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darthkruge · 4 years ago

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Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Help

Summary: The five times the Senator!Reader needs Anakin’s help but refuses to ask for it and the one time they do

Warnings: Language, reader is afraid of vulnerability, reader is going through it, angst, violence, fluff (it ends on a positive note, I promise)

Words: 4k

A/N: This idea has kinda been bouncing around my head for a hot minute and I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. And somehow it became the longest fic I’ve ever written! Is this self-indulgent? Who’s to say?!

(not my gif)

Okay, so a right, then a left, then another left, then-

You groaned. You’d been going over the cryptic instructions Padme gave you back at the temple but they were, unfortunately, not helping. It was your first time alone in Coruscant and you were completely lost in the painfully literal sense. You had just been given your first actual mission with the Council as a senator, something you’d worked your entire career for. As an added bonus, you were on the same planet as your boyfriend, Anakin Skywalker.

You’d gotten close over the last year and were elated when he asked you on a date the last time you were in the same place. This was the first time you were together in the two weeks it had been since then.

Anyway, you were currently wandering around the bustling Coruscant streets, looking for the market. Well, you were looking for the market. Now, you realized you would probably never find it and were just trying to make your way back.

You debated calling Anakin. You could. He would be able to guide you home easily, you rationalized. But it’s Coruscant! How difficult could it be? If people came here for missions all the time and didn’t get hopelessly lost, so could you! And Anakin was probably busy anyway, you didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, the relationship was so new! You didn’t want to annoy him. After weighing the odds, you pushed down the urge to reach out and decided to just find your own way.

This logic was ridiculous, you realized far too late. Fuck. There was no way around it, you were going to be late. Or at the very least, cut it exceptionally close. You started running, heart racing. It would be so stupid to be late to your first actual Council meeting because you got lost. You wanted them to take you seriously and think of you as a professional. Tardiness as a first impression went against all of that!

After sprinting and taking several aimless turns, by some stroke of magic you found your way to the Temple. You checked the time and realized you had two minutes to make it to up several flights of stairs.

Fuck it. You decided, taking off in a run. You took the stairs two at a time, stumbling occasionally before unceremoniously bursting through the doors to the meeting.

You gulped in air quickly, chest heaving while you desperately tried to calm your heart. You inelegantly brushed a hand through your hair and gave an awkward smile.

“Hi, uh, everyone! Hi! I’m,” You took a quick break to breathe in some more oxygen as your gaze shifted to Anakin. He looked amused and concerned as he took you in. He gave you a discreet and supportive smile and head nod. You gave your own in return. He believes in me. “I’m Senator Y/N L/N”

II.

Honestly, you didn’t know how your speeder had broken. You’d been flying them for years and, despite being a senator, you were pretty damn good at it. It was something that gave you solace as a kid, those little moments of freedom. Even then, though, you were a decently cautious person and didn’t break many of them.

Thus, you ended up in your current predicament. Staring at the fried wires under the hood of your speeder, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong. You knew Anakin was freakishly talented at fixing basically everything. He could probably look at the speeder for 10 minutes, know what’s wrong with it, and get it back to you in perfect shape.

You think this is why you don’t want to tell him. What if he thought you were stupid? Shouldn’t you be able to figure this out yourself? You fought with your instincts, feeling the conflict build inside you.

You knew he wouldn’t judge you. You knew he’d be glad you came to him for help. Even so, you felt physically incapable of moving to call or find him.

Frustrated, you turned back to your work. You decided to pull this one gear, thinking it might do something. Well, you were right about that. A stream of oil sprayed out of the speeder, coating you in its thick, black paint. You stood there frozen for a second, trying to mentally comprehend that you had just been sprayed with oil because you were too afraid to talk to the man you were in a literal relationship with!!

You groaned, wiping your hands on your pants before grabbing a towel to wipe some of the grease off your face. You walked back into your apartment quickly, praying to the Maker that no one would see you like this. Honestly, they’d probably smell you first and run the other way.

You finally got back without problems and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom. Pulling off your clothes and turning on the hot shower, you sighed as you finally felt the oil washed off your skin. You spent about twenty minutes in there, scrubbing furiously to ensure you didn’t smell like a fucking garage.

Finally, you went out and saw Anakin sitting on your bed, messing with a piece of wiring.

“Hey, Y/N! Did you know your speeder was broken? It looks like you blew a cable, easy fix, don’t worry. I’ll have it ready for you by tonight.”

He looked up and saw your exhausted state and the clump of dirty, grease ridden clothes you were holding.

His brow furrowed, trying to piece it together. “Maker, what happened to you?”

“I had a fight with the speeder. And lost”

Anakin bit back a laugh before his confusion compounded. “Wait, you know I can fix this, right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I mean, I did something and broke an entire speeder and somehow didn’t even know what I broke! It’s humiliating!”

“Cables are hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, love.”

“Really?” You asked, unconvinced.

“Really. Come on, let’s go throw those clothes in the wash and I’ll get back to fixing this.”

“Oh, no, Ani you don’t have to-”

Anakin cut you off with a kiss, distracting you enough to quickly take the clothes from your hands.

“I’ll have it ready within the hour, my love.”

III.

Who the fuck decided to put the plates that high up?!

You jumped again and again, arm outstretched as far as possible. Once again, you didn’t even get close. Sighing, you looked around the apartment and noticed a ladder. It looked a bit unsteady but you would be fine, right? You were a whole ass senator, you were sure you could handle an old ladder.

Pulling it over to you, you climbed up and reached out. Much closer this time, but you still couldn’t reach them. You went on your tiptoes, eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration. You angled your body just a little further, a little further-

The ladder was suddenly ripped out from under you and you desperately shot your arms out, hands clawing to try and stop your imminent fall onto the hard kitchen tiles. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, you squeezed your eyes closed.

“Y/N!!” You heard as your fall suddenly stopped. You opened your eyes and noticed you were barely floating above the floor. Anakin ran toward you and noticed the ladder strewn on the floor beside you.

“What the hell were you doing?” He said, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“I was just-” You gesture lamely to the plates, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

“Y/N, no one can reach those! Next time, just call me, I’ll get them for you!”

“But-” You sigh, hating this. “I wanted to be able to do this, I don’t want to rely on you and your Jedi powers all the time”

Anakin’s gaze softened. He knew you had trouble relying on others. Even so, he couldn’t even start to think of what would have happened if he’d arrived home even 10 seconds later.

“I know, baby, I know. But, please, try. You’d have to rely on me a lot more if you break your legs falling off a ladder.”

“I know” You reply softly, giving him a shy smile. “I’m working on it, I promise”

IV.

You’d been up all night working on a new presentation for the Council. You’d spent hours going over it, the facts, the plans, the details. Everything was set. Well, everything except one little piece. To make your point stronger, you needed the statistics from the latest Jedi missions.

The only people with access to those were Anakin and Obi-Wan. You knew, logically, that if you asked Anakin he’d give them to you without hesitation. He supported you always and knew that you only used your power as a senator to improve lives.

Even so, there was that part of your brain that told you he wouldn’t give them to you. He would think you’re just trying to use him for his connections as a Jedi. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t care enough to search through the reports to find the information.

All of this was, of course, completely inaccurate. But you’d never had someone who actually wanted to help you. It's always been “okay I’ll do this for you but only if you do this for me, too.” No one ever looked out for you and you’d grown accustomed to it. It’d become almost comforting, in a way. At least you knew what to expect.

This was how you ended up seeing your beautiful boyfriend across the halls of the Jedi temple and walking another way. Your heart tugged painfully and your brain screamed at you. Why don’t you allow yourself to trust him? Why would you assume the worst? Why can’t you fight these thoughts?

You took one more look back at him. You didn’t want to be closed off by any stretch of the imagination. You wished you could turn off the thoughts and the doubt. You knew Ani didn’t deserve it. You sighed. There he was, training by himself in the courtyard. You looked away and took a moment to compose yourself before your legs carried you away and toward your good friend.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, could you help me with something for the next Council meeting?”

You were running. You were running and as fast as you moved, you never got closer to him. You were never safe. A masked figure was chasing you and you just couldn’t get away. Your legs burned with the effort, your lungs straining to grasp oxygen. You were exhausted to your core, your sheer panic the only thing keeping you awake.

You looked back and saw the man gaining on you. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You knew what he was capable of and had no doubt he would kill you if he caught you. You didn’t want to die, not like this. You didn’t want him to beat you. You were so, so scared. You screamed as he caught up to you, your body no longer moving. You pleaded with your legs to work, reasoned with the heavens, did anything you could, and yet you wouldn’t budge.

The stranger’s claw of a hand twisted around your neck, squeezing. You fought. It was pointless. You began to black out, feeling the life slip out of your body. Dark spots appeared in the corners of your vision and you tried once again to kick your way out of his grasp-

You bolted awake, eyes shooting open. Your chest was heaving and tear stains marked your cheeks. You placed your hands on the bed sheets, bunching them up and trying to feel the texture to remind yourself that you were safe. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself but nothing was working.

You got up, pacing quietly. Out of all the nights to have a nightmare, it had to be today. The one night you and Anakin weren’t together. Since you had to hide the relationship, you couldn’t technically share an apartment. This didn’t stop you from spending basically every night together, though. His chambers became yours after the first month or so of dating, neither of you wanting to spend time apart.

But, unfortunately, the Council seemed more cautious as of late and you didn’t want to risk it. Thus, you decided to spend tonight apart. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. You grabbed one of his Jedi robes, pulling the black fabric around your body. You were immediately calmed by his scent and wrapped it closer around you. You started to make your way down the hall. You knew it was risky but after that nightmare, you just needed him.

You made it to his apartment, went to knock on the door, and abruptly stopped. What are you doing? You can’t just go to him! He’s exhausted, he’s been working all week! He finally got home from a mission and you want to wake him up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare? It wasn’t even real! Maker, get a hold of yourself, Y/N!

Your hand hovered over the door. You wanted him, you did. But those lingering thoughts, those lingering emotions remained. A childhood of neglect, of constant feelings of unimportance left scars you couldn’t avoid. You hated that your parent’s inability to show you affection or care manifested in your inability to be vulnerable. Despite this, you somehow understood. You’d spent years letting them in and only getting invalidated in return. Like all patterns, this one wouldn’t go away just because you wanted it to.

Now, every time you tried to let Anakin in, it’s like an alarm was tripped in your brain. Every part of you that wanted to allow him to know you was combated with the overwhelming fear that, if you did, if you went to him for comfort or help, he would think of you as a burden. He’d leave, just like the rest of them did. So you pushed the urge for comfort aside, dropped your hand, and made the lonely walk back to your room.

You got back to your room, mentally beating yourself up. You wished your brain worked differently. You wished you would allow yourself to be loved. You wished you could trust, fully and completely. You sighed. Knowing you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on your cough, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight. You kept Anakin’s robes around you, wishing it was his arms. You sat like that until morning, sipping the drink on and off until it grew cold. You were zoned out, staring out the window at the Coruscant traffic. Your thoughts either drifted to him or your past trauma. Maker, you wished you could change it.

Fuck. You’d been driving around on your speeder, zipping in and out of alleys, for the last twenty minutes. There was a bounty hunter after you. A damn good bounty hunter, at that. Being a high profile senator, it made sense you’d run into the occasional person trying to kidnap you. Or kill you.

Damn, this bitch is good. You kept trying to lose them but you couldn’t shake them. You didn’t even know who they were but it didn’t matter, you supposed. At the end of the day, regardless of who was in that speeder, they wanted you dead. And if you didn’t figure out how to get out of this mess, you would be.

They’d been shooting at you for a while now but you’d been able to avoid the blasts. Whether it was skill, luck, or a combination of both, you weren’t sure. Even so, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shoot back at them, as you stupidly forgot your blaster. Who could blame you, though? All you wanted to do was go for a ride to clear your head, you didn’t expect to be fucking shot at!

You continued like this for a while. All you had to do was get back to the Temple. You were probably about 10 minutes away if you continued at this pace, 7 if you really pushed it. You looked ahead and saw the walls of it come into view and suddenly safety didn’t feel so far away. Despite the circumstances, a smile graced your face. You could do this.

Or maybe not. As you tried to swerve between more buildings, they hit you. You felt your speeder plummet 10 feet instantly and screamed. Your engine sputtered and your heart dropped. Mind racing, you tried to drive but came to the chilling realization that there was no way you’d make it back. Your engine was done for, it wouldn’t make it 3 minutes, yet alone all the way back.

Your mind went to him. Anakin. Fuck, you loved him. You let out a humorless laugh. Since you started dating, you almost never asked him for help. You couldn’t let him in. Something in your brain stopped you every single time. And yet, now, all of that felt stupid. It felt juvenile. When you looked at your speeder, slowly but surely stalling and the bounty hunter approaching, you felt this overwhelming sense of clarity.

You were going to die. This person, they would get to your speeder and shoot you. You didn’t have a single weapon. It was inevitable. Your mind, however, wouldn’t relent. It was stuck on him. In this moment, you pressed the comm button in your speeder, hoping beyond hope that it would still work.

“Y/N?” Anakin’s staticky voice cut through the speeder and went straight to your heart.

“Hey, Ani” You said, your voice broken up with unshed tears.

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m- Anakin, I’m in trouble. A bounty hunter is after me, my speeder is hit and going to stop working probably within the next 20 seconds. I don’t have any weapons to defend myself. I, I, uh, I need your help”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are.” His voice was firm, his need to protect you overruling everything else in his body.

“I’m just a few-”

“I’ve got you, love. I can sense you in the Force. I know where you are”

Of course he could. You took a few deep breaths and you speeder sputtered out, stopping in a deserted alleyway. You looked around and saw the bounty hunter, now obviously male, stepping out and making his way towards you.

“He’s here, Anakin” Your voice was tight, anxious. You were quiet, paralyzed by fear.

“Please, Y/N, fuck! Hold on, I’m almost there”

“Ani, Anakin I’m scared! Ani! Ani!” You were hysterical now, screaming and sobbing his name as the man punched the top of your speeder, fracturing the glass. He pulled you out of it by the hair and threw you harshly onto the concrete.

You yelped in pain as he kicked you directly in the ribs. He backhanded you across the face, the power from his hit making blood pool in your mouth. Harshly you spit it onto the ground, looking up at him with pure hate.

He placed the blaster to your head, right on your forehead. You let your eyes flutter closed. Your knees were scraped, legs bruised. You were sure at least one of your ribs was broken. You could feel blood running from your temple. Your arm was radiating pain from landing on it. Despite all this, the only thing you thought of was Anakin. Funny, you thought, how the brain chooses what to focus on in its last moments. All you hoped was that he didn’t feel responsible for your death. All you hoped was that he knew you loved him.

“You’re finished, Senator”

“I don’t think so” Anakin’s smooth voice, tight with anger, cut through the air. His lightsaber unsheathed, he swung it directly into the man. You gasped, everything happening so quickly. As soon as the blaster was gone from your forehead, you scrambled back.

Anakin walked up to you but, from the shock, you pulled back even further.

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Anakin, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you”

You whimpered, looking at him and placing a hand on his jacket before harshly jumping into his arms. He gripped you to him, both of you sighing in relief.

“You came for me”

He looked at you like you were insane. “Of course I did! You needed me, you called! I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N. I am always going to show up”

“Thank you” You said, voice muffled against his chest. His hands raked through your hair while you just breathed him in. His scent comforted you, his strong chest and large arms grounding you after a day so intense and horrifying that nothing felt real.

You were still trembling, the aftershocks quite apparent.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, he’s dead, he’s gone. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again, I promise.” Anakin whispered these affirmations into your hair, holding you until the shaking ceased.

“Thank you for calling me, Y/N. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t that hard, to be honest, I- wait? What do you mean, you know it couldn’t have been easy for me?!”

Anakin looked at your sheepishly. “You honestly think I haven’t noticed your problems with asking for help? We’ve been together for almost a year and, contrary to popular belief, I can be quite perceptive. I didn’t want to call you out on it, I assumed you’d be embarrassed. But I’m glad that when it actually came down to life or death, you called me.”

“I’ve always known I could call you, Anakin. Please, I don’t want you to ever think my inability to be vulnerable is rooted to anything you do. You’re, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re kind and compassionate and caring and you’re always looking out for me. Look, I know I haven’t been too open about my past and I still struggle with that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve never had someone who actually wanted to be there for me. This thing where you care and want me to come to you when I’m hurting or simply just want affection or company or help with the little things, it’s foreign to me.”

Ani’s heart broke at your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you back then, Y/N. I hate that this” He said, gesturing between you both “is unique to you. But, seriously, anytime you need anything I’m someone you can come to. I honestly want you to come to me. Regardless of if you think it’s something small or this life-altering favor, ask me. I doubt I’d turn you away and, on the off chance I do, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if I show you all of me? Even if I rely on you?”

“I won’t leave you, beautiful. So long as you allow me to show you all of me, too. And you let me rely on you, too.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Of course! Of course, Ani! I’m here for you, I got you, too, always.”

“I know you do” His flesh hand went up, cupping your cheek.

“I know you do, too.” You sighed into his touch. You were exhausted beyond belief, your body and mind pretty much shutting down from the stress of it all. Even so, you relaxed further into his body. Yeah, this was new. Yes, it was scary. But you were going to try. Even though it terrified you, you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be loved by him.

tagging julia bc she asked when i was textpost-complaining about having to edit this <3

@anakinswhore

#megan writes #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker

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appleflavoredkitkats · 4 years ago

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Analysis of the “Fundy’s Mind” Stream: A Showcase of Repressed Memories and Repressed Insecurities

i. INTRODUCTION

Hi! This is going to be… something. Funny how I focus on this rather than my research homework, but I have a MASSIVE Fundy brain rot right now and I’d love to share my thoughts on Fundy’s newest stream. Fair warning, I am not the Messiah, so don’t take everything as fact. I’m open to constructive and objective discussions in replies or in DM’s, so feel free to hmu!

All of this is /dsmp and /rp by the way!

Heavy trigger warnings for derealization, parental neglect, neglect in general, self-deprecation, self-neglect, low self-esteem, death, manipulation, abandonment, loneliness, trust issues, torture mention, blood mention, and broken friendships.

Word Count: Approximately 10k.

ii. PRE-LIVESTREAM ASPECTS

Before we begin deep diving into the mind of Fundy, I do want to emphasize two major themes of this stream: 1.) Fundy’s insecurities, especially when it comes to abandonment and trust, and 2.) Fundy’s future predicting abilities. A ton (but not all) of statements uttered by the books and Fundy himself tend to have double meanings that apply to both of these themes.

We can further discuss the future predicting powers later, but to give a little background on Fundy’s insecurities: Fundy is notorious for heavily depending his self-worth on the recognition other people give him. Despite his immaturity, a lot of Fundy’s character is rooted in being heavily underestimated. This could be observed during the Pet Wars when his safety was constantly being threatened by Sapnap, inevitably making him lose a duel against him. Another way we can see this is through Wilbur’s early treatment of Fundy where he constantly infantilized him because Wilbur believed Fundy was a child incapable of being independent. This caused Fundy to appeal a lot to any type of compliment from any person- it began with Quackity ensuring him that he will gift him a lot of cookies if he votes SWAG2020, then to Schlatt complimenting him to the point that Fundy almost gave up on spying and siding with Pogtopia, then to the Butcher Army where he unhesitantly followed Tubbo and Quackity’s lead no matter how many times they made fun of him. While he revels in any type of recognition given, oftentimes, those who seem to care for Fundy tend to leave after he grows attached to them; first with Wilbur, then Niki, then Schlatt, then Eret and Phil, then Tubbo, Ranboo, and Quackity. In the Dream SMP, Fundy is very lonely and has dealt with abandonment issues left and right, but typically, he never does anything with his loneliness, as the last time he lashed out against someone who left him, nothing positive really came out of it (this is when he got mad at Ghostbur).

(Everything else is under the cut! I worked so hard on this, so please read it if you can, it’d mean a lot!)

So, with all that laid out, I want you to keep this all in mind as it is important for understanding why Fundy feels the way he does in the stream.

Now, let’s begin the analysis. First off, I believe it is important to denote the title and the tags of the stream. The stream is titled “Fundy’s Mind”, so we have to denote that this isn’t merely a dream sequence- the stream is meant to explore the complexity of Fundy’s mind. This includes his thoughts, insecurities, repressed memories, and so on and so forth. Additionally, the stream is tagged “Permadeath”, something different from what Fundy typically tags his streams. There is no clear explanation as to what this could mean, but the possibilities are:

It is hinting that the death system in the Dream SMP could be rigged, and someone is messing with the semantics of death and how it works.

It is hinting that someone will face a permanent death, and most fingers are pointed at Fundy as this is his stream. If not a permanent death, he might at least lose one of his canon lives which was hinted later on in the stream (will discuss later).

It is hinting that he was killed by the end of the dream. Not really a solid theory as we don’t actually know the repercussions of killing someone who is actively dreaming, but it is a possibility.

iii. PROLOGUE

A thing to question at the beginning of the stream is if the entire introduction was part of the dream or not. Seeing how Fundy has the same inventory from this to the next scene, it is plausible, but I don’t think it provides anything if it were a dream.

Anyway, other things to denote are Fundy’s hotbar! First noticeable thing would be the 38 baked potatoes. The website angelnumber.org explains that 38 means:

“The combination of these two numbers makes the number 38 a number which signifies joy and optimism, courage, finding creative ways to materialize abundance, reality, etc.

The essence of the number 38 in numerology are different kind of relationships, such as romantic ones, business partnerships, teamwork, cooperation, diplomacy, etc.

Number 38 people have a talent for dealing with people in a caring and creative way. They are born team-workers. They need interaction with other people to fully enjoy their lives. They are usually optimistic and have a gift of inspiring others to action.”

So far, the number 38 is viewed to be positive. It signifies financial success and cooperativeness, which is interesting if Fundy’s future arc potentially ties to working with Quackity. To further add onto symbolisms regarding success, dreamastromeanings.com says the following:

“If you dreamed of baking or roasting potatoes, that dream is a good sign. It usually indicates your finances increasing over time.

Possibly you have made some investments and now you are beginning to reap the fruits of your efforts and risky activities.”

or,

“If you dreamed of holding a potato in your hand, that dream is a bit of a warning. You might soon receive some lucrative opportunity, possibly work related.

It is advisable to think fast and accept it because you might not get a second chance.

It could also indicate that you are a bit lazy when it comes to taking chances and missing opportunities because of that.”

Both explanations refer to business opportunities and possible investments. If we combine both the explanation for the number 38 and carrying potatoes, we can assume that Fundy will be receiving a business opportunity that would be too good to miss. These explanations also imply that nothing too negative would occur, but instead, Fundy can achieve success through this business opportunity. The only arcs in the Dream SMP which I think could provide a business opportunity would either be 1.) a new warden at the prison, 2.) new member at Snowchester (low odds), but the most likely occurrence would be 3.) Quackity offers him a position at Las Nevadas. With the Quackity smiley face at the end of Fundy’s stream, we can safely believe that the job opportunity at Las Nevadas would be the most likely occurrence.

Another explanation for this is that because the 38 potatoes were brought from the seemingly real world, it could possibly pertain to something that had already happened in the past. This could possibly allude to L’Manberg, especially when the explanations behind 38 potatoes are presented to be more positive, something the current Las Nevadas arc isn’t.

Second thing to notice about the hotbar: Fundy is currently at level 5, with his EXP bar 1/18 filled. To reach level 5, one has to gain 55 EXP, and to reach level 6, one would need to gain an extra 17 EXP. If the bar is merely 1/18 filled, 1/18 of 17 would be 0.94, which when rounded off, is 1. Add 1 to the extra 55, and we would approximately get 56 EXP. The website angelnumber.org says the following:

“The number 56 symbolizes teamwork, coexistence, family, relationships, adventure and expression of freedom.

Number 56 people have diverse interests, some of which they have an in-depth knowledge of and some just general understanding.

They try different approaches in relationships, trying to keep them alive. If everything they’ve tried fails, they simply walk to another relationship.”

This could mean a lot of things. The second sentence could imply that Fundy doesn’t fully comprehend the complexity of his mind. Some parts, he may understand, some, he does not at all. This could imply that there are also more secrets hiding in his mind that we couldn’t get to see. The third sentence is more interesting as Fundy’s entire character arc involves him and his broken relationships with other people. It’s a quite accurate description of Fundy, describing how he desperately tries anything to make a relationship work, and if it fails, he could easily befriend other people even if there is a possibility that that relationship would fail like the previous.

If we ignore the number of EXP, we can merely focus on the number 5, which means the following:

“When angels are sending you number 5, they want to encourage you to have hope and to be ready to accept all the changes that are coming. Also, if number 5 has appeared just at the moment when you have been thinking about something important in your life, this number could be the answer or the solution for your problems. You should pay attention to number 5 and think of its secret meanings.

If number 5 keeps appearing by your side, it means that changes are already happening in your life. If they have not happened yet, don’t worry. They are on the way and you will feel them in the next couple of days or weeks.”

This can be connected to both the EXP number and the stream as a whole as Fundy begins to accept the gravity of his abandonment issues instead of suppressing his negative feelings towards it. Throughout the stream, Fundy is shown rejecting the idea that he is being neglected by others, but by the second half of the stream, he rejects it less and less. This could be the change the explanation is referring to as Fundy realizing his negative feelings towards his abandonment issues are valid and he needs to take them more seriously rather than brushing them aside.

With number symbolisms finally aside, we can begin analyzing the actual sequences! Fundy is seen to be approaching his “Not A Secret” Base with a sigh, asking chat if they can go to sleep so that he can go to sleep too. Fundy immediately doubts the possibility of the others in the server following through his request until Ranboo responds with a simple “okay” while Niki responds with “yiss, am asleep”. Fundy quickly flashes the members list on the screen, showing us that only Niki and Ranboo are online on the server before he showcases his new bed, claiming that he likes it.

Two interesting notes about this: 1.) he decides to sleep, which is odd enough in the Dream SMP, and 2.) him having three new beds despite only using one of them. For the first point, I’d like to refer you to what Fundy said at around 26:08:

“I just gotta sleep and then, it’s gonna disappear! And then everyone is gonna appear out of a bush and they’re gonna be ‘Surprise!’, and I’m gonna be like, ‘You guys…! You’re always pranking me, you’ve always been there for me. Every single time… except sometimes… when I needed you the most.’ I just go to bed, I just go to bed, and none of this ever happened.”

While I understand that he is referring to the dream, I also believe that this statement would be one of those types I mentioned earlier that may have a double meaning. While “I just go to bed,” could refer to him wanting to sleep and wake up from this horrific dream, it could also refer to how he easily shuts down to his abandonment issues and goes to bed instead of handling it head first. Knowing this, him going to bed in the first scene could imply that he is in this type of abandonment predicament, especially when we connect it to the second point. The color orange is meant to represent joy and warmth, and even without the symbolism, we all know orange is Fundy’s favorite color. He sees these three beds and says that he likes them, but I can’t help but feel like the other two beds are meant for two other people. I don’t think Niki and Ranboo being the only other two people on the server is coincidental; they have to relate to the two extra beds in some way.

Niki and Ranboo are two prime examples of close friends Fundy had before breaking off after a misunderstanding. Niki fought with Fundy after he had to burn the flag she made in order to gain Schlatt’s trust, while Fundy fought with Ranboo after Doomsday when they had conflicting beliefs about neutrality and sides. After both incidents, Fundy never really made his way to apologize, but Fundy has awkwardly met up with these two after a certain point. With Niki, he was forced to team with her at the beginning of the November 16th War, joking around with her and Eret, while for Ranboo, Fundy had to talk to him and Philza when they were joking around in the SMP. The meet ups definitely relieved some tension, but it never fully resolved the conflict Fundy had with both characters, so there was never a chance for him to rekindle the close bonds he had with both Ranboo and Niki in the past.

Fundy going to his favorite beds with two extra spots next to him could represent how he does cherish the friendships he shared with Niki and Ranboo, but never has the guts to actually bring back things the way that they were before. So, instead, Fundy sleeps, not wanting to think about them any further.

iv. FIRST DAY

When he wakes, Fundy checks his inventory before exiting his base, saying “Uhm, I don’t actually-” until he cuts himself off once he spots the desert. I don’t actually know what Fundy was supposed to say here, but because he checked his inventory beforehand, I believe he was trying to say “I don’t actually know where my things are,” but I could be wrong. To be fair, this isn’t too important, so we don’t have to focus on that. What we can focus on is the misplaced desert that was obviously not there before Fundy slept. We can easily infer what deserts could symbolize in dreams, especially when it comes to loneliness and the feeling of being deserted, but for better insight, consider what dreamstop.com claims about deserts:

“A dream of a desert is about something that is devoid of any feelings or care for you. It is all about them and nothing about you. Does someone show you a lack of respect? Is there someone or something in your life you dislike and adds no meaning to your life? Do you feel invisible? That no-one cares about you? Deserts represent an empty, barren place you may be trying to fill.

