because it was true, you would not rest until the policy was changed, until the rules that not only hurt those across the bridge were erased but till even such policies like a pregnant woman needing her husband there to be released - the audacity to act like she wasn’t a complete person without a man standing there beside her.

The whole way out, nobody said a word to the pair of you as you left - Viktor all the while being nothing but attentive as he asked if you needed a drink, needed a jacket, needed a hug. All the while peppering kisses against your cheek and hands as he helped you out of the hospital.

“Viktor-” You started, the exhaustion finally catching up to you from everything that just happened, weakly pushing him away as he tried to press a kiss to your temple this time.

“Viktor please, just….I just want to lay with you, to hear you tell me everything will be alright. Please..”

As he took in just how worn on you looked, the decision was simple. And with his place being closer than yours, he figured that was where you would be staying from now on. Already, as he carefully led you to his home, he was going through all the things he would need to get for you.

"Of course, anything for you"

He would take care of you.

There was no way that the disaster that had taken place wouldn’t get out.

He was now the child’s father.

There was no going back on that now, not that he wanted to, but he wouldn’t stand by the sidelines any longer.

This was his child.

You were the mother of his child.

And as he glanced over at you, he felt an odd sense of peace as he knew he could do this.

Nobody would mistreat you or the child on his watch.

He would make sure of it.

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Taglist: @cheeriecherrymain@fairy-writes@thehistoriangirl@aikoiya@piperdoodles@alternate--simp@vmyths@luixiv@linky-dinks@bruh-anator3000@somethingthatsaysbubbles

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

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pspspsp can I just request an immortal reader who's life is just dull/sad as hell since they've seen their loved ones leave or die in front of them so many times

but when they meet SBI or anyone, their life just suddenly brightens up? (Platonic and it can be any type of fic!)

(A/N): I got waaaayy too carried away with this. Star god reader my beloved (also, I’d imagine that your cloak looks like this guy’s but on the inside with the outsides being any color of your choice (credit goes to original artist))

If you want more god!reader content with the dream smp, @wooloo-inc has a really good series about a male!nature god!reader (aka, the god of dilf collection)

In the beginning when DreamXD created you (which if you think about it, that makes him your father, but I digress) from stardust and meteorite shards, you were a ball of fun loving sunshine (well, starshine?)

You loved watching over all of humankind, admiring their determination and bonds with other humans (both romantic and platonic)

Your older brother, the god of the moon, told you about how they viewed you and you were amazed

“Oberon?” You ran up to your older brother and tugged on his cloak making him hum in question, not looking up from his parchment scroll. “What- what do the humans think of me?”

He scoffed and glanced at you with his lily white irises, “why are you on about them again? They are lowly creatures compared to us, filled with greed and misfortune.”

“They worship us and that’s how you speak of them?”

“(Y/n) believe me, you have not seen the brutality they are capable of. War, famine, greed, plague, genocide, it’s all something you have not witnessed before. You have only seen the good in those things.”

“But Oberon, I wanna-” he lightly smacked the side of your head, “use proper English. We are gods and you will behave as such.”

You huffed, “I want to know about how they view us! I do not care about the bad things they have done! Plleeeaaassseeeeeee Beri?” You willed the stars that constantly gleamed in your eyes to shine brighter as you fluttered your eyelashes at him. He may seem like he hated everyone and everything (especially his siblings), but he had a soft spot for his youngest sibling. He just stared at you for a bit before he sighed and shifted in the massive throne so that you could hop up onto his lap. With a wave of a slender pale hand, he conjured up various images of humans with stardust gazing at the stars and the moon with carefree swipes of his hand.

“They view us as… poetic of sorts. They compare us to romance,” an image of two human males kissing then gazing into the stars laying down on a cliff came into view, “fortune tellers,” an image of the Aquarius and the Capricorn constellations popped up making you squeal in happiness. He chucked and changed the picture to a mother and son standing over a grave looking up in amazement at a shooting star, “and most importantly, as a sign of hope.

“They see us as complementary, the moon and the stars cannot be as beautiful without the other. We hold the power of the night and everything it touches, (y/n). This is our kingdom, do not forget that,” the image changed to the moon surrounded by stars and swirling blues and purples of nebulas.

You looked at the images with awe, absorbing every word that fell from his mouth. “Beri?” He once again hummed, his deep baritone voice sending vibrations along your back. “Will we be together forever?”

His lanky arms wrapped around your much smaller frame, “for all of eternity. The moon is nothing without the night sky and all of the stars it holds.”

Centuries passed and your fascination with humans only grew from there

When you eventually asked if you could meet a human Oberon reacted angrily and forbade you from speaking of humans again in your shared palace, worried for your safety

When he caught you attempting to sneak out, he locked you in your room for months on end

Humans wondered why the stars hardly appeared in the night sky anymore, forming the theory that they had somehow angered you

They prayed to you more and more, begging and groveling for forgiveness

They left more offerings at shrines

You heard their every word, feeling your heartbreak with sorrow and guilt for your lovely humans

You snuck out of the palace that night determined to make it up to the humans

You quietly snuck past the main room where you and Oberon used to sit on your thrones together and control the night. The large doors were cracked open showing your older brother watching the night with boredom. As you passed, his voice startled you, “I just cannot stop you can I?”

He appeared in the doorframe looking at you emotionlessly, his eyes glinting with hidden pain. “Do you realize how cruel of a place that world is? How cruel humans are?”

“I do not care, brother! They are in anguish because they think I am angry with them! Because you locked me in here!”

“I have told you time and time again, they are ruthless creatures. Humans are constantly clashing with their own kind for the slightest bit of power, they’re greedy creatures! Have you forgotten what happened to Arachnia?”

A shiver went down your spine at the mention of your fellow deity. She wanted to be with humans but they stripped her of her grace and virtuosity, torturing her when the moon would rise. That is the reason spiders attack humans in the night when the moon and stars show themselves and are dormant in the daytime. However, that did not deter you.

“I have not forgotten what happened to Arachnia, her tale fills me with grief. But not all humans are like that! They are compassionate, loving, and sweet creatures deep down, each and every single one of them!”

“They were not showing compassion or love when they tore Arachnia limb from limb! When they languish in riches while millions die around them! What part of that is compassionate?”

“Sure they do bad things sometimes, but have you forgotten the love they hold for each other? The determination and hope shining from within them when they pray to us? Have you forgotten that?”

“THEIR ACTIONS ARE NOT JUSTIFIED IN ANY WAY!”

“AND OURS ARE? YOU ARE BLIND, OBERON. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE CRUELTY THE GODS HAVE SUBJECTED HUMANS TO? WHEN OUR FATHER TOOK YEARS AWAY FROM THEIR LIFESPANS SOLELY BECAUSE THEY STOPPED WORSHIPPING HIM AS OFTEN AS THEY USED TO? WHAT PART OF THAT IS JUSTIFIED?”

He just stared at you with angry irises and his chest heaving before he ran a hand through his long ivory hair and turned around, the flowing white cape flowing wildly behind him with unseen air. He walked back into the observation room and back to his throne. Without a second glance to you, he worked on the transition of power between the sun and moon. You could imagine your sister Aelia grinning brightly as she rose the sun for the day.

“You are to never return here if you step foot out that door. You will still have control of your duties of the night. However you will never return. Do not come back groveling for forgiveness when I have given you constant warnings of their cruelty. If I see your face show up here, I will make sure father smites you down. Now get out of my sight.”

You huffed and whipped around to the front entrance, the stars that constantly twinkled and the nebulas that constantly swirled in the inside of your cloak illuminating the white floors below you as you ran. You left the palace without a second thought, leaving your old life behind in favor of spending it with the humans.

When you came crashing to the Earth in a shooting star, you were amazed by the beauty of it up close and in person

It was everything you expected and then some

You heard the humans cheering and thanking you in their prayers when the stars returned brighter than usual

You being completely enamoured by all of the humans, even if they recognized you or not you loved them all unconditionally

You set up a little cottage in the tundra where you could see the night sky clearly with the occasional aurora borealis

From the roof, you controlled the stars

The tales of you defecting from the heavens was a popular one, and you became somewhat of a symbol of the hope that humanity should hold for themselves and compassion

Occasionally sending shooting stars over humans you knew were stargazing

You have met many lovers, friends, and even your own adopted kids over the next millenia, all of them accepting your immortality and everlasting duties

But it’s all the same in the end: they come, they leave, and they die

With each death of your loved ones, you could feel your will to keep going dissipate

The stars grew dimmer gradually in the night sky

The humans gradually stopped worshipping you as you disappeared from the night skies

You became a distant memory for elders to tell children

Disappearing from the face of the Earth for a few centuries when you could not take the constant deaths any longer

Nobody knew where your cabin laid so you were undisturbed for centuries on end, left to your grief

That was until a knock sounded at your door

The knock startled you out of the comfort of your bed. Reluctantly, you left the warmth of the multitude of blankets and donned your cloak to hide your unkempt appearance. When you passed the mirror hanging in the hallway, you could see that your face was shrouded by darkness with the exception of a single glint where your eyes were caused by the lone star that was a constant reminder of your position. Before you fell into a deep depression, the stars would illuminate your entire face if you put your hood up.

You opened the front door without a care in the world. If the beings on the other side were humans that would take you away and torture you, you didn’t care. You’re long past the point of caring for your own well being.

On the other side was a man of average height and long shaggy blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail. He was dressed entirely in green with a green and white striped bucket hat placed on his head. Past you would’ve been cooing at the object, but now you dully looked at the man in front of you. You glanced behind him and your eyes widened at the huge black wings sprouting from his back. You know who he was the second your eye caught the black feathers; he was the Angel of Death.

“Hello, Angel of Death.”

He tried to peer into your shrouded features, only seeing two pinpricks of light where your eyes should be. He gave you a friendly smile, brushing off the snow that gathered on his shoulders. “(Y/n), the God of the Stars and the Night Sky. Giver of compassion to the human race, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Why are you here? Last time I checked, my last lover died centuries ago.”

“Yes, my condolences. They were lovely when I guided their soul to the afterlife.”

“You still have not answered my question, Angel of Death. Why are you here?” You grit out the last sentence through a clenched jaw. He has no right to talk about them when he assisted in taking them away from you. Him and your cousin, the Goddess of Death Kristin. They took everybody you loved away from you. You knew that their deaths were unavoidable since they were human and you were immortal, but you still couldn’t help but resent them.

“The Goddess of Death sent me. The God of the Moon and the Goddess of the Sun sent her a request to send me to check on you.”

You stared at him for a few moments before you saw him shivering slightly and sighed. You always had a soft spot for humans, even if the being in front of you was not a human in the slightest. He reminded you of an old friend. You stepped aside and gestured lazily inside the house, “come in.”

He started to visit more and more over the next century

He eventually befriended you about half a century into the visits

It was extremely difficult to do because of how guarded you were, but he managed to break you out of your shell

You realizing how kind he was and how much he cared for you

You quickly came to the realization that he was immortal as well after reading up on the Angel of Death

After another fifty years, he became your best friend

You both opened up and comforted each other about everybody you both lost over the years

When he adopted Technoblade and then Wilbur not long after Techno, you were extremely hesitant to get close to them

Even going as far as telling Philza that you thought that it was an extremely bad idea

Mortals always end up leaving in the end anyways, it’s best to avoid the endless cycle of hurt that came with having mortals around

You told him about your own adopted children that have died over the years

You refuse to meet them, cutting off all communication with Philza for a year or two

Eventually meeting his three adopted kids when you reluctantly accept a dinner invitation one day

You attempted to appear cold and uncaring, but your love for humans (especially baby humans) shone through when an infant Tommy started to play with your cape

It seemed that the stars and the moving nebulas within the fabric entranced him

From then on whenever you visited Philza, you always held Tommy until he was too old for you to do so

Becoming very attached to the blond with your strong innate parental instincts

You introduce Techno to mythology, sharing stories of your personal interactions with certain gods and entities throughout the years

You teach Techno how to cope with the voices as you constantly hear multiple prayers to you from humans at the same time

You arrange a meeting for Wilbur with the Goddess of Music when he asks you about her

Arranging for her to start giving him lessons in exchange of a favor that will be cashed at a later date

You help raise all three of them, often taking them off Philza’s hands for a night or two

Their favorite activity with you is watching you raise the stars and turn the sky dark

They always loved to watch you move the stars and summon shooting stars for them

The stars gradually returned to your eyes and a constant ecstatic smile slowly became synonymous with your face again

Humans started to worship you again when the stars in the sky became brighter

You became your old self again after centuries of feeling lost

To repay them for everything they’ve done for you, you decided to rearrange the stars for one night

One night of having a different star pattern couldn’t hurt

Sure, it’d make a few theories pop up among the humans, but those are fun to overhear sometimes

The young boys and Philza behind you watched in awe as your eyes started to glow brightly and you slowly moved your hands gracefully raising the stars with the moon, your cloak starting to flow with nonexistent winds. They’ve seen you raise the stars thousands of times, but it never ceases to amaze them. It was just so… entrancing.

You broke into a slight sweat and started to move the stars from their original positions in the sky. Shaking slightly, you pushed back against the strain and slight pain that it brought you. You’ve never done this before, so you really didn’t know what you were expecting. You felt someone put a hand on your shoulder.

“What’re you doin, mate?”

“Uh Dad?”

“Not now Techno. Mate, are you alright?”

“Dad, look up. They’re rearranging the stars,” Wilbur breathed out.

You could hear Philza gasp slightly as he watched star after star move until they locked into place. There in the twinkling night sky was each of their names gleaming brightly in small lettering. When you were done, you fell into a kneel onto the ground and rubbed at your aching head panting lightly.

You could hear the boys around you panic slightly as you regained your breath. As you heard them approach you you looked up at them and smiled, the stars gleaming brightly in your irises. “Do you like it?”

“Y-yes but gods, (y/n) are you alright?”

“I am fine, but stars, I have never done that before. Are you four ready for stargazing?”

“That was so pog, (y/n)! How’d you do that?”

“I hold the power of the stars and the night sky in my hands. My brother once told me that the night is our kingdom.” You laid down onto the grass and took off your cloak to cover up a shivering Tommy and Wilbur next to you. You sighed as you thought about your siblings; you wondered how they were doing.

“I will gladly move the stars themselves for you four. You are my family.” There was a stretched out moment of comfortable silence as you five watched shooting stars blaze by. Eventually, you saw an aurora borealis materialize above you. Furrowing your brow, you looked at it in question. They don’t appear this time of year, so why-

“Aelia,” you breathed out as you watched the greens flow above you. She must’ve sent a gust of solar wind your way.

“Isn’t Aelia the Goddess of the Sun?” Wilbur asked you.

“Yes, she is my oldest sister. She must have redirected the solar winds over here.”

“Damn, what’s with the gods changing everything tonight? You guys need to fuckin chill.”

“Tommy!” Philza scolded and was about to continue before he heard you start to laugh. They’ve only heard you genuinely laugh only a couple of times, so the sound that left your mouth immediately brightened the mood.

“Yes Tommy, I suppose we do need to ‘fucking chill’.”

“You swore! Fuckin pog,” Tommy cheered to himself as the others looked at you in slight shock at your words. If you’re being completely honest in all of the years you spent alive (which is since basically the beginning of time), you’ve never sworn once. You were raised differently than that. When you realized that the others were staring at you, you smirked at them. The stars twinkling and giving your eyes even more of a mischievous glint, “what? Have you never heard a god swear before?”

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #god reader #requests #hellion's requests #1k special #hellion's 1k special #tw: death #tw: depression #tw: grief #tw: swearing

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wlntrsldler · 4 years ago

Text

Fine Line (Bucky Barnes Falling Series)

A/N: This is the sequel to Falling. This will be the second installment to my Falling (Bucky Barnes) Series. I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!

PROMPT: Bucky has been distant lately. Y/N doesn’t know why.

WARNING: slight mature content but not in detail, ANGST, SADNESS, fluff

FALLING | FINE LINE | SHE

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Nat, I’m begging you,” Bucky pleaded, getting on his knees in front of his teammate. “Tell me where Y/N went.”

Nat pitied him. It hurt to see him so broken, begging for her to tell him where you went, but her loyalty was with you. She promised to you that where you went would stay with her and only her until the grave. “I can’t, Bucky.”

“Nat.” His voice cracked, tears slipping from his eyes. “I don’t know what else to do. Her phone is disconnected. I called everyone she knows. Nobody knows where she is. Nat, please.”

“Get up, Barnes,” She sighed, pulling the soldier by his arms. “Y/N made me promise I wouldn’t say a word. I don’t agree with what she did, running away and leaving you with no trace, but it’s what she wanted. She didn’t want you to all of a sudden start acting like you love her again just because you realized she’s not there anymore.”

“Again? What do you mean again?” Bucky questioned, rising to his feet. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, using it to wipe his nose and the tears on his cheeks. “I never stopped loving her, Nat.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

“I can explain.”

Nat’s face paled after Bucky’s explanation, realizing that she needed to bring Bucky to you, even if it was the last thing she did. That’s how he ended up in California on your doorstep, with the most panicked look on his face.

You heard the first knock over the loud bass of your breakup playlist. You ignored it, remembering that Nat was the only one who knows where you were and she had you memorize a secret knock for your protection. It was a bit over the top to you, but as an Avenger, she wanted to take safety precautions.

Then a second knock. A third. A fourth.

You pressed pause on your phone and walked over to the door. You looked through the peephole and saw Bucky. You dropped the phone in your hands, not believing your eyes. What the hell was he doing here?

You debated on even opening the door. Leaving Bucky nearly killed you, you almost didn’t do it. It was a shock, a miracle even, that you had the courage to get up and leave. You knew that you were too vulnerable, too in love and too attached, to be able to walk away from him a second time. All it takes is for those beautiful, blue eyes, that you used to wake up to every morning to take one look at you. All it takes is his voice, rough around the edges but soothing, calm, home. All it takes is one touch to reignite the spark that you convinced yourself has burned out between you. That’s all it takes.

You started to back away from the door, having gone through enough breakups in your lifetime to know how it goes. You leave. They beg for you to stay. They promise they’ll change. Things are good for a while. Then they remember why they became distant in the first place. Next thing you know, it’s over all over again. You couldn’t lose Bucky a second time. The first time was painful enough.

“Y/N, please.” His voice croaked out from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there. Baby please, let me explain.”

You gasped upon hearing his voice. Baby. Your heart broke after hearing how broken he sounded, the way the pet name still rolled off his tongue with such familiarity. it was overwhelming.

“Look, I get it if you don’t want to see me..” Bucky leaned against the door, mumbling into the wood. “But please listen to me. I know I don’t even deserve that, but please, doll. I’m begging you.”

You stayed silent, pressing your ear against the door. Why are you doing this? A part of you knew that no matter what he said, no matter what excuse, you would open the door and fall apart in his arms. It’s Bucky. It’s your Bucky.

“Okay,” He sighed. “In the small chance that you are listening to me, I can explain why I’ve been so distant lately. I was scared, doll. I-I’ve been doing these treatments with Tony that’s supposed to reverse what HYDRA did. In hindsight, it was supposed to diminish the effects of the trigger words on me and I could become Bucky. James, the one that I would tell you about.”

“But it didn’t always work..” He trailed off, staring at his metal hand, a reminder of the monster that he became. Even after HYDRA, he was still suffering. He had lost so much because of the Winter Soldier, he’ll be damned if he loses you too. “Some days it would make me worse. It was a lot of trial and error, I knew that going into it. I couldn’t tell anybody, not even Steve.”

“You don’t understand how badly I wanted to tell you. All those talks about our future, marriage, kids, all of that, suddenly started to feel like it could be a reality instead of just my wildest imagination.” Bucky chuckled. “But the treatment was a push and pull sometimes. Sometimes I’d feel like it was working and I’d be so excited to come home to you and kiss you. God, I miss kissing you.”

You wiped the tears from your face, missing the way his lips felt on yours. They were always chapped but the minute your lips touched, none of it mattered. You’d kiss him even after missions, lips busted and bloody. You’d kiss him in his sleep, pull away and watch the smile cover his face as he started to wake up. You’d kiss him when you were making love, incoherent words of love and affirmation as you both reached your release. You miss kissing Bucky, you truly do.

“Other times, I would lose control over my arm and it would just crush everything in sight. They’ve had to confine me in a cubicle until the symptoms wore off.” Bucky looked down, remembering the painful memories. “Being tortured by HYDRA was painful but this... Y/N, this was something else.”

“I was being tortured by my own self.” He paused, flexing his metal arm. The mechanical whirring made him cringe. “I was fully aware of what I was doing. I was Bucky but my arm was being controlled by someone other than me. Doll, I was so scared. I-if I were to come home, I wouldn’t have had control over hurting you.”

“I couldn’t live with myself, if that happened. If something happened to you, I-” Bucky broke down, voice shaking as he continued his story. “I just couldn’t come home like that.”

You backed away from the door, undoing the locks. You took a deep breath before opening it. Bucky wasn’t expecting it. He fell over once the door he was leaning on, disappeared.

You tried to hold in the giggle that was threatening to escape your throat when you saw the scene in front of you. Bucky, on his face, a hurt expression on his features. He looked up at you and instantly his demeanor changed. Your Bucky.

