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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

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Ghost

Karl Heisenberg x reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: angst, death, execution, blugering heads in, smut (not to detailed)

Author’s Note: I really ended up liking this one! I hope you enjoy it as well love. I too would simply haunt the hell out of this village.

Requested: by anon, hiii!!! could u possibly do a 2 part karl heisenberg x fem!reader where Y/N used to be the young bride to be yet soon had made the rounds of having an illicit affair with the older and sarcastic bastard that was heisenberg. after being caught, she was executed and now haunts the village and heisenberg is the only one that manages to truly see her when she's haunting and there could be an explicit part but yea! thanks

Summary: the request

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Many Years Before 2021

You didn’t really want to get married. You had been raised to believe that it was something you did so that you could live and if you didn’t you would be poor and die soon. It wasn’t the best philosophy but hey, it was what you had.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, touching your collarbones lightly as your gaze followed the dress.

“You look wonderful,” Celeste, your best friend whispered. She had been married a couple of years before you. She didn’t enjoy it. She didn’t like her husband. You imagined you wouldn’t like yours. You had met the groom to be a couple of times and he was decent enough to be a husband but you didn’t love him, that was for sure. There were so few options in the village.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you asked, brushing your dress down.

“No, no. You look amazing.”

You nodded a bit and had to look away from yourself. You couldn’t see yourself as a bride. You didn’t want to be a bride. Well maybe one day. But not to him.

David walked into the room and looked at you. He didn’t have a reaction. He just smiled a bit, kind of annoyingly, and moved to grab a book from behind you.

“Doesn’t she look amazing David?” Celeste asked, gesturing to you. You felt kind of awkward standing there as he looked you up and down. You didn’t know what to do with your hands.

“She looks nice,” he said. You deflated a little bit but tried not to show it on your face. Celeste made it very obvious though that that was not what you tell your future wife to be. “I’ll be back for dinner at 5.” He turned and left.

You sat down on the bed, putting your head in your hands.

“I need to go for a walk,” you muttered. “Get me out of this dress Celeste.” ====

You had to make dinner but for the moment you were ignoring your responsibilities. The village, though small, still always had something new to find. You walked on the outskirts, ignoring the people as they went past and just looking around.

You walked past the castle, trying not to look up at it. For some reason you were convinced that someone would come and snatch you away if you looked too hard. You walked past it and ended up at the outer edges of town, on one of the trails.

It started to rain and you hadn’t brought a jacket. Yet you didn’t turn back. You stayed on the path that you were on, never having gone this far before. Maybe part of you was hoping it would lead you out of town completely.

“What are you doing all the way out here kitten?” A voice spoke, making you jump. You looked around, searching for the alluring playful male voice. From behind a tree a man emerged. He was wearing a long coat and hat, his hair stringy. He took off the glasses he was wearing to see you better.

“Who are you? I don’t recognize you,” you said, not sure what else to say at first. You knew everyone in town. Everyone knew everyone.

He put his hand out.

“Karl Heisenberg. Who are you? A local yeah?”

“Yes.” You shook his hand. “Y/N.” He let go of your hand and his touch trailed up to your ear, where he felt the pearl earrings you had tried on for the wedding earlier. He looked down at the ring on your finger.

“Where's your husband?” he questioned.

“I don’t have a husband,” you said, much too harshly. You shook your head a bit. “Not yet anyway.” He nodded, leaning against the tree he had just emerged from.

“It’s dangerous out here, don’t they tell you?”

“Who knows anymore? No one ever leaves,” you said. He nodded, surprised at your candor. “Except you. Or are you not from the village?”

“You have a lot of questions don’t you?” “Can you blame me? You’re the first new person I’ve met in years.” He chuckled a bit and nodded.

“I guess I can understand that.” He gestured to the ring.

“What’s the fiance like?”

“You have a lot of questions about my love life Karl.” You crossed your arms annoyed. Karl nodded a bit again.

“I like you.” The way he said it, drawled out a bit and honestly, made your stomach flutter. You panicked for a second. What was that?

“I don’t like my fiance much. But he has a lot of livestock,” you admitted. “It will help my family.” Your voice sounded ashamed as you said that.

“A girl like you can’t marry for love?”

“There’s no one that I love,” you admitted.

Karl thought about it for a second, looking at you up and down. He had met a couple of people from the village but they were usually too scared of him to stay long, or he killed them for an experiment type thing. But he liked you right off the bat.

“Would you like to see somewhere other than the village?” You thought about it for a moment. He was a strange man who you just met outside of your home. He could hurt you. Or he could help you live your life.

“I would.”

====

Karl took you to his factory. He showed you around, told you a bit about the other Lords but not much. You knew Mother Miranda obviously and he expressed his hatred for her. He was interesting and he made you laugh and feel things.

You snuck away why David went to work and went and saw Karl. He showed you more of his inventions. And he liked to hang out with you. He got lonely, not that he would ever admit it.

You sat with him one afternoon, looking at the village from the factory. It was very very faint but it was there.

“I stole this from my sister,” he said quietly, handing you a lipstick. You took it from him, holding it and twisting it to see the colors.

“For me?”

“No, it’s for me. Yes it’s for you,” he said laughing. You chuckled. You put it on your lips, rubbing it together.

“What do you think?”

“You look great.” He was leaning on the ground, holding himself up with his elbow. You were both looking out a window to nature and the village.

“Thank you very much.” You smiled sheepishly and looked down. Your eyes flashed back to him and he had moved closer to you. You hadn’t even noticed. You leaned down and kissed him.

That.

That was what it was supposed to feel like when you kissed someone.

He sat up, putting his hand on the back of your head and pushing your lips further onto his. You breathed him, you felt him as he put you on his lap.

He liked that the village was in view while he held you to him, as each layer of clothing was shredded. As he felt himself move inside of you, he knew that your fiance was in view no matter how strong. Karl felt your body shake in his hands and knew that he loved you. You loved him, you whispered to him when you were both finished.

He took off your wedding ring with his own fingers. He would make you his own one day, he swore it.

====

“What are you looking at?” Celeste asked. You snapped out of it. Your eyes had wandered in the direction of Karl’s factory, though you couldn’t really see it from there. You looked back at her.

“Lost in thought I suppose.”

“What’s that smile?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“That smile?” You shook your head.

“This is my regular smile, don’t worry about it.” Celeste looked at you for a moment longer, puzzled.

“Are you and David getting along better?” she asked. She glanced down at your bare ring finger. It had been bothering her all day.

“I suppose.”

“Where’s your ring?” The two of you were walking to the market to get some things for the week. You looked down at your finger like you hadn’t noticed it was gone.

“Must have dropped it.”

“You say that like it’s not a big deal!” she whispered, grabbing your arm. “What is going on with you? You’re gone all measures of the afternoon, you lose your ring, you have this dazed look on your face all the time-”

“Nothing is wrong with me Celeste.” You yanked your arm away. “Drop it.” She composed herself, shaking her head.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it. It’s going to get you killed.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

=====

“Look at this one,” Karl said, shoving a fun new invention in your face. You took it from him and laughed a bit.

“What does this one do?” you asked him.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. You laughed, tossing it back to him. Sometimes he just put things together and then found out what they did. It worked for him, that was for sure but someday he was bound to get hurt, you were convinced.

“I have to go back to the village. It’s almost dinner time.” You stood up, brushing your clothes off from the grime of the factory.

“You know you don’t have to go back.”

“Yes I do. Otherwise they’ll think I’ve died.”

“Is that so bad?” he weigned. He grabbed your hand but you didn’t let him hold it. You gestured to the door.

“I will see you tomorrow.”

“Your weddings tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night. I’ll still see you.” You turned and opened the door. He wanted to call for you to come back but he was too prideful for that. He let you go down the hill with the promise that he would see you tomorrow.

The walk back was as swift as it always was. You were practically bouncing. Your mind wasn’t on your wedding, it seemed so miniscule to you now. When you stepped back into your house the ghost of a smile was still on your face.

At the sight of David at the table, the smile faded very quickly.

“David?”

“Where have you been?” Celeste was standing behind him, her arms crossed, face hard. You looked between the two of them.

“I just went for a walk,” you said but it sounded weak.

“Where have you been?” David asked again.

“You go out up to that factory every single day. You come back...with this,” Celeste said, gesturing to the mark on your neck you hadn't even noticed was there.

“I didn’t give it to you.” David said.

“Hey now,” you said, shaking your head. “I burnt myself, that’s all.”

“Do you know what happens to women who have affairs?” David asked, standing up. He grabbed your arm and held it tightly. “They don’t get married.” He threw your arm down and your eyes went wide.

“No. No no, you can’t....”

====

When you didn’t come back the next day, Karl went down to the village. He just narrowly caught the end of the execution. He didn't even think they did that anymore, let alone to you.

He found your fiance and smashed him with his hammer until David was nothing but dust.

You managed to catch the end of that death.

“Karl! Karl what are you-” You rushed up to him and grabbed his arm, only for it to go straight through him. You gasped, eyes wide. Karl turned around but he was the only one who did.

“Y/N?” He went to grab your cheek and went right through you. He shivered.

“What are you looking at, old man?!” Celeste screamed, kneeling beside David's dead body. Karl turned around and realized quickly that no one else could see you. He wasn’t sure how or why or what had happened but you were dead and he could still see you.

He smashed David's head in once more.

====

2021

“There’s someone in the village,” you said. Karl looked over at you, confused.

“Yeah, there’s always people in the village kitten.” You shook your head, eyebrows furrowed and confused.

“No, everyones been killed or hiding in their houses. There's an outsider out there,” you told him. He took a step to his window and looked down at the village, now torn and broken. You were standing beside him but he hadn’t been able to actually touch you since you had died. You floated around the village, haunting people here and there when they caught a glimpse of you, staying around Karl when he went from place to place. He was the only person to talk to you.

“Ethan Winters?”

“I think so. Granted, I can’t say I’ve ever seen him before. Should you tell Mother Miranda?”

“You’ve known me long enough to know I don’t tell Mother Miranda anything I don’t have to.” You crossed your arm.

“I guess you’re right about that. Want me to go back down and check to see where he is?” you asked. Karl nodded.

“There’s a meeting soon. I imagine it will be about him. Be back soon.”

You nodded and started to go back to the village.

“Don’t go too far,” he called. You waved him away.

“You either.”

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagines #resident evil 8 imagines

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thedeviljudges · 3 years ago

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the devil judge + the seven deadly sins

so, i made a gifset about who i thought falls under the seven deadly sins. and also shameless plug - please go reblog the gifset i made for this. took me ages to do.

but i figured i might as well make a meta post to correlate. so this is that post. it’s not everything i could discuss. i could be here for hours more, truth be told. but i hope it’s enough to chew on.

while i feel like a lot of these are going to be a no-brainer, i still want to talk it through because idk. i can, and i want to, and i feel like it, lmao.

gluttony

the elite are privileged and have an opportunity to indulge so much more than the general public, but in many different ways. this is shown throughout the show in the fact that they can indulge on luxury food, have political power, they can make a phone call or snap their fingers and everyone must follow their orders.

and the thing about gluttony is that there is always more to be had. you take a little and then realize it’s not enough and so you ask for more. case in point: in episode 11 when sunah suggests that yohan could be the new president, the current one gives her an alternative: dictatorship. because it wasn’t just enough for him to be an actor and the presiding president.

you’ll also know they turn in on themselves - the two other guys in the elite group. one who owns the company and the other dude - i really cannot remember their names and what they do, but y’all know who i’m talking about. it was so easy for them, when threatened, to fabricate documents to give to yohan about each other in order to get ahead. gluttony is only shared in the relationships we have until one realizes they can take a little extra of the pie. it’s the selfishness of having all the leftovers. gluttony cannot necessarily exist without someone else’s sacrifice.

lust

i kind of had an ah-ah moment when i was talking this over with @technitango. i was trying to decide who was going to be lust because lust is portrayed very, very differently in this show than what most of us are used to. we, of course, know sunah who lusts after a life of indulgence and riches because she equates that with respect more than actually wanting it because it’s monetarily worth something.

but then i realized the public is lust because of their need for justice. i won’t say revenge necessarily because they’re doing as they’re told when given the judge show. but we can quickly see how that evaporates into something akin to bloodlust, for criminals and people who normally get away with shit, to have their fair taste at conviction for their misdeeds. we even see it with yohan’s fanboy club - the lust that comes from adoration and dedication.

and even more so, the public is easily swayed and so is the nature of lust. it follows in the vein of needs and wants, and as soon as new information is presented, however may false, so does the wants and desires of what people want sway. how easy was it for them to turn on yohan for a split second on two occasions - on two accounts of bribery.

envy

envy, above all, is about wanting what others have because you do not have it yourself. it may not be exactly what they have, but a form of it. some people don’t necessarily want money - they want what it can by, which is time, health and material goods.

sunah is the perfect example of this. she envies respect and recognition. she talks about bright and shiny objects, and that’s true to her kleptomania tendences, but more than anything, she wants to be seen as an equal because being poor with a vastly different upbringing means she’s looked down upon by those she thinks matters.

which also begs the question why she feels the need to seek validation from people in higher statuses to begin with when she can be the exception and not the rule - form her own understanding and environment to show others that the typical way of the elite is not actually all it’s cracked up to be - to which we see when she has no one to celebrate her victory with. it’s lonely being at the top. you get to your goal you thought you wanted but then what?

more importantly, sunah also envies family, relationships and simply put, human interaction. she wants to be cared for and treasured, and she looks for that in her position of power. because then all eyes are on you. because then that’s what people care about. what she fails to see is that those eyes are just as fruitless and just as wavering. to be a leader means people loving the idea of you but not you as a person.

“people of envious nature are sometimes stimulated to seek to emulate those who have completed some great achievements and in doing so achieve something great for themselves,” according to Understanding Philosophy.

wrath

while i realize that gaon not might entirely fit the wrath trope, he certainly has his moments, and i think he’s lived with a tampered flame since his parent’s death. he just learned to briefly put it out in the form of distractions and a false sense of righteousness and justice. it isn’t until he meets yohan that someone finally gives him the okay to feel the entirety of his emotions, that lets him breath and tells him it’s okay to feel anger and hurt. and while gaon ultimately chooses not to exact revenge, his wrath is what led him to becoming a judge and walking away from his teenage crimality.

gaon transposed his wrath into seeking justice, transformed it into livelihood, and reformed his narrative so that he was no longer angry and a teen with rash emotions. it was simply redirected and never really forgotten. yohan turned that redirection back around onto gaon’s ultimate heartache. fueled with that, it became easier to justify himself and his actions.

the most pivotal moment of turning his back on this mindset is, of course, the minister’s suicide, where he takes a good look at himself and doesn’t like what he sees. at this point, gaon’s upset isn’t necessarily at yohan but at the situation in which they got themselves into. because the thing is, gaon doesn’t absolve himself from what they did. he doesn’t turn a blind eye to that and try to dismiss it. he owns up to what happened and confesses how he feels to yohan and how he has to leave for his own good, and in some indirect way, for yohan’s, too.

with yohan, his ultimately weakness, despite never admitting to it, is family. his wrath comes in the form of anger when the ones he loves are threatened. yohan lives by a moral code of loyalty because that means you won’t be abandoned, and as a child who lived with that verdict since the day he was born, it’s an ever-pressing theme of his.

thing is, wrath comes in two particular forms for yohan. again, one is family and the second is the rose-colored glasses he’s given himself in his revenge story. he’s always had a goal to presumably make right the wrong for taking away isaac, but within that, 10 years is a long time to plot revenge, to the point where it becomes so much easier to lose yourself to that, to become enraged with it and forget the initial goal all along. we see this in his inability to form the bonding moments needed with his niece and his casual throwaway comments over people’s lives - the comment he made to gaon about moving on to the next plan, and the ultimately nail in the coffin of pushing gaon to leaving him.

his fury has also led him to convince himself his own humanity is nothing short of a lie. therefore, it’s easier to justify the means to an end because of his own self-worth and self-deprecation. it’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy: he even admitted to gaon’s mentor that he is an abyss. he’s referred to himself as nothing but an animal or a monster - all characteristics of despondency to survive and to justify what he’s doing. sort of like a catch 22, yohan claims he’s an animal/monster and behaves as such, but because he behaves as such, it means he’s an animal/monster.

wrath for gaon and yohan are very different yet the same. they are slow-burning, and that’s a dangerous type. it’s actually interesting when you think about the fire imagery surrounding the two of them because flames are quick to lap at anything in its wake, to destroy within a matter of minutes. and yet for the two of these men, their internal fire eats them from the inside out, painfully, until they’re almost unrecognizable to others and to themselves.

sloth

sloth was a little more difficult to pinpoint because of its characteristics. it was either the minister versus the mentor, both of which i think could work in this role. however, i chose the minister simply because she’s featured more and intertwines heavily with the plot line.

soth is a medieval translation of the Latin term acedia, meaning “without care.”

the ultimate characteristic of sloth is often identified as laziness, and while it’s easy to argue that the minister hasn’t been lazy in her ability to get where she is, she became as much when she started lying to get to her position. isn’t lying known as the easier way out? it absolves you of responsibility, of putting in the hard work, of apologizing and making things right. in the end, she had a goal and found the easiest solution to get there through her lack of responsibility for the roles she more than likely swore an oath to.

but that also translates into the other attributes of sloth: a failure to do the right thing, lack of emotions for people or of the self, and the fact that it “hinders man in his righteous undertakings and thus becomes a terrible source of man’s undoing” according to The Seven Deadly Sins: Society and Evil.

while i think there are a lot of components of sloth that may not necessarily fit the minister, the apathy and carelessness are enough to showcase her aggression, despondency and restlessness when what little efforts she does put in do not go her way. another interesting thing to note is that many of sloth’s traits correspond with symptoms of mental illness, such as depression and anxiety. it’s an interesting thing to note given the way the minister chooses to end her life.

greed

i don’t know that jinjoo would’ve had any provocation to the limelight if it wasn’t for sunah’s direction, but she’s eager to please and wants to be useful. it’s only natural for her to want more because it’s clear she’s a career woman, loves her job and has a heart for serving the people.

but like gluttony, greed is also that little thing that plants itself and can take on a life of its own. you start looking for justifications as to why you can’t have more than what you do, and in jinjoo’s situation, she’s already overlooked through no fault of her own. and it’s not that gaon and yohan are doing it purposefully, which is what makes their neglect heartbreaking, because truthfully, they’re after the same thing jinoo is. sure, it looks different and the foundation of it is different, same with their motives. but they’re all three judges on a residing bench working to exact justice - even if all three of them have their own personal agenda.

i don’t think jinoo fully aligns with greed, but she does want more for herself, and i think that’s only natural. you can tell she has a heart, and she’s keen not to be overlooked. this isn’t her pain point so much as it is she knows her worth and is more than ready to do what it takes to get where she wants. this, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a bad trait, but we can see how it leads to being deceived, especially for someone who’s been left in the dark for so long.

she is enticed by the glitz and the glamour of being a head judge, but you can tell she feels some remorse and guilt for those thoughts at times. i think her sense of greed is a battle within herself more than it is extremely outwardly.

pride

soohyun’s pride comes in the form of her imbalance with right and wrong. her sense of righteousness and justice is so far leaning, even more than gaon’s. it can be chalked up to her being a cop, but we’ve seen instances of this outside of her role within that agency. her pride doesn’t let her see beyond saving gaon and getting to the bottom of every mystery that comes her way.

it also comes in the form of impulsiveness and her savior complex, putting elijah in danger, for example, instead of waiting for backup. it’s not necessarily from a belief that she can fix things all on her own, but she sees injustice and immediately jumps in. another case in point is her and gaon watching yohan wreck the minister’s son’s car. she’s ready to go stop him, but gaon pulls her back, most likely because at that point, they hadn’t been observing the situation for very long to get a read on it. also the fact that at that point, neither of them truly knew yohan and his capabilities.

but as to where her characteristics come from, we simply don’t know beyond that of gaon. it’s unfortunate because we don’t have much of her backstory, so there is no real understanding why she so firmly believes in entities of regulation beyond keeping her friend out of jail. she prides herself on her work and what she’s able to accomplish, which is why it’s devastating to her to have to protect gaon by cleaning up his bloody handprint.

aristotle is of the belief that, “pride, then, seems to be a sort of crown of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without nobility and goodness of character,” from Nicomachean Ethics.

but pride for soohyun isn’t about honors or rewards. it’s for herself and her capabilities, her ability to protect gaon, and the virtues she’s set as the precedent for herself. because sometimes it’s not even about establishing morals and ethics upon yourself. it’s about feelings/intuition, logic and observation. and no, i don’t mean the feelings she has for gaon. there are things that humans do, both actions and words, that we inherently know are bad without someone telling us as much and without the rules of the world seared into our brains. there are some things we know, for a fact, are wrong to us as individuals.

for soohyun, she knows that gaon’s actions, and even her own, have consequences. from what we’ve seen, i think it can be argued that it’s really about not doing those actions to prevent an outcome - not necessarily from a place of being just and right. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand good morals/ethics, but again, we have no background of what her internal guidance actually is.

to put this in layman’s terms, we’ll use gaon wanting to stab the conman in his youth. soohyun knows it’s wrong because it will incriminate gaon and therefore she stops it. gaon’s gone to her because he sees her as a moral compass. but is her own internal navigation rooted in justice the way gaon had to find it in the judicial system, or is hers rooted in her pride of keeping gaon safe? she stops him from doing things that will get him in trouble, but is she stopping him because the action itself is wrong or because the outcome will result in undesirable consequences for the two of them?

and of course, there is a flipped argument to be had there - i’m not arguing that gaon stabbing the conman would be right or justified. but what i am saying is that for her, her worldview is the only right one, and when anyone steps out of that, even gaon, it becomes a bit of an issue: the pride she has for that is palpable.

every character indulges

truthfully, every character has at least one form of these sins rooted in their characterization. some are larger than others, but the breadth of it can be explored even further for each. and that’s what makes them more realistic and not just characters written on a page or following a linear progression of their writing deity.

the seven deadly sins are also notoriously rooted in religion. they’re also a defining feature of aristotle’s works that represent the golden mean, in which each vice is parallel to a virtue.

the devil judge is so layered, but i think at the heart of it, it’s about humanity at its core. sprinked in are the philosophies and contradictions and what it means to look in the mirror, what happens when we’re blind to seeing our true selves and most importantly, how much changes when we’re swayed by our own misgivings. it really asks us to understand nature versus nurture, that people must find a belief in something to keep them going, and how futile our hopes and desires can actually be if we’re not carefully regulating ourselves, nevermind the entities established by society to regulate us, too.

the entirety of the show genuinely begs the question as to who is truly right, who is truly wrong, and if it’s even possible to find the correct answer.