Desert dreams may appear when a relationship or friendship breaks down, or when you feel totally alone. You may have moved recently and have not yet made friends. You may feel homesick for all you left behind.

Being lost in a desert refers to your feelings that a situation is hopeless. You may have a problem you feel no-one cares about, even though you tried to reach out. You may feel there was no support and are feeling hurt and alone.”

You don’t need much analyzing to connect these meanings to what Fundy is experiencing. The setting of a “desert” merely pads the idea of Fundy being incredibly lonely to the point of him believing that he has nothing left to lose. Back in Doomsday, he was an optimistic nihilist, claiming that he doesn’t care much about what occurs from this point onwards as long as he can have a little bit of fun. On the stream where he created the Cube, he claimed that most people hated him anyway, so the least he could do was to make himself so hateable so other people could unite together in their hatred of Fundy even if it meant Fundy would have no companions left. Let it be known: Fundy is incredibly, incredibly lonely, and he is miserable in his loneliness, especially when his self-worth depends on how much people recognize him.

Another thing this desert could be eluding to would be Las Nevadas as it is set in the desert. I do think the desert’s main purpose is to showcase Fundy’s loneliness, but the connection to Las Nevadas is plausible.

Additionally, the dark skies Fundy sees doesn’t really need much of an explanation either. I couldn’t find a website exactly defining what it means to find a dark sky, but most of them speak of it as a negative thing, often symbolizing something terrible to come. I don’t think I need to explain that part, so we’re moving on.

Fundy is, understandably, very confused about this entire predicament. He quickly moves around his base to figure out what is going on, even messaging in chat to see if anyone would respond. Climbing up the ladders, he stands atop his base, spotting the silhouette of the Camarvan from afar. He continues to be confused, claiming he has no idea why he’s here in the first place. He claims he is “freaking out”, continuing to ask questions about where he is, and why the sky turns dark. He denotes that he isn’t at least completely alone as bunnies swarm around the desert. He begins to follow this sandstone path, every few blocks or so passing a fence with a torch stood atop it.

Here, we can infer that Fundy seems to have never seen this place before, or has no recollection of it entirely. Fundy doesn’t seem to be immensely freaked out just yet, especially since he hasn’t asked any questions about how no one is there, mostly focusing on his location and asking what the place is about.

Fundy then asks why the van is here, then zooms in on the nametags he sees at the back of the van. It is notable that something nametagged “Fundy” is shorter than another thing that is nametagged “WilburSoot”. Fundy tries to reach out for them but is unable to enter the van.

We can easily infer that this scene was meant to represent Fundy’s childhood in L’Manberg when he was being taken care of by Wilbur. Despite the lack of silhouettes, we can easily determine that Fundy is young in this scene because of how his nametag is in a much lower position next to Wilbur's, implying that whoever owns that nametag is much shorter. We can denote that by the beginning of the L’Manbergian Revolutionary War, Fundy was, in fact, a child.

Another question some of you might ask: why is the Camarvan here in the first place? While I believe it could be representative of the part of Fundy’s mind that tackles past memories, I do think it also serves another purpose which I will explain later.

Moving on to the next scenes, Fundy continues following the sandstone path while typing in chat, asking if anyone was actually there. He gets confused by the path for a moment, wanting to go to the ominous building, before realizing that the path does connect to the building, it just swerves a little to the left.

It is notable that when Fundy cried out for help, he doesn’t call for a name in specific- he calls out for ANYONE. The fact that he is calling out for “anyone” could denote that he doesn’t have any close friends or family members he would want to specifically call out for.

Continuing on, Fundy follows the path to the building, still very immensely confused about where he is. Opening the door, he sees that the inside descends into an underground room with its flooring made out of chiseled quartz blocks. Fundy gets scared at first, immediately closing the door, looking back in, and going back out once more.

Fundy denotes that there is absolutely nothing out here as he walks around the building. He then gains the courage to descend the staircase, wondering what it is, and at the bottom, there are a lot of misplaced sandstone blocks with small lights illuminating at certain corners. The path leads to the left, showing 10 pieces of red carpet on the floor, and 8 pieces of yellow carpet on the table. He approaches the wooden table before looking to his right, spotting a skull on the floor next to a piece of redstone, which I believe is meant to resemble blood.

I don’t think we really need to research a skull to check what it might represent, but my theory so far as to what the skulls mean in each building would be that it’s meant to represent Fundy losing a canon life. I don’t know if this was intentional, but the corner room where the skull is somewhat reminds me of the Final Control Room with the redstone in the middle representing the button. That is, after all, where Fundy lost his first canon life.

One of the theories I subscribe to is that the skulls in these buildings are meant to foreshadow Fundy’s death before he ever reaches it. Earlier in the day, we saw Fundy pass by the Camarvan with a younger Fundy which could possibly imply that they haven’t gotten to Eret’s betrayal yet, but the skull creeping up at the corner could represent that it is, in fact, coming. How this ties in to the entire future predicting thing, I will explain later, but for now, keep an eye out on the skulls.

Terrified of the skull, Fundy opens the chest and hesitantly picks up the book and quill inside of it. He opens it and is introduced to another Fundy writing to himself. Other Fundy claims that they’re not exactly the same person, but this Fundy is a part of the real Fundy. Other Fundy claims that Fundy cannot trust this place as it is not real, then begins saying that Fundy himself is not real repeatedly. Fundy’s heart rate suddenly increases when he sees the words “wake up” appear slowly in the book, and after page 34 is shown, Fundy wakes up to a new day in the dream world.

First thing to denote is that the book has 87 pages, and 87, according to affinitynumerology.com means as follows:

“The numerology number 87 is a number of family, organization, and prosperity.

It's also a number of harmony and idealism, the ideal generally related to a harmonious and prosperous family relationship.

87 has parental instincts. It assumes responsibility for the welfare of others it considers to be family.”

The explanation implies that Fundy longs for family and cares deeply for those who he considers as his family. As much as he hated Wilbur after he died, Fundy still continuously expressed how much he needed Wilbur to be there. He is absolutely attached to anyone who poses as a possible family member, especially to those who he views as parents or guardians. Even outside of Wilbur, he is still practically attached to Phil, even if Phil refuses to consider Fundy as family. Fundy also got immensely angered by Eret when she didn’t show up to sign his adoption papers. I’d even say his attachment to family would even reach people like Sally and Schlatt. Fundy has a tendency of casually talking about Sally, and whenever a character talks about eating salmon, Fundy becomes deeply offended. For Schlatt, Fundy kept Schlatt’s netherite sword after he died, considering it to be an “heirloom”, something that only gets passed down onto different generations of the same family. Fundy is incredibly attached to the sword, and whenever he loses it, he’s absolutely desperate to get it back. As much as Fundy gets abandoned, he still deeply appreciates a lot of his family.

87 is also very reminiscent of one of the books in the Inbetween. A lot of the phrasing in the books are actually quite similar to the Inbetween, but we aren’t sure if Fundy and the Inbetween are directly affecting each other or if these places merely work in similar ways. The main similarity between Fundy and the Inbetween is that it involves something related to time travelling, so the similarities could be pointing towards that rather than imply that Fundy is directly affecting the Inbetween all together.

Secondly, the book stops at Page 34. The website angelnumbers.org express the following:

"Most likely you are leaving your projects unfinished because of fear for their destiny after you finish them.

Will they be rejected or accepted by others?

Because you would rather not find out that and possibly have your ego hurt, you consciously or subconsciously sabotage your work and leave things unfinished.

When this number starts appearing in your life frequently, it is a reminder to acknowledge you have a problem and start dealing with it.”

This is very reminiscent of the paragraph I made earlier discussing Fundy’s relationship with Ranboo and Niki- and this could honestly apply to any other relationships Fundy has as well. Besides Fundy’s relationships, this explanation could apply to Fundy’s hesitance of finding out the truth of his mind. Earlier on in the streams, Fundy is immensely confused about the dream, not wanting to discover its truths at all. This eventually changes on the third day, but we’ll discuss that in a bit.

Another thing I’d like to discuss would be the identity of the book authors and why they wrote the books the way they did. I’ll explain about this more in-depth later, but I do believe that another Fundy is, indeed, writing these books. As this was set in Fundy’s mind, it’s quite impossible for anyone who isn’t Fundy to be meddling with the books. What we can denote, though, is the reason as to why these books were created in the first place. The book itself seems to be harmless at first, quite inviting towards Fundy in the first few pages, but once it had to introduce what this world is, it seemed to hesitate. There were a couple of disjointed pages, as well as blank pages, before it began claiming the world wasn’t real, and that Fundy wasn’t real. It turned a complete 180, which seemed to be very odd to me. In past events of the Dream SMP, derealizing statements like this tend to be tricks of the mind, but these statements seem to be intentionally put there by those who wrote the book, especially since later on, we see another book completely give up on saying these triggering statements, saying that “It’s not going to work.” (32:05).

What this implies is that whoever placed these statements are attempting to scare Fundy in some way, possibly heightening his insecurities and terror so that he can be truly terrified of the place. The constant statements of “you are not real” may not only refer to the Other Fundy trying to make Fundy spiral downwards in derealization, but it might actually represent how neglected Fundy feels to the point of feeling invisible, to the point of feeling that he “isn’t real”. But why is this Other Fundy trying to scare Fundy, and who, specifically, is the person behind the writings, you might ask? This question will be answered later on when we go more in-depth with the other books, as the bigger picture is very much needed instead of explaining it all by the first book.

v. SECOND DAY

Fundy wakes up in his base once more, evidently confused. We don’t really know why he wakes up in his base, and why the world changes every time he wakes up, but let’s just say this is all part of his dream to make sense out of it. This time, he sounds more broken, and definitely more unhinged. He calls out for any other member in the chat, telling them that whatever they’re doing is not funny. This is the first we see of Fundy believing that the others may actually just have been pulling a prank on him. He opens his chests frantically before venturing outside once more. He claims that he doesn’t believe the book, saying that this dream sequence feels pretty real to him.

This time, Fundy puts a bigger emphasis on asking why he is alone, and why nobody seems to be here with him. Fundy seems to be more shaken up by the idea that he’s alone over the idea that he does not know anything about where he is at all. He approaches the van, and when he zooms in, he sees that Wilbur’s nametag disappeared.

Transcript of this following scene:

“I knew you were there. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no- you can’t fool me! No, I knew you were there Wil. You were there, right there! Where did you go? Are you being- he’s being funny. This is funny! This is great. Aw, this is amazing- it’s just a prank! It’s April Fools soon- that’s why! Oh, I’m just being pranked… right?”

Now, this was… sad. This is one of the other statements that could have a double meaning. Fundy insisting that Wilbur is supposed to be there could not only be him comparing this day to the previous, but it could also imply his true feelings towards Wilbur, especially since he’s disappeared for a good portion of Fundy’s life. Fundy believes Wilbur is supposed to be there for him, but the reality is that he wasn’t. Instead of facing reality, Fundy concludes that all of this was a harmless joke instead of believing that Wilbur might have possibly left him.

Fundy attempts to enter the van once more, but his attempt doesn’t work. He then follows the path on the side directing to the ominous building only for him to realize that it has gotten closer.

The building getting closer to the main base actually has a lot of symbolism behind it. The building itself stores a lot of secrets, especially when it comes to the truths about this world and the different insecurities Fundy has repressed. Those writing the books have laid out all these secrets in every single book found in this building. The fact that it’s underground is meant to represent that these secrets are meant to be hidden in the depths of Fundy’s mind, but the fact that the building is getting closer to the main base makes it feel like 1.) the stored secrets about this world that Fundy may have forgotten about might finally seep into his consciousness, making him aware of them next time he wakes up, and 2.) the insecurities Fundy repressed deep down are seeping out more and more as it reaches the main core. Once it’s there, Fundy won’t be able to reject the truth about his abandonment issues any longer.

Fundy nears the building, still quite nervous. He opens the door, and the layout of the inside seems to be slightly similar to the previous day, but there are small details here and there that are different. Instead of 10 red carpets, there are 6, and instead of 8 yellow carpets, there are 6. Additionally, the skull seems to be closer, this time directly next to the table.

While the carpets were quite subtle, I do think it symbolizes a certain decrease of something. Red symbolizes the color for passion and love, while yellow is meant to represent happiness and positivity. Earlier, we saw that Wilbur disappeared from the Carmarvan, so the decrease of rugs for each color could represent Fundy’s love and happiness decreasing.

For the skull itself, I don’t know if I’m right, but this is what I infer from it: On the first day, we saw that Wilbur was still standing next to Fundy in the Camarvan as the first skull underground was still very far away. On the second day, when Wilbur was gone, the skull got closer, standing next to the table instead of it being far away. I theorize that if the skull is closer, then a canon death has already occurred in the time period the day wants to present. The first day presents a time where Wilbur was still taking care of Fundy, so Eret’s betrayal may not have happened yet, hence why the skull merely stayed hidden at the corner. On the second day, Wilbur has actively left Fundy, similar to the period after L’Manberg’s independence when Fundy had to partake in the Pet Wars alone. During that era, the betrayal has already happened, which is why I believe the skull is much closer this time.

Continuing on, Fundy opens the book and begins reading. From this point onwards, I do want to go more in depth with each of the books, so I’ll put transcripts here and there with my thoughts added onto it after each transcript.

“Hi me!

Welcome back!

Yeahh, second time here? or third?

not entirely sure”

So, this is confirmation that this might not be the first time Fundy’s having dreams like this. A good question to ask is if the book was written a long time ago and has presented itself the same way it does right now, or if this book was written recently. I don’t think the stream gave a definitive answer, but it is something to keep in mind.

“Listen to me Fundy

and you should trust me because,

well you know why

There are two things you can do right now

Walk back to your base, jump in bed, fall asleep, and you will wake up as if nothing ever happened

Or you can keep reading…

And I will tell you what I know”

The book pauses for a bit then continues saying “You are not real” ten times, “You dont want to know the truth” fifteen times, and spams “WAKE UP” until the 38th page, a number we analyzed earlier because of the 38 baked potatoes.

For the book itself, whoever is writing the book seems to be a bit hesitant when writing. It doesn’t seem to want to explain what this place truly is to Fundy, and as much as it clarifies that they are, indeed, Fundy, they never expound on how they were able to write these books and why Fundy should trust him. Other Fundy saying “you should trust me because, well you know why” is actually quite ominous, and I can only think of two reasons as to why they would say it: 1.) Other Fundy is implying that Fundy can trust him because he is, in fact, the same person, or 2.) Other Fundy is hinting that Fundy trusts too easily as seen with the people Fundy trusted in the real world.

Additionally, the Other Fundy seems to emphasize on the fact that they WANT Fundy to go to sleep and wake up in the overworld. They phrase it so that sleeping once more is the more logical option, while they basically scare Fundy with the other option, evident by his quickened heartbeat. The Other Fundy seems to know about the intricacies of this dream and its world, but seems to be very hesitant to tell Fundy about it. The continuous threats imply that the Other Fundy doesn’t want Fundy to know the truth at all.

Basically, this Other Fundy knows something, something our Fundy doesn’t know about, and wants to emphasize that it is something horrific. He will do whatever he can do so that he can stop Fundy from knowing the truth, even if it means he has to scare Fundy.

Additionally, to me, it feels like “WAKE UP” could possibly have two meanings. If the underground structure is meant to represent things that Fundy constantly represses to the back of his mind, not only would the secrets of his dream reside there, but his own repressed insecurities may reside there as well. The way Fundy treats the truth about his dreams is actually quite similar with the way he treats his insecurities- he tends to reject its existence and pretend that everything is normal. This dream isn’t just a dream, it’s an exploration of Fundy’s mind, and telling Fundy to “WAKE UP” doesn’t just refer to not knowing the truths about the dream, but it could also refer to Fundy not knowing the truths about his own insecurities hidden deep in the depths of his mind.

vi. THIRD DAY

Fundy wakes up, breathing heavily. He paces around his room before opening the door frantically, seeing that he is still stuck in a desert. He begins to laugh, repetitively telling himself that all of this is a “joke”. He continues questioning why he’s still in this dream, and when he opens the door, he sees the ominous structure observably closer to the base. He claims that he’s actually stressing out, and Fundy goes on a tangent about this dream and reveals a bit about his insecurities:

“They’re toying with me, they’re toying with me. They’re actually- everyone is toying with me- they are ALWAYS TOYING WITH ME. Everyone is! I’m always being played with. Why? Why always me- no! Why does it always have to be me? Every single time. I don’t wanna- (sigh). I don’t wanna keep dealing with this- I just wanna- no- do I just… Do I just… Do I just go up here and listen to- wai- okay. The book said I have two options: I can wait here until it’s night time. Wait until the sun sets and I can go to sleep, and when I go to sleep and wake up, none of this is real. None of this is gonna- it’s gonna disappear. None of this is real, none of this is real, none… It’s not real, it’s not real, I am currently not real, this is no- how is this possible? How is this- wha- how did- how… None of this is real. I am not real. All I have to do is wait for midnight and just sleep, and all of this would end, right? All I have to do is… wait until night time and then… it’s all gonna be over, it’s all gonna be done.

I just gotta sleep, and then, it’s gonna disappear. And then everyone is gonna appear out of a bush and they’re gonna be ‘Surprise!’ and I’m gonna be like, ‘You guys! You’re always pranking me… you’ve always been there for me (sniffs). Every single time… except sometimes… when I needed you the most. I just go to bed… I just go to bed, and then I wake up, and none of this ever happened. And we’re gonna go back to my old life where I have fun and join parties and join groups and only see them disappear in front of my eyes as I start to get attached to them. Y-yeah, that’s- that’s- that’s the choice I’m making. Go back to that... (sigh). Just… or you know…”

LOTS to unpack here, and I’ll go one by one explaining certain aspects of this because it’s not just something that showcases Fundy’s insecurities.

Firstly, interesting how Fundy believed that the book was toying with him like how a lot of other people do. That’s what makes him afraid of the book- the feeling of being pushed around. The book is actively trying to use Fundy’s insecurities against him in order to make him more and more afraid of the truth. This is interesting because Fundy is known to be ignorant towards his actual issues (just look at his monologue), but the Other Fundy seems to be acutely aware of them. I will explain why he is aware of them later on.

Secondly, this is the most observable point, Fundy seems to be aware that he is quite frankly, alone, but tends to ignore it. He copes with his abandonment issues by treating his abandonment like a joke. He believes that every single person who’s left him did it as a prank. Even if he laughs at this idea, he is also evidently hurt by it. It hits even harder when you realize that Fundy is quite the dependent character, often sucking up to any person who gives him recognition. If Fundy depends on others to dictate his self-worth, how do you think he thinks of himself right now when he literally has nobody?

Putting emphasis on Fundy’s loneliness is going to be interesting because I do think some characters in future arcs are going to exploit that. If Quackity is going to use and manipulate Fundy the same way Sam does, then there would be no doubt that he will use Fundy’s loneliness against him. Even if it’s not Quackity who approaches Fundy first- even Bad, Sam, Dream, anyone, really, could use Fundy’s loneliness against him, which will make for an interesting plot point.

Lastly, not a lot of people spotted this, but this monologue also gives us insight as to why Fundy continued looking for the truth about his dreams instead of staying in his base and waiting for night. When talking about what to look forward to once he wakes up, he talks about how much “fun” he is going to have. Slowly, you see his denial start to dwindle as he finally admits that people leave him just as he gets attached to them. As much as Fundy wanted to wake up from this horrific dream, he realizes that, once he wakes up, he has nothing to look forward to either. That’s why he hesitates when he says “Yeah, that’s the choice I’m making,” because he realizes waking up isn’t as ideal as it seems. This is why Fundy immediately goes outside afterwards with no hesitation- Fundy has nothing left to lose, hence why he chooses to venture forth. Fundy is driven to do things because he feels like his life is purposeless anyway.

Fundy then begins to head outside quietly, zooming into the ominous building while walking right towards it. He then detours for a moment, walking towards the right of the building, and approaches a giant crater filled with obsidian and blackstone.

The explosion could symbolize two things:

Any of the L’Manberg explosions. With the obsidian and blackstone combination, my guess is that this is either the first Doomsday event (L’Manbergian War of Independence) because of L’Manberg’s walls, or the November 16th War because of Schlatt’s Podium. Why the big amount of blackstone and obsidian? Well, I’m not so sure when it comes to L’Manberg as its walls didn’t have obsidian, but for the November 16th war, I do think that the abundance of blackstone and obsidian is meant to represent how Fundy is reducing the November 16th war to Schlatt’s Podium. This can be alarming as he was the one who made Schlatt’s Podium, so reducing the war to that one building might symbolize that he blames himself for the war.

Another theory, which is the theory I subscribe to more, is that this is actually depicting an event in the future that we haven’t seen yet. Namely, the prison. If you zoom in on the explosion, the block pattern is quite reminiscent of the block pattern present in the prison.

While I’ll mostly discuss Fundy’s future predicting powers later, I do think that there’s a possibility that Fundy saw a vision of the future, unlike the past two days where he saw visions of the past. The prison might possibly be nuked in the future.

Fundy then proceeds to walk back towards the building, repetitively saying “no”. He claims he needs to find out, sounding more determined than before. For this, even if the explosion could represent many things, I do think Fundy is generally reminded of the explosions he had to witness throughout the history of the Dream SMP. Perhaps he believes that finding out the truth could prevent more explosions from occurring, perhaps he figured out that this was the prison and he needed to know why it exploded, perhaps him walking away from something that’s reminiscent of real life represents his choice of wanting to learn more about his dreams rather than sticking to anything similar to real life.

Moving on, Fundy enters the building, saying he wants to know what’s going on. The underground room seems to have changed a bit, as the chiseled quartz floors changed into quartz bricks. The place also seems to be littered with end stone blocks and bricks. The place is much darker as well, and the carpets on the floor and table seem to be gone entirely. Two skulls can be observed near the table.

My brain actually can’t reason as to why the end blocks were there, or why the quartz blocks changed. My guess is that the end stones will eventually connect to a future plot point relating to the End, but again, I’m not sure. The carpets being gone could represent that the love and happiness (red and yellow) that Fundy had disappeared completely. The dishevelled state of the room could represent that the secrets being held inside this underground room are finally breaking free as its confines tear down more and more.

Now the skulls- if we go by the theory I presented earlier, then the skulls are meant to represent canon deaths. If the skull was tucked into the corner, then that means death is to come, but if it’s near the table, then I believe the canon death already occurred. If two skulls are next to the table, then it could imply that whatever time period the day is set in should be around the time Fundy loses a second canon death, which hasn’t occurred yet. Again, this is all speculation, so I might be overthinking, but if the explosion is meant to represent the prison getting nuked, then there’s a possibility Fundy would lose a canon life before the prison gets destroyed.

Now, onto the juicy bit: the book. The book reads as follows:

“Hi. again.

...Why are we so persistent

...Why are we so stubborn

...You have been here before, but you keep coming back

...Why?

WHY???

You dont want to know the truth

It will hurt you

I dont want to be hurt again

YOU dont want to be hurt again

I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT

PLEASE JUST LEAVE

GO TO BED

FALL ASLEEP

ENJOY YOUR LIFE

ENJOY THE FUN THINGS

THE TRUTH ISNT WHAT YOU WANT

PLEASE

STOP THIS

STOP!!!”

The book tries scaring Fundy by spamming “WAKE UP” across multiple pages.

“It’s not going to work, huh..

Listen to me Fundy…

Your mind is not safe…

You are not imagining this…

This place might not be real…

But he is.

Spare yourself.

I need you to listen carefully.

Do not join him.

Whatever he asks of you.

Do NOT join him.

his plans aren’t as nice as they sound.

his intentions aren’t what you think they are.

he will use you

he will destroy you

everything you ever loved

everyone you ever cared about

do not join him.”

Before I explain this book, I think it’s best to also note down what was said in the next book as well so I can better explain what’s going on.

“note to self

hello

I just wrote this book to remember who I am

To remember what is happening

All the books I just found are indeed written by me

Listen to yourself

You suffer from a very odd illness

You suffer from a form of insomnia, within your own dreams.

Now the effects of this aren’t really known, and even I don’t fully know what is going on.

but let me tell you

somehow, this world, these actions and events, are linked to reality.

things that happen in these so-called “dreams”, tend to leak into the real world

they will actually happen.

you might wonder how exactly this is a bad thing.

the ability to predict certain events from happening, sounds pretty cool.”

Fundy then stops reading the book, seemingly overwhelmed by the influx of information. Analysis time, boys, time to unpack what this all means.

Firstly, I believe that this dream has happened before. Multiple times, actually. If certain “events” in the dream are meant to predict the future, then the moments involving the Camarvan on the first two days could imply that Fundy has seen this place before during the L’Manberg era where he could’ve predicted Eret’s betrayal and the loss of his father. If we think about it, the books could honestly be given to Fundy at any time period and it would work. Look at the entire section of the book describing someone who Fundy can’t trust- this “him” person could honestly be… anyone who abandoned Fundy? If the book hints at someone who might possibly hurt and use Fundy, then Eret, Wilbur, Schlatt, and Dream could also be considered. These people were nice to Fundy at first before betraying him one way or another. There is a possibility that this dream has warned Fundy about these people in the past, only for Fundy to forget about the dream. What about this time though, who is this “him” that’s going to betray Fundy during this time period? Well, the easy answer would be Quackity, but Bad could be a possibility as well. With the hint towards Quackity at the end, I do believe that Quackity would be the main suspect, but it’s also good to keep an open mind as we don’t know much of who Fundy’s involved with in Season 3.

Now, why would Fundy be able to forget about the dreams, though? I do think that whoever is responsible for writing the books are doing their best to prevent Fundy from uncovering the truth. Who do I think are the book authors? Well, I don’t think they were lying when they said that they were Fundy. I believe that, just like the Dream voice in Ranboo’s head, the Fundy that writes books would be some sort of conscience or subconscious in Fundy’s mind. This part of the mind holds certain memories repressed by Fundy, as well as some of the insecurities he chooses to ignore. They are aware of all of Fundy’s past visits of this dream, and they know the dangers of it, which is why they want Fundy to not uncover the truth.

The signed book claims that whatever Fundy sees in the dream will seep out into reality. Knowing this, I believe Fundy’s subconscious is trying to prevent Fundy from seeking out the truth to prevent these future visions from happening in real life; this especially applies to events that involve Fundy possibly being hurt. There is a possibility that this Fundy has seen past Fundy’s discover events like the Camarvan and the loss of Wilbur occur in dreams way past before it occurred in real life, so they feel afraid that our Fundy would uncover more and more truths that would become reality. While we don’t know if Other Fundy’s beliefs on future predicting is true, this gives us a better understanding of why they want Fundy to go to bed and wake up. (Additionally, the Other Fundy has placed emphasis on saying that the truth may hurt Fundy, so there is a possibility that these future events might involve something that heightens Fundy’s insecurities more. That’s why this Fundy seems to be so aware of Fundy’s insecurities- they have witnessed Fundy’s insecurities being used against him in certain visions.)

For the memory thing, so far, I believe a part of Fundy’s mind is actively suppressing all the memories Fundy has of his dreams. Fundy already represses a lot of his insecurities, so using Fundy’s insecurities against him might actually enable them to keep Fundy’s memories about the dream locked in the corners of his mind. The place where the book is kept in is underground, after all, but we do have to keep in mind that the building is getting closer and closer to Fundy’s main base. This could symbolize that Fundy will remember his dreams more once he wakes up.

So basically, so far, Fundy has dreamt this dream multiple times in the past, and during each dream, he witnesses an event in the future that could possibly happen in real life. Fundy’s subconscious, or possibly past versions of Fundy, are trying to warn future Fundy’s to not uncover too many truths about the dream as they believe this could possibly manifest terrible events to happen in real life. To get Fundy to go back to bed, they try scaring Fundy, using his insecurities against him, only this time, Fundy is a bit more disobedient because, again, he feels like he has nothing left to lose.

Another theory I have which I’m not 100% sure about is that this Other Fundy, as much as it has good intentions, may have committed a mistake when they tried to get Fundy to bed by using his insecurities. If anything in the dream may happen in real life, them heightening Fundy’s insecurities might pass over to the real world as well. While scaring Fundy could prevent him from uncovering the truth, it might’ve also been a double-edged sword as Fundy is more aware of his insecurities more than ever.

