#sorry my brain feels like its biting on stone whenever i see that kind of take like its canon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonderlustlucas · 4 years ago

Text

jack pot ; part 3 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 6.4k ⇢ genre fluff & angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way) ⇢ warnings (18+) drug use, a suggestive make out & the mention of a boner twice maybe ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n AAAAAAAA omg im so excited to post this, this by far is my fav part of jack pot & i cant wait to hear what u all think!!! sorry its a bit shorter than the other parts, & technically this is the *last* part, but there will be an epilogue where you will see how everything comes to be!!!! have fun reading!!! <3

⇠ part 2

five.

“Oh, fuck, he’s good,” Yeji gasps, shoving her phone into Maddie’s hands before faceplanting into the table.

“Are you H-T-T-P because I’m colon-slash-slash without you,” Maddie reads with a chuckle, thumbs hesitating over the keyboard. “Quick, YN, look up some pick-up lines.”

Closing the tab on the article you should be reading but has been long forgotten, you promptly do as you are told and open the first link from your search, Minho and Jisung leaning in to help. “There,” Jisung stops you, pointing to one, “’Are you a parking ticket? Because you have fine written all over you.’”

The table can’t help but burst into laughter at such a sentence. It’s stupid, but ever since Yeji and Kim Sunwoo began texting, their conversations have been full of tacky puns and emoji-filled compliments.

“Damn,” Maddie whistles, setting the phone back into Yeji’s limp hand, “he’s already typing back.”

“Gross,” Ryujin teases, busy typing away on her laptop. How she manages to multitask so well is a skill you certainly lack. “Why don’t you just like, I don’t know, ask him out?” Jisung asks and when you glance up, he’s looking at you. “Because that’s the guy’s job,” Maddie quickly saves the day, winking to you when you send her a grateful smile.

“Bullshit,” Jeongin scoffs. Everyone, even Ryujin, stops to look at him.

Did he just curse?

“I mean, like,” he stammers, cheeks turning rosy at all the attention, “it’s 2020. Guys have insecurities, too.”

“I agree,” Minho hums, looking to Maddie with hearts in his eyes, “that kind of confidence is enough to make any boy fall in love.”

“Yeah, but—”

Lia rebuts, but your attention quickly falls elsewhere when a text message first appears on your laptop, then your phone.

hwang hyunjin🦔🕺🏻💞🧻 [now] Where r u rn?

Unable to fight your smile, you quickly type back.

[3:39 PM] YN: outside hollin st café [3:39 PM] YN: why? :)

“Have you seen their new house, YN?” Minho asks, prompting you to click your phone off and set it back on the table. “Whose house?”

“Changbin’s parents.”

“Oh,” shaking your head, you distantly curse Chan for keeping your friend busy today. Unlike Jisung, Changbin likes to write lyrics and do whatever other music stuff during the day at a normal time instead of the middle of the fucking night while stoned and trying to finish his computer science assignments at the same time. “No, he forgot to send me pictures.”

“Dude,” Jisung sighs dreamily, “it’s huge. So nice. I think the front door alone could cover tuition.”

“Is it really that nice?” Maddie asks in awe.

“He started to show me pics the other day but couldn’t finish but the kitchen… unnecessary,” Ryujin quips, pausing her work to check her phone. “Yeah, it’s insane. The whole place is unnecessary but the kitchen is like, a house in itself,” Jeongin hums, head shaking in disbelief.

“Damn, now I really want to see it,” you sigh, making a mental note to hunt Changbin down so he can show you. “It’s like Hyunjin and his rings,” Minho snickers, “he has so many. Whenever we’re out, if he sees a ring, boom. It’s his.”

Well, he’s not wrong but… You bite your tongue no matter how badly you wish to defend Hyunjin and his affinity for rings and jewelry in general. The boy has taste, what can you say? You certainly are not complaining about Hyunjin’s long fingers and the way he chooses to decorate them.

“I never thought I’d hear Changbin’s parent’s kitchen be analogous to Hyunjin’s jewelry collection, yet here we are,” Maddie chuckles, leaning over Yeji to peek at her conversation with Sunwoo.

“Wow, speak of the devil,” Jisung pipes up of course as soon as you have reopened the tab to your assignment. Changbin or Hyunjin, you don’t know, head whipping up to find out and a peculiar mix of relief and panic settling over you once you spot the latter. “Uh oh, YN’s gonna go into cardiac arrest.”

As subtly as you can, you elbow Jisung in the stomach and smile at Hyunjin as he nears. “Hey,” keeping his eyes on you, Hyunjin approaches your table and stops behind Maddie opposite from you, “I’m sorry, I should have asked if you were busy.” His cheeks, already flushed, burn pinker once he looks away to smile weakly at everyone else.

“I’m not busy!” You squeak, scrambling to close your laptop and shove it in your bag. “Are you sure? I can come back later?” He offers, tilting his head and this is when you realize he is holding a bubble tea in each hand. And from the looks of it, one seems to be your usual order. “No, she’s not,” Jeongin answers for you, recognizing your stupefied expression.

“I was just – yeah. No,” rushing to stand and swing your legs out around the bench, you nearly fall flat on your face, “I wasn’t doing anything, actually.” Steadying yourself with a hand on Minho’s shoulder, you heave a labored breath before carefully walking to meet Hyunjin.

“Okay,” he beams, either oblivious to how flustered you are or simply choosing to ignore it. Turning to wave to your friends, he hands you one of the cups and you realize it is, in fact, your favorite boba. Oh boy. “See ya later,” you wave to them as well, nose wrinkling when both Jisung and Maddie wink in return.

Following after Hyunjin, you finally allow yourself to take notice of his attire and can’t help but feel confused. He looks good. And not in the good attractive way—he always looks good. But good as in formal. It’s four o’clock on a Tuesday in October and he’s out here looking as if he just got out of a business meeting. White button-down tucked into fitted black slacks, dress shoes, black tie, and he even has a black suit jacket draped over his arm. His hair is styled, too; ever since he dyed it back to black, he’s been growing it out long enough for his bangs to cover his eyes. Now, however, it’s parted down the middle and seems as if he’s ever so slightly curled it away from his face.

Suddenly, you feel ridiculous walking beside him in mom jeans and a baggy sweatshirt from high school.

“Thanks for the boba,” you mumble around your straw, brain still preoccupied trying to get over how utterly handsome he is. “Why do you look so fancy?”

The side of his mouth twitches up at your words, but his eyes stay glued to the sidewalk as you continue to your unknown destination. “I had an audition,” Hyunjin admits, voice devoid of emotion as if it’s not important at all. “An audition?” You echo. “Why do you sound so not super mega excited? How did it go? What was it for?”

“Well—”

“Wait!” You interrupt, stopping your walk once you realize he had an audition and you didn’t know. “You had an audition? What – why didn’t you tell me?”

Hyunjin frowns, avoiding your gaze and dragging his bottom teeth over his top lip. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he finally says before reaching for your hand and tugging you away from the walkway and into your campus’ main courtyard. “Why? Is it some sort of secret or something, Hyunjin?” You scoff, sounding way more annoyed than you intended. But you are annoyed; why didn’t he want to tell anyone?

“No,” he sighs, finding an empty area in the grass and lowering himself to sit, “I just… didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, visibly softening for him and settling down next to him, crisscrossing your legs, “it is a big deal. I don’t know what it’s for, but if it’s important enough for you to audition, then it’s important to us, too. You don’t need to be humble twenty-four-seven, you know. I’m sure you could have used our support.”

“I didn’t get it, though,” Hyunjin whispers, “they just – I didn’t get in. I wasn’t good enough.” Sensing the sadness in his voice, you find a lump forming in your throat when you notice the way his bottom lip trembles. “Hey,” panicking, you set your boba down and sit up on your knees to wrap your arms around him, cradling his head into your chest once tears start falling, “no. Don’t ever say you’re not good enough, Hyunjin.”

“But if I did better, practiced more, than I would—"

“Stop,” you hush, combing your fingers through his hair and brushing strands away from his eyes, “I’ve never met someone who works as hard as you do. You can’t beat yourself up over this. Everything happens for a reason. You don’t know what could have happened if you got in. You could have hurt yourself eventually, or maybe met someone who’s a real asshole.”

“Yeah,” is all he says, quiet and muffled when he turns to press his forehead into your sternum, body still trembling as he lets out all his tears. You stay like that for a while, holding him against you and soothing a hand up and down his back until his sniffling falls quiet. “Listen,” you finally sigh, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him back. Your heart sinks once you take in the wet trails down his cheeks and the puffiness of his eyes. “Forget about it. Was it something for dance?”

When he nods subtly, you cup his face in your hands and swipe his cheeks with your thumbs. “You are an amazing dancer, Hyunjin. You can’t let this get to your head. And I don’t want you working your ass off more than you do already. Practice makes perfect, sure, but you need to rest. What about the idea Changbin came up with?”

“The YouTube thing?”

“Yes! Filming dance tutorials or just posting your routines is a really good idea,” you remind him, wiping your hands on your jeans once he falls back onto the grass with a gentle thud, hair flaying around him like a halo. Your limbs twitch with the urge to lie beside him, maybe throw an arm around him and rest your cheek on his chest, fingers tracing the soft features of his face, stroking through his hair and reminding him just how innately perfect he is, inside and out. You, of course, resist such a temptation, flopping down beside him and staring up at the clouds with a heavy heart.

“I could do that. Maybe,” Hyunjin huffs. Tilting your head to look at him, you find yourself knee-deep in that familiar longing feeling, pausing simply to appreciate how pretty he is in the evening sun, cheeks rosy from crying and hair begging to be touched. Shaking your head to rid such daydreams, you remind yourself how fragile his emotions are right now. Now is no time to get caught up on a fantasy. Reaching for your tea, you lean up on an elbow and redirect your gaze to the trees, the promise of winter having turned what was green burnt sienna and butterscotch, leaving trees barren and branches swaying gently in the crisp breeze that leaves you curling into yourself. “You should,” you hum, distant, mind clawing to come up with the words you want to say.

“Come here,” Hyunjin says now, voice stronger than before and when his hand wraps gently around your wrist, you can’t find it in yourself to resist. Allowing him to pull you back down beside him, you curl into his side, resting your head a safe distance away from his own and onto the curve of his arm. “Thank you for being so good to me,” he expresses. You squeeze your eyes shut when the arm you lie on wraps around your shoulders and pulls you substantially closer. “I need to tell you something.”

A long stretch of silence falls upon you and for a moment, you are unsure the words even left your mouth. What are you thinking?

“Wait! I have something first,” Hyunjin sighs, missing the way your breath hitches. “Okay,” you whisper, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt and focusing all your attention there.

“I just – I think… I owe you an apology,” he finally says, “I need to apologize for something that I did a while ago that I know probably hurt.” Your chest tightens. There’s a lot that has hurt you when it comes to Hyunjin, but none that he’s done purposely. None that are his fault. None that he should be apologizing for.

“I feel like we came to some mutual understanding to not mention what happened when we were freshmen, but it kills me to know that – that something happened, and we never talked about it,” Hyunjin starts, grip tightening on your shoulder and suddenly, you think you are dreaming. This cannot possibly be real. “I know it was awkward but, I also know me and Yiren dating was… ah. I don’t know.”

When he falls silent, you are unsure of what to say or do. You have no idea what the end goal of this conversation is. Hardly a minute ago, your heart and your brain decided it was time to tell him. Now, you’re not so sure you can do that until he finishes, and you are not about to give him your two cents if his reasoning for bringing it up is not the same as yours.

“I just want to apologize for not being brave enough to talk to you about it. I know I was confused, but I’m sure it was worse for you when they told you about her,” Hyunjin continues, sensing your rendered silence, “and it’s been so long since that happened, and now, you’re one of my closest friends.” Ouch.

“But I’ve been thinking,” when he picks up again, your eyes fly open in a panic. He’s been thinking. Hyunjinhas been thinking. You think you are going to pass out. “And I just feel like we… me and you, I mean—"

The standard iPhone alarm blares from beside you, promptly cutting him off and you think it is the biggest cockblock known to man. “Shit,” he hisses, leaning up to tug his phone from his pocket and in the process nudging you from your comfortable position. Sitting back up, nerves aflame and heart racing, your brows shoot up in confusion when all he does is stare at the number calling him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s the studio I was just at,” he scoffs in disbelief, barely glancing at you before looking back to his phone. You have never wanted to shrivel up and die as much as you want to right now. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer?”

Hyunjin makes a noise of acknowledgement before tapping the green icon and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Sitting quietly beside him, you watch with a forced smile as his hummed responses and subtle nods morph into enthusiastic laughs and wide, beaming smiles. Hyunjin notices your confusion when you tilt your head, mouthing a ‘What?’ to him.

“They made a mistake,” he whispers, covering the speaker of his phone, “read off the wrong Hwang. I’m in.” When he grins excitedly at you, your response isn’t as cheerful as it could be. As it should be. “Yay!” You whisper, clapping gently but quickly turning to your boba when the other line begins speaking again. Looking away, you take a hefty sip, nearly choke on a tapioca ball, and build the walls around your heart up all over again in a matter of seconds.

“I’ve gotta go,” whispering, you manage one more pained smile before getting to your feet and wiping your butt of any possible grass stains, “good luck!” When he shines you one more breathtaking smile and waves excitedly, you hastily head in the other direction, wrapping your arms around yourself and swallowing past the lump that threatens to form the farther you walk.

It must be nice, you think, frantically wiping at your waterline. Must be nice to put yourself out there and have things work out the way you want them to. Must be nice being told you’re ‘in,’ you’re wanted, you’re desired.

It must be nice.

six.

Pick up food, you said. Ask Jisung, you said.

Your conscience is a big fat oompa loompa ass bitch. You would have never called Jisung to ask him if he wanted anything from Taco Bell if you knew he was with Changbin. And not just Changbin, you realized four minutes into your call; Seungmin and Hyunjin, too. Apparently he went over their place to record, or something, and didn’t care to let you know. Not that you’re his mom and he has too—but it would have been nice, and would have saved you from spending almost fifty dollars at Taco Bell.

“I tried calling Jisung but he didn’t answer,” you snap once Seungmin answers your call with a muffled hello. “Can one of you please come out and help me carry this in?” You glance at the five large sodas and two bags full of food in your passenger seat with a grimace. “Sure,” he agrees and you make a mental note for the umpteenth time just how much you love Seungmin, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

True to his word, you spot him making his way out of their apartment and across the small courtyard to meet you by your car not even a minute later, hauling each bag under his arms. “Thank you,” left only with the cupholder, you hurriedly lock your car and follow after him. “No problem. Thanks for being our Uber Eats,” then, pursing his lips, “how much was this?”

“Forty-seven something,” you grumble unhappily, knowing this was a big hit to your debit. “We’ll pay you back, don’t worry,” Seungmin smiles, leading you up the final flight of stairs and kicking open the ajar door.

Immediately, you’re hit with the smell.

“Dear, fucking hell,” making a face, you rub your nose to keep from sneezing, “it reeks in here. How have you guys not been kicked out yet?”

The stench of weed generally does not bother you anymore, but still—they could light a candle, or something. Seungmin shrugs, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Luck, I guess.”

“IS THAT YN?” From another room, you hear Changbin shout, followed by an excited shriek from Jisung. “They’re high. Very high. You’ve been warned,” Seungmin whispers just as tweedle dee and tweedle dum themselves come flying around the corner. “YN!” Jisung grins, engulfing you in a dramatic hug. “Watch,” you hiss, regarding the blunt held between his fingers that comes dangerously close to your hair.

“Sorry,” he smiles, then, without warning, sticks the thing right between your lips. “I didn’t even offer.” Well, when life gives you lemons…

You hesitantly take the hit and blow the smoke away from him. You weren’t planning on getting high today, but here you are. “Thanks,” shaking your head as if that will clear it, you turn to Changbin and snugly wrap your arms around him. Every day you thank the heavens that he is a chill, calm high, unlike your maniac of a roommate.

“Thanks for the food,” fishing into his pockets and pulling out a crumpled ten-dollar bill, he slaps it into your palm. You only hum in reply, shoving it into your own pocket and praying you don’t lose it before you remember to put it in your wallet. “Where’s Hyunjin?” You ask, no longer caring about being slick.

“In his room,” Seungmin answers, rummaging through the bags to find what he ordered. Then, “HYUNJIN!” You jump, reaching for your soda and standing away from the other three until they have claimed whatever belongs to them. No sooner than Seungmin calls for him, you hear a door being cracked open and out comes Hyunjin.

He looks extremely disheveled. Like, just woke up from a two-month hibernation, disheveled. In the blink of an eye, however, he rakes a hand through long blonde hair and promptly sets a baseball cap backwards to keep the strands away and suddenly, he doesn’t look so disheveled anymore. You force yourself to look away, cursing the way your gut twists.

“Gimme my crunchwrap,” you say around your straw, snatching the blunt from Jisung’s fingers and moving around him to fetch your dinner. He doesn’t even protest.

He knows you need it more than he does.

“That’s a lot of food,” Hyunjin says once he has finally entered the kitchen, voice groggy and eyes puffy from sleep. Or from being high, you can’t tell. Pressing his chest to your back, he wraps one arm around you to keep you against him while the other reaches into a bag to take what’s his. Swallowing past the desert dryness of your throat, you manage a thick inhale from the blunt before tilting your head to look at him and mentally thanking the other three for taking it as their cue to head out.

“Not my fault you guys eat like animals,” you chuckle shakily, trying to ignore the firmness of his body against yours, veins prominent on the arm that holds you against him and the ripple of muscle along his abdomen noticeable even through his shirt and yours. Dear god, it is too early for this. Not even seven o’clock and you are already drooling in more places than one.

Hyunjin pouts as if it is not true. “How much do I owe you?” He asks, finally moving away to grab his drink and you can’t help your disappointment, quickly finishing the blunt before tapping it out into one of the many ashtrays. “Don’t worry about it,” you wave off, digging through their drawers for a paper plate.

“YN,” Hyunjin deadpans, regarding you with a raised brow once you come up and begin unwrapping your food. You refuse to look him in the eye. “What do I owe you?” He repeats, firmer this time and it sends a chill down your spine when it most certainly should not. Sighing, you retrieve the receipt from your pocket and count everything he got. “Thirteen.”

Humming in content, Hyunjin reaches for his wallet on the counter and pulls a ten and five out. “There,” he beams, tucking the bills into your pocket himself. Rolling your eyes, you pray he does not notice how you flush and hurry out of the kitchen to join Seungmin on the sofa.

“House Hunters?” You ask with a laugh, looking at the TV once you have settled next to him. “I told you HGTV is the best.”

Seungmin hums in agreement. “I thought it was stupid at first, but Hyunjin was watching Fixer Upper and I got addicted,” he says, nodding to the older boy doing a little dance in the kitchen as he eats one of his tacos. Your heart does somersaults at the sight. “They’re all so good,” you agree after taking a few bites of your own food, eyes trained on the television, “House Hunters is a classic, though.”

“I like the international one,” Hyunjin adds on his way over, crashing unceremoniously next to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Seungmin wrinkle his nose when Hyunjin sets his free hand casually on your thigh. “Shh,” he grumbles, vaguely gesturing to the screen and chewing a mouthful of food, “I wanna hear what the house has.”

One episode turns to two, which turns to three, which turns to four, and suddenly you have been watching House Hunters with Seungmin and Hyunjin for almost three hours. It definitely is the weed, always making time perpetually slower, and it did not help when Jisung and Changbin reappeared sometime during your binge with one of Felix’s bongs. Not necessarily how you intended to spend your precious Friday night, but there is no sense in complaining when you are with your buddies and Hyunjin, of course.

Taco Bell long gone, you watch with blurry eyes when Hyunjin gets up from his slumped position against you to head into the kitchen and open the freezer. This, as well as the realization that House Hunters has ended and gone to some other, not-as-cool show, brings both you and Seungmin somewhat back to reality.

“It’s almost ten,” Seungmin announces, staring dazedly at the time on his phone. You hum in acknowledgment, certainly sober enough to reply but simply too lazy to. “I think I’m going to bed. Or play something. Don’t wreck the place,” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face before standing up. “G’night, Minnie,” you smile, watching with a furrowed brow as he continues down the hall and into his room. It isn’t until you hear his door click shut does the weight of being alone with Hyunjin settle on your chest.

It’s not like you haven’t spent time alone with Hyunjin before. In fact, that usually is the way it’s been in the past three years; whether the two of you decided to do your own thing or the rest of your friends eventually left or went to bed, you are used to this feeling. Used to ignoring the butterflies in your gut when he does something particularly cute and used to tampering down the mental images you conjure up knowing it’s just you and him.

But that doesn’t make things any easier. No matter how hard you try, you simply can’t help but feel this way around Hyunjin, especially when you’re alone. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

“Whatcha wanna watch?” Hyunjin asks around one last spoonful of ice cream before setting the pint back into the freezer. “Uhh…” You drone, blinking heavily at the TV and back to him as he makes his way back over. “I dunno, I’m sure you’ve been watching some drama. You can put that on.”

“You sure?” He asks with a raised brow, collapsing next to you and slumping dramatically halfway down the cushions. “Yes,” laughing, you find yourself reaching out to tuck messy strands of hair back behind his ear without hesitation, “also, why are you wearing a hat inside?”

Hyunjin pauses, straining to look up as if he will be able to see the back of his cap against his forehead. “I’m wearing a hat?”

“Yes, you idiot,” in comes the endless weed giggles and you find yourself unable to stop laughing, watching with teary eyes as he sits up and takes his hat off. “I don’t remember putting this on,” he chuckles airily, flipping the cap back and forth in his hands before tossing it onto the coffee table. “Should I cut it?”

“No!” You shout a little too quickly and a little too loudly. Shrinking against the arm of the couch, you ignore his amused smile and look to his long hair, freshly bleached strands falling down to his neck and shorter pieces brushing against his cheeks. Fuck, it should be illegal to look this good. “I like it long. It really suits you.”

“It’s annoying,” Hyunjin grins despite his complaint, lifting his legs onto the couch and flopping onto his side, head now resting on your lap. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

Now that he’s offered playing with his hair on a silver platter, you don’t hesitate combing your fingers through it, tugging out pieces stuck under his head and brushing it out completely. “You could pull the sides back,” you hum distantly, separating a section of hair near his temple to pull back, “or make a bun with what you can. You just have to play around with it.”

Humming in agreement, Hyunjin resituates himself after reaching for the remote and switching to Netflix. When you go back to simply raking your fingers from root to tip in irregular directions, you don’t miss the way his eyelids flutter at the motion and make sure to pay extra attention to his scalp. When this turned into a head massage, you’re not entirely sure.

The drama Hyunjin puts on is unbearable. You stopped paying attention a while ago, focusing more on him and how he seems to enjoy it, fingers busy braiding random sections of hair, taking them out, and then braiding them again. With two finally done the way you want them to, you are midway through the third when your fingers begin to cramp up.

“Why’d you stop?” Hyunjin asks seconds after you drop the braid and stretch your fingers out. “Fingers are cramping,” chuckling at the disappointed pout of his lips, you crack what knuckles you can before going back and undoing the unfinished braid. “Oh,” he mutters, cheek still pressed against your leg, “feels good.”

Humming in response, you ignore the way his words make your heart swell and begin gathering all his hair into a ponytail, pressing the braids to lay flat and finally tying it with a hair tie once you have combed up all that you can. Immediately, his bangs and hairs closer to the nape of his neck fall out, leaving the ponytail spikey and messy. At least the braids look good. You can’t help but giggle.

“What?” Hyunjin asks, pausing his show and leaning up. “What’d you do?”

“Go see for yourself,” pointing to the bathroom, you comb out a looped piece of hair before he stands to do just that. His ponytail bobs the entire walk there.

When he reaches the door and flips the light on, you watch from your position as he checks himself out, brushing away his bangs and flicking the pony. You frown when he accidentally yanks at a braid.

“Come here,” you say, sitting up, “you messed up the braid.”

“Honestly,” Hyunjin considers his reflection one last time before skipping his way over, “it doesn’t look half bad.” Expecting him to sit back next to you, your pulse quickens when he anchors a hand to the armrest and leans in front you, only inches away from your face. “No, definitely,” you say once you have gotten over the shock of him being so close so suddenly, “I like it in the ponytail. You’d really impress the girls if you braided your hair yourself.” Reaching up to tuck hair back into the braid and press it down flat once more, you don’t miss the way his brows draw together and lips twitch down. “What?”

Time ceases to exist as Hyunjin begins to come closer. In reality, you know it simply is a matter of seconds, but all of space and time seems to still once he leans forward. It feels as if an eternity goes by, allowing you to count each individual eyelash, memorize the details of his skin, take note of the smoothed lines on his plump lips. The way time slows is cruel; it allows panic to set in, the realization that he most certainly is looming over you with his eyes on your lips sending a spark of excitement and anxiety through your veins.

And then, just as this realization and this panic has set your nerves aflame, a gentle hand comes to cradle your jaw before Hyunjin’s lips press against yours.

It is so easy to surrender to the taste and touch of him. Instantly, an eruption of emotions and thoughts spiraling out of control fills you, yet your brain focuses only on Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin. This is not the first time you have kissed him, nor the first time simply having him so close, but the feeling that radiates from your heart outward is unlike anything you have felt before. This is uncalled for. This is not like two years ago. You were not expecting this.

Hyunjin sighs into the kiss when you lean up to loop your arms around his neck. No sooner have you done this, he breaks away to sit beside you once more, hands reaching for your waist and guiding you to sit over his lap.

You could kiss him all day, you think, palms lying flat by his collarbones before fisting the material of his shirt when his tongue prods at the seam of your lips. Blood seemingly coming to a boil and nerves sparking dangerously, you find yourself quickly sobering up as the minutes tick by, completely and utterly addicted to him and this feeling, this feeling you have craved but never crossed the line for. And now, it’s yours to keep.

Forgetting the braids, you seize the opportunity to rake your fingers through his hair. Different, than how you did earlier. Desperate. Combing it away from his face once, twice, swallowing his groans when you tug at the roots, you realize with a whine that his hands have left your face in favor of dragging down your sides, circling back to squeeze at your breasts, rubbing at your thighs and finally sliding back to your ass, situating you more comfortably on his thighs.

When Hyunjin finally breaks the kiss to journey elsewhere, littering chaste kisses across your jaw, below your ear, down your neck, the weight of your actions finally hits you. It is overwhelming, the way you come spiraling back to reality, and you are not sure if the quiet moan that leaves you is due to the press of something else against your thigh or simply the realization that you are making out with Hyunjin.

You have to stop before you get hurt again.

“Hyunjin,” you gasp, shuddering when his soft lips brush against your jaw, “wait. We need to talk.”

He pauses at this, fingers digging into your sides and you feel his frown against your neck. “What’s there to talk about?” He murmurs, arms sliding around you and tugging you closer, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him close and pretend like his boner isn’t digging into you.

It’s your turn to frown. “About us,” whispering, you lift one hand to stroke through his hair, “we need to talk about us.”

“I thought my feelings were very clear,” Hyunjin scoffs, all tenderness in his voice gone. Instinctively, you lean back, blinking at him in surprise. “Unless this is just another one of your games? Does this not mean anything to you, YN? I don’t think I could stomach you running off to Changbin or fucking Chan again.”

His words pierce your heart before you have even fully processed them, hurt flashing across your features and your body goes numb. “What?” Is all you can manage, scrambling to get away from him, chest heaving and eyes suddenly burning with the brine of tears. “What are you talking about, Hyunjin?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” He shouts. You flinch, not from the way he raises his voice, but from the genuine sadness in his eyes. “The past three years have been a constant battle with you. We’re best friends, for fucks sake, I figured out a long time ago that you have feelings for me. Feelings more than best friends. Yet every fucking time we started moving in the right direction, you turned your back on me.”

You can do nothing but stand there and let the tears fall. All the words and bottled emotions you wish to say are right there on the tip of your tongue, but you simply cannot bring yourself to voice them. Not when he’s right. Not when you have turned your back on him time and time again.

And then, he hisses more to himself than you, “Is this just sloppy seconds? You never once thought about my feelings in all of this?”

The anger brewing within you suddenly bursts from the dam and hisses through your body like deadly poison. “Sloppy seconds?” You snarl, fists clenching. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Your feelings? You just said you know how I feel about you, so why didn’t you ever do anything about it? How was I supposed to know you felt the same?”

“I thought it was pretty fucking obvious,” Hyunjin spits back, gaze narrowing, “didn’t think I had to spell out the fact that I like you, YN. You’re a smart girl.”