He smiled, his real smile, despite his glossy, red eyes, He scrambled to get up and face you. Once he was on his feet, he tucked his hands in his front pockets, rocking back and forth. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Buck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You wrapped your arms around his torso and buried yourself in his chest. Home. He laughed at the sudden contact, not because of your reaction but because he was genuinely happy. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, picking you up to spin you.

He kicked the front door closed and put you down, breathless from laughing so much. “I missed you.”

You refused to let go of him, your arms still wrapped around him as you looked up to reply. “I missed you more.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed you. You let out a broken cry when you felt his lips move against yours. It’s been too long. You missed this so much. This felt like Bucky. You guys were back.

You two only pulled away from some air, goofy smiles plastered on both of your faces when you did. He connected his forehead with yours, eyes closed, cherishing the moment. Bucky would periodically leave pecks on your cheeks and lips, loving the way you giggled each time he did. He missed your laugh.

“I’m sorry for not listening to your explanation before leaving.” You apologized, genuinely feeling guilty for your actions.

“I don’t blame you.” He admitted, hands finding yours. He played with your fingers, taking extra care with the one in his metal hand. “I’m just so happy you gave me the chance to explain.”

“Didn’t really give me much choice now, didn’t you?” You teased, pulling him back into an embrace. “You show up on my doorstep, two timezones away from where you were.”

“I guess I didn’t.” Bucky kissed the top of your head, letting the scent of your shampoo overtake his senses. That’s all he wanted. To smell you. To touch you. To see you. To taste you. To hear you. You. That’s all he wanted. “I can’t lose my best girl.”

“Always a charmer, Barnes.”

You stared at each other for a moment. There was a shift in the air. For months, both of you were deprived from touch. Bucky was never around and you started to distance from him, neither of you were cruel enough to be touched by someone other than each other. You both knew nobody else could fulfill the touch you both so desperately needed.

Bucky kissed you hungrily, his tongue pushing past your lips. You moaned into his mouth, hands clawing down the front of his body. Your teeth tugged softly at his lips, a weakness of his. He groaned a beautiful sound as you pushed him, ushering him into the bedroom.

You woke up next to Bucky. You almost cried at the sight, not being able to remember the last time you saw this image.

Bucky was shirtless, a blanket barely covering his body, hair sprawled out on the pillow, and his mouth slightly, agape. He looked peaceful. His arm was under you, pulling you into his gravity. You could feel his heart thumping against his chest, a rhythm you could listen to forever.

You leaned over to plant a quick kiss to his lips. You meant for it to be quick but his lips attached themselves to yours. You kissed back, smiling through the sweet exchange of love. You squealed as he pulled you closer to him, bare chests pressing against each other. He continued to kiss you for a few more minutes, not wanting to let go.

“I want to wake up like this everyday.” He muttered, eyes still shut. “Just like this.”

“Your eyes aren’t even open yet so technically you haven’t woken up.”

He opened his eyes slowly, stretching his limbs out in the process. He stared at your face, his smile getting wider when he realizes you’re staring at him. Bucky’s eyes dart down to your exposed chest, a dirty smirk replacing the innocent smile he had on before. “I can wake up like this everyday.”

You smacked him across the chest, laughing at his words. “You dirty man.”

“You’re hot, babe.” He defended, pulling you close to his body again. “Take the compliment.”

You cooed in adoration, loving the way warmth radiated off of his body. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Bucky replied, not missing a beat. His fingers started to draw shapes on the small of your back, not missing the way you shivered under his touch. You were always so responsive, even in the most innocent way. “I love you, so much. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me.” You said, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. You placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I’m sorry for leaving without giving you a chance to explain. I just thought I already lost you.”

“Never,” He murmured. “I just wanted to become the best version of me for you. You deserve that.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” You half-scolded, tilting his head down so he could look into your eyes. “You are the man I fell in love with. I will love you even if it’s the worst version of yourself, you hear me? You are a good man. You will never lose that. I will never lose sight of that.”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I ask myself that too.”

You laid there in silence, enjoying the closeness of your bodies. It’s been too long. Bucky looked down at you, head on his chest and wondered if in this lifetime, he’d be able to truly live. Enjoy the love that he watched his parents have. See the world as a tourist with you by his side. Grow old with you and have children and grandchildren and pets, lots of them. He wondered if life would be kind enough to give him the life he’s been yearning for since before the war. He wondered if the void that he’s been trying to fill was in the shape of you. It sure seemed like it.

He laid there frozen, not wanting to disrupt your rest. Your soft snores made Bucky smile. He wasn’t able to sleep without the white noise that he grew to love. The nights he fell asleep without you next to him were some of the worst nights. He wished you were beside him. He wished that even now with you practically laying on top of him. He wanted you closer to him, if that was even possible.

You began to stir, eyes fluttering open for the second time today. “Let’s make breakfast.”

You untangled yourself from him, instantly regretting it. You already missed Bucky’s body next to yours. You quickly slipped on his t-shirt and tossed his boxers on the bed for him to put on. He slipped it on and ran towards you as you put your hair up in a low ponytail. “You’re gonna have to cook with me on top of you.”

You threw your head back laughing, placing one hand over the arms wrapped around your waist. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Once you guys got to the kitchen, Bucky excused himself to go to the bathroom. You merely nodded, engrossed in the directions behind the box of pancake mix. You started to measure the ingredients, plopping the batter on the pan. You hummed to yourself as you waited for the pancakes to brown around the edges.

“Y/N..” Bucky called from the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Mhm?” You responded, still focusing on the pancake in front of you.

“Turn around.”

“What’s up, Buck? I’m making panca-” You turned around, the half cooked pancake on your spatula. “Oh my God.”

The pancake fell off your spatula, a blob of batter staining the kitchen floor. You covered your mouth with your hands.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” Bucky started, raising the velvet box while he was on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You nodded furiously, rushing over to him to kiss him. He got up, grabbing your face in his hands to deepen the kiss. You pulled away, the smile returning to your face. Bucky’s hands shook as he tried to put the ring on your finger. You both took turns wiping the tears off of each other’s faces. “It’s perfect.”

You two stood there, repeating your declarations of love over and over again. The pancake batter was long forgotten. You admired the ring on your finger and the man you would vow to love forever.

Marrying Bucky seemed too good to be true. The love you two shared was something you swore only existed in the movies.

It was the vast ocean, deep and unexplored. It was scary, intimidating, and you don’t know if you’ll make it out of it alive. It’s risky and overwhelming.

But your love was also the first chirp of a bird that you hear after a heavy thunderstorm, reminding you that everything will be okay. It’s the love that reminds you of the beauty in the ugly.

Your love was the moon and the stars, the sun and the clouds, the dew on the blades of grass, the smell of freshly baked cookies. Your love was everything grand. It was the big picture of life, but it was also the details, so simple, so subtle, but it was yours. It’s your love.

It’s indescribable but it makes sense to the two of you. That’s all that mattered.

Your serene moment was interrupted by a synchronized knock on the door. Nat.

You furrowed your eyebrows, motioning Bucky to follow you to open the door. You looked through the peephole to see a distressed Nat. You quickly undid the locks, Bucky right behind you when you opened the door.

Nat took a look at the two of you, her signature smirk appearing on her face. “Nice to see that you two worked it out.”

“Thanks, Nat.” Bucky said sheepishly, his hand finding your hip bone and giving it a squeeze. “What are you doing here?”

Her smirk dropped from her face, her shoulders falling heavy. “We have a problem.”

“What happened?” You asked, leaning against Bucky.

“Thanos.” She stated, nervousness evident in her voice. “Thanos is coming.”

“Y/N, something happened.”

You looked at Steve, dumbfounded. “Is he hurt?”

“When Thanos snapped his fingers, half of all living creatures vanished,” He started, looking down at his feet. “Bucky... Bucky was one of them.”

You shook your head, not believing his words. You repeated the words, “No, that’s not true. “Steve, where is he?” “How do we get him back?” You sobbed violently, Nat having to wrap her arms around you to muffle your cries.

Your head was propped up on Nat’s shoulder, giving you the perfect view of the dimly lit bathroom where you were before Nat and Steve arrived. Your mind thought back to the two small lines you saw on the test. Positive.

You fell apart in her embrace, still not coming to terms with the information they delivered.

Bucky’s not around anymore.

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGS:

I wasn’t sure if you guys wanted to be tagged for the second part, let me know if you guys want to be removed from the taglist for the final part! :)

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snusbandxknifewife · 4 years ago

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Sticky ficky 9

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That’s right hoes, I’m back and bringing you more sticky ficky content. I really set this chapter up expecting to introduce work on a string but it didn’t happen I PROMISE I SET IT UP FOR NEXT CHAPTER THO

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Silence greeted Jude as she stepped, shaking and weak, out of the shower. She could still see bits and pieces of her dream in her mind’s eye, could still feel the sharpness of Cardan’s nails digging into her neck and smell Balekin’s rotting flesh.

She tried to take deep breaths, to swallow around the painful lump in her throat, but she couldn’t find the strength to.

Just as she was about to start hyperventilating again, she heard a knock at the door. It started soft, just three delicate raps. But when nobody answered, the knocking became louder.

Funny, Vivienne and Oak should still be home. Why weren’t they opening the door?

Jude kept her plush blue towel wrapped tightly around her and walked through the apartment, her wet feet threatening to slip on the linoleum floors.

“Fucking calm down, I’m here,” she griped as the person on the other side continued to beat at the door. Still, nothing couldn’t prepared her for what she saw on the other side.

There, out in the hallway, was Heather.

She opened the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “Vivienne isn’t here.”

Heather brightened upon seeing her, only dulling slightly at the mention of her ex before smiling once more and pushing into the apartment.

“I’m not here for Vivi,” she stated. “I’m here for you.”

Jude, who couldn’t stop the puzzlement from showing on her face, merely watched as Heather continued through the apartment she’d once shared. She was carrying a long sleeve of fabric, longer even than her leg, tucked up under her arm.

Heather stopped in front of Jude’s door and motioned for her to enter. Jude raised a brow in response.

“Get dressed,” she ordered. “We’re going out.”

She said it with enough confidence that Jude didn’t even question it. She moved robotically, going to her room and dressing in comfortable leggings and an old concert hoodie. As she laced up her boots, she studied her sister’s ex lover.

“Why are you here?” Jude finally asked.

“I told you, I’m here for you,” she answered, then her face faltered a bit. “I need someone to talk to about,” she sighed, “everything. It’s messing with my head and I can’t figure it all out”

Reasonable enough, Faerie can unhinge even the most sane of people.

Jude, dressed and ready, nodded for Heather to lead the way. It didn’t even occur to her as she walked out the door that it was the first time in weeks she’d left her self-determined prison. After the dream, she was tired, too bone tired to think about her own sorrow.

She was tired enough to try something new.

Neither woman spoke as they hopped on the bus. Being late morning, most people in the city were already at work. It was just them and the bus driver, sitting in a comfortable silence that was broken only by the humming of passing cars.

As they got off the bus and the smell of salt hit Jude, she finally asked what they were doing.

“I always used to go kite flying when I needed to think,” Heather explained. “ I’d go with my dad when I was younger and Vivi when we were together. It helped me talk things out.”

Jude blinked against the sunlight, her body still used to the Faerie timeline.

“I can’t exactly talk this out with dear old dad,” she reasoned. Jude snorted.

It was the first sound that resembled a laugh she’d made in weeks.

When she was a little girl and her parents still lived, they always used to go to the beach during the summer. She can remember days spent building castles out of sand and doing cartwheels down the coastline, searching the water with her twin for any sign of mermaids.

The mermaids she’d imagined were far sweeter than the ones who really lived.

“C’mon, kick your shoes off!”

So Jude did. She tucked her socks into her boots and tied the laces so she could hang them round her shoulders while they walked. Together, Jude and Heather stepped off the boardwalk and into the sand, the warmth of the sun-baked earth seeping into the bottoms of their feet.

They walked in silence and Jude thanked whatever gods existed for the fact that the surf was calm that day. They could barely hear the ocean and hardly anyone was in the water.

“Here looks like a good spot,” Heather decided aloud, dropping her shoes and the sleeve she carried.

“What’s that?”

“My dual-line,” she answered, pulling fabric and strings and handles and sticks out of the sleeve. “I figured I’d bring the easy one, in case you wanted to try.”

“I’ve never seen a kite that looked like that,” Jude observed the mess of black and purple and green nylon as Heather began to unravel the strings from around the handle.

Heather grinned at her, laying out some forty feet of line. “It was handmade by a guy down in Georgia. My dad bought it from the artist. It was my first stunt kite, I never liked mono-lines.”

Jude watched quietly as the other girl set up the vaguely triangular kite, testing the tension on the carbon fiber rods that held the fabric open before using a lark’s head knot to tie either of the handle’s strings to separate sides of the kite.

“Watch this,” Heather grinned, setting the kite down so it was being pushed back by the wind.

So Jude crosses her arms and watched Heather walk her way back to the handles, keeping the kite’s lines taught so it didn’t go over into the sand. Then, when she’d gotten the handles firmly grasped, she took a step back.

And the kite launched into the sky.

For all the beauty Jude had witnessed in Faerie, nothing was quite like this. It flew, nothing like a bird and everything like a leaf gliding through the wind. Though the colors were glaringly unnatural, it still gave off a calming sense of beauty.

Jude had become so used to the terrifying version of pretty that she’d forgotten what mundane beauty could look like. She’d forgotten how much she’d loved it.

Heather whooped as she caught the wind, pulling the line in her right hand towards her so the kite did a spin in the air and laughing at how it oversteered. They squinted together, watching the kite fall and then rise as it lost and caught gusts of air.

Jude smiled. It was small, and it was gone quickly, but she’d smiled all the same.

“Would you like to try?” Heather asked and she nodded, letting her friend hand her the handles and then stand behind her to help her get the hang of things.

“If you want it to turn left, pull the left handle towards you. For right, pull the right. Don’t move the handles side to side. Lift them up for the kite to go higher and pull them down for it to go lower,” she explained, laughing loudly as Jude promptly did exactly the wrong thing and sent the kite smashing into the ground.

“Oh shit—“

“Don’t worry!” Heather exclaimed, running over to the downed kite. “They’re tough!”

She picked up the kite and set the tip back towards the sky, holding it aloft and telling Jude to step back. When she did, Heather launched the kite once more.

What must’ve been an hour passed as she taught Jude the ins and outs of stunt flying. She got talking about her foils and her quad-lines and how her mother knew how to spin a mono-line and keep it in the air. She told Jude stories of competitions she’d watched and festivals she’d been to. She even mentioned how she’d started a kite flying club in her highschool.

“It’s just something about the way the wind whispers through the trees on a good day,” she grinned. “Sets my soul at ease. Nothing quite clears the mind like a kite in the sky.”

“We don’t have kites in Faerie,” Jude whispered, almost reverent in her tone. “I suppose it loses its appeal when so many people can fly themselves.”

She passed the handles back to Heather, who began doing tricks like a seasoned professional.

“Faerie loses its appeal when the people have no appreciation for simple things,” Heather whispered back, sounding perturbed. “Like trust, for that matter.”

Jude snorted as Heather made the kite fly in a square. “Trust? In Faerieland? Vivi didn’t prepare you at all.”

Heather shot her a look and the two stared at each other for a long time until the kite crashed down again.

She walked to grab the kite and launch it for Heather.

“How’d you survive? Back when you were a child, I mean.”

Jude crosses her arms, moving back to her previous spot, keeping her eyes on the kite the whole time.

“Madoc viewed us as his responsibility after he killed Mom and Dad,” she shrugged. “And we were children. The fae are usually very careful with children, even human ones. Babies are so unbelievably rare that to harm a child would be unthinkable for most.”

She allowed herself to look back over and catch Heather watching her.

“I suppose we just got lucky that we had enough time to learn the ways of Elfhame.”

Heather turned back to the kite.

“And we used a lot of Rowan berries and salt.”

The other girl pursed her lips and sent the kite careening towards the sand, saving it at the last possible moment. “I just don’t understand how an entire people can be so unbearably cruel. So evil and manipulative, especially when they can’t lie.”

“They’re self-satisfying,” she offered like it wasn’t a bad thing. “A way of life that you either get used to or get crushed by.”

“Don’t they ever get tired of being selfish?”

“Why would they?” Jude half laughed. “It gets them what they want.”

She let the kite fall and neither woman went to retrieve it.

“Do you ever get tired of playing their game?” Heather asked.

Jude blinked, her fingers tapping a soundless rhythm on the elbow of her crossed arm as she stared out into the calm, glassy sea.

“I get tired of losing it,” she finally answered. “And I tire of the fact that I only lose when my selfishness isn’t driven by destruction.”

Together they sat down and Heather, sensing Jude wasn’t done, waited for the younger woman to continue.

“I’ve killed more people than I care to count, bathed in blood and dug secret graves in the dead of night. I’ve engineered the fall of the eldest Greenbriar child and, unknowingly, helped set the stage for the fall of the others.”

“I’ve dominated meetings and outsmarted countless people I shouldn’t have been able to outsmart.” She finally turned to look at Heather. “I’ve done all this and more. So why is it that it only works when I’m hurting someone? Why is it that, on the briefest occasion I do something out of love—be it crowning Cardan to protect my brother or taking a lover for myself for once or giving myself to a man in marriage because I genuinely thought he cared—why is it that love breeds failure for me?”

Heather blinked calmly, weighing the question in her mind, rolling her thoughts around on her tongue and playing with the handles of her kite as it fluttered oh-so-slightly on the sand.

“I don’t think love breeds failure for you,” she finally started, “merely success that you aren’t comfortable with.”

Jude raised a brow at her before leaning back in the sand, throwing her arms across her face to block her eyes from the sun.

“Jude, I’m serious!” Heather insisted. “I get that ruling through Cardan didn’t go as smoothly as you liked, but Oak got to be safe here. He gets to be a normal kid for awhile, learn some basic kindness.”

She went to respond, but Heather cut her off.

“And yeah that Locke guy was a complete and total tool, but plenty of men are. It wasn’t your insistence on loving him that made him a two-timing whore and your sister a back-stabbing bitch.”

Jude couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“And, while I’ll admit I don’t really know what’s going on with you and Cardan right now, the fact remains that you’re still married. He could’ve tried to divorce you instead of sending you away. That has to count for something, right?”

“He banished me for murdering his brother,” she felt her face sour at the very idea of Balekin. “Never mind that he challenged me to a duel and, per the rules of courtesy and the fae’s slavish insistence on obeying it, I couldn’t turn him down.”

Heather opened her mouth.

“And never mind that he forced me to kiss him in the Undersea—“

“WOAH!” Heather exclaimed and Jude went quiet. “He did what?”

She uncovered her face and opened an eye, squinting up at her friend and raising her brows at the shocked expression that she wore.

“When I was trapped in the Undersea he made me come to him,” she explained, covering her face once more. “I guess he had an idea that I might feel something for his brother so he forced me to kiss him the same way I’d kiss Cardan. He thought me glamoured, I had no choice.”

“Jude that’s assault.”

“Add it to the thousand other things that’ve been done to me. You get used to it after awhile.”

She felt Heather’s hand on her shoulder and started, uncovering her face in shock and finding the older girl staring at her in horror.

“Jude that’s not right. Just because it happens a lot doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

She chewed the inside of her lip as Heather’s face scrunched up in determination. “You should use some of your murdery badassery next time someone tries that shit on you. I’ll help, I’ve got a taser that looks like lipstick.”

Jude wanted to laugh, but the completely serious look that Heather wore stopped her.

How long it had been since someone was willing to go to war for her and her alone. Well, if you ignore what Cardan did to get her freed from the Undersea. But was that really the same? He’d not lifted a finger, and he’d had the power of half an army and magic that could boil the sea.

Heather has nothing, likely not even basic fight training, and she was still ready to back Jude up.

“How are you handling things since,” Jude changed the subject, “y’know, with Vivi?”

Heather’s face soured and she huffed, staring out at the sea.

“I’m so angry,” she admitted. “I could get over her not preparing me, I could get over the whole cat thing. But taking my memories? Deciding that I’m not adult enough or strong enough to remember what’s been done to me? I don’t know if that’s forgivable.”

The way her voice broke at the end told Jude everything she needed to know and she wrapped her arm around Heather.

“But you want to forgive her.”

“You know I do,” she sounded so forlorn. “I love her so much Jude, but I don’t know how we cone back from something this devastating.”

“If you figure it out, I wanna be the first to know,” Jude snorted and Heather cracked a smile once again. “What a pair we make.”

“I’ve never been friends with a murderer before. Or a queen, for that matter,” Heather observed. “Do you get used to it?”

“The murder part? Absolutely.”

Heather shot her a rueful grin. “I have much less of a problem with you getting used to that then the assault thing.”

“What a coincidence,” Jude laughed. “Me too.”

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The Jude and Heather friendship I always needed in my life. Next chapter will be Jude and Heather go to/have gone to a kite shop and seen the worms on a string. Some WILL be purchased I promise.

I know it’s no Cardan and no sticky hands but I needed some Jude healing. I think we can all agree she needed to talk through her feelings with someone who was close enough to care but far enough away to point out when she wasn’t being treated right.