Continuing on, Fundy decided to leave the building, seeing that it’s night time. He sounds relieved knowing that he can sleep and that he can wake up from this dream. He celebrates for a moment, throwing the book away, but then he hesitates, saying he wants to know the truth. He picks the book up again but doesn’t read it immediately, claiming that he could just sleep instead of knowing the truth.

Fundy seems to revel in the idea of waking up for a bit until he mentions how much of a “blast” he can have with everyone once he wakes up. After mentioning this, he immediately picks up the book with no hesitation. This is the second time Fundy is shown to be motivated in finding the truth about his dreams because of him realizing how unfun the real world is. Again, Fundy is seen to be motivated by the fact that he has nothing left to lose, and as much as he is scared of this dream, he seems to prefer finding this world’s truth over going back into the real world where he’s practically alone.

Moving on, the book continues:

“however…

while this might be the case of dreams…

this is also the case for nightmares…

this is your last warning Fundy

please… for the both of us…

just wake up”

This part of the book simply affirms all I’ve theorized about earlier. The Other Fundy hints that some events that Fundy might witness in his dream would be detrimental to Fundy, which is why he doesn’t want Fundy to continue exploring. He knows that Fundy will possibly manifest an event that will ruin him in real life, so he wants Fundy to sleep instead of accidentally manifesting his demise.

vii. FOURTH DAY

Fundy then wakes up once more, complaining that this dream never ends. He goes outside, seeing a black, hooded figure slowly turn around and chase him. With a quickened heartbeat, he runs up his stairs to sleep in a black bed placed on the roof. Fundy screams as we see the hooded figure approach, and the screen fades to black. A white smiley face reminiscent of the one on Quackity’s skin appears on the screen as casino slots sound effects play in the background.

Now, what do I make of this? Well, firstly, we gotta point out that his bed at the end looked EERILY similar to a gravestone. A lot of websites claim that sleeping in a gravestone or seeing a gravestone could indicate change, especially when it comes to overcoming one’s sadness or problems. In a literal sense, we can think of it as something foreshadowing a future canon death, especially if we think that the person chasing Fundy is the grim reaper.

Speaking of that person, I do have a couple of explanations as to who this person is:

The person is death themselves, the grim reaper. This is the common conclusion everyone believes in, especially when we consider this “him” person possibly hurting Fundy, and that second skull in the underground room. Quackity is the main culprit for now, especially with that smiley face in the end, but there could be other possibilities! Like, what if someone takes Fundy’s canon life before he joins Quackity, which is why the smiley face only popped up after Fundy’s dream death? Mayhaps someone affiliated with Quackity might be doing the dirty work for him, so Bad, Sam, Dream, and anyone, really, could be responsible for Fundy’s future canon death. Moreover, the fact that this death occurs affirms the beliefs of the Other Fundy. The Other Fundy merely wants Fundy to be safe from possibly manifesting his demise in real life, but Fundy’s curiosity got the best of him, and in the next sequence, he was killed, proving that the Other Fundy was right in saying that Fundy should’ve just slept.

A theory I made up which I’m not 100% sure of is that this figure is actually Fundy’s subconscious trying to get him to sleep. When Fundy was being chased, we heard a quickened heartbeat, and where was the only other time we heard that? When Fundy was reading the “WAKE UP” and “you’re not real” messages from those books. We can view this as the Other Fundy’s attempt in trying to get Fundy to actually sleep by using another scare tactic against Fundy. And well… it did work! Because Fundy was afraid of this figure, Fundy went to sleep. There is also a possibility that this occurrence is what makes Fundy forget about the dream because his subconscious got a hold of Fundy and forcibly made him forget, but I’m not 100% sure about that one yet.

Lastly, the face! That should already allude to Fundy possibly joining Quackity’s lore, and with the “38 potatoes” symbolizing business opportunities, I expect Fundy to be joining Las Nevadas as a possible employee. Quackity does, in fact, prey on people who are insecure, and can easily get them to do whatever he wants because of his words. If he can get Sam to give him the tools needed to torture Dream, Quackity might exploit Fundy’s loneliness into making him do whatever Quackity wants from him.

Another face that this could possibly connect to is the face in the Egg lair! While I’m leaning more towards Quackity because of the casino sounds, I do wanna say that the Egg and the Eggpire could possibly be connected as well, especially when the Egg could provide Fundy anything he wants. Just like how Quackity could prey on Fundy’s insecurities, the Egg preys on those who feel like they’re missing something, so as much as Fundy could be manipulated by Quackity, he could also be manipulated by the Egg. Additionally, business opportunities could apply to the Eggpire as well as they’ve contacted Purpled in the past to assassinate Puffy, so who’s to say they won’t try adding Fundy to the Eggpire?

TLDR; This entire stream showcased both Fundy’s insecurities and Fundy’s future predicting powers and how this “Other Fundy”, aka his subconscious, wants him to repress them because they believe that if Fundy uncovers the secrets of his dream more, then Fundy would accidentally manifest his demise in real life. Additionally, Fundy is very lonely, making him vulnerable of being used in the future because he is desperate to get any type of recognition from anybody. In summary, be afraid of Fundy’s future lore streams, be very afraid.

viii. ADDITIONAL NOTES

Even when I finish this, there’s a lot of questions to ask about this stream that I want you to keep in mind:

How many times has Fundy encountered this before?

How does Fundy forget all the information he got from the dreams?

How does Fundy write to himself?

Why is there so many details connected to Karl, and what does it have to do with time travelling?

Why does Fundy return to his bed every time his heartbeat quickens when reading a book?

Was the first scene part of the dream or not?

Could the underground room’s structure actually mean something?

And there’s probably more, but just saying, keep an open mind about this entire stream because there’s definitely a lot more to uncover.

I want to reiterate: I am not the Messiah, so don’t take my word as the truth and the absolute truth. I’d love to hear your thoughts about Fundy’s stream as a lot of it could be up for speculation! The entire thing is filled to the brim with symbolisms, so there could be a lot of interpretations to consider. If you enjoyed this, feel free to like and retweet because I worked my ASS off with this one.

Special thanks to the following:

Fundy and any of the Dream SMP members because that stream was INCREDIBLE. Go give them your love and support.

kingjem for always being there whenever I want to discuss any ideas I have about the Dream SMP. One of the smartest bitches I know, go follow them.

To all my betas who reviewed this document since I have a TON of grammar mistakes (thanks English): prismartist, bootsforthebootsgod, Finni_june (twt), ender-hyperfocuses-on-things, and Dngertosociety2 (twt)

And to all of you who like this post and would share it to other people! All support is appreciated. :D

#fundy #dream smp #mcyt #long post

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little-mad · 4 years ago

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Downsides of Thievery Pt. 5

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

The moment Gavin stepped out of his cage, he felt ten times more vulnerable and exposed than he had previously. The fact that he was on the ground with everything looming up above him did not help in the slightest. Though the alteon wasn’t even standing at his full height, Rael looked like an absolute monument before him. Gavin felt more like an insect next to the giant than ever.

“Knock it off!” Gavin scolded himself mentally. “He may be insanely big, but I’ve got a bigger mouth.” He wouldn’t allow himself to be cowed just because his captor happened to be taller than a building.

“Hurry up,” Rael’s voice thundered from above, effectively forcing Gavin out of his contemplation.

The alteon looked down on Gavin with his usual level of disdain. He had to wonder how much of that was due to the fact that he was a convicted criminal, and how much was just because of how much he seemed to dislike humans. The criminal part, Gavin could understand, but not liking him because he was a human seemed pretty...was racist the right word? Or would the proper term be speciesist? Either way, Rael was acting like some kind of -ist.

When Gavin didn’t immediately start moving at his order, Rael seemed to grow even further agitated. “Why are you incapable of following simple commands?” he questioned sharply, leaning forward slightly as he glared down at Gavin.

This particular comment was very reminiscent of something Gavin’s seventh grade social studies teacher had said once. The cranky old bastard had basically had it out for Gavin since day one. Apparently Mr. Borgan wasn’t a fan of class clowns. Gavin had never really liked following orders from authority figures before that, but he was pretty sure that ass of a teacher had set him down his path towards crime. Mr. Borgan made him realize that just because someone was in charge, didn’t mean they were right.

And now, here was Rael trying to order Gavin around. Yes, Gavin had been placed in Rael’s custody and therefore was his responsibility. But that didn’t mean he got to order Gavin around like some kind of dog.

“Maybe if you tried asking nicely,” Gavin told Rael. Though he said it sarcastically, it wasn’t entirely untrue. He would be much more likely to do what Rael wanted if the guy would just try being a little friendlier.

Rolling his eyes, Rael shook his head. “I never asked to babysit a human.”

“Well maybe you’re being punished,” Gavin retorted with a bit more bite than he’d intended. Obviously he hadn’t really meant what he said, he had no idea what life was like in the “Imperial Guard.” However, the moment Gavin caught sight of the look on Rael’s face he knew he had said something he shouldn’t have.

There was a dark look on the alteon’s face as he glowered down at the human at his feet. Gavin took an instinctive step backwards. He was sure if his body came equipped with lights and a siren they’d be going off like crazy.

Before he could make another move, a giant hand was coming at Gavin in a flash. He stumbled and ended up tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. The hand was an inch away from him. He braced himself to be grabbed, slamming his eyes shut in fear. But then a moment passed and he remained untouched.

Cautiously, Gavin reopened his eyes, and the sight he saw made his heartbeat stutter. Though no part of it made contact with him, Rael’s hand hung over Gavin. He was caged in by the appendage, his head sticking out between the massive index and middle fingers.

Looking past the hand, Gavin stared up at Rael’s face, which now hovered almost directly above him. The alteon’s head blocked out the sunlight that filtered through the canopy, and it was almost like his face was a moon that had eclipsed the sun.

Rael’s beautiful teal eyes were clouded with rage, his lips pulled into a snarl. Suddenly, Gavin felt like a mouse that had been caught by a vicious cat. God, what a stupid mouse.

Rael had never been particularly short tempered, or rather, he had never allowed himself to be. If he was ever going to be taken seriously as someone worthy of being a member of the Imperial Guard, he needed to prove that he was more than his peasant parentage. And so he played the role of the refined, even-tempered gentleman.

Perhaps it had been his tendency to constantly suppress his true emotions around others that caused him to snap so abruptly at Gavin Stone. Or perhaps it was just the human himself who had a unique skill for getting under his skin. Either way, Rael had found himself dying to put the little man in his place.

All it had taken was for the human to say something that hit a little too close to home. The fear that Rael had never been and would never be truly viewed as a member of the Imperial Guard had haunted him for a long time. He wondered whether the rest of the soldiers secretly whispered about him behind his back, poking fun at the peasant who dared try to play at being someone of any standing.

When Rael had been given the less than favorable assignment of collecting a human prisoner, the idea that he’d been purposefully given the task due to his background had quickly taken residence in the back of his mind. He had been trying not to dwell on it, to just do his job and move on. However, when the human suggested Rael might be being punished, it reminded him of all his insecurities.

The next thing he knew, he was pinning the human to the ground. His fingers surrounded the little creature on all sides. Rael couldn’t deny the sight gave him a rush. It was satisfying.

Gavin Stone was a thief who was willing to potentially put the relationship between the human and alteon realms at risk just to satisfy his own greed. “He’s a criminal, that’s why I dislike him so much,” Rael told himself. However, in the back of his mind he knew what really angered him about Gavin Stone’s insolence was the fact that he was a human. Humans were smaller and weaker than alteons. In the animal kingdom, would that not place alteons above humans?

“Remember your place,” Rael growled as he stared down at the human trapped beneath his hand.

There was no defiance in Gavin Stone’s eyes, just panic and fear. Perhaps this time the message would sink in.

Rael gave the human one last hard look before removing his hand and resuming his seated position on the log. Though he was still tense, he could feel himself beginning to come down from the sudden spark of rage he’d experienced. He took a steadying breath as he returned his attention to the human. The little man had yet to get to his feet, though he’d sat up and was staring up at Rael with wide eyes. “Hurry up and do your business before I change my mind.”

Obviously, Gavin had known he was tiny compared to Rael and the rest of the alteon dimension. It was pretty hard to forget. And yet somehow he hadn’t quite fully comprehended what it meant to be so insignificant to the world around him.

A part of being a thief was knowing that people, for the most part, were too absorbed in their own business to pay much attention to the actions of a stranger. Gavin could be a ghost, a nobody. Now take that concept and amplify it tenfold. That was how little of an indent Gavin made on the alteons’ world. And that had been what Rael seemed adamant on imparting on his captive.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gavin had been shaken by Rael’s outburst. It had been a harsh reminder of how easily the alteon could hurt him or worse. Laying there trapped under the giant hand, Gavin had felt totally and completely helpless. It was not a feeling he enjoyed in the slightest.

“How am I supposed to stand up to that?” he pondered as he pulled his jumpsuit back up over his shoulders.

Gavin had to wonder whether this was the kind of treatment he could expect from the Emperor. The alteon ruler had been diplomatic and peaceful with humanity as a whole, however, he questioned whether or not that would apply to a human criminal.

Gavin sighed. He really wasn’t looking forward to facing Rael again. He would much rather just stay concealed within the confines of the large bush he currently resided in. Of course, that would only serve to piss Rael off even further. Chances were, the giant would just reach in and snag Gavin if he took too long. He shivered at the thought of being anywhere near that hand again.

And so, quite reluctantly, Gavin exited his cover and returned to the clearing where Rael was waiting. He approached the alteon silently. For once he didn’t have anything to say--or more accurately, he didn’t have the confidence to say anything. Rael appeared as though he had calmed down at least somewhat, but Gavin wasn’t ready to risk incurring his wrath again.

He came to a stop in between Rael’s feet and stood silently. He kept his gaze downwards, unwilling to meet those eyes which had so recently stared at him with burning fury.

When Gavin Stone had returned, he seemed almost like a different person. Gone were the animated expressions that had lit up his face. He was quiet and passive. At Rael’s command, he’d gotten back into his cage without making any sort of fuss.

Now, Rael was back on the path to the city and the human was sitting in his cage without saying a word. It certainly seemed as though Rael’s show of force had been effective. So why didn’t Rael feel more happy with himself?

At the time, when he’d seen Gavin cowering under his hand, Rael had been quite pleased. However, for some reason the feeling had only been temporary. Now he almost felt...bad? “No, surely I don’t feel bad for a human criminal,” he tried to convince himself. Gavin had made himself a nuisance and Rael had corrected the behavior. It was the logical thing to do, right? There should be no reason to feel any kind of regret.

Rael glanced down at the human. The little man had his arms wrapped around the iron bars to keep himself secure. His gaze was focused down into his lap. He almost looked...dejected.

It had been obvious from the get go that Gavin Stone was far from fearless. However, he had seemed to bounce back from his fear fairly easily. It had only taken a few minutes after being grabbed, caged, and transported to a new realm for the man to gain enough confidence to address his giant captor. Now that Rael thought about it, it was kind of impressive.

But now, Gavin showed no signs of bouncing back. It was possible he would remain quiet and compliant for the rest of their journey. Rael should have been celebrating, and yet....

“Perhaps I just regret losing my temper,” Rael thought to himself. He was supposed to be in control of his emotions, and while letting loose for that moment had felt good at the time, he knew it was wrong. “Yeah, that has to be it….right?”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #fearplay #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #g/t fearplay

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jeonqquk · 4 years ago

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racket | jjk

↳pairing: jungkook x reader ↳genre/tags: badmintonplayer!jungkook and badmintonplayer!reader, barely any badminton related stuff, rushed asf, accidental confession-?, they dont even kiss wtf ↳rating: everyone <3 ↳wc: 6k

Jeon Jungkook was capable of being the eighth wonder of the world. He may not have come into existence in the 1700s but his ability to do almost everything perfectly was bewildering. Whether it be eating an entire cake in the span of a half-hour or defeating even the coaches at badminton.

Everybody loved Jungkook, his sweet and caring nature paired with those godly features attracted everyone to him- in many ways. Unfortunately, you weren’t part of the everybody lot.

You hated Jungkook. Absolutely despised his abhorrent ass. So much so that if he were the last person alive, you’d even kill yourself just to stay away from him. But that was highly unlikely, so you weren’t going to kill yourself.

The hatred had just always been there, his competitive side seeming fucking atrocious to you. The feeling was mutual, though, so you didn’t feel as guilty as you would’ve if you just detested him while he behaved politely with you.

Jungkook was petty, even you knew that by now. His competitiveness always getting the better of him and turning him into someone with a completely different persona. Losing was not something he was used to. Maybe that’s why he had only a handful of friends, he would do anything to win. It could be a silly bet or even a tournament- Jungkook just had to win.

All the people he was friends with though, their relationship was beautiful. There were only 4 or 5 boys he actually got along with and their adoration for each other could be seen by anybody.

This wouldn’t have been a problem if you weren’t also as competitive as him. You’re technically in no position to say that Jungkook’s hatred towards losing was unhealthy because you hated it too. You thought it made you seem weak, incapable- and you supposed that it was the same reason as to why the youngest Jeon son hated losing as well but you never tried understanding him. Let alone let him speak for a minute if he was in a 10-foot-radius of you.

It was better this way, you thought. It was better to hate him than actually trying to befriend him and catching those unwanted feelings. Hating Jungkook was simpler, easier. Or so you thought for the 10 years of the two of you attending the same badminton academy. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the two of you were in the same class at college as well. So you had to deal with his annoying self for the larger part of the day.

It was around a month before the annual badminton tournament of your state and obviously, you and Jungkook were taking part in it, more intent on defeating each other rather than the opposing teams. This wouldn’t work though, your coach had called the two of you after practice one day and had said “Listen, Jungkook, Y/n. I know that you’re both really good players and also hate each other.” he sighs, “I’m not asking you to befriend each other, no. I just want the two of you to get along for the tournament. For the sake of our school.” The coach makes a pleading face and you just nod, looking over at Jungkook to see his reaction. He hums and looks down.

After the coach has walked away, you look at Jungkook again, getting ready to tell him that this wasn’t really going to affect the way you behaved with him but he beats you to it, his voice reaching your ears as your lips stay parted midway.

“So, I guess...no more arguing?” Jungkook finally looks at you with a slightly questioning face and you’re left momentarily blank, his proposition seeming so out of character that you’re at a loss for words. This wasn’t expected out of Jungkook. What was expected was that he would just scoff before glaring at you for no reason and stalking away. Him asking you if you wanted to stop the childish arguments the two of you had was not expected.

It takes you a minute to comprehend that Jeon Jungkook was actually trying to put an end to those mini-wars of yours. Your reply is dumb “Uh- okay.” You’re still in a daze from what he said and it’s only when he snaps his fingers in front of your face that you immediately want to spit out a sassy remark but bite your tongue on it, not wanting to disregard Jungkook’s suggestion just after seconds of it having come out of those pink lips of his.

Not knowing what to do, you nod and turn around to get into the locker rooms before heading home. You’re oblivious to the fact that Jungkook almost called your name, wanting to talk to you more, he didn’t know why, but decided against it. You wouldn’t accept the offer anyway.

The walk back to your house is quiet, you’re humming a random tune and there aren’t many vehicles on the road, except for school buses dropping kids home. Unlocking the door, you step into your house and close it behind you before keeping your bag in your room and changing out of your clothes. After all that is done, you check the time and see that it’s 3:18 pm, you have around 2 hours before badminton coaching and suddenly feeling motivated, you heat up some leftover pizza and walk into your room to paint something.

You may not be good at art, you admitted that without any shame because there were a lot of other things you could perform flawlessly. Playing badminton, whining and being able to smell any fried food from miles away to name a few. But you didn’t want to do art because you’d get good at it or something, it was something you genuinely enjoyed and the comments from other people didn’t matter as long as you were satisfied with yourself. And that meant your circles not looking like amoeba.

You take out a drawing book that had been laying in the third drawer of your desk for months and dig up some paintbrushes and watercolour tubes you had left before sitting at your desk to finally start your work. You let your fingers guide you, not thinking much about what you were doing and what the outcome would be. Occasionally dusting your hands from the pizza crumbs, you were quite focused on your work.

30 minutes later, you’re leaning back in your chair and surveying your painting. Woah, it looks pretty-

Wait is that fucking Jungkook you see? “Huh?” your forehead is creased in perplexity, did you just paint a goddamn Jungkook? It looks like Jungkook, though...the bambi eyes and that tiny pout on his lips. How did you-

You were so confused right now. What were you thinking? Well, you obviously weren’t thinking.

Wow. Apparently, you had drawn Jungkook, your sworn enemy, without knowing. Not knowing what to do with the average portrait that didn’t do any justice to his actual features, you quickly clean up your stuff and keep it all back in its respective drawers.

It’s now 4 and you get out your books to get some homework done before leaving for coaching. Ugh. You’d have to see Jungkook there too. You wonder how he’ll behave with you, hopefully, he won’t come anywhere near you.

Sighing as you finish the assignments before stretching back in your chair, you get up to change into your sports clothes before grabbing your bag and water bottle, looking at yourself once in the mirror before walking out towards the pleasantly close by badminton academy you had grown way too accustomed to.

Upon reaching the building, you walk through the reception and smile at the elderly lady who sits there every day. You push the door that leads to the courts and walk on the side, greeting your friends that were warming up. You don’t see Jungkook anywhere right now so that’s a good sign and you bow slightly at your coach in respect although the many years of being taught by the man have obviously gotten the two of you very close. Your bag is kept near a bench in its usual place and you put on the shoes you could wear only on the badminton courts before picking a corner on the side of the court and begin stretching.

You’re walking to get your racquet when you see Jungkook jogging up to your coach, saying something to him with an apologetic look before getting a playful shove from sir as he nods towards the benches where Jungkook would most probably keep his stuff and do some quick exercises before joining the rest of you.

Said boy’s gaze meets yours and he smiles. You don’t reciprocate the gesture, scoffing and moving over to Jihye who’s already looking at you with a cheeky smile adorning her face. “What?” you question, not understanding why she was acting so weird “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” she gives you a playful shove to which you reply by tch-ing and rolling your eyes, done with her childish behaviour. “Seriously Jihye what th-”

“I saw Jungkook smile at you.”

The look on your face is an accurate representation of what you were thinking right now. So what? That smile was nothing, he was just acting upon what he had said earlier. “Yeah, so?” you reply boredly, watching as Jihye’s mouth open wide- wide enough for her to fit her entire fist inside.

“Yeah, so? Are you shitting me Y/n? Jeon Jungkook just smiled at you and you didn’t even do anything in response?” you’re still watching her blankly. Although you admit that it’s not her fault entirely, even you were shocked, very shocked when he first told you about the no-more-fighting pact.

“He just said that we shouldn’t argue now, because the coach at school said that it was going to be bad for our team. You know, in the tournament.” you simply shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of the fact and Jihye is about to reply before the coach is calling all of you for a shadow drill.

Shit.

You are given one side of a court and by some way or the other, Jungkook is opposite to you, his black pants sticking to those fleshy thighs so deliciously and hi-

What?

What is wrong with you? You’ve been thinking about Jungkook unconsciously- first drawing him and now this. Get a grip Y/n.

The whistle of your coach sounds throughout the entire room and your chain of thoughts is broken as your run towards the left side of the net from your position in the centre of the court before picking up one of the shuttles and running back to the centre, moving to the right side of the net now and doing the same as you continue the drill. Jungkook is swift, his feet are balanced and he still manages to look so graceful as he runs around his side of the court.

You’re finally done with all the corners of the court twice as you move to sit in the space between the two different courts as you pant. The two people who were waiting now go to your and Jungkook’s positions as they begin the shadows drill now. You’re surprised to see that Jungkook has opted to sit next to you, you with your bright pink skirt sticking to your skin in all its glory.

“Hi.” he smiles and turns towards you with his hand outstretched in front of your form. With a questioning look on your face, you shake his hand. How far was he planning on going when he said that the two of you wouldn’t be having those silly arguments anymore? To you, it meant that the pair of you would just stick to your own places and not interact with each other or do anything that would result in the bickering to resume.

“Hey..?” Jungkook retracts his hand, leaving yours in mid-air. “So you uh wanna like hang out..um..like somewhere?” This boy had been taking you by surprise too much lately, why would he randomly ask you to hang out?

Sure he had said that he didn’t want the two of you having those little fights anymore but this? This was unexpected- really fucking unexpected.

“Uh...so suddenly?” he slightly frowns “Why? Are you uncomfortable with it? That’s totally fine though!”

Jungkook was being too friendly, a little too friendly, you were confused and shocked at his tactics but tried not to show it on your face. “I mean, yeah, okay.” The words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could even realise it and his face was now bright. His smile so sweet, you feel a cavity forming and he nods. “Cool! After practice then..? He trails off, suddenly hesitant and you’re still dumbfounded by how quickly things had taken a turn, for the better you supposed.

Not even a day ago, the two of you were ready to claw the other’s eyes out and now, you were agreeing to go out with him. This is not a date though. Jungkook and you are just going out to bond as friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Nodding, you smile lightly, trying to reduce some of the awkwardness from your face as you suggest a cafe to meet up at.

Practice is over and you are walking out of the academy with Jihye chattering beside you. “Oh! I almost forgot, so about that Jungkook thing. I saw the two of you talking also.” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, or that’s what she thinks it looks like. Turning to face her, you sigh at her usual habit of sticking her nose into others’ business and tell her simply that he had just asked you to meet up at the cafe so you could just chill.

“Holy shit, it’s a date!” Jihye seems more excited about the meet-up, not date, her hands coming up to join in front of her chest as she looks at you in bewilderment. “Why are you so passive?” your friend is way too excited for something so normal but then again, this was you and Jungkook. The two of you could never go a day without insulting the other before. Now you were meeting up with the same guy at a cafe in another hour or so. When you tell Jihye this, she stops walking, putting her hand on the left side of her chest- where her heart was. Her dramatic behaviour was now normal now and you knew the reason for her overreaction.

Your love life was drier than the Sahara Desert in a fucking draught. You had been on just a handful of dates in your entire existence, only 5 or 6 of them ending up with you fucking the guy. The others had just been awkward, mainly because of your edgy self.

It wasn’t that big of a problem though, you were too occupied by your college work and badminton tournament preparations that anything else just seemed like a waste of time. For instance, instead of going out with some guy, you could stay home and binge-watch Stranger Things. There were a lot more practical things that could be done without the company of males.

The only reason you agreed to go out with Jungkook was that you wanted to see how it would end up. There was a very slim chance that your meeting would go very well but if Jungkook kept behaving as sweet as he was now, you wouldn’t even have a solid reason to be rude to the poor fellow. Nevertheless, you were not going to completely relax because one never knows.

“I’m coming over to pick out your outfit!” Jihye is excited, jumpy because this is new- you going out with someone of the opposite gender. And although it was completely normal for someone else, you just looked at your friend judgmentally, feigning annoyance and earning a light shove from her that has you stumbling on the sidewalk.

“‘Kay'” she squeals when you agree and invites herself to your house, saying that you should take a shower while she picks out your outfit. You trusted her though, Jihye’s fashion sense was really good and you knew for a fact that whatever she would pick out would be trendy.

Unlocking your house with the bronze key, you walk in and keep your bag in its place before walking to get a glass of water for Jihye and yourself. She accepts and plops down on your couch before you pull her up by the arm, a disgusted look on your face. “Go wash up first.” she pouts but heads into the bathroom near the hallway nonetheless to wash up. You shout to her from your room that you’re heading to shower and she shouts back an “Alright.” from downstairs as you open the door, heading in for a steamy shower.

40 minutes later, you’re getting out of your bathroom, content, to Jihye’s shrieking. Something along the lines of missing the date and you roll your eyes when you hear the last word. It was not a date for God’s sake!

You nonchalantly nod at no one in particular and apply your cream before heading out in a bathrobe. She’s sitting on your bed with some outfits placed on your bed. At first glance, they all look colour-coordinated with some accessories here and there but upon closer inspection, you see that every piece of clothing on your mattress was one of the shortest you had in every category.

“Do you want me to look like a slut?” you ask with your arms folding in front of your chest, and Jihye looks at you with wide eyes, offended that you even had the nerve to comment on her outfit-picking skills.

“No! These are all fine for a meet-up.” She uses finger quotes for the last word and you smile to yourself, “Uh, let me just stop you there. I don’t really know what people mean when they use this.” you make the finger quotes and she gasps “Did you just-” your shoulders raise and as the laughter dies down, you walk closer to the bed, mentally evaluating each outfit she had oh so carefully picked. They’re all really stylish, you gotta admit that but you’d never say it to her face. The one closest to the headboard consists of a full-sleeved plain white turtleneck that had a greyish-brown dress that reached your mid-thigh laid on top of it. It was something you could wear, maybe with some electric pink leggings. You see that Jihye, who is now rummaging in your collection of shoes, has also laid some black boots in front of the bed that matched the first dress.