“Do not treat me like a child,” clenching your jaw, you have to look away for a moment, pacing one, two, three steps, hands raking through your hair and wiping away the stream of tears from your cheeks. You have never been filled with such rage. Having finally reached its boiling point, it now consumes you whole, sweeping off in waves and destroying all boundaries. “Confessing is not an easy thing, as you apparentlyknow, so don’t make me seem like the only idiot here. But maybe I was wrong about you if you think of me as just sloppy seconds.”

“I never said that!” Hyunjin barks, standing up to grasp your wrist when you turn away to grab your keys. “Don’t put words in my mouth! I would never, never think of you that way. I just don’t understand why you never spoke up after all this time. I’ve been dying, YN, you have no clue how badly I have been—”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” you snap, yanking your arm away from him, “I told you, Hyunjin. Telling someone you love them isn’t as easy as learning to ride a bike. You’re right, I have turned my back on you. But not intentionally. I’ve been scared, I’m a pussy, whatever.” Biting your top lip as if it will stop the tears that continue to fall freely, you avoid looking at him and glance back to find not only Seungmin, but Jisung and Changbin, too, peeking out from their doors with eyes blown wide with shock. Once you have noticed them, however, they panic and scramble to get out of sight.

Sighing shakily, you look back to Hyunjin and cannot ignore the way your heart sinks at the sight of him. Even upset, he is beautiful. You wonder how much you will see him after this.

“You don’t have to tell me you like me back to make me feel better, Hyunjin,” bouncing on your heels, you suddenly feel exhausted, body and soul heavy with the words you not only spoke, but heard, too. “We can figure this out another day, but for now, I need to go home. I’ll see you.”

Turning away once more, you do not make it very close to the front door before he stops you once more. “Wait, YN,” Hyunjin huffs, smiling softly when he reaches for your hand and you do not pull away. Running his tongue over his lip, he seems to hesitate for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Did you mean it when you said you love me?”

⇢ epilogue

341 notes · View notes

orionwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Wishing It Was You; Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - hey guys... its been a while. I started this in april and finally finished it. she might be my longest yet my fave imagine ive done. im tired and lazy so sorry if there are any mistakes. PLZ let me know what you think and my ask is always open!! ily)

Tommy knows he's standing next to Grace.

He can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, can feel the pressure of his hand against the curve of her waist, can smell her expensive perfume, with it’s notes of rose water and lemon, lingering on her neck, but all he sees is you. Grace is leaning into him, her giggles sounding like twinkling diamonds as she laughs at a joke he hasn’t registered, his mind completely preoccupied with thoughts of the woman standing at the other side of the room.

He hadn’t expected to see you here. In fact, he hadn’t expected to ever see you again. It strikes him like a bullet in his gut, leaving him winded and gasping for air in the middle of an expansive ballroom, the gin on his tongue suddenly as hot as acid.

Have you seen him yet? The thought fills his brain like a buzzing hornets nest, the feeling is immediate and prickling at the back of his skull.

Do you know he’s here? Have you noticed him?

Most importantly though… Did you come alone?

His hand unconsciously tightens around Grace’s waist and she smiles at him, as sweet as sugar, completely unaware of the femme fatale on the opposite side of the room, capturing her husbands attention and luring him like a siren.

He bites his tongue until he can taste metal and copper. A fresh wave of guilt and shame collapse over him but he swallows it down like it’s nothing but a lump in his throat.

He loves Grace, he adores her. He isn’t doing anything wrong.

And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

At first he thought he was going mad. He hadn’t believed in ghosts and spirits since he was a boy, sat in a caravan, reading tarot cards with his Mum. He became too used to death and decay in the war, too used to seeing blood and rot to believe in a chance of a second life - not when he had sinned so much in his first.

He hadn’t thought of you in so long. Hadn’t conjured up the image of you in his mind like he used to do late at night, imagining the feel of your skin against the pads of his fingertips, the smell between your shoulder blades, the weight of your ribs underneath his.

You were always at the back of his mind though. No matter how hard he pushed you away, your smile and voice would always linger at the back of his head, a beam of sunlight whenever the shovels would get too loud.

You were real though. You were back. He could tell only because of the way you captivated everyone around you, the faces of those enchanted by you were proof that you weren’t just a memory his drunken mind had created. Throwing your head back and giggling, chewing on the bottom of your painted lips, you had everyone under your spell.

He can’t take his eyes away from you. Its like he’s a puppet and you’re toying with the strings without even realising. He’s tethered to you, no matter how far apart you may be.

“Tommy?”

Grace’s syrup like voice cuts through him like a blade, and he straightens up. He’s acting like a teenager and the thought repulses him, he’s a businessman, not a child. He’s fought in the war, dealt with fearless gangsters and killed men with his bare hands, how come seeing you has rendered him breathless?

He turns to look at her, her gentle features illuminated under the chandeliers, her brow is furrowed with a mixture of mild irritation and curiosity and he lets her familiarity wash over him like the ocean. She smiles kindly at him, turning her attention back to the guests surrounding her, and Tommy feels a clench of white hot shame that whilst he is stood next to his wife, his mind is dizzied with the thoughts of another woman.

Grace is Grace.

She’s beautiful and soft and kind and warm. She was the stability he needed, the type of woman he needed to come home to, she tended to his wounds and listened to his rants and kissed his scars. She was too good for him and he knew it. She had lied and deceived him in the past, but it strengthened their love, rebuilt their trust like a fortress. He loved her, he wanted to have a family with her.

But she would never be you.

You were as familiar as the peaked cap that adorned his head, you were as much as a part of him as the gun in his holster. Your face flashed in his mind whenever he heard the last gasp of air from an enemy, it was you who appeared in his dreams and rescued him from the depths of his nightmares. It was as if you were stitched into his skin since the very first day you met when you were children.

He needs to get home, he can’t stay. Too long and you’ll sink your claws into him. Too long and everything he’s worked so goddamn hard for will start to crumble around him.

He flattens his palm against the back of his wife’s dress, ready to make hasty excuses and polite apologies and leave, nestle her into the back of his car and drive far away.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before words can slip from his tongue, he spots a smug, sparkling eyed Polly approaching, arms spread, lips curled into a smirk.

Fuck being polite. He’s Tommy fucking Shelby, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

His hands curve around Grace’s spine and she tuts in protest, ready to scold her husband for his haste, but she snaps her lips shut at his flushed expression.

“Oh Tommy! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Polly approaches, already buzzed, arms spread like a bird in flight, just waiting to engulf him. A cigarette dangles from the corner of her cherry painted lips, her eyes gleaming with a mix of alcohol and mischief.

He inwardly curses, Polly cornering him like a lioness, ready to tear him and his wife apart. She’s practically chomping at the bit, the delight of seeing your familiar face and the knowledge of what that’ll do to Tommy and Grace making her float across the floor. She’s drunk on elation and glasses of champagne, her mind too fucked to even think about the consequences.

“Oh Tom!” She repeats, cradling his face like he’s a boy again. Under any other circumstances he would be delighted to see his Aunt so happy, a sight he was rarely blessed with, but now he’s wishing for anything else. Grace’s grip tightens, he can feel her stare on the side of his skin, burning holes into his flesh. Polly feels her gaze and turns to the blonde beauty, her disdain for her nephews wife enough to drill the final holes into his coffin, sealing him shut into eternal darkness.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s back.”

Grace stiffens beside him, arching a penciled eyebrow at her husband and opening her lips. Tommy can feel his palms moisten, an unfamiliar sensation that takes him back to being a teenager, one that only ever occurred around you.

“Who’s (Y/N), Thomas?”

————————————————————

You were the same age as Ada, reserved and soft spoken, new to Birmingham and all of its smoke and gristle coloured cobbles. She saw you one day in the school yard; sat alone on your first day, picking at the skin on your swollen lips, round doe eyes following the other children roughhousing and laughing. She was immediately drawn to you, her inquisitive mind growing protective, and it wasn’t long before she strode over to you, confident as ever, introducing herself and deciding to take you under her wing.

The two of you became fast friends, sharing jam sandwiches and apple slices under the sun, skipping along the streets and throwing stones into the cut at dusk before your parents hastily called you inside and scolded your recklessness. You barely left one another’s side, spending every night you could at each others house, giggling and gossiping under the covers, trying on your mothers makeup and making sticky pinkie promises to be best friends forever.

The years passed and you still remained attached at the hip, growing closer than ever as your limbs grew and you wandered into adolescence, facing every problem you encountered together. You were Ada’s shoulder to cry on when her mother passed, sleeping next to her in a single bed for month on end as the night terrors kept her awake. You grew closer to Ada’s family as well, especially considering the amount of time you spent there. Aunt Pol became a surrogate mother to you, chastising you and supporting you and always being there for you, sometimes with a smack on the back of the legs, like the time she caught you both smoking before you hit your teens.

You became a fond fixture in the Shelby household, slotting in like just another straggly stray at the dinner table every night. You were young, but you weren’t stupid, you had known the Shelby boys since the very first day you came back to their house and even as a child you could sense the mischievous aura surrounding them. As you grew, so did your curiosity, and it wasn’t long before you learnt of the betting shop located in the back room of Pol’s house. Ada and Polly were both protective of you, and managed to keep you out of trouble despite the spark of interest that brewed in your stomach and so that back room just became another chest to lock in the back of your mind.

They both knew that there was something different about you, and as you grew from a timid child to an inquisitive teenager your thirst became insatiable. Ada had always recognised the unpredictable nature the you harboured, you could be quiet and meek but under the surface your brain was a kaleidoscope of spontaneity. It was you who suggested late night adventures and rain splattered trips that got you both into trouble, you who dreamt of cities and lives bigger than the both of you. Ada adored that about you, your desire for change something she wasn’t used to in the dismal, grey town she grew up in but deep down she was terrified that you wouldn’t ever be satisfied.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed the impulse in you. From the very first time he saw you all those years ago he noticed the crackle of electricity under your docile exterior, bubbling under the surface like lightning that struck the sky. Of course, back then you were just a child and Tommy was far too interested in pursuing the betting shop than taking notice of his little sister’s friend, but he always kept an eye on you. The two of you had a bizarre relationship, despite the age gap between you both, you managed to find a level ground. Whilst Arthur and John would ruffle your hair and swing you over their shoulders as if you were still a toddler, Tommy would talk to you as if you were an adult, the two of you could bicker like siblings but there was a mutual respect underlying it all, you both connected by your need for more.

It came to a head when Tommy was counting money at the betting shop one evening in August. The sun was fading to the colour of a bruised peach and the air was still warm, notes stuck to his fingers and he hummed in frustration just as the large doors swung open. His head snapped up and he came face to face with a flushed Ada, her cheeks were as red as a Gala apple and tears welled in her wide eyes. Tommy immediately reached for the gun shoved in it’s holster ready to send bullets flying over his watery eyed sister, before her exasperated voice broke through the silence.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s had a fight with her fucking dad and now she’s gone! Please, Tom, can you help me find her?”

As Tommy had the family car, he was left trawling through the country lanes surrounding the city whilst Ada and Pol searched your usual hiding spots in Small Heath. According to Ada, you had about a two hour head start from your house, and Tommy’s foot itched over the pedals at the thought. This was hardly the first time you had run away, usually it was over to Polly’s for the night after you had had enough of your family, but after a particularly bad spout with your parents last year, Ada had found you halfway to London. You were definitely a flight risk.

Tommy’s hands clenched over the steering wheel as the sky darkened, you were a beautiful teenager, walking alone through the streets at dusk; it was a recipe for disaster. Tom knew you could hold your own, but the creatures that lurked around at night were ravenous and there was no way in hell he would let them sink their claws in you.

Tommy could feel heat prick at the bottom of his spine. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that the feelings he harboured for you stemmed much more than the ‘sibling love’ he disguised them as. The attraction between the two of you had always been there, something magnetic joining you both before you could realise it. Over the years it had blossomed, despite his attempts to distinguish the fire that you brought out in him, something about you had captivated him.

All of his thoughts turned to wisps of smoke as he rounded a corner, nearly swerving into a thorn bush as he spotted you. You were walking with determination, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he watched you march forward like a solider, your small frame filled with force. Your hair was loose, draping around your shoulders like a halo, bouncing with every step you took.

He trailed behind you, edging his foot off the gas and waiting as the car slowed next to you. He knew you noticed the intrusion from the way your shoulders tensed briefly, and he allowed the car to match your pace, the two of you moving like boats on water. He knew you would be the first to speak, and allowed your words to run over him like warm milk and honey.

“Hello, Thomas. Out for a drive?”

He smiled, rolling his eyes slightly before responding. “C’mon (Y/N), time to come home.”

“No thank you.”

“It’s getting late.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

He tensed his foot against the gas, the car rumbling lowly and rolling forward. He pulled it into park right in front of you, the dark exterior blocking you from walking any further up the lane. You exhaled in frustration, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks flushed the colour of Shepard’s delight, and he cant help but bite back the smile curling in his mouth. He patted the seat playfully and watched as you scuffed your foot into the mud like a child, coyly sucking on your tongue before clambering next to him, crossing your arms and settling into the leather.

Tommy’s hands rested on the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers for a moment before turning to face you, examining your skin under the dim light. Both of your fathers had a lot in common, alcoholic, nasty and violent, something dark like rum boiling inside of their blood, men who ruled with fear and aggression. There were no marks he could see, not like the time your arm was coated in purple thumb prints that left him seething, only calmed once you and Ada had snuck off to her room and he could control his thoughts with a cigarette. That night he pretended he couldn't see Polly watching him like a hawk.

“He didn’t hit me this time.”

Good. He would have killed him.

“Kind of wish he did though, Mum bought a new frying pan that could have come in handy.”

He let you talk, the birds and the wind the only noises disturbing the peace. You were quiet, and it was rare for you to open up like this, so he cherished the moment despite the underlying bleakness of it all.

“I know it seems childish, but it just feels easier to get away.”

He hesitated, looking down at you picking your nails in the front seat of his car. The words forming on the edge of his tongue tasting like whisky, not knowing how to comfort you without implicating himself. He tried to imagine himself as Polly or Ada, the kind of person who would know what to say.

“You have people that care about you, you don’t need to fuckin’ up and leave.”

“I know I do, but anywhere is better than Small Heath.”

He blew air through his teeth. “It ain’t so bad.”

You swivelled to face him, round eyes and raised eyebrows set on him like a sniper. “Really, Tom? You do know you’re saying all this sat in the front seat of a bloody Bugatti? Bought with dirty money might I add?”

It’s the first time he’s seen you so heated and despite the truth in your words the sight of your small face twisted in annoyance is enough to make his lips curl, only adding fuel to your fire.

“You can sit here and tell me that all you want, but you know better than anyone that there’s more out there than Birmingham. I can see it in you Tom, and if you want you can act like you don’t need anything more, then that’s fine by me! But I hope you’re alright with lying to yourself.”

He stared deep into your eyes, expression blank and solid as if your words had truly punched him in the gut. You watched him for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly and eyebrows scrunching, wondering if maybe you had over stepped the line before his eyes glimmered and he held his hands up playfully, peaked cap bouncing with every exaggerated movement.

“Alright, bloody hell. Remind me not to get in a fight with you. I can see how much our Ada has rubbed off on you.”

You let a tiny smile tug at the edge of your lips before it expanded and took over your face, tossing your head back and letting your hair fall over your shoulders as you grinned. Tommy swore he felt his heart skip a beat. He started the car as quickly as he had stalled it, feeling it purr and jut under his feet, the world righted once again now that you were sat next to him. The car rolled over a bridge, and after you crossed over onto the other side he cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak.

“If you ever feel like running away again, come and see me first, alright?”

He kept his eyes on the road, but could feel yours on the side of is neck, running softly over his flesh like fingertips.

“If I didn’t know any better, Thomas,” You spoke teasingly, using his full name just to get under his skin, “I’d think you were going soft.”

The evening sun beat down onto the two of you, and as the car lurched forward he mirrored your own smile, because maybe he was, for you.

————————————————————————-

After that long drive home it was like a switch had flipped. The two of you became closer, as if an invisible thread was tying you both together. You were allowed into the betting shop more often, counting coins and change and bickering playfully with the Blinders. Tommy took you to your first horse race under the guise of “teaching you more about the business” you wore your finest dress and he pretended he couldn't feel his breath catch in his throat when he looked at you. His hands clung protectively around your waist as you downed a glass of strawberry wine, rolling his eyes and smiling as you laughed into him as the horses galloped and the crowds cheered. You spent evenings climbing through the window in his bedroom, sitting on the sloped roof tiles as rain pattered onto the streets below, sharing a cigarette and watching the stars peek through the smoky air, unsaid words bubbling behind both of your lips as yours knees pressed together.

The rest of the family noticed the change between the two of you, but said nothing. Even Ada couldn't help smiling to herself when she saw the glances that you shared, her kind and clever older brother was the only man she could possibly think was good enough for her best friend. Although she would never admit it, it meant he was distracted enough to not notice her leaving to spend time with a certain man named Freddie.

Tommy drove you to the beach for the first time, exploring the pier and walking barefoot across the sand. Your wide smile as you danced in the surf and talked under baying seagulls was forever cemented into his mind, he vowed silently that he would move mountains just to see you happy, the feeling unlike anything he had ever felt. He taught you how to shoot a gun, your body pulled flush against his as you squealed in delight as the bullet ricocheted off the can. Your conversations flowed like running water, able to converse and laugh about everything and anything from dusk till dawn. He was mischievous and playful and would crack jokes even on your worst days, when your father was mean and your mother was distant, he would make you feel whole again.

That’s why, on a rainy Thursday as the two of you walked side by side by canal, you pulled his face towards yours with your small hands and kissed him. He froze, with all of his previous girlfriends he had always initiated things first, but with you he had felt uncharacteristically hesitant, terrified of scaring you off and losing you. However as your parted lips met and he felt you smile into his mouth, tasting of cherry jam and stolen tobacco, he let his hands snake around your waist as if they had been carved there. The wind whistled and the rain splattered both of you, his peaked cap sheltering his ruffled hair and your face from the droplets, it was freezing but heat crackled between the two of you. You were practically half his size, resting on your tip toes to meet him fully, but in that moment he knew you had him utterly under your thumb.

The relationship the two of you shared was pure and untainted. It was all soft skin and moonlight painted faces, freckles and wide teeth and apricot coloured skies. His hand would brush against yours as he walked you home, you’d laugh into his neck at the Pictures, your words would mingle together at midnight as you sat and talked. Things couldn't have been more perfect, as sweet as the whisky tea you would drink with Ada and Polly, as merry as the laughs you shared with the brothers and as syrupy as the kisses you would have with your first love. But just like the smoke that filled the once clear sky above your heads, your life was soon to darken.

It all happened so suddenly, maybe your blissful youth had created a candy coated picture over the political dramas happening around you, but now they couldn’t be ignored. There was going to be a war. You knew from the start the brothers would be drafted, they were filled with pride for their country, they were young and fit and strong, they knew how to fight, punching and slashing with their razor blades, but you loathed the idea. You bit your tongue until it bled, knowing there was no point in arguing, but that didn't stop you staining your pillow with tears every night.

You refused to let the boys see you in such a state, and tried your best to enjoy the last few days you had until you would be separated from your family. The ache in your chest remained despite your false bravado, dinners were different, quieter, and you would often catch Polly staring at nothing, as if she could see a ghost.

Tommy took you away the night before. He drove the caravan for miles, his favourite dappled mare pulling you through fields of wildflowers as the sun followed you overhead. You parked in the woods by the river, silence falling over both of you. His hands laced through yours, thumb running over your soft skin, and you watched him, drinking in all of his beautiful features like whisky.

“Will you wait for me?”

His voice is quiet, so unlike his usual boyish, playful tone. Seeing him so vulnerable was like a bullet entering your heart. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt dance against your cheek.

“Forever.”

He intakes sharply. He plucks a daisy from the grass, toying with the tiny flower between his large palms before turning to you and pushing it behind your ear, looking at you in a way that makes your body melt like butter.

“I love you.” He watches you, gauging for your reaction, but you don’t give him any, you just look up at him with those big fucking eyes. He exhales, turning back to face the water as he continues. “Known it since we first met. Since that very first day, when we were just kids, I knew. You had a hold on me since day one. I couldn’t leave without telling you…telling you how grateful I am for you.”

His voice softens, “How much you mean to me and because of that,” He clears his throat as if struggling to get the words out, “I’ll understand if you want to move on, find someone else or…”

You don’t let him continue, you attach your lips to his as if they were magnetic, feeling him collapse under your touch. You pull away much too soon for his liking, a smile reaching your eyes as you press your forehead against his, the light making you look angelic. “Stop talking.” You kiss him again, harder, in that teasing way you have mastered so well.

“I love you too.”

Under the stars, as the moonlight bathes the caravan in a soft eerie glow, you pull off the straps off your sundress, watching Tommy follow you as if he’s in a trance. Calloused, firm hands meet your tender flesh as he worships you like a Goddess, unable to believe that you are human. You give yourself to him fully, and it’s unlike anything he’s felt, the connection flowing between your bodies stronger than anything, love and lust connecting as your bodies mesh. Despite his earlier sentiment, as he buries himself inside of you, he loathes the idea of another man touching you and you can feel the heat radiating from underneath his skin and pull his face to you, staring him down, telling him everything he needs to know.

You’re his, and he’s yours.

Candles flicker around you, painting your limbs the colour of the sunrise. You playfully touch his nose, and then his lips, dragging them open with your finger. Your bodies are slick with sweat, exhausted but alive, feeling as if you are the only two people in the world despite the knowledge of what lurks ahead, you just feel young and blissfully in love.

“You won’t forget about me, will you Shelby?” You tease. “Won’t find a nice French woman to take my place?”

You’re joking but he kisses you silent, eyes connecting to yours, “I’ll never be able to replace you, little one.”

——————————————————————

No one expected the war to last as long as it did, least of all you. Every day you sat by the radio, waiting and wanting desperately for news that it was over, but every day you would leave with tears filling your eyes. You busied yourself the best you could during those long, dark days. You and the girls ran the betting shop, you looked after John’s kids and Finn as if they were your own - despite your young age, the war had forced everyone to grow up.

Four years is a long time, and that’s exactly how you felt as you waited on the platform, hand in hand with Ada, waiting for your boys to come home. You felt as if you had swallowed rocks, nausea bubbling inside of you, acid in your throat. He had been home three times since it had started. Three times in four years had you been able to see his face in real life, touch his skin, tell him words that wouldn’t do justice on paper. You had seen the effects of the war distort the people around you, heard awful tales of shell shock and seen men returning home with missing limbs and broken hearts. Every day you waited for that call, that piece of paper that told you Tommy wouldn’t be returning, but blessedly it never came, and finally, he was coming home.

You’ll always remember that day he came off of the platform. The last time you had seen him had been so long ago, but even then you had noticed the grey of his skin, the pain in his eyes. He was quieter, milder, refusing to speak of the horrors he must have endured, instead focusing on light happy stories. You wondered how much he had changed since then.

He was beautiful.

He still had that boyish look, his sharp jaw and tousled hair, but he looked older, haunted. You felt your knees buckle at the mere sight of him, the way his eyes danced over the platform, looking for something, someone - you. Your eyes met and you watched them glimmer, something you had been starved of for so long that you devoured the feeling. Euphoria bit through your skin and tears pricked at your eyes. You ignored everyone else, storming through the crowd like you were the solider, racing with your arms wide open, not caring how childish you looked. He smiled in what looked like relief and laughed in exhaustion as you fell into his arms. He held you so tight that you could feel the air expel from your chest but you didn’t care, you cried hot, wet tears into his shoulder, and you felt him bury his head in your hair. He looked at you, breathing hard and opening his mouth, but before he could speak you smashed your lips onto his, melting into his touch like all those years ago.

“Welcome home, Tommy.”

——————————————————————

Weeks passed, and it was as if the darkness had seeped into his skin. You longed to tear it off of him, wished that you could swap yourself with him, carry a little bit of his pain, but you knew that was impossible. Night was when he found solace, with you wrapped up in his arms, breathing in your sweet clean scent, something he had been deprived of for far too long. If you strayed too far in the night, woke up for some tea for a sore throat or simply because your mind was restless, you would hear the gut wrenching moans and cries leave his lips and would dart up the stairs two at a time to crawl back onto him. The first time you heard it he sounded like a fox with its paw in a trap, something so inhumane that it stayed with you like an awful lullaby on loop in your brain. As you managed to wake him from his own nightmare, he pulled you impossibly close, breathing into your hair as you whispered words of comfort, feeling utterly helpless.

After the war, everyone had their own poison. Arthur started boxing, channeling his anger and frustration into fighting, Freddie started protesting, looking for change in places he found wrong, and for others like Danny Whizzbang, sometimes the war clung its teeth in too far and refused to let go.

Tommy however, became obsessed with power.

You had known about his incredible work ethic and savvy business skills since the very first day you met, but now his hunger was insatiable. He was up before the birds had started chirping, planting soft kisses on your collarbones as he left for work, and didn’t come to bed until you physically had to drag him away from his desk. You were worried, but as always he conducted himself in a manner that made it seem like he was always in control, smooth and charming, unfazed by his hectic schedule and the looks you sent him.

It came as no shock to anyone that Tommy had been leader of his unit, the kind of man that people would listen to and follow without hesitation, the kind of man that knew how to be in charge. You knew some things about what had happened in the tunnels, horrors so unimaginable that it tore your heart in two to think of him suffering, and you were just left wondering what kind of marks that would leave on a man. His high ranking earned him thanks and praise wherever he went, he was honourable and that lead more and more men to join the Blinders, wanting to be close to such a powerful man, wanting the things he could offer.

The experiences he’d suffered through had led him to become disillusioned and determined to move his family up in the world, especially you. He became increasingly overprotective, a trait you at first found endearing and then ultimately suffocating, you knew he meant you know harm, wanting to shield you from the things he had endured, but you felt like a child again. You longed for trips to the country, to walk along the beach with him, to sleep under the stars, but it was as if that part of him had been killed on the front line.

You would be a liar if you said you were unaware of the illegal activity going on in the betting shop, you had always known of the shady dealings going on behind closed doors, but they thrilled you, excited you, mainly because you always knew that Tommy was in control, he could never get hurt. Your whole life you had always wanted more, hungry for a lifestyle that never bored you, but now you were wondering if you had bitten off too much.

He was changing, morphing in front of your eyes like a creature you had read about in a storybook when you were a child. Growing up his violent tendencies were sporadic, but with both of your fathers being unpleasant men he was always tainted by his family reputation. You had helped sew razor blades into their peaked caps, had seen the fights in the school yard over petty childish things, and had wiped his knuckles clean when he beat Tim Green black and blue after he called you and Ada vile names. Back then it was exciting, the adrenaline making you fall onto him, enthralled by this beautiful man, feeling safer with him than you had ever felt before, but now you were wondering if you should be scared.

He would rather die than hit you. He had never called you anything other than sugary sweet pet names, never once raised a hand other than to caress your cheek, never in a million years did you think he would ever hurt you, not intentionally. But it pierced your heart like a bullet, walking down the street, watching those you once called friends hide in their houses, whisper his name like it was sour milk, spit at your feet once you had left. It never bothered you what those small minded people thought of you, but knowing the awful things they thought of your Tommy, that killed you. It felt like a knife in your ribs when you leant back against him and felt the unfamiliar weight of a gun tucked into the waistband of his expensive trousers, as if it was nothing more than the cigarettes he constantly carried. It clawed at your throat like a rabid dog, when he came home at midnight, covered in blood that wasn't his, his eyes grey and pale.

You wanted to be by his side throughout everything, holding his hand and being the woman that he had turned to for everything, but it felt like you were hidden in the shadows. He didn’t want you involved, wanting to rise up on his own merit, and give you all of the rewards without seeing the carnage he was leaving behind, but that wasn’t you. You weren’t some housewife who just tended to his wounds and looked the other way when he stuffed the local officers pockets with bribes, you wanted to be his equal.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, it was that he didn’t trust anyone else.

Some nights you would sit staring at the moon from the windowsill of his small bedroom, reminiscing on making love under his scratchy sheets, giggling into his skin, thinking of days when you would tell him anything and everything, and he would always know what to say. You hated yourself for thinking this way, knowing that he had fought for his country, with the terrors he had lived through, of course he would be a changed man, but this seemed more than that and it tore your heart in half.

He’d slip into the room at midnight, any miseries of the day diminishing when he saw your small frame, and he’d wrap his arms around you, whispering into your hair. Any bad thoughts you had would vanish as he cradled you, reliving all the times you had in the past, feeling as if home was a person, but you would be jolt at his words. He’d tell you of all the things he would buy you one day, spun tales of all the things you deserved as if he could magic them from thin air. He spoke of a large manor, marrying you in a ceremony with a thousand roses, expensive cars and hand-cut jewels, things that were enough to make anyone salivate, but not you.