#x #the devil judge #the devil judge meta #*#*the devil judge #so i have some Thoughts #probably not very good ones but ya know

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yesttoheaven · 4 years ago

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AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet #neil #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson imagine #tenet fanfic #tenet imagine #ives tenet #tenet #neil tenet one shot #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson one shot #neil tenet x y/n #x y/n #amor fati #eternal return

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sergeantsporks · 3 years ago

Text

Do You Want the Knife You Left in My Back, or Can I Keep It?

Rating: Teen and up, Gen

An injured Hunter wanders into Hexside. What was Luz supposed to do, just let him bleed out on the floor?

Ch 5/6

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

Ao3

Luz turned the cursed knife over and over in her hands. Viney had given it to her, joking about how her teachers were getting a little bit worried about why she had it. It was so small, but it had caused so much damage and pain.

“Hey, Luz, what do you have?” Eda asked, peering over her shoulder.

Luz felt the tiniest of grins creep over her face. “A KNIFE!” she yelled.

“NO!” King yelled back from the other room.

Eda plucked the knife out of her hands. “No weapons for you until you stop corrupting King with your human realm culture.” She squinted at the knife, peering at the runes on the hilt. “Oh, that’s a nasty one. Is this…”

“The one Kikimora used,” Luz said softly, “Yeah. I’m… not sure exactly what to do with it.”

“Give it to the golden nerd,” Eda joked, “Let him stab Kikimora back.”

Luz snatched the knife back. “Yeeeeaah, I don’t think that’s the greatest idea, Eda. Do you mind if I keep it with the other weapons?”

“Knock yourself out, kid.”

Luz set the knife carefully on top of a cabinet. What a nightmare. Who was even in the business of making weapons like that? She heard a groan from the other room, and she darted out into the living room. Hunter was awake, and had apparently just discovered that he couldn’t move.

“Hey! You’re up! And not fever-ish! How are you feeling?”

He buried his face in the couch again. “Ow.”

“Yeah, Viney said you’d be really sore. But hey, you’re not dying anymore, and you’re finally pretty conscious. So…” Luz pulled him up, shaking him. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”

“Ow. Ow. Owowowowow, Luz! I can’t—”

“Move, I know, which is why we’re having this conversation now! Before you can wriggle out of it! Why would you leave the house?! Were you trying to run away? Kikimora was out there! You were barely even conscious when I left! She almost killed you!”

“I know. I knew she was out there, I knew she was setting up a trap, I just…”

“You just WHAT?! What could she have POSSIBLY said or done that made you stumble out of here, half-dead?!”

Hunter’s ears burned red, and he mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear.

“What?”

“She said she’d kill you,” he said louder, “She said she’d kill you, and I staggered out of here like a great big idiot in shining armor. I don’t know why I bothered.”

Luz’s mouth opened and shut a few times as she struggled to find words. She let Hunter’s shirt-front go, and he sank back onto the couch, wincing. “Oh,” she said finally, “Were you… going to trade yourself for me?”

He snorted. “Fat chance.”

“Hey!”

“What?! Trade my freedom for your life?! That’s the dumbest trap in the book, she’d just kill both of us! Who would fall for that?”

Luz felt her own face flush. “It’s not THAT stupid! Sometimes you don’t have much of a choice!” She flopped down to the floor. “What exactly was the plan, then?

“Easy,” he said simply, “I was going to rescue you.”

It was Luz’s turn to snort. “Wow, I never could have predicted that going wrong.”

His ears turned red again. “Hey! I can take Kikimora—I’ve done it before!”

“Yeah, when she was punch-drunk on sleeping nettles and you had a staff! Not when you were half-dead from being stabbed and feverish!”

“If you must know,” he sniffed, “I was planning on sneaking past her, not confronting her directly!”

“Awwww, well, I’m very flattered. Even if I was never actually captured. Thank you very much.”

He looked away. “Whatever. I just figured I probably should help. Since you saved my life and everything.”

Luz kicked the couch. “Admit it. You were worried about me.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was worried you’d annoy Kikimora to death.”

“You weeeeereeeee. You were totally worried. We’re friends now.”

“You’re not my friend. Shut up.”

“I am. I am worming my way into your heart.”

“Yeah, a bile leech can do that, too, you’re not special.”

“A what?! Ewwww, never mind, don’t tell me.” Luz kicked the couch again. “Whatever. Keep being a grump, I’m not giving up on you.”

Xxx

Hunter watched Luz race up the stairs. His palisman fluttered down onto his shoulder, chirruping reassuringly.

“Don’t you start,” Hunter grumbled, “I can’t be friends with her! She’s the enemy!”

Another low chirp.

“Yeah, I KNOW technically you’re the enemy, too, but you’re an EXCEPTION to wild magic being dangerous. She’s like. Public enemy number one.”

“Wild magic isn’t dangerous,” Eda commented as she came through. She stopped, looking down at him. “I… heard what you said. About wanting to save Luz. Kid, why didn’t you come to me? You could have died out there! You nearly did!”

Hunter felt his ears start to burn again. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? I had a sister in the coven, and I saw how she turned out, so let me take a guess; you thought it was something you had to do on your own. You thought that if you accepted help, that made you weak. You thought that you’d made a horrible mess of everything, and you were scared that if you didn’t clean it up before the person in charge—me—found out, you’d be in trouble. Am I close?”

“No. I’m not scared of you.”

“Why you little—” Eda took a deep breath. “Shut up and listen, I’m trying to talk you through your trauma.”

“I don’t have any trauma.”

Eda found that incredibly hilarious for some reason, nearly bent double from laughing. “Oh… yeah, okay, kid. Sure. Alright, you’re not scared of me.” She looked him dead in the eye. “But are you scared of Belos?”

“No,” Hunter said automatically, “I’m loyal to Belos—there’s no reason to be scared of him.” Titan, he hated how his voice wavered. He wasn’t scared of Uncle Belos—he wasn’t. He just… didn’t want to disappoint him. As long as he did what he was asked, everything was fine.

Eda sighed, sitting down next to him and looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. Look. Kid. If. You ever feel like you’re not safe in the keep. Or. I don’t know. You just finally figure out that Belos is not a good guy. If you don’t want to stay there anymore. I—guess—hrk—okay—Hngh—I guuuuuuess I wouldn’t mind. Too much. If you… came here?”

“What?!” Hunter yelped

Eda jumped up. “What?! I didn’t say anything, did you say something? Whatever, bye!” She summoned her staff and flew out the door before he could respond.

The palisman still nestling on his head warbled at him reproachfully.

“What? I can’t stay here! And I’m not going to leave the palace! So it doesn’t matter if she’d let me stay here or not!” He tried to get up, but his muscles were too stiff, and he gave up, instead flopping backwards onto the couch cushions, his palisman forced to flutter off of his shoulder and land on his head instead. “Ow. I just… want to go back home. Where it’s not confusing. Where I know what people want me to do—where I know how they want me to act.”

Still.

It was nice that she’d offered.

Xxx

“Ow!”

Luz dabbed at the stitched-up cut with the disinfectant Viney had left behind. “Quit being such a baby! You want to get another raging fever?”

“It would probably hurt less!”

“Scream into the pillows,” Hooty advised, sticking his face right in Hunter’s, “It’ll help!”

Hunter let out a strangled yelp.

“Hooooty!” Luz protested.

Hooty flopped down in front of the couch. “Lulu was in the emperor’s coven, and we’re the beeeeeeest of friends. I think the emperor’s coven is actually full of people who just want friends!”

“Hunter,” Luz said, wrinkling her nose at him, “Doesn’t want to be friends.”

“He can be my friend!”

Hunter screamed into the couch cushions.

Luz poked him in the ribs. “Hey, that was just rude.”

“If I could move, I’d tie your bird-worm into a bow,” he growled.

“But you caaaaaaan’t,” Hooty sing-songed.

Luz pushed at Hooty’s face. “Alright, alright, get out of here, give him some space.” She finished cleaning the stab wound and taped a fresh bandage to it. Hunter didn’t react, not even to complain about the sting, and she knelt down next to him, nudging his shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Everything is so… complicated here.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what anyone wants me to do!”

“Hunter, we don’t want you to do anything. I didn’t bring you here because I want something from you, I brought you here because it was the right thing to do.”

He groaned. “You don’t get it, of course you want something from me, everyone wants something from everyone, but I can’t figure out what it is you want me to do here! You keep saying I don’t have to do anything, and that this isn’t business, but—”

“Hunter. Hunter. Look at me. Look at my face.”

He turned his head with a wince, and she helped him sit up, squishing his cheeks between her hands and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I don’t want anything from you. Not one single thing. Neither does Eda, neither does Hooty. Got it?”

“But—”

Luz squished his face harder, cutting off his words. “No buts! Nothing! No ulterior motives! We are not Belos, we are not Kikimora. You don’t have to give us anything. I want to be your friend, Hunter, a real friend. Gus and Willow and Amity drop everything to help me, and they never expect me to do anything back. I’d do the same for them. And I’m trying to do the same for you.” She let go of his face. “Okay?”

He bit his lip, looking just about the most lost she’d ever seen him. “Mmmmmmmmmm…”

Luz sighed. “Right. Can’t change an entire life philosophy in a day, I guess. Okay, uhhhh...” she spotted King eyeing Hunter with narrowed eyes that she knew meant he was about to pounce. “…King wants to use your lap as a nap spot. You can’t really move around anyway, so…?”

Hunter almost immediately brightened. “I can do that.”

King almost immediately catapulted onto Hunter’s lap, curling up. “Ha. You tried to lock me in a cage. Now I am the ruler! I hold the power, here, and you are in a cage of my making!”

Hunter glanced down at demon in his lap. “He… doesn’t have worms, does he?”

“Hey! King is worm-free, thanks very much!” Luz leaned in closer. “But between you and me, you might want to watch out for fleas,” she murmured.

“That—that was a joke, right?”

Luz straightened up, running for the door. “Okay, have fun, you two, I’m off to school!”

“Luz! Tell me it was a joke!”

Ch 6

#toh #the owl house #toh hunter #luz noceda #toh fanfiction #my writing

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joshstambourine · 4 years ago

Text

What Friends Do pt. 3

Warning: Cursing

Word count: 3382

Synopsis: Josh and Jake are surprised when an old friend stumbles back into their lives, taking their world by storm with old feelings, new feelings, and problems they never would have expected.

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader x Jake Kiszka

Josh sat rather quietly at a booth in the corner of the rather cheery and noisy diner, his eyes sticking close to a book he held in his hand. Despite how energetic and wild Josh was, he was still an avid learner. He craved to be absorbing knowledge whenever possible, so he read. Sometimes history, sometimes philosophy, religion and myth at other times… it was whatever tickled his fancy at that moment really. Just recently Josh had picked up an interest in true crime, he wasn't normally that kind of guy really, but after reading a small portion of the book he was now holding he quickly became hooked. It had something to do with the psychological aspect of it all, and the sheer ingenuity of the author who put so much work into writing it.

Josh's chin rested in his hand as his eyes scanned page after page without a need for pause, well except for when the waitress came to see if he needed his coffee topped up. To which Josh was quick to give a wide smile and push his mug to her, "Thank you." He simply hummed, as the young woman poured the coffee she couldn't stop smiling.

"You're Josh right?" She lightly asked him, clearly a little nervous. "...like Josh Kiszka?"

Josh looked to her with his own smile, "Depends on who's asking." He mused lightly, trying not to make a big deal out of the inquiry.

The waitress let out a quick laugh, her eyes focused on her hands as she poured. "I didn't come to bother you, I just uh… I'm a huge fan and I was hoping you could sign something for me?" She quietly asked, looking up at him again.

Josh glanced at her name tag, "Of course… Annie?" He lightly asked, giving a small point to her badge. She began to nod quickly, suddenly jerking the pot of coffee back up realizing she had spilled a fair amount on the table.

"Oh no!" She exclaimed, "I am so sorry!" Annie quickly exclaimed.

Josh lightly lifted his book and his arms with a rather melodic laugh, "It's totally okay! Don't worry!" He tells her, his hand outstretched to take some napkins and help her wipe up the mess.

"I'll get a cloth---" Annie uttered, clearly in a shambles over what had just happened. She was still muttering to herself as she quickly went around back.

Josh watched as she ran off giving a soft smile, 'What a sweet girl…' he thought before noticing a young woman walking towards him, she wore an expression that told him she had watched everything that had just happened by the way she was trying not to laugh.

"What did you do to that poor girl?" (Y/N) laughed, "She was shaking like a leaf!" She continued, not finding it funny that the girl was such a mess --- (Y/N) thought she was adorable. No, what (Y/N) thought was hilarious was watching people lose their cool around a guy she knew for a fact could belch the entire alphabet and then some.

"I didn't do anything!" Josh quickly responded as he wiped the table, "She asked for an autograph and just---" He then gestured to the table.

(Y/N) shook her head in disbelief, "Have you told her how good you are at armpit farts yet?" She quickly inquired, coming to sit across from him, pulling a few more napkins to help him clean up.

Josh quickly pointed to her, "I have not, but you know that she would just climb right onto my lap if I did." He explains, "Ladies find that irresistible."

"Oh really?" (Y/N) raised a brow,

"Oh yeah, didn't you know that?" Josh replies in a spitfire way. "It's all women want these days."

"Ah yes, who needs love and affection when your man can armpit fart?" (Y/N) mused out loud glancing up at Josh, his gaze was on the young waitress who had come back rather quickly with a cloth.

She immediately began to wipe down the table, "Again I'm so sorry about that. I can't believe I did that---" Annie explained with an exasperated tone to her voice. "To make it up to you I'll cover your meal." She continues before pulling back.

"Oh no!! You don't have to do that!" Josh quickly exclaimed,

"No I insist." Annie says,

"No really hon, don't worry about it, he's rich he's got it." (Y/N) told her with a warm smile.

"(Y/N)---" Josh whispered in a quick way, though he was smiling. "Please, don't worry about it, Annie! Um here," He says taking one of the few napkins left in the holder. "(Y/N), do you have a pen?"

"Oh yeah---" She quickly says, going to pull one from her bag. "Here."

Josh quickly took it and began to scribble some things down on the napkin.

Annie's eyes were now on (Y/N) in a curious way, "I'm sorry, I don't think we met." She uttered, not remembering (Y/N) being here when Josh had sat down.

"Oh no I just got here…" (Y/N) admits, “We had lunch plans.” She continued.

"Oh! I'll get you a menu then," Annie quickly says, "Did you want anything to drink? I--- there's still coffee I didn't spill all of it!" She laughed awkwardly, "Oh---! I hope I didn't ruin your date or anythin---"

She was cut off by (Y/N) snickers, "God no! Don't worry about it! Josh is just an old friend--- this actually fits better than anything I could have imagined honestly." She mused. "But a coffee would be wonderful." (Y/N) told her.

As she said this Josh turned to hand Annie the napkin, he had not only signed it but also drew what appeared to be a coffee cup. "I'm not an artist--- well I mean, that kind at least." He lightly admitted.

Annie's cheeks were a bright red at this point, "N-no this is amazing!" She quickly sputtered out, "Thank you so much!" She continued, clearly over the moon with the simplest act of kindness really. Annie’s eyes lingered on it for a moment long before tucking it away into her pocket, “I’ll get you that coffee now!”

(Y/N) gave a small nod as a thank you, watching Annie run off. “What a cute girl!” She hums, glancing at Josh. “You clearly just made her week.” She points out to him, snatching her pen back from him.

Josh shook his head a little, “It’s still mind boggling to me that that's all it takes for me to make someone's day. Well at least people who know who I am.” He uttered out, folding a corner down in his book and placing it off to the side.

(Y/N) smiled as he said that, “I mean hey, it means you guys have been doing something right.” She tells him, fingers pushing back her hair a little as she leans on the table, “I take it Jake will probably be here by the time we’re leaving?” She mused as she had begun to look around the diner. (Y/N) enjoyed the warmth the restaurant had, it feeling like she was in a small town again --- that was probably why Josh liked this place, that it reminded him of Frankenmuth.

Josh softly laughed, “Yeah I can only assume, you know how he is---” he starts, moving to take a sip out of his mug. “Well--- actually he may surprise us, you also know how he gets when you’re involved.” He snickers, well aware of how much effort his brother used to put into getting dressed up and being several minutes early for her.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes a little, “Josh it’s been like six years---” (Y/N) scoffed, “You can’t honestly think he still feels like that.”

Josh began to shrug as he swallowed, “I mean I don’t know, he was pretty awestruck seeing you yesterday.” He mused,

His saying this made (Y/N) frown a little, “...ah… yeah I don’t think that look was awestruck.” She uttered under her breath, beginning to rummage through her purse.

Josh watched her from the corner of his eye, seeing a few items being shuffled around. It wasn’t long before he frowned a little, eyes lingering. (Y/N) finally pulled her phone free and saw his eye line, “What?!” She quickly asks, bringing the bag back to her side.

Josh’s eyes met (Y/N)’s he had chosen not to say anything, perhaps he was wrong about what he saw. He certainly hoped so, “Nothing.” Josh smiled at her, “It’s just good to see you.” He tells her honestly.

Josh certainly had missed having (Y/N) around to chat with like this. It wasn’t really a surprise when she packed up and left to go to college, she had different goals than Jake and him… though clearly things had changed seeing that she was back here starting her own career as a musician which was commendable, but also sad. Josh knew she never wanted to be a musician. (Y/N) from the time he had met her wanted to become a force for good in the world, perhaps some sort of court justice; just something that could make a change for the better. Of course Josh had always wanted something similar, but felt his being a force for good came through the music he made.

“It’s really good to see you too Josh.” (Y/N) responded with eyes full of affection, things fell quiet for a moment. (Y/N) had a lot she wanted to say to Josh, and clearly Josh also had a lot he wanted to say as well… but neither of them knew where to begin which made the air between them feel rather heavy.

Even Annie felt the tension and reluctantly slipped in as she gave (Y/N) a white coffee mug and a menu, “I’m just gonna leave this here… I’ll be back in a minute.” She uttered nervously before scrambling away.

Josh took a deep breath as he sat straight with his mug in hand, “So…?” He started,

(Y/N) took her glass and unknowingly did the same thing, “So what…?” She repeated,

“Music?” Josh lightly inquired, with a sly grin.