Your gaze travels to the one on the middle one and you immediately furrow your eyebrows, already ruling the strapless crop top and ripped shorts out. Too much skin.

The one to the far left is also decided to not be inappropriate for the occasion as you didn’t think Jungkook would want to see you in a burgundy top with spaghetti straps. The jeans that had too many huge holes in them didn’t even look cool at this point. What were you thinking when you bought this.

Jihye comes out with some heels for one of the outfits “Why are you even putting so much effort into this? I can just wear a shirt and sweats.” She huffs out, unamused, as you giggle at her annoyed face. “Kidding. So, I really like this one.” you point at the dress and she smiles slyly “Showing off your long legs I see.” Punching her shoulder, you make some place to sit on the bed, glad that you shaved today. “Now, get out of my room. I need to change and apply make-up.” She nods and you watch her close the door behind her, getting up to lock it for extra safety measures.

Not like she was gonna barge in and catch you in your star printed underwear anyways. Changing into the turtle neck and then the dress, you look at yourself in the mirror and if it wasn’t your frizzy hair, you would even think you looked cute. You brush your hair and settle for a high ponytail. Putting on your shoes, you apply a little bit of make-up, not wanting to seem overly eager but the excessive amount of perfume may or may not give you away.

As you open the door and walk down to where Jihye has changed into some sweats she had kept in your house for times like these, she gasps upon seeing you, chip almost falling out her mouth and chews it before widening her eyes comically “Babe! You look so good.” you smile at her compliment, giving her a twirl as she gets up to probably to hug you before deciding against it, shaking her head.

“So, is my make-up looking fine?” she nods furiously and you pick up your purse that was on the dining chair before looking at the clock to see that you only have ten minutes before Jungkook arrives. You bid Jihye goodbye, not worried in the slightest bit about her being alone at your house.

As you’re walking, the cafe comes into view and you spot a familiar figure walking into the shop as well and you increase your speed to enter at the same time as Jungkook to make it seem as if you weren’t even slightly late. He doesn’t notice you even when you’re right behind him and walks to a table to sit down as you sit opposite him immediately, realising that he had walked to a two-people table in the corner of the shop.

His eyes widen and he stutters out in shock, “O-Oh, you’re here,” Nodding, you hide a smile and greet him back, trying not to get into an argument with him. It’s silent for a while, you think of anything to say to break the awkward atmosphere but just as you’re looking up from the ground to speak to Jungkook, his voice is filling your ears. “Do you want to order?” He waits and you simply nod, “Okay, I’ll come to get my coffee.”

Just as you’re getting up, Jungkook keeps his hand on you without warning, head shaking frantically. “No! I mean, I can get it for you.” Looking up in surprise, you’re unable to speak for a moment. Did Jeon Jungkook just say that he would buy you coffee?

You shake your head and snap out of your trance. Or at least you try to. “No, it’s alright. I can get it myself.” Jungkook rushes to quieten you again and looks like he won’t let you win, so you sigh and back down. “Fine.” He giggles and walks off to the counter while you take your phone out to kill time. Getting bored when you see that there are not any notifications, you switch the device off and look out of the window, watching as people get out of their cars for a pitstop at the cafe before driving away again.

“Here are the coffees.” You turn your head and see Jungkook setting two cups of coffee on the table before sitting himself. Looking at what he got you, you thank him for bringing the correct order and he just sends a light smile in your direction, rubs his hands together and picks up the cup with both hands. You almost coo, but hold yourself together. This was your enemy.

That reminds you, “So, why are you suddenly being so kind to me? It’s really weird to experience you treating me nicely.” You hadn’t meant for your tone to come off as accusing, but it does, and you have to watch Jungkook’s eyes flash with hurt for a second before shaking his head lightly. He places his cup back in the small saucer and his hands on either side of it.

“I knew you would ask me this.” egging him on with a raise of your eyebrows, you take a sip of your coffee “Remember how Coach said that we should stop arguing?” At your nod, he licks his lips and continues on with his explanation, “Well, I thought about it-” “You told me to stop arguing right after he left.” “I thought about it and I decided that we really shouldn’t be having these fights. Like, what’s the point? I’m not getting anything out of it. You’re not getting anything out of it.” He ignores your words and when you hear his, ask yourself why you hadn’t tried to put a stop to the childish arguments you had with Jungkook.

You don’t know why you ever fought back. Well, you did hate losing and Jungkook did everything to rile you up- so he was at fault too- but there was no specific reason as to why you hated Jungkook so much. “I don’t know, you were the one who started them. I don’t have a problem with becoming friends.”

Jungkook looks at you, looking as if he’s trying to figure something out, pouty lips looking kissable but you quickly brush those thoughts off. “So..” his hands come closer to yours and you’re shocked to feel your heart starting to beat faster, its pace picking up as Jungkook’s hand comes closer to yours. “..friends?” his pinky intertwines with yours and you feel your face turn red, the action igniting something in you.

Looking down at your fingers intertwined seems to be a big mistake as you gasp, the sight just overwhelming you. His hand fit in yours perfectly, and even if he meant it just as friends, you couldn’t help but imagine how it would be to be loved by Jungkook.

No! You two just started behaving normally around each other and you’re already thinking about loving him?

A voice in your head sounds as Jungkook retrieves his hand to pick up the call that had distracted you. You take your hand back and keep it in your lap, tingling sensations till lingering.

Jungkook looks at you apologetically for a second, and you reassure him that he could take the call but he tells whoever was on the other side of the line that he was busy, cutting the call after he told the person that he would call them back later.

“Sorry about that.” you barely catch his mumble and shake your head, “Don’t worry.” As you finish your coffee and make small talk with Jungkook about random things, you start growing more comfortable around him, cracking jokes and laughing at his lame ones. You’re discussing some things about the upcoming tournament when Jungkook suddenly leans in closer.

You move back out of shock and he stills, eyes suddenly going wide as his breathing halts. Your own starts getting heavy, his sudden action having caught you terribly off guard. After partially having gained your composure back, you see that Jungkook is still in the same position, “J-Jungkook?” He takes a moment to snap out of whatever trance he was put in and blinks once, twice before gasping loudly and jerking backwards. His back hits the chair and his mouth is still open in shock at what he did.

“S-Sorry..” he trails off, chewing his lip and your eyes follow the motion carefully before darting them back to his face quickly. He furrows his brows and starters ahead of you before shaking his head, murmuring something to himself. “You ok there?” you try to keep your voice soft, soothing as Jungkook shifts his gaze to you, wide eyes looking absolutely adorable.

You question him again, worried, “What wa-” “I like you.”

Silence.

You sputter, his words having caught you off guard and if Jungkook’s eyes could go any wider, they do, his hand instantly coming to slap over his face and he curses, “I-fuck.” You’re still shocked by his confession and your brain takes time to process what he said, the three simple words not registering in your mind until suddenly, Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the present.

“Y-Y/n?” He sounds hesitant, and your face must be an accurate representation of what you’re feeling right now because Jungkook begins speaking again, his eyes filled with worry as he tries to fix his mistake. “No. I mean, yes, I like you-” Your face portrays horror at his words again and he rushes to correct himself, hitting himself on the head once.

“You what?” Your voice is hushed for unknown reasons and Jungkook looks around, trying to calm himself down by breathing in and out and you use the time to do the same, the initial shock having worn off as you exhale loudly and take a bite out of the cookie from the small plate he had gotten.

“I like you, Y/n.” Jungkook’s tone is more serious this time, and you try maintaining a straight face, his words finally sinking and you choke on your saliva. “Like like me?” you question dumbly and he nods desperately, licking his lips and drumming his fingers on the table, a nervous habit of his.

“Oh,” Jeongguk tilts his head at your response and you muster the courage to ask him a question that had been lingering on your mind ever since he confessed. “Since..?”

He coughs loudly into his mouth, trying to hide the blush that creeps up his cheeks and looks at you with a suddenly brave gaze, “I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/n. The reason I started annoying was because I wanted you to notice me, not because I disliked you...And better confess now instead of regretting not doing anything before right?” Your mouth is left hanging at his confession now, the real reason for his pestering finally coming out into the light.

“Why would you annoy me, though? You could've just come up and talked to me, it would've been way easier for us.” At this, Jeongguk blushes, trying to cover his burning cheeks from you and cups his face in his hands. “I don’t know..you were really annoying, to be honest.”

“I was annoying- you asshole!” You lean over and hit his arm, much to his chagrin and he frowns before swatting your arm away. Silence falls over the two of you, but it's not the awkward kind, you just sit quietly, drowning yourself in thoughts about Jungkook.

“So…” Beside you, Jungkook shifts shyly and lowers his head when you look at him, the sight igniting something warm inside you. “Can I ask to ask you out?” His hair sits prettily atop his forehead, hands on his lap and his lips are scrunched into the cutest pout.

“Why don’t you ask me and find out?” You aim for a teasing tone, but miss by a mille, instead sounding breathless and at this, Jungkook smiles before leaning in closer. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Even though you knew he was going to ask you, the words still send tingles throughout your entire body, heart racing and you nod before you can even think.

It has you suddenly thinking about the drastic turn of events. The guy who was once (not even a few hours ago) your biggest enemy had just confessed to you and was asking you out. You’re thinking if it was a bad decision, but with Jungkook looking so innocent and just, like a child, it’s hard to think straight. Your heart beats erratically as Jungkook gives you one last soft smile before getting up and walking to pay, and you try chasing him and stopping him from paying for both your and his drinks but as much as you want to, you’re still stuck in place, everything that happened recently replaying in your head. He comes back in a few minutes and holds out his hand for you to take, and as you’re getting up with his help, your heart can’t help but flutter, the feeling of his warm hand encompassing yours turning you mushy like dough.

“Seriously?” You can’t help but scoff, and beside you Jungkook lets go of your hand to feign an offended face. “What! You said you liked Call of Duty!” Jungkook defends himself and you stare blankly at the venue of your first official date with Jeon Jungkook.

The baby pink blankets that adore his couch look inviting, so do the various snacks on the coffee table but still, this was your first date. You had really expected him to go all out and take you to dinner at a classy restaurant. And then maybe have ended with a drumline playing on a bridge. Ok, maybe that was too much.

This doesn’t mean that you’re disappointed, though. Nope. This- a date on Jungkook’s couch with Call of Duty and snacks- was perfectly fine. Great, even. You finally crack a smile, nudging his shoulder and muttering a ‘Just kidding.’ under your breath when his face turns sad.

You grab his arm and sit on the couch, patting the space beside you for him to occupy as you shuffle through the unhealthy packs of chips and nachos to find your favorite one. Jungkook grabs a drink and you shuffle under the soft blanket, curling up and look at Jungkook, trying to act cute as you prepare to embarrass yourself.

“Cuddle with me?” Jungkook almost spits his drink out, surging forward as his head turns towards your direction you’re positive he gets whiplash. “W-What-Did you..” Nodding, you try pouting but know for a fact that it looks more awkward than cute and huff out, “Just-” Jungkook nods suddenly, “Ok.” and gets under the covers. Your face heats up when you finally realise that you just asked The Jeon Jungkook™ to cuddle with you, and as he ever so slowly crawls towards you, your body turns stiff.

“I-Is this okay?” Jungkook hovers his hand over your waist and as you look at him with wide eyes, you nod lightly, indicating the green signal, his body heat not helping at all. Jungkook’s soft voice filters through your ears, and you swear you could listen to him forever. Even if he was making fun of your obsession with hard peaches. Yes.

“We can watch a movie if you want..and then play COD?” he suggests and you mumble out a “Sure” and watch as he picks up the remote to scroll through the various apps whose subscriptions he had.

He pauses at Netflix. “Can we watch Full House?” his voice is timid, and you turn to furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering why he would seem hesitant while asking that. Everyone loved Michelle.

“Why not?” At your words, Jungkook’s eyes light up and he smiles widely, turning towards the TV to play the show.

You rip open a packet of Cheetos and Jungkook tries (keyword: tries) to slyly wrap his arm around you from behind but doesn’t go unnoticed, and you move forward for him to easily slide his arm around you, not even bothering to look at his red face because there’s a really high chance that you’ll combust.

2 episodes into the new season, you turn to Jungkook and he notices, eyebrows raised as you gulp,

“I think I like you too.”

“That would’ve been really romantic if your Cheetos breath wasn’t hitting my face.”

epilogue

“Yesss, get it Kook!” Jungkook comes running up to you and you slap his arm in enthusiasm. He hugs you, tight, and your arms wrap around his body as well, congratulating him in his victory. His last hit had been a smash, one his opponent hadn’t been able to defend and the match had indeed with your school winning, the trophy yours for the third time in a row.

“We won.” The words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth urge you to hug him tighter, and you do, nodding although he probably can't see you. “We did.” Your boyfriend lets go of you to embrace his teammates and you laugh with all of them, and when your eyes meet Jungkook’s, realise that he may not be as bad as you first thought him to be.

tysm for reading whatever the fuck this is <3 send in feedback, if you want!

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luxekook · 5 years ago

Text

chapter three.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader (insert gif of elmo with flames behind him here)

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, jimin propositions the reader accidentally, taehyung is a menace, noona kink jumps out A LOT, chaotic ot7, talk of poly relationships, overall kinda smut free (the next chapter should quench fuel your thirst)

Chapter Three

“It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

We’re going to date the shit out of you.

We’re. Going. To. Date. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.

Those words play on a constant loop in my head for the rest of the week. After Namjoon had dropped that bombshell on me, I’d kind of freaked the fuck out, faked an immediate illness, and ran at full speed.

When I had told Luna about it later that night, she had been just as shook as me. Surprisingly enough, she had also given her full support of whatever I decided to do but “would have her banana slicer on standby and would order six more if need be”.

It appears that she had drunk-ordered a banana slicer off Amazon when the last boy she talked to pissed her off. I had apparently drunk-approved the decision. Rad.

Jenni’s reaction had been even better. We’d been in the library on Monday and her screech of “he said what!?” had led to multiple events:

An abundance of shushes from every student within a 50-yard radius

Her continued rant: “Your own personal harem! Can you say goals? Maybe I should infiltrate EXO and collect my own...”

Us getting kicked out by our ancient librarian

For the rest of the week, I had Luna and Jenni both giving me shit about the BTS boys. It had helped that I hadn’t run into them at all on campus between classes. But I had known it wouldn’t be long before my luck would run out...

Quinn Library – 2:31pm

Typically, I don’t spend my Friday afternoons deep within the stacks of the library’s quiet floor. Yet, here I sit typing frantically due to my incapability to stop procrastinating. My fingers fly over the keys of my aging MacBook in hopes that whatever spur of productivity I had going on is captured in its fullest.

General education classes could burn in the pits of hell as far as I'm concerned. If I wanted to be a psychiatrist, why did I have to take – and pay for – an art elective that I would likely never utilize in the workforce? Plus, the only class within the category that fit my schedule ended up being “Writing About Dance”.

Yeah, I’m still a tad bitter, but in all honesty the class isn’t that bad so far. It mainly consists of watching different dance performances and learning how to write about them in different styles.

Today’s assignment is to write critical commentary on videos of the university’s dance team that the professor provided for us. Sighing, I finish my review of the second to last dance video provided by the professor, take a quick second to stretch, and then open the link to the last video on the assignment page.

“Park Jimin – Final Performance Solo, Spring 2019”

Slack-jawed, I fall into wonder as Jimin moves through his routine flawlessly. He dances like it’s easier than walking to him. His movements are somehow precise and fluid all at once. I barely realize a few tears have run down my cheeks until the video cuts off, signaling the end of Jimin’s performance.

Jesus, (y/n), get it together. I laugh lightly as I dig in my backpack for a tissue. How could I possibly capture the ethereal beauty that Jimin exuded into words? Am I even worthy of commenting on such exquisiteness?

Definitely fucking not. And before I can second guess myself, I type: “Park Jimin is art in its purest form. Watching him dance is like watching the sun rise over the ocean – raw beauty accompanied by the hopes brought with a new day. His performance left me wanting for nothing except an encore.”

Boom. Submit Assignment.

As my email pings with the confirmation that my assignment is turned in, my eyes widen in realization. Park Jimin of BTS is a dance god, and he – allegedly – wants to date me? That is just ridiculously unfathomable.

Namjoon must be off his rocker.

Closing my laptop, my phone suddenly vibrates with an incoming notification from snapchat...

President_RM has added you!

Before I can even comprehend the absurdity of Namjoon adding me, my phone bursts into a series of buzzes. Cursing, I switch my phone to silent and check my screen.

minsuga93 has added you!

jhopeworld_ has added you!

handsomeJIN has added you!

JKookie97 has added you!

vantae_BTS has added you!

95jiminie has added you!

Are they serious? How did they even get my SnapChat username?

vantae_BTS has added you to a chat!

Curiosity wins out over aggravation as I swipe to open the chat.

Heart pounding, I fight the urge to chuck my phone into the depths of the bookcases winding around the room. What did those idiots want with me?

(y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 9:45pm

“What do those idiots want with me?” the decibel my voice has risen to is shocking even to my ears.

Luna cringes, accordingly, “I can’t tell if that’s a rhetorical question...”

I steamroll onwards, “And don’t even get me started on how they could have even gotten my snapchat. It’s a complete invasion of privacy!”

“You could just ask them,” Jenni’s voice cuts through my rambling tirade.

I pause, “No, I couldn’t—”

...Or could I?

Turning on my heel, I rush into my room and head straight for my closet. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt and pair of leggings, I tug them on and then grab my keys from my nightstand.

Whirling back into the living room, I storm past a dumbfounded Luna and Jenni, “Be right back.”

Opening the apartment door, Luna shouts, “Wait! Where are you going? You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Whoops. I glance at my feet and note that she is, in fact, correct.

Jenni bounds over to me holding my Doc Martens, “Here, babe. You’re going to the BTS house, aren’t you?”

I nod grimly and salute my two best friends as if I'm going into battle. “I won’t be long. I just have a small errand to run.”

“Well, you’re not going alone,” Luna declares, pulling on her sneakers.

Jenni snorts and shoves her feet into her beat-up Converse, “No way am I missing out on this action.”

As we head out the door, I link arms with Luna and Jenni, “Have I mentioned I love you both recently?”

“Right back at you, bitch,” Luna laughs.

Greek Row – 10:17pm

Ten minutes later, we reach Greek Row. Fraternity and sorority houses dot the street on both sides. Personally, I think of this street as home to the chaotic rich, and I tend to avoid it at all costs – except tonight.

The line to get into BTS is so long it wraps around the block. Students dressed in the latest fashions converse as they wait, huddling together in their groups. I glance down at my outfit of a worn university hoodie and leggings.

“Well, shit. We’re underdressed, huh,” Jenni deadpans, causing all three of us to burst into laughter, “Do you think they put you on the list, (y/n)?”

Pondering that thought, I shrug, “Maybe,” and begin marching past the line of waiting students towards the front door of BTS, “But I sure as fuck am not waiting in that line.”

“Hey, there’s a line here!”

“Yo, bitches! What are you doing?”

“What the fuck?”

Paying the hecklers no mind, I saunter right up to the BTS pledges guarding the door, “Hi, I need to talk to Kim Namjoon.”

The pledge on the right rakes his gaze over me incredulously and then makes the same assessment of Luna and Jenni, “You know this is a party, right?”

I don’t deem that comment worthy of a response and instead cross my arms over my chest. He shrinks under the collective glare of me, Luna and Jenni.

The pledge on the left awkwardly clears his throat, “Names, please?”

My answer barely escapes my lips before the pledges visibly straighten, looking at me with new eyes, “You’re (y/n)? Why didn’t you just say so?”

And before I can answer, the front door swings open for us.

People are everywhere. A haze of smoke looms in the air, and rap music blares from the speakers. The bass is turned up so loud that the beat seems to take over the rhythm of my pulse. That cannot be healthy.

Turning to my friends, I do my best to communicate, shouting, “I’m going to find them! Are you going to be here?”

Luna and Jenni exchange a look and nod. Jenni shouts back, “We’re going to get some drinks. Might as well capitalize on free booze! Text us when you’re ready to go.”

And with that, we part ways.

Maneuvering around the sea of gyrating bodies in the main living room area, I scan around for any signs of my seven menaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that my future wife?” The deep voice booms from behind me.

I sigh, recognizing the voice, and turn around.

Kim Taehyung is striding towards me with his arms outstretched, smiling like the damned fool he is and looking like he just stepped off the runway for Gucci. “Come to daddy.”

An idea forms. I smile sweetly and walk to meet Taehyung halfway. His boxy grin widens and just as he thinks I'm going to let him wrap his arms around me, I grab him by the ear.

“Ouch!” He cries, “Devil-woman!”

Ignoring him, I drag him behind me towards the stairs.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked—OW!”

My hold on his ear tightens as we arrive on the second-floor landing, “Where are your brothers?”

“I don’t know, n-noona!” Somehow the honorific coming from Tae sounds divine, but I file that thought away for another time.

Removing my hold, I corner him against the wall of the hallway, “Okay, Kim, here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to point me in the direction of your room, go find your six idiot brothers, and then report back here so I can finally understand what the fuck is going on. Got it?”

My chest heaves as my directions conclude and I realize how close together we are. Taehyung stares at me with an indecipherable expression before breaking into a slow smile, “Noona is bossy.”

“Noona is going to shove her foot up your ass if you don’t get moving,” I growl.

“Kinky,” he laughs, backing away from me and my brewing anger, “Last door on the left is my room. I’ll be back with the six idiots.”

As he thumps back down the steps, I close my eyes and count to ten, trying to steel my nerves and rein in my anger. When I open them, my eyes are met with the amused gaze of Min Yoongi.

Slapping a hand to my heart, I wait for my pulse to settle from being scared out of my wits, “Motherfuck—how did you even move that silently?”

“It’s a skill,” Yoongi drawls, nodding towards to end of the hall, “So, group meeting in Tae’s room?”

Shooting him the best side-eye I can muster, I stalk past him, steadfastly ignoring the chuckles and light footfalls that follow behind me.

Throwing open the door which Taehyung indicated was to his room, I pause, taking in the horde of photos and art taped to the four walls. The light blue wallpaper barely peeks through the absolute massive amount of artwork.

“It’s overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” An angelic voice shyly breaks through my reverie, “Tae likes to collect pictures and things he finds beautiful.”

“Ah, so that’s why we’re friends.” The joke is followed by a laugh that can only be compared to the sound of a windshield wiper squeakily moving back and forth.

I shift my eyes from Taehyung’s walls and onto the two newcomers – Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin.

Meeting Seokjin’s gaze first, I cannot help but agree that he is a very, very beautiful man. With pushed back dark hair, mischievous brown eyes and impossibly broad shoulders, Seokjin can easily be mistaken for an idol. And, oh fuck, I’m still staring.

Shooting my eyes back up to his, I crinkle my nose at his shit-eating grin. Before he can even comment, I turn and lock eyes with Jimin.

“Your dancing is gorgeous,” I blurt out and immediately want to crawl under a rock and live out the rest of my life as Patrick Star.

Yoongi and Seokjin are cackling as Jimin’s face lights up at my embarrassing compliment, “You really think so?”

“There's no shutting him up now,” Yoongi is in tears, “Watch out, (y/n). Jimin loves his fans.”

“Shut up, Yoongi-hyung!”

Jimin looks ready to swing, but luckily Taehyung chooses the right moment to return, “What have we missed? Why is Jiminie about to fight Yoongi? I’ll put $10 on hyung.”

Gasping in betrayal, Jimin sits on the edge of Tae’s bed and pouts.

The rest of the boys file in behind Taehyung as he flops down onto his bed and reclines like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, (y/n). Good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here,” Namjoon greets me with a slight bow, a crooked smile and wicked eyes.

He’s followed closely by Jung Hoseok, the only BTS boy I hadn’t met thus far, “(y/n)! It’s so nice to meet you in person! Wow, you look so pretty tonight!”

“Noona always looks pretty,” Jungkook cuts in, throwing an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, “She’s bae.”

A collective groan arises from the rest of the boys. “Sit your ass down, JK,” Yoongi grumbles, “(y/n)’s going to break up with us before we even start dating.”

“Dating—!” I break off that train of thought. Other matters need to be attended to first, “No, I didn’t come here tonight to say ‘hi’ or to be your ‘bae’. I came here to get answers.”

I take my time making eye contact with each boy.

Taehyung is still spread out on his bed and Jimin has now joined him. Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook are sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the bed, while Namjoon and Yoongi slouch against the opposite wall of the bedroom facing me.

“Alright,” Namjoon lifts his chin, meeting my stare head on, “What do you want to know?”

a/n: sorry for the cliffhanger, hehe. i wanted to get something up for y’all! hopefully next chapter won’t take too long to finish/edit :)

taglist:

@hazeljrz @sessi03 @catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles@leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @doingmybestalltheftime @elraeee @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @aokay1010 @breeeeh17 @lpayne612 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @cage7241

blogs that wouldn’t let me tag them for some reason:

@awkwardhumambean

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mihrunnisasultans · 4 years ago

Note

Not the spanish princess making me, an Irish history nerd who dislikes henry Viii, pity henry viii 👁️👄👁️

Frost can always do the unbelievable, right? Like I’m sure that in that time period Henry still cared about his appearance to create positive image on the ladies and whole kingdom, not that of a dishevelled lunatic that is incapable of doing anything than having sex and throwing fits actually.

However, I don’t feel sorry (and I can bet neither you Anon) when he keeps crying and complaining how CoA the wanton whore cast him in Hell and made him a sinner. Frost legit made him believe in what he said because he’d lost his mind and I’m here sitting like what does she want to achieve by that? Maybe not to make him sympathetic, but IDK preserve her “grand love story” - Henry loved Catherine, but then he lost his mind after Francis beat him up & I suppose also Wolsey made use of poor Henry for his schemes (replace beating up with joust and Wolsey with Cromwell and we get a too-well-known narrative spread in some circles. Henry was okay until he got hit in the head and targeted Anne).

EF did not even make him hot and made him absolutely unshippable and yet some people still ship Anne x Henry in TSP when we see him clearly abusing his wife both physically and mentally at the same time? And what if she lied, Henry lied too about having slept with Juana, and CoA was actually informed by her father about this and warned about marrying this man based on that. Catherine simply decided that Juana was lying on purpose to destroy her life. It’s weird how this lie was not mentioned again, of course not by Henry because he’s a self-righteous hypocrite, but by CoA herself, or reminded in any flashback? And NGL even this Anne does not look happy to me to be told by her Dad to court this pig, she has to smile and laugh in front of him, but I don’t see her happy at the prospect at all... There is this idea here that Thomas Boleyn is doing everything to keep his family safe precisely because he knows about Henry’s “humours” and it’s not only ambition, but also fear that makes them want to be in the king’s favour. Same with Maggie. He is so visibly crazy everyone just ass kisses him out of fear. It’s... actually really sad? Like I can’t comprehend how people can ship it, especially in TSP, sorry.

Despite Frost’s boyfriend’s comments how “witch” Anne destroyed CoA’s happiness with Henry, there was nothing of this in the show because it was clear all the marital mess had nothing to do with Anne. He turned vile before becoming interested in Anne and yet people still want this gross man, who treats his wife so abominably, for their fave??? I feel sorry for her because she clearly feels obligated to please this asshole for her family’s sake, and if anything we should have all prayed CoA actually killed him in this crazy show when she got the chance and did herself and Anne a favour lol.

CoA was also Henry VIII’s victim and some people (who mostly care about their ship, not fans of AB in general) gloss over the fact that this man dragged through the mud a woman who was a good queen and wife for so many years, conspired behind her back with Great Matter, made a huge drama around her virginity, divulged private information about her and his brother’s private (intimate) lives, humiliated her multiple times, spread rumours about her being “diseased” and being of doubtful reputation etc. etc. and only wake up when he begins to use similar tactics to the other half of their ship (and yes it ended differenly simply because he could not just execute a woman with such powerful connections in Europe). But he got hit in the head and evil Cromwell appeared, I forgot. Poor Henry truly believed in his accusations against Anne and suffered until the end of his days 😭 😭 😭.

IDK some people behave like he just came and politely asked her for a divorce so that he might sire a son with another woman and she simply refused him out of sheer spite because she didn’t want him happy with another. And I won’t even mention people who apparently believe falling out of love with your spouse was enough for divorce in 16th century and I’ve seen takes based on that as well.