The war had forced you to put your life in perspective. Those gut wrenchingly long nights away from your lover, biting your lip raw wondering if he was suffering. Days spent feeling numb, trying to distract yourself from thoughts that plagued your head, you wanted to escape. Small Heath had suffocated you, the smoke and the ash now clung to your lungs thicker than ever, and you were desperate for a gasp of fresh air. You thought that was what Tommy wanted too, thought that the both of you would flee Birmingham, climb on to a ship, sail around countries neither of you could pronounce, kiss under hot rain and see the buildings you read about in the newspapers, but maybe not.

You would have to make sacrifices. That’s what love is, you told yourself, tying your hair up with an expensive silk hairband that Tommy had bought, that wasn’t really you. You loved him, adored him, you were so head over heels with him that the thought of leaving made you feel nauseous. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he asked you to. This was the man you wanted to marry, the only man you could picture yourself having a life with, and you knew that he felt exactly the same. That’s what love is, you remind yourself, staring at the unfamiliar painted face in the mirror, it’s about compromise, right?

When Arthur bought the Garrison, despite Tommy’s apprehension, you took a job as his accountant and secretary, helping him keep business afloat when all he wanted was to drink his money. You fell into a comfortable routine, waking up early and working late, taking extra time on Sundays to learn how to bake, going a little further into town to buy fresh vegetables from the market, reading books that had sat on their shelf for years. You wore a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts, but deep down you were so mind numbingly bored, it felt like you had slipped on somebody else's skin, trapped in your own ivory tower. It all became worth it though, when Tommy would come home, his skin igniting against yours, lips savouring the taste of your flesh, the only good thing in both of your days. His hips pressed against yours, scratching your nails into his back and feeling him melt under you, enthralled by you, both of you so totally in love that it radiated around the small room, you knew why you did it. Curled under his arm he would smile and laugh, tell you snippets of his day, talk about the future, and hearing his words and charming accent, the way they fell from his lips like wisps of gold, running his hands through your hair, knowing that it was for a better future for both of you, you accepted your fate.

Ada noticed it first. Of course she did, you two were practically sisters. You knew each other like the back streets of Birmingham, like the lines and curves on your hands. She watched the way your vibrancy dimmed until you could fit in with the grey coloured photographs on Polly’s coffee table, listened as your giggles and playful teasing came to a halt and you spent more and more hours alone, separated from the world. She was heartbroken, torn between shaking you and forcing you to come to your senses, willing your vivacious personality to rise to the surface, and knowing that doing so could ruin the best thing Tommy had going for him, and shatter both of you into a million pieces. The rest of the family saw it as well, your light dulling with every day that passed, but they were unsure how to help without stepping over the protective line Tom drew around you, and with business tougher than ever, there was more than enough on their own plates.

To Tommy you were the most precious thing in his life. Because of you, his youth had been damn near perfect, meeting you had changed his life and he felt that he owed you the world. After the war you had rescued him from the depths of his own murky head, your letters and the image of you in his battered brain and been the only thing keeping him alive on he frontline. Whenever he felt like he was drowning, it had always been you that had pulled him from underwater, your smile putting the air back into his lungs. You made him feel alive, made him feel like in the world of smoke and debris he could breathe, that even on his lowest and darkest days, it was you that kept him going, but even he knew that was a lot for a person to carry.

You were wilting like a flower and he despised it. You had always been so beautiful. You could light up a room just by entering it, could trap men and enamour women with nothing but a look, could take his breath away with just a smile, but you were fading away. He had felt the darkness radiating off him since he returned home from the war, and he had fought tooth and nail to stop it corrupting you, you were too perfect, too pure, to be dragged down with him. He thought that he had kept you untainted, thought that he had done what was best for you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He watched you when you weren’t looking, his eyes always finding your features no matter where you were. Whenever he was nervous or unsure he would find you and his breath would steady and his heartbeat would calm as if you were a shot of rum on his tongue. Almost a year after he had returned home did he start seeing you clearly, he had been so wrapped up in love, in coming home, in becoming the best man he could be, that he had clouded over you like fog on a winter morning. The glisten in your eyes had faded, they had dulled like a worn penny, and your collarbones and ribs began to rise from under your flesh. He tried to think of the last time he had made you laugh, a proper belly laugh like when you were kids, and he came up empty. He knew what the reason was but he refused to accept it, refused to admit that their might be cracks in your perfect relationship, because losing you just might break him.

He tried to be better for you, but he was too far gone. He could feel you slipping away from his fingertips and there was nothing he could do. You had tried to change for him and in the process you had lost part of yourself, and the war had carved a hole between both of you. It was heartbreaking and nauseating, both of you loving each other too much, but ultimately becoming different people. He refused to let you go without a fight, he knew he was being selfish and possessive but he couldn’t just let you leave, you had both been hopelessly in love since the very first day that you had met, you were soulmates. He chain-smoked you like a cigarette, took in your body like it was holy, craved your touch like it was medicinal, you were his everything. You were the reminder of the good days, looking at you and he was transported back to his youth, chasing you under apple trees, kissing until your lips were full and swollen, laughing until your ribs grew rough. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and every evening you clung onto his body, inhaling his sweat and tobacco covered skin, tracing his tattoos like they were bible verses, a million words lingering between you both. You were clinging on for dear life, knuckles glowing white as you refused to release your grip, desperate for everything to work out.

On a Friday, he let you go.

Curled up beside him, you felt otherworldly. He allowed himself moments of weakness around you, to everyone else he was the devil incarnate, but he softened whenever he touched you. He wanted these final moments to last forever, his girl wrapped up in his arms, the only bright light in his world of darkness. Tears were welling in his eyes, something so unfamiliar to him that he had to catch his breath, clear his throat before he could speak.

“I’ve not been good to you.”

Your head rose, resting on his strong chest as you peered at him, noticing how he refused to look at you.

“If I was a better man, a stronger man, I would have let you go sooner.”

“Tommy…”

“I’ve been selfish, little one. Too fucking selfish, and I see that now.”

You sat up further, already knowing his next words, your heart racing like one of his prize mares in your chest. You cling onto him, knuckles tensed as you feel him under you, willing him to look at you, but he can’t. He knows that if he sees your beautiful face, watches the tears slip down your cheeks and your lip quiver, he’ll crumble. That’ll be it, he’ll have broken, sweep you under him and try to piece you back together, but he knows this time he can’t.

You trace your fingertips over the hairs on his chest, the rhythmic motion helping to calm your rapid breathing. You feel like you’re in the firing line, on your knees, head bowed, just waiting for the final shot to blow your skull into pieces.

“I’ve never loved somebody the way I’ve loved you.” He coughs, rubbing his nose, and you’re not sure if its because it’s the tobacco in his lungs or the lump in his throat. “And know I’m realising that, what I’ve put you through, was wrong.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Tom, none of it. I’d do it all again if I could. In a heartbeat.” He knows you’re telling the truth, the honestly in your tone making his heart swell, but it doesn't make it any easier. He knows what he has to do, he has to be the bigger man, no matter how much it’ll wreck him, he has to do the best thing for you.

“I know you would, but that’s not the life you deserve.”

Silence falls across the room. Both of you bathed in smoke and ash and moonlight, memories flutter around you like torn photographs, drifting down onto the wood floor like snowflakes. The air is thick with tears that you both refuse to let slip, you had both known this time was coming since long before either had you had spoken the words. This was love. It tore you and ripped you in half, and neither of you had gone down without a fight. You loved one another so much that it had consumed you, swallowed you both whole and you wouldn’t change a thing. Despite the pain, it had been the best years of your life.

“I don’t think I know how to exist without you.” You confess, your lover such a part of you that it feels like you’re going to lose a limb, a terrible hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“You will. You know I wouldn’t let you go if it wasn’t safe for you, you know I wouldn’t…I’ve got some money for you, to find a place to stay, somewhere far away from here, OK?”

“I’m not taking your money, Tom.”

“Yes you are.You’re not leaving unless I know you’ll be alright, eh?”

“No I’m not T, seriously -”

“Always so bloody stubborn!” He laughed, pinching your outer thigh playfully, a gesture so innocent and intimate and awfully familiar that it makes you both deflate with sadness.

You refuse to let the silence engulf you. Refuse to accept that this might be the last time either of you smell one another’s skin, the last time you can take comfort in one another, refuse to accept that forever might not mean what you thought. Refuse to accept that saying goodbye felt like the right thing.

“Tom. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll rule the world one day. But promise me something, promise me you won’t lose yourself? Promise me that you won’t do anything that you can’t come back from. For me?”

He nods, burying his face in your hair.

His exasperated laugh sounds like sparkling champagne, “I almost drove myself mad thinking of what I was gonna say to you, but I couldn’t find the right words. After everything we’ve been through though, we don’t need words do we, little one? I love you and you love me, that’s more than enough. No matter what happens, it’ll be us forever. Even if we’re apart. We don’t need words to say what we mean.”

Your lips met his, making him come alive just as you had done under the canal all those years ago.

“So let’s not talk.”

Tommy wished forever that he could burn the image of that final night behind his eyelids, see you whenever he closed his eyes. He dreamt that he tatted you on his skin, could trace your figure whenever things got too rough, that you would pull him back to shore. That final night felt like a dream, you both cried, sank into one another’s bodies, muffled one another tears with open mouthed kisses. Your beautiful gangster falling apart only for you, his darling angel clinging to just him in those final hours. Your bodies had intertwined for the last time, exhilarated with lust but exhausted from sadness, communicating through touches and kisses.

Tommy slept the best he had done for years. No dreams of shovels, no thoughts of the business racing through his skull. Instead he let himself get utterly wrapped up by you,falling into a satisfied sleep with his girl next to him. Woozy and delirious, when he first opened his eyes he forgot about everything that had happened, felt that unfamiliar emptiness in the bed beside him and thought that he’d find you nestled in an armchair drinking sweet tea, but nausea filled the pit of his stomach like acid when memories came flooding back.

It wasn’t until he saw the envelope he had filled with notes and coins for you, unopened on the desk, and your treasured photograph of the two of you from that very first beach visit, left on top, painted with a cherry red lipstick print and the words, “Goodbye, Tom. I love you.” Did he lose it. He flung the peaked cap off its hanger, let out an animalistic roar and shattered his fist through the wall, before falling to his knees and burying his head into his hands.

———————————————————————————————-

He had heard that you came back. Similar to a alley cat, you snuck in and out of the city under the cover of moonlight, only being seen by those you wanted. He had heard that when Ada fell pregnant, and she stayed locked away in Freddie’s basement flat, you were the only person she let in. Sometimes he would loiter on those back streets after work, hoping and dreaming for a glimpse of you, something to satisfy his hungry mind, but he never got so lucky. You kept in contact with the others, sending them letters and postcards, but they kept them hidden from him, and he pretended he didn't fantasise about ripping them open and devouring your words. Polly and Ada would speak of you sometimes, but would fall silent whenever he was nearby, and he would pretend he was unbothered, despite the want of knowing where you were clawing him inside out.

He threw himself into work harder than he had ever done before. He could feel himself slipping away, and without you to ground him he felt the darkness start to consume him, but he would never blame you, you were too good, and he would have ruined you. He dreamt of you every night, thought of you in every spare moment, so it was easier to be doused in another’s blood or making a dangerous deal than to be left alone to his own devices. Wondering if you had met someone new made him feel violently ill, it was like torture thinking of another man making you happy, another man touching you, making you smile. Almost every night he paid a visit to a whore house, fucking somebody else and dreaming it was you, he knew it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t stop. You lingered in his brain constantly like the smoke that left his sullen lips.

He became used the the thought of being alone. Enamoured with the idea of being on top; controlling and dominating the streets was all he cared about. You were always at the back of his mind, wherever he looked he saw you, thought of you, it drove him crazy, but then again you always had. He was in desperate need for a distraction, some form of happiness to grasp after you had left, he knew he had to move on, but he was uncertain he would ever find it again. He had to get used to the nauseating fact that you were gone, and then, like a ball of sunshine, the new blonde barmaid smiled at him and he felt his world lighten.

But now you were back.

————————————————————

He can’t remember walking towards you.

His feet and brain were disconnected, he had become an entirely different person than the calm, collected business man he usually was, his composure crumbling the moment he saw you. The second he saw a falter in your conversation, when you excused yourself from the enamoured, sleazy men around you, practically drooling as you stood before them, did he know he had to say something to you or risk regretting it for the rest of his life.

He apologised quickly to Grace, half heartedly and rushed, something he knew he’d have to explain later, but he couldn’t stop himself. He also didn’t miss the curl of Polly’s lip at the sight of her nephew infatuated with you, reminding her of the teenager she missed dearly.

Every move of his was calculated. From business to his personal life, he refused to let himself be ruled the same as the common man, everything he did was deliberate and precise, but even he’ll admit he was tongue tied as he pushed past the rest of the people in the ballroom, eager to reach his target.

You had stepped outside. Desperate for the relief of cool air against your flesh, the comfort of the stars above you and the solace of a must needed cigarette between your lips. Tommy couldn’t help the smile on his face, 5 years of separation pouring out of him as he exhaled at the sight of you, so close that he could reach out and graze your skin with his fingers. It was intoxicating, you were intoxicating, and he hated himself for still being enchanted with a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

Movement behind you made you turn your head, dazed and hazy from the alcohol and the smoke filling your lungs, but you felt stone cold sober as your muddled mind placed the man before you. Air left your body like a pinched ballon, your chest expanding with surprise.

He’ll admit seeing you so flustered at the sight of him did wonders for his ego. Igniting the flame inside of his stomach that proved that you still thought of him, still cared for him. But just as quickly as you lost your cool, you regained it instantly, straightening up and letting a soft smile grace your features, and he felt himself melt.

You looked so familiar, yet different.

You were more tanned, freckles across the bridge of your nose, constellations he could remember tracing when he was a teen. Your hair was longer, tousled into a style he had never seen on you, but it looked right.

He could tell your dress was expensive, embroidered and embezzled with lace and crystals, a finely crafted necklace sliding off of your collar bone, and thoughts of gifts from admiring suitors sent him into a tailspin. He loathed himself for it, but his eyes narrowed to your left ring finger, audibly exhaling when it came up empty, and he didn’t know if he should feel relieved or ashamed.

A moment of silence and shared memories flashed between you quicker than the spark of a match. A warm familiar feeling brewed in the pit of your stomach, so gut wrenchingly nostalgic you feel as if you have been winded. Both of your senses are heightened, you can smell him, imagine the feel of his hair, despite it being almost shaved to his scalp, imagine the tattoos under his expensive suit, can practically recall your nails tracing them in a sleep induced haze. You had forgotten just how he made you feel, and the recognition makes you both halt.

He breaks the silence first; as if to prove to you his new status. He was no longer as boyish, as playful, he controlled the room, owned it, and the devil sitting on his shoulder wondered if that extended to you.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hello, Tommy.”

He almost falls to pieces at the sound of his name on your sugar sweet lips, reminding him of the times before the war, the times he had locked away in his mind. You’ve turned a strong man weak, rendered him speechless and you grab the control as it slips from his fingertips.

“It’s been a long time, Tom.”

“That it has.”

“You’ve been away for quite some time.” He inhales sharply, determined to clasp the reins once again, determined to dismantle you and get a reaction, “Didn’t even see you at Freddie’s funeral, would have been nice of you to show up.”

The funeral was years ago but he still hates the fact that he hadn’t seen you that day, he was burying one of his best friends and yet you had clawed all over his mind like a virus. He even stayed after everyone had left, saying private words to his friend, and wondering if he could catch a glimpse of you, but that evening he walked home as alone as he came.

You raise a brow in challenge, your eyes glinting with a mix of disbelief and humour. “I stayed with our Ada for over a month when Freddie died, I was by her side through the thick of it. I didn’t come to the funeral out of respect, I didn’t want it to be about anything other than him.”

He swallows your words, nodding slowly. Letting the silence settle around him like smoke before he asks you his next question. “Where did you go?”

A small smile fell on your lips, and you looked up at him in a way that almost made him turn his head as it was too familiar, too painful.

“Anywhere and everywhere. Paris, Rome, Berlin. It was nice to see them rebuild after the war. I stayed in America for a year or so, Boston and New York, and then settled on the beach in California for a bit, it was beautiful.” He listens to every word that escapes your mouth, noting how happy you sound as you describe your travels, so breathless and elated as you reminisce.

“You did always love the sea.” He says gently.

“Yes,” you smile, “I do.”

“What brings you back? To a party like this?” He changes the subject, not wanting to linger in the past, fearful of what that might bring up in him.

“I’ve been in London with a friend, I owe him a favour and ended up here.”

Him. Three words that strike him in the gut and nearly make him double over. He can feel the heat rising in him, he’s married and it’s been years since he’s seen you, but the thought of you with another man makes vomit and red hot anger ascend inside of him.

“He’s just a friend, Tom.” You say slowly, offering him an olive branch, you shouldn’t have to explain yourself but you want to, because it’s just as hard for you. “He owns a distillery but he doesn’t do well at parties, so I offered to take his place.”

He laughs humourlessly, almost breathless from disbelief at the sheer incredulity of it all. “Solomons? Of fucking course.”

“You know of him?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“You could say that.”

“Well,” You grin, “Looks as if we have something in common.”

The knowledge that you were mere miles away, laughing with Solomon’s, head thrown back as you made time for a man that wasn’t him, drove the nail further into Tommy’s own coffin.

“So your dress? Your jewels? Presents from him?” It comes out harsher than he intended but he doesn’t care, the sight of you has made him as inebriated as a dozen shots of whisky on an empty stomach and he allows it to distort his words.

“I make my own money, Tommy.” You respond.

He steps closer, the toe of his expensive leather shoe inching towards you like a high tide.

“Do you ever think about me?” The words escape him before he has a chance to stop them, and he sees emotion pool in your eyes, and he watches a breath escape your lips.

“Everyday.”

He isn’t sure what to say, suddenly feeling 15 again, if anyone saw him now they would be in utter disbelief that he was the same ruthless gangster they knew. He is within reach now, you could extend your fingers and feel him under you like you had once done a million times before, you wonder just how different his lush suit would feel compared to the ones he had run around in when he was a teen. His eyes scour your face, drinking you in like water, comparing your face to the last time he had seen you. Neither of you let your eyes meet one another, darting away like rivals, and yours slip over his head back into the crowd.

“Is that your wife?”

His head snaps up as if he has been doused in ice water, and he follows your gaze across the floor. He sees Grace, surrounded by other women, but her eyes trained on the two of you. He knows later he’ll have a conversation he isn’t ready for, knows he’ll have to explain feelings he’s kept hidden for years, but he turns on his heel, away from his wife and towards you.

“Yes.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s not you.”

Silence. He loathes himself for his words but hates himself even more that he doesn’t regret them.

“Good. You deserve someone better.”

Your eyes finally meet.

His are stoic and unwavering, lacking the spark you loved but still the same ocean eyes you loved to drown in. Yours are filled with emotion, finally exposing yourself after so many years, you soften him to the touch as your eyes meet his, melting him like an icicle.

“I know what you’re thinking, Tom.”

“You always have.”

You smile softly. “I almost came back you know.”

His ears prick up like a bloodhound, his heart bursting under his flesh.

“I heard rumours. People would whisper in the street about a devil, I knew exactly who they meant before they even spoke your name aloud.”

He inhales sharply, not knowing where the story will take him, desperate to regain control but ultimately knowing he’ll always be trailing after you.

“They said you were cunning and brilliant but they also said you were ruthless and cold blooded. They said you were a man on a mission, a man destined to get to the top, they told me they were scared of you. Terrified.”

He steps closer.

“I begged Ada to tell me everything, managed to get her drunk from expensive liquors, you know the ones she loves? The ones that taste like the sweets we would nick after school?”

He nods, the memory distant but familiar. The taste of sugar on your lips, teeth clashing together, giggles that sounded like bells.

“She told me the darkness came back, took you away. She said she was worried for you, she told me she didn’t want to lose her brother, not again. I was going to come back, but I was a coward.” Your voice falters, and he wants nothing more than to cradle you in his arms but he knows he can’t and instead watches the rise and fall of your chest. “I was worried that if I came back you would get worse, I’m not good for you Tom. You know that.”

“You’ve always been good for me.”

“You say that cause you love me,” You tease, “But we’re not kids anymore, Tommy.”

He looks at you, older now, taller. He can remember the colour of your hair from the sun, the grass that stained your knees, the way you felt under him. He can remember everything. If you aren’t good for each other, why is he still under your spell?

He can see the way your face contorts, passion evident on your features.“She told me you met a woman, fell in love and got married. I was mad with jealousy at first, like a bloody woman possessed.”

He hates the way your admission makes him feel smug.

“But Ada, she told me she was good for you. She told me how she makes the shovels stop Tom, she makes you a better man. I knew in that moment that you deserved her, and she deserved you. You deserve to be happy, because you’re a good man, Tom.”

You walk towards him, luring him to you like a ship to the shore. He responds immediately, so close that he can feel the warmth of your body, smell the wildflowers that linger on your neck.

“I asked for a sign that night,” you say softly, “a sign that you would be alright.”

“A sign?” He asks almost playfully, just enough teasing in his tone to remind both of you that maybe he isn’t too far gone.

“Yes, a sign, and I got one.”

You tear your eyes from him, down to your diamond encrusted purse in your hands. You open the clasp, and rummage around, slipping out a piece of paper no bigger than your palm. You rest it against your fingertips before holding it out to him, and he slowly takes it, not missing the sparks he feels as your hands touch.

He turns it over, and let’s out a genuine laugh, one that shocks you both.

It’s a newspaper clipping, from one year ago, the black and white print almost seeming harsh under the light of the moon. He traces the picture with the pads of his fingers, smiling more this evening than he can ever remember.

He clears his throat and reads softly, “Tommy Shelby’s mare “Little One” comes first place at national derby.”

Your eyes connect once again, the corners of your mouth upturned. “Little One.” You repeat, “She was my sign.”

He nods, looking down at the picture of the thoroughbred he loved dearly. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, but she’s stubborn as all hell, can be aggressive too.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“Oh, that she is.”

You tentatively place one hand onto his chest, as if you are taming a wild animal. He responds to your touch like he’s been craving it his entire life.

“I should go, Tom.”

He doesn’t know what to say, or do, something so rare for a man always one step ahead. All he can think of is to cling to you like a child, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he can.

“I don’t want to lose you, not again.” He admits, his tough facade shattering like glass.

“You let me go once before Tom, you can do it again.”

He holds you against his chest, not bothering to wonder who can see him in such a fragile state. A lifetime of memories flutters between you like pages of a book. Everything unwinding in your mind, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You feel like a teenager again, can smell him beside you, feeling as if you are curled up back in his single bed, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re going to go back to your wife, Tom. Your beautiful, kind wife. The wife who is good for you, and you’re going to go and be happy.”

He thinks of it all, the money and the mansion. The power, the gold and jewels and paintings that lather every wall in his house, he thinks of everything he has, and wonders how any of it compares to you.

You place one palm against the side of his cheek, pulling him into you and you shake your head as if you can read his mind. You plant a soft kiss against his skin, it scorches into him like a branding, like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. He exhales shakily, watching as you step away from him, forever beautiful and young and enchanting, slipping back into the teenager he chased around sunflower fields and danced with under the stars. Back then his hands were freckled and tanned, now they are covered in blood.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

“Goodbye, Little One.”

He swears he only turns away for a second, to locate Grace, to try and think of any explanation for his erratic behaviour this evening, to not let you see the emotion flooding over his face like a tsunami, and when he turns back around, maybe to stop you, or maybe to get one final look before you go, you’re already gone.

#peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby oneshot #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby imagine #writing

900 notes · View notes

voldemorthatesnose96 · 5 years ago

Text

Delirium

Chapter 10

Previous chapter

It’s a fairly long chapter, you’ve been warned 🙈🙈

Winter is here. Snow covering the concretes and roofs, the Whomping Willow shakes its branches to get rid of the snows, Black Lake is completely frozen—sometimes Jens is wondering how’s the giant squid coping with all this cold inside the water. Is it also frozen? Or already move somewhere else warmer, maybe a month before?

The hell am I thinking? he thought to himself. Apparently too much orange juice is doing ridiculous thing to his brain.

He is now sitting alone in the Great Hall, with an empty cereal bowl and Daily Prophet spread wide in front of him; showing the commercial part of the newest released of broom cleaning kit, and spicy chocolate chip cookies. Last night was another sleepless night for him, but it’s all because he’s too giddy and happy that today’s finally the day where he and Lucas will go to the Hogsmeade, together. Of course, his three bestfriends are quite sad that Jens couldn’t go with them, but it’s not long before they actually giving him supports and a few winks.

Just like another human being in love but insecure of their clothing before a date, Jens already checks his appearance in the mirror many times in the bathroom before heading here and waiting for Lucas to come. Part of him is worrying about the possibility that the boy won’t be here or worst, bails at the last seconds. Not gonna lie, he’s this close to believe that sad thought, before the sight of the certain person he’s waiting for is walking inside the hall. Jens instantly notices that Lucas is also styled his hair a bit; making it looks shinier, wearing an oversized emerald knitted-sweater that’s making his beautiful blue eyes pops.

“Morning.” Lucas smiles brightly—making it such a contrast to the gloomy weather outside.

It takes few seconds for Jens to finally coming back to earth and replies, “good morning to you too.”

“You look nice today, Stoffels.”

Jens feels like flying, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

Lucas grins, “well, shall we go now?”

“Let’s go!”

Hogsmeade is what dreamy village looks like. It’s small, secluded, crowded but in a good way, and you can find almost everything here—of course, Diagon Alley is still the place to go to buy any kind of things you need for daily life, but it’s always packed and Jens hates it. The snow is finally has stop falling, and even though the sunlight’s not here yet but Jens takes this as a good omen.

“Would you like to go to the Zonko’s first?”

“No.”

Lucas tilts his head, confused.

“I mean, my dumbass friends would be there and I don’t want them to ruin our good time, or probably making you feel uncomfortable by their presence.”

Hearing this, Lucas playfully nudges Jens’ shoulder, “did you realise that you’re the dumbass now? I don’t give a damn about what people may or may not think about me.”

“So, you still wanna go there?” Jens smirks.

“No,” Lucas answers. “Let’s go get warm coffe first. I’m freezing.”

“To the—”

“Madam Puddifoot’s, yes,” Lucas cuts him, then narrows his eyes a little. “Why? You changed your mind?”

Jens lets a sigh, and without thinking, he takes Lucas’ hand in his and leads the way to the place. For a split second, Lucas is quite taken aback by this sudden act, but he doesn’t mind it at all; instead, it feels nice. Why would it feels nice? It’s not like the first time that someone holding his hand before. Why does it feels different? It’s just Jens. Right?

Before Lucas can process anything much further, Madam Puddifoot’s voice bursts his thoughts. His hand is still in Jens’.

“Table for two?”

“Yes, please.”

“Right this way, gentlemen!”

Madam Puddifoot’s leads them to the nearest spot beside the window; looks like snow is falling again just now. Jens takes a glance at the boy in front of him, who’s furrowing his brows in full concentration while reading a small baby-pink booklet menu. Somehow Jens can smells a slight scent of strawberry cake from it.

“What can I get for you?”

“A coffe and a slice of banana bread,” Lucas looks up. “You?”

Jens shrugs, “same.”

“Will be back in five minutes! But first,” Madam Puddifoot clicks her fingers and a basket full of freshly-picked roses floating right towards them. “Each of you should pick a flower for your partner (both Lucas and Jens holding a choking sound when they heard her), then these roses will speak the message they hold. Have fun!”

It looks like the basket won’t leave until the boys do as they told earlier, because it keeps nudging their arms and shoulders and even heads for almost five minutes.

“Alright, I’ll do it first! Stop budging me, basket!” Says Lucas in his most annoyed tone. He picks the longest rose and places it in front of Jens. “Your turn, Stoffels.”

“Here.”

Jens gives the rose—which its petals look like a rosebud—directly to Lucas, who’s a little surprised. Right after he does it, the basket floating back to its place as if it wants to give them some privacy.

“So? Where’s this message?” Jens lifts his rose and examines it. “Should we talk to it first or—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucas rolls his eyes. This whole thing is ridiculous. The message is probably just some sort of corniest romantic joke. “I’m sure she’s just bluffing.”

Much to their shock, Jens’ rose starts to speak out of nowhere. It feels like as if it comes from a tiny speaker : your scent is reminding me of the forest in the night when I wander aimlessly. Wet soil and crisp fallen leaves. Warmth of your smile is like a hot chocolate.