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Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @sweetlyvillainous @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231

#sticky ficky #tfota #jude duarte #jurdan #cardan greenbriar #the great sticky hand war #heather #jude HEALS #Next chapter:#rise of fweej

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

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Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 9: Outlander Avenger

this took too long to post heehoo ive noticed that sometimes italics don’t save when im posting on tumblr? might have been a glitch idk but in that case it’s better to read on AO3 where the formatting is actually proper lol

summary On their arrival to Vivec City, the twins part ways and Fahjoth finds himself drawn into the investigation of a very serious crime.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

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“Ey, Ribyna, have you ever heard of Ashlanders?”

“Yeah, why?”

Fahjoth paused, pulling a disgruntled pout. The sun had well and truly set now; the last vestiges of warmth had evaporated entirely, replaced by a nipping chill and creeping shadows that submerged their surroundings in deep blue blankets. Vivec City loomed in the distance, unlike anything Fahjoth had ever seen before. Instead of individual houses like he had seen in every other town he’d been to so far, the city was populated by rows of colossal cantons, square and blocky yet towering over them with a kind of intimidating grandeur. Walkways bridged the gaps between the cantons, stretching over the rolling waters of the Ascadian Isles’ open bay, and several flags and tapestries fluttered from the sides of the cantons, embroidered with differing patterns and art that Fahjoth couldn’t make out from a distance.

Turning his gaze back to Ribyna as they crossed the bridge towards the first canton, Fahjoth gave an exasperated huff, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. “Oh, so it’s just me, then?” he questioned. “Being an idiot as per usual. D’you know, I made a right tit of myself to Cosades earlier. Told him I didn’t know what Ashlanders were, then he gave me a bollocking for being a dipshit. I mean, how was I supposed to know? Nobody’s told me!”

Ribyna’s response was surprisingly terse. “Well, maybe if you kept your mouth shut more often instead of chatting a load of shit, you’d listen and actually learn something for once.”

Fahjoth blinked, taken aback by this harsh rebuttal. He was used to Ribyna’s blunt manner of speaking of course, but this was something else entirely. He had noticed her demeanour getting more subdued and her posture stiffening the closer they got to Vivec City, and chalked it up to weariness after their long walk. Now, however, he was not so sure. Was that a hint of nervousness he detected in her voice?

“Are you alright?” he asked, then frowned sympathetically. “Bit nervous about being in the big city?”

“What?” Ribyna turned back to Fahjoth and flashed him a scathing look. “No, of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

“Then what is it?” He received no response, as Ribyna stopped walking and examined their surroundings, occasionally dropping her gaze down and squinting at the map she held.

“Right, I’ve got some shit to do,” she announced, as if she hadn’t even heard Fahjoth’s concerns. Fahjoth was certain that this wasn’t the case. “I’ll see you later.”

“Whoah, hang on a second!” Fahjoth protested, disconcerted by Ribyna’s unexpected change of plans. “I didn’t realise we’d be splitting up. What are you doing, anyway?”

“Just... stuff,” Ribyna replied vaguely. Fahjoth grimaced; perhaps it was best that he didn’t know the details after all, if she was here on business with the Thieves Guild.

“Alright, fine,” Fahjoth said, relenting. “But where should I meet you?”

“Uh...” Ribyna gestured aimlessly at the immediate canton, the details on its banners now impossible to make out in the dark. “The map says this is the Foreign Quarter. Just find a cornerclub or something in here and get a room sorted for us. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

“Right,” Fahjoth replied mutedly. Admittedly, he was disappointed; he had been assuming that he and Ribyna would explore Vivec City together, but now, he was resigning himself to being Billy-No-Mates for the next few hours, or however long Ribyna would take to do her mysterious errand. “See you later then.”

Fahjoth thought Ribyna may have flashed him an apologetic glance before she turned away, but then she stalked away along the path flanking the canton and rounded the corner, disappearing out of sight. Heaving a sigh that materialised in the air as a faint puff of steam, Fahjoth turned and headed up the sloping path towards the canton’s upper door, slipping inside and into the warmth.

The inside of the canton was well-lit with torches and rather cheerfully decorated, an array of potted plants sitting in the corners while colourful tapestries and banners hung from the walls. Fahjoth could see a variety of people going about their business, not just Dunmer but Imperials, Bretons, and Redguards, among others, and in that moment he felt a strange sense of almost belonging. Initially he was surprised, until he realised that he was in the Foreign Quarter, and he was left with a deep feeling of despondency instead.

This grim reminder that he truly was an outlander was accentuated by the unrelenting glares he received from the Ordinators who patrolled the corridors, striking an intimidating presence with their gleaming gold armour and helmets, fashioned into the shape of a sharp elven face with a crest of hair atop their heads.

“We’ll have no trouble here,” one of the Ordinators said in a low, rasping voice as he walked by. “Move along.”

Suppressing a shudder, Fahjoth began to wander around the upper floor of the canton, trying to look as if he knew where he was going as opposed to being totally lost. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long before he found himself at a door with a sign overhead reading The Black Shalk Cornerclub. Figuring that he was not going to find anywhere more ideal than this, he pushed the door open and stepped in with caution.

The cornerclub was quiet, with only a few punters sitting around tables or standing in the corners of the room, deep in conversation. A Dunmer stood organising a collection of bottles behind the counter, while an Argonian sat at the bar nursing a drink of his own. Fahjoth approached, plonked himself onto a stool near to the Argonian, and offered him a smile of greeting. The Argonian, who had seemed quite tense as Fahjoth sat down, suddenly relaxed and gave Fahjoth a polite smile in return.

“Can I have a mazte, please?” he asked the barman, reaching into his pocket for his coin purse. “Oh, and how much would a room be for the night for two people?”

“That’ll be twenty drakes for the room, sera,” the barman replied, pushing a bottle of mazte towards Fahjoth. “And ten for the mazte.”

“Oh, alright, cheers! I’ll take it then,” Fahjoth replied, handing over the coins with relief. He caught the Argonian’s eye and chuckled, a wry grin curling the corner of his mouth. “Ribyna reckoned it’d be more expensive than that.”

“Ribyna?” the Argonian questioned.

“Ah, that’s my twin! She’s off doing... something,” Fahjoth answered, his voice trailing off thoughtfully as a mild frown settled on his face. “I’m not sure what. She wouldn’t say.”

“I see. That sounds rather sinister.” The Argonian smirked. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Fahjoth couldn’t hold back an awkward giggle. “You’re right, sorry. My name’s Fahjoth,” he said, holding his hand out, which the Argonian shook after a brief pause.

“Huleeya,” he introduced himself, withdrawing his hand and taking a sip of his drink. “Well, I can’t blame your twin for being secretive. Not with this recent spate of attacks on outlanders.”

Fahjoth’s smile slipped from his face. “Attacks?”

“Oh, yes.” Huleeya nodded gravely. “Not just attacks, but murders. Five outlanders have been found dead this week. Not only that, but two Ordinators have been found dead too. Killed in the same way — that is, with their throats slit.”

“Gods alive... Do they know who’s doing it?”

“If they knew, they would have been caught already,” Huleeya replied. “The Justice Offices are looking for help in catching the killer, from what I’ve heard.”

Fahjoth paused. Though this had given him a lot to think about, there was something else he wanted to ask. “Is that why you looked a bit...” — he gestured vaguely with a wave of his hand — “on edge when I came over?”

“Hm? Ah, no. It’s not that,” Huleeya said. “It just wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had trouble from the local Dunmer, that’s all.”

“What do you—?”

“Excuse me, outlander. I should get going.” Huleeya finished the remainder of his drink and stood up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fahjoth. You and your twin should be careful if you’re out wandering alone at night.”

“Ah... we will. Thanks, mate,” Fahjoth answered, watching as Huleeya said his farewells to the barkeep and took his leave. Once again, Fahjoth was left alone with his thoughts, and he began to get some very dangerous thoughts indeed.

The Justice Offices are looking for help in catching the killer...

He bit his lip as he nursed his mazte, quietly wrestling with his own brain. To think that he would be able to go up against a serial killer who had slain two highly trained Ordinators was madness, and yet...

By the time he had drained the last of his mazte from the bottle, he had made his decision. Fahjoth stood up, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of foreboding, dropped off his supplies in his rented room and headed outside into the fresh night air once more.

——————————————

The Office of the Watch was much further away than Fahjoth had anticipated, and by the time he arrived, his legs — which had been trembling with nerves — were heavy and aching from weariness, which didn’t bode well for what he had to do. It had been a very long day already, and more than anything Fahjoth was craving a nice warm bed to fall into, but he’d come all this way. There was no going back now.

After navigating the Hall of Justice — with some difficulty, assuaged only slightly by the directions given to him from irate Ordinators on patrol — Fahjoth eventually found himself at the doors of the Office of the Watch, which he knocked gently and waited to be given permission to enter.

Peering around the door, Fahjoth was faced with a rather small and cluttered office inhabited by three Dunmer in the usual golden cuirass and boots, who were sitting at messy desks and perusing sheaves of parchment. One of them, a dark-haired Mer with a moustache and goatee, eyed Fahjoth as he crossed the threshold, the heavy bags under his eyes indicative of his tiredness.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “We’re very busy, as you can see.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Fahjoth apologised, “but I’m looking for an Elam Andas?”

“Yes, that’s me. I am Elam Andas, chief of Vivec's Order of the Watch. Are you here looking for work?”

Fahjoth bit his lip, knowing full well that this was his last chance to back out of his foolish and potentially suicidal mission, but he ploughed on anyway. “I heard you were looking for help solving these recent murders.”

The effect his words had on the office was startling. The officers stopped what they were doing, each of them fixing their red eyes on Fahjoth with dubious expressions. Fahjoth remained silent until Andas spoke again.

“We cannot officially hire you as only Ordinators can serve the watch,” he explained. “But if you can find this killer and bring them to justice, we’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your efforts.”

Bring them to justice? Now that was something Fahjoth was sure was well above his pay grade. He had been hoping to do a bit of investigation, to help the Watch with their search, but to be tasked with bringing down a serial killer himself? That wasn’t something he was at all confident he could handle.

“Oh, I—” he started in alarm, but Andas cut him off.

“I require no commitment from you,” Andas informed him. “In fact, I can’t even officially accept one. But if you’re serious about helping, I can tell you what we know so far about the killer and the victims.”

After a moment of hesitation, Fahjoth nodded, and Andas gestured to the seat across his desk. Fahjoth obeyed, sitting and listening in silence.

“There have been seven victims so far, five outlanders and two Ordinators, and all with their throats slit. Three of the victims were found in the Foreign Quarter, one near the Arena and one in the Hlaalu Compound. None of the outlanders had been on Vvardenfell for more than a week.

“Our Ordinators were found near the body in the Hlaalu Compound, and we think they interrupted the killer at work. Despite the fact that they were armed and on duty, their weapons were still in their sheaths when their bodies were found, which is unsettling. We’re likely looking at someone incredibly stealthy, or adept at illusion magic.”

It was times like this that Fahjoth dearly wished he could read and write. At least then he would have been able to make notes.

“Finally... there is the matter of witnesses. We’ve had no official witnesses come forward, but one outlander reported being threatened by a Dunmer woman with a dagger in the Hlaalu Compound, around the time of the other murders. He couldn’t give us a very clear description as he teleported himself away to safety, but he told us she was wearing a skirt and netch leather armour.”

Fahjoth nodded, frowning as he tried to absorb all of this information, all the while his heartbeat had quickened uncomfortably with apprehension. Without further ado, he stood and excused himself from the office, heading back outside and into the late night’s chilly grip.

Hearing about the victims, as well as Huleeya’s dire warning, had strengthened Fahjoth’s resolve. Someone was lurking in the shadows of Vivec City, slaughtering innocent people seemingly purely because of their foreign origins. People just like him.

His years spent away from Morrowind had left him as good as an outlander in the eyes of the native Dunmer, and if someone considered that fact alone a trait punishable by death, then they couldn’t be allowed to continue to walk free. Someone needed to deal with them, and if the city’s Ordinators couldn’t — or wouldn’t — then perhaps it would be up to him.��

Although... it would probably be a good idea to find Ribyna first, Fahjoth figured as he set off towards the city’s northernmost cantons, before he went blundering headfirst to his potential death. Again.

The path ahead was dark and unsettling, and Fahjoth found himself throwing anxious glances over his shoulder every few minutes, flinching at the slightest unexpected sound and eyeing every shadow with mistrust lest he be ambushed by a dagger-wielding, skirt-donning Dunmer intent on ending his life. It was with relief that he made it to the first of his destinations and, incidentally, the last place he had seen Ribyna heading towards — the Arena.

——————————————

Unfortunately for Fahjoth, Ribyna was nowhere to be seen, so he lingered around the Arena for long enough to do some investigating, inquiring with a few inhabitants and Ordinators but turning up no new leads. Eventually he was forced to resign himself to the fact that he would be a lone worker in this case — a thought that inspired a well of dread in his gut — and moved on.

The same was to be said with the Hlaalu Compound, where Fahjoth had checked in the hope that someone would have seen something about the attempted attack, but he had no luck there either. He then moved on to the Foreign Quarter where, to his surprise, an Orc was happy to assist.

“I recall someone — maybe one of the sewer cleaners — saying something about seeing a Dunmer woman down in the Underworks. Wouldn’t be that odd, but... in the Underworks? That’s odd. Nothing down there but rats and sewers.”

Which led Fahjoth to his next point of investigation — the Underworks.

——————————————

The moment he stepped foot in the Underworks, the smell hit him like a brick to the face. Almost choking on the pungent stench of sewage water, Fahjoth lingered for just long enough to feel just a little more regret before he set off, trying to forget the misgivings he felt. He yanked his scarf up to cover his nose and mouth and navigated the Underworks as carefully as he could, every footstep deliberately placed to be as quiet as possible. He was well aware that the killer could be lurking around any corner, and the deeper he tread into the sewers the more he felt his legs begin to tremble.

It was almost silent down here, the only sounds being that of the murky water sloshing against the smooth stone sewer walls and the occasional drip of moisture from the damp-ridden ceiling. Every so often he would hear a rat scuttling around in the darkness and his heart would jolt, requiring him to take a moment to stop and let his adrenaline levels fall after an unpleasant spike that set his pulse racing.

As he progressed, however, more unpleasant thoughts began to surface in his mind. One possibility kept presenting itself to him, and as hard as he tried to reject it, he found that he couldn’t wholeheartedly dismiss it.

“What are you doing, anyway?”

“Just... stuff.”

He remembered that strange look on Ribyna’s face when he mentioned going to Vivec City. He could tell easily when his twin was apprehensive, and as brief as it was, it had been only too clear to see on her face back in Balmora. Was she nervous about returning to the scene of the crime?

But that was ridiculous! His twin wasn’t a murderer!

What reason would she have to kill outlanders, anyway? The more Fahjoth thought about it, the more illogical it seemed. Least of all because he had never even seen Ribyna wear a skirt for as long as he could remember. So why couldn’t he simply disregard it? The fact that he even had doubts in the first place said enough, and he was even more nervous as he crept through the tunnels, dreading the possibility of seeing his twin around the next bend.

So wrapped up was he in his own thoughts that as Fahjoth rounded a corner and exited a smaller tunnel into a larger section of the sewers, he didn’t even notice the figure standing at the end of the tunnel until he was looking straight at them. With a choked gasp, he flung himself back around the corner from which he had just emerged and pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach tied up in knots. After pausing to listen for any sign of the stranger’s approach, he deemed it safe enough to peer around the wall again and get a better look at the figure ahead.

Even in the low light, he could tell that it was a Dunmer, and they were indeed wearing a skirt with what seemed to be a leather cuirass. This particular corner of the sewer almost looked like a base, with a scruffy bedroll laying on the ground near evidence of where a makeshift fireplace had been lit in the form of a charred mound of wood scraps. A pile of dilapidated crates and debris were strewn haphazardly around the alcove, in some cases holding — or failing to hold — contents like food and bottles of alcohol. Evidently, this was someone who had stocked up for some time.

Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed Fahjoth yet. She sat atop one of the crates, perusing some sort of book or journal and occasionally making notes. A dagger — stained an ominous rusty hue — sat by her side, and Fahjoth’s suspicions were all but confirmed.

How was he going to do this?

He could call it a day, back out quietly the way he came and return to the Office of the Watch with what he knew of the killer’s whereabouts. But even then, would anything get done? Would the Ordinators get here in time before the killer made another move, and claimed another victim?

Perhaps if he could sneak up behind her, he could get the advantage. He knew better than anyone that he was no master of stealth, but she looked fairly preoccupied. Perhaps if he was quiet and quick, then—

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did he become aware of a weight suddenly pulling vigorously on his foot. As he looked down, he silently squirmed and grimaced at the sight of a large rat digging its teeth into the chitin, shaking its head as if determined to pull his boot clean off. It made no noise other than a soft, squeaky growl, but the splashing of the water beneath its paws was unsettlingly loud and echoed due to the circular tunnel’s acoustics. If this kept up, it was only a matter of time before the killer would notice him.

“Get off!” Fahjoth hissed, frantically shaking his foot. “Get off! Get off, you little c—!”

Unfortunately, the rat refused to budge. It was dragged along in the wake of Fahjoth’s mild kicks, which gradually grew more and more vigorous as he fought to free his foot of the rat’s vice-like grip. Leaning on the wall for balance, he raised his foot up off the ground, now aggressively kicking at the air when all prior attempts at gently shaking the rat off failed. The situation would have been comical had Fahjoth not been so painfully conscious of the murderer sitting barely 20 yards away from where he stood.

At last, after what felt like hours, the rat let go. However, the momentum given to it by Fahjoth’s kicking motion caused it to gracefully soar away as it was flung off his foot and land with a tremendous splash in the deep sewer water in front of him.

Instantly, Fahjoth froze. He pressed himself back against the wall, his breathing fast and laboured as he strained his ears for any sign of movement. Apart from the splashing of the rat as it swam away, apparently done with terrorising Fahjoth for the time being, all was silent. Then, as he dared to peek around the corner to evaluate the situation, a pair of red eyes stared into his own as he made direct eye contact with the Dunmer.

Her reaction was instant. She leapt up from her seat, dagger in hand, and stormed the length of the tunnel towards him, already screaming abuse and profanities in his direction. Kicking hard off the ground, Fahjoth threw himself into motion, and with the Dunmer hurtling closer his options for where to go were limited. A brown and grey blur in his peripheral as he passed indicated that the Dunmer was giving chase, but with the advantage of having longer legs, Fahjoth half-sprinted and half-leapt over a nearby bridge spanning the sewer water before pelting down to the tunnel’s end. Whirling around once he came to a stop, the Dunmer was mere seconds behind him, so Fahjoth drew his sword and stood fast.

Wielding a dagger which seemed to emanate a sickly red glow, his opponent lunged, landing a glancing blow against Fahjoth’s armour as he leapt back. But she was much faster than he had anticipated. He stumbled back and threw himself from side to side to avoid the Dunmer’s aggressive strategy of repeated jabs and slashes, breaking into a sweat and feeling his flanks ache with every shallow pant. One thrust of the dagger slid between the gap in the chitin protecting his arm, slicing through the sleeve and nicking the skin beneath.

With a gasp, Fahjoth flung himself backwards. There was a dull thud as his heel collided with something on the ground and his balance was completely thrown off.

His stomach lurched as he began a sharp descent, hitting the ground with a painful bump. The scraping and groans of the crates he fell against rang in his ears as the Dunmer was suddenly filling his vision, dagger poised ready to plunge into his throat.

With his sword arm raised in a vague attempt to defend himself, Fahjoth reached to the side, grasping at nothingness in a frantic search for something, anything, that could—

The cold sliminess of damp wood brushed against his fingertips. He fastened his grip, braced himself and flung the broken chunk at his assailant with as much force as he could muster.

The jagged lump of wood, a deadly weapon in its own right in the right circumstances, struck the Dunmer square in the face. She staggered back with a howl of pain, clutching her eye while blood seeped from a fresh injury above her brow. With adrenaline coursing through him, Fahjoth sprung to his feet, clutching the hilt of his sword with fingers now damp from his own blood.

The Dunmer lifted her gaze to Fahjoth again, her uninjured eye blazing with a chilling hatred, but before she could make another move Fahjoth had sprung. He rushed forward and thrust his sword into the Dunmer’s midriff, the tip of the blade piercing the thin, aged leather of her armour with surprising ease. Then he continued pushing forward, until his sword had been buried up to its hilt into her stomach and protruded out from her navel.

The Dunmer froze, paralysed by the deadly blow, and Fahjoth relinquished his weapon and backed off, unable to do anything else but stare as she staggered to the side and fell. A sharp clang announced her collision to the ground as the sword’s blade hit the ground first, but once her momentum stopped and she lay still, total silence fell upon them.

Silence, apart from the sound of Fahjoth’s ragged breathing.

As he stared down at the lifeless Dunmer on the ground before him, Fahjoth only became conscious of how badly his legs were shaking when he tried to take a step forward and his knees almost buckled beneath his weight. Only one thought circled in his mind, over and over, as he silently watched the blood starting to ooze out from beneath her body.

He had done this.

Someone was dead because of him.

The more logical part of his brain insisted that if he hadn’t, it would have been him lying there in a pool of his own blood instead. But that didn’t make him feel much better about the fact that he had just taken someone’s life.