And sorry, but I do believe he was well aware of CoA’s virginity or lack thereof when they married and it simply never bothered him until he decided to use this to make himself 100% right and the wronged party in divorce proceedings. He was historically sly enough to do so, unlike his show counterpart. The dispensation definitely covered for such possibility and the English were the party that wanted to have that assurance:

Both sides agreed that a papal dispensation was needed. The couple had become, at least in theory, related in the first degree of affinity when Catherine married Arthur. The issue of Catherine’s sex life raised its head again for, if she had stayed a virgin, there was no real affinity. The marriage treaty explicitly states that a dispensation was required because ‘her marriage to Prince Arthur was solemnised according to the rites of the Catholic Church and afterwards consummated’. Two months later, however, Ferdinand was telling his ambassador at the Vatican, who had orders to seek the dispensation, that it was all a lie. ‘The truth is that the marriage was not consummated and that the princess our daughter remained as whole as she was before she married,’ he wrote. ‘Even though this is true and known to be so where she is, the mad English ... [believe] that the dispensation should say that the marriage was consummated.’ This, he explained with startling prescience, was ‘in order to get rid of any future doubt over the [rights of] succession of the children that, God willing, will be born of this new matrimony’. The English, he meant, wanted the pope to state clearly he had taken into account the idea of consummation with Arthur when giving Catherine a dispensation to marry and have legitimate children with Henry. Popes in the sixteenth century were, however, smooth political operators. Julius II knew how to hedge his bets. The dispensation he eventually sent to England stated that the marriage had ‘perhaps’ been consummated. That single word meant the matter would be argued over for centuries.

Taken from: Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen

Moreover Isabella of Castile asked to make the case even clearer:

Henry and his council, meanwhile, became increasingly obsessed by the brief – a copy of which had already been presented in Rome. Henry’s representative there, Gregorio Casale, confirmed that it seemed to close any loopholes left by the original bull. It widened the reasons Julius gave for allowing her to marry Henry, adding to the primary cause of fostering peace the words ‘certain other reasons’. As these last reasons were not explicit, they were impossible to argue against – even if, confusingly, the document also stated that she and Arthur had consummated their marriage.

Taken from: Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen

Even if we assume Henry wanted to contest the validity of actual papal dispensation & papal authority and just stick to Scripture literally:

In both cases, after all, ‘carnal knowledge’ existed. Henry was also worried. In this respect extramarital sex was, indeed, legally considered as important as marriage itself. It meant that Anne was related to Henry ‘by affinity’. Henry’s ambassadors in Rome, then, were given a double task. Not only did he want his and Catherine’s marriage annulled, he also needed to clear the way for her rival. That would require a papal dispensation allowing him to marry Anne, despite his previous sexual relationship with her sister. The dispensation, it was suggested, should allow him to marry a woman who might ‘be related ... in the first degree of affinity, arising from whatever licit or illicit intercourse’. The double standard was remarkable. On the one hand the pope was being told it had been wrong for Catherine to win a dispensation to marry her former husband’s brother. On the other hand, he was being asked to write a dispensation for Henry to marry his former lover’s sister.

Taken from: Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen

#Anonymous #haha sorry Anon I just got some issues off my chest later #I know what you meant :)#the spanish princess #tsp #tsp spoilers #catheriine of aragon #henry VIII

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the-moon-prince · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter IV

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

A new chapter! I tried my best to develop further the self insert character and clarify more its backstory and clan! I have somethings planned I hope you’ll enjoy. Thank you so much for all you support and I thank you for reading!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter V soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 307

TW: None!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything in life has a continuation. Kurapika and (Y/n)'s relationship is also subject to this law. An undeniable detail was that the lives of both subjects were terribly busy and loaded. Notably, the activities that Kurapika was involved in were lightened. (Y/n) held their word to assist him in his cause, as their work turned out to be advantageous. Primarily when it came to retrieving scarlet eyes. Kurapika even recovered two more pairs not long after by the dint of their research.

Another point in common was that the two were- Or at least when they wanted- very organized. The majority of encounters took place after they departed their jobs with the Nostrade. Consisting most frequently in small walks in nearby parks, have coffee or read together. Accommodating conversations that permitted them to know each other.

"What is the reason behind your decision to study psychiatry?" It occurred to Kurapika to bid during a walk. The situation was atypical; people with profitable prior careers didn't take the Hunter exam, not to mention how extremely young (Y/n) was, being just a year younger than him. But knowing the introversion of his partner, he decided to go little by little.

"My grandad was one. I aspired to be similar to him.

He had a treasury full of medicine and psychiatry titles I loved to read, I also sneaked into his conversations on the subject!" -(Y/n) gloated, with a tiny rocking and a smile.-"I find the functioning of the brain stimulating! And I like to help, it makes me feel useful. One of his acquaintances invited me to be his apprentice several times ago. I just accepted."

It was not rare for them to get together in the same room for each to work on their matters. They spent time in each other's presence. It was what mattered to them.

In the beginning, (Y / n) was the one that expressed questions the most. Especially details that many would judge insignificant.-"What is your preferred flavor of ice cream?" "Your favorite color? Mine is (Fav .color)" What musical genre do you prefer? I like (Fav. genre), I'm particularly a David Bowie fan." The answers to those questions were vanilla, light gray, and jazz. (Y/n) liked to accumulate all the possible details about Kurapika. More than once he was surprised that the (hair/colored) remembered, like what candy he preferred from the local store, that he liked his water slightly cooler than room-temperature or they reminded him to take a break from using his contact lenses. (Y/n) was also very vocal, consciously or not, with what they liked about Kurapika. They made him blush more than once with "you look pretty today", "you are kind, thank you" or "I love your eyes, they are blue dog's eyes". He had no clue what the latter meant or where were their origins, but (Y/n) said it so lovingly that he couldn't help feeling like it was the greatest of compliments.

Kurapika relied most on studying (Y/n) body language to approach them. He soon realized that while their face was not very expressive, the rest of their body tended to be. When they were waiting for something that excited them, they tapped the table with their long nails. They used to hold the door for the person behind them and him. And the two things that Kurapika found the most adorable of all, they tilted their head when they thought of something and flapped their hands when they were excited-even if they tried to suppress it on occasions. Something that Kurapika was not anticipating at all, particularly considering its dexterity and exactness from the time they fought, was (Y/n) clumsiness. They took bad or silly postures and never tied their shoes- Kurapika suspected them to not know how-.

He loved to tease (Y/n) with it. Expressly when they caught a light pole in the road, for not paying attention while they talked.

(Y/n) reminded him so much of Pairo, shy, a tad playful, and caring.

Pairo...

He would have liked to meet Yorknew. Observe everything Kurapika had seen. He sure would have liked the cinnamon rolls and the city lights. It was cruel and wicked.

"Kurapika"- a quiet voice took him away from his thoughts. His head stung.

"Here's your tea, sunshine"-(Y/n) placed a cup full of steaming cinnamon tea in front of him, and proceeded to sit down.-"Are you fine?"

"Yes, I was just... just thinking."- Kurapika mumbled and looked at his cup.

"I see. It is not wrong to miss someone. It simply signifies you love them, and they're important to you."-They mumbled, also looking down at the tea, as if they were capable of reading his mind. They certainly didn't read minds. Just missed someone too.-"If we don't remember them no one else will."- (Y/n) muttered as if the statement was also for them. They wanted nothing more than to comfort him. In one effort they dubiously lifted their hand and started to gently rub his back.

Kurapika turned to see them.-"You call me sunshine now?" He wanted to tease them. It didn't work.

(Y/n) nooned with pride.-"Because of your hair, the color evokes a ray of sunshine. Without sunlight, the flowers do not grow, therefore it is important. You are valuable to me."-Completely overlooking the other man's intentions. Kurapika covered his face with his hands and started laughing. He felt better.

"You are sickly sweet!"- he exclaimed, shaking his head.

"I am. And you're sneakier than you seem." (Y/n) similarly joked. They rested their heads on the hand, drinking tea. They maybe were sappy, but in the end, Kurapika loved it. He had someone to comfort him and with whom he could play. How he had missed this!

"Your piano is nearly the only furniture you have in your living room, and I haven't seen you play it yet."-continued taking a sip of his tea. He didn't know if (Y/n) played the piano, but they certainly prepared good tea.

"I am not very skilled. I am incapable of composing anything, and I haven't played for a long time. I was taught how to play some melodies, and that's what I play."

"May I see?"-Kurapika requested, for (Y/n) to approach the grand piano. They opened the tone's cover and he started to play. Sol-Fa Re Si-Fa Re Si ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f81rM4BKODw ). It sounded like a child's song, sweet and simple.

"My grandad was better. Verily, the instruments make me nostalgic, I have them essentially for that." They babbled once finished.

"You're not awful either." The blonde assured-"Did he teach you?"

(Y/n) agreed with a smile. "We fancied dancing and singing. My people liked artistic activities, we were somewhat hippies." they joked with a melancholic undertone.

"And the Kurta?"-their interests were genuine

Kurapika was surprised, it was the first time anyone had asked him. He couldn't help but respond excitedly.- "Well, I traveled with a friend, his name was Pairo. We transported ourselves on the backs of huge birds called Pikos! It was really fun... did you had something similar to travel?"

(Y/n) stared at him for a moment, tilting their head "We were the animals...", to them, the answer was a bit obvious. Why would they mount animals for transportation if they could transform themselves into animals?

"That seems lawful... I quite omitted that detail." Kurapika notified. I forgot that people like (Y/n) were part beast. They hardly ever mentioned him and he hadn't seen them in their other form either.

(Y/n) Laughed-"And we used normal cars. Uniliums didn't live very detached from humans. Our community was like 40 away from the city and most adults worked in it. We just maintained our animal figure in private. Most humans didn't have a clue they were fraternizing with us." They were delighted to talk about their peers. Like when you talk about a family member you haven't seen in a long time.

"What kind of animals were they?"-.Kurapika's curiosity about the group only increased. Besides if he knew more about them he would also know more about his (Y/n).

They hummed, -"Well... we were all mammals. Most were preys, for each predator, there was an average of 13 preys. Of 126 members, we were 10. There were mice, rabbits, deers. But no one was sure how to determine which animal would be an offspring."- They cheerfully explained, general information. But nothing about themselves.

Kurapika would have to question directly.-"And you?"

"I am the cat. But I was raised by wolves, like Romulus and Remus. Who knows? I might establish my own empire!"-(Y/n) played.

It was the first time they mentioned it. But now that he reflected, (Y/n) resembled a cat. They had particularly long fangs and claws.

"I didn't know your parents were wolves!" Kurapika felt he was finally learning a little more about his lover's past. But the reaction received was not the one he expected. An ordinary person, he included, would be glad to remember his parents.

(Y/n) quitted smiling and leaned their head into their folded arms. The atmosphere in the room had changed.-"They are average humans. As we mix with humans, it was not uncommon for some to marry them. My grandfather's mother and my grandfather, who were Uniliums, married humans. My mother was human and married another human."- they mumbled. Kurapika felt that the topic was not very pleasant for them, and considered it appropriate to stop that conversation.

"I comprehend..."-and changed the topic-"Kurtas were further separated. It was difficult to get outward of our village. This to guard us. Controlling the scarlet eyes and our emotions was not easy. Many panicked when they saw them."

(Y/n) seemed to quickly forget the preceding topic and willingly listened to their beloved again.-"I understand that. Some humans were also afraid of us, they believed we were demons or beasts. The funny thing is that the deluded wouldn't recognize us."-they mocked-"Sentiments could also influence our appearance. But our parents taught us to be cautious since cubs."

(Y/n) had seen Kurapika with his scarlet eyes, but he hadn't seen them in their beast form. The most he had seen was that night when they saw him straight in the eye, and their pupils were contracted, like a cat's, and the (e/c) had almost fully spread.

"You have never revealed your cat form to me. I bet you're adorable!"- He expressed in an attempt to satiate his curiosity.

They sure weren't anticipating that request, following a moment of hesitation, they lilted "I presume I get accustomed to wearing this shape."

Kurapika wanted (Y/n) to have confidence in him. He understood the concern in showing foreigners such aspects. After all, they had both been marginalized and punished for their looks.-"It's not going to be unpleasant to me. I like cats." he offered them a sweet smile.

At the moment he blinked and reopened his eyes, (Y/n) had a pair of fuzzy (color) cat ears, the right one with a tiny darker spot on the tip, a fluffy tail, and their hair was slightingly fuzzed up. Maybe the most remarkable thing was their feet, long and standing on the tip.

Their eyes changed again, and their hands were slightly larger with wider claws; to ultimately have the appearance of a cat-humanoid. They didn't look so different and they were still (Y/n).

Kurapika didn't see anything devilish about the person in front of him. Rather, he saw an exotic beauty, like fantastic creatures from magical books. He felt lucky to be able to witness something of that bearing and have that experience. What was so special to him was that this being was his partner.

"You certainly are a kitten. That's something you can do in that form?"-Kurapika interrogated.

(Y/n) took a minute to consider, head tilted as usual- the only difference is that their ears moved delicately-. They raised their open hands, showing some very pink set to digital pads, advanced towards him wagging his tail, and cupping his face with a cute smile.

"Your hands are very soft, darling."-Kurapika giggled at the silly idea. (Y/n)'s grin grew wider, closed its eyes, and in complete pride said "I have paws, honey!" That was true. Not many could say they had paws. Especially a so soft and warm pair. (Y/n) appeared happy and relieved, as if they had been discharged from a weight or they were finally doing something they had repressed.

"And you also have marshmallow cheeks. Can you do something particular under that form?"-As Kurapika enjoyed the softness of the caring touch, his question was not precisely answered.

(Y/n) separated their paws from his face, and showed its claws. "I have retractile claws, like, well, a cat. Under this form my strength and speed increase. My bite force equals that of a Jaguar. Ultimately I'm capable of using a more potent nen's technique since my aura flow grows. Although, you know I'm a pacifist. I tend to be softer..."

"You look like a big plush doll. Yet, this appearance may be tricky. You absolutely are a cat."- Kurapika could recognize why (Y/n)'s clan was killed to extermination. Many collectors would be filled with sick and devious pride to have such a creature. He was happy that at least (Y/n) survived. For the first time, he was happy that he too survived.

#kurapika x reader #hxh #hxh x reader #kurapika kurta x reader #kurapika #Kurapika kurta #hunter x hunter #kurapika imagine #kurapika hxh #hxh scenarios

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talks-refined · 4 years ago

Text

Why azula, in my opinion, shouldn’t have had a redemption arc

i know it’s a complicated subject in this fandom but i wanted to give my two cents on it! i promise this isn’t me just going “booh evil”

okay so here’s the thing. the reason this is so complicated to answer is because it needs to ask pretty existential and complex questions like, can everyone be redeemed? how is evil made? how much of you is really only your upbringing? is it possible to be inherently bad? what do we fundamentally deserve? can you separate yourself completely from what you’ve been since birth and if so, what’s left?

now if you walked up to me and asked those questions, my answer would probably be something along the lines of “i don’t know, i just got here”. so that’s not what i’m gonna try to answer here

notice how i said “shouldn’t have had” and not “deserved”. i can’t tell you what azula “deserved”— probably a nicer childhood and therapy— but i can also say azula didn’t “deserve” anything. she’s a character, she’s words on paper, animation and voiced acting. there isn’t a real azula, an actual 14 years old child soldier out there awaiting to turn good. characters are story arcs, development, goals... what makes their value isn’t morals but what they bring to the story. and azula brings so much that, in my opinion, being ultimately redeemed would cheapen

first off: zuko. i’ve seen people say azula shouldn’t get a redemption arc because then her story would just be the same as zuko. it’s... not true, obviously, they’re different characters for a reason, but there is a part of truth i wanna point out here:

zuko and azula’s stories are diametrical opposites. two siblings, a boy and a girl, a firebending prodigy and one who’s average at the very best, one favored by his mother, the other favored by her father, one impulsive and one calculating. At the beginning of the story, one angry and unstable, the other calm and confident, one banished, desperate and without honor, and the other a princess and leader, acclaimed by all, who radiates regal energy.

“(ozai) said she was born lucky. he said i was lucky to be born. i don’t need luck, though. i don’t want it. i’ve always had to struggle and fight and that’s made me strong. that’s made me who i am.”

( zuko, to aang, season 1 finale )

that first sentence was the hook that told the viewers azula would come in the picture in season 2 and it tells you exactly the opposite dynamics their characters would develop on. azula is perfect, zuko is a failure is the message we’re supposed to get, at least that’s how they view each other and themselves, because that’s what their father taught them. but here’s the thing: luck is by definition elusive, and perfection is by definition unattainable. azula spends her life building herself around the vision that failure is inexcusable. because she’s at such a high place, because she’s so perfect, she can never fail, because she can’t and because she’s not allowed to. that mentality is bound to doom her, it’s inevitable. it’s a direct opposition to zuko, who builds himself in the fact that he’s failed so many times, that he made so many mistakes, that each taught him lessons. when zuko fails once, he knows he can get up because he was miserable for so long that it taught him he can survive anything. when azula fails once, she crumbles. azula is a cautionary tale of perfectionism, and cautionary tales can’t have happy endings. zuko’s approach of life has to reach a happy ending, because he’ll always look for one, it has to reach a redemption arc because he’s not scared of the mistakes he’s made in the past and he is always trying to better himself (the redemption comes when he realises he was trying to meet the wrong standards). azula’s approach of life guarantees a downfall because she’s convinced that failure is the end.

both their stories mirror each other, backwards. when we meet zuko, he’s failing, always, and when we leave him, he finally won. when we meet azula she’s winning, always, and when we leave her, she finally (by which i mean that it’s inevitable, not that it’s good) fails.

and there’s another reason (let’s pretend this is structured, okay?), that’s a little more complicated, and it has to do with ozai.

you know how ozai is barely present in the series? i’ve seen some people argue that azula is a better villain because she’s scarier or because we see her more. here’s the thing:

when you’re trying to portray something that’s really, really awful, it’s easier not show it. when you show something, in it’s entirety (in that context that would mean making ozai a deep, 3 dimensional character that we see develop) it’s... small. to define is to limit (- oscar wilde). when you only show small things tho, details, in movies it can be shadows, think the beginning of stranger things when you don’t see monsters, but can feel a threat, that’s when it can get scary as shit. because whatever limited, physical (or character-ial? is that a word) form you chose for the villain isn’t there in people’s minds, it’s only their own imagination trying to comprehend what you made them feel. and what people imagine based on only fear, or anger, is easily scarier than any five headed monster you can put onscreen.

that’s what ozai is: a looming threat. hell, i’m not even sure we see his face until season 3. he only has a handful of scenes. but i hate him. i hate him so much i could scream into a pillow and he’s so vicious it sends shivers down my spine. you know why? because of what he did to zuko and azula.

when you wanna keep your main villain mysterious, it’s good to give the audience characters that he’s interacted with. characters that he’s close to enough to have had an effect on them, so they can perceive a part of him. and boy did he have an effect on his children

( to be fair here: that idea and most of what i’m saying about it came from Overly Sarcastic Productions video on minions as a trope. it’s really good i love their whole channel, red is amazing)

season 1: meet zuko. he’s a sixteen years old. he’s a bad guy, but written so that you sympathise with him to a certain extent. then comes the Tragic Backstory Episode and you learn that he was challenged to a duel as a thirteen years old by his father after he spoke without permission in a meeting, begged for mercy, got half of his face burned off at the hands of his father, and was banished from his home to search for the avatar, who was dead as far as anyone knew.

now you’ve seen very little of ozai after this episode, but you’re ready to fight that guy, right? i know i am.

it gains a level of depth with azula. after being introduced to a character who is starving for his father’s love and approval, we’re introduced to a new character, who seemingly has all of that. azula is zuko’s ever winning rival. she has everything he wants, her honor, her title, her father’s favors.

(i think it’s worth noting that making your children compete for your love is already a red flag for noticing pieces of shit)

but it’s not enough. azula has everything, she is everything ozai values (cunning, strong, ruthless) and even then it’s not enough to please him. nothing will ever be good enough. and you see two children fighting, breaking themselves to please a father that is seemingly incapable of love, but keeps baiting them, giving them impossible standards to reach so they’ll always keep trying to please him.

okay, now you hate him, right?

but here’s the thing: because azula was a firebending prodigy, she got a taste of her father’s approval. he saw himself in her, where he saw too much of iroh and ursa in zuko. he was proud of her.

he was never proud of zuko. too soft, not strong, or fearless enough. because of that, zuko was never close to his dad. all he got was disdain. because of that, he forms bonds with other people (with his mother and uncle, at first) that expose him to another vision of life. and in exile, after chasing relentlessly, part of him is pushed to the realisation that he can live without his father’s approval. because he had to.

azula on the other hand, quickly becomes all ozai’s. from flashbacks you can clearly tell each of them gravitates around one parent, zuko around ursa and azula around ozai. even in her other relationships (zuko, tylee, mai...) she behaves according to what her father taught her, how to manipulate and hurt others

and ursa has flaws, god i’m not saying she doesn’t. that deserves a post in itself. but she values things like kindness, softness and love. ozai values strength, power and cunning. childhood is a formative stage: you often build yourself on the way you were raised. zuko had those conflicting values, because ursa, and ozai more indirectly, both taught him. but ozai isolated azula from other (adult) presences. this is more speculation but i really think it’s true, for what it’s worth. we rarely ever see ursa and azula interact, and when we do ursa is i think always? reprimanding azula for something that ozai taught her. it doesn’t seem like they spend enough time together for her to teach her daughter a better way.

that’s the thing. ozai’s “love”, or at least approval, was azula’s curse. zuko thinks it’s something he has to aim for, and later realizes it’s only ever going to be conditional and manipulative and stops trying. because he knew another way. but azula always lived with it. it isolated her, prevented her from ever finding a better way. his “love” is what did this to her

so yeah. none of this is saying that azula could never have been good. she was 14, she had a whole life ahead, i’m not some psychology master that can tell you exactly if it’s even possible to unlearn so much manipulation and abuse- i want to believe it is. but this is a story, and to me it’s the more nuanced, more interesting, better story they could’ve written. i think having those two very different and very paralleled stories, for a show that doesn’t shy away from complexity the way atla does, was very important.

while i was writing this, i showed it to a friend, who can speak for toxic households better than i can, and gave me a new perspective and the best conclusion: when in an abusive parental relationship, there’s always a tearing hesitation between ‘breaking free’ and doing what’s best for you, and staying loyal to your parent, someone you’re supposed to love and who’s supposed to love you. zuko is a message of hope ; azula is a warning

#azula #princess azula #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #azula redemption arc #please be nice

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fific7 · 4 years ago

Text

Your Soul is Mine

Sirius Black x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

Angst prompt 13 : I want all of you - your body, your heart, your soul

Summary: Sirius Black is about to be claimed whether he likes it or not... forever.

Warnings: Swearing, spiking, coercion, jealousy, revenge, mentions of sex so 18+please, slight dom/sub overtones. Age of consent is 16 in the UK, sorry if that’s not in line with your own country’s/state’s laws.

A/N: I do not condone spiking or coercive behaviour but the reader’s a bunny boiler, sorry.

(My GIF)

Y/N Y/L/N was a proud and determined Slytherin. Ambitious, smart as a whip, cunning when she needed to be. And she had a temper. Boy - did she have a temper.

But when it hit, she would never explode. Instead she’d become deathly silent, eyes narrowing, lips pulling into a thin line, thoughts whirring, working out exactly how she would bring retribution down on whichever unfortunate soul caused her outrage.

And that was precisely her current condition. She’d been strolling down to the lake, intent on having a short break from studying Potions when, giving a little gasp of excitement, she’d spotted Sirius Black.

He was lying in the shade under under a tree. But ... not alone. He and a girl were entwined like vines, mouths locked together, her hands running up and into his famed wavy long black hair.

Before the rage ensued, Y/N felt the sudden & excruciating pain of a dagger to the heart.

Only two nights ago, Y/N had been the one entwined with him, that beautiful, awful boy - in his bed, in his arms, totally immersed in his sweet kisses and honeyed lies.

“Hey Y/N, of course you’re not like all the others - you’re so special to me.”

“Of course this isn’t a one-time thing!”

“I really think this is the beginning of something beautiful between us.”

Ah, yes. And, clearly, judging by the evidence staring her in the face, that meant being his fucktoy whenever his busy ‘schedule’ allowed for it. An intolerable position for a prideful Slytherin to be in.

Well, fuck that, Sirius Black. And... fuck you too, Sirius Black, six ways from Sunday.

And to add insult to injury, she was supposed to meet him in the Gryffindor common room the following night, for yet another of the Marauders’ parties.

A plan dropped into her seething brain. Yes. Yes... with a little fancy footwork, that could work. A small smirk formed on her lips.

He wouldn’t know what hit him.

*********************************

Sirius had told her to be outside the Gryffindor common room at 9. She was there promptly, of course.

She laughed to herself as she stood waiting outside it. He didn’t even trust her enough to tell her the stupid bloody password to his stupid bloody common room. Her foot tapped in irritation as the clock slowly ticked to 10 past 9. The freaking idiot can’t even be punctual!

The portrait hole eventually opened to reveal a tipsy Sirius, who looked her up & down before licking his lips and holding out his hand to her, drawing her into the room. He was in his off-duty uniform of vintage jeans, rock band t-shirt & Doc Martens. Still looks too hot for his own good, she thought, instantly annoyed at herself for thinking it.

His fangirls were certainly of the same opinion, she thought sourly, judging by the adoring looks coming his way (peppered with jealous dagger looks at her), as he helped her step through into the common room.

“You look gorgeous, angel,” he said, slurring his words just a little bit.

Her skin-tight emerald green dress, sky-high silver heels and artfully messy up-do were designed to get male attention, and it was working like a charm (ha ha).

Not at all pleased by the admiring glances she was attracting, Sirius huffed as he walked her to the table-serving-as-bar, hand on the small of her back, slyly running it up & down as he did so. He poured her a glass of firewhiskey. She downed it in one, and he burst out laughing.

She shrugged, smirking at him, “What?! I’ve got some catching up to do.” She placed her bejewelled clutch bag on the table, next to the bottles of firewhiskey.

His own glass was empty too, and he reached over to pick up both, but she laid her hand on his bare arm.

“Sirius,” she breathed against his ear, “let me fill that right up for you.” She smirked, “And maybe I’ll let you fill me up later on.”

Predictable response from Sirius, she was pleased to see. He froze, eyes meeting hers, mouth slack. “Uh... right. Right... uh, sweetheart.”

She handed his glass to him and he downed it in one. “Sirius! That’s just greedy,” she chided him.

He laughed out loud. “Let’s dance, love.”

*****************************************

Later, much later, they lay tangled together, naked & exhausted, on his bed.

“That was amazing, sweetness,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“Mmhmm.“ she nodded in agreement. A heartbeat later, “Sirius?”

“Yes, love?”

“Remember how you told me, the first time we were together, that it was the start of something beautiful between us?”

He cleared his throat, “Umm... uhh... yeah?...Yeah.”

“Well... tell me how come I saw you two days later, kissing some mouldy little tart by the lake?”

He tried to sit up, but she pushed his shoulders back down. He held both hands up, palms out in a placatory gesture. “Look, Y/N, that was nothing, it wasn’t my idea, she started it...”

“Oh, and you just gave in, did you?”

“Well, yeah....”

“You know, Sirius, you really should be more careful what you do and what you say to people. I can hardly bear to admit this, but I actually believed what you said, all those lies... all that fucking bullshit.”

“But... Y/N, sweetheart...you know... you know I don’t do...”

“Relationships? Oh, I did hear that once or twice, yes I did, Sirius.” She laughed to herself. “But you should know, I liked to think that I would’ve been the one who finally tamed you - the bad boy. Tied you down, stopped your man-whore ways.”

Her hands on his shoulders kept him pressed down on the mattress. He spotted her placing her wand carefully on the bedside table. What the fuck...??

He was starting to feel really, really dizzy. He broke out in a cold sweat, and Y/N’s voice sounded like it was coming from far, far away, then much closer, then distant again.

He closed and re-opened his eyes, to find hers boring into his, staring intensely at him... did they look, yeah they did look... kind of red? That couldn’t be right. What was happening to him? He shook his head, in an attempt to clear it.

“Well,” she said, “this is your lucky night, sweetheart!” She slowly licked down one side of his neck. He let out a huff of breath.

“You see, I want you, Sirius. And I’m going to have you, it’s as simple as that. And I want all of you, your body, your heart, your soul....!”