“What the—”

And as if their roses are somehow connected to each other, Lucas’ rose is now speaking : Your blue eyes mesmerizing, captivating. O, you wouldn’t know how much I adore those angel’s gift of yours. Drown in there forever and never go back to the surface.

A stone-cold, awkward silence falls between them. Both looking anywhere and everywhere but at each other. Lucas is suddenly no longer feeling cold or even had guts to eat his warm banana bread, while Jens absentmindedly whistling and looking up at the ceiling as if it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen. None of them talking to each other until the last drop of their coffes are clear.

“Wanna go somewhere else?” Jens offers, who’s now way calmer than before. He puts two Galleons on the table, and the tablecloth said “thank you. Come again!”

Lucas only nods, grabs his coat and leads the way outside. Somehow he can’t breathe properly. Wet soil and crisp fallen leaves in the forest? These are his personal favorite things whenever he turns into his animagus form and wandering alone in the night, especially in autumn. No... it can’t be... no!

“Are you okay?” Jens asks, looking concern.

“I’m great,” Lucas replies a bit too fast. He shows a wide smile and points at the Three Broomsticks. “Can we go there first? I wanna buy few bottles of butterbeer.”

Jens grins as he takes a relief breath seeing Lucas is alright, “sure.”

The date (or so Jens thought) is going exceptionally well, even though snow is still falling. Lucas buys a lot of things from Zonko’s to Honeydukes, and when Jens asks if Lucas is actually need all these, the answer he gets is only “I love to do some shopping sometimes” from the Slytherin boy.

After they heads out from the Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, Jens accidentally bumps into someone around his age with eyes as black as the raven, dark blue hair and skin as fair as the snow—making him look like a mannequin he and Lucas saw at Gladrags Wizardwear earlier.

“Sorry.” Jens says.

The boy doesn’t say a word, but he’s only looking at Jens for a few seconds before placing one hand on his shoulder and goes away. What a weird person, Jens thought.

“Stoffels, what’re you doing?” Lucas demands. His cheeks are now as pink as the booklet menu at Madam Puddifoot’s. “I looked behind my shoulder and you were gone?”

“I accidentally bumped into a strange boy.”

“As strange as you only stood here like an idiot?” Lucas rolls his eyes. “Let’s go back to the castle. I’m done sending my letters!”

Though still a little bewildered of what just happened, Jens follows Lucas lead, both are seemingly drowning in their own thoughts until Jens breaks the silence when they finally arrives at the viaduct courtyard. He pulls a small box from his coat’s pocket and says, “for you.”

“What is this? When did you buy it?” Lucas asks, still not taking the gift right away.

“I didn’t. Dad gave it to me when I got accepted here. I always have it with me, as a lucky charm,” Jens explains calmly as he looking straight at Lucas. “But now it’s yours.” He smiles when the Slytherin boy’s expression is clearly surprised.

“No.”

“No?”

“How could you give me something that you had for years?” Lucas demands. “YEARS, Stoffels! Not to mention that your Dad gave it to you. No!”

Jens sighs. He grabs one of Lucas hand and places the box on his palm, then closes it, “it’s mine to do whatever I want with it. Open up.”

Though Lucas still wanted to refuse, but the moment when he sees what’s inside the box catches his eyes immensely; it’s a brooch which shape is an anchor, made from gold with the word “virtus” engraved on it. Lucas absentmindedly touches the brooch with his thumb.

“What is this mean?”

“Virtue, worth, bravery. Whichever resonates with you.”

Lucas bites his lower lip, his eyes examining what Jens unusual gift for him, “are you sure about this?”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful. But...”

“Then it’s yours now,” Jens cuts him. His tone is final. “I feel like you need it more than I do, anyway.”

“Why? Why me?”

“I already told you the reason just now, silly.”

“Why me, Jens? ME!”

The other boy isn’t answering right away; instead, they’re only looking at each other. One is searching for answer, one is thinking if he should just tell the truth or not. But Jens thinks that even though this moment is the right time, but somehow there’s something inside him that’s holding him back from saying that he gives his most beloved possesion is because he’s in love with Lucas. As cliche as it can be, but he never lies about his feeling all his life. Gryffindor never lies.

Jens caresses Lucas rosy cheek with the back of his hand and says, “because you’re a very important person to me.”

#wtfock #wtfam #fanfic #VDS

54 notes · View notes

minniemixe · 5 years ago

Text

Beauty And The Beast

Gangster AU

Stray Kids Fanfic

Chan x Reader

Other Appearances: GOT7 BTS

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Violence, Mentions of stabbing, Mention of kinks, making out

Beauty and the Beast Masterlist

Chapter 4

“Where are you taking me?” Moon asked again, trying to get out of his grip.

“The infirmary?” he answered letting go of her wrist

“Why”

“You are going to fix my wound”

“Did you forget that I failed my medic training with Liv”

“No I have not, but you said you wanted to be out on the field, so you have to learn”

“It’s not like I’ll be alone?”

“You never know, what if it isn’t just you, what if someone else is injured and it’s just you two. Would you let them die? You need to know the basics, so you can at least keep them alive until help arrives” Chan explained

“Oh”

“The faster you learn, the closer you are to the field.” Chan smiled at her

“Thanks I guess” she looked at him questioningly

“What?” he raised a brow

“I don’t know. I mean you’re a gang leader but you don’t seem like one”

“Elaborate please” he asked confused

“Like you’re not all cold and stone hearted, killing anything that disobeys you. Back there, there is no way I could’ve won, you purposely went easy on me. Sure I want to be on the field, but who am I, you could easily refuse. Trusting me to treat your wound when I almost killed one of your members during training over a small injury and here you have a huge gash across your front. And it’s not just me you’re like this with, I’ve seen you with the other members. Honestly sometimes I forget I am in a gang, that is why a few days ago I told you I’m more peaceful here” Moon explained as they entered the infirmary.

“Everyone has a story” he smirked, repeating her sentence from earlier

“What’s yours?” she smiled knowingly

“You’ll know when the time comes. Right now you have a wound to patch” he spoke taking his shirt off. Moon blushed heavily looking at his bare back. His shoulders were broad, his pale back, littered with light freckles looking like small stars, she couldn’t help but think how smooth his skin would feel if she ran her hand on his back. Grazing it with her nails, leaving scratch marks, she shook her head snapping out of the dirty cycle of thoughts. However the moment he turned around she wished she wasn’t in the room. She internally cursed herself as all the nasty and sadistic thoughts came back to her, the thoughts she had spent years on suppressing. He was completely ripped, practically making her drool over his well built form. Shamelessly checking him out, for once she let her thoughts run wild. He had an awfully large cut with blood dripping from it but why did she find it attractive. She wanted to collect that blood on her hands and smear it over themselves as he’d take her right there on the infirmary wall. His valcular hands, she wanted nothing more than him choking her with those very hands until her vision blurred. Those lips she could kiss until they were bleeding. His large biceps she’d squeeze and claw at as he’d mercilessly pound into her. Hi- “Like what you see” he smirked

“No, I mean, Yes, I mean, Sorry. Do I really have to do this, I could just watch someone else do it and maybe next time I’ll try it. I don’t want to cause anymore damage.” she sighed

“You won’t, I’ll guide you through it” he smiled at her encouragingly

“Alright sit down” after much consideration Moon decided to go along with it.

Chan sat on the edge of the bed while Moon dragged a chair in front of him. “What’s first?” she asked, “First, you have to clean the wound, then disinfect, you might have to stitch it up as well but we’ll get to that later. Right now, get that little tub and fill it with water, there are clean towels in that drawer take one out. And get that first aid kit over there.” Chan said pointing towards the things. Doing as told, Moon grabbed everything and came and sat in front of him. She wet the towel and started working on his wound trying her best to not stare. Chan leaned back putting his weight on his arms giving her easier access. The lower she got, she couldn't help but notice the deep v line that disappeared under his black shorts. Moon swallowed thickly shaking her head snapping out of her dirty thoughts.

"Do you think this will need stitches?" She asked putting the dirty towel away.

Chan got up and went to the mirror located at the corner to examine his wound "No, it's not that deep, a simple bandage will do" he spoke rummaging through different cupboards to collect cotton and gauzes. Once he found them he walked back to his place sitting down as he handed the materials to her.

"Do I have to wrap you with this like a mummy?" She joked

"No. You have to use this and that medical tape to cover the wound" he answered

"Okay so first I have to put the cotton on" she said picking up the said material.

"Woah woah woah, you have to disinfect the wound first" he said grabbing her hands

"Oh. How do I do that"

"God, you're hopeless" he shook his head.

"That's why I said you should get someone else to do this" she whined

"No, this is how you'll learn" he simply shrugged

"Fine, tell me what I have to do" she sighed

"This is the disinfectant, use a cotton ball to rub it on my wound" he told, handing her the bottle. With Chan's guidance Moon was able to bandage up his wound without much problem.

"Alright all done, you can put on your shirt now" she spoke standing up and putting everything back in its place

"I thought you liked it like this" he smirked making her blush

"Oookay, I'm just gonna go" Moon said running out the infirmary.

Closing the door to her room she leaned against it breathing heavily. As she looked down at her hands that were covered in blood all the memories came back rushing. Shaking her head she made her way to the toilet to wash her hands. Looking at her reflection, she couldn't believe how red her face was. Never in her life had she been in a situation like this. She couldn't help but think back to Chan's chiseled upper half. Having enough of her thoughts lingering in that brain of hers she opted to take a cold shower. Stripping out of her clothes she turned on the shower and stepped under the cold water.

As soon as the water made contact with her body she let out a scream, "Fuck cold shower, my body isn't made for this" she mumbled to herself before turning on the hot water.

As she was lathering her body with soap the shower curtains opened. Letting out a scream she scrambled to cover herself

"Even a kindergartner knows the difference between a nose and lips" Bree spoke

Moon released a breath of relief and went back to washing herself. This wasn't the first time Bree had done something like this, so Moon was quite used to it, however she'd always get caught by surprise whenever it happened.

"What?" Moon asked confused

"During training, I told you that if you find yourself in such a position, you bite the nose. Not kiss the lips"

"I did hit the nose, it didn't really have an effect, he has high pain tolerance. Besides it's not like I could bite the whole nose off" Moon explained

"Smart. Analysing your opponent before attacking. I've taught you well. Well, a little advice, don't try this move on Woo, El will chew you alive" Bree laughed

"Ha ha very funny. I won't because for one, I don't want to become predictable and second it was a momentary kind of decision, just wanted to catch him off guard" Moon answered, stepping out of the shower.

"I wonder how many people you've caught off guard with that move" Bree wiggled her eyebrows. The gesture warmed Moon's heart. Letting out a humorous laugh she replied "That was my first kiss"

"Shit!! Girl you can't be serious" Bree followed Moon out into the room

"Apparently I am. The guy I used to like was 7 years older than me, so I didn't stand a chance and he always called me his little sister so yeah, don't really have that kind of experience"

"Oh Lord! Where did you even find this guy? Was he your professor in highschool?"

"What no. He's my dad's best friends son" Moon laughed

"Oh makes sense. But still 7 years, did you not meet any other guys or were they all the same age?" Bree questioned

"I wasn't much social in highschool, had two close friends, both girls. Well Mark had friends, a few younger than him but they were my seniors. I hung out with them alot but I was closest to -oh wow I was closer to the older ones"

"You are an interesting person." Bree said, patting her head. As she was about to leave Moon called after her.

"Yeah" she asked

"What's your tattoo?" Moon asked pointing to the snake skin on Bree's neck

"You wanna see?"

Moon nodded her head curious to see the whole thing. Bree took off her shirt and turned around revealing the entire tattoo. It was a snake, the end wrapped around her torso in three coils,the tail disappearing under the waistband of her shorts, the rest going up her back, over her shoulders from around the neck to her front. The head on her right breast, with its mouth open showing its sharp fangs and tongue sticking out. Moon reached forward and ran her fingers over it. Quickly realizing she was touching her breasts she pulled her hand back

"Sorry" Moon mumbled

"It's all good" Bree shrugged putting her shirt back on

"This is really cool, did you design it yourself?" Moon asked

"Yeah, Ch-SpearB and I designed matching tattoos and drew them on each other."

"Oh yeah, I remember a similar one on his arm from training"

"It's not similar, it's the same, except his is wrapped on his bicep with the head in the mid of his neck, and mine, well you've just seen it" Bree said

"Can you draw one on me as well? Like not a snake but something else" Moon asked

"Right now?"

"Yeah, I mean if you're not busy. I haven't got anything to do so why not"

"Sure. What do you want me to draw?"

“I’m not sure, uuhh, do you have any suggestions” Moon questioned

“Where do you want it? Big or small?” Bree asked

“Leg, and a big one, like on the whole leg” Moon answered

“You sure, it’s gonna be painful”

“Ha pain. We’ve been best buddies since forever” Moon laughed

“Change into shorts and come with me. You’re talking, what the hell is supposed to mean” Bree said. Doing as told Moon changed and followed Bree out of her room

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

“Do you have something specific in mind?” Bree asked, taking out her sketch pad.

“Something unique and sexy, I guess it doesn’t necessarily have to be big. Maybe on the thigh” Moon answered

“I have something you might like. Here, check this out” Bree skipped through pages on her sketch pad and showed her the drawing. It was a mix of roses and a crescent moon. The moon was facing upwards, it wasn’t fully drawn, the roses were a part of it, it was one whole piece of a drawing. One large rose surrounded by leaves and few other small roses, two corners of the moon emerged from within the rose, with twinkling stars drawn between the moon giving it a complete look.

“Wow it’s so beautiful, I love it.” Moon said running her fingers over the drawing.

"So this one?"

"Yep"

"Where do you want it, left thigh or the right one?" Bree asked

"Uumm I think this one would suit on the shoulder better. What do you think?" Moon asked

"You're not wrong, I did design this one for the shoulder. But it could be drawn on the side of the thigh as well. The choice is yours" Bree explained

"I think shoulder would be good, I'll think about something else for the legs" Moon decided

"Alright then, take off your shirt and turn around " Bree told

"I'm going to draw on the left shoulder, it'll look better there" Bree told Moon who was now sitting with her back facing towards Bree

"Okay. Do you want me to remove the bra strap?"

"You might have to take off the bra, sliding the strap on the shoulder will still get in the way"

"Oh no, not like that, the strap is detachable. I can take it off"

"Yeah okay, detach the strap"

Getting started on the tattoo the booth filles with a comfortable silence.

"You know, that was very brave of you" Bree broke the silence

"What was?" Moon questioned

"Taking your father's place" She answered

There was an awkward pause before Moon spoke

"It wasn't brave, I'd say it was more out of cowardice and selfishness. A part of me hoped I'd get killed when I walked in. But when you all started questioning me I knew I wasn't going to die and I was afraid Chris would let us both go. So when I was given the opportunity to stay, I took it"

"Did you not have a good relationship with him?" Bree asked

"I don't even know how I'd put it."

"What do you mean? If it was that complicated to begin with, why did you look for him"

"I didn't want to, honestly I thought he had run away. But my mom wanted me to look"

"Aright girly, you're going to have to explain everything, you're just confusing me. One wants to look for him, the other doesn't" Bree chuckled

"Haha yeah I figured." Moon laughed

"Tell me everything. It's not like we have anything else to do" Bree said

"Well, I guess for as long as I can remember I've been abused, physically, emotionally and mentally. When I was young I remember how he'd hit me on every little thing, maybe at that time I thought that I was in the wrong and that I deserved it. When my mom tried to defend me he'd always tell her he'd kill me if she didn't back off. I really wished he did kill me. Until I turned 17 the abuse went on. I'd go to bed covered in bruises, at first it was hard, but then I got used to it. I don't think there was anything that he left to hit me with, he'd even use hot kitchen utensils. I wanted to run away but I always stayed, for the sake of my mom. My younger sister, she too was so fed up with it, she went away the first chance she got. I wanted to get away but I stayed with my mom. After 17, physical abuse got less and less, but the mental abuse got too much. He'd constantly tell me I was a burden. I was too into computers and gaming, and he didn't like that, he'd tell me I was wasting my time and that no one would want me. Every time I'd tell him I wasn't wasting time he'd dismiss me and say the same old shit. Mom however was more supportive. Obviously she didn't know I was earning by illegal means. She only found out about hacking when I hacked into my dad's phone when I thought he was cheating on mom. I guess I was so desperate to make mom hate him I was willing to do anything. I guess the worst part for me was that my parents' relation was perfect. When I was younger I used to think that maybe he was abusive to her as well, but he wasn't. For some reason he was like that to us sisters. Mom often tried to protect us but it never really worked out. For my sister it was easy I guess, she rebelled and got out. Applied for college away from home, started a little business, and now she's earning millions. She visits from time to time but yeah. As for me I stayed, for my mom. I started by freelancing, showing my parents that I'm not completely useless. Well that's how it went. Cut to chase, dad disappeared, mom didn't want to go to the police because she knew something was up. I guess for me it was a golden opportunity, I could've easily convinced her that he ran away. I knew I was capable. But the heartbroken expression on her face every time she asked me where he was, was too much for me. So I looked for him and well you know the rest" Moon told her story

"You've had it pretty rough huh?" Bree commented

"Yeah well, I got by"

"Do you miss home?" Bree questioned

"My mom yes, dad well it's complicated, I'm definitely glad I left, but a part of me does miss him, he is my father after all. Whatever the case, he did raise me and my sister, yeah he completely ruined us but at least he stuck around" Moon sighed

"What about your mom? When your dad went back what did you tell her? And what does she think you're doing right now?" Bree questioned

"I don't know, I told Dad to figure that out himself. For me, I told Mom I got offered a job by a client I was meeting. Mom never knew I came to find dad, she thought I was meeting a client. I didn't want mom to know that he was involved with a gang, so yeah" she answered

"Do you ever think about going back?"

"Not really, maybe visit them, tell them I'm doing alright, but going back there, I don't think so"

"You must've hated it there alot for you to so easily get settled in a gang" Bree stated

"When I took up the opportunity, I really thought I wouldn't survive. But surprisingly enough it was nothing like I imagined. I think you and I both know what that is supposed to mean" Moon told

"Yeah well. In a way this is by choice but at the same time there wasn't much we could've done."

"So you're saying that you wanted to be in the gang but only because you didn't have any other choice. Doesn't really make sense."

"Let's put it like this. Chris is the leader, he never had a choice. He took it up because he needed to protect his family, his sister Anna didn't want to be separated from him so she too came. But that's a whole other story and isn't mine to tell. The boys had been friends for a long while. Even before the gang was formed. That's all I can tell. As for me, I went abroad for further studies in my major. When I came back I found out that my younger brother SpearB is in a gang. To me that was totally unacceptable. We fought a lot over it. But after a horrible incident I came to realize how important it was for him. Slowly I started seeing how it made him happy, I could never take that away from him, so I let him be. Chris gave me a choice of joining, to be close to my brother. At first I declined, saying I didn't want to do anything with something illegal. He respected my decision and let me go. I kept in contact but that proved dangerous and after some times I couldn't see him or even talk to him and I hated that, so I joined. Ironic isn't it, I spent so many years majoring in law and ended up joining a gang. I kept telling myself that I couldn't fit in, but I was proved wrong. Just like you, it was nothing like I imagined. That's why after some time I came to love it and understood why SpearB didn't want to leave." Bree explained

"To me it seems more of a family than a gang" Moon stated

"It is and soon you'll be a part of it too"

"What if I'm not cut out for it?" Moon asked

"You are, I can see it"

"How come. After I just told you I ran away from my father selfishly, you still think I'd be loyal?" Moon questioned

"I haven't seen it like that. You just told me you grew up in an abusive household. When your father disappeared you had a choice of convincing your mom that he wasn't coming back. But you still looked for him, for the sake of your mother. Which just shows you're not selfish. Yes you may have joined stray kids to get away from your father but that's only normal, anyone would've done that. Don't put yourself down so much. If we had thought you're not cut out for it we'd have taken care of you a long time ago. You've been here almost a year now and it's no coincidence." Bree reassured the younger girl

"Thanks, this was nice, I haven't had a normal conversation in a long time"

"It's all good kiddo" Bree patted Moon's head making her laugh

"Well you're done, and it's dinner time so let's go" Bree said checking her phone

Quickly putting on her shirt, the two exited the booth to join the others.

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

"Let's start from this, get a proper hang of this and we'll move to bigger guns" El said handing Moon a gun

"This is the safety, you have to turn it off before you shoot, make sure you don't point the gun at a living being unless under attack, accidentally pulling a trigger on someone is not funny. Stand straight, shoulders pulled back, now put your left hand under the megazine, here. Grip the gun here and put your index finger on the trigger. Now stand rigid and straight, when you pull the trigger there will be a lot of pressure. This is called the front sight, this where you take the aim from. Now that’s your target, point the gun towards it and try to get a good hit” el instructed, guiding Moon’s hands.

Taking aim, Moon fired the gun multiple times. Missing the targets the first two times, Moon realigned herself and tried again. This time she hit all the targets perfectly.

“What the hell. Have you ever fired a gun before” El questioned

“No but if it’s of any use, I was top of my archery class” Moon said

“Oh, that explains it”

“Explain what?” Moon questioned

“How you were able to hit the targets perfectly so quickly. Getting a hang of the gun isn’t that hard, but getting your aim right is difficult, but since you already have practice in that area, you got the grasp of it quickly”

“I guess that’s a good thing then, I’m learning quickly” Moon smiled

“Don’t get ahead of yourself missy, that was just the hand gun”

“Oh”

“Yeah. Shoot two more rounds and we’ll move on to the rifle” El told the younger

“Here put this on your shoulder” El said handing Moon shooting gear

“What’s this? How do I strap it on” Moon asked

“It’s to protect your shoulder, until you learn how to properly handle the rifle, you’ll need to wear this” El said helping Moon with putting on the shoulder pad

“This is a rifle, this is harder to use. Brace this against your shoulder, hold it from here with your left hand and put your right index finger on the trigger. Take the aim from here and shoot.” El instructed once again.

Following the given instructions Moon pulled the trigger, however the force was more than she could handle, losing her balance she fell on her back. El moved towards her and helped her up

“Learning fast are we?” El spoke sarcastically

“God, I need to build strength for this”

“That you do. C'mon let's go again, let me help you this time"

El stood behind Moon and guided her hand on the weapon, "Okay, shoot again" this time Moon only stumbled a little since El was hugging her body from behind, steadying her.

"I missed it again" Moon groaned

"It's okay, this is going to take time" El assured her

This went on for weeks, Moon practicing on the rifle. She still wasn't able to hit her target but was able to fire the gun without falling back.

"What's the progress" Woo asked coming in with two mugs, handing one to El

"She's getting better, she can shoot without me now, so that's progress enough" El answered

"When can I take over?"

"I don't think she's good enough to shoot moving targets yet"

"What about a pistol?" he asked

"She only practiced that on day one, she got that pretty quickly."

"Then we'll just practice on moving targets with that one"

"Shouldn't she at least know how to use a rifle" El questioned

"Babe, look at her size, she can barely hold the rifle right, how do you expect her to shoot perfectly with it. She wants to be on the task force anyway, she's good with a handgun." He answered

"Well you're not wrong, I guess she's done for the day, she can start tomorrow with you then"

"You go tell her, I'll go tell Chan her progress" Woo said

"Today you'll be shooting moving targets, with your handgun. Once you learn how to perfectly do that you'll pass phase two" Woo explained to Moon

"What about the rifle?" She asked

"It's a waste of time. You're not strong enough to handle one of those"

"I can learn" Moon tried to defend herself

"The rifle is twice is your size"

"IT IS NOT"

"My point is, if you're not a snipper, it's not that important, just learn how to perfectly shoot with a handgun and you'll be fine on the task force. Now that we're done arguing let's begin."

Moon shot round after round and only managed to hit one target, that too in the arm only.

“Keep practicing, I’ll be back in a few minutes”

After a month of practicing, Moon was finally able to hit every target smoothly. Another day of practice, she casually walked inside the shooting range. She was greeted by a not so appropriate scene. Woo and El were making out against the wall, with his hands under her shirt. They didn’t seem to notice her so she quickly turned around to leave, only to bump into something, she looked up to see Chan looking down at her

“What’s wrong with you? You look like you just saw- why’s your face so red” He asked

“Oh nothing”

“Anyways come with me” he said grabbing her wrist and dragging her inside

“I don’t think that’s a good-” Chan stopped in his track taking in the sight in front of him “-idea” Moon completed her sentence

“You two just can’t get enough of each other huh?” Chan spoke, making the two jump apart.

“Get a girlfriend and you’ll know” Woo retorted

“Working on that one”

“Really, what’s the progress on that” El wiggled her brows

“One kiss” Chan smirked, Woo immediately understanding who he was talking about.

Moon just stood there awkwardly, El came and slung her arm around Moon’s shoulder “So what brings you here boss?” El asked

“Oh My Gosh, you’re so annoying” Chan exclaimed

“You didn’t answer the question”El said

“Well we have a problem”

“What kind of problem" the atmosphere getting serious

"Nothing major. Looks like you'll get your field test after all princess" Chan said looking at Moon

"Two weeks ago a drug trade took place in a nightclub. Things however did not go as expected and a lot of shit went down. It was a set up. The problem for us however is that whoever was behind this setup is someone we've had dealings with in the past. Unfortunately for us we don't know which dealer. Whoever they are, they're trying to get us in trouble with the law. Some sort of weapon trade is taking place in an abandoned building at the outskirts of the city. This is between our rival, and another gang. What we have to do is stop it. It's again a set up and if we don't intervene, we might all end up in jail. However it is essential we do this anonymously" Chan explained as everyone was gathered in the meeting hall

“What’s our strategy?” SpearB asked

“Woo, Bree, El and J.One will be stationed at the 4 corners of the building. Lee Know, Freckles and SpearB, you’ll have to go inside the building while the transaction is taking place, you guys are the eyes and ears. Dandy and I.N, you two take the van, circle the area with drones, keep an eye out and track everyone. HH, you take Moon and hide at the front entrance, no one goes in or comes out undetected. Liv and Anna are with me.” Chan told

“What’s the main plan?” Woo questioned

“Once we know who’s setting us up, we kill them. Our main goal is to turn them against each other, no one gets out alive. We shoot the first bullet on my command and then let them fight.” Chan finalized.

“What if we get exposed?” Bree stated

“Like I said, no one gets out alive, no witnesses” Chan answered. Something about the way he said those words sent shivers down Moon’s spine. Not in a chilling way, rather a very unholy way. That’s how she knew, she was getting closer to losing it.

“You all know the plan?” Chan asked as they all stood in an empty field. Everyone replied with a short yes as they all dispersed. “Good luck kiddo” Lee Know said, patting Moon’s head.

“So we’re supposed to just sit and keep an eye on who comes out and goes in?” Moon asked Hyunjin as the two sat behind a rock in front of the building

“It may not seem important, but that’s because you don’t really know the faces. With time you’ll understand” Hyunjin said

“So who exactly are we looking for”

“Anyone who shouldn’t be here”

“And who might tha-Mark?” Moon said looking at the man in the entrance

“How do you know him?” Hyunjin questioned

“I have to be mistaken” she whispered squinting her eyes trying to get a better look

“Ow” she exclaimed holding her foot

“What happened?”

“I twisted my foot”

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I accidently sat on it”

“Idiot. Let me see”

Moon tried to move slowly but since she was sitting on a slope she slipped away from the rock

“Shit” she cursed under her breath

“Who’s there?” someone shouted

She quickly took out her earpiece, crushed it between her teeth and threw it away. Hyunjin’s eyes went wide and he sneakily slid away before he could be seen by the man coming their way and expose the mission.

“Who’s the-Bitty?” the man spoke surprised to see her

“Mark?”

“Yeah, what are you doing here?” he asked helping her stand up

“Ow” she hissed holding on to his arm

“What happened?”

“I think I twisted my foot”

“What were you doing here in the middle of the night

“I wa-”

“What’s going on here?” another voice asked. They both looked towards the source.