There was a part of him that didn’t even want to approach the body to retrieve his shortsword, but at the end of the day, he had paid good money for that. And it wasn’t as if he had a backup. So with a trembling hand he grasped the hilt, slowly prising the sword out of the Dunmer’s body and wincing at the sickening sound of the blade gliding against flesh, squelching and wet. He cleaned the metal as best he could using linen from the makeshift bed, then sheathed his weapon and reluctantly searched the camp for evidence to present to Elam Andas.

He didn’t find much of any substance. The journal the Dunmer had been reading was, of course, impossible for him to read. Quite apart from not finding any sense in the words, it was damp and smudged terribly to the point where it was barely legible. Still, perhaps the Office of the Watch would have better luck; he took it, along with an old rusty key and the Dunmer’s dagger, which left him feeling oddly nauseous and drained after his fingertips came into direct contact with it.

The damp stickiness of blood on his arm and staining his sleeve was impossible to ignore, as was the injury beneath it, so Fahjoth took a moment to attempt to heal it on his own. With the spell he had acquired from the Mages Guild in mind, Fahjoth closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in concentration; he racked every corner of his brain, searching for any spark that could ignite the spell that he could feel hesitating at his fingertips. But in his already worn-out state, the attempts only ended up draining yet more of his energy and left him with a considerable headache. In the end he conceded and admitted defeat, recognising a lost cause when he saw one.

Then Fahjoth embarked on the long walk back to the Hall of Justice, craving fresh air and a warm bed above all else. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet that he had successfully taken on a serial killer and lived to tell the tale, but there was an odd light-heartedness in his chest as he traipsed back along the paths through Vivec City’s shadowy cantons, feeling somehow more confident than before.

——————————————

Fahjoth’s triumphant — albeit exhausted and bloodied — return to the Office of the Watch was met with disbelief at first, followed by amazement once he broke the news that the killer had been dealt with. Elam Andas was thrilled and accepted the dagger and journal as evidence without question, perhaps a sign of how desperate he was to believe that this Dunmer was no longer a threat. After expressing his gratitude he sent Fahjoth on his way, with a promise that Ordinators would be sent to clean up the mess and the reward of an enchanted belt to protect him on his travels, which Fahjoth accepted eagerly. Although he was pleased with the response to his daring deed, he was now more than ever looking forward to collapsing into bed after a very, very long day.

With thoughts of only soft pillows and warm sheets on his mind as he entered the familiarity of the Foreign Quarter, it wasn’t until he came face-to-face with someone approaching the hallway to the cornerclub from the opposite way that he realised he had forgotten something — or rather, someone.

“Ribyna!” Fahjoth exclaimed, recognising his sibling even from a distance. But something was wrong. There was no wave or call of greeting from Ribyna, who walked silently over to him with a pronounced limp in her step.

“Ribyna?”

In the light of the torch that hung from the nearby wall, Fahjoth could see that Ribyna was in a dreadful state. Her armour was scuffed and damaged in places and her hair was a mess, but most worryingly was the copious amount of bloodstains that spattered and smeared her almost from head to foot.

“Ribyna!” Fahjoth gasped, rushing over to meet her and instantly beginning to fuss. “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Ribyna grunted, making a half-hearted attempt to push Fahjoth away.

“You’re covered in blood!”

“It’s fine. It’s not my blood.” Ribyna paused to wince, doubling over slightly and gritting her teeth. “Most of it...”

Before Fahjoth could question her further, they were interrupted by the rapid approach of an Ordinator, his sword drawn and raised at Ribyna threateningly.

“Halt!” he barked. “Murderous scum! You violated the law, outlander. Surrender and come with me immediately.”

Fahjoth's mouth fell open with horror. Murderous? Surely there had to be some kind of mistake...

However, Ribyna's silence was not encouraging. Instead of protesting her innocence, she reached into a pocket and tugged out a somewhat bloodstained roll of parchment, which she passed over to the guard without a word. To Fahjoth's astonishment, once he had finished reading it, he nodded and tucked the note away in his own armour.

“All of your papers seem to be in order,” he said, dipping his head to Ribyna. “You are free to go.”

And then he walked away, leaving Fahjoth utterly bemused as he stared at his still very quiet twin.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell just happened?” he questioned, and Ribyna huffed.

"In a sec. Let's get inside first," she muttered, slipping away into the cornerclub without waiting for a response. Fahjoth, left with little choice, followed her in and then led the way to their room. The moment he opened the door, Ribyna pushed past him and dropped down onto the bed with a groan — much to Fahjoth's displeasure, as he had been hoping to do this exact thing first.

“Well?” he prompted, lowering himself into a nearby chair and slouching back, relishing the chance to take the weight off his sore feet for a while. “What was that guard on about, calling you ‘murderous scum’?”

It was a moment or two before Ribyna dragged herself upright again and turned her gaze to Fahjoth.

“I joined the Morag Tong.”

Fahjoth, who had been in the process of removing his boots, froze motionless as he felt his blood run cold. “You what?!” he hissed, once he found his voice again. “You’ve— what?!”

“Yeah.” Ribyna’s tone was level as she stared back at Fahjoth, looking more tired than defensive. “Don’t start, alright? I’m knackered.”

“Don’t st—?!” Fahjoth bolted upright, keeping his voice hushed as best he could but fighting to quash the outrage that burned in his chest. “You’ve gone and joined a murder cult and you’re telling me to not start?!”

“It’s not a murder cult!” Ribyna protested. “It’s perfectly legal!”

“Just because it’s legal, doesn’t mean it’s not a—” Fahjoth stopped mid-rant, rubbing his eyes with exasperation. “Just... Ugh, what have you gone and done that for? Can’t you just do something... normal?! Like... I dunno, go join the Fighters Guild if you really wanna stab things!”

“No.” She slouched down, looking suddenly more tired than ever. “Look, maybe I’m fed up of being treated like the shit on everyone’s shoes, alright? Maybe I just... wanted a bit of respect for once.”

Fahjoth faltered, experiencing a flicker of sympathy for his twin. He knew that feeling all too well. “Beebs, you don’t need to become a murderer to be respected.”

“I was already a murderer,” Ribyna pointed out bluntly. Fahjoth felt a twist in his gut, memories from that horrendous day threatening to resurface in his mind. “At least this way I can get paid for it.”

Fahjoth paused, struggling to find an argument and fighting to put into words exactly how he felt about Ribyna’s new career choice. Eventually, he heaved a sigh. “But... it can’t be safe. Look, you’re injured! I’m... I’m worried about you, Ribyna.”

“Well, don’t be. Turns out I’m half-decent at killing people.” Naturally, Ribyna’s answer didn’t reassure Fahjoth in the slightest, but she ploughed on anyway with a change of subject. “Anyway, what about you? What have you been up to?” Now that she was evaluating Fahjoth properly, her eyes soon fell on the bloodstains that still blemished his clothes and armour. “Is that blood?!”

“Yeah... and this time, it is mine. Honestly, you won’t believe the day I’ve had, Beebs,” Fahjoth said, before he began to regale the whole story; meeting Huleeya, learning about the outlander killings, going to the Office of the Watch, venturing into the Underworks...

By the time he had finished, Ribyna was staring at him with an incredulous look on her face.

“Hang on,” she started, “you killed someone and you’re having a go at me for joining the Morag Tong? Hypocrite, much!”

“I— but— what?!” Fahjoth spluttered, affronted. “Th-that’s different! I’m not an assassin, I was stopping a serial killer—”

But he promptly shut his mouth once he noticed the wry grin curling at the corners of Ribyna’s lips.

“I’m only messing,” she chortled, her smirk quickly becoming a proud smile. “Holy shit, that’s amazing, Fahji. Shame they didn’t pay you for it, mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Fahjoth replied honestly, calming down again. “I’m just glad she can’t hurt anyone else.” He paused, feeling heat rising in his face as he prepared himself to confess to something. “Honestly for a little while, I was worried that the killer was gonna be you.”

Ribyna promptly cocked a brow. “You fucking donkey, why would I go around killing outlanders? I am an outlander!”

“I was just freaking out!” Fahjoth protested. “I was tired, and nervous, and you’d been acting proper shifty, and— well, I obviously wasn’t that far off, was I? Might not’ve been outlanders, but you were planning on killing people after all!”

Ribyna rolled her eyes, busying herself with removing her own armour. “Yeah yeah, alright, you’ve already said your piece. Come on, let’s get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’m absolutely wrecked.”

Though he still had plenty more to say on the matter, Fahjoth agreed, for both their sakes. He was looking forward to crashing just as much as Ribyna was, and once they had finished helping each other tend to their injuries and settled down for the night, Fahjoth was asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillows.

—————————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #TES III: Morrowind

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cinnbar-bun · 5 years ago

Text

Undead Chaos (Vampire!Beelzebub x Reader)

Vampire! Au

Summary: Beelzebub had escaped from Pandemonium, but found that he can’t properly sustain himself as he once could in the dark hellhole. Needing a new way to continue existing with his new powers, he decides to test some theories. How unfortunate you were one of the pests he decided to choose.

Warning: Contains possible spoilers, as well as lots of things based off on theories since cygames never really talked about Bubs did. Possible triggering content such as kidnapping and stalking. Please take caution before reading. Slightly spicy stuff happens. Reader is also GN

Note: this is a short one tbh. It’s not much. It’s not that romantic. It’s just you for you bubs fans who get off to being called worthless humans. I respect your dedication.

He licked his lips as he peered out of the dark alleyway. His red eyes flickered from person to person. Unlike a certain fallen angel, he knew to stay hidden. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t at full strength yet. He had much to do before he could fully showcase himself as king to these worthless insects.

A young woman. Cute, he supposed. However, he stopped when he saw she embraced a young man and laughed with him. They were together, he assumed. She was not an optimal victim.

A large man. He was bulky and ripped, and Beelzebub wondered just how much blood was in his body. If he could just-

He spat. He was losing control. He needed relief soon. The man was carrying a young kid on his shoulders and Beelzebub felt himself growing more faint and impatient.

There had to be someone.

Someone alone.

Someone who others wouldn’t notice would be missing. He bit his nail and watched as a person he hadn’t seen before in his stay on this island. They did not talk to anyone. They did not do anything but walk quietly, a bouquet of flowers in their hands.

No one said anything to this person. Their eyes were sullen and they looked as if they had not slept in days. It wasn’t the most ripe of meals, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He smirked and slunk back into the alley, following them in the deeper parts of the island until they made their way to a graveyard.

Ah... so they are grieving a lost relative.

He refrained from laughing at how pathetic they were. How unlucky they were to look so helpless in front of him at such a time.

Truly, they were the most cursed being here to be seen like this when he was starving.

He scoured the entrance to the graveyard. No one else seemed to be there, minus his next victim. They walked far into it, so he followed behind closely, careful to not make a sound and reveal his presence.

At last, they stopped in front of two graves, placing the flowers in the middle of them.

He was too far away to read the names on the graves, and he wondered about their relationship to his meal.

“Father, mother...I am here.” They quietly spoke, their voice rasping, as if it hadn’t been used in a while.

Their parents. He mused. He inched closer.

“I...I uh...I brought your favorite flowers. I know you two liked when I grew them.”

Pointless. They die anyways. Humans waste time on the dumbest tasks.

“Ah...how long has it been since you two have been gone? I kinda lost track of time.”

He could smell them now.

Closer, closer, closer.

“I forget to take care of myself. I can hardly eat or sleep.”

Closer, closer, closer.

“I...I wish I was taken too...I can’t handle this loneliness...”

Closer, closer, closer.

“I hate existing! It’s unfair! I hate this!” They cried. He couldn’t control his ragged breaths. The crying, the screaming, the hunger. It all blended in his mind until he leaned over and extended his claws towards them.

I’ll eat you alive, pathetic human.

With a simple swipe he had covered the mouth of his victim and watched as they struggled helplessly in his arms.

“Sh. You said you wanted to cease existing. Allow me to grant you your wish.” He smirked as they looked at him with fearful eyes. It only spurred him on further. They were shaking, frozen as he revealed his fangs at them. “I like when my meals are afraid. I think you’ll taste good enough.”

Their face paled before they passed out in his arms.

“Tch.” He sneered. “Pathetic.”

He leaned down and examined their neck, feeling the hunger in him rise to its peak as he barred his fangs to finally get the chance for a meal. As his fangs grazed the surface of their skin, he smelled another presence nearby.

“Hey! What are you doing?” A man yelled. Beelzebub glared and quickly huddled the person under his cape, before he dramatically swiped it and used his magic to teleport.

It would drain a lot, but since he had a guaranteed meal, it wasn’t so bad. He couldn’t risk causing much of a scene yet with the village. He needed to lay low.

The figure in his arms was still passed out, sleeping peacefully as he eyed their face. They were tired, and if what they said was true, they hadn’t done much to care for themselves.

As much as he hated doing so, he was going to have to freshen his meal up.

You awoke in a dark and musty room, one that smelled of mold and rotting wood. You coughed at the dust surrounding you as you attempted to look at where you were.

This wasn’t home. In fact, what happened before you-

Before you could think about your day, you stared back into glowing red eyes. Those eyes... those were the last things you remember seeing before you passed out.

Your heart raced as you backed up to the furthest corner of the bed.

“S-stand back! Stay back! Don’t touch me!” You yelled.

He let out a sound of disgust and stepped closer.

“Don’t be full of yourself. I’m not here to touch a worthless roach like you right now.” He snapped. “Know your place, mortal.”

“M-mortal? What do you mean?”

“Do you not have a brain? It means you are beneath me.” He replied sharply. He tossed an apple at you. “Go. Eat.”

“W-what, I-“

“I said eat.” You nervously took a bite of the apple and he watched you with an intense frown.

You awkwardly chewed the fruit and tried to eat it as fast as you could for fear of how he’d react. He tapped his foot impatiently and watched you, and you felt yourself shaking under his gaze.

You finished the apple and within an instant he slammed a glass of water in front of you.

“Drink. I need you to be hydrated.” Due to the anxiety and nervousness, you chugged the class of water. Despite the situation you were in, you exhaled in relief as your body felt rejuvenated.

“Thank you.” You quietly said.

“Should you really be thanking me?” He sneered. “I’m not doing this out of kindness.”

You knew that. And yet, despite all that, you couldn’t care.

“So, are you gonna kill me now?” You said.

“So ready to die? Do you accept your fate so easily.”

“It’s just like you said earlier. I can’t fight you. I can’t possibly escape from you.”

“You’re not gonna even struggle?” He chuckled. “Giving is so easily?”

“I guess.” You sighed.

“Enough chatter. I’ve wasted enough time.” He said.

“What are you-“

You couldn’t speak before he quickly pinned you down with one hand, and the reality of it all rushed over you. He bared his fangs at you, the sharp canines glistening and his mouth practically drooling.

You knew what you said before.

But why did you suddenly care now?

You bit your lip and whimpered pathetically as he grinned maniacally at your now panicked expression.

“Do you now understand the situation you’re in? Do you truly get what I’m about to do to you?” He cackled.

“W-Wait-“

“I’ve waited long enough.”

“But! Wait! Why me?” You yelled. At the very least, if you were to die here and now, you would at least know why you were the one chosen.

“‘Why me’, you ask? Why you? Easy. Because you’re nobody.” His words cut deep into you like a knife. “You’re a nobody. You have no one. You’re pathetic, you’re all alone and no one cares for your existence.”

“But I know someone will! Someone will-“

“Who’s going to come for you? You were practically catatonic before I decided to take you. Do you think a waste of life like that is useful? Do you think you’re special? Do you think you offered me something of value besides being my next meal? Don’t think too highly of yourself, fool. You are nothing more than a blood bag. You are nothing to me.” He stated.

You could only stare back at him. What was there to say? He was right. You weren’t special. Moments ago you had professed you didn’t care about your own life. You closed your eyes and leaned your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck.

“Oh? What’s this? Have you already lost your will to live?”

“No. I’m afraid. I’m... really afraid. So I... I wanna offer you a deal.”

“A deal? Do you really think now you should be bargaining?”

“I got nothing else to lose.”

“Hmph, go on.” He raised an eyebrow. “You have a few moments.”

“How many other people have you done this to?”

“You’re supposed to make a deal, not ask a question.”

“I want to know.”

“Fine. I can entertain your dumb thoughts for a bit. I have done this to about... seven other people.”

“And what happened to them all?”

“I drained them of life. They’re all dead, probably feeding the termites below.”

“Then allow me to remain as your sole blood donor.”

“And why should I agree to that? What makes you so special that I should keep you alive?”

“People are going to get suspicious after a while. You killed seven people already. And I’ll be a constant meal for you, so you have me whenever you wish. It should be simple for you to get.” You don’t know where that last sentence came from, but you were determined to not roll over and die.

“Hmph. And you’re willing to remain here on the offhand chance I don’t drain you?” He asked.

“Yes. And I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t wanna die by your hands like this so... I’ll do what it takes to live.” You stated. The newfound acceptance for life made you want to clench to that feeling forever. “So, do you accept my deal? You don’t kill me, and I’ll stay here for you to feed on.”

He hated the fact you were right. It was an obvious choice, really. He couldn’t continue snatching more people up. Having a constant supply versus hunting at the last minute would perhaps heal him faster. He pursed his lips.

“Fine. But don’t think I’ll go gentle on you.” He leaned down and you felt him press his fangs into the flesh of your neck. The teeth broke your skin, and you covered your mouth with your hands to refrain from crying in pain.

He hissed as he tasted the blood from the wound he punctured on you. It’s been so long. And he was so damn hungry.

He placed his lips around the mark and sucked the blood inside. You bit your lip at the odd sensation. The pain had melted away and was quickly replaced with a euphoric pleasure, one that you were incapable of describing.

You’ve never felt this relieved, scared, enthusiastic, and excited as you did now. All your emotions swirled in you as he continued to lap at your blood with his tongue. You couldn’t think straight, merely acknowledging the feeling of him on top of you and the desire for more.

More of what? You couldn’t tell. Only that you wanted more of this euphoria, this pleasure, and this feeling that was so much more special than anything you had ever experienced in your entire life.

You dug your nails into his shoulder blades, and he didn’t seem to feel it as he continued drinking from you.

“Please-“ you struggled out. Your breath was uneven as you threw your head back, giving him more space for him to access.

“Shh... you make too much noise...” he mumbled before he continued.

It was quiet, all except for your ragged breaths and the sound of his mouth on your neck. You felt the high of this new feeling before he pulled back and left you struggling to catch your breath on the mattress. You almost missed when he was sucking your blood, funnily enough.

Beelzebub seemed to have a hard containing himself too, given his heavy breathing as he wiped his mouth of whatever excess blood there was.

“Is that... what it’s supposed to feel like?” You stammered.

“Apparently so. My victims had all responded positively to the bite. I guess it has a sort of euphoric reaction to you humans. I should test that more with you soon.”

You nodded yet flustered at how embarrassing that was. This man kidnapped you yet you were lying helplessly asking, begging, craving more.

Foolish. This was absolutely foolish.

You placed a hand where he bit you and winced at the slight burn you felt. It would probably take a while to heal.

“Now, mortal-“

“I have a name.” You cut him off. He glared.

“Don’t get cocky with me. You’re lucky I spared your life.”

“I’m just saying, since we’re gonna do this for a while, the least you could do is call me by my name.”

“Insolent... then what is your name?”

“It’s (Y/n). And what is yours?”

“Beelzebub. Beelzebub of the Astral High Council.” He stated.

“Huh? An astral? I thought you guys were gone...” your eyes widened in shock.

“Did you really think you pathetic humans could rid of us so easily? How amusing.”

He stood up and walked over to the door, his massive back facing you as he paused when he gripped the handle.

“Night is upon us. Rest now. I will have you in the morning before I sleep. You are not allowed to leave unless you have my express permission. And if you dare reveal the truth about me or our deal, I will kill you and everyone else on this pathetic island. Don’t test me. I don’t have the patience to deal with a good-for-nothing pest.” He threatened. He opened the door and slammed it behind him as he walked away.

You processed his words and were reminded that once again, you were not in your old home. This was your new home, one where you would be under his command. You feared the future, yet strangely were looking forward to a visit from him. Perhaps your once dreadful life could have some use and purpose again.

The thought relaxed you as you closed your eyes and huddled closer to yourself in the bed. Whatever you were getting into, it wasn’t going to be easy.

#gbf #gbf imagines #gbf imagines x reader #granblue fantasy imagines #granblue fantasy x reader #granblue fantasy #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub #vampire au #slighty spicy #kinda spicy

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canchewread · 4 years ago

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Editor's note: this journal is original content (written by myself, of course) and has not appeared elsewhere online before today. I should also note that because this is both an opinion piece and an informal journal, my level of commitment to providing citations for the disingenuous wasn't particularly high; if you're looking for formally documented evidence that we're currently in the middle of a fascist takeover, I encourage you to check out my academic writing about the subject on ninaillingworth.com instead.

Journal 09/09/2020: Looking the Beast in the Eye

When I originally sat down to pen this journal, my intention was to call it something along the lines of “advice to a young leftist” which is probably in no small part, the reason why it's taken me three days to write this piece. This is because unfortunately I do not have very much good advice for a young leftist today in two-thousand and twenty, or at least much advice that isn't going to sound rather a lot like “quit before what you believe destroys your entire life.”