His mouth opened, he tried to yell, but no sound came out. He felt invisible tendrils wrapping themselves around him, from neck to toe. Getting tighter and tighter. He couldn’t move and he was starting to gasp for air a little.

“And I’m taking them. All of them, Sirius! ...I’m just gonna take them from you, d’you understand?!”

She shook her head, feigning sorrow & remorse. “You’ve left me no choice, darling, as it’s highly unlikely you’ll give me them of your own free will.” Sirius just stared at her, still not comprehending exactly what was going on.

She trailed a finger down his neck, his chest, his stomach, ran it playfully through his money trail a few times before heading between his legs. She closed her hand over his velvety length, and stroked him firmly a few times. He huffed out some rapid breaths, knowing that he was very quickly getting hard.

“Do you like that, lover?” she purred. He nodded, then quickly shook his head. “Yes or no, which is it, darling?” He nodded again. Why was he incapable of speech, he wondered? Then shook his head again.

Laughing, she said, “I’ve cast a silencing spell on you, by the way - again no choice, sorry, sweetheart! Well, let’s see if this next little number gets you to make a firm decision. Although it’s only a formality, cupcake. Your body - every inch of it - totally belongs to me, after all.”

She leant over, roughly licked his tip, then kissed it lingeringly, before swirling her tongue round it and down his hard length. He writhed under her, still feeling the invisible tentacles curling round him. His head thrashed to & fro on the pillows, desperately trying to ignore the sexual onslaught happening to him, but still unable to.

He froze as he felt her tongue moving slowly & sensually over his balls, then without warning, she grabbed them.

His hips involuntarily hitched upwards. He heard her low laugh, and then she started squeezing, not too hard but still making him totally tense up. She placed her lips against his, kissing him hungrily and forcing her tongue into his mouth. Cupped his cheek, stroking the stubble there and on his chin.

Lips next to his ear, whispering to him.

“I’ve got you by the balls, Sirius, and you will never escape. Never, do you hear me!? “ she smirked in triumph, pulling back to look down at him. She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, trapping him even more.

Greedily, she drank in the sight of his handsome face underneath her, silky black hair spread out on the pillow, wide grey eyes staring up at her, long dark lashes resting momentarily on his cheek as he closed them briefly. When he reopened them, she laughed out loud as she saw the lust in them, mixed in with total confusion, he just couldn’t hide it.

She leant closer to him, lips touching his. “You remember how good I am at potions, yeah?”

He nodded, suddenly terrified. He still wasn’t able to speak. She sat back up.

“Well, I cooked up a special little concoction just for you. Slipped it in your firewhiskey earlier. And once I’ve said your name 7 times within 7 minutes, it’s gonna fully kick in ..... and then I’ve got you for eternity.... Sirius!”

Sirius felt the weirdest sensation he’d ever experienced in his life.

He felt as if he and Y/N were melding together. Pulling him up with the sheer power of it. As if his very body, heart & soul were being sucked out of him and being pulled into her body, fixing there permanently in an unbreakable bond.

Then it was over. His body collapsed back onto the mattress. He felt so dizzy...... and weak. So very weak.

Her voice again, whispering, whispering, whispering.

“I possess you now, Sirius. You’re completely and utterly mine, until the end of time.”

********************************************

Sirius quite frankly didn’t know how he’d managed to make it all the way to 16 (almost 17!) without having a steady girlfriend. Now that he’d found Y/N and they were finally together, life was just so wonderful.

He’d bounced downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast the morning after the party, announcing to the Marauders - and anyone else within earshot - that he’d found the love of his life. To say they were all shocked was an understatement, but Sirius didn’t care. In fact, Sirius seemed almost delirious.

It was in fact Y/N projecting her intense pleasure, through Sirius, at how well her plan had worked out.

All of his moods in future would be hers, but he wouldn’t ever know that.

She’d dug out her Advanced Charms mini-handbook from her clutch bag, after her possession potion had done its work. Pity she couldn’t tell Slughorn about that one - it was truly excellent!

She’d cast a sleeping spell on poor, confused, exhausted Sirius as he lay sprawled on his quilt, and then Obliviated him of everything that happened after leaving the party. She didn’t know the spell that well, as it wasn’t one she’d needed before now, and still had to read up on the details before she cast it.

Y/N had left a note on his pillow, which he’d eagerly grabbed as soon as he awoke. Ah, she’d just nipped down to her own dorm for a nice relaxing shower. He sighed happily, snuggling back under the quilt. His girlfriend, his lover, his soulmate. He loved her so very much.

(What he didn’t know was that Y/N was totally shattered after her little excursion into the Dark Arts. She ducked out of classes for that whole day. But she still had no regrets whatsoever. As she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, she chortled to herself, guessing that Muggle psychiatrists would probably deem her to be a sociopath. At the very least.)

Sirius almost felt like there was a telepathic link between the two of them. Amazing! Any time he even looked at another girl, Y/N’s face would appear unbidden in front of his eyes.

Her sultry, soothing, controlling voice would reverberate in his head, “Now, now, Sirius, down, boy! Remember who you belong to, yeah? ... I’m the only one who gets to touch you. Good boy, good boy!!” and he would feel the immediate need to run off and find her. Which he usually did, unless he was in class.

Whenever he did find her, she’d immediately demand sex from him. She made him strip in front of her. He would willingly peel off his clothes, as she lay back & watched him reveal that slim & athletic body she adored. She made him have sex in every single position she could imagine. Tied him to the bed all night, sometimes. “C’mon, Sirius! sex all night!” she’d order, like an Army Sergeant Major.

He felt compelled to obey her. Until he was so exhausted that by the morning light, he could hardly walk. He didn’t really mind the sleepless nights and jelly legs. Well, he couldn’t disappoint his darling girlfriend, could he?

She would smirk and run her hands through his hair, the same way that tart by the lake had. Not any more, love - sorry. Not sorry. In the least. Y/N would murmur his name and praise his prowess.

Funnily enough, the ‘girl from the lake’ had come looking for him, two days after the party. Y/N felt like that was poetic justice. She’d been suggesting another ‘interlude’ by the water. Sirius told her he didn’t know A) who she was and B) what she was talking about.

She didn’t notice Y/N lounging on the sofa behind Sirius, advanced charms book laying open at the O’s, smirking with wand in hand. The girl burst into tears and ran off, never to return. Y/N smiled so broadly, her face hurt.

She sometimes wondered if she loved him. She wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care, to be honest. She was totally obsessed with him, she knew that. And she owned him. Every piece of him. That was more than enough for her.

His fangirls were all broken-hearted; they were forever going to be out of luck in future.

His friends laughed at him, saying he was just so whipped.

Anytime she saw the grieving fangirls, or overheard his friends’ comments, a small, self-satisfied smile would appear on Y/N’s face. She’d sigh happily, and go back to her Potions essay.

**********************************************************

#sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #ben barnes

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schmokschmok · 4 years ago

Text

witches are real, and you think this is just a funny fic title

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin K. Blackwood x Tim Stoker

Characters: Martin K. Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Danny Stoker

Wordcount: 12,166

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

No Fear Entities

Supernatural Elements

Witch & HOH Tim Stoker

Danny Stoker Lives

Halloween

Tim Stoker Deserves Nice Things And I’m Giving Them To Him

Summary:

Martin fakes his way into the Magnus Institute, a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard likes to call it paranormal) encounters. He expects the people working for the institute to be kind of weird but Tim Stoker takes his commitment for a spooky aesthetic to a whole new level.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070366

The thing is: Martin knows what to do with crooked smiles and superficial, flattering words. He knows how to smile politely and stumble through a thank you when someone compliments the jumper he’s wearing, not knowing that he made it himself. He knows how to accept an absentminded nod as gratitude for the tea he’s making every day for the whole archival staff. He knows how to get through a wide array of flirty remarks that concern his appearance, dignity mostly intact. He knows how to smile through a detachedly welcoming nod of a co-worker for years that answers his greeting by name.

The thing he can’t handle, under any circumstances, however, is kindness. Never been good at it, not even as a kid.

He knows his mother had been kind when he had been a child, had brushed and braided his hair every single night and told him fairy tales and stories, she had stayed up with him after nightmares and during thunder storms, had told him she loved him even when he was angry with her. And she hadn’t expected him to love her back, is the thing, hadn’t wanted him to brush her hair or hold her hand or meet every of her stories with one of his own. Maybe that’s why he gives back now, loves her even if she doesn’t love him back, brushes and braids her hair even if she doesn’t want to look at him, tells her stories of his work and the friends he doesn’t have but fabricates just to maybe ease her mind. (And if she doesn’t want him coming back, then he will stop. Kindness, sometimes, is about the things you’re willing to give up for the ones that you love. – On some days she calls him cruel for coming back and coming back and coming back, but she doesn’t tell him to leave, doesn’t tell him to stay away. So, he returns like a record broken, jumping on the same syllable until she stops the needle digging into him.)

His father had been kind, too, he thinks. Had to be to be loved by a woman like his mother once had been. Martin doesn’t remember anymore.

Mostly, the kindness directed his way is about bargaining favours and weighing the things he does against sweet spoken words. Which is alright, he thinks, because giving his last shirt for a sincere thank you has been his modus operandi since his father left. He wants to give and give and if that leaves him curled up on his bed on a Wednesday evening at eight o’clock then it’s just because he’s not strong enough to carry the weight of his own thoughts.

It starts like this: Martin takes up work in the institute with no real credentials to support his curriculum vitae or his claim of knowledge about anything, really, but he’s tired of working minimal wage, of cooking mediocre food late at night for his mother who wants to move out desperately to stop being all on her own in their empty flat, of working three shifts in a row in two different jobs and still struggling to meet ends. Martin’s tired of burning on a borrowed flame, shovelling hollow coals on a dying candle.

So, he’s faking CVs, so many that he loses count of them. He sends them to every job listing he finds, twisting and tweaking the details, staying up late at night on his battered laptop that takes almost five minutes to boot. He shows up to as many interviews as he can manage but he never gets called back in. Until Elias Bouchard phones him on a cloudy day and tells him that he can start working in the library, if he’s able to move to London in the next month that is. He accepts, of course he does. His mother would never forgive him declining the only job offer that would get them to pay their bills on time and pave the way to a nice nursing home where his mother doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Martin moves to London. His mother doesn’t.

He starts working in the Magnus Library which is a capital L kind of library as he gets told on his very first day. It’s a joke, he thinks, a library science master’s joke that he doesn’t get but laughs about anyway. (It’s a Magnus Institute’s joke, but Martin doesn’t know that yet. His hands are full juggling the Dewey Decimal and his customer service smile while looking at the impatient faces of half of the faculty members trying to loan basic material books he hasn’t ever heard the titles of.)

It’s not a secret that he’s incompetent, Martin thinks, they all know it, and no one says anything to his face which is probably meant as kindness but feels like cruelty. Because Martin isn’t daft, Martin isn’t incapable of learning, Martin isn’t unwilling to put every last ounce of himself into being better. But nobody seems to think that he’s important enough to be corrected. They see his misfiled loaning records and his misplaced books, and they say it’s not a problem, don’t worry and they take care of it without offering to teach him any better. And Martin, well, Martin is too embarrassed to ask them how to handle it in the future. He will figure it out, he thinks, in time.

(He’s right, but he doesn’t know that yet. It takes almost a year for him to memorise the layout of the library with its seemingly everchanging bookshelves and corridors. It takes almost one and a half for him to get to know every Library staff member and their preferred way to drink tea. It takes almost two years for him to remember the faces of the faculty members that don’t visit the library regularly. It takes almost three years for him to know that it’s Research and Archives and Library and Artefacts but human resources and accounting and information technology. It’s around the same time that he feels like maybe he’s part of the team now; the same time that his co-workers stop looking at him like he’s a bumbling fool without any skills; the same time that he stops calling his mother every three days or so even though she hasn’t picked up in a long time.)

The very first week that he works in the library is filled with many apologies, too many to keep record, a much and much of awkward apologeticness. A few conversations are held, he gets to know Rosie „the heart of the institute” Martinez and Lydia „from HR” Yılmaz. They are good people and talking to them makes the muscles in his back relax just the tiniest bit, although the panic never stops flaring up in his stomach that, somehow, they will know that he’s a fraud.

It’s the first day of his second week and he feels slightly more prepared because he used every minute of the weekend to pull up every article ever written about the institute and its library. He tried reading published papers, too, but without the institute’s access they’re securely locked behind a paywall he can’t get through without a credit card and loads and loads of money to spare. He snacked on canned peaches while reading about filing systems, but in the end he’s none the wiser.

So, he comes in an hour early and unlocks the front entrance of the institute with his key card. It’s eerily quiet in the dark lobby and hallways leading into the back of the building. The noisiness of the street and the embankment gets swallowed by the thick walls and the closing door behind him and the only thing he can hear is the tapping of his own shoes on the marble floor. It’s a mixture of unsettling and peaceful, but he’s not sure which takes precedence in his sleep addled mind. The unfamiliarity of the cream-coloured walls and the polished, almost black floor makes every shadow move in a way Martin can’t comprehend and he turns to look at them a few times only to realise they’re potted plants or laminated notes hung up next to different door frames. He passes a few glowing exit signs and the door to the stairwell that leads up to the second floor.

When he approaches the entrance to the library, a weight gets lifted from his stomach at the prospect of a light switch he can use to chase out the darkness that slowly gets more unnerving than comforting. Spinning the key card in his hand to keep busy and hold his anxiety at bay, he rounds the last corner and stops dead in his tracks. Because sitting right in front of the door is a person only illuminated by the harsh, cold light of their phone. Right the second Martin loses hold of his key card and it meets the floor with an echoing plasticky sound, their eyes snap up and fixate on Martin.

“Oh, lovely, you’re here,” they say, standing up from their hunched-up position without even touching the floor with their hands. (Martin takes a moment to envy that movement because every time he thinks about sitting down on the floor he has to either make sure something’s in close proximity to help him lift himself up or the ground’s not too dirty, so he doesn’t have to wash his hands right the second he stands upright again.) “I was starting to get worried I’d have to wait another hour for someone to open up.”

“Uh–,” is everything Martin gets out before the stranger picks up his key card and hands it over to him. They smile at him, slightly deranged but without a doubt handsome in a way that makes Martin’s breath catch in his chest. While Martin reaches out carefully to grab the offered card, they say: “Sorry for dropping in unexpectedly and unannounced but Veronica will have my arse if I don’t hand in this follow up today.”

Silence falls over them when Martin doesn’t react in any way and just continues staring at the stranger who keeps staring at him as if Martin should know who Veronica is and how important it is for them to do their follow up. (As if Martin should know what a follow up even is.)

“Tim,” the stranger provides when Martin doesn’t show the slightest inclination to do anything other than, well, stare at them. “I’m working upstairs in Research in Veronica’s team.” They wait for an agonising moment for Martin to return the introduction – which he fails to do, still trying to process that he’s really in an actual conversation with another human being before seven a.m.

“As lovely as it is standing here with you, …” Tim continues, allowing Martin once again to submit his name. Which he fails to do, again, because his mouth feels so dry he’s afraid if he opens it now there won’t come out anything else than a pathetic cough. Tim doesn’t seem too stressed about it. „I really need to go in there,” Tim gestures over their shoulder to the library, “and cross-reference a few things and brush up a few of my foot-notes before it’s time to clock in again. Veronica is really adamant about this follow up laying on her desk at eight thirty sharp.” The manila folder in Tim’s hand gets lifted for emphasis and apparently that’s all Martin needed to get it together and finally move. Without him intending to do so, his lips form a customer service smile that’s been ingrained into his very being from years upon years of working in ice cream shops and pizza restaurants and a movie theatre that’s long gone now.

“Yeah, uh, yeah no problem!”

He steps around Tim and presses his key card against the sensor underneath the door handle. After the soft opening click of the lock, he steps aside to let Tim enter the room behind him and he searches for the light switch with his outstretched arm because he’s pretty sure that one has to be on the wall to his left.

“Thank you, really, you’re doing me a favour, mate,” Tim says and legitimately bows with the biggest grin before he’s off into the depth of the library, swallowed by a shelf Martin could swear hadn’t stood there on Friday when he left.

Finally, he lets go of the door and gets closer to the wall to search with both hands for the switch, until the little finger of his right hand bumps against the hard plastic shell of a set of light switches.

“Gonna be bright for a second,” he warns loudly, unsure if Tim’s even able to hear him or not. Then, after a few seconds, he presses the switch and the lights above his head sputter and blink to life with the solid snugness of old halogen lamps.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, then he treads over to the counter, rounds it and closes his eyes for just a heartbeat or two. He’s got this. Tim wandering somewhere, hidden behind shelfs, is not going to change the fact that Martin’s got this. His brain, heart and stomach just need to be convinced, that’s okay, he can handle a wee bit anxiety and nervousness.

Without further ado, he pins his name tag to his monochrome button-down (because that’s what adults wear at work) and starts to open the various drawers underneath the counter to catalogue the innards.

There's probably a system, stapler and pen and pencils in one drawer, neatly arranged in a compartment next to sticky notes and paper squares in bright colours and an uncountable amount of paper clips. In the drawer underneath, he finds envelopes, more paper in various shapes and forms and sizes. Another drawer reveals the minute book in which Martin should document Tim’s presence. (Probably? He’s not entirely sure if the minute book is for every research assistant or students only.) Right next to the minute book, Martin can see the keys for every terminal in the library, and a few personal items of his co-workers which should not be in there as far as Martin’s been informed. The last two drawers contain RFID tags, barcodes and printed ID cards. The space reserved for lost and found is surprisingly empty. (Martin thinks he remembers Janette taking everything back into the small storage room in the back on Friday afternoon.)

It takes almost fifteen minutes for him to open and close every drawer (multiple times) and he's still not sure if he memorised the most important things. It's quarter past seven, however, and he couldn’t find a single position plan, which is why Martin steps around the counter and starts to make his way through the maze that is this library. Clipboard and pencil in hand, he outlines the approximate layout of the outer walls and tries to draw in the shelfs he passes, marking them with things like Local History A—V and Ghosts (general) J—Z, scribbling down letters and numbers of the signatures that seem important to him. (He's got a run down last week but the library uses the most arbitrary synthesis of Dewey Decimal and an intern system that the first library staff must have implemented before trying to shove the Dewey Decimal into the small space left.)

Martin's good at making maps, if he's allowed to say so. He can read a map, he can draw a map. (It wouldn't hold up against a professional map but his always worked fine enough.) So, he feels righteous indignation when someone steps into his space, throws a glance on his makeshift map and says: “This isn't accurate, sorry.”

Martin furrows his brow, but the customer service smile is on his lips again before he’s able to will it away.

“Why wouldn't it be?” Martin asks even though he doesn't want to know what Tim has to say. “I mean, yeah, you couldn't do an accurate projection, but it's not meant to be. It's about the order of the shelfs, the signatures.”

“As much as I hate to disappoint you,” Tim says and lets his finger hover half a centimetre above Martin's map, “but the ghost section is three shelfs down to the right next to Russian literature. I walked past it a few seconds ago.”

“Well, the only reason this map says ghost is because I walked past the ghost section,” Martin retorts (and feels very brave about it). The desire to snatch the map away from Tim's finger and hold it close to his chest so that Tim can't spare another look is strong but Martin also knows it's childish and he shouldn't indulge in such impulses.

“Well, Martin,” Tim must have seen Martin's name tag, which is nice because Tim says his name with an exasperated fondness that Martin shouldn't have earned yet and it spares Martin from the mortifying ordeal of introducing himself after his fauxpas this morning, “I don't know if nobody told you but this Library is like the rest of the institute: A big pile of magical bullshit.”

Tim grins and the skin next to their eyes crinkle with mischief as if they're sharing an inside joke with Martin, as if Martin should understand. (And like every other time someone implies or references something Martin doesn't understand or jokes about something Martin doesn't know, he gets this violent urge to scream into the knowingly smiling face in front of him. But he chokes it down, more or less successfully.) And he smiles.

“Don't beat yourself up,” Tim continues, unaware of the wee bit of hatred Martin feels in this very second, “a map won't help but soon enough you'll get the hang of it.” Tim winks. “When I first started using the Library, I swear to you, every single shelf I walked up to was sporting the cryptid selection. Every single one. I stood between two shelfs and it didn't matter in which direction I turned, there it was: The cryptid section.” Tim's eyes don't leave Martin's face for a second, which is kind of unnerving but at the same time strangely reassuring. As if Tim's more than just aware who they're talking to. “This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space.”

Tim laughs again and Martin tries to join in, but it gets caught in his throat. Tim's flittering fingers and Tim's sing-songed “spooky!” only elevate the closed up feeling in Martin's chest and the knuckles on his hand that still holds onto his clipboard turn white in their effort to not drop it.

A quick glance to the watch on Martin's wrist puts a stop to Tim's easy posture and they say: “Fuck, I should really get going. Veronica's still waiting.” Then Tim hesitates and smiles at Martin again. “It was nice to make acquaintance with you, Martin. This won't be the last you'll see of me, but if you every think about going for a drink after work, hit me up. Sam or Rosie should have given you access to the institute's instant messaging system. I think you would get along well with Sasha — she's also in Research — and me.”

Tim shoots Martin a finger gun (which is incidentally the most obnoxious thing Martin has ever had to witness) and strides past Martin towards the library's exit.

And then he's gone like the first soft layer of frost in November after the first rays of sun.

It's quarter to eight and there's not much time until one of his colleagues will try to open up the library, but Martin uses the remaining time to lean against a shelf and stare at the ticking clock on the wall above the counter, trying to will his heart into a slower rhythm not dictated by anxiety or the sudden realisation that Tim had been close and Tim had been beautiful.

And like everything else in Martin's life: He fails.

This could have been the end and Martin's been sure that it would be. When the clock above the counter strikes twelve however and Martin gets ready to leave the library to go down to the in-house cafeteria, the door to the library gets shoved open and Tim stumbles in, closely followed by a no less beautiful stranger who Martin assumes could be Sasha.

“Martin!” Tim exclaims right before they're fist crashes into their chest right above their heart. “Thank the Lord, you're still here!”

The-stranger-who-could-be-Sasha-but-might-not-be rolls their eyes but smiles, before shoving Tim out of their way.

“Ignore him,” they say and turn a smile on Martin, he can't help but answer with one of his own. “He can be a bit …” They make a circle shaped gesture with their rolling wrist in clear search of the right word. So, Martin tries to jump in: “Dramatic?”

“Yes,” maybe!Sasha says at the same time Tim declares: „Oh, please, I have flair that's something entirely else.“

“You're a theatre kid,” maybe!Sasha says, ignoring the dismissive hand Tim waves into their face.

“Martin, you should ignore her,” Tim presses on before maybe!Sasha gets a chance to say anything else. “When I got back to my desk, I realised we never exchanged surnames which are crucial for the instant messenger.” Martin nods, slightly dazed and not at all sure if he understands the importance of Tim’s surname. “So, Tim Stoker.” He bows outlandishly.

“And Sasha James,” maybe-or-rather-definitely-Sasha jumps in, curtsying with the same kind of derisiveness. “Glad to be of service.” She rests her elbow on Tim’s shoulder and leans forward, just the tiniest bit, but it makes Martin feel strangely included. “You want to get lunch with us?”

The smile spreading across Martin’s face feels real, digging into his cheeks and showing dimples he kind of forgot he had. He casts a look at the clock above his head and says: “Yeah, sounds lovely.”

The thing is: Martin is a dreamer, day and night and dusk ‘til dusk ‘til dawn. He likes to think about all the possibilities he will never ever take, the wonderous things he wishes to happen but knows will always remain a fantasy.

When he was a child, he used to dream about his father coming back and apologising to his mother and explaining that it was all just a big misunderstanding, innit, he never would have left willingly, especially not without further notice. Martin would dream up every reasoning in existence, if his father would have come back Martin would have already heard his excuse. He’d just have to wait and find out which one was true.

When he was a teenager, he used to dream about mending the relationship with his mother, of sharing a smile with her instead of directing it at her disapproving or distant face. And he dreamt of a boy without a face but with calloused hands and experienced lips that would come and sweep him off his feet – literally at first, and figuratively when he hit that growth spurt in tenth class.

When he became an adult, he started dreaming about working nine to five and a two-day weekend. He dreamt about working in a café or restaurant and earning enough to sustain his mother and himself. He dreamt that one day he would open up his own place, a small restaurant or a flower shop or a shop selling something with turquoise. And he dreamt that he would meet a man, a nice and good man who would make everything just the tiniest bit more bearable; who Martin would like to be around and who would like to be around Martin. A man not merely tolerating him but seeking his presence.

Martin is a dreamer, but he’s not delusional. Or at least not anymore. The older Martin grew the simpler his dreams became. Now that his income is secure, he dreams about the domesticity of a social network and a warm body next to him when he tries to fall asleep. (And it’s the first time his dreams seem to be within his grasp. As if he can reach for them and cup them in the hollow of his hands. He just has to believe.)

It goes like this: Martin slowly grows desperate because the Magnus library doesn’t make any sense at all. One day Local Myths is on the shelf next to the counter, the next the shelf is empty, and the one after that Martin sees Vampires and Werewolves neatly arrayed on it. It doesn’t make sense, and frankly it makes Martin angry. This is a library for crying out loud, and Martin’s a librarian who can’t even fetch a monograph without getting lost. (Or is he a library assistant? Is Yvonne the only librarian? Everyone in this institute always seems to be an assistant, maybe Elias Bouchard is the only person with an actual degree in here.)

“Is something bugging you?”

A voice comes out of nowhere, causing Martin’s head to snap towards the frowning face of Tim Stoker. It’s been three weeks since their first getting acquainted, and Tim and Sasha drop by at irregular intervals to chit-chat for a bit. At this point, it’s something Martin has come to accept and look forward to but not necessarily expect to happen. Usually, they tell him about their research (it’s creepy and Martin never ever wants to enter artefacts, thank you very much) or their co-workers (including one Jon who Martin is yet to meet but who’s apparently really close with both Sasha and Tim) or the things they did on the weekend (they’re both incredibly busy all the time). But it’s not like they’re self-centered by any means, they ask about him, too. On a normal day, he hates this part of the conversation because he can’t really tell them nice stories about meeting friends and going out of town to kayak or whatever because he spends his time with his mother or home alone with knitting needles either documentaries or heteronormative romcoms queued up. And, let’s be honest, that’s not a compelling story to tell.

Today however Martin’s almost glad someone’s asking him about his mood because he does have an answer: “You were right! My map isn’t accurate. And I don’t get why!”

The startled look on Tim’s face makes Martin realise that he’s a bit loud and his tone is maybe a little aggressive. He ducks his head, heat spreading over his face, and continues in a more dignified manner: “It’s really not that bad. I’m just trying to shelve the returned books. But I can’t find the shelfmarks. It’s a little frustrating, is all.”

He tries to smile through his outburst, but he feels bad almost immediately. It’s not Tim’s responsibility or amicable duty to listen to Martin’s displeased rant, and they don’t know each other well enough for Martin to burden him with unimportant stuff like this. (The thought that Tim seems to be genuinely interested in what Martin has to say and that Tim complains all the time about uncooperative clerks and impossible to keep deadlines which likely means that he would be alright with Martin complaining a teeny-tiny bit crosses Martin’s mind but he tries not to dwell on it. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he would be mistaken.)

“You’ve been here for, what,” Tim says, his index finger tapping against his chin, a questioning look on his face, “like, a month?” Martin nods. “It’s absolutely normal to get confused. Like I told you: This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space. You can’t go about it with logic.” At this, he shrugs dismissively. “After that Cryptid incident, I literally brought my pendulum to work just to locate the sections I was looking for. And guess what, the Library didn’t care. It sent me running around the shelves nonetheless.”

Martin can’t help himself, his face scrunches up in a grimace. He should have anticipated weird antics when he first started working here, the Magnus Institute is a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard calls it paranormal) encounters. But Tim had seemed like a normal guy.

Quickly, he schools his expression into a more neutral one, before he says: “No offence, really, I hope I’m not intruding but using a pendulum seems kind of, well, esoteric?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he feels awful. Who raised Martin to be this impolite? Certainly not his mother. So he tries to backtrack: “I– I mean, I don’t want to impose or, uh, ascribe something to you or, or invalidate you.”

“It’s okay,” Tim interrupts him with a smile. He doesn’t seem mad. “I’m a witch, so everything I do is kinda esoteric. Can’t hold that against you.”