“Hyunjin what’s the update?” Chan asked

“I don’t know I fled” he answered

“What do you mean you fled? Where’s Moon?” Bree exclaimed

“I don’t know. We saw Mark at the entrance and she knew him, she hurt herself and slipped out of the rock an-

“YOU LEFT HER UNARMED AND INJURED?!?!?!?!” Chan shouted

“I didn’t know what to do, the moment she slipped out , she took out her earpiece and destroyed it”

“Felix, Minho, Changbin, what’s the status? Any visuals on Moon?” Chan asked the three

“Negative, we can’t find a way in” Changbin answered

“Chan something doesn’t seem right. The moment she saw Mark, she somehow twisted her foot and when I asked to look she slipped out of the hideout. Then when Mark is coming towards her, she destroys the earpiece” Hyunjin spoke

“I planted a bug in her hair earlier, Seungmin, connect us” Minho spoke

The moment it connected a high pitched scream was heard, “Let me go!!!” Moon shouted

“HEL-MMHHMMMH” and the line went silent

47 notes · View notes

loxxxlay · 5 years ago

Text

100 word meme

hiii, so I’ve been wanting to try this for a while since it seems to work out really well for @veliseraptor and i feel like it’d work out well for me too? so gonna give it a shot

rules are you vote for a fic and i write 100 words in it. so basically if u want a fic posted faster, vote for it, because a vote means i’ll actually work on it (hopefully XD). it’s mostly just a helpful way for me to have tangible goals that i can work toward without having to make decisions about what those goals are myself XD

[edit: oh yeah you can vote for up to 3]

so without further ado, here’s the list (as is traditional, with bonus excerpts as a reward for helping me with executive brain functions lmfao):

1. (Figment of Choice) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

“Oh, but dear, if I had known it’d be like this, I would have had you change ages ago. You’re simply beautiful!” He smiled and ran the ends of his fingers down Loki’s jaw.

Loki resisted the urge to bite them. Monster, he thought. Tears gathered in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this to me—”

“Loki, we’ve talked about this.” The Grandmaster made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. “Yesterday even. Didn’t I specifically tell your brother how I prefer those who are willing. Those who enjoy what Sakaar has to offer. What I have to offer. Are you telling me you’re not one of those people?”

“Yes,” Loki said by habit; then, “I mean, no—no, I am, I just—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“Shhh,” the Grandmaster said. “You know how much I hate hearing don’t and can’t. Come along, sweetheart, get up. As lovely as you are, I’m not only here for you. Time’s a’ticking.”

2. (The troy and lola story of my soul) [tw implied noncon/dubcon and csa]

Troy watched his friend disappear into his carriage, and then he watched a butterfly trail from flower to flower, and then he watched the sun approach the white mountains in the distance. His legs ached with the strain of standing as he watched, but he didn’t move. Moving would mean admitting the fact that his twin had been suffering for years. Suffering the same torment he himself had escaped. Moving would mean having to face the fact that his brother (sister?) might resent him.

As he stood, he tried—he focused his entire mind upon an imagined woman lying nude in the lounge of a brothel. He tried to feel what she felt. He tried to feel the weight of a body on top of his or the repetitive aching of his insides. He tried to feel the unbearable numbness infecting his limbs with cold. But there was nothing, no sense of life from his twin. Nothing except the ghosts of his own memories.

“My Lord,” Margaret called from the patio, “won’t you come inside?”

Troy sighed but didn’t turn. “You know to call me Theodore.”

“It’s cold out here,” Margaret said as if she hadn’t heard. “At least let me fetch your cloak.”

Troy didn’t answer, and a moment later, he heard the door bang shut. He waited a bit longer. For what? He didn’t know. But then the crickets started chirping, and the chill of nighttime wind raised goosebumps on his arms, and he managed to stomach his fear and turn to face the house.

3. (Forget Me Not, Remember Still) [tw domestic abuse, grandthorki shenanigans]

“You look so sad,” Thor said, and Loki hated that his voice sounded at all like the Grandmaster’s. “What’s bothering you?”

Unsure whether it was safe to answer, Loki pressed his lips together.

“Tell me,” Thor said, just as gently, but—Loki could sense the difference in his patience.

He took a breath. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s something,” Thor argued. “Now tell me—or do I have to remind you what happens when you try to think for yourself.”

Loki steeled himself against a flinch. Almost subconsciously, his hand came up and his fingers pressed against the bruises at his neck. The shirt he’d wanted to wear would have covered them, but this—it exposed him. It made him look weak, like a victim—and truly, was he not a victim now? Was he not being abused?

Wincing, he looked away from the mirror before the sight of himself could make him cry.

“Oh, Loki,” Thor said. “You’ve made some mistakes. All those marks show is that you’ve learned better. They’re nothing to be ashamed of.”

To you, Loki thought, and then shut the thought off.

4. (On Our Terms) [tw grandthorki shenanigans]

The Grandmaster sighed loudly. “I don’t mean to offend you, but your society sounds quite borish.”

“It is,” the Valkyrie said, “but it’s the one we got, and I doubt you have room for three thousand potentially borish people here, so . . .”

“Yes, yes, your point has been made,” the Grandmaster said. “But you see—I’ve grown quite fond of these two, and I’m not quite sure if I want to let them go. Especially since they seem so eager to stay.”

“Yeah, I get it. So what’s your price?” she asked in a casual tone.

“My price? Goodness, gracious! I’m not the type to just sell these poor boys to the highest bidder. My dear dear 142, you should know better than to suggest such a thing! Absolutely unbelievable.”

There was a silence. Loki held his breath, closed his eyes, and tried not to think. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t matter what he did. It wouldn’t matter what he said. In fact, it might make things worse if he spoke, and things were already bad enough. The best he could do was keep silent and be good and just . . . wait. Wait to be dragged back into their nightmare.

Under the table, Thor’s free hand slipped around his and squeezed. Loki was numb, too numb, to care. He didn’t squeeze back.

At last, the Grandmaster gave a long put-upon sigh. “I suppose, I might be more . . . favorable to your wishes if you were to, hmm. Play a game with me.”

The Valkyrie shifted in her seat. “What kind of game?”

5. (thor ficlet whumptober chapter 4) [tw past noncon]

With a deep breath, Thor slipped on a robe over his nightshirt and pants (he no longer slept without a shirt), and headed toward the door. There was one person, in all of Asgard, besides her, who knew. His brother had every right to be angry. Even now, Thor remembered the things he had said the night before—before—and those had been his own words, not hers.

As he came to the door, feeling small and afraid, he remembered the morning after. How Loki had begged him for an apology and had not received one. How Thor had stood on the other side, unable to be anything but callous and cold. Their positions were reversed now. Thor prayed his brother would be more kind.

Trembling, he knocked.

Loki answered the door, not a minute later, robed in black and green, hair curly and disheveled. “Yes?” he said as he rubbed his eyes—and then, before Thor could answer, his face smoothed and his eyebrows furrowed low and angry on his face. “Did she try something again?”

“No,” Thor rushed to say, but Loki’s expression didn’t soften. Cheeks aflame, Thor fixed his gaze on the golden stone archway of the door and studied its numerous ridges and cracks. “I can’t—sleep,” he managed. “That—bed—” His throat felt hoarse. He returned his gaze to his brother and tried not to let the desperation seep into his voice. “I’m afraid to sleep alone.”

6. (IW AU thor whump) [tw violence]

“Let me make this clear,” Thor said. He ripped a strip of cloth free from his cape and toyed with it between his hands. “I follow the doctrine of my master because it’s what I believe. But even if I didn’t? Even if you somehow managed to convince me otherwise?” Thor lifted the red cloth and pressed it between the bones of her jaw. “I would follow him anyway. There is not one single thing you could say to dissuade me from his offer, universe be damned.” He tied the cloth in a knot on the back of her head. “Do you understand?”

Eyes blazing, Gamora kneed him in the thigh.

Thor stumbled. His heart sped, as he realized she’d been aiming for his crotch, and in a burst of rage, his hand clenched into a fist and raised in the air—trembling and white-knuckled and desperate to hit her back.

He didn’t do it.

There was something in her face that sparked a memory in him—one of Loki, handcuffed and bright-eyed and braced for a blow on the Asgardian skiff. The time they’d gone to avenge a mother who had left them alone too soon. The time Loki (seemed to have) died. For a shocking moment, the woman in front of Thor looked just like his brother. From the the tension in her shoulders, to the set in her lips, and to the glassiness of her wide eyes.

He lowered his fist. Grief cascaded over him, and it weighed like bricks on his chest and needles in his heart. In a count to ten, Thor reminded himself of the doctrine and of Thanos’s offer—the gauntlet, with all five Infinity Stones, would resurrect his brother. This woman—this traitor—couldn’t. The choice was easy.

“Get some rest,” he said, numb and cold. “Xandar is several hours away.”

7. (Zombie Post Apoc Novel) [tw grosss vagina shit, implied noncon]

At night, Helen catches her in the bathroom. The door is cracked open, and Cassandra is standing, one foot planted on the tub’s ledge and the other foot on the floor. Her hand is between her thighs and she’s holding the lighter under her clit, until the air sizzles with the smell of burnt flesh. She comes like that. Helen knows because tears leak from Cassandra’s face whenever her orgasm is real.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra whispers when she notices Helen watching. “I have to.”

And Helen doesn’t bother arguing. Larry may dead, but there are countless Larry’s, and even if there aren’t, Andrew hovers in their room sleeping on their bed. Something has to burn. So Helen just closes the door behind her, turns on the vent to clear the smell, and grabs Neosporin from a drawer under the sink.

Cassandra sits on the bathtub ledge. “Maybe we should stay,” she whispers. “Maybe it really is better here.”

Helen kneels on the bathroom tile. “You’re gonna kill yourself if we stay here, babe.” Then she rubs the Neosporin over the folds of her sister’s vagina, and when the burns are good and treated, tears of ecstasy leak down Cassandra’s face.

In the silence that follows, Cassandra bites her lip. “If it comes to it… I don’t know that I could pull the trigger.”

“You can,” Helen says. “Just pretend you’re holding a lighter.”

8. (Moment of Peace)

#gonna do a blanket tag of #cw noncon #because most of these fics have it lol #but each is tagged individually #lox talks personal #fic excerpt #placeholder writing tag #ask thing

14 notes · View notes

rt8815 · 5 years ago

Text

Bradbury...and Boogie-Woogie

Two years I’ve agonized over this piece. Two. Years. It’s kinda the reason I started writing this story out of order. Anyway, it’s one of those ‘filler’ chapters, I think they’re called. Not a CM Bingo piece, though I’m working on more of those atm.

Triggers: None, I think.

WC: 2,840

Before diving in, first read Let It Bleed, as it immediately precedes this one.

Bradbury…October 27, 2017

“Hey, New Girl! Welcome-welcome!” Garcia squealed happily, rolling a cart onto the sidewalk.

“Hi, Penelope. It’s great to meet you in person,” replied McKinley, lifting plastic containers off the concrete and placing them on the cart.

“You too, Kinley. Oh my gosh, you’re even cuter in the flesh. Love. Your. Hair.”

“Uh, th-thanks,” she stuttered, unsure how to take the compliment or politely ask the bubbly techie not to play with her amethyst locks. Then Garcia moved in for a hug. McKinley stepped back. “No, sorry. I’m kind of weird about hugs.”

“No need to apologize,” she insisted, pushing the dessert-laden cart through the door. Remembering their lively video chat from the other night, McKinley deduced that verbally and physically affectionate was Penelope’s natural state.

McKinley handed her ID to a grumpy man behind the front desk. “If we get to be friends, I’ll warm up to you,” she told Penelope, throwing her visitor’s badge around her neck.

Penelope’s eyes glinted mischievously. “We’ll definitely become friends. I’ve already decided. You’re a smol bean and you’re my baby now, no arguments,” she concluded as entered the elevator.

McKinley giggled. They chatted while the elevator climbed.

“So, you’ve got the hots for our Boy Genius,” Penelope mused aloud.

“What? No! No, it’s not like that.”

“Oh really, now? Doughnuts, cupcakes, a cake, and Season 10 of Doctor Who on Blu-ray, all to apologize because you accidentally grabbed a handful?”

McKinley’s face burned. “Did Agent Alvez tell you that? Son of a bitch!” she fumed, helping Penelope maneuver the cart into the hall.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she reassured her. “These things happen.” Her lips pulled into an inquisitive smirk. “Okay, tell me - what’s he packing? We talkin’ Small Flat Rate Box, or Freight?”

McKinley’s eyes bugged behind her sunglasses. “Sweet Lord, why would you wanna know that?”

Penelope shrugged. “Reid’s always so buttoned up; however, I suspect he’s smuggling something impressive under those corduroys.”

“Yeah well, I’m not comfortable discussing that, so keep suspecting.” They rolled through the glass doors of the bullpen. “And to answer your original question: I don’t have the hots for him,” she stated simply as they came to a stop at Spencer’s desk, “and I’m not looking to date.”

“You guys are perfect for each other, though!” Penelope insisted. “You’re a lot alike. You’re both kind, nerd-funny, super smart, reserved…”

“Ha! Remember that last one when you’ve seen me drunk,” McKinley cautioned, opening the containers to check the decorations.

“Hey, it’s Twist ‘n’ Shout!”

She spun, hands on her hips, electricity crackling in her hair. Luke’s grin slipped at the death glare on her face, his coffee mug hovering midway to its destination. After a pregnant pause, McKinley responded.

“Fine, I’ll give you that one…Mocha Latte. Just know that I bite when I have to.” He raised his coffee-free hand in surrender, inching forward to inspect the desserts.

“Get away, you!” Penelope warned. “These are Spencer’s.”

Luke broke into a lopsided smile. “Oh, because of the ‘short and curlies incident’?”

McKinley thumped his arm with a stack of paper plates.

“Ouch,” he chuckled, no hint of pain in his voice.

“That was for telling people about the…awkwardness. Also, yes, it’s part apology, part ‘let’s be friends.’”

Luke raised a brow. “Friends? You got a free preview of the goods and you’re looking to be just friends?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Yes! He’s a lovely person and…I dunno. When we talked, my heart went all squishy and I knew my life would be greatly lacking without him as my friend.”

“Okay, just remember that opportunity gropes but once, Doc.”

“Alvez, why are you casually discussing sexual misconduct in the middle of the office?” McKinley turned to see a tall brunette woman approaching. She appeared formidable but caring.

“Ah, it’s Dr. Durand! That clears things up,” she laughed, extending a hand to McKinley. “I’m Emily Prentiss, welcome to the BAU.”

McKinley offered a small, awkward wave in return. Emily smiled knowingly.

“How beautiful!” she exclaimed, eyeing the sweet treats. “The attention to detail is remarkable!”

McKinley smiled bashfully. “Thank you so mu- wait, how did you know who I am?”

Emily tore her eyes from the cake. “Well, Penny mentioned your video chat, and Luke jumped in and told us about your encounter with Spencer,” she winked, making a fondling motion with her hand. McKinley’s face flushed yet again.

“Penny spilled about your plan to surprise Spencer, and we got curious. I had her run a background check on you.”

McKinley inhaled sharply, feeling exposed.

“Em!” Penelope squeaked in disapproval. “It’s not like that, love, it’s just- ”

“Spence is like a younger brother to us,” interjected another blonde. “We’re very protective of him. He’s been through a lot, so whenever somebody new enters his life, we’re concerned about their intentions. Jennifer Jareau, by the way. Call me JJ,” she said, not forcing a handshake.

“I understand,” McKinley sighed. “Spencer has that effect on people, doesn’t he?”

She hugged the plates to her chest. “One conversation with him and you realize, ‘He’s a precious cinnamon roll and must be protected at all costs!’ I assure you, that’s my only intention, JJ: to be his friend.”

“Well, that’s certainly a good start,” an older gentleman joined the conversation, pointing at one of the containers. “Chocolate frosted doughnuts with sprinkles are his favorite. It’s a bit clichéd, but there’s truth in the adage ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’ It follows; you’ve already had him by the b-”

“Rossi, stop! We’ve made enough jokes at her expense,” scolded a woman who introduced herself as Dr. Tara Lewis. “This looks exquisite. Do I smell coffee in the cake? Reid loves coffee.”

“Yes, and there’s plenty to share as soon as he’s had some. Where is he, anyway?”

Luke pointed outside the Bullpen. “He’s down the hall printing handouts for his seminar next month,” he said, sipping his coffee.

“He doesn’t email them?”

“Reid’s a bit of a technophobe,” explained yet another agent, Matt Simmons.

“He still insists on hard copies of case files,” added Penelope. “It broke his heart when we went totally digital.” She glanced over McKinley’s shoulder and grinned. “Speak of the Luddite devil.”

Everyone watched as Spencer staggered towards them, clutching a thick stack of papers. He stopped short when he saw the crowd milling around his desk.

Spencer smiled, confused. “McKinley? What are you doing here?”

“She comes bearing gifts, Big Brain,” Penelope winked. “Apology gifts.” The others avoided his gaze but couldn’t hide their sniggers. Then Spencer caught Luke’s eye.

“You told!” he grumbled, flinging the papers onto his desk.

“If I give y’all food, will you shut your traps about us touching each other’s fun places?”

“No.”

“Probably not.”

“Nope. Sorry, not sorry.”

“Heh, you’re new here, bean. You’ll learn.”

While they lined up to choose their treats, McKinley leaned closer to Spencer. “When does the hazing end?”

“They’ll get bored soon, but that’s when the pranking starts.” He bent forward to focus on the cake properly. “Ray Bradbury?”

“Yeah, Garcia said Halloween’s your favorite holiday, and I know you’re a voracious reader. I put two and two together and ta-da.”

“Let’s see…the lions are from “The Veldt,” and the flowers are from Dandelion Wine, but what’s this one?” he asked, pointing to a swing set and a sandbox.

“The Playground,” she replied, and they smiled at each other self-consciously.

“McKinley, did you make all of this by hand?” asked JJ, marveling at the miniature sculptures.

“Most of it, except my friend Taylor painted the lions, and the chocolate TARDISes on the cupcakes came from a mold.” She popped open another container, revealing police boxes, each wrapped with a Fourth Doctor’s scarf and set in galaxy frosting. “Oh, and I bought the Jelly Babies online.”

“Would you consider making birthday cakes? My boys would love these.”

“Sure thing,” McKinley agreed, sitting in the chair Spencer brought her.

“Sooo, Reid, what are you gonna do for Kinley?” Garcia interjected.

“She’s right, Spence,” JJ concurred, sneaking an extra cupcake. “You’re not innocent in all this.”

Behind her, Luke held two doughnuts, squeezing them suggestively and mouthing ‘honka-honka.’

McKinley scowled at him. “What’re you, twelve?” Turning to Spencer, she continued. “I’d choose a book or record shop, but you don’t owe me a thing.”

“Oh-oh-oh,” Garcia enthused. “Then after, you could watch Who together at your place. He doesn’t have a TV,” she whisper-yelled.

Shaking her head, McKinley checked her phone. “Sorry, time for me to go.”

“Nooo,” Garcia pouted. “Hang with us!”

“Tempting, but I have to meet friends at some bar named…O’Keeffe’s?”

McKinley swore Garcia’s squeal of delight broke the sound barrier.

“That’s where we’re going! We’re all gonna get smashed on pumpkin-y, fall-themed grownup drinks together! Yes!”

…And Boogie-Woogie

The team kept an eye out for McKinley at O’Keeffe’s and were surprised to hear her shout out to them from the stage. She introduced the team to her bandmates following their final set, which consisted mostly of Tom Petty songs as a memorial of sorts, though McKinley couldn’t resist adding The Rolling Stones’ “Fingerprint File” at the end.

They talked late into the night getting to know each other. McKinley sat transfixed as the team regaled her with stories about their cases, one of which revolved around what they called a Vengeful Cinderella.

“Really? With her stilettos? Yikes!” she grimaced, sipping her drink.

“Yeah, but Spence was able to bring her in quietly by playing into her fantasy, acting as Prince Charming to her Cinderella. Got down on one knee, slipped her shoe back on and everything.”

McKinley threw Spencer an appraising look.

“I can see that working. He fits the bill.”

“He also gave me a new appreciation for the original, unsanitized versions of fairy tales. See, I felt that children ought to be protected from harsh realities, but Spence explained that the tales’ intended purpose was to allow kids to safely confront their fears.”

McKinley cocked her head in thought.

“Actually, the intent of those particular versions was to punish women - through some combination of marriage, rape, bodily mutilation and or death - simply for being women, because the Brothers Grimm were a pair of angry, bitter, he-man woman-hatin’, misogynist prick bastards.”

She took a drink and drew a breath before continuing, waving her hand for emphasis.

“Meanwhile, historian Franz Xaver von Schönwerth traveled around Bavaria, transcribing the stories directly from the very people who’d kept them alive in the oral tradition: servants, peasants, laborers - many of them women - rather than reframing them within his own worldview.”

She breathed in again, oblivious to the team’s stares.

“These fairy tales had strong, independent female protagonists in leadership positions. They were the ones having adventures, slaying dragons and rescuing men! Yes, the stories’ purpose was to help children navigate life’s challenges and prepare them for the adult world,” McKinley clarified, “but not at the expense of women’s agency and autonomy.”

Her gaze shifted to Spencer, whose mouth had dropped slightly.

“Unfortunately, Grimms’ Fairy Tales garnered all the attention. Fast-forward and now we have watered down, artificially flavored, saccharine animated films teaching kids that girls are helpless and need saving, and that the boys who rescue the girls are entitled to them. It’s just one more way the film industry has contributed to toxic masculinity and rape culture. Thanks, Disney, I hate it,” she concluded.

McKinley returned to her drink for a few moments before realizing the booth had fallen silent.

“Oh boy, there are two of them now,” Emily snorted.

McKinley scrunched her face in confusion. “Two what?”

“Spence rambles too,” said JJ, in a tone that conveyed mild annoyance and embarrassment at the behavior, almost as though she were apologizing for him.

McKinley frowned at her. She had seemed nice enough in the Bullpen earlier.

“He’s gotten better about it over the years, though,” she added, patting his shoulder.

The misplaced pride grated on McKinley’s nerves.

“Asphinctersayswhat?” She deliberately slurred her words, downing the last of her drink.

“What?” asked JJ.

“Exactly,” McKinley murmured, eyes fixed on her glass.

Before JJ could ask again, Spencer spoke.

“How had I not heard of Schönwerth before?” he wondered aloud, sounding disappointed in himself.

McKinley perked up. “I can lend you my copy of The Turnip Princess if you’d like. It’s a collection of his work.”

“Yeah, definitely!” he said eagerly. “I’m always excited to learn something new.”

Luke leaned around Matt to join the exchange. “I’ll have to buy a copy myself. I read Grimm’s as a kid but I hate to think I only knew biased versions. Schönwerth’s sound much better.”

…

“I appreciate the ride home, Luke,” McKinley called from the backseat.

“Me too. Just don’t get used to hearing those words pass my gorgeous lips, Newbie.”

“No problem, happy to do it,” he answered, laughing at Garcia’s drunken antics.

Under the cranked-up radio, McKinley addressed Spencer.

“Thanks for your text that morning after the park. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you for insisting on the wellness check.” He paused, fiddling with his messenger bag and smiling thoughtfully. “You know what? I’m glad we met.”

“Hey, is this the right place?” asked Luke.

McKinley peered through the window.

“6565, yeah that’s the one,” she confirmed as Luke parked.

Penelope waddled across the driveway.

“I have to see your tiny house - the outside I mean, since I already got a video tour of the inside. Guys, it. is. Adorable,” Penelope gushed.

“I thought you lived with Taylor and Jaimie,” said Spencer, pointing to the porch.

“I’m parked out back,” McKinley explained, unlocking the gate.

Penelope gasped. “I almost forgot! Can we see your baby too?”

“Absolutely! He loves meeting new people.”

Luke closed the gate behind them, carrying McKinley’s guitar. “Wait, what? You have a son?”

“Weeell, sort of…” McKinley twirled around, landing on her knees, arms spread out.

“Boogie, baby! Come to Mamma!” she bellowed.

A multicolored mass of fur burst through the door and made a blurry beeline for her, knocking her fully onto the ground.

“I missed you too, buddy!” she cried as the dog assaulted her face with kisses. Sitting up, McKinley faced him towards the group.

“Look! I brought new friends. Boogie, this is Luke, Penny, and Spencer. Guys, this is Boogie.”

“Boogie?”

“Yes, Mocha Latte, Boogie. Short for Boogie-Woogie, which comes from the Bantu phrase ‘mbuki-mvuki.’ It means ‘to dance wildly, to the point of ecstasy.’ I didn’t have a name picked out when I brought him home, but when I put my music on shuffle, the first song was John Lee Hooker’s “Boogie Chillen’.” He started shaking his butt and tapping his feet. No other name would’ve sufficed.”

He approached Luke, slowly at first, then promptly shoved his snout into the man’s crotch.

“Boogie! Manners! I raised you better than that.”

“That’s okay, I know it’s the dog version of shaking hands.” Luke knelt to give him more attention. “You’re just introducing yourself, aren’t you? Yeah. You probably smell Roxie, huh buddy.”

“You have a furbaby too?”

“Yeah, a Belgian Malinois. What’s Boogie?”

“A Border Aussie. Mom was a working Border Collie and Dad was a show Australian Shepherd. He got Mommy’s smarts and Daddy’s derpiness.”

Penelope bent over to scratch Boogie’s ears, surrendering herself to sniffs and kisses. “If you two don’t have playdates at the park, I’ll dognap them and take them there myself.”

Boogie seemed to wag his assent, shuffling over to Spencer and nosing his hand.

“N-nice doggie,” he stammered, gingerly patting Boogie’s head.

McKinley stood, swaying slightly on her way to the door. “I better grab that book while I’m thinking about it. Keep our guests entertained, buddy.”

They heard her rummaging inside, talking to herself. “You were here just the other - aha!”

She reappeared, waving a tattered paperback. “It’s dog-eared and coffee-stained,” she sighed apologetically, “but it’ll read.”

“Well-worn is high praise for a book. It shows how much it’s been loved,” Spencer reasoned, climbing the stairs to the small porch.

“Take your time with it. Some things aren’t meant for speed-Reiding,” she joked, handing him the book.

A comfortable silence settled between them for a minute.

“The swing set on the cake is an inedible figurine, by the way. That night, sitting on the real swing…I dunno, it seemed to comfort you. Now you have one to keep on your desk.”

McKinley couldn’t decide if ‘impressed’ or ‘perturbed’ better described Spencer’s expression in that moment.

“It’s late, guys. We should head out,” Luke yawned, handing McKinley her guitar.

“Night-night, Lovely! We’re having that knitting bee at my place next weekend, just us.”

“Sounds great, Penny, but I’m nervous about knitting in the round. It’s intimidating.”

They waved their goodbyes as they returned to the gate. “Don’t worry, Auntie Penelope will teach you all she knows.”

McKinley retreated into the warmth of her home. She climbed into bed, beaming to herself.

“A whole new group of friends. Imagine that, Boogie! I’d only dared hope for one…”

—

“There are no faster or firmer friendships than those between people who love the same books.”Irving Stone

@illegalcerebral @dreatine @cynbx

Others let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #oc fics deserve love too

33 notes · View notes

jastiss-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Holiday Treat - older Ignis x fem!reader x Noctis NSFW

This was supposed to be a smol Christmas trash fic. It’s not. It sits around 6k words of some plot, some Ignis x fem!reader and Ignis x fem!reader x Noctis.

Threesome, sharing, oral, unprotected sex, competitive Noct and Iggy, I guess there’s an orgasm delay there too. Happy holidays, y’all!

Fuck, I forgot a read more. Edited because this is a beast.

@hypaalicious I think you might like this? Hopefully. lol maybe @atarostarling, @sonsoflucis I don’t know who likes what anymore, I’m guessing.

Gods, rebuilding a city is rough.

Perhaps if you had been a ordinary civilian, you could focus on your own life, creating new memories to wash away the horrors of the Endless Night. You wouldn’t be spending nigh twelve-hour days in meetings with folks just like you: exhausted, overworked, underfed and yet… determined. Insomnia was your home, and you were all eager to see it restored to its former glory, a glittering gem at the heart of your beloved country. It just… felt like you had to put it through a hell of a rock tumbler, one that was shaking up your brain enough to give you a concussion.

However, through your education and connections to the throne, you were all but required in the meetings held by the new council of Insomnia. Another day finished, you decide to sneak down to see your love, perhaps convince him to find a place to eat tonight instead of taking time to prepare a meal.

The problem isn’t that you don’t enjoy his meals, rather, it’s quite the opposite. However, with all the efforts funneled into rebuilding, the two of you have been little more than passing ships for weeks, and it’s become rather tiresome. You miss him. You miss early morning cuddles before he rises to brew his first pot of Ebony, the languid kisses of dawn. You miss sharing the morning news, competing to see who can finish the brain teasers the quickest.

If you’re honest with yourself, you miss the intimacy the most. Heat pools in your lower abdomen as your mind unhelpfully supplies a flash back to the last time he sunk himself into your willing heat and you clench your thighs, teeth gritting against the wave of arousal that spikes through you at the vivid memory.

“Not helpful,” you growl to your traitorous body, making for the door.