(Y/N) began to sigh very loudly, even throwing her head back a little. “Yes Josh. Music.” She droned, “I’m getting into music. Don’t you rub it in my face too, my parents have already done that enough.” She replied.

Josh shook his head, “I’m not gonna rub it in your face! I’m just confused, after so sheer much disdain for it all… now you’re here?” He slowly says with a clearly confused expression. “I just don’t get it (Y/N).”

“Plans change Josh, what can I say?” She responded, in a tone that clearly displayed she didn't want to be talking about this.

Josh raised a brow, his expression told her that he didn’t believe that. “You? Changing plans?” He scoffs, “(Y/N) your stubborn as a fucking mule, you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.” Josh quickly tells her, “What happened? Did you fail your classes…?” He lightly suggested, making (Y/N) scoff as she shook her head. “You know I don’t care what it is just --- just can you enlighten me a little.” Josh continues beginning to lean over the table, his gaze curious but still warm, he did care… and (Y/N) knew that.

(Y/N) had seen the look in his eyes many times during their younger years, it was a look that still made her heart ache a little. She glanced down at the mug in her hands beginning to take a sip, Josh stared at her for a few more seconds, before looking into his own glass with a slightly annoyed look.

“(Y/N)?” A soft voice called from the back of her mind,

“Yeah?” She could remember responding, now recalling how Josh’s head was laid in her lap at this moment. (Y/N) ran her fingers through his soft hair, it was longer than… without the tight curls just... free. (Y/N) was looking up at the stars twinkling softly over head, needing something to keep her attention from just staring at Josh.

Josh and (Y/N) used to sneak out in the middle of the night to walk together, just to talk and do silly things. They of course would sneak out to go to different parties and things, but the times they would sit alone like this were the most picturesque moments.

“You know that I don’t care, right…?” Josh softly told her, “About all that stuff…?” He continued, glancing down (Y/N) eyes met his. It was the same look, he wanted to be reassuring but the way he stared, told her everything she needed to know. “It doesn’t make me think any less of you…” He continued.

A soft smile had crept across her lips at that moment, “...I know Josh.” She lightly responded, remembering how her heart fluttered as his hand took her softly to hold over his chest. Moments like this with Josh were sweet to look back on, he really was a good friend when (Y/N) needed him the most, however… they were also a touch embarrassing to look back on. At times she couldn’t believe she entrusted him with so much information about her life.

“(Y/N)?” Josh continued,

“Mhm?” She responded,

“...Is superman’s ability to fly a feat of strength or actually a super power?” Josh uttered thoughtlessly as he gazed up at the stars,

“...Josh, you’re an idiot if you think it's anything other than a feat of strength.” (Y/N) responded without having to give it another thought. Maybe it was embarrassing to have shared so much with Josh, but… he was her best friend after all.

(Y/N) glanced up from her mug to look at Josh across the booth from her. She took in how his features had become more defined during their time apart, and how his hair curled and fell around his face. Josh had grown into even more of a handsome man than she could have ever expected. (Y/N) couldn’t help it, she could feel herself start and couldn’t stop it --- the same words leaving her lips as before, though she knew it wasn’t true. “I know Josh.” She smiled.

Josh raised his eyes, “So?” He lightly prodded, “What happened?” He lightly asks,

(Y/N) gave a light smile, she was going to lie through her teeth… she knew he would know but she wasn’t ready to admit why she was actually here. Not yet. “...It just wasn’t for me.” She tells him, “...I guess I didn’t realize how much I actually loved singing and performing until I wasn’t doing it anymore.” She told him, her chest feeling heavy with anxiety as Josh looked back at her.

His lips parted to say something, but seemed to pull back on the reins --- something (Y/N) had never seen him do when they were young. Josh smiled at her, he knew she was lying. (Y/N) hadn’t changed as much as he thought, she was making the same face she used to when she would bluff during their poker games. Josh just couldn’t bring himself to press the question; he had a feeling he knew what it was, and it was something he couldn’t just broach on the first time seeing each other in years. “...well… as long as you’re happy now.” He tells her honestly.

(Y/N) continued to make the same face as she nodded, “Of course I am~” She cooed, “I’ve got my hobbit back.” She continued.

Josh laughed a little as his eyes caught sight of an approaching figure, it made him smile a little as he waved. “Look who finally decided to show up!” He mused, “And before the diner closed too.” He continued, watching as Jake shook his head in an unamused way.

Jake wore a set of sunglasses on the top of his head, alongside a white shirt with dark red half sleeves, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. “Don’t even start…” He lightly said, going to slide into the spot beside Josh.

“Whoa hey now! That spot is saved.” Josh says rather seriously, pointing to sit with (Y/N) across the booth. It was (Y/N)’s turn to roll her eyes, she had heard him say this before. Once Jake had sat down Josh kicked up his feet so he was laying across the whole side of the booth, “My feet thank you.” He hummed.

Josh stared at his brother with clearly tired eyes, “....Dick.” He simply says, earning him a wide grin from Josh.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes at Josh knowing exactly what he was doing, she shook her head as she looked to Jake. “Hey…” she lightly started, noticing the bags under his eyes. “...oof… rough night?” She inquires,

Jake nodded as he rubbed his eyes, “You could say that.” He muttered,

“Okay, sorry for the delay, it's been busy today. What can I----” Annie had returned and immediately stopped, “Another new person okay!” She uttered, “Do we need another menu?” She asked, clearly looking a little exasperated.

“No, that's okay… I’ll just have a cup of coffee.” Jake says,

“Not hungry?” (Y/N) lightly asked, with an air of concern. Jake didn't respond, his arms simply crossing. (Y/N) didn’t continue to ask anything, she just looked down at the menu quickly, “Uh… I’ll just go with the number three.” She simply says.

“Okay… and for you?” Annie asked looking to Josh,

“Mmmm… the same.” He tells her.

“Alright, well I’ll be back! AGAIN with the coffee I guess.” Annie lightly uttered, turning on her heels.

“That girl deserves a big tip.” (Y/N) utters beginning to dig through her purse again before pulling out a small silver flask. Josh was quick to raise a brow but grin as he pushed his mug to her, excited by the idea of a morning pick me up.

Jake on the other hand looked at her with distaste, “Jesus (Y/N), it’s 11 in the morning.” He whispered,

(Y/N) looked at him before laughing in disbelief, “You expect me to take that from you? Really? I watched you do several shots before our finals.” She chuckled, beginning to pour a little amber liquid into her coffee as well as Josh’s. “Scratch that, you made me join you in doing several shots before our finals.” She continued.

Jake quickly pinched the bridge of his nose knowing she was right, he had a hard time not laughing a little. “That-- that was different. I was stressed.” He tells her,

“Mhm.” She nods, clearly not paying attention to his excuses as she sipped her spiked coffee. “I also remember something else happening that day… what was it…” She uttered in a clearly loaded way, she knew what happened but wanted to trudge it up as painfully as she could.

Josh took his mug, “He puked all over Rebecca M.” He chimed in adding a bit of sugar to his coffee, making (Y/N) grin and Jake snicker a little more clearly, still embarrassed by that. “And then she wreaked of gin for the rest of the day.” Josh cheered.

“Oh god she was so mad…” Jake laughed as he rubbed his eyes,

(Y/N) scoffed, “Of course she was Jake! I don’t think anyone enjoys being thrown up on.” She and Josh began to laugh a little making Jake hide his face away more. They barely noticed as Annie placed the new mug on the table, and snuck away yet again. (Y/N) without a thought poured a touch of the alcohol into Jake’s glass.

The dynamic had always flowed differently when it was the three of them; something about it encouraged more laughter and pulled more memories of funny times, it was how (Y/N) remembered it being with the Kiszka twins. Clearly she had been right to think that despite what had happened between her and the two of them as individuals they could always come back to times like this when they were all together.

#josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #gvf fanfiction #sam gvf #danny gvf #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet roleplay #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet imagine #gvf imagine #gvf #what friends do

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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fic: (could be dreadfully) boring

Boring gets a bad rap, really. Boring can be the best thing in the world.

“Could be kinda boring, right?” Dani says one Thursday morning, cold breath and hot hope mingling in the words, and Jamie laughs a little. She says it like it’s the best idea in the world: could be kind of boring, like all the songs say it shouldn’t be, like every movie tries to dismiss. But Dani says it, and Jamie thinks she’s only partly doing so to make her smile. Maybe she’s saying it for other reasons, too. Real ones. Ones that have nothing at all to do with Jamie, and how much she knows about the allure of boring.

Jamie didn’t grow up bored. Jamie walked the line between bad and worse most of her life, between one poor decision and the next, and Jamie found out all too fast what it was like to live out an adventure. The storybooks make adventure sound like something to chase, something hot-blooded and excitable, a rush.

In real life? In real life, adventure is hot-blooded, and excitable, a rabid thing with teeth. You grab hold, it swings around and bites you right back.

Spend enough time with enough idiots who think I want is a perfectly fine life philosophy, spend enough time far from freedom, spend enough time picking up after someone else’s catastrophe, and adventure starts to sound something like a dirty word. She doesn’t want adventure. Her life, as it stands, makes sense. Get up. Get ready in a little flat made up with a little bed, a little couch, a little table. Drive to the house. Grow. Go home at the end of the night, ready to start it all again.

It’s not easy, but it is simple. And simple, from where Jamie’s standing, is a good thing. You can make sense of simple. Of when to plant, when to harvest. How much to prune away, and how long to let something linger before it’s ready to be picked. Simple, scheduled life. Nothing wrong with it.

And then here comes Dani Clayton, and Jamie doesn’t have the words to explain why she knows, but she does: Dani isn’t simple. Dani blows in with her strange American accent and her big blue eyes and a smile that doesn’t quite reach them, not all the way, and she’s not...simple. At first, Jamie can’t say what she is. Bigger than she looks, somehow. Like there’s something too expansive behind her ribcage to fit under the pastel blouses and the denim jackets. Like she spends all that time puffing her hair up and puffing her chest out because if she were to let her guard down for one minute, something on the underside of Dani Clayton would come unmoored.

And it’s not Jamie’s problem.

Not supposed to be, anyway.

She did this once, sort of. This caring about an au pair thing. Rebecca Jessel was different, but there was something about her that clicked with Jamie--something like a younger sister, someone with such ambition and so little self-preservation at the same time--and Jamie had thought, sure. Sure, this is worth the time, the energy, the stress. Family is what you make of it, and say what you will about Hannah and Owen, but they are family. The kids, too. Wee monsters, the pair of them, but they’re hers, somehow.

Rebecca was almost hers, too. She thinks some nights about that far-away look in dark eyes, the way Rebecca turned her head sharply away near the end, like looking at Jamie--at any of them--was too near a mirror she couldn’t bear peering into. Rebecca was something special, and Jamie couldn’t see her pulling away until she was too far out to swim to.

And here: Dani Clayton. Also something special. Also something...something about her Jamie can’t quite put a finger on. Like walking into a room and inhaling the scent of the last good day of summer vacation, and thinking, yes. This one’s right.

But she’s also twitchy as all get-out, and her eyes do this funny jig any time Jamie meets them, and her mouth goes tight around the corners, and Jamie thinks: not this time. Not again. Not my problem.

Until it is.

And she didn’t plan it, certainly. Didn’t plan to stay the night, with the kids all wound up and the rain pattering outside and Dani bunched up on the couch beside her using words like love and possession like she’s intimately acquainted with both. Didn’t plan on the way Dani’s breath hitched around the words. Didn’t plan the way her own throat swallowed like it was trying to force down the first spark of true honesty.

Just for safety, she tells herself, setting up on that couch with a thin blanket and a shake of her head. Just in case.

And on it went: a grab of the hand; a sudden understanding; a flirtatious banter exchanged under guise of mourning. All of it innocent enough.

And then there’s Dani Clayton, telling her she sees ghosts. Telling her she sees the ghost of her ex-fiance. Telling her, with eyes clenched shut and thumbs jammed into her fists, like she doesn’t want to say the words, but she needs Jamie to hear them. And Jamie, she thinks, this isn’t boring, with a lurch of the stomach that says it shouldn’t be an attractive quality in a person. The idea of not being boring. It’s a bad goddamn idea.

Like it’s a bad idea when Dani surges into her. Like it’s a bad idea when she’s got Dani’s hair wound around her hands, her thumbs dragging arcs across Dani’s cheekbones, her mouth pulling into a delirious grin as Dani kisses her. It’s a bad idea. She knows it, and she doesn’t care in the least as Dani presses in and groans softly against her lips, and--

Jerks away.

Always, with the jerking away.

This isn’t how you do the thing, Jamie thinks for the next several days. This isn’t how you get involved in something like this. People are so goddamn much. And Dani is maybe more than most, maybe more than anyone she’s ever run up against in her entire life, and she tries not to think of it. Tries not to feel Dani’s small hands clutching her jacket. Tries not to taste the way Dani almost laughed with relief into her mouth. She tries.

Few days away, she tells herself. That’ll do the trick. Few days to get her head on straight again, and then she’ll go back. Go home. Get back to the schedule of plant and tend and harvest, and it’ll be like it never happened.

“Could be kinda boring,” Dani says, and Jamie looks at her. Wants to tell her no. Wants to want to tell her no.

Smiles anyway.

“Could be dreadfully boring.”

And even then, she thinks it won’t make a difference. Dani’s already shown her cards. Dani’s carrying something bigger than the both of them, and Jamie knows all too well how someone else’s baggage can upend a person’s life. It can ruin a person, to stand too close to someone else’s bonfire. Can singe you straight down to the bone.

And yet...here she comes, anyway. Back for Dani that night. Back to take her hand, feeling the slide of cautious fingers knitting with her own. Back to lead her into a damp, dreary grove where only Jamie has ever stepped foot, and she tells her. Everything. How it is. How the world is. How her world is. She tells her more than she’s told anyone in years, and never all at once like this, and even as the words are spilling out of her, she thinks, this isn’t simple.

Dani doesn’t seem to mind. Dani looks at her for the longest heartbeat in the world, and she is looking at her. Not with eyes darting, not with jaw tensing, but with the most open-hearted want Jamie has stood near in maybe her entire life.

It burns. It burns in the absolute best way.

And it isn’t simple, and it isn’t easy, but it’s right, she thinks, as they stand in the drizzling rain with Dani’s arms wrapped almost double around her shoulders. As she lets Dani hold her and kiss her and sigh like this is what finally letting go feels like.

It isn’t simple, and maybe it isn’t smart, because Dani Clayton isn’t boring. And, suddenly, Jamie doesn’t want her to be. Or, rather, she doesn’t want Dani Clayton to be anything shy of what Dani is: selfless, silly, hopeful Dani, who touches her like she’s never touched anything worthwhile in her whole life and is a bit terrified Jamie’s going to fade away under her fingertips. Dani, who walks back to the house with her like she’s on a goddamn mission, head up, eyes more certain that Jamie’s ever seen them. When she smiles in that bedroom, it reaches those eyes. When she lets Jamie slide with her beneath the blankets, with nothing between them, there’s no sign of ghosts or goblins or guilt.

She gasps when Jamie touches her, and burrows closer, and Jamie thinks, oh, we’re in this, now.

Her blood sings, her heart racing, and it feels like adventure, and something in Jamie sits back and sighs. All right, that something says. All right, you’ve made your call. When’s it ever gone right for you, to choose something like this?

She shakes her head, helpless, unable to explain to this core of self-restraint that this is...everything. That Dani being less than simple isn’t enough to negate all the rest. That Dani being less than simple is, in fact, integral to how desperately Jamie needs to keep her close.

The day comes and goes, Jamie still wearing yesterday’s t-shirt, Dani smelling faintly of Jamie’s shampoo somehow. No one calls them on how close they sit, on how Dani’s hand is always brushing Jamie’s, a constant reminder that last night happened, that Jamie is still here. No one calls them on how Dani’s laugh is louder now, dizzy-giddy as she gasps for breath, or on Jamie’s leg angling of its own accord to press against Dani’s thigh from the next chair over. She looks up once, sees Hannah’s knowing brow rise, and thinks, this could be you, you know. Hannah, for all her clever glances, doesn’t seem to read her mind. She only lifts her mug of untouched tea very slightly, nods, smiles.

The day comes and goes, and it isn't easy, and it isn’t simple: Flora’s acting strange again, coming and going in that unpredictable way children sometimes have, and Miles is strung tight at the table, and there’s a strange distance that seems to be growing up between Hannah and the rest of them. The price of family, Jamie thinks with a stab of regret--and then Dani is slipping away with her to the hall, pressing her gently against a low table, kissing her with the already-easy fervor of someone who would gladly do this every day for the rest of her life.

That thought, above all else, should scare her. To think of a life not lived in that little flat, with the little bed, the little couch, the little table. To think of a life lived, instead, sharing someone else’s baggage.

She almost stays another night. Almost. If Dani had tried a little harder, she thinks she would have lost all measure of restraint. If Dani had kept making that tiny noise, the one that unbinds everything calm in Jamie’s chest, her tongue brushing Jamie’s in the sweetest invitation. If Dani had taken her hand and led her back down the hall. She almost does it, anyway.

Simple, she reminds herself, breaking the kiss, her skin humming beneath the splay of Dani’s fingers around her ribs. Boring. Boring and simple and let it blossom on its own time, why don’t you.

She goes home. She goes back to that little flat, where she showers and lays down with a book she can’t seem to read, her head buzzing with the nearly tactile energy of Dani’s smile. Eventually, she sleeps.

She wakes already reaching for a body she knows isn’t there, and the only thought in her head is, trouble.

Her phone is ringing, she realizes belatedly. For a bleary second, she’s sure it’ll be Peter Quint on the other end, breathing deep, taunting--but it’s Owen’s voice, shaggy with sleep, saying, “The house. Something at the house, Jamie. Do you feel it?”

She’s already screaming Dani’s name before she reaches that lake, before she has any idea why talons of terror are scraping down her back. She’s plunging into the waves in great hitching leaps, moving as fast as she can to catch Dani up before she--and Flora, Flora’s out here in a nightgown and shuddering fear, her eyes older than any eight-year-old’s have a right to be--can tip over into the restless water. Dani is shaking like she’s going to come apart right here in Jamie’s arms, shaking and clutching Flora close and muttering, “It’s us. It’s us. It’s us.”

There’s something wrong with her eyes. Jamie won’t be able to tell for almost an hour what it is--the moonlight isn’t bright enough, the shadows too thick around them, and even when everyone is back on solid ground, Dani curled in her arms, she holds them shut against Jamie’s searching worry. As if she thinks Jamie seeing her up close tonight will undo all the careful, hopeful, wonderful work they did together over the last two days.

“D’you want some company?” Jamie asks her, when the dust has settled enough to make clear the road that led them all to this point--Henry, here; Hannah, not; Owen, drifting. It’s a mess, she thinks, just the biggest goddamn mess she’s ever come across, and the simple answer would be to walk now. To drive back into Bly, back to the little flat with its little world bunched up behind little walls. Close down, start over when things regain proper equilibrium.

“D’you want some company?” she asks, and she’s sure Dani will say no. Dani’s head is already shaking--and then, slowly, reversing course. Dani, looking at her with swollen eyes--one the blue Jamie fell into that very first day, the other a soft brown made up of all the sorrow one woman could possibly carry without falling down dead of it. Dani, letting her kiss their joined hands, a silent promise that other nights are coming--as many of them as Jamie can scrounge together--and that Jamie isn’t going anywhere.

And now they’re here: in America. In another life altogether from au pairs and gardeners and ghosts. They’re here, and Jamie thinks, not simple. But boring?

Yes, in its own way, she supposes it is.

It takes her by surprise, honestly. This sort of behavior is textbook adventure. To up and leave the only place she’s ever known for a land as alternately thrilling and scandalizing as America. To do so with Dani’s hand in hers, holding tight like if she lets go for even a second, she’s sure she’ll turn around to find Jamie gone and the beast in the jungle standing in her place. Jamie doesn’t mind the way Dani’s grip grinds her bones together some nights. The way Dani just sits back and looks at her, searching her face for something, anything, of the monster she feels lurking in the shadows.

Jamie does her best to give only what she has, and what she has is apparently enough, because Dani slowly...slowly comes back. There are moments, yes, afternoons that start out perfectly sunny and swing without warning to Dani sitting with her back against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gulps as she chokes on her own terror. There are nights Jamie wakes to find Dani clambering atop her with a child’s grace, legs and arms clutching, heart racing so hard, Jamie can feel it beneath her lips. Those nights aren’t good ones, and Jamie wonders each time if she’ll wake the next morning to find Dani has fled under cover of moonlight. If Dani has decided the terror is greater than the reward of working on this with her.