The wolfishness of Tim’s grin makes Martin think that this is an inside joke, too. Or, oh no, maybe it’s Tim’s religion and Martin’s a real jackass about it. Is witch a religious term? He has heard about wicca and druidism, but he has no idea if they call themselves witches. He doesn’t want to disrespect Tim or his belief system, but he also wants to know. Is it disrespectful to ask Tim about his religion? Martin wouldn’t do it if they didn’t know each other, but their friends (somewhat, kind of) and asking as a friend is more considerate than intrusive, right? (Or is he just rationalising and justifying his own curiosity, while masking it as attentiveness? Is Martin overthinking this?)

“So,” Martin starts and it’s an out of body experience where he sees himself driving against a wall without the chance to stop himself, “does that mean you’re wiccan?” He bites his tongue, waiting for Tim to tell him he’s an insensitive twat.

“Oh, no. I’m agnostic,” Tim replies, still wearing the same expression of content and reassurance.

For a moment, they’re both quiet. Tim leans against the counter, his elbows on the surface and his face almost in Martin’s space. It could be unpleasant, but he rather likes Tim’s complete disregard of personal space. (In part because he has seen Tim interact with Rosie who dislikes physical touch to a stark extreme in a respectful way, always keeping his distance. He knows if he ever were uncomfortable Tim would back off. And that’s reassuring in its own way.)

“Give yourself some time,” Tim says eventually. “Let the Library get to know you.”

“You talk about the library as if it were conscious.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Tim chuckles. “Yeah, I do.” He sighs and straightens his back. “It’s not, though, so don’t worry.” The way Tim says it, though, makes Martin think that this is not the whole truth. That there is something Tim’s not telling him. But it’s not Martin’s place to inquire further, he thinks. There’s definitely a plausible explanation for all this, Tim just likes to pull his pigtails.

“Shouldn’t you be out today?” Martin asks to change the topic and feels incredibly rude at the same time. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s still quarter an hour to lunch.”

“Came back earlier than expected and thought I could mob you ‘til twelve and kidnap you for a lunch date,” Tim replies so nonchalantly, warmth spreads across Martin’s face and he attempts to swallow down the laugh that wants to escape – but he fails. (He has never been mobbed, and even though Tim doesn’t think of this as a date date, Martin wants to indulge in that thought. At least for a moment.)

“I think,” he says slowly, and a little bit mischievously, “I could take my break early today.”

The thing is: Even though Martin thought Sasha and Tim would grow bored of him sooner or later, they don’t. They stop at his desk when they use the library for their research, they pick him up sometimes for lunch or ask him to meet them outside if they’re doing field work. Martin gets roped into pub nights and trivia quizzes, Sasha takes him to her pottery class and Tim invites him to a poetry slam where his brother performs. (This is remarkable because of two things: First and foremost, because Martin has never been invited to meet family members of anyone except for the parents of a few classmates when he stayed for lunch. And secondly, because Tim and Danny are as close as brothers can be, and it feels like a seal of approval – or as if Tim needed Danny to approve of Martin before he could spend more time with him. Martin’s not sure which way round it is.)

It goes like this: Despite the cool September night air, Martin is way too warm in his thick knitted jumper. He runs hot, always has been, but today is not the day he wants to be soaked in sweat just by existing. (Truth be told, he never really wants to be this warm, but there are at least times where he doesn’t mind as much. Meeting Danny Stoker for the first time is not one of those times. But he’s also pretty sure that he can’t take off his jumper because he’s been too hot for too long at this point. Tonight’s going to be fun and he just needs to power through.)

Martin tries not to shift his weight from one foot to the other too often, instead he’s focusing on the way the soles of his shoes line up with the asphalt of the pavement and ground him. He counts his breaths, his hands burrowed deep inside the pockets of his trousers. He can absolutely do this, he has known Tim for a few weeks now and he doesn’t think Tim would introduce Danny and him if he’d think they wouldn’t get along. (This may be more of wishful thinking though.)

A small part of him wishes, Sasha would come too, to ease the tension in his shoulders and uncoil the knots in his stomach. But she's with her family, celebrating the birthday of one of her cousins, and the text she sent him a few hours ago sits in their chat, mourning her absence and telling him to enjoy Danny's performance, it will likely be one of a kind.

Right when he seriously starts contemplating to go home again and fake a stomach bug, Tim rounds the corner with a man just a few years younger than him who looks like a referenceless, free-hand drawing of Tim. Which isn't a bad thing, by any means, just noticeable in how alike they look, just different enough to not be mistaken for each other.

When Tim's gaze falls upon Martin, his face splits into a wide grin and he waves enthusiastically, almost smacking Danny in his face in the process. This causes Danny to look directly at him, too, and his eyebrows shoot up while grinning almost half as wide as Tim. (If there had been any kind of doubt about them being brothers, now there weren’t.) Danny turns his head slightly and nudges Tim with his elbow. When Tim turns to look at him, Danny says something to him, moving his hands in unison, that makes Tim stop grinning for a second and start furrowing his brow. It doesn't last long, only three or four steps, then he looks at Martin again and his face softens. (Martin desperately wants to know what Danny said because people looking at Martin and whispering usually means something bad. And if Danny already wants to make fun of him, then Martin needs to go. Immediately.)

“You came!”

While Martin was still weighing his options, measuring staying, but anxiously against going, but anxiously, Tim and Danny have come into earshot. And Tim sounds pleasantly surprised as if he had been unsure if Martin would come.

They come to a halt in front of Martin and Tim pulls Martin in for a quick hug, which isn't a surprise per se but still unexpected. Subsequently, he turns towards Danny and introduces them. (He says this is my friend Martin, I told you about him. He says friend, not co-worker. Which, yes. They're friends but it's still new and nice and positively overwhelming to hear him say it out loud.)

“Hey,” Danny says, his smile unwavering. He's either a good actor or doesn't hate Martin on sight; at this point, Martin gladly takes both over open hostility. "Tim told me so much about you. I'm really pleased to make your acquaintance." He pauses to make room for Martin returning the sentiment. (Which he does, thank you very much, just because he's a useless gay around beautiful men and can't handle surprise small talk at arse o'clock, doesn't mean he can't hold a conversation.) “I gotta be honest with you, mate, I need your help tonight. This is my first slam and Tim’s a shit critic. I need some real feedback.”

A reassuring smile takes over Martin's features because, of course, Danny is nervous. Martin would be, too, he supposes. The thing Danny had said had probably nothing to do with Martin per se and everything with meeting someone for the first time at his first performance. (And maybe his only if Sasha is right.) However, before he can retort in any way, Tim jumps in: “Danny, bro, Martin is probably the last person you should ask to tell you how awful your skid is. You didn't practice it once and he’s a nice guy.”

“Well,” Danny replies, mischief in his eyes and a mocking tilt in his voice, “I'm just gonna wing it.”

“You're lucky, you're a Stoker.”

“You're just jealous because you didn't inherit that gen,” Danny shoots back before turning to Martin and stage-whispering: “Everyone always thinks that Tim is naturally gifted and everything comes to him easily. But in reality, he has to learn things and work for them. Embarrassing, right?”

Getting roped into friendly, brotherly banter. That's good! That's involvement in a good and workmanlike manner! And, actually, way out of Martin's comfort zone right now. (Is this a test? Is Danny teasing Tim in front of Martin to see if Martin jumps in and practically stabs Tim right in the back? Or does he want Martin to disagree with him and stand in solidarity with Tim? Or is Martin’s brain just overreacting like, well, always?)

“You’re embarrassing him,” Tim accuses Danny, before shoving at him and laughing. It’s obvious he doesn’t mind Danny teasing him or Martin, because it’s good natured. (Or at least Martin wants it to be. He desperately wants it to be.)

“No, I’m honest with him,” Danny retorts, before shoving Tim back which causes him to almost crash into Martin. “Someone needs to take you down a peg or two. Once in a while at least.” He grins and it’s more on the boyish side.

“I think Sasha’s doing a good job keeping Tim in check,” Martin interjects bravely. With every second in their presence, the fists in his pockets lose a speck of tension and Martin can feel his nails easing out of the heel of his hand. He feels weird being the only one neither knowing nor using sign language while talking but he’s thankful that they’re including him, talking loud enough for him to hear. (It’s a whole new side of Tim Martin has never seen before, it’s nice. Very nice, actually.)

“I love Sasha,” Danny sighs wistfully, batting his eyes. Before Tim slings his arm around Danny’s neck and pulls him in, he says: “We’ve been through this, Sasha’s way out of your league.” (And probably aro, Martin thinks, if the small pride flag pin Martin spotted on Sasha’s satchel bag is any indication.)

“Yeah,” Danny says. “True.” Then his eyes fall on the clock inside the display window of a chemist on the other side of the street. “We should head in.”

They make their way into the pub, through a small crowd consisting mostly of people in their twenties and thirties, milling and chatting in wait for the poetry slam to begin. Danny makes a beeline for a bar table, even though multiple tables with chairs and benches are empty. Martin wants to point out that he doesn’t think standing for multiple hours is something he wants to do, but right when he decides that he can at least try, Tim grabs Danny’s arm and steers him toward a round table with four chairs at the back of the room.

“You won’t make me stand through your performance,” Tim proclaims loudly, then he sits down and pats the seat of the chair next to his. Demonstratively, Danny sits down on Tim’s other side – closest to the stage – and Martin rounds the table to sit next to Tim. While Tim and Danny shrug off their coats, Martin once again regrets his choice of clothing. (Maybe a beer or two into the evening will ease his nerves enough to pull off his jumper. Now he takes a deep breath and focuses on the soft chattering of the crowd.)

Underneath their coats, matching shirts come to light. An Aegean blue with white lettering, a loopy script proclaiming bestoked with the tiny caricature of a witch with a pointy hat on a broomstick. Below that, Martin recognises small print that reads: Witches are real, and you think this is just a funny t-shirt slogan. He chuckles.

Tim makes a questioning hmm-sound and Martin points at their shirts, saying: “It’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Danny replies, exchanging looks with Tim. “Sasha made them for us.”

“Why witches?” Martin asks. Opposed to standing outside having to face both of them, sitting next to Tim puts Martin at ease. (It feels more organic sitting alongside Tim. Most of the time when they head out together, they sit on one bench with Sasha on the other side of the table. This is almost the same, Martin tries to reason, Danny is just another Sasha. A person Tim loves and wants him to like, too. No big deal.) “Isn’t Bram Stoker known for Dracula?”

“Yeah, he is,” Danny says with a shrug and Tim adds: “Our name’s Stoker and we’re witches. It’s pretty niche but most people think it’s funny.”

Martin tilts his head in confusion, he opens his mouth through an irritated smile. Before he can actually speak though, someone on the makeshift stage steps up to the microphone and welcomes the crowd to the pub’s bi-monthly poetry slam.

“First up: Gerry with their poem osedax!”

The crowd claps and their conversation is completely forgotten. They listen to Gerry describing a life under water and a life dependent on death. It’s a bit early for spooky Halloween vibes but Martin thinks it’s probably a metaphor for Gerry’s life that’s beyond Martin to understand. (He loves poetry, writes his own in his spare time, but he’s not big on interpreting poems outside of his own limited world view. He likes reading poetry, imagining the lives inspiring the words, and applying them to his own situation. Seeing someone putting their innards on display for dozens of strangers to see, is something entirely different. It feels like trespassing, somehow, trespassing into the soul of another human being. Martin decides that he hates it here.)

Gerry concludes their poem with ragged breathing and closed eyes. For a moment, the pub is silent. Then applause rings out and Tim leans toward Martin and whispers loudly: “Gerry is the one who put the bee into Danny’s bonnet that performing here would be a good idea.”

Danny shushes Tim, swatting at him without looking. Absentmindedly, he says: “It is a good idea, though.”

Martin doesn’t say anything, while watching Gerry retreat from the stage and head back to a group at the long side of the room. They congratulate Gerry, and Martin thinks (for just one measly second) how it would feel to perform one of his own poems. One about his mother or the alienation he felt his whole life. But he’s not a word magician like Gerry, he doesn’t have plausible deniability for the things he talks about. His poetry is descriptive and more of an endeavour to capture a feeling than an analogy in form of a convoluted metaphor.

Next up is someone talking about a hamster. Martin senses a theme.

Tim and Danny stare intensely at the stage, absorbing each and every word being said. And Martin’s torn between getting up and buying drinks, and waiting quietly until the poem is over. He’s unsure about the custom. If it would be impolite to talk during the performance.

In the end, however, it doesn’t matter. They end their poem and thank the audience before they leave the stage. Martin leans into Tim’s space (a bit like Tim would do with him in this situation), his shoulder lining up with Tim’s and when Tim turns around he whispers: “I’m gonna get drinks. Can I get you something?”

“We can just get a pitcher,” Tim whispers back, before checking in with Danny: “You’re not up next, right?” Danny shakes his head and Martin gets up to get them a pitcher and three glasses. (He takes the opportunity to breathe in and out a few times. He thought they would talk more. That Danny and he would have to interact more. But, apparently, Tim and Danny are really into poetry slam and don’t want to disrespect the artists. Which is, well, nice. Considerate. And, yes, he shouldn’t be surprised about that.)

Martin orders a pitcher and pays right up, then he tries to balance the three glasses and the pitcher through the crowd back to their table. He puts everything down and almost misses the staff member announcing Danny’s performance. Lost Johns’ Cave.

With a spring in his step, Danny stands up, makes his way to the stage and takes his place behind the microphone. A small smile on his lips, he clears his throat and starts speaking: “So, John was lost and so was I.”

He pauses.

“It’s a fact and everybody knows that John got lost in this cave. It’s a deep cave, a dark cave, a cave that swallowed us up like a ravenous, soft-teethed beast. It starts with a slope, grainy and wet, and there’s only one way, so it’s impossible to get lost, even though John did.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“John was lost and so was I. I don’t know where he went, and I didn’t come to look, but one moment Kadir and Aylin where there and the next they were not. I didn’t reach the chockstone, I didn’t reach the climb. Three hundred and seventy-five feet and I was lost as John in his cave.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. While he spoke, Martin’s sure he could recognise the spelling of John, but Danny doesn’t spell Kadir or Aylin or at least Martin’s not able to spot it.

“John was lost and so was I. Seconds after minutes after hours after years, no climb in sight, just the steady flow of the stream and my hitching breath. It should stop sometime, I thought, it should give way down to his cave and I will not be a John. Because John was lost and I won’t be.”

He pauses again, a heartbeat or two longer than before.

“John was lost and so was I. No measuring of my position with a pendulum, no signal for my phone, no chance to be heard through the thick walls of the cave. The rush of the stream died down albeit the map depicting the stream and the slope correspondent.”

The air of the pub is filled with suspense and eerily quiet for a crowd as large as this one.

“John was lost and so was I. Limestone encased me and silence took over.”

Danny stops speaking, one and a half minutes gone. If Martin’s right, Danny has three minutes and fifteen seconds left. Every other contestant spoke for about five minutes, so Danny has plenty of time left. But he doesn’t say a thing. Seconds tick by and Martin gets squeamish in his seat. He glances towards Tim, but Tim seems unwound and relaxed. As if it were to be expected of Danny to pull something like this.

Danny remains silent, and Martin uses the tense atmosphere and the quiet audience to take an unnoticed look at Tim and Danny. They really do look alike. They share the same thick, expressive eyebrows, same dark brown hair and eyes, the same sharp jawlines. But Tim is soft around the edges, he doesn’t look as muscular as he is, his tummy rolling underneath his Aegean blue shirt. Up close like this, Martin can see the hearing aid Tim is wearing, and the moles that scatter across the slope of his neck. Especially the two moles that rest approximately half a centimetre wide of his tragus.

So preoccupied with Tim’s, well, beauty, Martin almost misses Danny moving on stage. He extends his right fist, before he opens it, while dropping it a few centimetres. At the same time, he mouths something that could be the word drop but Martin’s not sure because he can’t read lips. Then Danny spreads the fingers of his left hand, holding it flat and vertically aligned in a hundred-twenty-degree angle to his upper body. His right hand is spread in the same way and he moves it towards his left hand. When the pads of his fingers connect to the palm of his left hand, he lets his hand bounce back. The movements of his right hand two sides of an equilateral triangle. Again, he mouths something and if Martin would have to guess he’d say it was echo.

By minute three, Danny has been silent for one and a half minutes and has been through two repeats of the two words. (In all honesty, Martin is surprised that the crowd still watches Danny. That they hang onto his lips like a drop of water at the rim of a cup.)

Then he starts speaking again: “John was lost and so was I. I entered his cave and I got off the right path, I fell into darkness and somehow I came back. I’m not one of the Johns, I’m a Joey deep down. Because John was lost but I am found.”

A smile tugs at Danny’s lips, then, after a moment, he bows outlandishly (in an unbelievably tim-ish way) and says: “Thank you.” Then he leaves the stage in a beeline towards their table, while the audience starts to clap hesitantly.

When Danny sits down at their table again, Tim and he exchange a few quiet sentences. (In most circumstances this would make Martin’s anxiety spike up again, but to his own surprise it doesn’t. It’s just nice to see Tim interacting with his brother. Martin doesn’t have to be included to feel like he’s part of this.)

Martin takes a sip from his drink and throws a glance at the stage. After Danny there are still four people left. The performances are about existential fatigue, about childhood fears and dreams, and (in one memorable instant) about an imaginary soap opera the poetry slammer claims to watch in their head.

When the poetry slam is finally over, Danny grins at Martin and asks: “So, comments or questions?”

“Impromptu interpretation is not my strong suit,” Martin tries to escape the discussion of Danny’s depression? Outing? He’s not lying, he can’t interpret something like this in a few minutes. Especially not while looking right into Danny’s face. “I’m not sure what the cave is a metaphor for.” His tone is apologetic, but Danny laughs startled and says: “It’s not a metaphor. I literally got lost in a cave.”

“Oh,” Martin blurts out. “Well, then … I’m not an expert by any means. But I think it was pretty good, very compelling.” His ears are burning and the coldness of his drink seeps into the palms of his hands, contrasting the warmness in every fibre of his body.

Danny grins and says: “I like him.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Tim affirms. His smile, however, is more delicate than Danny’s. (And Martin doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Tim likes him, too. Likes likes him. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he didn’t only acquire a job three months ago but friends, too. It shouldn’t matter that Tim is nice to him, because Tim is nice to everyone. Martin isn’t special.)

The thing is: Tim is so very nice. Nice in a way no one has ever been nice to Martin. He’s nice unconditionally, doesn’t wink suggestively at Martin when he hands him a cup of tea exactly the way Martin likes, doesn’t expect Martin to do anything in turn when he lays his hand on Martin’s shoulder in a silent display of support or affection, doesn’t want him to say thank you and how much do I owe you whenever he brings lunch in that he cooked himself, enough to share it with Martin and Sasha and even Jon, if he would ever want to. Tim’s nice and considerate and most people don’t seem to see it. They take Tim’s jokes and pop-culture references as a demonstration of his whole personality, take in the beauty of his face and simmer it down to the essence of his existence.

Tim is beautiful and he is funny, Martin’s the last to argue with that. But Tim is more, Tim is beyond, Tim is the soft are you alright when Martin must step out for a second after a reprimand from an assistant, Tim is the curious no, I want to know what you think about it, Tim is the reassuring you’ve got this and the understanding and if you don’t, I’m still here. Tim is every post-it note on Martin’s desk that says delighted to see you here and you look nice today and take time for yourself.

Tim is so very nice without even trying that Martin can’t help himself but fall in love with him. Embarrassing, right?

It ends like this: Martin doesn’t argue with Tim about his insistence that he’s a witch, because: Who’s Martin to deny Tim anything at all. Yes, he would like to know more about Tim as a person and about the things he does on weekends and, yes, getting cryptic answers like hanging out with the coven is a bit frustrating, but Martin also must confess that he admires Tim dedication.

It’s almost Halloween and since the start of October, Tim has been wearing a pointy hat to work. Which is kind of ridiculous but endearing at the same time because Sasha assures Martin that Danny does it too and that they do it every year in October. (It’s not one of his finer moments, it’s true, but he couldn’t help himself asking Sasha is this is some kind of meme. A Stoker inside gag that everyone is in on, but Sasha just smiles at him and says: “Oh, Martin, love, no. It’s not a meme.”)

When Martin asks him about the hat, Tim tilts his head in mild confusion and replies: “I’m a witch, Martin. Witches wear pointy hats.”

And Martin who’s got enough practice now dealing with Tim’s antics, retorts: “No, I mean, yes, I know, I mean: You didn’t wear it in the summer, why?”

“Usually, I wear my hat to rituals and stuff because channelling energy is way easier with a hat. But in October my coven wears it to let the spirits and the fair folk know they shouldn’t fuck around with us,” Tim explains. And Martin looks him dead into his eyes and says: “Makes sense.”

Three days before Halloween (or Mischief Night as Tim likes to call it), Tim drops off a bottle of essential oil at Martin’s desk. Before Martin can ask about it, Tim says: “I brought you essential oils for your headache.”

“Because,” Martin starts and stops hesitantly, wondering when he mentioned his headaches in front of Tim, without coming up with an answer, “you’re a witch.”

Tim nods, adding however: “But, you know, essential oils don’t need magic to work.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, for the simple reason that he doesn’t know what else to say. This is getting ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to be the buzzkill. He wants to be Tim’s friend (or date, despite the whole witch-thing) and friends are supportive of each other! Friends don’t judge you for your oddities.

Tim changes the topic: “Do you have anything planned for Mischief Night?” Martin shakes his head. “Then I would like to formally invite you to celebrate Mischief Night with me.”

“Wouldn’t a formal invite require an invitation card?” Martin asks back, propping his chin up on his hand, a curious tilt in his voice.

“I’ll get to that,” Tim replies, while he suppresses a smile that threatens to take over his face. “So, it’s a date?”

Martin closes his eyes, short enough to be mistaken with a blink, and says: “Yeah, it’s a date.” The aching in his chest makes him wish Tim would be a little less nice and a little more without ambiguity. Even though he wants it to be a romantic date, this is just a friendly outing with a guy claiming to be a witch.

Fortunately, Mischief Night (or Halloween as everyone else seems to call it) is a Saturday, which means that Tim can pick Martin up at his flat in Stockwell. Neither Tim nor Martin own a car, but Tim borrowed Danny’s well-loved VW Beetle and it’s only about thirty-seven kilometres until they reach Bocketts Farm.

Martin’s glad the midday fog has eased up, and the sun warms the skin on his forearms, since he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. Tim is right beside him, his pointy hat decorated with probably fake cobwebs.

“I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t pick me up on your broomstick,” Martin says when they walk through the entrance of the farm. Despite the slight fear that Tim will take offence and abandon him on this farm, he feels comfortable enough to make a joke like this. He thinks he knows Tim well enough to know that Tim would tell him if he were overstepping any boundaries.

Tim’s answer is a little more defensive than Martin anticipated: “Flying is hard, okay. Usually, I ride shotgun.”

Martin gapes, for lack of a better word, and almost walks into a fencepost if it weren’t for Tim pulling him aside. Instead of letting go of Martin’s arm, Tim threads his own through and links them in the most casual way Martin has ever seen. This is nice. (Tim is nice.)

“What do you want to do first?” Tim inquires when Martin doesn’t say anything else. “I personally am inclined to start with apple-bobbing.” He points to a small group of people around a water filled barrel. Martin makes a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, and Tim steers him softly towards the event.

“Supposedly, the barrel symbolises the cauldron of rebirth,” Tim says while they walk the remaining distance. Martin casts a look in his direction. He’s a bit preoccupied with the thought that Tim wants him to stick his head into ice cold water to fish for an apple with his teeth, so he only says: “Makes sense.” Even though he’s not sure in what way rebirth is connected to divining the first letter of your future spouse’s name.

When they come to a halt in front of the barrel, it doesn’t take long until they have their turn. Tim yields to Martin and he sighs before he steps up the barrel, takes a deep breath and dives in. The water is freezing, tiny pinpricks on Martin’s skin, and it’s really, really hard to actually get his teeth on an apple because every time he touches on, it submerges and sideslips. (It’s frustrating. Like shelving books in the Magnus library is frustrating. He knows he got it right but in reality he doesn’t.)

It takes forever or at least it feels like forever, his face in cold water and his fingers in Tim’s hand. (Wait, when did Tim grab his hand? Did he grab Tim’s hand? Oh, he must have sometime between their arrival at the barrel and his endeavour to bob for an apple.) But then he catches a small one between his teeth and gets out of the water as fast as possible. Tim lets out a loud whistle and his free hand pats Martin’s shoulder in congratulation. Whereas Martin’s free hand gets rid of the water in his face and pulls the apple out of his mouth.

“This is terrible,” he says through a chuckle because he can’t be mad with the sun shining into his face like it’s late summer and not autumn. “It’s your turn.”

Martin has to let go of Tim’s hand because a member of staff hands a knife to him and he starts peeling the apple in one unbroken strip.

Apparently, Tim’s either more practiced in apple-bobbing or he’s really a witch and helped himself along with magic, because it takes him not nearly as long as Martin to catch an apple. He waits for Martin to finish peeling his apple and relieves Martin of the knife.

“You have to throw it over your left shoulder,” Tim explains earnestly. “It’s the side of the heart. It won’t work otherwise.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, and it kind of does. Still he waits for Tim to finish peeling his own apple. Then they hand back the knife and stand side by side, throwing the peel on the count of three over their left shoulders.

“It looks like a T,” Tim says, when he catches sight of Martin’s apple peel, tapping the tip of his index finger against his chin.

Martin laughs, he's not entirely sure why but he can't stop himself. He replies: “It looks like a C, all of them look like Cs. And if they don’t, then they look like Os.” He points at Tim’s apple peel. “Look, yours looks like a C, too.”

“It’s just a tad short,” Tim retorts. “See, it started to form a small M but only came around to curve into a small N.” He laughs, too. “The apples have spoken, Martin. We’re destined for each other.”

“Well,” Martin says and he can’t shake the soft warmth that curls underneath his solar plexus, “if the apples say that, it must be right.”

They spend a good few hours on the farm, carving pumpkins and turnips, wandering through the maze and passing by goats and sheep and pigs, before they get to a bon fire Tim wants to sit down at to warm up a bit. The afternoon had been warm, but now that the sun has set cold creeps into their clothes and Tim complains about his between-season jacket. Martin who’s still warm despite the cold breeze gently extends his hand for Tim to hold.

For a few moments they fall quiet, only listening to the cracking of the fire.

But it doesn’t take long for Tim to reach into his pockets to fish for something and bring four conkers to light. He presents them to Martin and says: “Do you want to?” And Martin nods, only in part because Tim could ask anything of him and Martin would gladly do it.

They place their conkers in the flames respectively and when Martin’s first one cracks, Tim questions: “Did you name them?”

Martin shakes his head. Only a moment passes by, then:

“Did you name them?” Martin asks, and he doesn't look at Tim. His eyes are transfixed on the two conkers resting side by side. The left is already cracked. Tim doesn't look at Martin either, but he answers nevertheless: “I named both of them Martin. Didn't want to take the risk.”

And this, precisely, is the instant, Martin realises this could indeed be a date. A date date. A rendezvous Tim has asked him on, waiting for Martin to make a clear step towards him or not.

“Is this a date?” Martin blurts out, finally looking at Tim who ducks his head and blushes. He doesn’t want to sound incredulously, but the sheer ridiculousness of the situation sends his head spinning. A laugh bubbles out of his chest before he can stop it. “Tim, is this a date?”

“Well,” Tim starts and has the audacity to sound something akin to shy, “I thought it was a date. It was implied, I thought I explicitly said it was a date.” His gaze falls onto their joined hands. “I thought you knew we were dating.” Then he pales. “Oh, this is really awkward. I’m sorry.”

Tim attempts to let go of Martin’s hand, but Martin holds onto him.

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Martin says, the laugh still on his tongue. His chest feels lighter than ever and he can’t keep the bright smile off his face. “I wanted this to be a date, honestly. I just didn’t think it could actually be one.”

“Oh, that’s,” Tim clears his throat, finally looking back at Martin’s face, “that’s good. Nice. Toit.”

“Does this have deeper cultural meaning, too?” Martin asks after sitting between stacks of hay on top of a wagon. He’s not sure if he’s a tiny bit sarcastic or if he finally accepted Tim’s commitment for his aesthetic.

“No,” Tim replies, while he sits down cross-legged next to Martin. “I just think hayrides are neat.”

“I’ve never been on a hayride before,” Martin says, before he moves closer to Tim, so that his thigh slots underneath Tim’s knee. “It’s kind of romantic.”