His office is two floors down, and you take the journey to calm the heat rushing through your veins, focusing instead on the rumbling in your stomach. Idly, you wonder if you even ate at all today…

Stealthily, you ease the heavy door open, intending to catch your man unawares for a change. It’s a difficult thing, being that his career and life have literally revolved around being the single most observant man in all of Lucis. To your surprise, he doesn’t call you out right away, a lilting smirk upon scarred lips signaling his amusement that you thought you could actually sneak up on him. In fact, he doesn’t greet you at all.

Not with his face, at any rate.

Instead, you’re graced with the view of the backsides of the two most attractive men in Lucis, their owners hunched over documentation on the ebony desk before them, discussing the state of the world outside of the Lucian borders.

You’re torn between wanting to laugh at Noctis, all grown up and discussing matters of state as if he were deciding his lunch menu and flash of extreme arousal that surges through you at the sight of two perfectly sculpted, battle- toned asses on display for your viewing pleasure. While Ignis’ was one you had the opportunity to ogle often (and you took that opportunity whenever possible), Noct was another story.

After committing the sight to memory, you cough delicately to announce your presence.

“Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty,” you apologize. “Should I come back later?”

A dreamlike state blankets the room as they straighten slowly and gaze in your direction. Ignis regards you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to associate with him; kindness, dancing mirth and something darker, carnal. Something feels different about the quirk of his lips this day, and perhaps it’s because of the way the King's eyes land upon you.

Gooseflesh breaks out over your exposed skin as you note the hint of magenta madness in the Lucian monarch's sapphire eyes, a gorgon’s gaze casting you to stone. It takes you a few moments too long to realize you left a few of your buttons undone to tease Ignis, a detail the King certainly doesn’t miss as his ardent eyes flick to your bosom and back.

“Not at all, Y/N,” he practically purrs, a devilish smirk about his lips for but a second before his face turns calm, welcoming. “We're about finished for the day. All of us are exhausted; no sense in beating a dead horse. Right, Specs?”

“Astrals, Noct, had you but come up with such a novel idea hours ago before my brain reduced to flan ooze,” the advisor answered wryly. “You are correct, though. I feel at this point, rest would leave us far more productive than discussing this topic while running on empty.” Noct heaves a great sigh, leveling a smirk at his most trusted friend. “If you wanted a day off, all you had to do is ask. I guess I’ve no choice but to adjourn the meetings tomorrow morning.”

Ignis looks to you, deadpan. “And so 20-year-old Noct decides to make an appearance. Highness, we are not taking a day off because you somehow still hate mornings after ten years of rest.”

When Noct chuckles, slapping a hand on Ignis’ shoulder in mirth, the rich sound sends a jolt to your core. You try your best to ignore your reaction, but Ignis' keen gaze is still upon you and you’re damn sure he’s noticed. Cloudy vision hasn’t hindered his perception one iota, much to your chagrin. You sigh; you’ve got enough problems in life without lusting after your partner's best friend.

“A joke, Iggy, relax,” Noct assures him. “I’ve got matters to discuss with Camelia about the rebuild efforts in Accordo; she seems to think we owe her a great deal although I do not recall that being part of our terms. Gladio’s accompanying me for that so that you can avoid any painful memories that may remain.

“Anyway! Y/N, come here. I have something that I need a woman’s opinion on.”

As you approach the desk to assist your liege, he gestures to a document upon it, drawing you in to have a look. Neither man shifts to accommodate your presence, forcing you to wedge yourself between them. You gulp, hoping your body doesn't make a fool of you this day.

“A Christmas party!” he explains, a boyish smile cracking his face. It reminds you of the lazy prince that was before he entered the crystal all those years ago. “Christmas is almost here and I thought I’d celebrate and open the Citadel to the public to relax. Everyone has worked to the bone lately and deserves it.”

His enthusiasm has brought him practically on top of you. He motions to the plans for the party, turning to you and taking your arm.

“What do you think?” he asks, and there it is again, something in his eyes and your knees wobble.

His eyes shine, their depths showing the young boy Ignis describes having grown up with, so small and full of life. Warring with the childish glee lurks the darkened desires of a world-weary man, the juxtaposition sending you reeling.

“Ah, I think it’s a lovely idea, Your Highness,” you remark, your voice breathy. Was it getting warm in the room?

A subtle tug on your arm draws you back to your senses and you turn to face Ignis, a small scowl about his typically passive face. You mentally berate yourself; you'd be mad as hell if you had just caught Ignis in the position you were in with another female. The thought jars you enough to force you to control your baser needs. After all, Ignis is the rock in your life and you aren't about to erode it away in a careless moment with the King.

"Well then, we'll be taking our leave," Ignis announces, giving Noct a small bow. "I will see you when you return."

Though the Lucian King sighs dramatically, putting on a show for the blond's sake, his eyes remained fixed upon yours, intense, and did not break until forced.

~~~

"Darling, you seemed rather... ah, distracted earlier," Ignis comments over dinner.

That's it. You know you're in trouble at that point, for although the comment itself is innocent, aloof, his eyes belie the brevity of the situation.

"Indeed," you agree. "Overworked, exhausted, just like anyone else. You know how it is."

Emerald eyes meet yours, the milkiness of them unable to mask his suspicions. A selfish part of you almost wished he didn't receive partial vision back upon destruction of the Ring of the Lucii that you may avoid the situation you've found yourself in.

"Ah, well, the King is a rather... pretty man, wouldn't you say?" you ask. His lips purse, eyes narrowing. "I mean, I wouldn't do anything about it but it's been a while for us and bodies are stupid creations, Ignis. I'm sorry."

He is silent for so long, you wonder if he'll up and leave you at the restaurant, decorum be damned. You squirm, but you're determined to say nothing while he works through whatever is going through his head.

"If I have been inattentive to your needs-" he says as you're chewing a bite of food, causing you to immediately spit it out and shake your head frantically.

"Ignis, it isn't like that at all," you assure him, pausing to cough lightly over a bit of food stuck in your throat. "Matters of state come first. We've talked about this since... since before you left for Altissia, remember? I get it. I won't let it happen again, promise."

If he has more to say on the particular subject, he files it away for another time, gaze thoughtful as you finish your meals.

At home, you can tell he's exhausted: there are bags under his eyes bigger than a behemoth's backside, his blinking is slowed such that you think his eyes will just close...

Yet the moment you crawl under the sheets, he comes to life.

Ignis, to his credit, is always an extremely attentive lover, never one to leave you unsatisfied. But tonight... it's different.

There's something under his fiery touch as he skims deft fingers over your body, pausing to tease your nipples until they're hardened, pebbled and begging for more. Of course he grants it to you, his coiffed head lowering to lave them with more attention from the slick, firm glide of his devilish tongue. You swallow hard, worry your bottom lip with your teeth before a gentle nip sends pleasure sparking through your veins and your mouth drops open to grace his ears with obscene moans.

"That's it, how I love hearing you sing for me," he murmurs against your slick skin, the sudden cool burst causing your sex to contract, a breathy sound crossing your lips. "What other music will you make before I'm quite finished with you?"

"Oh, I see how it is," you manage. "It's going to be a tease day, is it?"

He doesn't answer, simply pauses in his trek down your body to lift his visor from his face, neatly fold in, and set it down upon the bedside table with a purposely audible clack. Something about the sound has your breath quickening, anticipation spiking your heart rate to soaring heights as he leans back down, trailing his lips down your temple and cheek to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

Before he can pull away, you lean in and lick at the scar on his lip, reveling in the hitch of his breath as you caress the still sensitive skin.

"You little minx," he smirks. "I will not be deterred. You'll simply have to be patient."

You let him have his way, though you swat at him when he pauses to tickle you on his quest to drive you mad with want. His quick fingers ghost over your slit before dancing down your thighs, strong hands caressing your calves and quads as you pant, staccato notes of frustration being plucked from you.

"Ignis," you trill.

"That's it, let me hear you," he praises, his breath suddenly a salacious glissade over your nether lips.

Nature takes its course, your hips buck instinctively, seeking contact. A dark chuckle reaches your ears just before long fingers finally make contact with your aching nub. A sharp cry rips from your throat, your hips raising from the mattress, a silent plea for more.

"Yes, darling?" he asks, increasing the pressure only slightly, only serving to drive you further to madness.

His fingers trail down to your weeping entrance, one dipping inside briefly, massaging your fluttering walls as his tongue flicks against your clit. You moan out your appreciation, although you know you need more.

“Astrals,” he groans, “such a naughty girl, so wet with barely a touch.” "No more teasing," you pant out. It's been so long, you're in no mood to drag this out. "Please. I’m ready, you don’t need to do all this."

He doesn't immediately acquiesce, instead choosing to add a second finger, pumping it languidly, dragging against your g-spot at every pass. Your breaths shorten, fingers curling in the sheets as the coil within you threatens to shatter. When his tongue dances over your clit with more pressure, you can't even begin to contain the broken cries falling from your lips as your back arches, head thrown back as you fall apart. Your vision darkens slightly, the intensity of your completion such that your system shorts out for a moment. Your orgasms are always intense, but that was something else.

"The most beautiful music," he sighs, and you feel a shudder run through him.

Ignis rides with you through the pulsing of your inner walls as you quiet, falling back to the mattress with a thwump. The smirk on his face when he crawls up your form makes you breathe a laugh and shake your head, mind clouded by rushing endorphins.

"Yes, yes," you say, "you're very satisfied with yourself. As you should be. Now, dear, can you please just fuck me?"

The strategist surges forward, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, your tongues battling for dominance. The taste of yourself on his tongue fuels your arousal once more.

"As my lady requests," Ignis whispers, his lips barely brushing yours.

As he nestles himself between your legs, lining his rock-hard length up at your eagerly waiting entrance, he pauses. More teasing, but your mind is so far gone in lust you simply aren't having it. You grab his hips, taking a firm hold of his toned buttocks and drag him toward you. Your efforts reward you only slightly, the very tip of him sliding into you, parting your slick walls with ease. It's your favorite part, the initial push, your nerves singing in pleasure and you allow your voice to do the same. Ignis smiles sweetly down at you, leaning down to touch his cheek to yours for just a moment before slamming home.

"Gods!" you cry, the pleasure tinged with slight discomfort as you adjust. "Ignis, move!"

His methodical pace overwhelms you; not brutal, but not slow, almost always angled perfectly for g-spot stimulation. You allow your vocal chords to do what they will, cries matching the cadence of your hips snapping up to meet his in a desperate bid for release. You instinctively hook your legs about his, and he adjusts his angle in return, still stimulating your pleasure spots, but deeper.

Somehow, although his hands seem to be everywhere (tweaking your nipple here, sliding along your curves there, applying just the right amount of pressure to your oversensitive nub), Ignis finds time to catch you in a grip strong enough to haul you into his lap. Strong strokes shift to shorter grinding, your nerves overwrought yet calling for more.

The strategist's nose trails gently down your neck before soft lips close around the juncture of your neck and shoulder, suckling what is sure to be a large purple mark come morning. None of that matters to you; the world can know you belong to Ignis Scientia for all you care. When he bites down, the crash of pleasure causes you to clench around the cock buried womb deep in your silken heat, drawing a strained groan from Ignis.

"Keep that up and I'm afraid I must cut the activities short," he grinds out, voice devolved into hoarse rasps. "Behave, darling."

You'll have nothing of the sort. Armed with this knowledge, you rhythmically tighten your inner walls around him to drive him over the edge. It doesn't take long before he leans back, flat on his back, driving up into you with such force your breasts bounce. All you can do is go along for the ride, driving down to meet him, hands braced on his quads as your back arches with a building orgasm.

"Ah, darling, come with me," Ignis all but commands, his thumb dragging across your swollen nub as his pace becomes short of brutal.

Long since has your body been attuned to this man’s particular brand of pleasure, and at his command, it launches itself off the cliff you’ve been toeing. When you begin clench around him, a sinful moan escapes him, eyes screwing shut as the muscles beneath your hands tense. Thunder courses through your veins, or perhaps lava… the volatile mix of elements something only Ignis can create. A fresh high overtakes you as his cock jerks, the sensation of him releasing within you further extending the aftershocks of your rush.

No words are needed as you gently lift yourself off of his lithe body and flop down beside him, exhaustion dragging at you both. Unsatisfied with the arrangements, Ignis wraps his arms about your naked frame to bring your head against his chest, and the sound of his calming heart (your heart) lulls you into a deep slumber.

~~~

Weeks pass in the blink of an eye as Noct decides to put you in charge of the Christmas party, much to Ignis' displeasure. You’re not quite sure what’s left a sour taste in his mouth, but you feel as if you’re spending as much time with the King as he is, resulting in the two of you seeing each other more often. It’s something you can’t really complain about, though; your sex life has taken a dramatic upswing and you’re definitely pleased.

Libido sated, your unclouded mind is able to pick up on the subtle flirtation the monarch is aiming in your direction, and you work to deter it. A small part of your mind laments the fact that you’re unable to at least give the attractive man a test drive, but you’re happy with your arrangements and push those thoughts aside.

Ignis pointedly buries himself in his work whenever it happens, always being as loud as possible. Noct only smirks, as if the entire situation is a game to him.

Finally, the grand day arrives. Though Noct continues the tradition of black being the color most significant, he did give you leave to add accents of red and silver for the occasion. Garland is strewn about the room, twinkling lights and as a special treat to Prompto, a specially trained group of warbling chocobros. You managed you get a hold of that dumb kissing plant that everyone raves about, too. It was even snowing.

All but the sections of the Citadel requiring security clearance are open, citizens milling about, smiling… actually laughing. Most folks had dragged their nicest clothing out, and of course you and the rest of the council are no exception. Noct decreed it to be a suit day for the gentlemen and a formal dress for yourself and the few other women present.

You had decided on a sleek red number with a scoop neck sleeveless lace bodice and a form fitting skirt to be festive. It's a dress you've been holding on to for years, obviously no occasion to wear it to during the Dark, but you'd intended to wear it to a special evening with Ignis. It seemed like a good opportunity to see it in action.

You were chatting away with Monica over how good Cor looked in a suit, tittering away with a glass of wine in hand, when Noct and company entered. The two of you turned, mouths immediately going try at the sight of four very well dressed, very attractive men absolutely owning the room. "...oh," was all Monica said, eyes wide.

"Six save us all," you add. "I've died. Or maybe I'm dreaming."

They break rank, Gladio staying with Noct (he had drawn the short straw) while Prompto and Ignis made their way into the crowd. Emerald eyes find yours, and the living dream that is the strategist in a damn fine suit glides toward you. He reaches your side, encircling you with a quick hug and gives you a peck on the cheek in greeting.

"Darling, close your mouth," Ignis smirks, raising his hand to gently place a finger under your chin. "We're not here to catch flies."

As you glare and prepare for a retort, he leans in close and whispers directly in your ear at just that octave that really gets you going. "You may wish to rest that pretty mouth of yours now. It will be rather busy later."

As you sputter, he chuckles and announces he'll be back with drinks for you both. Beside you, Monica giggles as well.

The early part of the night passes without incident, happy citizens mingling, enjoying the sights and the company of each other, nary a care in the world.

Then the dancing starts, and your entire world turns upside down.

Of course, Ignis approaches you for the first dance, your heart thudding at being in such close proximity to the god among men. You're not sure you trust your body to not react violently to the situation.

"My dear," he says, holding his hand out to you.

You're about to take it when a voice interrupts you.

"Now, now, Ignis," says Noct, materializing out of nowhere. "You get this stunning creature all to yourself every day. Why not let me have this dance?"

He has that smirk on his face, the one he often wears when he's intentionally attempting to piss off his adviser. You'd take that at face value if not for the way his ocean eyes roam your figure, the way his eyes darken as he studies you. Suddenly, you feel like a fine cut of meat, cooked perfectly and begging to be devoured.

Though Ignis purses his lips, he won't deny his best friend a single thing. "Of course, Highness," he agrees, his formality giving away his annoyance.

"Also," the playful king continues, "I'll need you to run the perimeter with Cor, make sure everything's alright. Poor Gladio looks bored. Give the guy a break."

Ignis' expression tightens, but he gives a bow and looks to you. "I shall see you in a short while, Y/N. Do try to enjoy yourself."

As Ignis proceeds to relieve Gladio of guard duty, Noct turns to you, eyes twinkling. "Now, without Specs the Stuffy here, let's enjoy our dance. Shall we?"

You simply nod, taking his war-calloused hand. He dances much like Ignis, only a bit stiff, leading you to assume Ignis probably taught him as part of his royal prep.

To avoid thinking about how handsome and rugged Noct is, you decide to make small talk. "Your people sure love you, Noct. He may not say it, but Ignis is proud of the man you've grown to be." He chuckles. "I know. I'm awesome."

There's the boy you know and love. "So, what's it like being king?"

"Basically, the same as before," he answers. "Ignis still shouts at me to eat my vegetables. Gladio still spars with me. I just spend more time in one place, now. I have to actually listen at council meetings instead of relying on Ignis to take notes for me. Fewer naps, so I'm grumpier. Gladio says it adds to my kingly image."

You laugh freely, tossing your head back. "Never change, Noct."

He stares poignantly at you as the music ends, a peculiar look in his eye. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he looks up, your gaze following his to land upon that damned mistletoe you insisted upon hanging.

"Well, well," he murmurs, a wicked smirk upon his perfect lips. "You know the tradition, Y/N. A kiss for your king?"

Cheeks heating, you're left unsure of what to do. Does he mean a lip kiss? Surely, he can't mean that; he knows of your involvement with Ignis. Would it be awkward to kiss his cheek? "Darling, don't keep him waiting," Ignis suddenly purrs in your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck, raising the baby hairs there. "He's been talking about this all day."

Bewildered, you turn your gaze to your boyfriend, all smoldering eyes and impish smiles. He gives you a nod, nudging you toward his friend. "It's quite alright, Y/N. If it's your wish, go ahead."

Your brain short circuits and you're not quite sure what happened, but your lips suddenly touch Noct's in a tentative kiss, his waiting lips returning the gentle pressure with quiet enthusiasm. After a moment, Ignis coughs lightly, drawing your attention back to him.

"Noct, to avoid another public relations incident, permit me to suggest the three of us find somewhere a bit more private?" he offers, voice low.

The... three of you? Your questioning eyes meet his. "Ignis?"

"With your consent, of course, darling," he adds.

They both turn their eyes to you, silently awaiting your permission. It's at that point you decide you must be dreaming; you and Ignis do get adventurous in the bedroom from time to time, but... a threesome with the king? Six, it was the stuff of every one of your fantasies, therefore, absolutely not real.

"I'm fairly certain this is actually a dream, but if I'm ultra lucky and I'm awake, I absolutely consent," you confirm, yet a question remains. "But, Ignis, why?"

A naughty smile overtakes him and he chuckles quietly. "A curiosity of mine that I've not had the chance to explore. It seems that you were rather taken with dear Noct and there's no one I trust more so I thought... why not?"

"Sharing is caring!" Noct pipes up. "Let's go. We can head for the royal suite."

The elevator ride is intense. Not a one of you dares speak, but the charged atmosphere makes you feel as if your hair should be standing on end. Though the space is large, the two men stand very close to you, their bodies touching yours just enough to make you shiver in anticipation. Your mind blanks, bringing you up for air as the three of you settle in on Noct's massive canopy bed. The black silken sheets are cool against your overheated skin when Ignis gently pushes you down upon them. He gets to work removing your clothing, pressing a kiss to your brow as anxiety rises in you.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Ignis queries, concern drawing his eyebrows close.

You nod, lifting yourself slightly to aid him in unzipping your dress. "I'm fine. Go ahead."

"Come on, Specs," Noct husks, hungry eyes roving over your skin as Ignis bares it. "She's not made of glass."

The strategist barely has your dress off and tossed on a nearby chair when Noct pounces upon you, dazzling you with the brilliance of his smile. For all his bravado, his kiss is tentative, gentle, but by no means unsatisfying. You decide to go all out (since this is most definitely a dream) and snake your tongue out to touch the seam of his lips, asking entry.

It's enough to light a fire in him as he grants your request, tongue darting out to grapple with yours, clearly not interested in letting you be the dominant party. As your mouths war, his hands wander possessively down your form, pausing to dip into the cups of your lacy black bra to pinch your nipple roughly, swallowing the startled moan that bursts from you.

You're vaguely aware of the sensation of lace skimming over your legs, distracted as you are. What you're keenly aware of is Ignis draping your limbs over his shoulders (heels still on, you note) and running his tongue up the length of your slit, teasing your clit at the end of his trek.

Your mouth rips from Nocts as you cry out, trying and failing to keep from bucking roughly into Ignis' face. He's prepared, as he always is, holding you down so that you don't move much.

"As King, I feel I should get to claim you first," Noct declares. "Specs, get her ready, will you? And as for you, Y/N, I have a problem that requires your expert touch."

"I told you there would be benefits to being king," Ignis murmurs, mirth coloring his tone.

"Someone should have specified which," Noct returns, laughter bubbling from both of you. "Would have made me a lot more receptive."

Your laughter is interrupted by Ignis slipping two fingers into your heat, your parched lips spilling more moans at his ministrations. Noct removes your bra with slight effort (it's not like you're very much help, distracted as you are) and briefly disappears to undress. When he returns, your vision fills with the sight of his rigid cock, standing proudly at attention and awaiting your talents.

Without hesitation, you lick a trail from base to tip, paying close attention to the bulging vein and underside of the head. Noct isn't small by any means (you had wondered, what with Gladio and his puny jokes, but anyone is puny in comparison to the monster that is very likely Gladio) but he's shorter in length than Ignis, with more girth. It makes it easy for you to take him all in one go, and if the sounds falling from his lips are any indication, he's impressed. It's damn hard to focus on pleasuring another person when you yourself are in the throes of passion, but you think you manage well enough. Your muffled moans add to the sensations for Noct, his hand coming to rest upon your head innocently at first, but it isn't long before you surrender control, allowing him to effectively fuck your face. Being used does something for you, and the pressure within you increases exponentially.

"Iggy, don't let her come until I fuck her," Noct commands, panting hard. Your jaw aches slightly and the corners of your mouth feel a bit stretched, but it's easy enough to ignore as Ignis adds a third finger and sucks hard on your clit, pressing hard on your g-spot. You shake your head slightly, your muscles tensing in anticipation...

Obediently, Ignis slows, but doesn't stop. It's enough for you to catch your bearings. Noct withdraws from the warm wet heat of your mouth with an abrupt pop, leaving you breathless, debauched.

"Ready for the main course?" he asks, desire blazing in eyes drowned black by blown pupils. "More food puns," you groan, chuckles leaving each of you as the men switch places. Noct taps your leg in warning, rolling you over and placing you on your knees, lining up behind you, the head of him gliding teasingly over your dripping entrance. Ignis sits back on his haunches for a moment, smiling at the question in your gaze.

"I'd like to watch for a moment," he explains, palming his rigid length, making your mouth water. "Don’t worry, I'll make good use of those lovely lips soon enough."

There's no time to retort as Noct chooses that moment to slam into you to the hilt, forcing a scream from your abused mouth. Ignis closes his eyes for a moment, idly stroking himself to the sound of your pleasure.

The grip Noct has on your hips is rough, sure to leave marks, but you don't have the capacity to care because it feels so good. The angle he has you at grazes your g-spot, slamming into your cervix for extra stimulation and it's all too much for your overstimulated self.

You hadn't noticed Ignis move, but his talented fingers land upon your clit, using the perfect amount of pressure and it all sends you flying over the edge into oblivion. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another scream pushes forth from you. Your head drops to the mattress, face burying in the still cool sheets as you come down from the clouds. The king is unconcerned, working your pulsing walls through your orgasm as if it wasn't happening. A hand leaves your hip to give a quick slap to your ass and you whimper, inner walls fluttering in interest.

Ignis taps your cheek lightly and you draw yourself back up, reaching greedily for the cock you know and love. A few moments of hanging in a delicate balance between the powerhouse that is Noct and the polar opposite gentleness of Ignis and you're right there at the edge again, your essence leaking out of you to make a slow trek down your thighs.

"I bet Ignis treats you like a delicate flower, Y/N," Noct growls. "I can see how your body craves rougher treatment."

Noct lands a blow on the other cheek and you clench around him hard, drawing moans from all three of you.

"Of course you would be that way, Noct," Ignis pants. "Come on, Y/N, whose cock is better, now that you have me to compare?" Noct goads, knowing it'll get Ignis' blood boiling.

You can tell he's close, the muscle within you growing harder, twitching as you clench around him. Idly, you wonder what his intentions are. So far gone are you that you simply don't care, your own peak beginning to crest.

Ignis practically shoves you off of him in his haste to remove Noct from within you, but you whimper pathetically, because you're so damn close.

Sensing this, Noct slams into you a few more times, the thrusts and overall treatment enough to send you over the edge again, leaving you a moaning mess as he pulls out of you.

"Noo," you whine, but there's a scuffle in which Ignis shoulders Noct aside and fills you before you really feel the loss.

The monarch laughs darkly, returning to his place before you. "Specs is so easy to mess with, sometimes," he says, guiding your mouth to his cock again. "I hope you don't mind swallowing. That would be pretty hot."

It won't be long for him, you think, as he's still ultra hard and pulsing, so you get to work, wiggling your ass to get Ignis moving. He obliges, his long strokes slightly more unhinged than usual. The strategist pinches at your nipples before brutally attacking your clit, still hoping to bring you to orgasm despite his need to get off himself.

Spit dribbles down your chin and now your jaw is really feeling the ache, but you're so full and practically every nerve in your body is alight with pleasure, so you resolve to hang in there a bit longer. Heat pools once again at the apex of your thighs, threatening to burn through you and rend you to ash. Hands fisting in the sheets, you give yourself over to the pyre and wait for the conflagration to take you.

When it does, your entire body shakes with the force of it and gods if you don't feel like your exhausted body might just give out. Your mouth and the near constant vibrations of your moans finally send Noct over as well, thick cum shooting to the back of your throat. Some leaks out before you can swallow, but for the most part, you've made a clean affair of it.

Ignis, seeing the two of you gone mad in passion, gives in as well, the force of him releasing in you setting off a smaller orgasm on the heels of the last and you are well and truly done.

You aren't the only one, though, evidenced by the fact that the three of you collapse into a tangle of limbs on the rumpled sheets, panting heavily.

"I still gotta know who's better," Noct remarks casually, laughing.

Ignis reaches across your body, lazily swatting at him.

"No contest, Highness," he says, voice hoarse. "She's pledged herself to me with good reason."

You simply laugh, content to lie and enjoy the heat of their bodies. A very merry Christmas, indeed.