But each morning, Dani is there. And, slowly, slowly, the tension slides out of her grasp. The look in her eyes, the one that says she’s been staring inward too long to see Jamie at all, fades. They’re still mismatched, those eyes, and sometimes, Jamie misses when they were both that mesmerizing blue--but the longer Dani looks at her, the more she thinks, doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter what color they are at all, s’long as it’s her looking back from behind them.

They build a routine. Jamie wonders if this will get old, if this will wear at them; the songs all say it, the movies all insist: routine is cousin to death. Got to keep it fresh, everyone insists. Got to keep it moving.

But what they don’t seem to get, what they don’t seem to see, what Jamie believes with her whole heart is this:

Anything worth growing takes time. And patience. And routine. Anything worth growing needs a person to give every ounce of devotion they can muster, not the ragtag chaos of the brand-new.

They build a routine. Find a place. Build a shop. And with every passing day, Dani comes back to herself a little more. She’s making jokes now--bad ones, ones even Owen would cringe away from--and Jamie’s laughing every time because it’s not the words that count. It’s the delight in Dani’s eyes when she lands one that makes water stream out of Jamie’s nose. It’s the sheer open-hearted bliss of knowing someone so well, you can’t help but make them laugh with the stupidest things.

Jamie’s out of bed first each morning. When it was Dani, at the beginning, it made her uneasy; waking in bed with one arm reaching toward Dani’s side always felt like an omen of uncertainty for the day ahead. Would she walk out of the bedroom to find Dani pacing the apartment, wearing tracks into the carpet as she muttered under her breath? Would she find, instead, Dani struggling over the morning coffee? Would she find Dani gone altogether, only to come stumbling through the door hours later, arms laden with grocery bags and strange decorative bits and bobs?

Jamie likes it better this way. Out of bed at six, sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching Dani breathe. At the beginning, this was the only time she ever saw Dani truly relaxed. It still feels like a gift now, a stolen moment unshared with anyone else. Dani curls toward Jamie’s pillow, her hand sleep-sneaking over to rest beneath it, and Jamie leans to kiss her brow.

She’ll sleep another hour or two, probably, and in the meantime, Jamie breathes. Brews tea. Waters plants. Plans out orders to keep the shop stocked. Every day like this feels clean in some strange way, like by getting up with the sun, she’s allowed a chance to wash away the past. If she didn’t, if she slept later, maybe she’d wake to find the ghosts had followed them after all. Better this way. Better to keep vigil so Dani doesn’t have to.

“You’re not sick of this, yet?”

Those same words come weighted with different meaning. Sometimes, Dani says them laughingly--usually when they’ve both managed to botch a meal so badly, the only recourse is pizza. Other times, her voice is stiff with swallowed tears. On those days, Jamie knows, she’s thinking about the concept of borrowed time. Wondering how much she’s earned with good behavior. Wondering how Jamie could possibly stand starting every day not knowing what might pop out at them from the corners of Dani’s anxiety.

“Not sick of it, Poppins,” she says every time. Sometimes, she says it and pins Dani against the nearest bit of furniture, ensuring they’ll both be breathless and giggling with irritation when the pizza finally does interrupt. Sometimes, she says it into the crown of Dani’s hair, hands stroking calm, repeat patterns down Dani’s back. It doesn’t matter how she says it. It’s always true.

It’s boring, she wants to tell Dani, but can’t quite find the right way to say it. It’s boring, and it’s right. It’s the good kind of stable, the kind where you know for a fact that no matter what happens, your reaching hand will never come up empty. It’s the right kind of natural, the organic state of live and flourish that comes from tending something with earnest care. It’s boring, and I could never be sick of it, she wants to say, because it’s you. It’s me. It’s us.

Their home is the good kind of cluttered, and their bickering is the good kind of stupid, and every time she finds herself tucked under Dani in bed, or tucked into Dani on the couch, or tucked close to Dani in a moment of perfect bliss, she thinks, this was always how it was supposed to go. I knew it, somehow. First time I saw her at that lunch table, I knew it.

But there are words, and then there are words, and Jamie isn’t really designed for pretty language. She presents Dani with a flower--one carefully tended moonflower, grown in secret--and she says with shaking certainty, “We’ve got a problem, Poppins.” The problem, of course, being that she’s not sick of it. Not sick of Dani’s legs tangling smooth against her own after a shower, not sick of Dani’s heaving laughter when they slip on an icy Vermont sidewalk and go down in a heap of limbs, not sick of waking to Dani’s hands tracing, gently, the raised tissue of the scar on her back. She knows her life inside and out, knows the good days and the bad, and above all, she knows the thing that counts most:

It’s boring. It’s the right kind of boring. Dreadfully, perfectly, wonderfully boring.

And she is so in love. Has been, if she’s honest with herself, for ages. Has been since Dani was scolding her for a bedframe gone unbuilt, since pinning Dani against an upright mattress and sliding a thigh between her legs and hearing her groan against her ear. Has been since Dani was sitting beside her in that weathered diner, talking about realism and one-day-at-a-time. Has been since Dani reached for her hand without looking in the Bly Manor foyer, has been since Dani shuddered and shook in her arms after the lake, has been since Dani kissed her in the hall, in the grove, in the greenhouse.

It makes sense in all the ways that Dani has from the very start, and it makes no sense at all in the way Jamie thinks good things in her life never do. And it’s right. Dani, looking at her over the counter with such affection, like she’s questioned so much, but never this. Never Jamie. Not really, deep down, where it counts.

They’re in the back room, all hands and mouths and laughing sighs, and Jamie knows boring gets a bad rap. Knows that every kind of narrative insists this is the thing to be avoided. Keep moving. Keep dancing. Keep it fresh and new and hot-blooded and ready to bite.

But this...this is what people don’t understand. What people could be so much happier, if they could only wrap their heads around the concept. Boring doesn’t mean stagnant. Boring doesn’t mean stuck in place. Theirs isn’t a photograph, all arc and angle and line frozen in time.

Theirs is a story. Growing. Shifting. Ever-evolving. Blooming and fading and blooming again. Dani’s hands, always finding hers. Dani’s eyes, mismatched but so full of adoration, whether she’s spent the day worrying about dinner or demons. Dani, who once stood with her back to a greenhouse counter and said, “Could be kinda boring, right?”

Boring is good. Boring is perfect.

Jamie thinks she could do boring for the rest of her life.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #fanfiction #this got a wee bit out of control in terms of length

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 6 - the spork

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 2.7K words.

chapter 7 - shower thoughts

on ao3 only, to avoid tangling with tumblr's nip ban rules. contains naughty things.

Why was it he had let her live again? Heisenberg couldn’t help but wonder, making his way across the bridge that led to the factory. The pot of stew felt heavy in his hands, heavy and warm; a pleasantry, not a threat, despite his impulsive behavior. What puzzled him, really, was that she seemed so comfortable in the face of animosity, like an aggressive man invading her home and threatening to kill her was just part of a humdrum day. He had thought the illusions and ominous offers were meant to lure passersby in, to drain them of blood and use their skin and bones for sordid rituals. He had gone through it all because he was certain nothing could kill him, even if it tried, but no violence came from her. Was she trying to keep people out?

There was no trace of blood on his face, no trace that he had ever broken his nose in such a ridiculous manner, no trace that he had ever been bitten by a half-dead lycan. She had been the only witness, and he doubted she would bother entering the village to spread the news. He would go as far as saying she was happy to see him, his restraint a breath of fresh air in what he could imagine was a violent existence. He would know; they both had that look in their eyes, the look of someone drained of life because they had seen too much, done too much.

Power, he cut himself off when his thoughts had started leaning too much towards emotions. Power, that was the reason he had let her live. She was a cyphered book, an old witch’s grimoire locked away in a dusty tower. He had treaded dangerous waters and climbed through the window holding onto unsteady stones, and had only been given a glimpse, a quick look at the first page. And what he had seen was intriguing, dark and mysterious, so alien compared to his parasite-infested, mold-ridden world. Power and curiosity, nothing more.

As if on cue, the front gate’s buzzer went off, the whirring sound reminding him of the old American game shows he used to watch as a child. Wrong answer.

“Oh, fine.” He grunted in exasperation, free hand thrown in the air in defeat. “I liked her.” The words felt like soap in his mouth, a punishment for his profanity and transgressions. But there was no mother to wash out his mouth anymore, to keep him quiet and obedient. It felt good to say it, good to admit it. He was no machine; he may no longer be simply a man, but he still had his humanity well rooted within him. Or at least he liked to think so.

He liked her, he repeated, an awkward wave of relief washing over him. Not in a sit and commit sort of way, though, he wasn’t about to run back to her cabin come morning with a fancy ring to put on her finger. Hell, not even in a hit it and quit it way, either. The enigma of her existence was intoxicating, a lonely witch living in the woods of powers untold, his very own little secret. His own puppet to manipulate, another tool in his arsenal against Big Bird Bitch, if all went well. What a great find, his chest swelling with pride at his masterful move.

And she did seem to take a liking to him, modesty be damned.

The garage doors greeted him with the familiar screech of metal, a cloud of soot and hot air blowing out into the yard, like a nice warm hug from his beloved metal beast, like it wanted to congratulate him on a job well done. Though there was little need for such precautions, Heisenberg checked the locks, scanned the room for any suspicious activity. Everything in place, every last bit of scrap metal thrown carelessly to the side exactly where he had left it. The factory was quiet enough at this hour, and you would have to pay close attention to hear the haulers walking to and fro, their rare vocalizations every now and then. He was in high spirits and there was much work to do, improving Eins and Zwei, setting aside some time to study Sturm’s case and prepare accordingly. And then there was the planning, the pouring over reports of the latest events, coming up with the best strategy to take out each of his precious “siblings”, wedging his beautiful little hag in just the perfect place within his plans.

The complexity of it all was a marvel to him, a puzzle he never got tired of putting together. He supposed he had Miranda to thank for that, for turning his world upside down, forcing him to push his capabilities to the limit because of it. Sometimes he dreaded to think about what would come after; his hatred was all that kept him going, doing the bare minimum to keep himself alive and functioning, to get him out of bed come morning. What would he do when they were all out of the picture? He could finally be himself, he supposed, though that sounded like a tremendous amount of work and pain for the meager reward of knowing the shell of a man he had become.

This was not the time to think about it, he reprimanded himself. The rebellion hadn’t even began and he had many sleepless nights ahead of him.

The smell of the stew reminded him that he would starve if he waited any longer to eat. He barely remembered when he had eaten last - was it this morning? Yesterday? Such moments were but a blur, a mere nuisance in his schedule. Heisenberg was good at many things, but cooking, that he had never gotten the hang of. Putting a stove together? Piece of cake. Making a fridge out of scrap metal and elbow grease? That he could do. It’s not like he had grown up on much, either, had developed a taste for fine dining, wine and biscuits. His parents had been the industrial kind in more ways than one: blunt, efficient, cut and dry. Their meals were few and far in between, whatever cooked up fast and was filling enough to keep them standing. He had lost the parents, but kept the philosophy over the years, surviving on jerkies and raw produce, or whatever the Duke had in stock to be stored and crudely roasted later.

Heisenberg turned the key to his quarters with a sigh. Home, sweet scrapyard at last, and he wasted no time kicking off his boots and levitating the hammer to place it against the wall next to his favorite chair He set the pot on the metal table before discarding his hat and trench coat, eyeing the bowl the entire time as if it was about to attempt murder. Which he figured it might, considering the person who had given it to him was a woman he had met just a few hours prior, who lived in a hidden shack in the woods and could shapeshift into a giant horned monster. She had tasted it before preparing his bowl, and it did look harmless enough. Heisenberg inspected it closely - it definitely looked very appetizing. Some meat, potatoes, herbs mixed into a thick broth. A hearty meal for a cold winter night. Even if it was poisoned, it looked good enough to be worth the hassle.

“Ah, right.” He stared at his empty hand, shaking his pointer finger disappointingly. A laugh escaped him as he pulled every drawer, went through every shelf. Chisel, saw, hammer. Screwdriver, nails, wrench. Pliers, clamps and cutters, nuts, bolts and screws. An old TV antenna, pewter tankard, and even a goddamn tooth crown. Everything he could think of, except the one thing he needed: a single fucking spoon.

He stormed out of his quarters and into the foundry with the fury of a god. Nothing would keep him from the possibly deadly bowl of stew that smelled like the best thing that would ever grace his lips. He had reanimated the dead to do his bidding, could move metal with his fucking hands. A spoon was no match for him. Grabbing a sheet of metal and a long-abandoned pen, he roughly drew the shape of what he remembered a spoon to be - it had been a while. Cutting through took longer than he expected, and he refused to buff the steel to make it shiny. If he did not ingest his sustenance within the next few minutes, he was positive he would simply lay down and die. He took hammer to metal to make sure the thing would actually hold liquid, then the idea hit him like a flash of lightning, and he cut three small indentations at the tip: half spoon, half fork. The perfect piece of flatware. He would call it… The spork. Finally, he filed the edges just enough that it wouldn’t accidentally rip out a piece of his tongue, and proudly walked back to his quarters, plopping himself down unceremoniously onto a nearby stool.

If this turned out to taste like boiled dirt, it would be the biggest disappointment of his life yet. But it wasn’t - in fact, it was the best thing he had eaten in decades. Creamy, just the right amount of spice, meat cooked to perfection. Somewhere deep within his soul, he knew a proud ancestor watched as he took a generous bite out of a tender potato chunk. He could get used to this, he mused, a mouthful of pork and a hum of approval later. Maybe he should visit more often.

It was over all too soon, and he found himself staring at the empty bowl with so, so much sadness in his heart. Maybe he should have stayed for dinner. Forlorn and full, he leaned against the workbench, one hand reaching down to untuck his shirt, dexterous fingers then quickly unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his pants. Head thrown back, he let out a happy, satisfied sigh when his stomach was finally free of its cloth constraints. He pat his belly with a chuckle, feeling the faint lines of toned muscle above his belly button, then the creases on his hips - he didn’t look bad for being almost a century old, eh? He had gained some extra weight, it’s true, since the Duke introduced him to some modern novelties such as frozen pizza and energy drinks, but hauling corpses and building intricate machines was good exercise. Just the right amount of bulk and sprinkle of muscle, if he did say so himself.

For a moment, unbidden, he wondered if she would like it. If she would like him, all of him, more than what she had seen, more than what she had heard, more than what he had offered in their brief encounter. He hadn’t kept up with the beauty trends, and any man with functioning limbs and two braincells passed as hunk material in the village, but he just knew that he was quite the specimen. He was reminded of that look in her eyes, the one that stirred something within him he hadn’t felt in way too long.

Not that he was interested, of course. His curiosity was only natural, seeing as he hadn’t spoken to anyone from outside this little bubble of a hellhole for decades. Even when he was sent out into the world, his orders were very specific - grab what needs to be brought back, do not talk to victims of the evil plan. As much as he wanted to do it as a fuck you to Miranda, instead he always decided to bide his time. Blowing his cover could mean failure - or death.

She would like it, he decided, checking out his reflection on a well polished piece of metal. Not that it was difficult, of course. Who wouldn’t? The charming beard, killer smile, steel blue eyes. He could treat his hair better, true, wash the soot off his face. His clothes needed washing and his feet needed some time out of those damp boots. He had one too many broken fingernails and more scars than skin at this point. Still, she would like it - on second thought, maybe after a nice, hot shower.

He busied himself with all manner of tasks after dinner. Washed it down with a nice gulp of Gibcos, then made his way down to one of the operating rooms. He pushed aside the gurneys in his way, the quiet humming of the soldiers’ reactors a comforting sound despite the macabre landscape of the room. Beyond the door and behind the large window pane a very, very dead body lay waiting for him, a chunk of its torso and head missing. The lycans had done a number on the poor bastard, catching him off-guard as he made for the outhouse, so we was told. A man couldn’t even shit in this village in peace, he laughed humorlessly. The corpse was barely cold when Heisenberg dug it up and dragged it back to the factory. There was no funeral, no mourning of the deceased: in cases such as these, the villagers thought it best to bury the disfigured relative and be done with it, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t return with a hunger for human flesh a scant few days later. Despite the body’s horrid conditions, it would still be of great use to him. Strong legs and a wide torso, a perfect specimen for his latest experiment.

Sturm, he would call it, after the god-awful noise the propeller engine made. He tentatively pushed down one of the blades - it needed more oil. Rusty recycled chainsaws had been abandoned for a reason, but there was time to better the mechanical parts yet. First, he needed to figure out how to attach the engine, set up the circuitry, add in the artificial blood. Removal of internal organs was simple enough, a nice big heart to tie it all together. On the other hand, seating the mechanical core was a messy process that took him hours to get right. He didn’t want to waste time, or this corpse, when he had already come this far. He abandoned the project for a few minutes when the thighs gave with the weight, off to build braces to hold the thing together.

It looked mostly done after that, and revival was one powerful electric discharge away. Heisenberg held tight against its mechanical nervous system, focusing on channeling all of his energy - it would need an even bigger discharge than Eins and Zwei. Seven thousand volts, and not even a hint of movement. Eight thousand, he grunted as the current flowed through. Attracting metal was easy enough, but having electric organs was tiring work. He had all but given up when he heard the whir of the blades, Sturm’s body jolting on the operating table in a mix of eagerness and terror. The thing lifted its arms to touch him, chainsaw rippers spinning uncontrollably as Heisenberg took several steps back. He covered his face just in time - the desperate creature once again reached out to him, dumb enough not to notice the death machine attached to its own body. An arm hit and shattered the glass of the operating room, the other colliding against Heisenberg’s chest. Fuck, there was blood everywhere.

“Halte!” He bellowed before Sturm could get any closer, removing his now bloodstained glasses to stare at the thing like his gaze could drill a hole right through its spine. “Dummkopf.” And just as quickly as it had risen, it fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, metal bending in odd places with the impact. Heisenberg let out his frustration with a furious kick on the engine before deciding that if he tried again for the night, he would probably end up throwing the whole thing in the grinder. He’d rather avoid having to clean the blades of all the tissue that would be stuck to them.

Seemed like he would have to take that shower after all.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenburg x reader #but only if you squint really #virgil writes #long post ///

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vitanitf · 3 years ago

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BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Vitani.”

Surname? “Leu.”

Middle names? “Alala.”

Nicknames? “V.”

Date of birth? “August 20th, 1998.”

Age? “Twenty two.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “5′4.”

Weight? “121 pounds.”

Build? “Athletic.”

Hair color? “Pink right now.”

Hair style? “Buzzcut.”

Eye color? “Brown.”

Eye shape? “Shit, I don’t know. Deep set?”

Glasses or contact lenses? “I wasn’t born with no weak ass eyes.”

Distinguishing facial features? “Freckles.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My jawline.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “While I’d love to say my ass, I think it would be my arms.”

Other distinguishing features? “A shit ton of little scars.”

Skin? “Light.”

Hands? “Strong.”

Make up? “I do eyes and lips, that’s all. Eyeliner, lipstick. Eyeshadow and mascara if I’m feeling frisky.”

Scars? “Trust me, honey, someone like me has a lot of those.”

Birthmarks? “Wouldn’t you like to see?”

Tattoos? “None. Yet.”

Physical handicaps? “Non-existent.”

Type of clothes? “Depends on what kind of mood I’m in.”

How do you wear your clothes? “I’m guilty of a little tailoring if needed.”

What are your feet like? “What the fuck? Weirdo. Good enough, why? You want pictures?”

Race / Ethnicity? “Half black, half white.”

Mannerisms? “I’m a shifter. Always moving my weight from one leg to the other.”

Are you in good health? “Better be. I ain’t worked my ass off for nothing.”

Do you have any disabilities? “No.”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “Fuck, shit, Hell, ass, damn. Bitch too, if you catch me in a bad mood.”

Do you have a catchphrase? “What kind of cheesy ass bullshit would that be?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Pessimistic.”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Introverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

What bad habits do you have? “Saying inappropriate things at inappropriate times. Wanting to punch something when I get pissed.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “People falling. Gets me every time.”

How do you display affection? “I don’t.”

Mental handicaps? “Listen, if I didn’t have any of those after my childhood, I’d be fucking unstoppable, huh?”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Important.”

How do you see yourself? “Lost.”

How are you seen by others? “Intimidating.”