As I've written (extensively) elsewhere, we're in the middle of a fascist takeover that is more or less succeeding across the entire Pig Empire, and what passes for the liberal (read: capitalist) establishment in our respective nations seem quite content to try and appease the beast by feeding them the entire left and any marginalized group “uppity” enough to demand justice, equality or representation. There is not a lot of upside to being an open leftist right now and understanding what I know about both the history of fascism and the history of reactionary crackdowns in America, it's awful hard for me in good conscience to advise any young person to willingly subject themselves to the tender mercies of an uncaring state and its fascist cutout vigilante groups.

Let's talk a little bit about what that history, including very recent history, can tell us and why what it tells us isn't very good for the American left. Here in particular, we as both a class in American society and a people that believe in a more equal, compassionate and humane way of life, stand at the intersection of state power, class oppression and the homicidal revenge fantasies of a fascist political order that has seized power throughout much of the United States. The fact that this is not understood by our milquetoast Dem Soc allies and the bougie “progressive left” is completely irrelevant; as any Ferguson activist (who is still breathing) can tell you COINTELPRO never ended, performative liberal anti-racism stops well short of opposing police repression, and genteel society will respond to violent reprisals against activists by the reactionary right with either dead silence or some mild clucks of disapproval at best.

Are the liberals aware that when the increasingly fascist American right says “the left” they mean liberals and suburbanite Democrats too? On some level I'm sure they are, but clearly the threat of increased taxation and social programs for the poor terrifies them far more than the possibility fascism will progress to the point that they're next in front of the firing squad – I've been told the liberals of Weimar Germany felt much the same way during Hitler's rise; which merely demonstrates that the liberal capacity for coddling fascism if it's profitable knows few limits. Furthermore the nauseating truth is that many of your misguided and misinformed liberal allies in the working class simply don't understand that the fascist right always seeks to eliminate the militant left first simply because those are the people who're going to fight back when you start loading Muslims, Latinos and lanyard Democrats onto cattle cars.

This historical process of fascism of course intertwines with the American establishment's history of ruthlessly repressing, criminalizing and even murdering the left. As I detailed extensively in a prior essay called “The Inversion Perversion” the state's war against Americans who want a more equal society (in any number of ways) predates the rise of Nazi Germany, the American Civil War and as those who've studied colonial America might argue, even the foundation of the country. Between the mass deportations of anarchists, suppression of left wing literature through the mail, two Red Scares, anticommunism, Hoover's COINTELPRO war against the civil rights movement, the black power movement and the American student left, or all the way up to the Obama Department of Justice's ruthless oppression of the Occupy, Ferguson and North Dakota Pipeline protests, I could easily spend this entire essay demonstrating that when it comes to persecuting, destroying and yes even murdering the left, there is a long and storied history of bipartisan consensus in America – I see no reason or evidence to suggest that has changed much in our modern times.

In other words history, even recent American history, says that this story ends in a jail cell or a shallow grave for some of the folks reading this journal right now and I don't know how to sugarcoat that for anyone, let alone a young person with their whole life (such as it is) ahead of them. The plain, god-awful truth is that the American right wants you dead, and the center-right American liberal establishment simply doesn't care, just as it has never cared, because they also want the left destroyed and fear sharing their ill-gotten wealth more than they fear fascism. Furthermore, this same elite “liberal” establishment is actively engaged in splitting the component parts of the current American uprising up into acceptable and non-acceptable targets; that's why Joe Biden keeps yammering about police funding, anarchists and “looters.” Democrats in particular are doing this even as fascist militia vigilantes are starting to execute antifascists and protesters in the street, might I add.

Did I mention that it's a really bad time to be an open leftist, or even just someone who passionately feels cracker murderpigs shouldn't get away with murder because some fascist gave them a badge? And yet of course therein also lies the rub; just as there is danger in resisting the imposition of a fascist order there is also danger in refusing to resist.

Turning once again to history, we know that the fascist creep isn't going to stop itself until well after it has killed millions of people and destroyed everything about our lives that contains any meaning whatsoever. The reactionary backlash will not stop with silencing, arresting and/or killing teenage anarchists, African Americans protesting against racialized police violence or Portland soccer moms who've had enough fascism for a lifetime. The fascist mindset and method of societal control dictates that there must always been more enemies both within and outside of the state who represent both an abomination that should be destroyed and a threat to everything good and pure in the national character. Right now, the waking dragon of American fascism has cast a laser-like focus on those brave few Americans who are willing to physically resist the transformation of the country from a corrupt Oligarchy to an overt fascist police-state with rigged elections. Once that enemy is crushed and defeated, the beast will turn its eye to others – unions, teachers, and yes even Democratic Party politicians who've always been friendly to the fascist capitalist billionaires running much of the reactionary American right today.

Whether you choose to fight, hide or run, it has become crystal-clear clear to me that we are all headed towards dark days in the very near future and the only variable left to be determined is which segments of the audience reading this will be thrown onto the pyre first. What we know today as “Western Society” is blindly crashing through the kinds of barriers people who desire peace, comfort and security simply don't breech without expecting violence, bloodshed and a whole lot of rain.

Perhaps in light of all this my advice to the young leftist should be to harden oneself for the torrential downpour of violence, repression and yes death that lies ahead, regardless of whether or not you choose to resist the fascist creep. Perhaps the best thing I can offer a young person staring directly into the eye of this beast is the assurance that it is not their fault, that nobody in history has ever asked to be born into the war against fascism and that ultimately the fascists cannot win because fascism is a death cult that will eventually eat itself and has done so every single time before this one. Perhaps all I really have to share with you is the hope that in the darkness and despair that lies ahead of us you will remember my words and know that no matter how much they repress, terrorize and torture us, fantasy cannot be reality, slavery cannot be freedom and life cannot be death.

And that I think is the handle and the comfort I can offer those of you reading this who’re young enough to have a future beyond the fascist order; I have no optimism to sell you but I can make one promise that may help carry you through the bowels of the hell we are all descending into after all. It might not amount to much yet, but I promise you there will always only be four lights; no matter how many of us they murder to try and “prove” otherwise. Do not give these maggots the satisfaction of seeing your fear; know that at least some of you reading this will eventually dance on their graves and take whatever comfort you are able to, in that inevitability.

Never forget - one way, or another, the future is left.

nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!

You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog

Updates available on Twitter, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.

Inquiries and requests to speak to the manager @ASNinaWrites

Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”

#Fascism #USA #Opinion #Journal #nina illingworth #resisting fascism #antifascism #advice to a young leftist #looking the beast in the eye

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scxrsgxrd · 4 years ago

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Hello! I have osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer, and was wondering if you could write a Bill imagine where he meets y/n at a party and later on finds out she has this cancer (maybe didn’t realize because wearing a wig or whatever) and later on goes to visit her in the hospital when she’s getting her chemo ❤️ it would seriously mean so much to me

Oh honey of course I can!! Thank you so much for sending this :) if you ever need anything or someone to talk to my inbox is always open, sending all the love your way <3

You turned over in bed and watched as he slept, his lips parted slightly and his hair looking fluffy as ever, pointing in multiple different directions. You had been seeing Bill for a few weeks now, but still hadn’t told him about your condition, but you knew that today was the day you had to, as you had your chemotherapy appointment that afternoon.

You thought back to when you had first met the man of your dreams, at a mutual friend’s birthday party. You were reluctant to attend at first, but now you were so grateful that you forced yourself to go to the party, as that was where you first came across your gentle giant. Both of you had been gazing across the room at each other for almost an hour, too nervous to make the first move. Then you remembered how when you were dancing with your friends, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him as he asked you if you’d like to dance with him. From that point on you both danced for the rest of the night, like nobody was watching, but in reality everyone was watching. Bill wasn’t the most graceful of dancers, his ‘dancing’ just consisted of flailing limbs with a huge grin on his face, which only made you fall for him even harder. He had been a true gent that night, he walked you home and expected nothing in return, only your phone number so that you could go for coffee the following morning, which couldn’t have come quick enough.

“Sweetheart?” His voice grumbled beside you as his hand rubbed the small of your back gently, slowly willing you to move closer to him so that he could hold you in a tight embrace.

“Sorry I was just.. thinking.” A content sigh left your lips as you felt the warmth radiating off him, slinging your leg around his torso as you placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

“What about?” He asked, kissing your forehead before running his hand through the wig you had put on when you first woke up.

“When we first met.” You couldn’t supress the giggle that left your lips as you once again thought about his dance moves, and your own expression reflected onto him as he chuckled and shook his head slightly.

“The best night of my entire twenty nine years of existence.” He gushed, and it was at this point you new you had to tell him your secret.

“Listen, Bill. I really need to talk to you about something important.” You sat up and twiddled your thumbs, anxiety beginning to slowly rise in your stomach.

“What is it, baby? You’re not breaking up with me are you?” His expression turned grave as his eyes welled up, and he scooped you up into his arms to kiss all over your face.

“No, don’t be silly.” You giggled, giving him a small peck before settling yourself comfortably on his lap with his arms wrapped around you.

“I’m listening.” He murmured your ear, his long fingers tracing circular patterns on your arms and shoulders.

“I should’ve told you earlier but I just couldn’t find the right time. I have osteosarcoma. It’s a type of bone cancer and I have a chemotherapy appointment this afternoon, I just, I just hope that this doesn’t change anything.” You stammered, looking into his eyes as you were desperate to see his reaction, hoping with every fibre of your being that he wasn’t mad at you for keeping this from him.

“Oh sweetheart, you’ve been dealing with this by yourself for weeks? I’m so sorry I should have taken better care of you.” He pulled you into a tight embrace for a few minutes, not loosening his grip until you pushed back in his arm gently.

“No, you’ve done nothing wrong. I didn’t want it to change anything between us.” You breathed in deeply, willing yourself not to cry as Bill cupped your face in his hands, a large grin spreading on his face as he kissed you.

“Now who’s the silly one huh? Nothing can change the way I feel about you, ever.” He kissed you once more, and for the rest of the morning you stayed snuggled up in bed, where you removed your wig in front of him for the first time while he repeated over and over how beautiful and special you were to him.

Bill had insisted on escorting you to your appointment, as he wanted to offer any kind of support he could. He held your hand while you lay on the hospital bed, his thumb circling your palm gently to calm your nerves as you waited for the nurse.

“You’re gonna do amazing, baby.” He kissed each of your fingers as he constantly reassured you, making sure you were as calm as possible before your treatment.

When the nurse came to your room Bill wrapped his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you were prepped by the nurse, and he gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving, promising he’d wait for you outside.

He kept this promise, he waited in the corridor, pacing up and down until he saw you making your over him. You squealed as he scooped you up into his arms, insisting that he was to carry you out to the car.

“Only the best for my princess.” He beamed as he made his way out of the hospital with you, promising that he was to accompany you to every check up and appointment.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard imagine

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fics-not-tragedies · 4 years ago

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In a Week: Chapter 17 🌲

More hurtful moments right around the corner, but I mixed it with some ridiculous humor, so you don’t die of heartbreak.

Words: 2575; Warnings: none; Summary: They try to part their ways for the rest of the day, but both fail at is miserably.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight; @angelpeachamber; @sgt-morgan; @julessbrown;

Tuesday, 12:05pm

Andrew had kept his promise to himself that he’d enjoy the four seconds of holding her, held his breath for each one, forgot who he was among the bliss of her perfume and then he had to let her go.

Though he instantly longed to touch her again, it was not a new need, rather one he learned to cope with even though it seemed overwhelming at times. As he pulled out of her touch, the air felt softer and lighter somehow.

“I’m just a little bit worried, em… that’s all…” he grumbled, “I don’t want to mess up again.”

“You didn’t mess anything up” she added, turning back to him, walking backwards down the garishly lit corridor as she spoke. He had a hint of worry in his otherwise perfect features, the way he was carrying himself, his deflated chest, creased eyebrows, and she had to soothe that, “You’ve done nothing wrong and we’re okay.”

Andrew lifted his head a little higher than he had before, nodding at her to show he understood and above all was grateful for this second chance. He hadn’t sketched out a fully formed plan in his head yet about what he was going to do with it, but he was thankful nonetheless. Flo still didn’t quite understand why he was blaming himself at all, wanted to carry the burden equally, knew that the drunken boiling over of tension last night was as much her fault as it was his, but he was too stubborn to hear that.

And even though they were feeling more content than before, they were both still repressing the panic of saying goodbye to each other before the week was up. As she looked at him, Flo considered changing her plans, delaying the inevitable, but had always been the kind of woman to rip the band-aid off and deal with the sudden shock, instead of dramatically prolonging any suffering. And she knew, no matter what would happen between them before she left Andrew to simply end everything, that something about him would always stay with her anyway. She would always have a piece of him right next to her like if they’d be buried together in one grave.

She never met anyone like him, nobody as smart and conscientious, endlessly fascinating and she liked to think some of his better qualities had imprinted on her too. The resounding fact that shocked her was that Andrew had never forced her into anything, instead peeled back the surface layer of who she was just with his charisma and charm and then gave her a firm nudge in the right direction towards the Flo she had locked away for so long.

Even though he was already forming a small for the rest of the upcoming week, it was clear that they needed to take a break from each other, even though it was only until the next morning. So quite naturally, they both decided to part their ways for the rest of the day, but since the world’s so small and the hotel was even smaller, they met again in a hot tub in the small pool area of the hotel.

Tuesday, 5pm

There were plenty of moments in his life that Andrew could recall having made him feel truly flustered because beneath the surface, it really didn’t take much to fluster him. Talking to his musical heroes at fancy parties. Interviews that were awkward and poorly executed. Watching his friends perform their new music. Difficult first dates.

But now here he was, watching Flo Hayes, climb into a hot tub, rosy cheeked and trying her very best not to flash more of her skin than was already on show and Andrew Hozier Byrne was very, very flustered.

Her body disappeared under the water for the most part, her breasts sinking just below the surface, but he could still see the top of them, her obvious cleavage, her collarbone which he ached to press his lips against. Her skin was shiny and fresh looking, the makeup that remained barely visible and he studied her face for a while, trying to learn it so that when it wasn’t there to devote his time to anymore, he’d at least find her in his daydreams.

He envied how radiant she looked no matter the time of day. There was no doubt she took care of herself, probably drank enough water, got enough sleep and he smiled at the thought of her tucked up in bed, wondered if she slept on her side or her back, whether she tied her hair up or if it sprawled across the pillow, amused himself with the imaginary sound of her snores. She tilted her head to him silently.

Suddenly worried she’d notice how blankly he was staring at her, Andrew climbed around and into the hot tub opposite Flo. His moves were precise as he sunk into the seat, trying to avoid her touch, trying to find a place to fit everything without accidentally brushing her beneath the surface. His hair were slicked back and tied into a small bun, only a few strands out of place and his chest was rising and falling uncontrollably with nervousness just from staring at her for so long. Flo rolled her eyes at his beard, his glowy eyes, how he never failed to look gorgeous even with that concentration face he was pulling.

Neither of them having spoken, Flo tried to relax, adjusted her back so it was more comfortable against the wall, spread her arms out a little further. There was plenty of room, but he was still close to her and every time he looked up at her across the bubbling surface, she was worried she’d lose her focus again. She tucked her wet hair behind her ears.

Andrew loved the way it shone under the lights of the small room, how perfectly straight it fell. He decided that she looked like some sort of ethereal goddess or like a siren who would’ve drawn him in if he was a lonely sailor at sea or like the kind of woman who renaissance painters would have dreamed of bringing to life on canvas. He blinked at her a couple of times as she met his eye line almost immediately. Her eyes were always curious, always thinking about the next thing.

“What?”

“I just can’t believe we run onto each other in a jacuzzi” Flo laughed at last, shaking her head. Andrew spread his legs out underwater and rested his arms on the back of the tub, trying to get comfortable himself. He seemed to toy with a response, she could see it bouncing around in his head, the corners of his lip curling as if they were anticipating his words.

“How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” She sighed, knowing he’d prepared a question she didn’t understand just to evoke that very response, to keep his game of teasing her up. He wanted her to ask.

“Being in jacuzzi with a true music star” he smirked, eyebrows cocked in that way that made Flo want to simultaneously thump him around the head and climb into his lap and kiss him till he moaned against her.

“Oh, shut up.”

Tuesday, 5:15pm

He chuckled for what seemed like a long minute, impressed by the sulk she was pulling as she crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head, mouth cocked slightly open. It was then that Flo decided to test him, see how much information she could work out of him this time. He had nowhere to hide from her now, the room silent except for the sounds coming from the water and he seemed pretty sure of himself.

“Talk to me about it” she uttered after a soft moment of contemplation.

“About what?”

“About ‘being a true music star’…” she replied.

She noticed a small flinch, worried he was retreating into himself already, shoulders tight with tension, nose screwing up with doubt. He licked his lips then answered her.

“What do you want to know, love?”

“What’s it like?” She asked, keeping her response as vague as she could.

“It’s more like a love-hate relationship…” he responded, a little sooner than she’d been expecting, “I feel so lucky that, em, I can compose and perform my music to people who love it, but, em, on the other hand… I’m tired of being recognizable every place I go to.”

“It’s fascinating to me.”

“It’s really crazy. I had no idea that, em, things would get this big.”

He meant his career, had meant performing, but when he looked at her then, he also meant it about her. He truly had had no idea things would get this big with her when he saw it at the hotel bar.

“You get to do what you love and what you’re good at at the same time, that’s the dream, right?”

“Yes… but, sometimes I wonder, em, who I’d be if I wasn’t doing what I do now” he mumbled.

“You think it changed you somehow?” She asked, not having expected that response at all, but still feeling so humbled by the fact he was sharing anything at all.

“Yes, but just a little bit. Sometimes it feels like, em, the world knows more about me than I do” he scratched his head with one of his long fingers, like he was recalling something he’d read about himself that he hadn’t liked then shrugged, bringing his eyes back up, “Shit, sorry. Got a bit existential there…”

“It’s alright” Flo assured him, wishing she was closer to him so that she could use it as an excuse to touch him.

“It just scares me that, em, people can say anything they like about me.”

“Don’t you have a voice? Like an online presence?”

“I do… half owned by me, half by my team. Em, I bet people notice the difference between what I post and what my social media team does” he giggles a little, moving in the tub like he wanted to sink deeper, but he’s too tall to do so.

“As a musician, a person who writes his own songs from start to finish you have the chance to show your voice in your songs.”

“You’re right, em, I try to do it as often as possible…” he mumbled, lost in thought for a second. “Did you go to an university or a college?”

“Yes, did you?”

“Well, I started a college…”

“But you didn’t finished it?“

“But I didn’t” he confirmed, “music got me too busy and I fell into it completely” he lifted his hand from the water to scratch his neck as he spoke. “My Mum was worried at first, but she’s an artist too, em, she paints bloody gorgeous, so she understood that I’m doing what my heart wants.”

“Does she still worry?” Flo pushed.

“My Mum? No, no. Of course she’s stressed every time I’m coming home after a tour and, em, really takes care of me forgetting I’m near my thirties…”

Flo laughed again and tried to picture Andrew in any way domesticated. It was just as jarring for her to picture as being outside of the hotel together had been. She just couldn’t see him doing nothing for days on end.

“I’m kinda proud of myself, not every person has that relationship with their parents…” he swallowed sharply at the realization of how much he’d opened up to her. “What about yours?”

“My parents? They’re dead now…” she sighed.

“Oh, no… I’m- I- so sorry, Flo, I didn’t mean to…”

He nodded in her direction, fighting the urge to simply hold her in his warm embrace.

“You’re such a role model then…” she said, then quickly changing the subject, “I just can’t believe I didn’t make the connection…” she laughed, “…about who you are. I mean, I know the name now and it makes sense, but I have friends who’d be furious with me for not working it out sooner.”

“You gonna look me up later?” He chuckled, “On YouTube?”

“Who’s to say I haven’t already?” She teased, though it had been the last thought on her mind since she found out who he was. It was her golden rule with new people anyway, to work them out without using her phone, make an effort to connect in real life rather than finding out their dog’s name through their Instagram profile. And that golden rule was even more important now, with Andrew.

“No. I know you weren’t stalking me online, because, em, people who did that act differently…”

“Oh, but, I’ve already got you worked out, Andrew” she giggled, tapping her temple as if she had all the answers. He cocked his eyebrow immediately and ran his hand through the front of his hair to keep it in place.

She had such a devilish twinkle in her eye, like she’d been saving this moment for a while and he watched her shift her position slightly, leaning further towards him. His face was slightly pink from the steam that rose from the water surface and her hair was drying now with the slightest hint of frizziness. He was just about to ask her to prove her point when she was speaking again.

“You’re a perfectionist. Went to prom with a pretty girl, but you hated her dress-”

“Wait…” he asked, taken a little off guard by her sudden outburst, “Are you profiling me?”

“Well I always wanted to be a profiler…”

Intrigued, Andrew settled back into position then gave her a firm nod, lifting his hand as if to challenge her. She cleared her throat and continued.

“You send your Mum flowers whenever you feel guilty about not being home. You’re a heavy sleeper. Eat more sugar than you should. Have tried quitting smoking, but as I could see with my own eyes you failed miserably. You’re paranoid about trusting people, because you were let down by too many. You’ve broken a few hearts. Have more records at home than you have storage for. You’ve cried watching at least one Disney film - my money is on… Bambi.” Andrew laughed at that pause, “Good at bullshitting your way through anything. You have a pet - I bet it’s a dog. Worry about any mistake you make for at least two months…” Flo smiled softly before adding her last guess, one she knew was a fact: “And you’re not only big yourself, but you’ve got a big heart too, Andrew, you really care about people.”