#trash #ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #smut #ignis x fem!reader x noctis #older bros #happy ending (lol)#noct lives #ignis can sorta see #all about the smuts with some plots #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #ignis x fem!reader #noctis x fem!reader #trash tales

155 notes · View notes

bibbleboo · 3 years ago

Note

Could we get some headcanons/more background on Abbey and Doyle’s kids? 🥺👉👈 I love the premise of this AU

YEEEEE (im just gonna ramble a bunch about the backstory i have so far but ill put it in bullets so its easier to follow lol i apologize for it being long as fuck-)

OKAY SO,,, first of all,,, doyle and abbey timeline,,,, [i am looking respectfully]

in this au, they get back together and have a sort of ‘lovers pretending to be enemies’ chaotic on again/off again hookup thing off to the side just between the two of them thru like Most of the final season, they try to keep it a secret (especially doyle who doubts the saturdays would be hAPPY if he was seeing her again) but in the end, saturdays ofc find out, probably are unsure about it at first, but she gains enough of their trust to be there for the big finale battle in the weird world mansion.

when shit goes down and argost becomes the vessel for the two opposing kurs (regular kur, and the anti kur from zak monday) and they like. explode his matter or w/e, i imagine instead of kur just completely disappearing, the ‘anti kur’ gets shot back to its universe, while original kur gets forced into a new vessel in this universe... the closest of which happens to be the unborn child abbeys unknowingly carrying. basically, what if the two kurs just LOOKED like they evaporated but actually did what happens when you try to like tape two same sides of a magnets together and they YEETED-

So thats how we have Parker, their firstborn daughter! and this... also implies ‘Parker Monday’ exists which. 8^) i havent thought about yet so forgive me on that but hoo,

they dont know parker is kur, they got no idea and rly just assume kur is gone for good. but after they find out abbeys pregnant (which is a huge emotional trip for both of them in its own right) they do eventually sort of agree they dont want their kid exposed to that whole world of mystery. like, ik its a vital thing to the whole family, and ik these two people were probably voted least likely to ‘settle down’ in high school, but i cant imagine they didnt escape the kur/zak situation without a LOT of trauma, so while the saturdays stay in the cryptozoology field, doyle and abbey slowly pull away from the mystery and mercenary stuff, and also instead of going for big dollar lifestyle settle with ‘independently wealthy’ parenting.

also, neither of them really . grasp the concept that theyve even started a family, and are ‘together’, and that this is REAL, until around when she gets pregnant with their second daughter, Kendall. and then theyre like. oh nooo wait are we actually like boyfriend and girlfriend EWW-

when kendall is born parker is 3, and the next like 10+ years are pretty smooth sailing. as far as what the kids know/see, they probably know the cryptids when theyre little but. (tw animal death sORRY TO BE DARK I JUST??????) idk,, how long komodo dragons live/how old komodo already is and i definitely dont know Anything about giant prehistoric birds and am not even sure if science knows that lifespan, so. im not sure how long they could really be in each others lives??? i almost imagine parker would have memories of them that she assumes she remembers wrong, like “oh yeah they used to have a lizard and a bird... my imaginative little kid brain thought they were a komodo dragon and a dinosaur”, and as for fisk im still working on it but i . actually kind of imagine he might have a much longer lifespan (since lemurians are like ancient or w/e? and also if hes by dna like a gorilla cat or w/e gorillas at least live long af) and also feel like once he got older and settled down a bit he might live somewhere in the woods, maybe even his old tree? and the saturdays see him ALL the time obviously, but hey zaks gotta go to college eventually, a gorilla cats gotta eat bugs in forest, we all have to grow up and leave the nest sometime,

so idk the last time parker has actually seen fisk and she might assume he was an imaginary friend or smth but, 1. if i do write a fic they absolutely have to meet again, 2. overall the vibe is they know the saturdays are cryptozoologists, like, the same way josh gates does destination truth, seeking answers and studying, they dont really. know that theyre REAL. to them its like, a hypothetical science. (this is also part of why they dont realize parker is kur, she isnt around cryptids and therefore whenever her powers would actually show up they wouldnt be recognized) anyways parker isnt embarrassed or put off by it but just thinks its a little wacky, meanwhile kendall is obsessed with the world of mystery/paranormal/cryptic lol

speaking of the girls personalities;;;

parker is like. not really normie/preppy, even if she seems it at first glance, shes nice and has a good head on her shoulders but also is a teenage girl (inherently unhinged) and shes THEIR teenage girl (+5 feral) so despite her success and charm shes also very witty/crass when she wants to be, and deep down shes closer to the kind of person that would on pure inexplicable instinct put something random in your mouth when you’re yawning so you bite down on it afterwards. or like. that video of the girl singing in the bathroom while her friends curl their hair and she grabs the curler to use as a microphone before realizing its burning hot??? shes. the voice of reason, but the voice is usually shrieking in fear, making a cursed joke, or half the time whatever shes saying is actually smart. she kinda wants to go to college and travel, but struggles with indecisiveness and anxiety, so she has no idea where to go, what to major in, etc. and is again kinda just livin thru the typical teen life in that regard

kendall on the other hand is like. weird kid culture, the kind of kid that believes they are secretly a new supernatural creature each year (mermaid phase, werewolf phase, alien phase, etc), probably completely accidentally starts cults or witch covens at school (didnt realize teaching peers how to become ‘blood brothers’ and ‘make potions’ from puddles and stolen school supplies would be taken so seriously by parents) , very into emo/scene/punk/alt culture but not rly in an overtly dark/edgy way, more of a having fun and expressing self way. she wants answers for everything, really loves mysteries and being open minded, and definitely a rebel/adventurer at heart, even if she gets naive or in over her head sometimes.

the girls get along well! parker is not dismissive of kendall she just. isnt really into the same stuff/is more freaked out by it most of the time, but she would tag along on certain adventures, especially if it was to keep her safe. and kendall definitely directs gentle mockery towards parker a lot but does see her as a good role model and guiding figure, their bond is really strong!

other details !

doyle and abbey prob decide to say fuck it and get married after kendall is born, they probably have a few rough patches but nothing is more important to them than the kids now and in the end they understand each other better than anyone else so . canon tension idk her! family ftw! power couple! they intimidate the teacher during parent teacher conferences together hand in shady little hand !

their parenting style is exactly what one would imagine, 70% fun and sass and controlled chaos where theyre the bigger children than their children, 15% ‘this is how you hack the government and dual wield swords-- i was not supposed to teach you that im sorry’, and 15% actual guidance / emotional depth / etc. flaws might be overcoming their own immaturity for the first few years, and then being lowkey overly protective (while claiming they arent, but just bc you semi jokingly tell parker she should join the football team doesnt mean you dont actually hide 60% of ur life from her and check that her bedroom windows are locked every night and have 24 people listed in her school emergency contacts and used to cut up her food till she was 7 and-)

so abouT THE BABY BOY (Phoenix), 1. his middle name is leonidas bc im gay and i love emotional turmoil babes , 2. fully unironically the idea behind such a late pregnancy is abbey would be mid fourties when hes born right. so like. [has two kids] ‘ok birth control time’ [when theyre teens many years later] ‘ok im old enough to stop taking this’ [the hyperfertility curse that plagues many women rears its ugly head with one last hoo-rah]

and finALLY a very quick elevator pitch of what id write an actual fic to focus on;;; kendall sneaks into the attic to look for old shit bc they BOTH know their parents have been hiding stuff over the years, she finds things like a cryptopedia (now offline), the claw, maybe even a piece of the kur stone, and ropes parker into the long haul of figuring out what all this stuff is. and ofc the second they ever find the naga relic and parker comes face to face with it, [rest in rip] time for mom and dad to find out and all this kur shit to start ALL over again-

#long post/ //#tw animal death ment//#GOD THIS IS SO LONG IM SRY--#idk what to call thsi au forreal yet so ill just tag it as #dabbey baby au #TY FOR ASKING THO HEART HANDS

0 notes

soybeantree · 7 years ago

Text

a grim moment - pt. 2

pairing: hyungwon x reader genre/warning: angst, mentions of death/dying word count: 7.2k+ parts: o1 | o2 description: Straddling the line between the world of the living and the world of the dead means you’re the only person who can help a devastatingly handsome reaper with an impossible task.

After one final read through of your short answers, you put your pen down and start to pack up. Three finals down and two more to go. Your brain is fried, your body is exhausted, and your emotions are a jumbled mess, but you’re still alive. Handing in the final to the TA, you take a deep breath. While you’d like to spend the remainder of the day resting, the library calls to you. “Y/N!” You spin at your name to find Minhyuk racing down the hallway after you. He’s a gangly mess as he runs, and his face is lit with a smile. It’s infectious, and you find yourself returning it. “Hey.” He’s breathless when he reaches you. “What did you think of the final?” “Definitely as hard as Professor Min said it would be. But it’s over now, and if I work my schedule just right, I won’t have to take another one of his classes.” You start walking again, and Minhyuk falls into step with you, chuckling. “If I ask really nicely, will you let me copy your schedule. I don’t think I’ll survive a class with him on my own.” You chuckle yourself, as you pull your hair up into a bun. Minhyuk stops, his eyes fixed on your hands. “Is something wrong?” “Sorry.” He blushes. “I was just looking at your watch.” He continues on his way, but your body remains frozen while your consciousness hurtles back to that day beside the reaper. You watch the car pass by and can see the six passengers through the windows. One turns revealing a glimpse of his face, his smile. You watch the car crash and feel the moment when Minhyuk leaves this world. You’re back in the present. Minhyuk stands a few feet in front of you alive and well. He has stopped and is staring back at you. “Y/N?”

“Sorry. I, um, I was lost in thought for a minute. What did you say?” You force your voice to be calm, even as your body quakes with the knowledge that the boy in front of you will die in three days. “I asked if you wanted to grab lunch with me, and my friends before you lock yourself in the library. I don’t think you’ve met them yet.” “Maybe next time.” You attempt a smile and manage a grimace. Though if they’re who you think they are there might not be a chance for a next time. Like Minhyuk, they may all be dead in three days. The thought hits hard, but you force yourself to remain standing. “I should get going.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you spin on your heel rushing down the hallway. The minute you pass through the main doors, you take off. You’re feet pound across pavement as your body threatens to collapse. Not Minhyuk. Not the boy who smiles everyday and does everything to bring a smile to those who need one. Not the boy who saves you a seat whenever you’re running late. Not the boy who brings coffee to class because he knows you spent the whole night studying. Not him and his friends. You run until you reach the park where you’d stood with the reaper three days before. Rasps of breath fill the air as you recover from your dash and the shock of everything. Tears well in your eyes, blurring the world around you and reminding you of the world of the dead, the world Minhyuk will soon enter. You want to scream and kick and hit, but there is nothing to hit or kick and your voice won’t make a sound. Instead, you stand and as silent tears stream down your cheeks. Your life or theirs. Your life or theirs. The words have been your constant companion for the past two days. Even as you study and sit for your finals, the words whisper through your mind. The words change now. Your life or Minyuk’s. Your life or his friends. Your death is not an absolute certainty. The reaper said you were in danger of dying, but Minhyuk and his friends, their death is certain. You watched it, felt it. It is a re-occurring nightmare that replays in your mind whenever there is a lull. The watch weighs heavy on your hand. You raise it to eye level, and for the first time can see the names on each hand. Minhyuk, Hyunwoo, Hoseok, Kihyun, Jooheon, Changkyun. Turning your wrist over, you undo the strap and hold the face in your hand. “You’ve made your choice.” His deep voice fills your mind, chasing away the lingering doubts. “I know Minhyuk. He’s in two of my classes.” You begin as you replace the watch on your wrist. “I’ve never met the other five. He asked me to grab food with them today. I couldn’t do it.” Your voice warbles, and you breath deeply to steady it. “I couldn’t sit across from them, knowing they would die soon. I won’t let them die.” You turn to face him. He’s as elegant as ever in his three piece suit, not a wrinkle in sight. But, there’s something different about him today, a lightness in the way he stands, an ease in his face. “What’s our first step? I’m assuming it’s not as easy as telling them they’re going to die in three days if they get in that car.” He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t change anything. Death would still find a way to take their lives. Death always claims what belongs to it.” “Then what do we do? If Death always gets its way then how are we supposed to save them?” Frustration laces your words. When he came to you for help, he made it seem like he had some grand plan in place and all you had to do was play your part. “I was hoping you would know.” You snort in disbelief. ‘Me.’ You mouth pointing at yourself. “How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re the damn reaper. Didn’t you go to reaper school or something.” “As a reaper, you are taught how to keep order not break it. And you, you’ve cheated Death before and lived.” He pauses, his eyes gaze off and his shoulders fall, and you remember the look on his face when he watched his friends die. As imposing and fierce as he appears, he is just a boy trying to save his friends. Clearing your throat, you break the silence and draw his attention back to you. “You mentioned that before, but I don’t remember ever doing that.” “It was when you were little. You went on a hike with your parents. You were playing to close to the edge of the cliff-” “I fell.” You remember the day. Your mom had scolded you not to play too close to the edge, but seven year old you thought you were invincible. It had rained that morning and the stone was slick. You’d slipped and fell backwards. “You should have died.” “There was a man at the base of the cliff. He saw me falling and caught me. We were both in the hospital for a week. I broke my arm and my leg and cracked his ribs and skull, but we both lived. Was he supposed to die that day too?” He shakes his head. “His time hasn’t come yet.” The knowledge brings a smile. After you two were discharged, you never saw the man again. You’re glad to know that he’s still alive. “I lived because someone who wasn’t supposed to die interfered at the moment of my death.” You whisper as your mind mulls over the information. “Put like that I guess it’s pretty simple what I have to do.” “They die in a car accident. How are you going to interfere at the moment of their death?” That part wasn’t as simple. Coming between a little girl and the ground was less dangerous than coming between two speeding cars. “I just figured out what I have to do. Can you give me a minute to figure out how?” The words bite as fiercely as the wind, and you regret their harshness as he retreats into himself. You huddle deeper into your jacket and clear your throat. “I doubt I’ll figure it out standing here freezing to death. There’s a little hole in the wall place near here that makes great soup - not that you eat - but I do and food always helps me think better.” “Are you asking me out on a date?” “What? No! I-” And that’s when you catch him smirking. “I didn’t realize reapers could joke.” “The longer you’re a reaper, the less human you become which only makes sense. Why does a reaper need to have human tendencies? They only get in the way of doing your job.” “And sometimes those tendencies keep you from doing your job.” You two have started walking, but he stops a moment before smiling and shaking his head. His smile is a small thing, but it transforms his face completely. “How long have you been a reaper?” The question has nagged at you since you found out what he is. “A years.” “Does that mean you died a year ago?” He shakes his head, and you fall silent. “It’s not painful to talk about. I’ve accepted I’m dead, and being a reaper isn’t bad. People misunderstand reapers and our job. We don’t kill people. We’re there to help them when they die. Without us, they would endlessly wander the world of the dead and never find peace.” You’ve seen the world of the dead, a dark empty place filled with the blurs of the living. Wandering it for eternity would be the worst kind of hell. “Did you choose to be a reaper?” He nods. “I want to be there for my friends when their time comes. I just don’t want it to be now.” “And it won’t.” You promise if only to bring back his little smile. “I won’t let it be now.” “Don’t say anything more.” You start to turn. “Don’t look at me. Keep walking. Don’t turn to the left or the right. Just continue forward.” His words quicken your heart and release a burst of adrenaline, but you force yourself to remain calm and continue walking. Rounding the corner, a woman stands in your path. She wears a perfectly tailored three piece suit, her face is smooth as glass, and her hair is coiffured in a severe bun. While she lacks the elegance of your reaper, she is a reaper just the same. Squaring your shoulders, you continue forward and straight through her without flinching. You force your gaze forward as you head towards the soup shop. A warm blast of air hits you as you enter, and your shoulders fall as you sigh. The owner greets you with a smile and tells you to take your usually table in the back while she gets your soup. Unwinding your scarf, you drape it on the back of your chair before plopping onto it. You rub at your face and take a series of deep breaths. “Are you okay?” Your head whips up. “What just happened? Why was she there?” “I told you Death likes order. I thought I was being careful, but it seems I’ve drawn their attention to you. If you see another reaper, will you know?” You shake your head. “Good. Just pretend you don’t see them. No matter what they do, just pretend they’re not there. If they find out you know about us, you’ll be in danger. You also shouldn’t wear that anymore.” He indicates the watch, and you instinctively pull your wrist against your chest. “I thought you said that there wasn’t any danger in me wearing it.” “There is no danger in wearing it, but if a reaper sees you wearing it, you will be in danger.” You pull your wrist away and glance at the face. The names on the hands glare back at you. Without a word, you undo the latch and hand the watch over. “How will I contact you without it?” “I’ll come when it’s safe.” “What if it’s never safe? I can’t do this alone.” “You won’t I promise.” His eyes hold yours, and instead of pulling you into the dark void, they anchor you. Before you can respond, he’s gone. The owner comes with your soup, fussing over how skinny you are and how tired you look. You smile at her and thank her for her concern, but your mind is elsewhere as you contemplate how to trick Death.

Finals come to an end, leaving you with one day left before Death claims Minhyuk and his friends. The reaper has yet to return, but his brethren are everywhere. They haunt your paths, and while you do your best to ignore them, it’s no easy task, especially when they pop in out of nowhere. The worst moment had been while you were in the library studying. You’d glanced over at your computer to find a reaper standing in it. By some miracle, you had kept yourself from screaming. But, you’d had to move your computer to use it. Their constant presence has made devising a plan difficult that and the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing. You have a plethora of questions for the reaper, but with no way to ask them, you fester over the problem. Minhyuk has texted you several times, asking to get drinks to celebrate the end of finals, and each time you come up with an excuse why you can’t. You’re running out of excuses and time. If you could just lock them all up until the end of tomorrow, you would, but you know it would be useless. The reapers who surround you would interfere, and all of your lives would be forfeit. You have to trick Death at the moment of their deaths. Not knowing what else to do, you return to your coffee shop. Your favorite spot affords a perfect view of where everything will happen as well as the spot you stood with the reaper when he showed you. Your eyes travel to that spot wondering if he’ll be there, if he watches this spot like you. But all you see are the living. “I knew you’d be here!” Minhyuk’s voice breaks through your revere and sends your heart racing. “Minhyuk. Hey.” Your greeting is flat, and the way his face falls let’s you know that you’re not the only one who thinks so. He pouts and doesn’t take the seat across from you despite his hand resting on the back of it. “Sit.” You gesture to the seat, but he remains standing. “Please.” You add with a forced smile. He finally does and places a coffee on the table for you. The gesture twists your heart. “Thank you.” You whisper as you pull the cup closer to you. Your eyes drift back to the window and to the spot where Minhyuk will die in less than a day. Tears well in your eyes, so you close them before they can fall. “What’s wrong?” His voice is soft and sweet, and you can hear his little lisp as he speaks. “I’m just-“ “If that sentences ends with tired just stop right now. You’re not just tired. Even when you’re tired, you still talk to me, and you’ve been avoiding me.” “Tell me about your friends.” The spot on the street still holds your gaze, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shifting in his seat. “Why do you want to know about them?” “I saw you with them the other day, and you all seem so close. I was just wondering how long you’ve known them and why you haven’t mentioned them before.” The lie comes easily. “Ah...” he pauses for a minute. “We’ve known each other since middle school. We’ve always been close, but a year ago...” he pauses again, his voice thick, and your eyes leave their spot on the road to watch him. “Something happened, and we all lost touch for a bit. But, we’re better now and going forward we’ll be by each other’s sides no matter what.” His smile returns, but its light is dimmer now. “I’m sorry. Whatever you went through must have been hard. I’m glad to know you’re better now.” He nods pulling at the straw in his drink. You want to ask him more to know if the event he refers to is the reaper’s death. You want to know who the reaper was, what his name was, and why his death tore them apart instead of bringing them together. But you don’t. You don’t want that smile to dim further. Not today, when today may be his last day. “We should celebrate the end of finals.” You announce breaking Minhyuk out of his gloom. Minhyuk huffs and shakes his head at you. You blush and clear your throat. “I know, I know. I have no right to suggest a celebration after I’ve ignored all of your attempts, but can’t you just accept my apology and we celebrate together?” “You haven’t apologized.” He points out. “I’m sorry.” You add extra cheese to your smile, and he laughs, nodding his head in acceptance. “Fine. But I already have plans to celebrate with my friends tonight. But, I don’t think they’d mind if you tag along.” Your smile falters, but as it does, a determination solidifies in your gut. Tomorrow will come, and it’s outcome may be inevitable, but tonight you can change. “I’m in. When are you meeting up with them?” He checks his imaginary watch, his face twisting in thought. “Now.” He chuckles. You blink at him as he stands up and comes around to your side of the table. “Come on. You said you’d come.” He pulls on your arm, jumping and pouting. The other patrons eyes him, but his antics bring you laughter. Standing, you barely have time to slip on your jacket before he is dragging you out of the coffee shop. You glance once more down the road and make a silent promise. Down the street from your coffee shop is a pub much frequented by college students. The door sticks whenever you try to open it, and you often have to shove it open with a shoulder. But the extra work is worth it when the first whiff of food reaches your nose. The pub has the best local brews on tap, but what it’s truly famous for is its kitchen and the little old lady who works in it. She’s the owners wife, though everyone calls her ma, and she has fed generations of college kids. She calls them her children and never lets any of them leave hungry. It’s here that Minyuk’s friends have gathered. They sit in the booth at the far back corner of the pub, but their presence is palpable from the moment you enter. You hear their laughter first before they come into view. They’re an eclectic group. The two biggest sit at the end, a wall between their friends and the rest of the pub’s patrons. However, despite how muscular the two are, they aren’t intimidating. One looks like a giant teddy bear and the other has a smile nearly as infectious as Minhyuk’s. Two others sit nursing their beers while the third tells a story, his face morphing to match the ridiculous voices of his characters. Minhyuk clears his throat as he approaches, drawing their attention to the two of you. He introduces you first and then his friends. You know their names. They are etched into your memory as clearly as they are on the clock hands. Hyunwoo is the teddy bear, Wonho, the one with the smile. Jooheon is the one making faces. Kihyun smiles at you politely, and Changkyun stands up and bows formally. Minhyuk explains that he’s just weird. The five make room for the two of you and order another round of drinks. Two drinks in, and you feel like you have been friends with these boys all your life. They tell you stories of their high school days, and you nearly choke on your beer. They were reckless, and you wonder how they lived to college. Sitting with them, your mind refuses to believe what tomorrow will bring. Nothing could remove the brightness of these boys’ souls from this world. They belong here with their laughter and their zest for life. After the third drink, your bladder prompts you to stand from the table. The boys are quick to move out of your way. Changkyun even takes your hand to lead you around the booth until you stand on the outside. You chuckle at his antics and promise you’ll be back soon. Halfway to the bathroom, you trip on your own feet and fly face first towards the floor. Someone catches you before impact and places you back on your feet. “Thank you.” You smile as your eyes focus on your savior. “Reaper!” You gasp as you recognize the smooth features and three piece suit. “What are you doing here? What if the other reapers see? Wait. How did you catch me?” “Do you really think this is a good idea?” He hisses. “You answer my questions first.” You wag your finger in his face as you sway from side to side. “You’re drunk.” “Damn right I am. Do you know what I’ve been dealing with the past three days? And where have you been while I’ve been trying to figure out a way to save your friends? Hmmm?” He hushes you and pulls you through the wall and into the bathroom. That sobers you, and you step back as your stomach roils. “What just happened? How did you do that?” “Drinking loosens your grip on the world of the living, just like when you’re exhausted.” “Okay, but never do that again.” You threaten as you crouch down and lower your head between your legs. “Are you okay?” “I’m drunk and was just pulled through a wall. What do you think?” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but people were coming.” He looks away from you, but your eyes stay on him. The world whirls around you, but he stands still in the center of it all. Breathing deeply, you sit back and examine your reaper. No longer does he wear his impassive mask. Worry creases his brow while a frown pulls down the bow of his lips. Your hand itches to smooth the wrinkles and curve the bow into a smile. But the watch hanging on his wrist stills all thoughts. Its tick, tick, tick chases away the last of your buzz, leaving you tired. You meet his eyes and in a whisper say, “I know what tomorrow is. I know what will happen. But I don’t know how to stop it.” A sob chokes you as you admit the truth. You bury your face in your knees, letting your hair form a curtain around you. You can’t look at him. You don’t want to see his face. “If tonight is their last night, I want it to be a celebration.” Tears gurgle your words, but the gentle hand on your shoulder let’s you know he heard. Peaking through your hair, you glimpse his face. Gone is the worry, replaced with defeat. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump and the way his chest rises and falls. The movements are slow and shallow as if he no longer has the strength to breath. “I’m sorry.” The words are his. Pushing back your curtain of hair, you stare at him more fully. He takes a seat next to you, mirroring your posture. His long legs stick out at awkward angles as he pulls them to his chest. For a moment, you glimpse the man he was. You can imagine him as a gangly teen hanging out with Minhyuk and the others ready to get into mischief. “I shouldn’t have come to you. I knew it was a long shot. I was selfish and didn’t care how much it could hurt you.” His voice is a deep whisper, soothing your frazzled mind. You reach over and lace your fingers through his. His hand dwarfs yours, and the feeling eases the weight on your shoulders, reminding you that your hands aren’t the only ones carrying this burden. “Even if you shouldn’t have told me, I don’t regret that you did and I don’t blame you for how I feel. Minhyuk is my friend too, and now the rest of them are. Even if I can’t save them at least I know I tried.” A tear slips down your cheek. His finger is light against your skin as he brushes it away. You smile at him before leaning your head against his shoulder. The stress of the week and all your worries mix with the alcohol to lull you into a half sleep. Your hand remains in your reaper’s as he rubs small circles on the back of it. “You don’t need to worry anymore.” He whispers, brushing your hair off your face. “When my friends go, I’ll go with them, and I’ll take your memories with me, so don’t worry anymore okay?” “Mm.” You mumble snuggling against his neck. A pounding wakes you, and you find yourself alone in the bathroom, propped up against the wall. Minhyuk’s shouts can be heard through the door, threatening to come into the bathroom if you don’t come out. Pushing yourself to your feet, you pull open the door to stop your friend from getting himself in trouble. With a start, you realize he’s not alone. Hyunwoo stands behind him, and the look on his face lets you know that Minhyuk wouldn’t have charged into the bathroom alone. You apologize profusely, telling them you fell asleep. They decide that means it’s time to call it a night. You argue against the decision, but it’s six against one. They walk you back to your apartment and wish you goodnight while promising to get home safely. Watching them walk away, you almost wish they wouldn’t. If something happened to them tonight would that mean that they wouldn’t die tomorrow? Entering your apartment, you throw your purse on the floor and trudge to your bed collapsing on it. You stare at the ceiling as tears race down the sides of your face. Your mind is full of their smiles and laughter and the crazy stories they have, but overlaying each happy memory is the image of their car tumbling over and over and the feeling as each of their souls leaves this world. All you have to do is interfere at the moment of death, but how do you interfere in a car accident? The thought chases itself through your mind, lulling you into oblivion. Music blares from your phone, pulling you out of sleep. Sunlight fills your room, and you wonder when the sun rose. Your phone continues to sing to you, so you slide your finger across it and bring it to your ear. “Hello?” “Wow, you sound horrible. Did you sleep at all last night?” Minhyuk chirps at you, and his voice is so bright and cheerful it makes your insides twist. “I can’t remember.” You croak. “I was calling to see if you wanted to get breakfast with us where going to that dinner down the street from the coffee shop you like, but I think you should just go back to sleep.” “By the coffee shop? Are you driving there?” Your voice quavers with panic, and your hand shakes so much that you can barely keep the phone against your face. Silence fills your ear. “Minhyuk!” “Calm down.” He chuckles. “Hoseok was talking to me. I’ve got to go. Hyunwoo just pulled the car around. Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.” “No! Minhyuk! No!” But the line is dead. “Minhyuk. Minhyuk.” You fumble with your phone as you call him back. Your call goes straight to voice mail as does your second and third. “No. No. No.” You whisper as your clock flashes the time at you. How could you have fallen asleep? How could you have wasted so much time? You try to call again as you throw on shoes and a jacket but still no answer. You have to get to the coffee shop. You have to stop this from happening. Hyolyn is coming out of her apartment as you race down the stairs. In your mad dash, you plow right into her. Both of you go flying as do your purses and everything in them. You stutter out an apology as you shove everything back in your purse. Her keys sit next to your foot, and as you reach for them your mind starts turning over an idea. Hyolyn hasn’t noticed the keys yet. She’s still busy collecting everything else. Your hand closes over the keys, pulling them to your chest. With a final apology, you race past her. What your about to do is illegal and crazy and stupid, but with any luck it’ll work. Hyolyn’s car is older than both of you and wears its years without grace, making it easy to spot parked on the curb of your building. You hurry to it and start it up before Hyolyn makes it out of the building to find you stealing her car. You make a silent promise to pay her back and speed away towards the coffee shop. Your eyes shift between the road and the clock, and you push the gas a little harder, zooming between the cars around you. “Stop the car.” The words jolt you and nearly send you swerving into the car on your left. “What the fuck?” You screech at your reaper who now sits in the passenger seat. “Can’t you see I’m driving?” “Stop the car now!” You remain silent as you continue to switch between lanes. “What the hell are you thinking?” “You asked for my help, and I’m helping.” “I also told you not to worry, but you’re choosing to ignore that.” “I can’t let them die.” “So you’re going to die instead?” His voice is a slap to your conscious, and your foot eases off the gas. Taking a deep breath, you swallow the lump in your throat and continue. “I might not die. The man who saved me didn’t die. We both survived that. All seven of us might survive this.” “You were a little girl who fell on him. These are cars colliding. You really think you’ll survive this?” “If I stop now, they die.” “And if you continue, you die.” “You warned me helping them could lead to death.” You reason with him and yourself. “I knew the consequences when I agreed.” “This isn’t what I was talking about. There was the possibility that Death would learn what we planned and send the reapers for you. You’ve escaped the reapers’ notice. You’re in no danger now, so stop the car.” He lungs across the car to pull your hands off the wheel, but his hands pass straight through you. “I’m fully in the world of the living. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.” The coffee shop looms before you, and the clock ticks away. “Y/N, look at me.” The way he says your name breaks your heart, but you refuse his request. “I won’t let you take my memories.” He growls, and you know if he could he would pound the dash. “What do I look like to you?” The question is pointless, but you need a distraction. “What? What does that matter? Stop the car!” “Everything looks blurry in the world of the dead. Do I look blurry to you?” “You’re vibrant.” His voice pulls your eyes to him and nearly robs you of your resolve.