Strongest character trait? “My independence.”

Weakest character trait? “My stubbornness.”

How competitive are you? “Hella.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “I make snap judgements. I’m working on it, alright?”

How do you react to praise? “If I ever get any, I’ll let you know.”

How do you react to criticism? “I either get pissed or I try to do better. Or both. Usually both.”

What is your greatest fear? “That I can’t stop myself from turning into my mom.”

What are your biggest secrets? “I’ve done a lot of shit I’ll never repeat. I can’t.”

What is your philosophy of life? “I don’t know anymore. I’m just trying to go day by day.”

When was the last time you cried? “When I ended up at Kiara’s after beating the shit out of some poor girl in a club. First and last time I ever remember crying.”

What haunts you? “My past. A lot of it.”

What are your political views? “Anyone but Scar.”

What will you stand up for? “My beliefs, no matter how twisted or wrong or confused they may be. I think I’ve proved that point.”

Who do you quote? “No one.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Outdoorsy. I hate being inside too long. It feels like being a wild animal trapped in some tiny enclosure. I can’t stand it.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Oh, baby, I’ve got plenty of those.”

What sense do you most rely on? “You have to rely on all of them to get by. You can’t pick and choose. You have to keep them all sharp.”

How do you treat people better than them? “Excuse me? Who are you saying is better than me? At what?”

How do you treat people worse than them? “Depends what they’re worse at.”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “If I had friends, I assume it would be loyalty.”

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Kindness.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I’d like to be content in my skin, not have to strive for approval anymore. It’s a hard habit o shake.”

What is your obsession? “Knives. God, I love knives.”

What are your pet peeves? “Hypocrites. Cutting in line. Loud ringers. Pop music. Too much traffic. Goody two shoes.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I lick my lips too damn much.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “As far as I’m concerned, there’s Nuka. That’s it.”

What is your perception of family? “It’s fucked up, it’s a trap, and you’re better off if you never have any.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “Two brothers. I’m the middle child.”

Describe your best friend. “I don’t have one.”

Ideal best friend? “Someone that wouldn’t annoy the Hell out of me.”

Describe your other friends. “I don’t have friends.”

Describe your acquaintances. “Okay, those. They’re cool. I’d put Penelope, Sadie and my boss on that list.”

Do you have any pets? “No.”

Who are your natural allies? “My brother.”

Who are your surprising allies? “I guess you could say Kiara.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Fucked up. I didn’t play with other kids. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. I went to school, I trained, I went to bed. A lot of times without dinner. I spent I don’t know how many nights listening to gunshots hoping we weren’t next. So, yeah. Fucked up.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Poor.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “What do you think?”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “How long do you got?”

What is your greatest achievement? “Making it out of that shithole alive.”

What was your first kiss like? “It wasn’t even a first kiss, it was a make out session during sex. I’ve never been kissed just to be kissed.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I let my family treat Nuka like shit, then I let him leave and I didn’t follow. I didn’t check up on him. I guess I thought… I guess I didn’t realize I had a choice, or how clear the right one was. There’s no excuse. I should’ve stood up for him.”

What are your ambitions? “I just want to do better.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Run. As soon as you can, run as far as you can get. It has to be better than this.”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Copper, mildew, sulfur and smoke.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To make mama and Scar proud.”

What is your best childhood memory? “You’re going to think I’m shitting you if I say I don’t have one, but I don’t have one.”

What is your worst childhood memory? “Oh, those, I’ve got a whole notebook of those.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “No.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “When I was told to leave. Do you know what it feels like realizing your entire life was a goddamn lie? It’s maddening.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Thinking it was okay to live the way I was living.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Deciding I was going to move and move on. It took a push, but I decided to be a bigger person. I did that.”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “More than a few times. Where I grew up, if you’re not saving one another, you’re all fucked.”

Strongest childhood memory? “It was storming. We didn’t have any candles or lamps or nightlights. I remember wanting to run to Kovu’s room. I was so scared I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was just a kid… but I wasn’t allowed to be scared. So I laid there watching the lightning until I fell asleep.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “No.”

Are you in a relationship? “No.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “I wouldn’t know.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been… what, a week?”

What sort of sex do you have? “I’m a little kinky. I’ll leave it at that.”

Have you ever been in love? “Hell no.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “If you want to call it that.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Threaten back.”

Are you most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? “Fists, but I can multitask if you want to keep it interesting.”

What is your kryptonite? “A hot girl. I’m putty in her hands.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “I don’t have anything worth saving.”

How do you perceive strangers? “Threats until proven otherwise.”

What do you love to hate? “Cockiness. It can be pretty damn sexy.”

What are your phobias? “I don’t have any.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Guns are more effective, but I’m a knife kid through and through.”

What living person do you most despise? “Zira.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “Kids were too afraid of me to tease me.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “I’m trying to remember to just go away. Take a deep breath, count to ten, chill the fuck out. It’s really fucking hard.”

Who are your enemies and why? “The outsiders. I wasted two decades fighting tooth and nail for them. I put my life on the line. I gave them everything I had and more, and they turned their back on me. They can all rot in Hell.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “I’m a bartender at the Pit Stop.”

What do you think about their current job? “It’s not a bad job. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills. The guy hired me on the spot. No experience. No nothing. I’ve got a lot of respect for Mr. McQueen.”

What are some of your past jobs? “You don’t wanna know.”

What are your hobbies? “It all revolves around combat training.”

Educational background? “High school GED.”

Intelligence level? “Higher than yours.”

Do you have any specialist training? “Twenty fucking years of it.”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “Yeah, martial arts and spear throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I don’t play any sports, but trust me, I’d be good.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “I got too much other shit to worry about. Check back in a year or two.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Lions.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “Giraffes. What do they even do with those long ass necks? Eat leaves? What a waste.”

What place would you most like to visit? “Africa.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “Don’t you dare laugh at me. I’ll fuck you up. There’s something about sunsets that always stops me in my tracks. I’m serious, not a giggle.”

What is your favorite song? “I don’t listen to music.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Art.”

What is your favorite color? “Red.”

What is your password? “And why would I tell you that?” (576342rtsyssy572xlc2l)

Favorite food: “I’m partial to steak.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Dunno.”

Who is your favorite artist? “Dunno times two.”

What is your favorite day of the week? “There’s something about Thursdays that just feel right.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “I’m not gonna lie, it’s running low right now. I know there’s some strawberries and half a carton of milk left, probably not much else of mine.”

What is on your bedside table? “Glass of water, earbuds, phone charger, pocket knife, wallet. There’s a pistol in the drawer, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

What is in your car? “Don’t have one, but I left a spare charger in Nuka’s.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “ID. Fake ID, just in case. Cash. Debit card, credit card. Some grocery rewards card I got talked into signing up for. Oh, and a coupon for Fudge Stripes, I need to remember to get those before it expires.”

What is in your pockets? “A knife.”

What is your most treasured possession? “My most expensive sword. It’s not that expensive, I found it at a thrift store, but I fixed that baby up.”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your guardian angel? “I’m not buying that I have one.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “There’s gotta be something. There’s too many people I know that deserve to burn in Hell.”

What are your religious views? “Don’t really have any.”

What do you think heaven is? “Dunno.”

What do you think hell is? “A well deserved torture chamber.”

Are you superstitious? “Eh.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “Some big cat. That’d be really fucking cool. If not a lion, a tiger or a cougar or something. But not in a zoo. Hell no.”

How would you like to die? “I hope I go out in a blaze of glory.”

What is your spirit animal? “Lioness.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Taking everything from them.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Not being forced to do anyone’s biding.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been awhile now.”

What’s your view of lying? “Don’t lie to me. Sometimes it’s gotta be done. But don’t you dare lie to me.”

When did you last make a promise? “I don’t make promises.”

Did you keep or break their last promise? “I’d probably break them. That’s why I don’t make promises.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “I have trouble remembering to eat, so sit’s a little sketchy, I’m working on it.”

Do you have any allergies? “Nope.”

Describe your home. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

Are you a minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “I’m a minimalist.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Look outside.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Work, usually.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up too late.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “I don’t like soda.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “I lack too much experience to choose.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Dressed up as a kickboxer once, I think that’s it.”

Are you comfortable with technology? “Yeah. I guess. What does that mean?”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Nuka.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Nuka.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “Don’t have much of one.”

What is your greatest regret? “Wasting so much of my life to come out empty handed.”

What is your perception of redemption? “All I know is I’m trying.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Buy Nuka and I a real place instead of an apartment.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Hansel and Gretel.”

What fairytale do you hate? “Jack and the Beanstalk. It’s fucking stupid.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “No.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “I don’t know if it exists.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “Where do I end up?”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to the start. Redo it all. Right this time.”

What sport do you excel at? “Never played much sports.”

What sport do you suck at? “I don’t.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “Shapeshifting. That’d be fucking cool. Turn into a mouse, squeeze in a crack, turn into a bear and rip someone’s fucking face off if you need to.”

#take a shot every time they use a swear word ...#walttasks #tasks.

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huearmy · 5 years ago

Text

Not My Friend.

Summary: Yoongi is a ordinary house cat hybrid with an ok life and a huge crush in his ower’s friend. Even if Y/N always treated him lovelly and as an equal he is all insecurities and thoughts of rejection about being a hybrid, without imagining that the feeling can be reciprocal.

Pairing: cat!Yoongi x human!Reader

Genre: FLUFF, angst, slight smut.

Words: 3737.

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: not grafic description/mention of sex.

gif is not mine.

Yoongi was kind of pissed, slightly upset... Absolutely stressed. The lights and loud music of the club did'nt help, the drunk people ingnoring him, dancing around him as if he don't exist, neither. Is unusual for him feel so bad about being who he is, but today is a day that everything screams that he is less than everyone and it won't change. He brought the last swig of his drink to his lips, sad that he could'nt get another one alone, and for the sake of his pride he would'nd ask to Namjoon.

Is also unusual for Yoongi to argue with his friend and brother Namjoon, but today is a day that things got ugly. "You know that I love you hyung. For me we are equals, but is not like this for others. Even if my friends like you, they still seeing you as my pet.". It hurted. Hurts. Because is true, and Yoongi knows it.

And it hurts so... so bad... Because for a second he belived otherwise.

The discussion started when Yoongi thought he could share with his friend the feelings he have for you. You, the pretty human friend of Namjoon, the girl who is usualy at their house with no reason, the one that give the greatest pets ever and whose conversation is so good that he wouldn’t mind that you definitely lived with him. It took too long, but when Yoongi figured out his interest in you being a really romantic thing he was so happy he couldn’t keep to himself.

“What do you think, Namjoon? How should I tell her?”

It's obvious to Yoongi that the negative reaction of Namjoon was caring, he knows his friend well enough. It wasn’t his intention to freak out and smash Yoongi heart. He is trying to protect me. He told himself for the hundredth time, fighting against resentment. He discarted his plastic cup in defeat.

And there was you. The reason of his frustration. Oblivious at his issues, dancing with your friends. Namjoon's friends. Not his friends. His stomach droped.

Yoongi sighed. He can't just not stare at you. You are so beautiful to him, feeling yourself while dancing with your eyes closed, your pretty hair swinging around your delicate shouders, hips moving with the music naturaly - because you love dancing even if you are not goot at all. Another music started making you jump and sing. He almost can smell you now.

If he wasn't a scared cat... A hybrid cat... He would be dancing with you, talking in your ears, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you close, maybe kissing you... not only picturing it in his mind. But he is a pet, not a normal guy who you would like to flirt with.

He sighed again. He remembering clearly when he first meet you two years ago.

____________________________________

Namjoon was a freshman in college, excited with everything new, the new apartament, new city, new knowledge, new friends... Every day he would enter trough the door, drop himself on the couch and speak his day out. Yoongi would listen, commenting on a thing or other once in a while. Your name was present in most stories, or the stories were about you. "I was trying to makes myself clear to the philosophy teacher when this girl spoke. She conclued my trought and argued for herself shuting up the teacher.", or "Remember that girl? Her name is Y/N and we get coffee together today. She is amazing, dude.", and "Y/N made an asshole cry today, seriuosly, she is beautful. She have that 'I don't give a fuck' atitude, you would love her, hyung". And Namjoon was right, as always.

It was on a day that Yoongi was feeling clingy and dependent of Namjoon's full attention but he was supposed to do a project with you in your place though. So insted of cancel with you to spend the day watching Netflix with Yoongi, the younger boy opted for bringing the hybrid to your apartament too.

“Dont worry, hyung. Y/N told me to bring you. Actually she was anxious to know you, she likes cute things you know...”

“Shut up.”

The poor cat was hating every second of it till you opened the door. You treated him as a old friend, greeting him with a genuine smile e tight hug.

"Enter you both and make the home yours. I bought snacks... And! I used that drive you gave me, Joonie, and already started the dissertation... You can revise if want to. It won't take so long as we through, then we can get fat cuddling on my couch."

Yoongi get unsure with you straightforward behavior at the time. But your focus was to finish your and Namjoon's work so he could get Netflix and cuddles as much as he wanted. You made coffee with cream when he said he like it and listened his complains about Namjoon breaking everything.

“Seriously is his third classes this year and we are in May.” Yoongi grunted making you laugh.

"I noticed it! Joonie always talk about you repair skills, though."

"What else he talks about me?"

You laughed throwing your head back. You both were alone in the living room, sharing a blanket.

" A lot of things!” You said “That you are savage but actually a baby... That you are a good roommate to live with... And if I ever need a a good pianist, sincere advises, or help to hide a dead body, you are the man..."

"Oh..."

He didn’t expected the two of you to talk much about him.

"And what Joonie told you about me?" You rested your chin in your palm. He take some instants to answer, and as if his brain are of jelly, it went terrible.

"He said I would love you."

Yoongi expected for a rispid response or for you to change the subject, or at least you’d laugh, somethig like it, but no. He would learn later how unpredictable you can be sometimes.

"And do you?" You asked in real interest, looking into his eyes. His cheeks turned pink, and you by instinct brought a hand to his hair and ears. You cooed "Sorry, Yoongs."

____________________________________

Thats right. You are nice to him... Gentle and kind... Always respectfull... You would enter his space and make him comfortable, or respect his distance when his not in the mood. Make silly things just to see his gummy smile and then pet his ears for hours. If any of your friends make fun of him you defend him and then make fun of them lighting the air. The fact of him being a hybrid never seems to bother you or changed the way you treated him.

He had hopes.

But he was just a pet... And you would never look at him the way he looks at you. Mesmerized by the club lights passing over your dancing body, changing color and pattern, he let himself sink a little more in self pity.

As if you could feel his dark troughts you opened your eyes and looked right trough his. His ears rose, tail moving unconscious behind him. You walked straight to him, concerned, ignoring every intoxicated person dancing in your way.

"What's wrong Yoongs?" You raised your voice because of the loud music. "Don't tell me that's nothing."

Yoongi licked his lips nervously. "I not feeling like partying. But Namjoon is having fun so I can't ask to go home now."

You seemed tipsy, he could smell the alcohol on you, along with that sweet perfume that you love and he hates, and your own scent that he loves.

You looked around, maybe looking for Namjoon, face thoughtful, wrinkling your nose cutely. Your tiny hand found it's way to his larger one, and instinctively he hold it tight. Yoongi love holding hands, especially with you.

Suddenly you smiled excited to him, getting closer to his face. So close he could kiss you...

"Do you want another drink?" You asked right in his ear, without get away an inch from him.

"What?" Yoongi asked, not understanding the purpose of the question.

Your smile spread devilishly.

"Dance with me, Yoongs. If you continue wanting to leave I'll get you home."

And then you were pulling him towards the dancing floor.

___________________________________

"Are you sure you want to do it?" His lover's voice got serious, eyes searching for his reassurance.

"I am." He answered not thinking twice.

His lover's smile were so pure and beautiful and genuine and happy that filled him of happyness too.

____________________________________

Yoongi woke up happy. He woke up in a bed that wasn't his. He didn't have to look around to recognize the room he was, the bedsheets were impregnated with your fragrance. The room was dark, the only light coming from a fissure between the curtains. He closed his eyes again, holding tight in a pillow and breathing deep. He still felt sleepy but couldn't stop his mind to revive last night.

You both danced and laughed and drinked and kissed. You made out in the club, in the Uber's backseat, in your couch...

He was naked on your bed. Things didn't stop in just make out.

Yoongi can remember clearly the view of your naked body in front of him for the first time, the lines of your silhouette, how it felt under his hands, so smooth. The way you took of his collar, never breaking eye contact, and then kissed him sweetly before riding him. How your fingers intertwined with his while he thrusted into you till you shake. Beautiful beneath him, repeating his name in moans in his soft black ears, nails finding it's way in his scalp. Your soft skin against his when everything you both could do was heavy breathing, too tired to even pull out of you. Praising him you kissed his lips again and held him close to your bare chest, playing with his hair the way he likes so much.

He never slept so well. Never felt so well with someone.

And then he realized... Where was you? Fully awake now, he searched for you under the fluffy blankets, finding nothing but your empty side of the bed. He slightly panicked.

His jeans were on the ground, beside your discarded dress, but his shirt wasn't anywhere to be seen. Would be a problem he wandering through your apartment shirtless? A ding caught his attention for a forgot cellphone under your desk chair. It was just a notification of low battery, but there were also five calls and some massages from Namjoon:

[03:18 am]: hyung I'm sorry. rly.

[03:18 am]: where are you?

[03:21 am]: I'm worried. call me back.

And then the phone died.

"Shit." He needed a charger urgent. Knowing his friend maybe he was already searching for Yoongi in hospitals, morgues and shelters.

He went to the door and suddenly stopped, hand on knob, the thought of calling Namjoon back totally erased of his mind.

You wasn't in bed with him unlike as Yoongi imagined his first morning with you. He should had woke with you in his arms, you would say "good morning" to each other in a meaningful way, then he would give little kisses in your whole face, treading to your lips to a real kiss, you would get embarrassed and hide your red cheeks in his chest... He woke up alone instead.

What if you regretted everything? You could awakened with hangover and regretted the one night stand. Or feeling awkward for sleeping with him... Or disgusted. And if you woke up and realized that you had sex with a hybrid and regretted? It wouldn't be the first experience Yoongi of this kind. A disposable kink or drunken mistake... It would hurt...

No.

You are different. After the night you had together he could trust you.

Even if you don't feel the same as him... You wouldn't kick him out of your apartment... Or cut him off of your life...

Right?

"Stop being idiot, Yoongi." He told himself. "At least you have Namjoon to buy you beer in the worst case."

Music was playing in your kitchen, a amazing smell of eggs, bacon and something sweet come meet him in the corridor. Yoongi found you humming happily, holding the door of the fridge open while searching for something.

"I'm running out of milk..." You whispered to yourself. Wearing a purple silk robe and your fluffy slippers you closed the fridge door without taking anything from inside. You did not heard Yoongi enter the kitchen neither expected him to hug you from behind, pulling your back against his chest, arms crossed in your waist. So didn't he. But you were so cute, with messy hair and being just your always self, his own scent still on you. His concerns gone, Yoongi couldn't help it unless be straightforward and reach for your touch.

You let out a yelp of surprise, grabbing his forearms, slightly sticking your nails on it. He chuckled softly at your heart rate speed up.

"Jesus, Yoongs... How are you so quiet?". You said with a hand on heart, already relaxing in his embrace.

"Sorry." His deep morning voice took you by surprise once more, spreading a shiver all over your body, making your silly mind remember the last night events, just to you get flustered. You were so chill until right now, damn. When you woke up facing a sound asleep cat, thigtly holding you close to him, you needed to hold yourself on to not squirm in excitement. Your fear was to make the atmosphere awkward between you two after being friends for so long. So you chilled up and planned to do everything right.

"You was supposed to be sleeping..." You scolded him, turning in his arms to face him, with red cheeks and pouting. "I'd take breakfast in bed for you."

Shock stamped up Yoongi's features. "Really?"

Your face reddened, suddenly the white wall was more interesting. "Really... I must treat you well."

You always treat me well, Y/N. Yoongi through to himself, but by your tone and the slight smirk in your adorable lips, he could tell the difference. "Ok.". He gulped.

"Since you are here... Sit." You said, getting apart from him. "I'll feed my Yoongs.".