There was a beat and Andrew folded his arms as she finished, blinking at her for a while. He tried to recall the ones she got wrong, but had been more focused on her smart mind, mesmerized by the way her thoughts were so clearly plastered across her face as she processed them. He was so impressed by the way she observed him and wanted to congratulate her.

“I know…” she said confidently, snapping him from his daze, “I’m pretty good at this.”

“Don’t you want to know which ones you got right?” He asked, the smirk on his face so full of excitement.

“You don’t know if they all fit until you catch the killer, Andy” she replied cockily, “It’s a profile, not fully fitting description of traits you have.”

“So I am the killer now?”

Yes, Andrew, you killed my heart with that kiss.

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wordywarriorwrites · 5 years ago

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Chapter 14: Vortex

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

The McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. Glaring Cirque du Soleil posters, cheesy merchandise, overpriced grub, and soul-sucking slot machines.

Steve didn’t really much care for all the bells, whistles, and neon lights, but since he hadn’t quite decided where he was headed to next, he parked his ass at a bar, and ordered a drink. And when it was gone? Well, it didn’t take long for the bartender to pour him another. And another. And another.

The Families’ forefathers had never had a problem executing traitors. Theirs was very much a world of talk-shit, get hit, and people who stepped out of line were either put in their place or sent to their grave. Many generations had come and gone, but things hadn’t changed that much; there were some things that could not be ignored or forgiven, and they still dispensed brutal, bloody justice.

Nick had truly believed he possessed more than enough power and authority to guarantee nobody on his team would ever go rogue. He’d had a solid, profitable game going, but he wasn’t complacent, and he sure as hell wasn’t stupid. Maria may have had other people do the dirty work for her, but Fury would’ve eventually seen past the subterfuge, and the end result would’ve been the same.

All Steve did was make it happen sooner, rather than later.

Somewhere after shot number five – that’s when it dawned on him. None of it mattered anymore. Fury wanted to retire anyway, so, he’d walk, take his fortune with him, and more than likely collect on an annual finder’s fee from the Families. Since they didn’t like to waste talent or opportunities, the business and rest of the crew would probably be absorbed, and given Natasha’s propensity for turning shit piles into gold, she’d probably be sent in to run things.

At the end of shot number six, he realized something even more groundbreaking – he was truly free. For the first time in his adult life, he didn’t have to answer to anyone, and could do what he wanted. He could stop running and hiding, vacate his seat with the Families, and finally get out for good.

“Drinking to victory or drowning your sorrows?”

Steve groaned and sat his tumbler down, “How did you find me?”

Natasha perched on the stool beside him, “You forgot to toss your phone after you called Thor.”

He sighed, retrieved his cell from his pocket, and took out the battery. Steve also removed the memory card and snapped it in half.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

“You need to come back with me,” she said quietly.

“No, I don’t.”

“This isn’t a request, Steve -- it’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you. And I don’t take orders from him, either.”

Natasha attempted to argue her case, but he didn’t listen. Instead, Steve hailed the bartender, and asked for his bill. He put enough cash down to cover the tab and a generous tip, but before he could get to his feet, she placed a hand on his forearm, and held tight.

“Let go of me,” he bit out warningly. “Or I’ll break your fucking hand.”

“Hey, that’s no way to talk to a lady.”

As soon as he heard Sam’s voice, Steve closed his eyes, and forced himself to count backward from ten. He should’ve known Natasha would bring backup for the ambush. Steve considered trying to make a run for it, but he couldn’t escape them without causing a scene, and the booze he’d dumped down his gullet had made him a tad unsteady on his feet.

For the next five hours, Steve remained miserably sandwiched between. When they landed in Brooklyn, Bruce was there to pick them up, but whatever happened after the show got on the road was a complete blank. He must’ve either fallen asleep or simply passed out, because when he came to, he was no longer in the car, and had no clue where he’d ended up.

The only thing Steve knew when he woke was that he was still a little drunk, a lot pissed off, and whoever put him to bed had taken the trouble to undress him and cover him with a sheet. A clock on the nightstand revealed it was almost ten in the morning, and though Steve wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, he was hungry, and reeked of booze. The combination made him queasy, which prompted him to hobble out of bed, and weave his way to the adjacent bathroom.

An overhead light kicked on automatically, and when he entered, he found his clothes, which had been washed, primly folded, and stacked in neat a pile on the left side of the sink’s oversized countertop. Lined up in a row on the opposite side were a fresh towel, a packet of Tylenol, a bottle of water, a new toothbrush, and a box of toothpaste. After he utilized the facilities and the hangover kit, Steve fired up the hot water, and stepped into the shower stall.

On a recessed shelf beneath the showerhead was a bottle of shampoo and an unused bar of soap. As soon as the fog lifted a bit, he set about getting cleaned up, and when the scents of Oribe Signature and Côte d'Azur filled the air, he knew precisely where he was.

He finished up quickly, and as he dried off and got dressed, Steve clocked it all. The Sauvage cologne tucked behind a box of tissues; a rolled-up wad of what had to be at least five-grand in the medicine cabinet; the fully-loaded nine-millimeter behind the toilet tank; a switch blade hidden in a basket of haircare product; an interconnected walk-in closet filled to the brim with posh labels, custom tailoring, and an alarming amount of shoes.

Heady, menacing, and rich as fucking Croesus – yeah, he was in the King’s castle all right, and His Majesty was using the trappings and authority of his position to fuck with his head.

Instead of waiting to be summoned, he headed back toward the bedroom, and out into the hall. He made it all of three steps when he heard Bucky’s voice, and the low-timbered tone was hard-edged and steadily rising in volume. When Steve entered the living area, he found Natasha typing furiously on a laptop, and the reason for her strained expression was revealed when Bucky began bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“Don’t give me that shit!” he roared. “You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it!”

Steve rolled his eyes and headed to the kitchen. Situated in the middle of the island was a bowl of apples, and after he snagged one, he took it to the sink to wash it. Bucky carried on with his tirade, never once paused for breath, and it wasn’t until Steve took a seat at the counter that Bucky even realized he’d entered the room.

Even though the man was still busy ranting, Steve knew he was the one who had his full attention. Bucky had always had a bit of a knife kink, and he’d been using a paring blade to cut away pieces of the fruit, and eating the slices directly off the steel. When there was nothing left but the core and seeds, Steve opened his mouth, and very carefully dragged the knife from bolster to spine slowly along his tongue.

“Stop it,” Bucky barked curtly.

Steve jutted his chin, “Or what?”

Any challenge issued could not be ignored, and he did what Steve predicted he’d do; he hung up on whoever he’d been shouting at, and stalked toward him. Bucky tried to intimidate him by crowding him, but he didn’t balk; he simply quirked an eyebrow and waited for him to make a move.

Crisp, white dress shirt strained against heavy muscle; haphazard tie; disheveled hair; eyes bright and a little too wild. It would’ve been easy to assume Bucky was either strung out or about to take a swing, but the lust-blown gaze, flushed cheeks, and damp brow suggested he had something else on his mind.

If they were alone, Bucky would have tried climbed him like a fucking tree, and he knew it.

Steve vividly recalled the last time they’d gone at each other’s throats, and while Bucky was looking for a repeat, Steve wasn’t. He was trying to get out, not drawn back in, and there was just too much history, bad blood, and unresolved hostility between them. Behind the passion was a lot of underlying rage and ugliness; it had been left to fester like an unattended wound, and sex – no matter how mind-blowing – wasn’t going to heal it.

“Boss,” Natasha called out from the living room. “We don’t have time for this.”

Much to his relief, the subtle reminder was all it took for Bucky to come to his senses, dial it down, and take a step back. He ordered Natasha to finish making transportation and flight arrangements before he spun on a heel and headed toward his bedroom. A few moments later, the door slammed, and the sound made Natasha flinch.

“Is this what you dragged me back here for?” Steve wondered.

She walked into the kitchen and plopped down on the stool beside him, “They’ve negotiated Fury’s golden parachute, but there’s a problem.”

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, “Go on.”

“Scott, Carol, and Rhodey are skittish and don’t want an outsider running things. And even though they were all cleared of any wrongdoing, the Families refuse to let them promote from within.”

Steve didn’t need to hear anymore, because he knew very well where the conversation was headed, and what the Families wanted him to do. In order to keep their profit shares and maintain control, they needed someone to not only settle the waters, but also steer the ship.

It didn’t matter what he wanted – they were going to pull him back in and never let him go...

Natasha sighed and got to her feet, “They’re are flying out to today, and they expect you to be there to attend the meet and sign the paperwork.”

She didn’t wait for him to acquiesce or argue; she just handed him a cellphone and told him his boarding pass and itinerary were on it. When he brought to the screen to life and checked the destination, he couldn’t help but snort, because he now knew where he was headed to next.

Steve was being forced to go back to where it all began…

He was going back to Bermuda.

Chapter 15: Imperfect Union

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

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1000roughdrafts · 5 years ago

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Family Secrets: Chapter One

Pilot

Summary: Allanah (OC) enlists an old flame, Crowley, to help her find a well hidden hunter, while you work on your first case since Rufus’ death. It’s a simple salt n’ burn, but brings on more trouble than you initially expected.

A/N: I decided to re-write this series and improve things to help make a better ending so I wanted to just repost it :)

Warnings: none that I can think of :)

W/C: 2.1k

Masterlist/Schedule

For someone who prides himself on his ability to sneak about, Allanah is more than surprised to hear the small rocks turn under his slow and steady footsteps. At this pace, she expects to be face to face with him in an hour.

After waiting half that time near a rancid dumpster between the thick walls of two sister buildings, she thought for a moment to meet him halfway, but that would have read - to him - as submission.

“I see you’re still one for a grand entrance.” The words that spill out of her mouth are poisonous. Unluckily for her, he is immune.

An arrogant chuckle cracks through his teeth and sits on her swollen chest, “the most bewitching of an evening is one with a crescent moon.” He averts his eyes upwards for just shy of a moment before continuing, “and a sorry sap requiring my assistance.” His grimace is barely noticeable with only a sliver of the moon and an ember of a street lamp for light.

She pushes on with an utmost of confidence, “ah, but you see.” With one hand on her hip she traces along his broad shoulders with her fingers as she sways around him. “I could be of assistance to you, as well.”

He deigns a chuckle without opening his mouth and, for the first time, removes a hand from his tailored coats’ pocket to gesture at his disbelief, “me? Need help from you?”

He bellows out a laugh and takes a few steps closer to the graffiti littered wall. With his back to her, he takes in a curt breath of the water stained air. “Oh, please do continue. I could use some entertainment after the abomination that was my day.”

“I can get you the key to Teraw.”

Swiveling around as quickly as she let the words loose, his face freezes sternly. Thick eyebrows and thin lips beseech acquaintance and he is too intrigued to care how she knows what she does. “You may question my ability now, Fergus, but hold your tongue until it’s sitting in your hands.” She straightens up her stance and presses the wrinkles out of her over worn blouse, “the key, that is.”

He wasn’t exactly pleased to be meeting with his former lover, but now she had begun stepping on his last nerve. His curiosity is replaced with annoyance. Filling the gap between them with a micro step he amplifies his height in an attempt to match hers.

“There is nobody that walks this plane, Heaven or Hell that is permitted to call me by that name, Allanah. Even if there were, you would be the exception.”

Any time Allanah could get a rise out of him is a success in her eyes. A mischievous grin grows on her face and she folds her frail arms against herself, “it’s been quite a while since we’ve been in the presence of one another. I guess it must’ve evaded my memory how much you despise your mortal name.”

“Ah, we’re not here to quarrel over history, though are we,” he irately observes with an eyebrow raised an inch higher than its twin. “And what do you request of me?” He steps forward to put forth some much needed distance, “after all, a deal is bi-fold.”

“My appeal is simple, really.” Her boots click on the piece of pavement that remains intact as she paces around him with her fingers entwined. “All you have to do is find the girl. From that point, she will lead you to it.” Her lips move slowly and stay fluent with her provocative expression and posture. It seems like she’d rehearsed this line prior to their alleyway conference.

He squints his eyes, “you mean the hunter?” She was already a point of interest for him, but to this extent he had no idea, nor did he believe it. “A mere human is going to find me the key to another dimension?” His words taste bitter and sound even worse.

Her regularly vacant eyes glimmer in the reflection of flickering lights. She takes a step that is half her length with only one foot in front of the other. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, Crowley.”

“And to what benefit could you acquire from her?” His voice remains calm.

“Oh honey, my auxiliary don’t even know of my plans,” she says between heartened chuckles.

“And I take it, if you can’t locate her, she must’ve done a cloaking spell of some sorts.”

“Right,” Allanah sighs.

“I see, well, rules are rules. Shall we seal this formally?” He reluctantly inquires.

Truth be told if he had a beating heart it would belong to her. It’d been many silent years since they parted ways, though not for lack of trying. He’d made multiple attempts at reconciliation and, of course, she’d only reached back when she became desperate.

In replacement of a response, she strolls the short distance to close the space between their chests. She almost starts to feel guilty for the way things had ended before when she takes notice of the illumination in his welcoming eyes.

Taking aid from the walls she’d built around her heart, she forces the memories out of her mind and mentally counts to five before planting a reminiscent kiss on his plush, slightly parted lips.

For the sake of theatrics, she drapes her arms upon his shoulders and allows her fingers to travel through his hair. He clasps his hands around her wrists and pulls outwards simultaneous to the retrieval of his lips. The first thing he sees upon opening his eyes is a menacing grin on her generally lovely face, and it sends a twinge down his spine.

“Find the girl, Crowley,” her words slumbering as she coasts down the gravel pathway to the street. “Get the girl, and she’ll take you to the key,” she says turning back just once more to capture his awestruck expression before blending into the darkness.

----

Tossing the shovel to the side, you take in the vibrant energy of the moon from behind you. You are surrounded by trees and dirt paths that lead to their headstones. You don’t feel scared in the presence of graves as you spend a fair amount of time in places people otherwise seem to avoid.

Glancing into the hole you’d just spent hours on, you are startled by the sound of tires hitting the gravel entrance. Before you can hide you hear a disembodied voice bellow out.

“What the Hell do you think you are doing?” The voice is wrapped in a tall, plump man. His uniform is clean for the most part, yet his shoes are a little torn and scuffed up. Only a baton and flashlight sit in his charcoal belt, which means he is presumably unarmed.

It’s been years since you’d run into trouble like this, but thankfully you’re quick on your feet. “Oh no,” you let out a quick breath that masks itself in a chuckle. “I’m sorry,” you say sweetly and reach into your coat pocket with the other hand held up as a white flag. “My name is Maggie Tarnish. I’m with the FBI.”

He’s close enough now that it takes no effort to hand over your slightly used thousand dollar badge. It cost you close to nothing to make, but getting caught with a forged identity card could cost you the next five years and money you don’t have.

After taking a moment to collect your composure, you speak with as much conviction as possible, “it was brought to my attention that there may have been evidence left behind by my old forensics team.” You let out all of your built up air and finally allow yourself to loosen up a bit, “idjits,” you say, squeaking out a comfortable one-syllable laugh. “The court ordered I exhume the body to retrieve it.”

“Alone?” His head is tilted like a dog would when they hear something unfamiliar, “and why wasn’t this brought to my attention?”

You don’t answer right away. You’ve learned that these kinds of situations are like a time bomb; one wrong move and it could blow up in an instant. You figure the nice act wouldn’t cut it any longer. You don’t have time to stand around talking, anyway!

Taking another look at his uniform you let out a disdain tainted laugh and inhale sharply, “I’m a strong woman. I didn’t want to waste company income on any more manpower than necessary.” You dig your heels into the dirt as if to give more depth to your words and close yourself off with your arms. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you’re at the bottom of the food chain around here.”

With a fierce tone and your shoulder blades pressed as close to each other as you can force them, you sneer, “let me guess. Three, maybe four, nights a week to drive ‘round ensuring no one robs a grave right? Or to make sure teenagers aren’t vandalizing and telling the homeless they have to sleep somewhere else?”

It really isn’t his fault, your thoughts peak through. He is only trying to do the job he was given.

Fury builds behind his emerald eyes and it becomes easy for you to imagine him with red skin to match the anger. “Do you think that gives you the authority to tell me how or when to do my job? You want to know what my hours are like?” Taking a step closer to him you are seemingly getting lost in your own monologue which only increases the petulance of your tiring lifestyle.

“They are endless and ruthless, but I am protecting and saving people with the work I’m doing. Trying to do, anyway, before you so disrespectfully interrupted me.” With an eye roll your voice grows deeper but not much louder, “lives are at stake here, so please leave the grown up to do her job.” As soon as the last word comes out the graveyard falls back to silence.

“I would like to speak with your supervisor,” his bushy eyebrows raise as he demands rather than asks, “do you have a number I could call?”

Keeping up with the array of confidence, you reach into your duffel bag while attempting to hide its contents. You fumble around for a minute until you find a coffee stained business card printed to represent your falsity, and flick it at him with gall. After having been sucked into a conversation you wanted no part in, you take this moment to get reacquainted with your surroundings.

The overflowing and lustrous moon has moved quite a distance since you first arrived and is now at midpoint in the sky. Easier to see is easier to be seen, you think and have always been proven right by this. You force a quick glance at your watch, confirming both your suspicion and fear. Now, you have about sixteen minutes before this body reanimates.

His voice booms out and shocks you out of your thoughts, “is this some kind of sick joke?”

“What are you talking about?” You slit your eyes in his direction.

“The line is disconnected,” he says with disbelief and followed by a conspicuously pretentious chuckle that soon turns into an intimidating cackle. Typing a new number into his phone, he continues to gloat, “I knew it! I knew you were full of shit.”

“Who are you calling now?”

He looks at you with vaunt in his eyes, “the local authorities.”

Without thinking, you snatch his hand before he can place the phone to his ear and cancel the call. Moving around him with his arm tightened against his back, you wrap your free arm around his neck. Imagining your wrists are magnets, you connect them to apply just enough pressure to keep him alive and unconscious.

Only because you had caught him off guard were you able to subdue a man of his size so quickly, but it still made you feel accomplished. You allow his heavy body to drop just enough to make it easy to drag. Taking turns between watching behind and in front of you, you shuffles him towards the car he arrived in.

You are unable to lift him into the seat without the strength of the second person you’re supposed to have, so instead you prop him against the side of the vehicle and delete the two previously dialed numbers. You pull out a handkerchief to wipe your prints and drop the device into his lap before switching your gaze to survey the Mausoleum and surrounding area for any onlookers.

Hesitantly, you peak a glance at your watch. With only five minutes remaining you run through the terrain being careful not to disturb the other graves. You try to focus on the task at hand, but the only thing running through your mind is a question; why is his line disconnected?

He said he would always answer if you called. With lighter fluid in one hand and a match in the other, you douse the body, set it ablaze and barrel out as quickly as possible.

Next Chapter

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stan-joonies · 5 years ago

Text

Sacrifice Part 2

Part 1

Requests Open

[[MORE]]

Fangs sat in a small corner alone, his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he looked at the bloodied jacket in his hands.

"Fangs?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, Sweet Pea looming over him.

"Is she ok?" He questioned, looking up.

"FP went to check on her," Sweet Pea stated.

"Fuck," Fangs mumbled, holding the jacket closer to him. "I--I need her to be ok, Pea. I can't let her go,"

Sweet Pea sat down next to him, putting an arm over his shoulder.

"I know," He sighed "Me and the boys are going to Riverdale High," he whispered, pulling Fangs close. "We're gonna show those Northsiders who they messed with."

Fangs shook his head.

"Imma stay back, i want to hear out for news from FP,"

Sweet Pea nodded, patting him on the back before standing up and nodding to a group of Serpents that were waiting for him.

They made their way out of the whyte wyrm.

Sweet Pea stormed across the halls, knife jabbing at anything it could reach, his face one of pure anger and hate.

At the end, three Bulldogs stood.

"Sweet Pea, " Archie called "you don't want to do this, i swear, Reggie didn't shoot--"

"Don't you dare fucking say her name." He hissed. "I saw him, with a gun--"

"-then you should of seen me tackle him too,It was Mrs Klump, she's down at the station,"

"Do you think i give a crap about who shot her?" He asked, edging forwards. "The fact is, she is fighting for her fucking life, Andrews. Fangs isn't allowed to see her, nobody apart from FP is. So--" Sweet Pea swallowed, glaring "so if she doesn't make it, she dies without seeing her brother. Her family."

"I'm sorry, Sweet Pea, i really am. I know what it feels like, but--"

"But what, Andrews? When this happened you went on a rampage too. We," He gestured to the serpents "have even a better reason to do this. You took our friend, a family member. You're taking our land. You'll take everything else if we give to the chance." He got a trash can, pouring out its contents. "So now you get to watch...as we burn your school to the ground,"

"Fangs?"

The serpent looked up, FP standing before him. he jumped up, keeping hold of his sister's leather jacket.