“Is it?” Tim teases, leaning into Martin’s space with ease. “I didn’t notice.” Then he pauses for a second, his eyes flicking down to Martin’s lips. “As soon as the tractor starts it won’t be anymore, so if you want to use the magic of hayride romanticism to kiss me, you should do it now.”

Martin moves in closer, too, now he can feel Tim’s breath on his skin. He says: “So, hayrides are magical.” But Tim doesn’t answer him. Instead he closes the remaining distance between them and kisses Martin. (And maybe, only maybe, hayrides are magic.)

Their kiss only lasts for a few seconds before the engine of the tractor starts and the hayride begins. (They’re extremely lucky or magic is involved because they’re alone. The only other option is that hayrides are typically for children and their parents and it’s too late for them to participate. At this point, Martin doesn’t care. He’s surrounded by hay and Tim kissed him.)

Martin laughs breathlessly when they break apart because he catches sight of Tim almost losing his pointy hat due to the jolt of the wagon and says: “You’re right. Romance is dead.”

“My greatest virtue and my greatest curse is always being right,” Tim replies, readjusting the hat on his head. “I’m kind of glad tomorrow is the last day and I can take this thing off afterwards.”

For a second, Martin contemplates saying that Tim doesn’t have to wear it now. That if his aesthetic gets in the way of his everyday life, it’s alright to break out. But he doesn’t. Because this is nice, and he won’t tell Tim what to do. If Tim wants to wear a pointy hat, Tim gets to wear a pointy hat.

In search of changing the topic, Martin looks around the wagon and his gaze falls onto a small lantern at the back of the wagon. It’s supposed to be lit so that crossing folks can see the wagon; like the backlights of a bicycle or car. The lid isn’t fully shut, though, and the steady breeze of the moving wagon has extinguished the flame.

Martin pats his pockets from the outside, before he turns to Tim: “Do you have a lighter?”

Unfortunately, Tim shakes his head. More unfortunately, he says: “Doesn’t matter.” Then he leans forward, opening the lid fully and reaching into the lantern. The tip of his finger connects with the wick of the candle and by the time he pulls it back, the wick ignites and a small flame flickers to life.

Martin, once again, gapes. This is magic, Tim is a witch, Tim is a witch, o my fucking god.

“What?” Tim asks as he sits back down next to Martin.

“You’re a witch,” Martin says, and to his own surprise without the exact amount of disbelief he feels. “This is magic and you’re a witch.”

Tim smiles through his irritation and ripostes: “Martin, dear, I told you I’m a witch.”

“Yeah,” Martin responds and maybe he sounds as hysterical as he is, but this is ridiculous, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“What did you think I meant every time I told you I was out with my coven?” Tim inquires bewildered, and everything about his demeanour suggests that he’s going to burst into laughter at any given moment.

“Honest?” Martin doesn’t wait for Tim to answer. “With all the essential oils I kinda thought it was a MLM.”

Tim furrows his eyebrows, the laughter dying on his tongue. They stare at each other and Tim says slowly: “My coven is not a group of Marxists who Love Marketing.” He stops dead in his tracks. “Men Loving Marketing?” Tim screws up his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re insinuating that I love men, that I’m a comrade or part of a pyramid scheme.” Before Martin can interject something, Tim says: “I’m working for the Magnus Institute, so where’s the lie?”

He pauses, then he says: “Witches are real, and you thought this is just a funny multilevel marketing meme.”

This breaks something lose in Martin and he honest to God starts giggling: “You’re terrible. Do you know that?”

“I’m doing my best,” Tim retorts, laughing as well.

After their laughter dies away, Martin says: “Is this why you said the institute is one pile of magical bullshit?” He thinks better of it. “Is this why you said the library isn’t conscious? Is it a witch who’s rearranging the shelves?”

It takes a moment for Tim to answer: “No, it’s a ghost.”

“A ghost is rearranging the shelves,” Martin repeats. “Okay, alright, sure. A ghost. Is there something else I should know about?”

“I don’t think so. His name is Jürgen, he died in the tunnels underneath the Institute and thinks it’s really funny to fuck with us.” Tim grabs Martin’s hand again. “You can talk to him and tell him to fuck off, though. Sometimes it works.”

Martin makes a noncommittal sound and lays his head on Tim’s shoulder even though their shoulders line up and it’s incredibly uncomfortable. This is weird and this is nice and they will have to talk about this, but their ride is almost over and Martin wants to bask for a few precious minutes in Tim’s silent company before they have to get off and head back.

Tim draws nonsensical shapes on the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb, and Martin feels content and warm and perhaps a little bewitched.

Before the ride ends, Martin asks: “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Tim says hesitantly, “we’re going to celebrate All Hallow’s Day. My coven’s going to light a fire to ward off evil spirits and ghosts. The ashes of All Hallow’s fire keep calamity at bay and we use it for augury.” He sounds apologetic. “But I could come by afterwards.”

And it’s the first time, Martin doesn’t hesitate or feels that his words are tinged with an exasperated confusion when he says: “Makes sense.” So he adds after a moment: “That would be lovely.”

#the magnus archives #martim #martin k. blackwood #tim stoker #tim stoker x martin blackwood #alternate universe #witch tim stoker #schmok writes #fanfiction #hhhh martim rights

11 notes · View notes

choisanii · 4 years ago

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wait for the enneagram thing, what are the enneagrams of each type of stans (as you've observed) if you know ? im genuinely curious.

ok so a little disclaimer before i start rambling: i’m by no means an expert on enneagrams i just find them absolutely fascinating and i think they’re really helpful overall! like if you know what type you are and what type someone else in your life is, you are evidently able to better understand yourself, them, and therefore better your relationship with them! also considering i have <15 ateez moots, some of which i unfortunately do not know that well, i’m going to try to keep this pretty vague and i’m also going to mostly base it on what i’ve observed in the members themselves (what types i think they may be, but again, i don’t know them personally so take it with a grain of salt!), as I think that one of the reasons our biases are who they are is because we identify with certain aspects of their personality.

general note about the enneagram system: there are 9 types––one of them is your “basic personality.” this is your “core”, dominating personality, something predetermined partially by genetics and pre-natal factors, but also by your childhood (parental figures, significant events/experiences, etc.). however, since one’s personality is fluid and cannot be confined to just one “box” or “type”, everyone inevitably identifies with other types as well (this is where “wings” come in but that’s too complicated so i’ll stick with the core type). no type is “better” or “worse” than another; it’s literally just an explanation of why you are the way you are and how that contributes to how you see the world and interact with others.

hongjoong stans: type 1 (the reformer) or type 3 (the achiever) -> in the most basic sense type 1s are perfectionists. conscientious and ethical. they are set apart from the other types due to the existence of a self-critical “internal voice/monologue”. one may even call them workaholics due to the fact that they’ll often suppress their personal needs/self indulgence in favor of productivity. high standards. a very very strong moral compass. incessant desire to be “right”. fears corruption. type 3s are also known to be workaholics and they struggle with competitiveness. they’re extremely driven and ambitious though they are often overly concerned with their self image. gets wrapped up in their problems; tends to neglect their personal needs and the needs of others. strives to gain love and approval through performance. usually regarded as popular and well-liked among others, the “class president” or “homecoming king/queen/monarch” type. aims to be a role model who inspires others.

seonghwa stans: type 2 (the helper) or type 9 (the peacemaker) -> type 2s at their best are unselfish, altruistic, and maintain an unconditional love for others. extremely warm-hearted and empathetic. great listeners. kind and nurturing. self-sacrificial and people-pleasing. issues with possessiveness and acknowledging their own needs. bases self worth on what they give to others and what they’ll get back in return. may become overly dependent or manipulative. values relationships above all else. embodiment of the “good parent” everyone wishes they had. type 9s avoid anger and conflict at all costs. the mediator. merges with others and makes sacrifices in order to gain a sense of peace, belonging, and harmony, sometimes at the expense of their own feelings. can be very passive-aggressive when upset. trusting and gets along well with others. tendency to be overly complacent. can be very stubborn. maintains a generally optimistic point of view; likes to see the “bright side” of things.

yunho stans: type 4 (the individualist) or type 7 (the enthusiast) -> type 4s want nothing more than to “find themselves” and create their unique sense of self. inspired and creative, they view themselves as unlike any other human being; not in an arrogant way––in a way that makes them focus on their own personal deficiencies as well as hone in on their personal talents. honest and self-reflective. fears abandonment and loss. struggles with negative self image and low self esteem. type 7s epitomize the motto “don’t worry, be happy.” hate being bored; moves towards excitement, freedom, and a variety of interesting experiences. always willing to try something new. difficulty with commitment. extroverted, optimistic, and playful. struggles with impatience and impulsiveness. aims to maintain their freedom and happiness at all costs, never wanting to miss out on worthwhile experiences. spontaneous, agile, and exceptionally fast learners. book smart and impressive mind-body coordination.

yeosang stans: type 4 (the individualist) or type 6 (the loyalist) -> like i said with yunho, type 4s uniquely talented and expressive. gift for healing and the creative arts. always looking for more meaning in things. intense emotional highs and lows, difficult to find a happy medium. can be moody and self conscious. wishes to connect with people who understand them and their feelings. honest with themselves; do not attempt to rationalize their states, only accept them, which enables them to endure suffering with a quiet strength. easier for them to process painful experiences that may overwhelm other types. type 6s are reliable, trustworthy, and hardworking. when they are internally stable and self reliant, they become able to champion themselves and others. seek security and support from others in order to fight against anxiety and insecurity. friends for life. beliefs sometimes go against the “status quo” but they will defend and fight for them fiercely, more so than they’d do for themselves.

san stans: type 2 (the helper) or type 3 (the achiever) -> maybe this is me just projecting since i’m a type 2 wing 3 but these two types really stand out to me in terms of my san biased moots as well as san himself. as i said with hwa, type 2s at their best are unselfish, altruistic, and maintain an unconditional love for others. people person and people-pleaser. extremely empathetic and give good advice. self worth depends on the love and approval of others. considerate, generous, helpful. fears becoming worthless. does not want to be taken for granted. may become overly involved in the lives of others. energetic, romantic, and sensitive to other’s needs and feelings. and like i said with hongjoong, type 3s believe that only through performance, achievement, and success will they gain love and approval. can be very self conscious and self critical; wants to appear their best. motivated and motivating, constantly on a journey of self-improvement. their unwavering belief in themselves and desire for self development inspires others to do the same. a role model.

mingi stans: type 7 (the enthusiast) or type 9 (the peacemaker) -> like i said with yunho, type 7s are constantly seeking out new experiences. playful, optimistic, versatile, and extroverted. can be “scatter-brained” and end up undisciplined or over-extended. become satisfied when they are able to focus their talents on worthwhile goals. approach to life is not unlike “a kid in a candy store”. able to pick up skills and talents with relative ease, though when confronted with too many, they are unable to choose one to focus on. balance is key. like i said with hwa, type 9s are the mediators, the ones to avoid anger and conflict at all costs. passive aggressive under stress. seeks peace through acquiesce and acceptance. able to bring people together and solve conflicts. very in touch with their inner selves. goal-oriented but not aggressive. do not do well under pressure. struggle with finding a strong sense of identity. “spiritual seekers”, yearns for a connection with the cosmos as well as other people.

wooyoung stans: type 7 (the enthusiast) or type 8 (the challenger) -> like i said with yunho and mingi, type 7s hate being bored; they are constantly seeking excitement, freedom, and a variety of interesting and new experiences. an avoider; they avoid pain and fear by escaping into fun and pleasure. often have difficulty with commitment and following through. easily distracted and can become exhausted from being constantly on the go. do not attempt to control. brain works at a mile a minute, much faster than anyone else is able to comprehend. aims to stay upbeat and look forward to a bright, positive future. type 8s are proud, confident, powerful, and strong. not afraid of confrontation. extremely self assertive and independent, might be intimidating to others. have difficulty with allowing themselves to be vulnerable. quick to anger but easy to appease. fears being harmed or controlled by others. denies weakness or fear. refuse to “give in” to social convention.

jongho stans: type 5 (the investigator) or type 8 (the challenger) -> type 5s are visionaries, able to see the world in an entirely new way. focus on complex ideas and skills, sometimes to the point of detachment from the real world. relentless in their pursuit for knowledge. believe that they will eventually figure things out from the safety of their minds. hate feeling useless or incapable. compartmentalize people and situations. minimalist lifestyle; holds back strong feelings and desires/needs. like i said with wooyoung, type 8s are confident, impulsive, and aggressive. not afraid to go after what they want. difficulty being vulnerable. courageous, make good leaders, and protective of the weak. feel the need to control their environment (people as well) which may end up coming off as intimidating and domineering. want to be self reliant by proving their strength and resisting weaknesses. seek total independence and do not like being indebted to anyone. exercise an enormous amount of will, endurance, and persistence in their day-to-day lives.

#ateez #ot8 #ok to rb #thank u for asking shims <3 but sorry this is such a long post aklsjdfhajs #again i based this off of mostly what i see in the members themselves and a little bit on the one or two moots that bias each of them #so it's definitely not totally accurate! take it with a grain of salt or whatever #just to reiterate: personalities are very fluid! u can identify with some aspects #not always all of them and that's totally normal (which is why there are wings)#i love talking abt enneagrams so if anyone is interested always feel free to come chat w me abt them!!#cute mutuals #atinyphobe #askjess

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marvel-ousnesss · 5 years ago

Text

Flesh, not porcelain - part ll (Geralt x reader)

Request: Hi! I don’t know if you are still taking requests but if you do, would you mind writing a witcher x reader where the reader and Geralt have been in a relationship before but somehow lost contact and now they see each other again after so long and they are both shy and afraid of “their love”. But in the end, they know they can’t be together? Thank you so much if you do write it( please tag me 🙏🏻)

A/N: Okay, so here's the second part of @lareinedususpense's request. Tell me what you think and ask me if you wanna be tagged on upcoming writings. I still don't know where it takes place when it comes to the timeline.

Part I

Masterlist

“Princess!"

Among the screaming voices that echoed through the ballroom, you could make out the one coming from your guards, who were now in a fighting stance, with swords ready and worried faces under their helmets. However, your legs didn't obey when you tried to move.

Geralt pushed you behind him as you processed what was happening. The nobles had risen against the crown, which meant that your life and your family's were at stake. Your eyes drifted from face to face, trying to locate your family among the sea of nobles and guards, traitors and allegiants who were now fighting in defense of their respective causes. Your breath hitched when you found them, and the person conducting the whole mess.

Lord de Barra had his right hand locked around your sister’s arm and his blade threatening to kiss her neck. His men had your parents captive; and Aldestier, who had insisted on attending the ceremony without his elite escort, was struggling to free himself from a man you recognized as one of your father's most trusted advisors - former advisors, that is.

Geralt growled menacingly at the men who advanced toward you, grabbing two silver knives he had been carrying on his belt. Without hesitation, he fought everyone who came at him, making it almost impossible for them to reach you.

With horror you watched the men who your family had trusted slay those who were willing to die protecting the crown. You tried to look away, but your eyes were incapable of avoiding the bloodbath that had resulted from what was supposed to be a night of celebration and joy.

You sobbed and wailed in silence, completely unable to do anything, until one of the quisling guards managed to sneak behind Geralt and grab you by the hair, dragging you toward the center of the room. You cried out in pain, causing Geralt's fall. He turned to look at you and launched himself at the man who had taken you, but Alatar, the mage of your kingdom's court, threw a spell his way, making his limbs freeze.

The guards secured their grip on you and Ducarious found your gaze. He calmly made his way to you, dragging your sister with him, and spoke, beaming darkly.

"Let’s get this over with," he scowled. His dagger was still pressed to your sister's neck. She looked at you, and your parents with glassy eyes; only to see that the men holding them had mimicked their leader's precaution, just like the guards who had you.

They were about to kill you on the spot, Alatar knew this, so, with remorse of his betrayal, he spoke up.

"Wait! Lord de Barra, your grace, I beg for your mercy.”

“No mercy is to be granted for this man and his kind; what he did is unforgivable.” The young man’s words were full of anger and thirst for blood. However, you did not comprehend what terrible, unforgivable deed had your father committed for such vengeance to take place.

“Ducarious, please, don’t let anger cloud your judgment. Your brother caused the people great pain;” the king’s eyes were kind, but the noble leading the uprising only showed himself more aggravated.

He spoke with gritted teeth, “do not dare speak of my brother, you monster!”

Your lips parted as you saw it all clearly. His own uncle had been the one who proposed the death sentence for his younger brother, and you had overheard some maidens gushing about how he had agreed. His actions, and his lousy cover, were no surprise to you.

Given his hubris, Ducarious was capable of doing anything to obtain power, and he had always had a way with words. Nevertheless, you couldn’t imagine what he had promised the nobles to bring them all together against your family; for your parents were known for ruling fairly and with kindness above all.

Alatar’s voice cut through the silence once again; “I completely understand that this man is not fit to rule such great kingdom and that he has hurt you on unimaginable ways, but killing him would not make amends with the past, it ends his suffering way to easily.”

He practically spit the words, he was unable the disgust he was feeling toward himself. Alatar had always been great friends with your family, so Ducarious must've found a way of blackmail for him to stab your parents in the back.

“Then what, mage, what is it that you suggest?”

Alatar sighed, catching your father’s eye; the pain in his words was practically tangible. “Exile, your grace, don’t let any of them place afoot in this kingdom ever again; there’s no greater punishment.”

Lord the Barra paced around the room, after leaving your sister with another one of his men.

“No.”

He was as thoughtful and crafty, as he was ruthless. You knew that he wouldn’t settle with such a simple plot.

“Here’s what is to happen," he declared. "You are all banished from my kingdom. Not only will you be slain if you set foot in here again, but if you ever cross paths with my people, they are expected to shoot and kill, and will be generously rewarded for it. From the hunter to the beast; that, I call punishment.”

And so, it happened. You were kicked out of the place you had called home your whole life; with nothing but the clothes, you had on. In cuffs and chains, you were all taken to the stables by your own guards - the ones who were still alive - and given a horse and ordered to take off.

About ten months ago, you had fled your land without knowing where to go, and, to be honest, it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been hell. With the absence of luxury, you could deal; the worst part was separating from your family, for you had decided that together you were a bigger target, easier to hit.

You kept in touch through codes and occasional letters addressed to false personas, at least you knew they were okay. Aldestier had negotiated with Ducarious but had only been able to save your sister's life. As for your parents, they raised enough money to get a chariot and, according to their last letter, were planning on traveling around as merchants. You, however, hadn't yet made a life for yourself.

Sighing, you took a sip of your ale, then a bite of your bread. Six pm, a little bit late to have breakfast; you mentally shrugged, getting rid of the thought. You were exhausted, it had been a long day of traveling and you couldn’t be happier that it was coming to an end. You left a few coins on the table and headed out; walking in the direction in which you thought the hostel was.

That’s when you saw him. Before you approached, you took in the scene before you. Geralt was walking quite slowly, next to Roach. His silver hair was tied in a loose bun, and his pace was sloppy, tired; but you paid no mind. His armor was scarred, marked with the years of use; yet he carried it so effortlessly that, by this point, it was as if it moved with him.

“Can’t believe the little shits still sicced on. Fucking stupid, really,” scoffed the witcher; and the mare snorted as if snickering right back at him.

“I know, no fucking brains. Throwing themselves at us like that; as if we had anything that could interest them,” once again, Roach replied with a soft snort and a head shake.

"Don’t judge me, I tried to warn them, but they came at me. Wasted lives, really.“

You couldn’t help but overhear what he was saying, and despite the somber nature of the story, you found it sort of amusing for a man so aloof and dangerous to be talking to his horse.

"Almost didn’t recognize you without a beer in hand,” you greeted.

Hearing your voice, he stopped in his tracks and turned around, smiling slightly. “Your highness, it’s been a while.”

You chuckled dryly, ”just Y/N is fine, not ‘your highness’ anymore.“

Even if you said it with a humorous tint, the words left your lips with a sense of nostalgia.

“I’m sorry.”

The sincerity of his words brought a soft smile to your lips.

You walked in silence, but didn’t want your encounter to entail such a short and meaningless conversation; so you inquired, “what have you been up to, since the last time we met?”

“Those are stories you wouldn’t like to hear about,” his eyes remained locked on the dimly lit path you were walking through. His voice was dry.

“You can talk to me, you know that.”

He breathed, “Some villagers, they launched themselves at me, drunk; there were eight of them, I think. Took out their daggers and attacked.”

You grabbed your skirts, trying to make walking a bit easier. No avail, your feet were burning. Your horse had fallen ill; it was nothing major, according to the healer who had seen him, but he could no longer endure such travels. You were forced to sell him to a farmer, who had set his eye on him for his children.

“I didn’t- I tried to stop them, to stop myself, but I ended up losing control;” grumbled the Witcher. “ended up being the monster that they painted me as.”

Unbelievable. You glared at him, “For your sake, and mine, I’m gonna pretend the last ten words didn’t fucking come out of your mouth.”

“I fucking killed them, Y/N,” he argued.

“And they almost fucking killed, you, Geralt” you countered, your voice rising with disbelief.

He didn't say anything else; opting, instead, to look at you deeply, trying to find the reason for which you cared.

Silence remained for a few minutes, but then he stopped walking. You were about to ask him, but looked at the path; the pair of you were standing in front of a crossroad.

Your confused expression gave you away.

“You have nowhere to go.”

You huffed; “actually, I do have a wonderful room waiting for me at the hostel, thank you very much.”

“We walked past the hostel a mile ago.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that ten fucking minutes ago?,” you groaned, glaring at him. However, in the Witcher’s eyes, you were perkier than you were intimidating.

You turned back around, but Geralt grabbed your forearm gently; he chuckled, “I’m going to the hostel too."

"Then why would-”

“Next time, don’t follow someone, even if you know them, without being sure where they’re going. Dopplers enjoy playing lonely travelers."

His ember eyes bore into yours for a second, then he let go.

You crossed the wooden door and approached the woman behind the desk. As a subject of payment, you placed a silver bracelet over the table; "That should cover both of our rooms for a few days.”

She looked at you quizzically but handed you two keys. Without a word, you began walking toward the rooms, slightly behind Geralt, it was then when it came to your attention that something was off with his right leg. You didn’t say anything until he stopped in front of a door; instead of continuing, you walked inside with him.

His eyes were tired and expectant, as stood in front of you, motionless.

“Let me take care of you.”

He tried to explain, “listen, your high– I mean, Y/N; I don't see you that way. But, thanks for the offer."

"Not sex, Geralt, for fuck’s sake,” you grimaced, “I just want to take care of your leg; you’ve practically stumbled your way here.”

“No need."

"Have you forgotten how stubborn I am?" you teased.

He sighed in surrender, but you were quick to see the smile briefly gracing his features. " No, I haven't, but I'm fine."

“Bullshit."

He quirked a brow.

You stepped forward, getting closer to him. "If your leg is truly as good as new, it won’t hurt if I do this;” your left foot collided with his shin and both of you groaned in pain. Was this man-made of fucking Iron?

“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping back.

You forced your eyes to stay down as you heard the witcher discarding his armor and getting ready for you to take a look at his leg. You damped one of the rags you had fetched in a bucket of water and made sure the bandages were enough and in a decent state.

You asked, “are you presentable?”

He hummed, so you lifted your gaze. Geralt was sitting on the bed, wearing a loose linen shirt and the same breeches he had before.

You blushed, swallowing hard. “You’ll need to remove those if you want me to take a look at whatever’s wrong with your leg.”

He began taking his pants off, so you averted your gaze once again.

He quietly chuckled at your antics, hoping you didn't hear; but the croaky sound only made your face darken another shade. Clearly, he had noticed how flushed the sight of him had made you.

"Thank you," you turned to look at him, "for letting me do this."

Geralt hummed, relocating himself exactly in the same positions as before. This time, however, with his leg exposed, the rest was covered only by a sheet.

You took a deep breath as you scanned the scene before you but strictly centered your attention on the part of his body that you were meaning to mend. As you had supposed, his right leg had a tapestry of bruises, - some of which had certainly not been caused by the villagers he told you about -, and an open wound on the external part of his thigh. To be frank, the damage was too messy, animalistic; so you just assumed it had been a matter of occupational hazards.

“For the monstrous bruising you got there, I don’t know what to do.” You moved the bucket to the side of the bed and, with a motion of your hands, prompted him to move a bit. “But the open, nasty wound; that one, I can fix.”

You drained the rag and placed it over the injury that, you assumed, was a bite. He didn’t move or speak, he just tensed his muscles whenever the rag hit a nerve. Every time he did this, you quietly apologized, to which he responded with either a grumble or a breathy 'it's fine.' Quietly humming, you repeated the procedure a few times before coming to the conclusion that, if it was to heal completely and properly, you would have to clean it more thoroughly.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

"Where are you going?" he asked, but you had already left.

"Just wait," you shouted from the other side of the hall.

As fast as you could, as to not keep Geralt waiting, you went to the small bar in front of the hostel and fetched a bottle of vodka, leaving a few coins as payment. Then, you ran back to the hostel and sprinted back to the witcher's room. You had never been agile when it came to running in a dress; so, with a surprised scream, in the hall that led to your destination, you fell face-first against the cold, stone floor.

Geralt heard your scream and came to your rescue, with the sheet tightly wrapped around his waist. He helped you up and took you to his room, with the bottle still in your hand.

“I think I told you not to move,” you teased,

He just scoffed, so you continued.

“For your information, I had it all under control.”

He placed you on his bed, carefully accommodating your head in one of the pillows.

“Yeah, I saw that when I heard you scream.”

He drained one of the rags and handed it to you. Rolling your eyes, you sat up and pressed it against your jaw, which had received quite a hit.

You scoffed, “it was nothing, just a small exclamation of surprise."

He hummed, soaking and draining another rag, handing it to you. You left the previous one on the wooden table and continued to apply pressure on the sore spot, hoping that way you'd avoid getting a bruise.

"Besides, I still have to clean that nasty cut of yours; can’t make all of this a waste of effort.”

“I'm fine."

He was adamant, you knew, but you persisted.

"Yeah, if by fine you mean hobbling." You stood up but frowned slightly when your right foot came in contact with the ground.

How ironic. You brushed it off. Fixing your stance so almost no weight resting on your sore foot, you instructed the witcher to take your previous place on the bed, and, to your surprise, he complied without a word.

He loosened the sheet so that the cotton left his leg exposed, but the way in which his frame was contoured almost made your breath hitch. The fact that it was the second time you saw him like that didn’t make it easier; it was truly difficult to concentrate with the sight of the godlike man before you.

With a sharp intake of air, you began to work. Even with his pain tolerance, he hissed and groaned every time you soaked the rag and brushed his skin. Intending to distract him, you decided to strike a conversation, even if there was the chance that he would consider it intrusive.

"How did you get these?"

"Selkie maw, a few days ago."

"What’s a seckymore?" You took a sip of the bottle, almost coughing when the burning sensation hit your throat. You had already mixed part of it with the water in the bucket, so drinking what was left meant no harm.

"Selkie maw,” he corrected. “It’s like a salamander: but with a few hundred teeth, and the size of a small dragon."

"Cute,” your tone was bitter.

You took another swing and offered the drink to him. He accepted it, drowning half of what was left in a single zip. “Sorry,” he looked at the bottle and handed it to you, you tauntingly glared at him as you drained the rag over his wound once again.

“Not that big of a monster, they usually feed on plankton.“

With a final stroke of the rag, you finished cleaning his open wound and proceeded to stitch it with the needle and thread spool you always carried in your small bag.

Biting your lip in concentration, you asked, "do you get scared of monsters, or are you just that stoic?”

He took his time to answer, carefully choosing his words; “wouldn’t call it fear. It’s just knowing that, if you get slow, you die. More like a rush; you know what to expect, so there's a certain calm in it too."

You made a small knot at the end of the thread, and grabbed the bandage, wrapping his leg.

"There, all done.” You reached for his pants and threw them his way.

“Thank you,” he said, as he grabbed the garment and adjusted his position to put it on while still covered. Once dressed, he stood up.

“You’re welcome”, you handed him the bottle, now depleting. That would help him with the pain. This time, he emptied it without thought.

"There’s more where that one came from, you know.“

He gave you a questioning look.

"Don’t act like you don’t need it,” you foretold. “Besides, you left me with no vodka in like two sips.”

For a moment, you got no answer. The witcher walked to exit the room, so you gave up the hope of his company; but, instead of heading further down the hall, he stopped.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Tags: @beautiful-tragic-fallout

#Geralt of Rivia #The Witcher #Henry Cavill #Netflix The Witcher #Yennefer #Yennefer of vengerberg #Geralt x reader #The Witcher x reader #Geralt of Rivia x reader

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