Instantly he felt the loss of your warmth and contact, but at the same time he melted with the sound of your voice calling him "my Yoongs". Once you turned your attention back to breakfast again, he choose the chair next to the window, where there was sunlight and he could see the busy avenue below - many cars going to somewhere, and people like tiny ants doing their own thing in their own lives, and the river running and shining below the bridge, on the other side was the park Yoongi like to go with you... You were singing along with the music now, serving the table before him, your cleavage exposed by the robe - apparently you were wearing nothing else... Maybe panties too... He scolded himself, biting his thumb's nail to focus on something else, but then he noticed hickeys in the curve of your breasts and in your neck.

"Fuck." He whispered.

But in your not too large kitchen, you listened it clearly.

"What was it?" You let ou a nervous giggle.

"Nothing." Yoongi rested his elbows in the table, hiding face in hands. He couldn't handle look at you with the thought of biting and marking you and make you his and his only in mind. Last night he did so much effort to not do it without your consent, and even more effort to not ask, afraid of rejection.

You brought him back from his dreaminess, pulling him against you, petting his ears and hair. His tense body relaxed instantly.

"Did you sleep well? Need aspirin for headache or something?" You quietly asked, resting your chin on top of his head.

"No. I'm ok." He snuggled his face in the tender skin, scenting you.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. You hummed.

"Oh!" You frozed. "Namjoon is super worried about you...! Like... He called me twenty-four times and left thousands of voice mails and massages..."

He licked his lips.

"I need a charger to tell him I'm ok."

You pout.

"I already did it, silly. I told him you are here with me, safe and sound, and that I won't give you back till you get grumpy.". He smiled and you mirrored it. Then you got serious, tracing his jawline with your index finger. "He think you are upset with him... and you really was not ok yesterday. What happened?"

Yoongi gulped. He can be sincere with you.

"Namjoon can be an asshole sometimes. We argued, and I disappeared from the club, my phone is dead so..."

"It seems you are giving him the cold shoulder." You pointed.

"I'm not." He finally closed his arms around you. " I just forget about him when with you."

Your heart speeded up again, making him smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Due to his hesitancy, you added. "You don't need to."

"He told me to not expect too much from our... His friends. 'Cuz most of them only see me as a pet of him."

You remained silent for a moment, and then sighed.

"We really have some friends that are... Ignorants. And we can't do anything about it. But there's Hoseok and Jin who understand that hybrids aren't different of humans, and is obvious for me how much they like you."

"I know... I know." Yoongi pressed his eyes tightly. "We argued because... being an hybrid there's limits that I can't cross... At some point I'll be repelled, even by Hoseok, Jin..." He gulped again. "Even by you."

You pulled away, eyebrows joinig in irritation. Your words sounded offended.

"Seriously, Yoongi? After years knowing each other, didn't I make my positioning and support to hybrid clear? Or my affection for you? For heaven's sake...! We had sex. How can you doubt..."

"It wouldn't be the first time of being the fetish of someone that thinks I'm not a man at all." He interrupted.

You shuted up.

The angry expression faded away from your features, replaced by shock and then sadness. In your absence of words, Yoongi continued.

"I was afraid you would regret last night... I even through you would cut me off of your life, or at least kick me out of the apartment..." He let out a mockery laugh, not handling to look you in the eyes anymore. "You will be judged for sleeping with a hybrid. And I don't want it. Don't want you being treated differently by anyone...".

You approached again, taking his face in your tiny hands, lovely caressing his cheeks with your soft thumbs - just like last night, and he almost expected for you to kiss him. You were being soft and caring, but at same time, firmly make him look you straight in the eyes.

"I'm already judged, Yoongs. A lot of people think I'm fool and talk about me behind my back." The voice that reached his ears was so soft now. You opened a smile of pure pride. "And I don't give a damn.".

He couldn’t break eye contact, he couldn't dare to blink and lost a second of the sight of you.

"It don't matter for me race, gender, age, sexual orientation... If you have fluffy ears and tail or not. I'll love and respect everybody equally. At least I try, reading about and listening, and learning what I don’t know. You can always tell me what you are felling or where I’m failing..."

You have beautiful eyes and now they were sad again.

"I don't care about what those...bastards talk about hybrids... And I'm sorry for your past experiences..." You took a deep breath. Thinking in someone having the opportunity of be with Yoongi and choosing to break his heart make you sick. "For me you are an amazing man.".

"These words mean the world to me, Y/N." Yoongi said in his breath, feeling belonging as never before.

"You welcome, Yoongs."

___________________________________

A lazy saturday came along after this. You both spend all day cuddling in the couch, netflix on, or sharing earphones, and chit chating here and there. When the hunger came you ordered take out and decided who would get up and pay the delivery guy with rock paper and scissors. Yoongi lost it, but you got up anyways to pick plates and forks. And then you were tangled under the covers once more.

Hanging out like this is not unusual for you two. But it felt odd for Yoongi, different from before, like it was the first time. Sleeply observing you scrolling through your social media, Yoongi conclued that If having sex with you didn't ruined the friendship you have, expressing his feelings probably would.

But Yoongi wanted be in the same page as you.

You were watching a video on Instagram, not really focused on it, with your free hand playing with his hair, making him even more sleepy. You could feel his gaze on you, but besides the butterflys in your belly, it doesn't make you uncomfortable at all.

"Y/N..." He said in his low voice.

"Humm?" Blocking the cellphone's screen, you stared back at him. Your nose at centimeters from his.

He took your hand, circulating his thumb in the torso of it in a caring way. The gesture not passing unnoticed by you.

"I need you to know... Even if it isn't reciprocal... Last night had a whole meaning for me. I like like you, Y/N."

You stated at him in silence for a moment, making the whole world freeze. Before the conversation you both had in the kitchen that morning, Yoongi would be panicking, already regretting telling you such a thing. Now he just waited.

Like he wanted to, you smiled. With your beautiful lips, warm eyes, and all your body too.

"I know, sleepyhead."

You leaned to him, he came to you too, no hesitation. And that's it. He was kissing you again.

"We must talk about this reciprocity thing later." You whispered against his mouth.

Yoongi was kind of horny, slightly euphoric... Absolutely happy.

___________________________________

So, I really hope you liked it, pls interact, tell what you think... I’ll be posting more if I have a good feedback, probably a witch!au with Jin :) kiss kiss pls I dont want to be insecure about it kiss kiss.

#bts hybrid fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts fluff #bts blog #min yoongi #cat!yoongi #hybrid bts #hybrid yoongi #yoongi x reader #suga #bangtanshadowfamily

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divine-nonchalance · 4 years ago

Text

Existence Takes Care

Beloved Osho, What does the phrase "Existence takes care" mean? We are part of existence, we are not separate. Even if we want to be separate, we cannot be. Our life is part of being together with existence. And the more you are together with existence, the more alive you are. That′s why I insist continually to live totally, to live intensely, because the deeper your living is, the more you are in contact with existence. You are born of it; every moment you are renewed, rejuvenated, resurrected by each of your breaths, by each of your heartbeats - existence is taking care of you. But we are not aware of our own being, we are not aware of our own breathing. Gautam the Buddha gave to the world a tremendously simple, but immensely valuable, meditation - vipassana. The word vipassana simply means watching your breath - the coming of the breath in, and the going of the breath out. People used to ask Buddha," What will happen by this?" He was not a theoretician. He would say to them, "Just do it and see. Experiment and report to me what happens. Don′t ask me." Just as you start watching your breathing, you start seeing a great phenomenon - that through your breath, you are continuously connected with existence, uninterruptedly - there is no holiday. Whether you are awake or asleep, existence goes on pouring life into you, and taking out all that is dead.

Carbon dioxide is dead, and if it accumulates in you, you will be dead. Oxygen is life, and you need continuously that the carbon dioxide be replaced by fresh oxygen. Who is taking care? Certainly you are not taking care! If you were taking care, you would have been dead long ago; you would not have been here to ask the question. You would have forgotten sometimes to breathe, or sometimes the heart would forget to beat, sometimes the blood would forget to circulate inside you - anything could go wrong. There are a thousand and one things in you which could go wrong. But they are all functioning in deep harmony. Is this harmony dependent on you?

So when I say, "existence takes care," I am not talking philosophy. Philosophy is mostly nonsense. I am simply talking an actual fact. And if you become consciously aware of it, this creates a great trust in you. My saying to you,"existence takes care," is to trigger a consciousness that can bring the beauty of trusting in existence.

I don′t ask you to believe in a hypothetical God, and I don′t ask you to have faith in a messiah, in a saviour; these are all childish desires to have some father figure who takes care of you. But they are all hypothetical. There has not been any saviour in the world. Existence is enough unto itself.

I want you to inquire into your relationship with existence, and out of that inquiry, arises trust - not belief, not faith. Trust has a beauty because it is your experience. Trust will help you to relax because the whole existence is taking care - there is no need to be worried and to be concerned. There is no need to have any anxiety, no need of any anguish, no need of what the existentialists call angst.

Trust helps you to relax, it helps you to let go, and the let-go prepares the ground for witnessing to come in. They are related phenomena.

Three grey-haired mothers, Mrs. Fletcher, Mrs. Cornfield, and Mrs. Baum, were sitting in a Catskill hotel bragging about their children. "My son is a doctor," said Mrs. Fletcher, "and he′s an internist, a surgeon and a specialist. He makes so much money, he owns an apartment building on Park Avenue in New York." "That′s nice," said Mrs. Cornfield. "My son is a lawyer. He handles divorces, accidents, tax cases, insurance. He is so successful, he owns two apartment buildings on Fifth Avenue." "Ladies," announced Mrs. Baum, "you should both be proud to have such successful sons. My boy, I have to tell you the truth, is a homosexual." "That′s a shame," said Mrs. Cornfield. "And what does he do for a living?" "Nothing," said Mrs. Baum. "He has two friends: one is a doctor who owns an apartment building on Park Avenue, and the other is a lawyer who owns two apartment buildings." Existence takes care.

~ Osho, The Golden Future, Chapter 18: Existence is taking care.

#osho

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years ago

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Terra Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Sometimes, a ghost is a wish. | Word Count: 3,218

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 6

The Master’s bedroom is exactly as he left it many years ago. Bed made, dresser (now) dusty, curtains parted to let the sunlight in, walk-in closet neatly organized with not a single article of clothing in his hamper, as the Master was a fan of washing clothes every single day. Terra never found out why.

Terra has rummaged through this drawer three times already and still he can’t find them. He’s looking for a stack of sepia-toned pictures, cradled in a small envelope, the ones on the top dated many years ago when the Master was a student, while the ones at the bottom chronicle some of his adult life when Terra and Aqua were children. He’s tried searching every drawer, every box, every cupboard, and has even looked under the mattress and in the pillow cases. He couldn’t have misremembered them, could he?

One of the things he’s surprised to find instead is a small, delicately furnished wooden box with a latch. Full of cigars. The Master never smoked, but maybe he liked to smell like them. Though Terra would never personally choose to keep a set in his dresser, smudging all his clothes.

Sighing, Terra stands by the bed, taking another gander around the room to see if there’s a spot he could have missed. Maybe behind the mirror? No, not there. He slips his hands into his pockets, and finds something else. Folded over in four, the paper is crumpled, living in his pocket for the better part of a week. Naminé’s drawing of Xemnas is messier, the strokes of crayon meshed into each other that he’s less of a childish, crude figure and more of a smear. That ring of fire surrounding him stays closed.

Terra grunts.

Here comes another headache, a tense pulse above his brow. Massaging it never helps. Suddenly, Terra is not in his Master’s old bedroom anymore. Suddenly, he’s standing high on a cliff overlooking a wasteland, talking to someone in a black cloak with the hood up.

Now he’s back in the bedroom, the sun cutting shapes through the lace curtains with the breeze passing by. In a few minutes, the headache will go away. This is how it goes every single time.

Yes, it’s been a week since they left Radiant Garden. Only Ienzo uses the Gummiphone for contact, leaving long messages that take Terra too much time to reply back to. The rest of the team would prefer correspondence through letters, which is something Terra would rather do as well. He just hasn’t done so yet, focusing his attention on cleaning the castle as they start a new life without their old Master. Once that’s done, he promises himself to do so.

It’s a shame, he knows he should make more of an effort (and promises that he would once he takes care of the Master). Xion sometimes texts him with pictures, some of them with Roxas, who still hasn’t made an effort to talk to him even though they played a good race at the beach (Terra didn’t even need to let him win—that kid is fast). That’s okay. Xion has offered to set Terra up with what she calls a Kingstagram account, and Terra supposes that’s okay, too. He just doesn’t know what that is or if it’s worth his time.

In the end, he is still really bad at connecting with others, and he’s still out of pictures, and he still doesn’t know what to do with the Xemnas drawing. Any moment now, Aqua will come looking for him. They’re finally preparing for his memorial, to say goodbye to his Keyblade—

—And Terra has to say goodbye forever without ever seeing him again. What’s the point of staying linked to these memories if they do nothing for him?

Why does looking at this drawing of Xemnas the only thing that gives him reminders?

Grunting, Terra rubs his face. Maybe it’s as good a time as any to text somebody now, distract himself so he calms down and do some good so he’s not completely isolated. He waits for his Gummiphone to turn on to the initial screen, the whirring of the machine the only noise accompanying him. How did Ven do this again? He clicks on his address book. Now he has to remember how to open a text and take a picture, particularly of the Xemnas drawing.

terra

did he ever call you an also-ran

Send.

Terra doesn’t expect Lea to answer right away. He probably will read the text, probably take the time he needs to register how he feels before painting his usual bright smile that he uses to play everyone. Maybe Terra has him all wrong. Maybe this is really offensive, and Lea would actually be upset. It’s not his intention.

The Gummiphone buzzes several times.

lea

see

i told isa the other day

the first time i saw you i thought you looked like an asshole

Terra snorts to himself quietly.

terra

is that your favorite word

lea

So it’s all good. Terra breathes a sigh of relief, a smirk that’s warm on his cheeks. He doesn’t know if texting people randomly is the right way to go about doing this whole make-new-friends thing. It’s not as easy as walking up to somebody and saying hello anymore, but starting a new life doesn’t have a manual.

As though the chains he linked through Xemnas harbor resentment, he’s hit with another spasm of pain, drilling onto the side of his skull. Stars, they get intense sometimes, some of them downright gorey. He will not think about it. He will push it away. The pain subsides but only a bit, throbbing instead.

It can’t end like this. He’s avoided going back to Naminé ever since just to keep trying and see Eraqus, one more time. One more. It’s not much to ask for, so why can’t the stars be more forgiving? He swears to them he’ll never ask for something again.

Terra groans, pain hammering over his brow. What’s coming this time is going to knock him around, so he lowers himself to his knees. Several people dressed in extravagant embroidery, from some other world, being swallowed up by darkness, their hearts floating up to the sky and a small cry of Mister, is my mommy coming back?

When it’s over, Terra sobs, keeping a heave from rupturing his chest and wiping dry tears. If Aqua comes in and sees him like this, she’ll freak—she’s already brewed so many potions and teas for him whenever he has an episode.

He tries for the closet again. The Master kept his most expensive robes wrapped in plastic, preserving a faded scent of cedar. Terra takes the fabric, smooth as silk, and breathes into it. It’s weaker than last time. He could always spray it with the Master’s leftover cologne (his favorite), but it still wouldn’t smell exactly like him, and as Terra waits seconds for another memory to come, he realizes as soon as it hurts that it wouldn’t bother with giving him what he’s looking for. All he asks for is the sound of the Master’s voice, to see that smile move one more time so he makes sure he sears it into his mind for the rest of his life.

Instead, a strong voice (Xehanort’s) talks about the Darkness making way for the Light, just like the expansive sky that is home to the stars. It was necessary to pursue it, he had said to someone.

A single tear treads all the way to Terra’s jawline. He’s tried his best. No photos, no special memory. It’s like the Master doesn’t linger here anymore.

Defeated, Terra pulls his Gummiphone out, searching for Naminé’s entry. He won’t commit to an appointment. He’s only asking questions, wondering if there are better ways to maneuver through the memories so he gets what he wants. She doesn’t answer right away.

He pulls himself up at the foot of the bed, aching like an older man even though he looks twenty in the mirrors. What lies.

Where else to find mementos? Terra has already looked through the Master’s study and his favorite spots in the library. The only place left is the attic.

The attic sits atop the northeast tower. Terra is in the residential wing, in the southeast tower, so he has to travel several paces downstairs to make it over, just to climb all the way back up. Entirely built of wood, the attic has one stained-glass window that slices pastels through the floorboards. A lot of junk gets dumped up here—old knight statues from a Master that lived eight-hundred years ago or so, faded paintings that have names but aren’t recognizable anymore, couches that are stained and out of style, chests of outdated books and maps, and trinkets and gifts that litter everywhere else. Even Aqua can’t bear to let any of this go despite that none of it truly belongs to anybody. To her, it’s like rejecting their history. The Master probably had felt the same.

Before what happened, Master Eraqus was moving items up here, mostly stacks of papers. They were shoved in a leather binder, tied together with string. It’s a long shot the photos will be with them, but regardless, Terra begins the hunt.

It’s not in the chest of crystals. Not by the old (creepy) dollhouse. Not with any of the broken phonograms, nor with the folded rugs that stack from floor to ceiling.

But it’s right there, sitting neatly by a basket full of gold artifacts from worlds Terra has never been to and engraved in languages he doesn’t know, tied with a red string and stitched in handmade leather. When Terra pulls it open, he’s greeted by a handful of letters written to Eraqus about trouble in other worlds, asking for his help, and a stack of essays about the philosophy of the Keyblade, both in the common-tongue and the ancient.

It’s nothing like reliving memories or watching them like footage, but Terra imagines the Master working late into the night on his desk with a quill, writing these essays slowly so he keeps his impeccable script. He’d read books with a glass of wine every night, and keep at it in the morning with a mug of coffee, hair unbrushed as usual but that’s fine when he keeps it in a short ponytail every day. He’d disappear every week to some other world, leaving Terra and Aqua with a nanny until they were old enough to take care of themselves. Considering what these people are writing about—missing circus animals, their neighborhood mountain being possessed, and even an early report of Unversed showing up in the woods—the Master used to be a busy man.

Why did he have to die that day? Why can’t Terra keep the things that are supposed to come with home?

Terra sniffs. The smell of cedar comes up, as though the cologne was sprayed up here recently. Kicked up with a cloud of dust, as though the Master is here.

I am… well, for a short time at least.

Terra whips over his shoulder to find the Master behind him, a glow beaming through him as he checks the rust spreading on one of the oldest sets of armor. Picking up dust, Master Eraqus rubs it between his fingers.

This sorely needs urgent attention. I recommend some solvent and a spot of oil, he says, smiling at Terra as if it’s any other morning and breakfast will be announced soon. So many histories live here.

“Master?” Terra drops the papers.

Eraqus tsks his disapproval and like muscle memory, Terra immediately gathers the papers together, working on automatic mode, tucking them under his arm as if this is class and he has to be on his best behavior. When the Master approaches, he makes no noise: no thuds to his steps, no wind whooshed by his robe, gliding gracefully across the floor. Terra bows... though he cannot fight the urge to stare up. Terra has forgotten about the scar; it was on the Master’s face, every single day, but he’s never heard the story behind it. An elephant accident. A run-in with pirates. Those were the contradicting explanations he’s heard every time he asks.

The Master looks down, motioning with his hand to stand up. Look at you. Almost as tall as I am.

“You’re here.”

The Master smiles. This is the happiest Terra remembers him being; he must not feel his chronic back pains anymore. You have spent your whole week following me. He gives Terra a mischievous knowing in his eyes. I suppose it would be rude of me not to return the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” Terra gasps, mouth gaped open for all the words he prepared, but now that the moment is passing by, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He reaches out with a hand but stops himself, scared of what it would feel like to to pass right through the image. “I missed you.”

And I have missed you all so much, Eraqus says with contentment.

“I wish it never happened,” Terra chokes. “Sometimes, I wish I could find some way—”

Shhh. The Master shakes his head lovingly. Don’t. No longer shall you venture down the path of grief. You have already experienced first-hand what such curiosities could lead to. And you already know you don’t need to.

“I know,” Terra whispers. “I know.”

When the Master smiles this time, he sighs and closes his eyes like he’s feeling the sun. I have reunited with so many of my old friends since. Such a peaceful existence. He opens them. Your friendships are something to cherish for as long as they can physically walk by your side, Terra. But who am I to lecture? You have always. Friends to love, who want to care for you. I am so proud.

So proud…

Tears, quiet and happy, fall like drops of spring, Terra hearing what he always yearned to hear since he was six years old, a comforting embrace that wants to tell him he can breathe again without feeling guilty.

But he still does. Every living breath is guilty by association.