"I thought you should be the first to know," FP's eyes looked ready to burst from his head, dark bruises under his eyes. "She-- She didn't make it, Fangs,"

Fangs felt like he was just slapped by a hand made of ice, he crumpled to the ground, his arms wrapping around his form as his eyes bulge out of his skull. His eyebrows crease as he lets out an anguished cry.

FP sits next to him, his hands entwined. The silence and sorrow slowly taking over them.

They heard the voices of Sweet Pea and Jughead rise. It seemed they were almost ready to make the fight violent.

FP stood up.

"Stay here, you need to be alone,"

He entered the main area, watching at the two boys were at eachothers throats. Sweet Pea loomed over his boy. Both boys' faces were red in anger as they screamed at eachother. His heart ached as much as his throat did, but he needed them to know.

"Enough!" He screamed, the whole place becoming silent, all eyes on him. "I--I was just at the hospital. They told me--," He paused, looking around. Some already knew from his expression, others held a glimmer of hope. Hope that he had to crush. "She's gone,"

Toni turned, violently pushing her head into Cheryl's neck as she let out hard sobs.

"She's dead?" Jughead questioned.

FP nodded.

The boy turned, sheilding his face from view. His hand came to pat Sweet Pea on the shoulder.

The tall serpent felt the floor under him break and he fell into an endless void, screaming out y/n's name.

In reality, he stood still, his eyes stringing and his throat closing.

He had lost you, just when he had you.

"We will mourn her, oh we will. But first, we shall avenge her." The king declared "I think we can all agree, she is double the serpents we are. She followed the laws to her grave. So we shall avenge her. We will let them know what happens when you take our own away. By what i heard, it seems like we have to put it to a vote," his eyes surveyed the whyte Wyrm "all those against going to war with the ghoulies?" The place was silent. Nobody dared raise a hand. They knew what they had to do. "All those for giving them hell on the battlefield tomorrow?"

The place was suddenly in movement. People shooting their hands up in the form of a snake. Some people cheered, others stayed silent. Sweet Pea just raised his hand to form a serpent head. His lips pressed together as his eyes glistened with tears, but he never lost eye contact with FP.

Jughead growled slightly under his breath as he watched everyone look towards him. He felt stuck in place. He felt anger and shame when people looked at him accusingly, as if he had betrayed them. He kept his eyes down, refusing to meet anyones eyes.

"Fangs?"

The prince turned around, watching Fangs slowly emerge. His knuckles white as he held his dead sister's jacket. His face blotchy and swollen. However, his face was void of any emotion, his hand slowly rising into the air.

"What was that?" Jughead demanded, following the trio outside. "Do you know what you're--"

"Shut the fuck up, Jones," Sweet Pea growled.

"No! You need to listen," he ordered "this will just--"

"I don't care, Jones," Fangs stated, turning to face him. "She's my sister...and they took her. I will never get her back." He walked closer to the Prince "so I'll be damned if i don't hurt them like they hurt me."

"It wasn't them that--"

"Jughead..." Toni called, arms crossed. "We're doing it. We all vote--"

"--I didn't!"

"Well your vote wouldn't of mattered anyway." Sweet Pea huffed. "The serpents are fighting the Ghoulies and they're gonna win."

"You don't know that!" Jughead exclaimed. "Do you think this is what Y/N wants? For you all to become murderers?"

"Y/N's dead!" Fangs shouted, teeth clenched. "She's gone, Jones. And i would gladly go to prison if it ment i got to see the Ghoulies suffer."

Fangs turned, shooting off with Sweet Pea following closely behind.

Toni sighed, looking towards Jughead.

"I'm sorry Jughead. But we gotta fight. Not only for Y/N, but for ourselves." She turned, following the two serpent boys.

Part 2

#riverdale #sweet pea #fangs fogarty #x reader #sweet pea x reader #fangs sister #fangs fogarty x reader #angst #death

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who-gave-atlas-a-pencil · 5 years ago

Text

follow the blackbird home

Summary: A pit inside a pit inside a cave, a handful of skeletons, a little bit of hope, and a conversation.

Read on AO3 for notes.

@shwarmi (Tagging as requested - thank you for the lovely comment!)

By the time they’re all done getting their asses summarily kicked by occult forces taking up residence inside a cave, Clayton’s got two bullets loaded in each gun, a matched set of bloody knuckles, and a scowl carved into his face so hard he thinks it might become permanent.

They’ve been on the trail of this last clue they’d found for three days now. Three days of wandering through the desert and plains, fighting off weird snakes and weirder spirits and though it has truly only been three days, it feels much longer than that. If Clayton never sees another fucking ghost in his entire fucking life, it’ll still be too soon. “Whatever happened to the dead finding rest in the Lord, Mason?” he grumbles, loading another round to replace the ones he’d just expended. “These fuckers don’t look to me like they’re resting.”

“What explanation there may be in heaven or earth, I’ve not yet found it,” Matthew replies from across the cave where he’s helping Bella stand. “Are you alright, Miss Whitlock? That was quite a blow you took a moment ago.”

“I’m rattled, but I’ll make it,” she says, steadying herself on a wall before brushing off his hands. “How are you faring, Reverend?”

“I’m rattled, but I’ll make it,” he echoes, a faint smile chasing across his face. There’s blood seeped across the shoulder of his duster, but he seems to be ignoring it for now. Clayton almost snorts. It’s a fair bit of progress, shrugging off a rock slash when not even a week ago he’d been limping all day from being bucked off a horse.

Almost like he can hear his thoughts, Matthew glances toward Clayton with a look that falls somewhere south of stern. Before he can say anything, Aly pipes up from where he’s been exploring further to the back of the cave they’re stuck in. “Hey, Reverend, Coffin, ladies! Got somethin’ back here!”

Thoroughly regretting the day he’d been delirious enough to admit to his moniker in front of Aloysius, Clayton follows the lantern light back to where the other man is standing by a hole in the ground and squinting at its contents. “This better not be any more of them snake creatures,” Clayton mutters.

Aloysius snorts. “Think I’d be standin’ this close if it was? I may be crazy, but it ain’t that kind of crazy. Look.” He holds the lantern higher and gestures.

Clayton moves beside him, peering down. It’s another pit full of corpses, because apparently nobody in this godforsaken desert believes in throwing dirt over a body to finish burying it. “They’re bones, Aly. Nothin’ new about that.”

“Oh really, it’s bones? You don’t say.” Aloysius elbows him hard in the ribs, pointing again. “Look again.”

Clayton scowls and squints. Tattered scraps of clothing cling to the bones in the pit – a woman’s fancy dress, a pinstriped vest, one single boot with rotting leather soles – but that’s not what catches his eye. The lighting shifts and glints off a rusted metal edge deep beneath the bodies, half covered in dirt. “Is that a box?”

“Looks like one to me. Maybe our dearly departed friends here were buryin’ something before they got buried themselves.”

The others approach from behind. Matthew stands behind Clayton and looks over his shoulder, then mutters a soft oath. “God rest their souls.”

“If God didn’t, I think we just might’ve,” Clayton says, glancing back at Matthew. “Four bodies. Four ghosts. I don’t reckon that’s a coincidence.”

“What powers would have possessed them to render such a return, though?” Arabella is leaning on Miriam, who has a hand around her waist. For being ladies of such fine standing, they’re both looking mighty tired. “Most of the dearly departed don’t come back to exact vengeance on those who visit their grave.”

“Not much of a grave, Miss Whitlock,” Clayton says. “More like a hole in the ground.” He turns around and finds himself face to face with Matthew, nearly bumping into his chest. He pulls the rope from the side of his pack and holds it out, instinctive. “Anchor me?”

“Always,” Matthew says, and grabs the rope with both hands.

Not five minutes later, Clayton’s feeling more than a slight sense of déjà vu as he swings himself down the fifteen foot drop into the pit, wondering all the way what the hell would prompt someone to dig a hole this deep and where the displaced dirt got off to. He’s careful dismounting at the bottom, mindful of the skulls and bodies beneath him. They’re probably past the point of caring, but the dead are due a little respect.

“You see anything down there, Mister Sharpe?” Miriam’s head pokes over the top of the pit, just barely.

“Nothing I didn’t see up there. Gimme a minute. Aly, hold that lantern a bit higher, I can’t see shit.” Breathing in the faint rot that surrounds the bodies, Clayton watches the light shift and makes his way toward the metal edge in the dirt when he sees it glint again. He moves aside the skeletal remains of the man laying inconveniently atop it, then frowns. “What the hell?”

“Clayton?” Matthew’s voice is laced just barely with a hint of concern. “Is everything alright down there?”

“Yeah,” he calls back. “Yeah, everything’s fine. But this ain’t a box, it’s a door of some kind.”

There’s a sudden burst of conversation from up top, everyone talking all at once. Clayton ignores them, kicking at the dirt around the metal slab in the floor until he reveals the full of it. It’s about three feet square and hinged on one side, a heavy and rusted padlock keeping it closed tight. Clayton contemplates it for a moment, looks at his gun, then looks up at the top of the pit. “Miriam, Matthew. One of you toss me your gun.”

“That doesn’t seem safe to me,” Matthew says nervously.

Fogg sighs. “Come on, gimme the rope. I got you.” He braces himself, and a moment later there’s a second person in the pit with Clayton, broad shoulders taking up a good amount of the narrow space.

Matthew hands over the shotgun, looking nervously between the padlock and the weapon now in Clayton’s hands. “You don’t mean to shoot that, do you? It’ll be rather loud in such a small space.”

“It’d also end up like as not with a bunch of holes in both our legs from the shrapnel,” Clayton remarks drily, then starts to slam the stock of the shotgun into the lock. After a few solid blows, the metal gives with a groan and the lock falls uselessly away. Clayton takes a step back and holds out an arm. “You want the honours, Father?”

“Not particularly,” Matthew admits, but opens the door anyway, slow and cautious as he can with the amount of rust collecting around the hinges. It looks like a heavy son of a bitch, but the preacher makes opening the door look easy, if not entirely effortless. Clayton looks inside, and all he sees is a rope ladder descending into more shadows. Matthew makes a face and sighs. “That’s not reassuring.”

Clayton scoffs. “That’s puttin’ it mildly.”

“What’s down there?” It’s Bella this time, sounding worried. “All we can see is a pit and then another pit.”

“That’s all we can see too,” Clayton says, biting back a sigh. “I’m going down. Keep an eye out up here. Best to be ready for anything.” He turns to Matthew. “Give me your lantern, would you?”

“That seems unnecessary, given that I’m joining you in this pit.” Clayton frowns, but he’s met with another cheerful if slightly worried smile. “You can hardly expect me to let you go alone. There’s no telling what manner of foul creature might be down there.”

Probably nothing fouler than I can outrun, Clayton thinks, but keeps it to himself. He doesn’t fancy being joined in another ominous pit of doom by someone with the Reverend’s reputation for kindness, but he fancies going into it alone even less. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and if there’s anything he’s learned this past week of working with the other man, it’s that he’s known mules that are less stubborn. He holds out his hand anyway. “Fine, but give me the lantern anyway. I’m goin’ first.”

With a few more slightly panicked well-wishes from the top of the pit, they descend. For how old and rickety the ladder feels, it holds Clayton’s weight surprisingly well through the twenty or so feet he spends climbing down it. He reaches the bottom and Matthew starts down from the top as Clayton turns around, the lantern held high to illuminate just what they’ve gotten themselves into now.

The first thing he sees is a body, or what’s left of one. It’s been rotting a while by the smell of it, and its guts are splattered half across the floor like shriveled, gory worms, its head twisted around so far the neck is tearing. Whatever did the body in, it did the job thoroughly. Behind him, Matthew gags and makes the sign of the cross in the air.

For as little thought as he gives to religion, Clayton can’t help but feel the same instinct rise up in his guts. Whatever did this, it’s a hell of a way to die. “Let’s hope we’re not about to go out in the same way,” he says, “or the others might get it in their heads to come down and check.”

“I certainly hope they’d have more sense,” Matthew murmurs, and Clayton pretends he doesn’t hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s a strange arrangement that they’ve come to, the people at the top of the pit and the pair of them in the depths of it. They look out for each other, all of them. It makes things complicated, when so many of the situations they keep finding themselves in end with them feeling torn between saving their own skin and saving each other.

They explore in silence for a time, periodically reporting their progress to the three upstairs as they pick their way through the chamber. It’s almost entirely empty, with the obvious exception of the body in the middle of the floor. The only thing they find other than empty bottles and rats is a single book, thick and covered with dust and written entirely in some foreign tongue or another.

When he shows it to Matthew, the Reverend’s brow creases for a moment before he brightens. “It’s Latin,” he says. “I can translate this. It will take a minute, of course, but I can do it.” He flips the book over in his hands a few times, frowning. “It’s strange that it shouldn’t have a title.”

“It’s strange that it’s written in Latin. Think it might be this dead gentleman’s journal.”

“Or his last will,” Matthew suggests.

“That’d certainly be convenient, given the circumstances.” Clayton shrugs off the admonishing look Matthew gives him and, leaving the light with him, walks back over to the ladder, looking up through the gloom to where he can still just make out the others up top.

Aly’s taken to sitting at the edge of the pit, his legs dangling over the side. “Found anythin’ interesting yet down there?”

“Not since you asked two minutes ago, no.”

“Goddamn,” Aloysius swears, scratching the back of his head. “That place completely empty or are you just hard to impress? Maybe I oughta ask the Reverend instead. He finds good shit everywhere. Hey, Reverend!” He cups his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound, and the result is an entire cave ringing with the echo.

When he’s done plugging his ears, Clayton fixes Aloysius with a stern glare that has absolutely no effect on the other man’s grin. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Do you?”

“Gentlemen, would you please stop pretending you hate each other for five minutes?” Bella interrupts, loud enough for Clayton to hear even far below. “This presentation is giving me a headache.”

“It’s probably not the only thing makin’ your head hurt, Miss Whitlock,” Aloysius points out, not unkindly. “That was a mighty hit you took not too long ago.”

Whatever response Arabella gives, Clayton doesn’t hear it. At that moment, a hand falls on his shoulder, and he spins around ready to deck someone before he realises it’s just the Reverend come up behind him, and not the reanimated corpse of whoever came down here last. Matthew puts up both hands in a show of innocence, briefly terrified. “Hold your fire, it’s only me.”

“I can see that now,” Clayton mutters, relaxing. “What is it?”

“Good news,” Matthew replies. “We were right.”

“Well, that’s a shocker if I’ve ever heard one. Right about what?”

“This is the dead person’s journal, and I believe it is the key to understanding what’s going on in this town beyond our current, ah- primitive understanding of it.” It’s a mighty polite way of saying that they know fuck-all about any of this weird shit, but Clayton waits for Matthew to continue instead of commenting. “Look at this.”

Clayton blinks at the journal, the line he’s being shown in it. “Matthew, it’s still in Latin.”

“Yes, of course. Foolish of me. What I meant to say is, this line is referencing gold, a great wealth of it. And this here, it speaks of riches and the protection of them through means not of this earth. There’s symbols too, though that’s more Miss Whitlock’s area of expertise than mine, but the important part is-“

“All this weird shit’s been happening because somebody was protectin’ their gold stash,” Clayton finishes. He blinks and shakes his head, the Dealer’s words echoing in his head. This land is poisoned by greed. “I’ll be damned.”

“I doubt that greatly,” Matthew retorts almost offhandedly, snapping the book closed. He grabs Clayton’s elbow with a feverish excitement that doesn’t belong in a dark pit like this. “Don’t you see? These are the answers we’ve been looking for. If Miss Whitlock can decode the meaning of those symbols, we can stop this madness, bring peace back to this place once and for all.”

There is a hopeful light in the Reverend’s eyes, and it’s only now that Clayton realises this is the first time he’s seen it. All those times before, when he’s been preaching and begging for help to rebuild the church, that’s been well-meant speeches. Here, now, he isn’t just crossing his fingers and asking for salvation. He’s looking like he intends to bring it whether the Lord grants it or not.

Hope doesn’t serve anyone too well in these parts. But Clayton’s in too deep to back out now. He clasps the Reverend’s shoulder and squeezes. “ Then it seems we oughta get upstairs to see if she can make sense of those symbols.”

“Right. Of course. After you, then.”

Clayton nods and ascends the ladder, then starts on the rope once he sees Matthew start to climb below him. Aloysius holds the rope steady, but as soon as Clayton gets to the top he takes over anyway as he hears the heavy metal door close once more. “You sure ‘bout this, Mister Coffin?” Aloysius asks. “Reverend’s a big man. I might do better lifting him, or the both of us.”

“I got him,” Clayton says, maybe a bit sharply, and braces himself for the weight. Two minutes later, Matthew’s over the top of the pit and brushing himself off as Aloysius helps him to stand. He shows the book to Arabella, and the two of them are off, discussing translations and the possible meanings of the book.

Clayton watches them for a long moment as he recoils the rope around his forearm, and doesn’t notice he’s frowning until Miriam sidles up beside him. “Why don’t you and me take a walk, Mister Sharpe? This cave is stifling me something dreadful. I could do with some air.”

“Don’t reckon you need my assistance to breathe, Miss Miriam, but I’ll accompany you nonetheless if you want me to.” There doesn’t seem to be any further threat in this area, and with Aloysius enraptured by the conversation between Matthew and Bella, it could be a while before anything else of interest presents itself. All the same, he checks his guns and gives the area one more keen scan before starting off toward the distant mouth of the cave at Miriam’s side.

They keep a leisurely pace, making their way along without much small talk. It’s a few minutes’ walk, but the path is simple, no branches or side tunnels to confuse them. When they step outside, it becomes obvious that they’ve been in there a good while. The sun that had been hanging high overhead when they entered is now dipping low toward the horizon, dyeing the sky a dark, bloody red.

“That’s more like it,” Miriam says, breathing deep. Clayton gives a noncommittal hum and tilts his head back to look at the sky. It’ll be a clear night, if they fancy sleeping outside instead of nestling up in the corpse cave, a notion he certainly favours. He’ll take his chances with the elements over the undead any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Then again, nobody’s asked him.

A minute passes. Two. Clayton says nothing. Miriam brought him out here with a purpose. Now it’s just a matter of waiting until she decides to bring it up.

Just as he’d expected, she starts talking before too much longer. “What do you expect they might find in that journal, Mister Sharpe? Occult symbols and Latin diaries mix uncomfortably with the phenomena we’ve been experiencing.”

There ain’t much that mixes comfortably with what we’ve been experiencing, Clayton doesn’t say. His shoulder twitches in a brief shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. Reverend said something about gold, protectin’ it with ‘means not of this earth’.” A week ago, the phrase would have dripped with sarcastic venom, but now it's too real a possibility for him to mock. “I expect we’ll either find ourselves toe to toe with a demon of the abyss, or we’ll find the gold the poor bastard downstairs was tryin’ so hard to protect.”

“Perhaps you men folk should place bets on which is more likely to happen.”

You couldn’t pay me to make a bet like that these days, Clayton thinks, raising an eyebrow. “Us men folk? Am I to assume you and Miss Whitlock wouldn’t have an interest in participating, then?”

Miriam flashes him a smile, quick and sharp and without any teeth. “Of course not. It’s below our delicate sensibilities.”

Clayton snorts. “All due respect, ma’am, but that delicate sensibilities line would work a far sight better on someone who hadn’t seen you shoot.”

“Maybe so. All the same, never hurts to put on a bit of a show, now does it?”

“I suppose not.”

“I thought so,” Miriam says with a smile, a real one this time. She leans in close and drops her voice low. “Seems to me that you’re familiar with a bit of showmanship yourself, Mister Sharpe.”

There it is, the real reason they’re out there. She wants to know more about him, about the man who’d called him The Coffin. The reveal doesn’t surprise him, but the sudden way it drops into the conversation reminds him of a rattler, coiled up on the sand and ready to strike. “Knew you didn’t ask me out here to talk about the weather,” he says, keeping his face clean of emotion. “Something you’d like to say, Miss Miriam?

“I’d like you to relax yourself, for one thing,” Miriam huffs, sounding slightly offended. “I’m not about to interrogate you. That was an observation, not an accusation.”

“Where I’m from, those two things are mighty similar more often than not.”

“If I wanted to accuse you of something, I’d come out and say it more bluntly. I do have a question, however, one I’d assumed you’d rather not answer in front of the others.”

“And that is?”

“How are you handling all this?” It’s not the question he’s expecting. Clayton jolts and looks over at Miriam, only to find her looking back. There’s a sternness tugging at the corners of her mouth, her typical ferocity carved in her brow, but there’s no hint of unkindness to be found.

He blinks, stunned. “Beg your pardon?”

“How are you holding up?” Miriam repeats. “Arabella’s all over the idea of the occult, and Aloysius doesn’t seem inclined to letting any situation dampen his mood. The Reverend has his faith. What are you holding onto in all this mess, Mister Sharpe? What’s stopping you from walking away?”

“Five hundred gold and keeping myself on the green side of the grass seems a solid incentive from where I’m standing,” Clayton says drily. “Mister Swearingen isn’t the type I like to make an enemy of.”

“I expect if you wanted to badly enough, you could get away without that being a concern,” Miriam says, her voice all too knowing. A shiver runs down Clayton’s spine like someone walking over his grave, and not for the first time he finds himself wondering just what the hell kind of tricks it is that Miriam has up her deceptively short sleeves.

“I like havin’ powerful friends,” he says.

“I thought you preferred a life in the shadows,” Miriam counters, and he understands very suddenly that his earlier thought of conversations like snakes was not so wrong after all. In a fight, Miriam shoots to kill. When she talks, she does the same.

He looks away and crosses his arms, feeling entirely too exposed. “What difference does it make? I’m not walkin’ away. What does the rest of it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t. You do.” Clayton stiffens, and Miriam continues. “We’re partners in this enterprise, you and me and all the others. Even if you don’t want to consider us friends, for the time being we’re responsible for each other. You spend a lot of time looking after the others, Mister Sharpe. I think it only fitting that someone be looking out for you.”

“I appreciate the concern, Missus Landisman, but I look out for myself just fine.” He can’t help the slight chill that slips into his tone, the way it flattens out. He’s spent his whole life looking out for himself, doesn’t turn his back on anything if he can help it. He doesn’t mind people saving his neck when they’re in the vicinity and he can return the favour, but the last thing he needs is anyone watching him or his back.

“I know you do. I’ve also seen how you look out for the Reverend.”

“That’s because he’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Same thing,” Clayton snaps, suddenly angry. “He seems to think by solvin’ this mystery he can bring peace on us or something. You believe that? Peace don’t belong in Deadwood or anywhere near it. All he’s gonna do is get himself run out of town with the church on fire behind him, again.”

Miriam watches him with a steady expression. “That was a lot of passion just now out of a man who purports not to care,” she says without any malice, and just like that the fight slides back out of Clayton like it was never there at all.

He leans his head back against the wall of the cave entrance and closes his eyes. Counts backward from ten, slowly, then does it again. He thinks that if this place goes under, it'll take him with it. If this thing they've got going falls through, if they fail, or if they succeed and walk off to different corners of the horizon, he's not sure what he'll do. He’s got his guard up for a reason and somehow these people and their foolish ways have already slipped past it, wormed their way into his brain like parasites. If this fails, if they fail, everything will go down with them, and he never has much liked waiting for the world to fall. He’d rather be the one to make it kneel.

After a long, heavy silence, he tries again. “Caring’s just a word, Miss Miriam,” he says and opens his eyes again to the horizon, the crimson sky. “It won’t save anyone from bad luck. Nothin’ will.”

To his surprise, Miriam steps closer, lays a hand on his shoulder, slow and tentative. “I don’t think you give that heart of yours enough credit, Clayton,” she says, her voice soft. “Caring about someone can do more than you think.”

The moment stretches out for a long while before her hand falls away. The moment it does, Aloysius appears from the tunnel behind them like he’s been waiting for a cue. “Sharpe, Ma’am, you best get back here. The other two made themselves at home with that journal and I think they’re getting somewhere with all this supernatural mumbo jumbo.”

“Is that right?” Miriam turns, smiling like they’ve only been discussing the weather all this time, and loops her arm through Aly’s. “In that case, I think you should lead the way, Mister Fogg. Mister Sharpe, will you be joining us?”

“In a minute,” he says in what he hopes is a normal tone. The pair wander off back into the cave and leave him alone at the mouth of it, frowning out into the horizon like it’s personally done him wrong.

What are you holding onto in all this mess? What’s stopping you from walking away? The questions scrape at the inside of his skull, harsh and grating. Ahead of him, the flat expanse of desert and plains asks no questions, tells no lies. A man could build a life out here, if he tried hard enough. There's supposed to be gold, plenty of it, and hope to spare. To his eyes, the sunset still looks like blood.

Clayton turns around, faces the cave entrance, and walks.

#critical role #undeadwood #fanfiction #reverend matthew mason #clayton sharpe #matthew mason/clayton sharpe #gen fic #m/m #tw: brief descriptions of gore #atlas writes

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ewankoseyo · 6 years ago

Text

falling || mark imagine

A/N: This went a little off-topic from the request, but I hope you all enjoy! Hope y’all aren’t lactose intolerant because this one’s hella cheesy lol

“Hi hi! I am so in love with each and every one of your stories! They’re all so amazing! Can I request a kindergarten teacher Mark! Where the reader is an assistant teacher and she slowly starts to fall for him over time because she sees how great he is with the kids and how kind he is overall but little does she know he likes her too? And maybe some of the students try to set them up? Idk i think mark would be an amazing teacher especially since he’s so good with kids THANK U! 😘🥰”

——

They say nobody’s perfect, but Mark Tuan came pretty damn close.

“Good morning, Hyunwoo!”

“Hello Teacher!” Hyunwoo happily greeted, hopping to meet Mark’s raised hand in a high-five before going to his desk.

“Good morning, So Min! I like your shirt, do you like Wonder Woman?”

“Yes sir! She’s my favorite superhero.”

You watched from the back of the room as Mark ruffled the little girl’s hair before she ran off to join her friends and you couldn’t help but grin to yourself like an idiot. Mark always made it a point to greet the kids as they came into the room. How does one have so much energy in the morning?

“Okay everyone, gather on the carpet!” Mark stood at the front of the room and beckoned for everyone to join him. The children eagerly ran to their designated spots on the carpet. They mimicked Mark, placing their tiny hands on their stomach. “Good morning class!”

“Good morning Mr. Tuan!” They bowed in unison.

“Don’t forget to greet your neighbor!” The students turned to each other, greeting their friends good morning. “Now class, what did I say we would be learning today?” Mark took out a yard stick and pointed to the phrase on the board, reading slowly so the class could follow along. “Today we are learning about weather. Yes, Seokjin?”

The little boy put his hand down. “You mean like when it’s cloudy and raining outside?”

“That’s correct Seokjin! Rain is part of the weather. You get a gold star for your question.” Mark reached into his back pocket for a pack of stickers and placed a gold star under the boy’s name in the class star chart. Seokjin grinned proudly at Mark, he always wanted to contribute answers in class. “We will be learning about all types of weather and I have a song to help us! Can I get some assistance?”

You immediately shook yourself out of your daydream, only now realizing Mark was talking to you. He smiled brightly your way, and you could only nod as you joined him at the front of the classroom. You thought that the novelty of being the Mark Tuan’s teaching assistant would have worn off after the first week, but after a month with him, you weren’t sure if you were getting the proper teaching experience you needed.

Being well-versed in things like the way Mark’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when a student got an answer correct? You were surely getting that experience.

“Ready to begin, Miss?” Mark turned to you, shooting another blinding smile your way. You nodded once again, afraid of looking him in the eyes as you pressed play on his stereo. You were hoping that the warmth you felt rising to your cheeks were just from the small bodies clustered together in the tiny classroom. Mark turned back to the class as the first few beats of his song began. “Follow us everybody! Let’s sing!”

——

“See you next week! Don’t forget to bring a picture of your family for show and tell!” Mark waved off to the students running out of his classroom.

As he tousled the hair of the last student leaving, you felt your heart swell. You attempted to focus on the water colors you were cleaning up, but your attention kept returning to the young teacher—how he didn’t take his eyes off the students until they were completely out of sight, how he sighed to himself with content at the end of another day with his favorite kids, how the sunlight beaming through the window seemed to give him an angelic glow, how his eyes crinkled up adorably as he turned to you and spoke—

Wait, he was speaking to you.

Don’t just stare at him, say something!

“Sorry, what was that?” You felt your cheeks growing warm again, and this time you couldn’t blame all the tiny bodies in the room. Exactly how long had you been staring? And did he happen to notice you staring? You looked away from him, silently cursing yourself and hastily cleaning up a table so you couldn’t see his reaction.

Mark chuckled, a sound you knew all too well. “I was just saying that you’ve become a natural. You even came up with new voices for story time.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his stickers. “I think that gets you a gold star!”

Your breath hitched as he delicately placed the gold sticker on your collar. Gosh, was it possible for you to not freak out at every little thing he did? Granted, that was the closest his hand had ever been to your face. You could only imagine the feeling of Mark tucking away a stray hair behind your ear, hand caressing your cheek—

“It’s nothing,” you replied offhandedly, resuming your clean up. “I learn from the best.” About Mark? Yes. But about teaching? You weren’t so sure.

Mark helped you in cleaning up, picking up paint brushes from another table. “I’m serious! At the beginning of the month, you were really shy and careful with the students, but now I think you’ve really broken out of your shell.”

You smiled to yourself. Mark had a way with making people feel good about themselves, and you knew he meant every word of it. “Well thank you Mark, it really means a lot,” you told him as you wiped down the table. “I was always so used to working with students one-in-one, so overseeing a whole classroom has been a big change for me. I still have much to learn from you.”

You turned around to toss the dirty wipes in the trash, only to be met with Mark’s chest. You looked up, your face now closer to his than it’s ever been. Was it possible to see the entire galaxy in someone’s eyes? The warmth you felt in your cheeks traveled to your ears.

“Sorry I—”

“It was my fault, I was moving too fast,” Mark smiled apologetically, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. “I just needed to wash these brush—”

“Mr. Tuan!” Startled, you stepped away from Mark. Seokjin stood there in the doorway, tears streaming down his face.

“What’s wrong, Seokjin?” Mark asked worriedly, putting his brushes down and making his way over to the boy.

“Me and Hyunwoo were walking home together and then he saw a tree and wanted to show me how he climbed trees,” Seokjin spoke through sobs. Mark bent down to the boy’s level and patted him on the back soothingly. “I told him to stop, but he went higher and he just—I couldn’t carry him—”

“Show me where he is,” Mark said gravely, ushering Seokjin outside before turning back to you. You had never seen him look so serious. “I’ll be back.”

You nodded. “I-I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

Half an hour and a couple of scrapes and bruises that needed cleaning later, Hyunwoo’s mom came to pick him and Seokjin up from Mark’s classroom.

“Thank you so much for helping us,” the woman bowed to Mark before looking at the injured boy in her arms. “What did I say about climbing trees?! Do you know how scared I was when Mr. Tuan called me?!”

“Sorry mom,” Hyunwoo mumbled regretfully into her shoulder.

“It’s no problem ma’am, I’m just doing my job,” Mark assured, looking at her sympathetically. “I’m just glad that Hyunwoo didn’t break anything. We’ll be missing him tomorrow, but he should definitely stay home and recuperate.”

After apologizing to and thanking Mark again profusely, the woman left to take the two boys home. Mark turned to you once the room was quiet again and let out a chuckle.

“Well that was probably the most eventful thing to happen since the beginning of school.”

You shook your head in disbelief as you gathered your belongings. “Mark, I don’t know how you do it.”

He looked at you with slight confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You reacted immediately yet calmly, and you knew exactly what to do, even though Hyunwoo didn’t explicitly say Seokjin fell out of the tree,” you explained in awe. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to think clearly and I’d start freaking out. And you’d also run the risk of parents blaming you for their child getting hurt, even though it did happen after school, parents would still think you were responsible—”

“It’s just a matter of putting my students first,” Mark interrupts. “At that moment, my number one priority is making sure the kids are okay and I’d just deal with the consequences, like parents getting mad at me, later.”

“Oh, right.” You nodded slowly. Of course you should put students’ needs and safety first. You sighed to yourself, Mark probably thought you were some heartless idiot who took this teaching assistant job for the benefits. Not wanting to make more of a fool of yourself, you took that moment as your cue to leave. “Well this place is clean, I’ll see you tomorrow, Mark.”

You moved past him with your head down in embarrassment but he gently grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait! You take the bus, right?”

You looked at his hand on your arm, then at him. “Correct,” you managed to choke out.

“I could drive you home, you know,” Mark suggested with a smile, putting his hand down. “You’re on the way.”

You stood there frozen, contemplating his offer. Maybe this was a sign that he had a thing for you too? And this was his way of getting closer to you? With that killer smile directed your way, what else could it mean, right?

Or maybe Mark was just being nice because he was always a nice guy. And giving someone a ride whose destination was already on your route was not an outlandish thing to offer. Also when did Mark not have a smile that was killer? You’d be a fool to think they were exclusively for you.

Why would Mark have a thing for you? You were just his teaching assistant. He was (almost) perfect.

You shook your head, lips pursed in a thin smile. “It’s okay, I don’t want to impose.”

Mark tilted his head in confusion. “You wouldn’t be imposing, like I said, you’re on the way—”

“And I told a friend I would meet up with her after work for...a thing.” You mentally kicked yourself for such a lame excuse. Now you really had to leave. “I’ll see you again tomorrow, Mark.” You left without another word or glance at the young teacher.

You knew Mark Tuan came pretty damn close to perfection, and he deserved nothing short of it.

——

Hyunwoo had never seen you look so furious.

“Ma’am,” you growled politely at the older woman in front of you, pulling Hyunwoo closer to your side. “Hyunwoo is very sorry for taking from your tree, right Hyunwoo?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t know that was your apple tree,” Hyunwoo apologized again, bowing lowly. The older woman rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re teaching your kids at that school, but it sure isn’t manners!”

“But,” you interjected. “That does not give you the right to hit our students—”

“If you’re not going to teach your students right—”

“We teach our students well at our school, thank you very much,” you corrected angrily. “Like he said, he didn’t know it was your tree. Hyunwoo wouldn’t have done it had he known. We apologized and gave you your apples back. Why criticize our school when there was no big harm done?”

The older woman took a step closer to you. Hyunwoo cowered behind you, clinging to you tighter. “Teacher, you dare talk down to me?”

You didn’t flinch. “No I’m simply reasoning with you, as adults should. Now if you don’t have anything sensible to say, we’re going to be late for school.” You started walking off with Hyunwoo in tow.

“I’m going to report this to the principal. To the school board!”

You stopped in your tracks, looking at the woman slightly. “Need I remind you that Mark Tuan was the one who would drive your husband to and from the hospital when he was sick? Do you really want to tell the principal and get Mark in trouble over something so small?” Sensing the older woman backing off, you gave her a short nod and left.

“Thank you Miss,” Hyunwoo said quietly behind you once you were both out of the woman’s sight.

You sighed as you took his hand, attempting to quicken his pace. “Hyunwoo, what were you doing?”

“Sorry for taking apples from the scary ahjumma’s tree.”

You glanced sympathetically at the boy hanging his head down in shame and tousled his hair. “Thank you for saying that, but that’s not why I’m upset. Hyunwoo, you know you shouldn’t have been climbing that tree. You got us all scared the last time. What if you fell again?”

“I’m sorry Miss, I won’t do it again.” As he held his tiny pinky up to you, you knew you’d be a monster to turn down his promise.

As you entered the classroom, Hyunwoo immediately ran off to his friends to tell them about his morning. When Mark noticed you come in, he gave you a worried look. You were usually here with him an hour before school started, though you didn’t need to be, so it didn’t sit well with him when he didn’t see you bright and early that morning. Mark was about to come up to you and ask what happened, but you just shook your head.

“I know we’re late,” you said apologetically. “I’ll tell you about it later. I don’t want you hold back class any longer.” He wanted to press on, but eventually decided against it.

“Okay everyone, please join me at the carpet!”

The morning’s lesson went without a hitch as Mark taught the students about time with you by his side. He was still left wondering what happened when recess came around and you decided to supervise the schoolyard so Mark could prepare for the next lesson. When the bell rang, all the students ran out of the classroom to play except for Hyunwoo, who stayed at his desk and was quietly drawing.

“Hi Hyunwoo, what are you drawing there?” Mark took the empty seat next to the boy.

It took a moment for Hyunwoo to answer as he was concentrated on coloring. “I’m drawing a picture for Miss.”

Mark noticed Hyunwoo was drawing you. The sentiment warmed his heart. Hyunwoo was often misunderstood by other teachers and adults, but it made Mark happy that he had grown fond of you. “You’re giving it to her? I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Hyunwoo nodded. “Yeah! Today she saved me from the scary ahjumma by the school who hit me.”

Despite the boy’s excited attitude, Mark felt his blood begin to boil at the thought. “Hyunwoo...why did she hit you?”

“I climbed her tree to get apples,” Hyunwoo whispered as if afraid of getting in trouble. “But I didn’t know it was her tree! But then Miss saw me and saved me! The scary ahjumma got mad at her but then Miss said something back and the scary ahjumma got scared!”

Mark let out a sigh of relief when he realized it wasn’t anything too serious. “Why were you trying to get apples, Hyunwoo? You could have gotten really hurt.”

“That’s what Miss said too,” Hyunwoo mentioned. “I wanted to give something to her and I saw on tv teachers like apples, so I tried to pick apples for her. But then I couldn’t, so now I’m drawing a picture!”

“Why do you want to give her a present?”

“Because I like her, she’s my favorite,” Hyunwoo answered, not looking up from his work. Mark smiled fondly at the boy before getting up to prepare for the next lesson.

“That makes the two of us, Hyunwoo.”

——

“Before you leave, don’t forget to help clean up the room!” You announced to the class. “Then line up by the door so I can give you all a Valentine’s Day chocolate on your way out!” The children cheered at the implication of earning more sweets that day and raced to tidy up the room. You and Mark shared a glance from across the room and laughed at the kids’ eagerness.

After passing out your last chocolate, you could finally breath. The students had been looking forward to the Valentine’s Day celebration you were organizing all week and you were glad you were able to pull it off. It took you out of your comfort zone to plan, but kids really enjoyed the games and activities you put together.

You looked over at Mark, who was picking up some leftover wrappers on the floor, and made your way to him. “Chocolate?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He gladly took the candy from your outstretched hand. “Good job today, I could tell the kids had a lot of fun, especially with the gift exchange. I think you’re pretty much ready to lead a class by yourself full-time.”

“You think too highly of me,” you joked, feeling the familiar warmth rising up your neck. “but thanks Mark. I always appreciate hearing your feedback.”

“Oh! I have something for you.” Mark dashed over to swipe something from his desk. He returned to you with a heart-shaped card similar to the ones the kids made during an activity. He had drawn a bee buzzing around the card.

“‘You are the bee’s knees. To the best teaching assistant a teacher could ask for,’” you read aloud with a giggle. “Aww thanks Mark! And here I thought that the only Valentine I would receive today was from Hyunwoo.”

“He gave you that drawing he’s been working on?”

“Along with a Fuji apple from the market. He’s the sweetest kid.” You two shared a laugh before falling into silence. You probably should have taken this as your cue to leave, seeing as Mark wasn’t going to say anything else. Maybe it was because it was Valentine’s Day or maybe it was because he had just praised you, but you didn’t want to leave Mark just yet. “So...you got any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“What?”

You mentally cursed yourself for the awkward question. “I mean, I’m assuming you probably have plans with a special someone—not that it’s a good thing to assume things about people but you just seem like the type—”

“You accepted my card didn’t you?”

“What?” Now it was your turn to be confused. “Wait you mean—”

“That you’re my Valentine?” Mark finished, smirking at your realization. “Well that’s how you explained it to the kids today, so yes.”

“Are you serious?” You looked at Mark in disbelief as he nodded fervently in response. “But Mark—I...why me?”

He smiled bashfully, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Why not? You’re kind of perfect.”

Mark let out a laugh as you scoffed at him. “Me?! I could say the same about you! You’re the young handsome kindergarten teacher who all the other female teachers fawn over. You’re so brilliant and passionate about child development, not only do the students have fun during your lessons but they learn so much and you’re just able to relate to them...and then I’m just me.”

“Well you, Miss,” Mark put a hand under his chin as he playfully pondered his next words. “You were the new beautiful and recently-graduated-with-top-honors assistant teacher who all the teachers were hoping to have in their class. Jackson was super bummed when he found out you weren’t interested in teaching middle school. You’ve been worried about how you were going to connect with these students, but you never gave up, always giving them your 100%. You know, after Hyunwoo told everyone the story of how you protected him, they kind of see you as a hero. You’re more assertive to adults than you think when it comes to the kids, more than I ever could be.”

“So you like me because I’m assertive?”

“I like you because you didn’t realize you were. And then some.” Mark grinned, looking at you hopefully. “So...please tell me that you’re free tonight for our first Valentine’s date, otherwise I just made a complete fool of myself by making you that card.”

“Our first date?” You asked slyly before letting out a whine. “Gosh Mark! You’re supposed to be the cool one. I’m supposed to be the shy one falling inexplicably and one-sidedly, not you!”

You both stood there with the cheesiest grins, neither one believing the other’s feelings. “Does that mean—”

“Yes Mark, yes I’m free for our first Valtentine’s date tonight.”

“Good, because I already kind of made reservations at this one place.” You gave Mark a playful shove before pulling him into a hug. Your body relaxed against his as he drew you closer into his chest. You would have stayed like that even longer, taking your time falling deeper and deeper, if it wasn’t for—

“Wow Mr. Tuan! Did you kiss her yet?!”

——

#got7 #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 oneshots #mark tuan #im jaebum #jackson wang #park jinyoung #choi youngjae #bambam #kim yugyeom #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop oneshots #kpop fics #got7 fics

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9uk · 6 years ago

Text

Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues.

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name?

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house.

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically.

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind.

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm.

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak.

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride.

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend.

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness.

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty.

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it.

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet.

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world.

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others.

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction.

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers.

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

"Uh..." You wet your lips.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about.

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

"You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling.

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know.

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar.

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams.

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else.

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you.

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible.

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air.

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else.

Like the girl who can play the violin.

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi.

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead,"

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all.

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me."

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries.

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body."

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you."

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs.

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud.

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

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