“She’s so happy now,” Terra whispers as if to justify his actions, remembering Aqua sparring for the first time with Rainfell in years, hesitant at first, unsure of how it’s going to react with spells, but it comes fast. It comes like drinking water, natural and needed. “I don’t regret anything.”

Which was why you were the perfect candidate when I had asked you to look after them. He smirks. I couldn’t have trusted anyone better for the responsibility.

Terra swallows, searching for the courage not to ask, believing he shouldn’t. He’s weak. “I am?”

The smile falls. You are not weak.

You are willing to bare it all for your friends. Your bonds with Aqua and Ven are unbreakable, a magical, special, living Light to behold. A forge stronger than chains, weightless and free. I am sorry for seeding so much doubt within you, when you have so much to offer. If only I wasn’t—it was my duty to do better. That is my shame. He shakes his head at himself. But you’ve been so dedicated to the past, Terra, he says, concerned but not disappointed. Too much so. I worry.

Terra grimaces. “Ha, I never have any explanations for the dumb mistakes I make when I need to.”

You’ll find little answers in what lies behind you. The Master leans forward, pulling a small smile as he studies Terra’s eyes. But you are more than capable. Please do me the favor. Trace the past no longer. You have your bonds to nourish, and more to flower. Then he smiles more, an epiphany in his eyes like he wants to share a secret. Only in death did I realize what true Mastery really is. The living can be so foolish.

“You weren’t a fool, Master.”

Master… A Master is a forever student. To deny this is to be blind to your faults. Eraqus laughs, his eyes rolling. What would I have said to my younger self. You don’t see that one in the books.

“I don’t know, I… I think what I did for Aqua trumps any dream I had in becoming Master.”

Eraqus’s eyes glisten. Do you not see one when you look at yourself in the mirror?

Terra bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, warm and real. Terra could hug him. But he doesn’t, not when Eraqus slips something flat in his hand.

Do take care of them. He holds Terra’s jaw. Chin up, son.

Footsteps climb up the stairs leading into the attic, and Terra is alone with a smooth piece of paper in one hand, the other wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Terra? You okay? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Aqua is carrying a finished wreath with purple flowers. She stops when she gasps, looking around the attic. “That smells like the Master’s cologne,” she whispers.

When Terra smiles, he cries more. “Look at this.”

A sepia-toned picture of Eraqus as a young boy, sitting on a window seat with a chess board laid out in front of him, all teeth from ear to ear, sincere and hopeful. He looks at the camera like it’s his best friend.

Aqua’s eyes light up as she takes it, a tear for each eye. “Look at him. It’s so strange, but he was adorable.”

“Have you ever seen that one?”

“Never. It wasn’t with the others.”

“The others?”

She strokes the photo with her thumb. “Hm. I moved them into my room. I wanted to frame them.” She holds it to her chest. “Can I take this one?”

“For your room?”

“I’ve got one ready for yours. It’s that nice portrait that used to embarrass him.”

The one where he looked serious enough to judge someone to death. The Master had called it unsightly when it was presented to him.

“That one’s perfect.”

Aqua exhales deeply, shivering as tries to keep herself tall. “I’m so sad he’s gone, and... I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I had given him a Wayfinder. He feels so far away.”

He holds her chin softly, keeping it up as her heavy tears fall. “We could give him ours.”

She stops sobbing and stares through Terra when the realization hits her. She nods. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she says, nuzzling the wreath closer to her, her own little hug for the Master.

Terra’s Gummiphone buzzes in his pocket. That has to be Naminé.

“The wreath is beautiful,” he tells Aqua, and that grounds her back to reality. “You’ve done a marvelous job.”

“Thank you.” She strokes some of the leaves to keep them in place. “I’ll see you back at the front door?”

“Definitely.”

He’ll let her go downstairs first, pulling out the Gummiphone to read his new text. He’s going to tell Naminé that he’s changed his mind. He’s ready for an appointment.

#kh terra #terra #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #AHHHHHHHHHHHH #this one is def not as good #so is the last one #i just ran out of time i'm sorry #my fic

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bktynes-writes · 4 years ago

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It didn't matter that it was the end of the world. It didn't matter that Dean and Sam had spent their entire lives fighting against exactly this, only for it to happen anyway. It didn't matter that the angels had fallen and Cas and Jack had lost their grace. Because the end of this world means that everything can start anew.

Dean stood inside infinity. It was warmth and comfort and safety, the likes of which he had never felt. It was a sense of peace he hadn't known since he was four years old and his mother held him over Sam's crib to kiss him goodnight, and his father lifted him up in his arms and tucked him into his own bed. It was Hey Jude, and tomato and rice soup, and the warm leather of the impala's seats as the scent of Midwest hay fields drifted through her open windows on a warm summer breeze…

He reveled in the feeling, in the bliss of absolute peace, so much so that he almost missed the voice speaking to him through the warm glow of the nothingness around him.

"Hey, Dean."

His eyes snapped open. In front of him stood Chuck. Dean wanted to feel angry. He wanted to feel hatred towards the man, the God, who had been torturing and toying with him and his brother and everyone they've ever loved through their entire lives...but he couldn't.

"Chuck?" Dean asked quietly. "Where am I? What is this place? What have you done with Sam? And Jack? And where is Cas?"

"They're here too. Well, not HERE here, but they're safe. We're all on the same plane of existence right now, you and I are just riding a different ripple for a bit." Chuck said. "I needed to talk to you…"

Dean looked at Chuck, confusion spreading across his face as Chuck continued to speak.

"You remember how everything in the world has to have balance? Heaven and Hell? Me and Amara? Well, this place is a part of that balance. The Empty, it's nothing. It's endless, endless nothing. This place is...well everything. This is where all the worlds I've ever made started. It's where every Sam and Dean that have ever existed have come from. This is where it all begins. You could say, it's my writing room."

Chuck stepped closer to Dean, the smile on his face not malicious or spiteful, but benevolent and kind, the way God should have been from the beginning. Dean allowed himself to be taken in by his words. He listened and tried to comprehend, but it was like he was hearing Chuck through a fog, the sense of his words just out of reach…

"I still don't understand…" Dean said slowly.

Chuck looked at him long and hard, and a sadness passed over his face.

"Oh Dean...I'm sorry. I've been so cruel to you, and your brother, and Castiel...so many times, so many worlds...I've watched you try and fail and live and die so many times, all for the story. But it was never good enough...the story was never *perfect*..."

Chuck put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Maybe it's time I let the characters take control. Maybe it's time to try one last time to get the story right...Dean? What do YOU want your story to be? What kind of worlds do YOU want to build?"

Dean's eyes opened wide, a powerful force tugging at his heart. What did HE want? Only a couple of people in Dean's entire life had ever asked him what HE wanted. And it's not like it had ever mattered anyway; Dean Winchester didn't get to have what he wanted. There was always something else more important.

He thought for a long time about Chuck's question. Thought long and hard. In the end, only one thing could come to his mind…

"I want...I want to be happy…" He said, eyes slipping shut in the warm glow of The Everything that surrounded him.

Chuck smiled and laid his hand over Dean's heart. He could feel every emotion that Dean had ever felt. Every burden, every heartbreak, every fleeting moment of joy, every happy memory. Every desire Dean's heart had ever dared to dream of was laid bare before Chuck's eyes, and he knew exactly the world to create for him.

"It's okay, Dean. You can be happy now."

And then Chuck was gone, and Dean was filled with the sensation of falling. When he dared to finally open his eyes again, he was no longer standing in that bright, light filled place, but instead, on the porch of a small house.

He looked around, confusion spreading through him. In front of him was a garden full of flowers growing in carefully planted beds. Flowers he had never seen before in vibrant shades of every color he had ever thought of. Around them buzzed hundreds of bees, floating lazily through the summer heat that wafted the sweet floral aroma over him. In the distance, he could hear the sound of cars on the freeway. Closer, a bicycle bell, and the sounds of children playing…

"Hello, Dean."

Dean turned quickly, hardly daring to believe his ears as the deep, gravelly voice spoke his name, the same as it had a hundred times before.

"Cas?"

Behind him, in the doorway of the small house, stood Castiel. Dean lurched forward, his feet moving of their own volition and embraced the man before him. He breathed in everything that was Castiel. The faint scent of cinnamon and watermelon filled his nostrils as he wrapped his arms around Cas' shoulders and buried his face in his neck, holding onto him like he was the last tether binding him to earth. Dean stepped back and looked at his angel, reverence and confusion in his eyes.

"Cas...Is this...are we dead? Is this heaven?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know. I don't believe so. This doesn't feel like Heaven. It feels like...earth. It feels like home…"

"What happened? Chuck, he said he was going to try the story one last time…"

"I know." Said Cas. "We were there. We were inside Creation. We heard him." Cas cocked his head to the side. "He said it was your turn to be happy, Dean. Is this...is this how you would write the world?"

Dean slowly walked inside and looked around at the house in which he stood. Trinkets of their past adorned the walls and shelves; memories of hunting preserved in stasis, as though they were simply remnants of a time long since passed. On a wall above the mantelpiece were newspaper clippings framed and hung with pride, handwritten letters of thanks from people they had saved, graduation photos and wedding pictures of children who had had the chance to grow up. And in the centre, a photo of five people, together, leaning against Baby, took pride of place on the mantel. Jack kneeled in the front, grinning widely, his innocence and carefree spirit visible. Sam stood next to Eileen, bent low and kissing her cheek as she laughed at him fondly, her arms wrapped protectively around her clearly pregnant belly. Next to them stood Dean, his arm slung over Cas' shoulders, while Cas wrapped one of his own around Dean's waist. His head rested on Dean's shoulder, while his other hand was placed proudly on Jack's.

Dean picked the photograph up and held it carefully in his hands, as if afraid that if he dropped it, this world, this illusion, might shatter into pieces as well.

"Do you like it?"

Dean spun around. There stood Chuck, hands jammed into his pockets awkwardly, a small grin playing across his face.

"I don't understand…" said Cas, moving to stand beside Dean.

"In every other version of earth I've ever made, The Winchester Saga ends in tragedy. Sometimes you all die, sometimes Dean is left to wander the earth alone, sometimes I send you all to different places to suffer alone for eternity. Depends on my mood...but, like I said, the ending is never perfect. And so I thought, what am I doing wrong?! Why can't I get this right?! And then it hit me. I'm forcing the plot. A truly great author lets their characters write themselves. So, what better way to test that out than to let the hero write the ending?"

Dean looked down at the photograph again. He did say he wanted to be happy, and the Dean in this photo looked happier than Dean thinks he'd ever dreamed of getting to be.

Chuck continued, "So when I looked into Dean's heart to see what he desired, it was pretty simple. You wanted Sam to have a family, and he does. Sam, Eileen, and little Rowan live in the house next door. By the way, congrats on being an Uncle. You wanted Jack to get to experience life. He's off at college. He's studying world religions and philosophy. Personally, I don't think it makes for great career prospects but, hey, better than being a writer."

He chuckled at his own joke. Dean's heart grew fuller with every word Chuck spoke. Sam had a house, and a wife, and a son. He had a nephew. Jack was living a normal life at college…

"...And anyway, he's not my son. He's yours."

Dean's head snapped up as Chuck spoke.

"What are you talking about?" Asked Cas, and Chuck grinned. He reached behind him onto a shelf and held up another photograph. This one was just Dean and Cas, together. Cas Has a wide grin on his face and his arm once again wrapped tightly around Dean's waist. Dean held a bottle of champagne in his hand, which presumably is what the two of them were drenched in. His other arm was wrapped firmly around the back of Cas' neck, and Dean was kissing him on the cheek firmly.

"It's your wedding day."

The air escaped Dean's lungs like he had been hit in the chest with a two-by-four…

Chuck smiles even bigger now. "See, more than anything else, the thing Dean's heart ached for most, the thing that was going to make him happiest...was you, Castiel. It was always supposed to be you."

Dean looked at Cas, then down at their hands. Sure enough, each of them wore matching silver rings on their left hands. Dean gulped hard as he felt tears rise up behind his eyes.

Dean stuttered, "Chuck...I -"

Chuck raised a hand to silence him. "Save it. You write your own stories now. I'm not the author any more. I'm just a fan." And again, he was gone.

Dean looked up at Cas, his eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side, and yeah, Dean thought, maybe this was how he would have written the world if given the chance.

"Cas, listen man, I'm sorry...I guess I can lie to you and Sam and everyone for ten years but, when it comes to God...well I guess he had to earn that 'all-knowing' title somehow…" Dean laughed nervously. "I should have told you sooner, Cas. I should have told you the moment we left Purgatory the second time that I loved you. Hell, I should have told you a lot sooner than that…" Dean hung his head, not wanting the look in Cas' eyes to shatter the world of happiness he was yearning to be able to get used to.

"Does that mean, I'm no longer just an 'honorary Winchester'?" Said Castiel from far too close. Dean looked up and his breath caught in his throat as he realized that Cas had crowded into his space in the not-unpleasant way that he had long gotten used to. His blue eyes were twinkling with something akin to joy as Dean regained his composure.

"Um, I...I guess not, no. Not if you took my last name anyway." He quipped. And suddenly, Cas' lips were on his and oh god if he had thought that Creation had felt like bliss, it was only because he hadn't had THIS yet. Cas kissed him like the sky was falling down around them, like tomorrow would never come, and when he pulled away, there were tears shining in his eyes.

"You know Dean, there is stupid, and then there is Winchester stupid. I was an angel for longer than I was human. I could hear your desires too. I have known your feelings longer than you yourself have."

And Dean threw his head back in the most genuine laugh he had had in years. He laughed at Cas because of course he had known this whole time. He laughed at himself for being 'Winchester stupid'. He laughed at the fact that Sam was a dad. He laughed until he was crying and couldn't breathe and then he realized that this? This was what happiness felt like.

He regained himself and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Reaching out, he pulled Cas into his arms again. This was okay. He was allowed to do this. There were no monsters that were going to burst through the front door and try to hurt them. This wasn't a dream cooked up by some djinn so it can trap Dean here forever. God, for the first time in his life, wasn't messing with him.

He pulled Cas to him and pressed their lips together again enjoying the moment for all it was worth.

It didn't matter that it was the end of the world. It didn't matter that Dean had spent his entire life fighting against exactly this. It didn't matter that the angels had fallen and Cas and Jack had lost their grace. Because the end of this world means that everything can be made better.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #destiel fandom #dean x castiel #dean x cas #i just want them to be happy #i just want them to have a happy ending #dean deserves to be happy #so i made it happen #and its trash because i havent written these two in forever #but goddammit i am emotional #i dont know how to use tags

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anxious-logic · 4 years ago

Text

A Burden Shared

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 6: When your soulmate is injured you will experience pain in that area.

Ship: Analogicality (Patton x Virgil x Logan)

Warnings: Mentions of unsafe binding, self-harm, periods

Word Count: 2,351 (it’s a long one!)

Patton – Age 3

“Ow!”

Patton gasped as he pulled his hand towards his chest. It felt like he’d gotten a boo-boo on his finger from the coloring book, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Mommy?” he called, looking up to find his mom. “Mommy!”

His mom poked his head out from her office.

“What is it, sweetie?”

Patton held out his finger, sniffling. “My finger has a boo-boo but I can’t find it.”

His mom’s face made a weird look. She didn’t say anything for a minute.

She walked over to where Patton was and picked him up, propping him up on her hip.

“Okay, Patton. Do you know anything about soulmates?”

***

Lisa – Age 6

Lisa was frustrated.

Now, this wasn’t exactly rare for her. She experienced frustration on a quite regular basis; usually caused by something to do with her classmates or teachers. But this particular brand of frustration was quite new to her.

“Lisa, just put on the dress!” Her father said, exasperated at having to repeat himself yet again.

“No!” she insisted. “I don’t want to wear a dress, I want to wear pants.”

“I told you, you have to wear a dress to visit your grandmother. We’ve been over this. Put on the dress.”

“No.”

Lisa sat down where she was, refusing to move. If her father wanted her to wear a dress, he would have to manhandle her into it.

Then she had an idea.

“It’s because my soulmate,” she said quietly.

Her father froze.

“What about him?”

“They hurt their shoulder yesterday. It still hurts today. The dress wouldn’t feel good on it.”

Lisa only felt a little guilty manipulating her father; he had no way to prove whether her soulmate had hurt their shoulder or not, he just had to trust her on it. But she felt so bad about wearing a dress that she would go as far as lying so as to avoid wearing it.

“I- fine. But you have to wear a dress next time, okay?”

Lisa didn’t respond.

***

Virgil – Age 9

Virgil had been playing on the playground when he screamed in pain, clutching his left leg.

“Ow ow ow ow ow-“ he cried, tears running down his face. The playground monitor came running, pushing the children who had mobbed around Virgil out of the way.

“What happened?” she asked, seeing that there wasn’t any visible injury.

“I- My soulmate did something, it hurts, it hurts so bad,” Virgil said, barely able to get the words out over the pain.

The monitor sighed. “Probably a broken leg,” she said. “C’mon, let’s get you to the office. They can figure out what you need from there.” She scooped him up into his arms, shooing the other children back to their play.

***

Patton – Age 12

When Patton had fallen out of a tree and broken and dislocated various parts of his leg at age nine, he’d had to accept with the idea that he wasn’t the only one having to deal with so much pain. It had hurt so much, and even once he got the painkillers it still hurt a little – he couldn’t imagine what it would be like without doctors there at every moment to help him manage it. Even now, he still got leftover pain occasionally, slipping up on him like the elementary school bullies: familiar but unwelcome.

Now, he was maybe beginning to understand what it might have been like.

His ribs hurt, all the time. Regardless of what he did, it hurt to breathe too hard or too fast. When he pressed on them, it felt like he was being stabbed with a blunt object. He was also getting really bad cramps in his stomach every month.

It really wasn’t fun.

His mom said he probably had a girl for a soulmate, which would explain the cramps. If that was the case, Patton thought it was probably a platonic bond; he couldn’t really see himself kissing a girl.

He winced as his stomach hurt more, and wondered what was happening to his soulmate, that he hurt so much through their bond.

He hoped they were okay.

***

Logan – Age 15

Logan hissed as he felt a stinging feeling on his wrists.

Dammit, he thought as he looked down. There wasn’t any reason for the pain on his wrists; it was one of his soulmates.

When he was twelve, and was just beginning to grow breasts, he had begun to bind them with bandages. He knew how dangerous that was – he’d researched what was going on in his mind, and how to make it feel better, before resorting to them – but he just hadn’t been able to handle it. He’d had to do something. Then he started getting his period, getting cramps along with the dysphoric blood. It was horrendous. He’d hoped that he was the only one going through mental pain affecting their everyday life.

But now his soulmate was cutting. Evidently, they were going through something incredibly unpleasant too.

He genuinely hoped that their bond was only two-way – he couldn’t imagine having his binding and his soulmates’ cutting to deal with, while probably having minimal personal problems with pain. There was the broken leg a few years ago, but that didn’t really count.

He determinedly flipped his math textbook open, ready to work his way through his homework and ignore his soulmate’s pain, as well as his own cramps.

There was nothing he could do about it right now, anyway.

***

Virgil – Age 18

Virgil glanced down at the old scars on his wrist, rubbing them slightly. When he was fifteen, it had been a dark time for him – the only way he had known that anyone could feel positive things for him was through the soulmate bond, and even that was only shown through pain. He’d gotten a lot better since then – amazing what therapy and meds could do – but he still couldn’t help but be reminded of the feeling, sometimes.

He thought of his ribs, how they had hurt every day for a solid eighteen months. He thought of his leg, which still lanced with pain every so often. He thought of his wrists, how he’d hurt himself purposely for months before stopping.

He knew he’d be okay.

He stepped into his dorm room on the college campus, ready to start the next part of his life.

***

Patton – Age 21

“Virge, love, I’m going out for coffee with a friend, okay? Do you want anything?”

He and Virgil had met each other during their first day of freshman orientation. Patton had stood up wrong on his leg and collapsed, bruising his arms on the way down. When he looked up, it was to see another boy leaning on a desk to favor his leg and holding his arm close to his chest. They’d figured out pretty quickly that they were soulmates.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Virgil called out from where he was working on an art assignment. “Have fun,” he tacked on as he frowned at his screen.

They had gone for a walk that evening, after their orientation events were done for the day. They’d talked about the major pains they’d been through – Patton’s leg, Virgil’s wrist, and someone else’s chest and stomach.

Apparently, despite Virgil’s wishes to the contrary, they had another soulmate.

“Okay. Be back soon!”

Patton hummed lightly to himself as he made his way to the coffeeshop on campus. He was planning on meeting Logan there so that they could work on their philosophy project together.

As he opened the door to the shop, he scanned the tables to see if the other boy was around yet. It didn’t look like he was, so Patton stepped up to the counter and ordered for himself – hot chocolate and a cookie.

He sat down at an open table, getting out his computer and a notebook. He looked up when Logan sat down across from him, an iced coffee in hand.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi!” Patton said back cheerfully. Logan looked tired today – Patton hoped he’d slept okay the night before-

“Ouch,” Patton said suddenly, his thoughts distracted, as a lance of pain shot through the fingers of his left hand. “Virgil, what did you do,” he muttered, shaking his hand out. He looked up, to see Logan staring at him, his face white as a sheet. He was cradling his left hand to his chest.

“Sorry about that, my soulmate must’ve smooshed his fingers in a cupboard or something,” Patton said cheerfully. Logan shook his head slowly.

“I… that certainly is an interesting coincidence, is it not?” he said. “Because I believe mine just did the same thing as well.”

Patton gasped, his thoughts scattering every which way. “I can’t believe it! You’re our other soulmate!” he squealed, reaching across the table to grab Logan’s uninjured hand. “You’ll have to meet Virgil, he’ll love you, I know it. You two can get into so many interesting discussions-!”

Logan smiled slightly. “Uh- sure,” he said. “Show me?”

***

Virgil – Age 21

Virgil sucked in a breath at the sudden pain that came with slamming his fingers into the doorframe.

“Fuck,” he hissed, shaking his fingers out. He’d have to apologize to Patton for that one; it’d hurt to write for the next few hours, and he knew Patton was supposed to be out working on an assignment for quite a while.

His phone buzzed, a notification coming through.

Stay at home, a text from Patton read. Another one lit his phone up just seconds later. Found other soulmate. Bringing him over to meet you.

Virgil’s jaw dropped. He’d known that they had another soulmate – where else could the pain in his chest and stomach come from – but it hadn’t really, truly registered before now that the universe thought that there were two people that he could spend the rest of his life with.

He quickly moved to start cleaning the tiny living room, clearing off the papers and books from the couch and finding places to put the junk that had accumulated on the coffee table. He was interrupted by the sound of Patton’s laughing while he had a stack of textbooks in his arms, ready to bring them to the bedroom.

“Virgil’s here somewhere,” Patton said. “Virge? I’m home!”

Virgil came out of the bedroom, nervously wiping his hands on his pants. “Uh, hi,” he mumbled. “I’m Virgil-“

He looked up, and his jaw dropped. “Logan!” He felt his cheeks go red.

“Virgil?” the other boy asked, surprised. Patton looked between the two.

“Oh, you know each other already? Great!”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “We were in astronomy together last semester.”

Patton eyes went wide. “Oh, I see.”

Logan looked between the two of them. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that?” he said hesitantly. Virgil’s cheeks only got warmer.

“Uh- I just- Patton and I had quite a few conversations about opening our relationship so that I could maybe date you. Um. That didn’t happen because I kept chickening out, but- yeah.”

Logan smiled. “Then it works out for the better that we were told we belong together, yes?”

Virgil nodded frantically. “Uh. Yeah. I guess. Yep.”

Logan gently put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, slipping his other hand into Patton’s palm.

“Can we sit down to talk?”

***

Logan – Age 21

Patton led the three of them to the living room, sitting himself down on the loveseat and tucking his legs up underneath him. Virgil chose to sprawl on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, leaving Logan free to choose between the couch or the single armchair. Patton patted next to him, so Logan hesitantly sat down on the other cushion, crossing his legs uncomfortably.

“So, just to clear the air,” Virgil started. “I cut when I was fifteen, six years ago – that’s what the wrist pain was, for months there. Patton fucked up his leg at age nine – twelve years ago – and it never healed right. We have a mystery soulmate who had really bad chest pains for about eighteen months, starting almost ten years ago now – it hurt to breathe too quickly or hard. There’s really bad lower abdomen cramps about once a month, for the last ten-ish years too. I can’t think of anything else major. Does that line up with your soulpains too?”

Logan took a deep breath. “I… yes. The cramps and chest pain… that was – is – me. I, um. You were blunter than I expected. But, uh – I’m trans. So… yeah. I did… unsafe binding for a long time. That’s- that’s what the chest pain was about. And… periods suck. That’s what that’s about.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Fuck, that must be hard. I- sorry for being so blunt. That… probably wasn’t how you wanted to come out.”

Logan laughed slightly. “No, I- you’re fine.”

Patton suddenly nodded hard. “So we’re all soulmates, we think?”

Virgil and Logan looked at each other uncertainly and nodded.

“Great,” Patton said. Then he paused. “If we… feel anything… can we text each other? I kind of have a weird fear that we’ll all be super happy and everything, and we have another person who hasn’t had anything super big? And that we’ll miss them? And they have to deal with all of this pain and never meet us and get to know why and feel the good parts of a soulbond?”

“That makes sense,” Logan said. He pulled out his phone to make a group chat. He paused, and looked up over the top of the phone, blushing.

“I- I really enjoy spending time with both of you,” he said. “I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

Patton grinned at him. “Maybe it’ll make the pain better too, all the time. Sharing is caring, right?”

Virgil smiled slightly. “Hopefully, it’ll help with all sorts of things. Meeting Patton made me feel a lot better mentally. I- Maybe we can do the same for you?”

Logan reached over to hold both of their hands. “I look forward to it.”

#ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #analogicality #ts fanfic #soulmate september #tsshipmonth2020 #i can write sometimes

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rinusagitora · 4 years ago

Text

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe, Vera Oberlin, Polly Geist, Amira Rashid, Kale

Pairings: BriDamiVicky, OzZoe, AmiVera

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 10/?. WARNINGS- PTSD symptoms, drug use, fanart drawn by @spookyhugsandkisses; Everyone is home, and is processing the events that have so far unfolded.

AO3

It was one of those nights Oz just wasn't able to focus. Even snuggled against Zoe and watching a goofy, uplifting anime, he couldn't ease the pit in his gut.

Zoe's thumb rubbed his brow. It was nice stimulation, at least. She was sweet in every way.

It was just a bad couple of days, Oz reasoned. He lived through millions. The birth of predator and prey, the fall of civilizations.

Zoe asked, "Do you remember your very first day?"

"Maybe long ago," he replied. "My first memory is in the dark, just beyond an orange light…. I think. There are so many now, it's hard to sort through them."

"Me too."

"What brings this up?" Oz asked.

"This, that, the other," she said. "I'm trying to remember a time before now that I've worked to keep people alive."

He frowned. "We're not very good at it.'

"No," Zoe agreed.

"We try to save people, but… they just end up dying. Or someone does."

She said, "They're all too eager to. Vera happily forked over her soul."

"And they adore destruction…. I hate demons for that reason. The Aquino, the LaVey, gungho for ruination and bloodshed before diplomacy."

"We wouldn't be here without it," Zoe said.

"Don't you tire of it?"

"I never said it didn't."

Oz hummed. His vision was blurry. Phobias kissed Zoe's hand, hugged her knee. He barely understood what Sergeant Frog was saying.

But that was the least of his worries.

"All of this now… what we're doing… is it helping, or is it retribution?"

"That depends on our intentions," she said. "Neutral good and lawful evil can approach a problem the same way and the only thing that puts them apart is their intentions."

Oz sat up. His Phobias whined for her skin like grumpy children. "Do we avenge Vicky?"

"Is she our friend?"

"... she's not innocent in all this."

"No, but that's irrelevant at this point."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We walk among mortals for so long and they rub off on us." Zoe cupped his cheek. Oz's eyes fluttered shut as she pet his cheekbone. "You more than I."

"Are you saying we mingle in these partisan affairs?"

"We already mingle, love," she said. "We've gone this far for them. I don't mind going further."

Oz's Phobias smiled with him. "I love you, Zoe."

---

Vicky felt like she hadn't been home in years.

It was stale, but just as she left it.

Vicky lingered in the doorway as her boyfriends made a beeline for the bedroom, Damien stripping to his boxers en route and littering his clothes on the floor.

She wasn't sure how she felt about being back. Vicky felt foreign, different, displaced. She stood in the entrance, shoes and jacket still on, and tried to piece it together with a puzzled furrow in her brow.

How many times had Vicky died? Once… twice… thrice? What counted as death and undeath?

Philosophy made her head fuzzy. She pushed off her shoes, not even caring to toss them into the shoe rack inches away, and made for the kitchenette in search of moldy dishes and rotten food. She'd need laundry done too.

"Babe, chores can wait."

Vicky didn't even bother to check if that was Brian or Damien. She said, "I want my place to be clean. Plus, I need clothes for class tomorrow."

"I thought we should skip," Damien said.

"Been through enough to warrant a break," Brian agreed.

She huffed. "I want to see my friends. Liam and Blobert don't know I'm back yet. It's not fair to keep them in the dark."

"Yes," Brian said, sitting on the floor with Vicky, "so we'll call them. Or meet them after school. But Vicky… you're still in fight or flight mode. We need to get out of that."

She laughed wryly. "What, like Hugh isn't at large?"

"There are three of us, and one of him. If he does invade your home, I think we got him," Damien snorted. Brian glared at him over his shoulder.

"Not helpful," he said.

"What? It's true."

Vicky sighed and continued to gather her outfit for tomorrow. She got together something presentable and went to her closet for the wire so she could hang them up in the bathroom. She shook Brian's hand off her pant leg but was caught by Damien a second later.

"Yeah, we're going to bed and sleeping in."

"No," Vicky argued. "I want to go to school."

"Baby, he's right. I'm so tired I'm gonna pass out when I hit the pillow," Damien said.

"Like you don't already?" Vicky snapped. "Dami, let me go. I have to get ready for school."

"We're going to bed," he said, firmly, golden eyes boring into her own.

Her nostrils flared irritably. Vicky adored her boyfriends but everything, the second the door closed, once she was relieved of the worries of her loved ones’ livelihood, she was imprisoned in a maelstrom of conflicted emotions. Fear, grief, rage. Shame that she was annoyed that Brian and Damien breathed over her shoulder. They just missed her. Vicky knew she would have behaved exactly like them if she watched either Brian or Damien die.

But sometimes, Vicky felt like her loved ones forgot she had a threshold. In less than a quarter of a century, Vicky was routinely sexually abused, experimented on by someone even more horrendous than herself as a bank robber, killed someone, and finally, she had died twice.

Vicky felt like she had every right to a night where she didn’t have birds chirping in her ear.

“Move,” Vicky said. “I’m just doing laundry.”

“No. We’re gonna relax tonight.” Damien's voice was rising, he was getting angry. Brian gawked at the scene unfolding from the corner of Vicky's eye.

“I want to go to school. I want to see my friends, and I don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I do!” she insisted, her voice quickly reaching a shrill crescendo in her frustration.

“What is your fucking problem, Vicky?” Damien barked.

“Nothing! I just don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I go to school.”

“It’s safe to say we’re not winning this fight,” Brian grumbled. He tried to grab Vicky’s laundry, and she pulled them away. He scowled and swiped again. “Babe, please give it to me.”

“No.”

“Am I seriously the only one here who’s exhausted?” Damien said, storming into the living room and tearing at his hair. “It hasn’t even been a fucking week since you died. We’ve been through a lot. We deserve some fucking sleep!”

Vicky whipped to him and screamed, “Like I fucking don’t? Like I fucking didn’t?” Her hair bristled with static. “You can’t fucking begin to comprehend the pain I’ve been through, asshole. I’ll cope however I fucking please.”

“I just watched you and my dad die! Don’t guilt-trip me.”

“Guys,” Brian said as stepped between them, “let’s not get into this. I’ll do the laundry. You two can go to bed.”

Vicky shoved past Brian. “Guilt trip?” she squawked. “You want a fucking guilt trip, Damien? I’ll show you a fucking guilt trip. You could’ve fucking saved me! You knew who took me, but you waited days to get me. Do you know how badly I was hurting? How isolated and confused I was?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You’re selfish and… and dictatorial! You got to grow up in a sweet little princely bubble where everything’s fucking rosy, but I was tortured, and killed, and raped, you son of a bitch, and when you guys had the opportunity to help, it you fucking days!”

Brian replied, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Vicky?”

Tearfully, she screamed, “Shut the fuck up, Brian!” She turned back to Damien. He was tearful. Irate. “What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

Damien bent over her and said, “I was in so much pain without you, Vicky. I wanted to get you every day. But if we stormed without a plan, they would have killed you.”

“They already killed me!” Every inch of her mortal skin felt hot from her anger. “All I want to do is something mundane to keep my mind of this bullshit, but you guys are breathing down my fucking neck. You don’t have to fucking help me, but I need some room to breathe.”

“You were just fucking murdered and had to fight for your fucking life just a couple of hours ago. Vicky, you can’t work yourself to the bone! I was worried about you and you jumped down my fucking throat!”

Brian pushed the pair apart. “We need to calm down before the cops get called,” he reasoned.

She slapped away Brian’s hand. “Don’t defend him,” she said, “you’re as insufferable as he is!”

“Vicky,” Brian said as he wrapped her fists around her’s, “we weren’t trying to breathe down your neck. We know you’re in pain, and we just wanted to help you feel okay.”

“I don’t get to be okay! I just get to be miserable and hurting!” Vicky slipped away and wept. She combed her fingers through her hair and blubbered noisily. “I’ve wanted so badly to just die so all my pain would end. I’m even in pain when I sleep. But when I die, there’s just more of it. I’m in Hell if I’m not on my way.” Her lip wobbled. “And I drag everyone down with me.”

“You’re not dragging us down,” Brian reassured her.

“Scott,” she argued. “He may as well be dead. He was just a good friend and now he’s a vegetable because of me.” While she cried, she sunk to the floor. “I have to live with all this pain. The second something good happens to me, it’s ruined. I was better off exploited.”

Vicky cried into the carpet. Brian and Damien laid down with her. She clung to them, she blubbered apologies for everything under the sun and cursed her suffering.

Damien stroked her hair, holding her so tightly her back popped. It was so hot between them. She wanted to writhe in pain, in misery, but they caged her. Made her remember her company and her family.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry."

Damien hushed her. "It's fine. It's okay."

"I love you all so much."

Brian pressed a kiss to her. Again, again, again, until she was short of breath.

She sat up. Damien laid his head on her lap.

"I'm thirsty," she said, raspy and tired. "I'm going to make tea."

Damien and Brian followed Vicky into the commons. Damien took a seat, and while Vicky prepared water in the kettle, Brian hugged her from behind. Kissed her scalp.

"I missed you," he said. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Vicky swayed. Her eyes watered again. She hated how much she cried. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Brian hummed. His cheek laid in her head. "Water under the bridge, and all. Most of it isn't even you." She felt his frown. "Given the chance, I'd light your uncle on fire."

"Fuuuuck," Damien groaned. "If my dad and Hugo are fucking brothers, that means Dahlia is my fucking cousin."

Vicky frowned. "That may become… problematic," she said.

He scratched his ear. "I don't wanna worry about it now…"

"Mood," Brian agreed.

The kettle whistled. Vicky poured it over a tea bag and then took a seat between her boyfriends. They leaned against her, eyes glued to the television screen.

She sipped her tea. Brian and Damien drifted off. They were exhausted, truly. She didn't blame them. It was a long week.

But could she find a reprise? Never.

---

Something was exhausting about trading with eldritch creatures. Like her chest was scraped with a curette. Painkillers weren’t helping, and Vera was debating whether or not to undergo local anesthesia.

But she was so tired. With Vicky passing, Scott in a coma, and then Vicky returning, she was exhausted. That was the first day in years she hadn’t even checked her phone to work.

She missed Scott so much.

His machines beeped rhythmically. It should've been a peaceful sound. Like white noise. But the context almost put Vera in a fugue state. Catatonic with… with feelings she didn't quite understand.

Amira shook her shoulder. Morning light cast a shadow over the building. It was still dark in their room due to western exposure.

He said, "Baby, you look so… tired. Have you slept?"

"No. I don't think so, at least." Vera only then managed to pull her attention away from Scott. "I need to call in my absence."

"I took care of it," Amira said.

Vera hummed. Her chest still hurt.

"I want to stay here for the day," she told Amira. He nodded.

"Agreed." Amira pulled up a seat and crossed his legs. "He's got some color in his cheeks, though. The witches here are doing a damn good job."

"Nothing can fix everything." Not science, or magic, or what have you. But Amira squeezed her hand.

He said, "I know. But I'm optimistic."

"Aren't you always?" Vera looked back to Scott. He was intubated. Made to breathe. His heart was pumped by machines. Everything mechanical. Vera didn't have high hopes for his survival.

And it broke her heart. Scott could be obnoxious, but he was ultimately harmless! A victim in all this, the truest of them all.

Vera hated the Aquino family for victimizing someone whose inner light brightened the world like the sun. She'd be certain to rain terror on them from on high. To ruin them in every way she could.

Amira seemed to pick up on Vera's vitriol. He said, squeezing her hand again, "Do you want something to eat? Drink?"

"... just some water," she replied quietly.

Amira walked out. Polly floated in a second later.

Vera wasn't in the mood for conversation, but wasn't about to kick out a grieving friend, either. She wordlessly nodded to Polly. Polly smiled. She looked like she, too, was crying.

"I miss you," Polly croaked. "The hardest part of you being gone is that those of us left behind had so much to tell you, so much we wanted to experience with you, and now… now you're gone." She wiped her face. "I'd do anything to make you better, man."

Vera bowed her head, crying too. God, she missed him so much.

---

That morning, Vicky sent a text to Blobert and Liam to meet them. Of course, she was spammed with messages, but after proving it was her, and telling them she'd explain everything after school, they relented.

They waited in the parking lot hours later. Vicky smoked, and it reminded Brian that he could go for some weed. Everything was so uncertain. So tense. He needed something to ease his nerves.

The bell rang and students began to file out. Kale walked by, oblivious as he played what Brian was sure to be PokeMans.

He elbowed Damien. Both he and his girlfriend turned to him. "I'm gonna talk to Kale if that's cool."

"Go ahead." Vicky smiled a smile that made Brian swoon without fail.

Damien pecked Brian on the lips. "We'll hold down the fort, babe."

"Thanks."

Brian strode to catch up to Kale, before saying, "Hey, man! It's been a minute."

Kale turned around, bark crunching, and smiled. "Hey there. Glad to see you back." He pulled his headphones around his neck. "I heard Vicky's back too."

"Yeah. It's…"

"A long story?"

"You have no idea."

"As fun as the details prolly are, I'm sure you'd rather wind down."

"You read my mind." Brian pulled a baggie out of his coat pocket. "You got a minute?"

"Sure."

Brian and Kale found a secluded bench where the air smelled fresh and the only sounds were birds chirping. Traffic was completely absorbed by tall hedges.

They made their joints and then leaned back to enjoy them. It lingered in his lungs, making him buzz pleasantly. He could feel his stiff, rotten muscles easing.

"The fuck even happened?" Kale asked. Brian hummed dumbly. "With Vicky, I mean."

"Oh." Brian frowned as he ruminated. "She got into some trouble during a job. Some people didn't like it, and so they took her out." That was the simplest explanation, without the messy politics of Hell, and without a long story that was sure to just make Brian miserable.

"She's back now, at least."

"Equally as complicated," Brian told him.

"I bet." Kale took a puff. They sat in silence for a good minute. "It's fucked up, though. Are you sure you're cut out for this shit?"

Brian was a little hurt by that like Kale was suggesting it was somehow Vicky and Damien's vault she was murdered. It was a power grab. That's all.

But Kale was just trying to be a good friend, Brian reminded himself. He said, "Yeah. All this bullshit just reassured me how much I love them, y'know?"

"I'll take your word for it. I dunno much about that love bullshit, but if you're happy, man…" Kale trailed off and shrugged.

"Thanks."

Again, silence as they smoked. That was something he liked about Kale. How laid back he was. As fun as the insanity as Spooky High was, it was much nicer when insanity was a fraction of his day. Brian preferred sleeping like the dead or getting as close to it as possible.

Kale then asked, "What're you gonna do after all this?"

Brian pondered for only a second before he pictured Vicky and Damien in wedding garb from his home country.

"I want to get married."

#monster prom #bridamivicky #ozzoe #amivera #oz monster prom #zoe monster prom #vicky schmidt #damien lavey #brian yu #kale monster prom #amira rashid #vera oberlin

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