“Y/N, please.” He pleads. Closing your eyes, you push on the accelerator. Tears stream down your face as the car lurches forward coming abreast with the boys’ car. The moment of death, you can’t interfere until the moment of death or your sacrifice will be useless. “Stop the car!” He screams as the car in front of you runs the red light. You thrust your foot against the accelerator, peeling out in front of the boys. You hear their tires squeal then the ear shattering screech of metal pushed beyond its limit then nothing. The world goes silent around you.

The void surrounds you, and this time your reaper is not there to center you. You are alone surrounded by black nothingness, but the fear you had before no longer exists. You exist in this void free from all emotion. You’re waiting. For what, you don’t know, but you know you must wait.

Steps sound behind you and beside you and all around. Whirling, you search for their source, but nothing disrupts the blackness. It continues in an unbroken ribbon around you. The foot steps stop. You are not alone. A woman stands before you hunched over a cane, but when you blink, you realize you were wrong. She is a young man with an inquisitive brow. You blink again and he is both man and woman. You blink again and they are neither. “You’re Death.” Your voice echos through the void, and the being in front of you smiles and nods. “So I died.”

The beings shakes its head. “So I’m alive.” The being shakes its head again.

“The void exists between life and death.” It’s voice is deep and soft but loud and forceful. It surrounds you and resounds inside of you. “You Are neither alive nor dead, so you exist within the void.”

“Will I die?” It tilts its head and fixes you with a cursory gaze.

“Do you want to die?” The question is simple curiosity, and you find you don’t know how to answer. “I wouldn’t mind if you did. Twice you have eluded me. Once happens. I’m quite busy. The dead far out weight the living after all. But twice.” Death tsks at you, and the emotions you thought you were free of return. Worry creeps through your veins. Death likes order. Your Reaper had reminded you many times.

“Will I die?” You ask again. Dying doesn’t worry you, but Death does. The look in its ever shifting eyes leaves you with a sense of unease. Your Reaper said that without guidance souls would wander the world of the dead forever. Would Death leave you to wander as penance for your defiance? “Can I become a reaper?”

A slow smile splits Death’s face. “You wish to join my reaper.” Death waves a hand, and your Reaper is before you. He stands still in his three piece suit, his face masked once more. You call to him, but he doesn’t hear you. You take a step towards him but find yourself no closer to him. Death waves a hand again, and he’s gone. You stand, staring at the empty spot.

“I can make you a reaper.” His offer is a choice.

“I don’t have to die.” You meet Death’s gaze, “I’ve asked you twice if I will die and twice you have avoided the question. You offer me the chance to be a reaper, but I don’t have to take it. I don’t have to die. I can live.”

Death nods. “Order sits upon a fulcrum. As you were not supposed to die this time, you won’t have to die, but as you were supposed to die before, you should die. Order would accept either.”

“And my friends?”

Death shrugs. “They didn’t die. I have no right to them.”

“So I can live?”

Death nods. “But order must be restored.” You blink at that. “The living have no part in the world of the dead. If you choose to live, you will be fully in the world of the living with no memory of my world and only death will bring you back to it. Your clock will start again.”

Life is the obvious choice. Life with your family and your friends and all the possibilities that lay before you. It’s what you would have had if your reaper hadn’t come to you. But despite the obviousness of the choice, you don’t make it. Not yet. You pause and think of your reaper. He would want you to choose life. He had begged you to choose life, but still you hesitate. For the rest of your life, you will never see him again. You will never remember him. He stole your memories once, and their absence had gnawed at you, robbing you of sleep and leaving you a shadow of yourself. Could you live that way the rest of your life, knowing you are missing something, feeling half-formed?

“Will my reaper always be a reaper?”

“No.” Death shrugs. “No reapers remain for all eternity. All who were once living must pass on eventually.”

“When would he?”

“Whenever he chooses.” His words from the bar come back to you. He’ll go when his friends come. You stopped their deaths. As long as they live, he will remain a reaper, alone watching over them.

“Can I speak with him?” You want to tell him not to wait that you’ll watch over them for him, and when the time comes, you’ll all join him.

“He has no place here.”

“But you-he-” You point to the space he had occupied.

“An image pulled from your conscious.”

“So I can’t say goodbye?” The words are a whisper.

“You’ve made your choice then.”

You nod. “I want to live.

Voices sound around you. They speak in soft whispers, their words indiscernible, and below the voices is a steady beep, beep, beep. This sound above all others keeps you from slipping back to sleep. Sleep grows further and further from you, and in its place, it leaves pain. Your chest burns with each breath and a dull pain throbs through your right arm. You try to move and adjust yourself, but your body refuses to respond. “I think she’s awake.” A sob warps the whisper, but the words reach you. You are awake, though your eyes won’t open. “Sweetie, can you hear me?” A hand grasp your left hand. “If you can hear me, just squeeze my hand.” The task should be easy, but it takes ever ounce of your strength to curl your fingers around the hand. A sob sounds, and the hand in yours begins to shake. The other voices grow louder and closer, but you’ve used the last of your energy. The next time you wake, you are able to open your eyes. Your mother sleeps in a chair to your left. You call to her, but your voice is a croak in the silence. She still hears it and is up and at your side in an instant. Over the next few days, consciousness returns in greater lengths. You learn you were in an accident, and that you nearly died. Minhyuk comes to see you the day after you opened your eyes. He cries when he sees you awake and runs from the room. Your mother brings him back, and he apologizes saying that it’s all his fault. He forgot his phone after he hung up with you, and he should have just told Hyunwoo to come pick you up. Hyunwoo and the others come later that day. They bring you flowers and balloons, and all of them bare the same face as Minhyuk. They blame themselves for what happened. The crash is a blur in your memory, but you assure them it wasn’t their fault. You had been driving recklessly. If anyone is to blame, it is you. None of them accept that, and they proceed to dote on you during your stay in the Hospital. When the doctor clears you to leave, you cry in relief. Your apartment is blessedly empty, and you tell the boys that if they come over you will personally unman them. The silence in your room is a comfort, but even still it weighs heavy on your shoulders. The silence holds something a question? A memory? Whatever it is, it remains just out of your reach. When the boys invite you to their Christmas party, you gladly accept. Getting ready is difficult. A cast still wraps itself around your right arm, and you struggle to zip up your dress. The boys said it is an informal party, but you’ve been wearing nothing but hospital gowns for the past week. You want to feel pretty tonight. Checking yourself out in the mirror, you catch a glimpse of something in the corner of your room, but when you look, you find the spot empty. Shaking your head, you slip on your jacket. You’ve had several similar instances since returning to your apartment. Walking down the stairs, you smile at Hyolyn as she exits her apartment. Your near death experience had deflated any anger she had about you totaling her car. Plus, she had been planning on scrapping it any way. The two of you walk down the stairs together, chatting about your holiday plans and predicting what the coming semester will bring. When you walk out into the chill winter night, you find Hyunwoo waiting for you with his car. The sight sends a chill down your spine, unrelated to the winter wind, but you swallow your trepidation and smile as Hyunwoo holds the door open for you. The party is at Hyunwoo and Kihyun’s apartment. There are more people than the seven of you. The boys have quite a collection of friends. And you find yourself keeping to the fringes of the party, exploring the boys’ apartment rather than interacting with the unfamiliar faces. As look through their bookshelves, your eye catches on a photo. Judging by the boys’ faces, it must be from their high school days. You smile as you pick out baby Changkyun and Hoseok before he started working out. Your smile falters as you notice a seventh member in the group. He’s sitting next to Minhyuk with his long legs pulled up to his chest. A lazy smile graces his face. As you stare, tears fill yours eyes. “That’s Hyungwon.” Minhyuk’s words jolt you back to the present. You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes before he can see your tears. You don’t even know why you were crying.

“You guys seem really close with him. Why haven’t I met him yet?”

“He died a year ago.” The knowledge tugs at a memory, but when you try to grasp it, it flies away. You’re left staring at Minhyuk flapping your mouth as you try to formulate a response. Minhyuk throws an arm around your shoulder and guides you away from the picture. “We should be celebrating. You’re alive and well, and Christmas is around the corner.” You nod and let Minhyuk pull you back into the party. Neither of you notice the man standing by the bookshelf. He stands, elegant in his three piece suit. His face, smooth and crisp in its shape, holds no emotion. His arms hang languidly at his side, the thumb of his left hand loops lazily in his pocket, pushing up his sleeve and revealing the edge of a worn watch, the first of seven he will wear.

#hmw #monsta x dramarama #monsta x drabbles #hyungwon #chae hyungwon #hyungwon drabbles #monsta x scenarios #hyungwon scenarios

25 notes · View notes

doe-wiegenliedofgreen · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter 2, Section 1–This Thing Called Human; Scene 3

Wiegenlied of Green (VG), pages 42-55

🍀 Michaela ~In the country of Elphegort, "Yatski Village"~

Even when I opened my eyes, I couldn't tell where I was.

I was surrounded by processed stone on every side, so I couldn't see the sky. It didn't look like anything I'd seen in the forest.

…No, I have seen something like this before.

Where was that again? I wracked my brain. Ah, that's right.

Mr. Pant's house.

Pant was a woodcutter who lived in Lord Held's forest along with his wife and child. When I'd creeped into his house a few times before, the inside had looked like this. Just different in that Pant's house was made entirely of logs, and this place looked to be made using both wood and stone.

So I know I'm in a human's dwelling, but how did I end up in a place like this? As I recall I was attacked by a black Rollam bird in the sky…

The black Rollam bird wasn't originally a bird from Elphegort. But the occasional stray flock would get lost in the forest. I remembered that they had belligerent personalities, so Lord Held had told me to be on guard if I should run into one.

What awful luck. I dropped the trauben…

Be that as it may, for now I needed to get back to the forest right away. Lord Held and the other spirits were probably worrying about me.

But…how should I go about getting out of here?

If I was in my spirit form it would be possible for me to head outside by just passing through the stone, but I couldn't do that as a robin. If I was remembering right, I had left Pant's house by moving that handled plank called a "door". Something like that…was that it?

I tried to move closer to that "door", flapping my wings. But,

"Ow!"

Intense pain went through my right wing. Now that I think about it, that black Rollam bird's claws had tightly clutched that wing with all its strength. Oh no, I'm done for.

Furthermore, when I actually looked I saw that, starting from my body, my wing was wrapped up in some kind of cloth-like substance, making it too difficult to move. Though I tried to somehow undo it, when I was struggling the cloth came untied halfway through and became entwined around my body even more.

Auugh--this--darn it!

"Oh my, seems you've gotten yourself in a little predicament."

There was the sound of the door opening, and a human woman came inside. She was holding a small box in her right hand--was this the owner of the house? She looked much, much thinner than all the other humans I had seen. This old woman with white hair tied in a bundle in the back showed a very complicated expression, as though she was both shocked at the sight of me but also smiling.

"I guess Clarith couldn't bind your bandages cleanly...Sorry, little birdie."

She set the small box beside me, and gently scooped me up. After she had unwrapped all of the cloth from my body, she began to wreathe it around me again. It was wound much tighter than it had been before, but curiously it was easier for me to move.

"We have to neatly stop the bleeding until your wound can heal up."

Ah, I see, so that bandaging was dressing for my wound. I had never had an injury before, so I hadn't known. …Hm? An injury?

…That's right. I shouldn't be in a robin form in the first place. Once I've undone my transformation any injuries can be healed in a moment--and then going back to the forest will be a simple matter, right?

How come I didn't think of that sooner? Once I'd decided on that, I immediately…Huh?

I tried to get out of my transformation, but I couldn't return to my original form. When I thought on why, I quickly remembered the answer. I could only do any transformations when I was in the forest.

I guess this whole day has been a big wash…

As I was spiraling down in my own foolishness, I heard the door open once again.

"…I'm home."

The one who said that as she entered was a girl who also had white hair, wearing a gloomy expression. Was her having white hair despite being considerably younger than the woman before me because she'd been born with it? She held a large basket in both hands.

"Welcome back, Clarith."

Upon glancing at the lightly smiling woman, the girl she'd called Clarith set the basket she'd been holding in the corner of the room, her expression unchanging.

"You aren't well, Mom--you need to rest."

"You can say that all you like, but I do feel that if I don't bask in the sun's light every once in a while my health's going to get worse all the same…Oh yes, Clarith, the robin's opened its eyes."

She said "Mom", so did that mean these two were parent and child? If so then perhaps this woman's white hair wasn't due to her age either.

Grinning, the mother placed the small box she'd set to the side before in front of me. What was in it? I tried to peek.

Waugh!

There were earthworms wriggling around inside.

Smiling with her whole face, the woman said, "Dinner time". Maybe to a normal robin this would be quite the treat, but as I was a high-minded spirit, worms were, well…I wanted to hold back.

"Oh dear, it won't eat."

"Then how about feeding it this?"

Without changing her usual expression, Clarith went to the basket she'd set on the ground earlier and pulled something out of it. Right as I was thinking that she was quite the unsociable girl, something came flying over to me from her.

Huh--what!? This is…trauben fruit!

Filled with sudden joy, I couldn't help but bite into them. Right in front of me, the mother made a surprised expression.

"A robin's normally supposed to eat bugs… You're a strange bird, aren't you? I've never seen a robin with such beautiful green feathers; perhaps you're really the incarnation of a forest spirit."

"Spirits are fantasies," Clarith coldly cut in, giving a side-eyed glance to her smiling mother.

But there are spirits~ There's one greedily devouring trauben right in front of you~

"There's no such thing."

At hearing her words, I remembered Lord Held lamenting that, "Today's youth aren't pious enough!". But there are spirits, and gods too.

"There are no spirits or gods in this world… If there was, you and I wouldn't be living such a hard life, Mom…"

"Clarith…"

"This trauben too…It's so poor quality I could never sell it. Even though it's finally fruited after me putting in so much time…"

Poor quality? Was it really? Certainly their shape was a little distorted, but the flavor wasn't bad at all.

Returning to her scowl that looked as though she was holding back tears, Clarith once more glanced my way. And, saying only, "…The bird should take it easy," she again turned towards the door.

"Where are you going, Clarith?"

"…To the village chief. I've been called there today again."

Clarith went out, brow furrowed.

Her mother looked incredibly sad, but when she noticed that I'd finished up all the trauben before me, she went back to the basket to get me more.

"I'm very sorry, little birdie. But, she really is a very kind girl. She brought you here when she saw you were injured, and your dressings she also did herself. So please forgive her."

The mother once again smiled.

But for some reason or another, I thought that it wasn't a sincere smile.

What in the world was this shadow that cast over their hearts?

Two weeks passed.

Despite there still being a little bit of pain left, my wing had healed up. In two or three more days, I would once again be able to fly into the sky.

Her mother hadn't been in good shape lately, so she was always resting in bed. Because of that, my care was done exclusively by Clarith.

"Grüne, it's time for dinner."

In the beginning Clarith had been so cold, but little by little she had started to show me her smile. Grüne was the name that she had given me. Apparently it meant "green" in Elphen. It was a somewhat strong name, so I had grown fond of it as well.

The trauben that Clarith had said she couldn't sell the other day was being used effectively as my feed.

"Do you find it tasty, Grüne?"

Oh yes, it's delicious!

I tried to respond to her, but to her ears it only came out as chirping. But even if we couldn't converse, it seemed that Clarith greatly enjoyed her time with me.

She would tell me about what happened to her that day. "Today I made a mistake", "Today I was scolded for doing something wrong", things like that. …It was almost always stories about her failures. It sounded like she was regrettably, hopelessly clumsy.

Clarith worked twice as hard as everyone else in cleaning, cooking--anything she did. Perhaps she didn't pay attention to the expressions she was making because she was always so serious and focused on the task in front of her. Aside from when she was facing me, Clarith was basically expressionless.

For my sake, she made a birdcage out of scrap wood that she had gathered. It was very warped, and full of holes. It was something I could easily escape whenever I felt like it, but even so she'd made it for me, getting her hands covered in scratches in the process.

In the house there was one small window. As Clarith would set the bird cage by the window on days when the weather was clear, I was able to see the outside world from it.

One day I saw her working in the fields with other villagers. While they were doing things like taking moderate breaks (playing hooky?) and chatting, she was hard at work, without resting or talking to anyone else. Despite that, her work was always later than theirs. It was clear that Clarith didn't have the knack for it, but I could also see that one of the reasons for that was that compared to everyone else's the tools she was using were shabby. Even so, not a single one of the others went to help her or lend a hand--rather, there were even some who would sometimes be a hindrance to her, doing things like bumping into her or trampling on her hard plowed farm land.

Despite receiving such poor treatment, Clarith's expression didn't change one bit. She was always expressionless, always blunt. She was the same way towards her mother as well, but certainly their relationship couldn't have been a bad one. It was just that the only time Clarith showed her faint smile was when she was with me.

There was an obvious difference between Clarith and the other people. All of their hair was green, but Clarith's was white. I thought that it was beautiful, seeing the way her hair sparkled when it was in the light, but perhaps the cause of her persecution was because of the difference in her appearance.

Clarith constantly had injuries on her body. I was able to guess from her stories that they were largely from messing up at work, or falling over. But there were times more terrible than usual, where she would have serious wounds and bruises. Scratches so severe she couldn't have gotten them from just falling over. I was concerned about her, wanting to know what happened, but at times like those Clarith would go straight to bed without telling me anything.

Those two weeks, I felt…that I had come to understand these things called "humans" just a little bit more.

The next day Clarith was again headed for work, and her mother slept like the dead.

It was sunny out, so my bird cage was set by the window. But no matter where I looked outside, I couldn't see Clarith. Perhaps she'd gone to gather fruit in the forest. Or maybe she was working in some field I couldn't see from here.

I heard some sort of clunk from the window. At first I'd thought it was my imagination, but then I heard it again. Right when I was wondering what it was, a chipmunk suddenly popped its face up from the window frame. The chipmunk skillfully thrust its body through a hole in the window, getting inside.

"I've finally, found you, Michaela."

"…Gumillia!"

The true identity of the chipmunk was Gumillia, another spirit. They had to have come to find me, not knowing where I'd been.

"You've been captured here, huh? Come, let's quickly return home."

With their small hands Gumillia undid the latch on the bird cage, and then gestured for me to come outside.

My chance at going home had come much sooner than I'd thought. With this I could get back to the forest. But I hesitated in getting out.

"Are you going home?"

At the sound of a voice, I turned around. The mother, who I'd thought to be asleep, at some point had woken up, and was looking our way.

"Your spirit friend has come to summon you, hm?"

"Huh? How do you know that I'm…?" I replied without thinking. I hadn't thought that my words would get through to her.

"Well, I knew from the start, you see."

"You're joking. You can hear me speak?"

"A long time ago I used to be something like a shaman. Clarith doesn't believe in that sort of thing, so I remained quiet."

I was surprised at that. It had been a very long time since I had met a human outside of Elluka who could hear my words.

"…You took very good care of me. Thank you very much for saving me."

"I'm the one who should be saying thanks. It was only a short time, but Clarith seemed to really enjoy herself thanks to you."

"…Yeah, I did too."

Even if I couldn't speak to her, I had enjoyed myself, having made a human friend for the first time while I was with Clarith. Though perhaps if I had been human I would have been able to go out and play with her, and listen to her troubles for her.

"It's been ages since I've seen her smile. You were the closest thing that Clarith had to a friend, I suppose."

"Clarith doesn't have any friends?"

"You can tell that from watching through the window, can't you? Netsuma like Clarith are shunned by the Elphes."

"So people with white hair are Netsuma, and people with green hair are Elphes? Then are you a Netsuma too?"

"My white hair is because of my age. Having said that, I am not an Elphe either, though it seems I am still shunned somewhat for having adopted Clarith. Even so, I am grateful just for being allowed to live in this village the way that I am."

If she was her adopted daughter, then these two weren't really parent and child. They could become family despite having no blood relation, and yet also be discriminated against just for racial differences. Humans were such strange creatures.

"How strange that humans would bully other humans for no reason."

"Haha. I guess it's something a spirit wouldn't be able to understand. Oh, right, here. Take this souvenir with you."

The woman took one bundle of trauben fruit from the basket, and put it by my side.

"Thank you. Truly, thank you so much."

I expressed my gratitude once again, and then tried flapping my wings two, three times. It hurt a little bit, but it seemed I could fly anyhow.

"I'll come back to play again, I promise!"

I jumped outside the window with Gumillia, who seemed to have gotten tired of waiting. Clarith's mother waved to me the whole while, smiling.

Carrying the trauben with me, I headed for the forest at a speed where I could keep up with Gumillia. While keeping vigilant that there weren't any black Rollam birds nearby. I couldn't bear to get attacked again.

I looked for Clarith along the way, but in the end I wasn't able to find her.

It was sad. I'd wanted to tell her goodbye.

<<prev------directory------next>>

41 notes · View notes

heartslogos · 7 years ago

Text

seas who could sing so deep and strong [25]

“Tell me something,” Judge says, at the end of his rope and still completely uncertain, unsure, unstable. “Tell me anything.”

The two Kore’s - only one of them can be Kore, only one of them can be his Kore - just stare at him with equal looks of frustration and incredulity.

“Could you be any vaguer than that?” The Kore on his left says, hands opening and closing with pent up irritation, irritation and energy rolling off of her in waves. Judge has to admit, whoever is the fake? They’re very good. Though Judge can’t help but think that if their situation were reversed, Kore would have figured out who is the fake.

Judge loathes, and he means loathe on every level, he would even go so far as to say hates - like how he hates and fears tight spaces, like how he hates and disdains the Grineer - this hellish cocktail of Orokin technology and Sentient manipulation of it. He would love to know how the hell it got into him, into Kore, how it got so deep into them that they have to deal with it like this, right now.

“What kind of something?” The other Kore asks, the one on his right. Her face and voice seem calm and composed, but he can see the struggle, feel it. This Kore is keeping a tight reign on herself.

Judge wishes he knew which way Kore would react in this situation. Both are so equally her - to lash out and burn with the indignity of being copied and pitted against herself, or to retreat within and hold calm and steady. Untouchable.

“Something that only Kore and I share, something we share without speaking,” Judge says. It takes him a while to come up with that. But he thinks that - there is so much said between them, much more unsaid. He doesn’t think that the copy, the copy based on the surface of their thoughts, would be able to bring out the subtleties of that.

There is a river that flows underneath the surface of Hades and Persephone, Judge and Kore that is not touched by words or actions. It is glances. It is breaths. It is the skim of the very blunt fingernail against the outermost joint of the smallest finger. It is the not-touching of backs when they sleep. It is the shared stars from the views of their Orbiter decks.

There is something beyond words and names and warframes and memories, something deeper and present that shines.

Judge does not know how to measure or quantify this. If he were Kore he would say it is a soul, a bridge between their souls that braids and winds and clings: two hands stretched across the darkness of space, fingers around invisible wrists and catching, holding, pulling, binding. If he were Kore, Judge would say that the thing between them is a soul - vast and ever changing, unalienable, undeniable, unfathomable.

But Judge is not Kore, so he can’t say it is a soul shared, but maybe simply just the feeling of the words I remember you.

The Kore on his right answers immediately, “I killed my parents on the Zariman.”

Judge and the other Kore turn to stare at her and the bristling, buzzing Kore’s fists are balled, shoulders thrown back in defiance. Like she’s daring Judge to comment. Her face dares him.

“I killed my parents,” She says, biting out the words, “They weren’t - they were going to - they were monsters. So I killed them before they could kill me.” She spits the words out like embers, glowing hot and lying between them with the danger of catching. Judge watches the anger and the bitterness in her face and he -

He believes her.

He believes what she is saying and the way she says it. The way she hurls the truth like an ultimatum, like she expects a rise out of him for this, revulsion. As though she expects him to turn against her even as he acknowledges this. She expects to be hurt, to be turned away.

And that is so very Kore.

And yet -

He turns to the Kore on his left, the silent Kore with waves. Her eyes are closed, and she feels even more far away.

And she says, calmly, measured, the lapping of waves -

“Whenever we go somewhere, whenever I go somewhere, I look for the clouds.” Her eyes are closed and she is somewhere that is not here, not next to Judge - uncertain - and the bristling Kore - defiant. She is somewhere not here, in this situation, she is somewhere inside of herself holding the doors open to something kept hidden in the folds of muscle fiber and nerves like a pearl. “Gas clouds, storm clouds, sand clouds, it doesn’t matter. I want to see the sky. I want to see the clouds. I love the sky.”

This Kore opens her clear yellow-green eyes, her hands open, her shoulders relaxed, and her voice far away in the mist of her own mind, “I love the sky.”

Judge knows her.

He holds his hand out to her, a question.

Kore touches her fingertips to his and then pulls her hand back, her answer.

Kore has, in her own way, laid out the stones for the conclusion that she killed her parents on the Zariman. Really, there are only two endings for the parents of the Tenno. They killed each other or they were killed by a Tenno. And Kore - Kore, bitter and distrustful and curled tight around her wounds and at peace with her almost irreverent remaking of self - would never have allowed herself to be pursued by the remnants of who first made her. Judge knew this. Judge knows Kore and he knows what hurts her, if not the exact shape.

Judge had the clues from the way Kore never speaks of them, ignores and throws down the thoughts of who they were before they were Tenno, the way she talks about hunting and creation. Judge has these clues from how she reacted to the Grineer Queen’s probing and the many other words dropped along the way.

In the back of his mind, Judge had already known that. And he thinks that Kore had already known that of him.

But this -

When Kore says I love the sky, she does not mean the sky.

Judge feels, in the thing that Kore would call their souls, the conflict behind those words in her distant salt water tide voice.

When Kore - the real Kore, his Kore - says I love the sky in a voice that sounds like the cracking of distant ice in the ocean, Kore is saying it calls me. A thing that has never been spoken, a thing that Judge thinks they have never considered.

But it does. Kore does not love Earth, she does not love the flora and fauna of earth, she does not love the oceans of Neptune, she does not love the frost of Jupiter, she does not love the endless horizon of Mars. Kore loves something contained inside all of these things that sinks a hook into the softest and most wounded parts of her; the strongest of those hooks being cast from the skies above them, from the stars, from the asteroids, from the infinite lights in the far away distance.

Judge knows this because whatever it is in those things calls to him too, in its own way.

Because Judge has seen Kore look at the sky with something like longing and remembrance and loss. And he thinks that his own heart approaches feeling something like that when he looks into the darkness of space, when his ears fill with what he thinks is the sound of silence and the distance between stars.

When Kore’s warframe pauses as they reach their retrieval ships, and looks over her shoulder at the sprawling landscape of Europa’s ice cliffs or Mars’ sandstone mesas and arches, when Kore jumps up on top of a suspension wire and slowly turns her gaze up towards the sky at the thunderstorms building and the rolling masses of heavy, pregnant clouds -

It pulls at the heart. It pulls, as Kore would say, at the soul.

A longing.

When Kore says I love the sky, she is not telling him to understand that she loves the sky and the things in it and the things that fall from it or even the things that reach for it. Kore is asking him to understand that she cannot explain or put to words the feeling that comes from looking up into the sometimes blue sometimes gold sometimes violet sometimes black expanse above them, only that it brings a stinging wetness to the eyes and gently lathes the breath out of the lungs. Kore is telling him that the feeling of the sky is enough to move her out of silence and distance.

Kore is telling him, when she says those words, that the sky and all that it holds and rises over - the reflection of the sky in the sea, the glimpses of it between feathers of birds in flight, the fragments of it glimmering through trees, the cut of it against rocks - hurts and robs.

When Kore says the words I love the sky, Kore is saying that if she continues with this line of thought, she will not be able to come back.

“Thank you,” Judge tells her as he watches her fold into herself, pulling herself together around the wound of this moment, “I’m sorry.”

Kore just nods her head and Judge turns to the burning, bright illusion.

“We’ve won this game,” Judge says, “Leave.”

The fake Kore sneers, face distorting in ways that causes a spike of pain through Judge’s brain before it disappears, hissing in the warped and chilling voice of a Sentient, “For now, until death.”

Judge’s stomach lurches as he’s jerked out of the illusion and is returned to the derelict chamber they were exploring after they had finished cleansing the area of infested.

Kore is still standing at his right, far away in her own head. But she turns to look at him, face blank.

“Do you need to be alone?” Judge asks.

“Do you?” Kore replies.

Overall, Judge thinks this hurt her more than him. Illusions and the certainty of reality might be Judge’s weak point, but Kore was forced to expose things kept hidden inside of herself.

Judge thinks that Kore has gone her entire life without once saying the words that she killed her parents. Even if it was not exactly her who said it.

And on top of that -

I love the sky.

“I’ll be alright,” Judge says, “I just need to hold Midas for a while. Have my Kavat look at me condescendingly.”

Kore’s eyes meet his, like she’s trying to see if he’s lying. She nods once and disappears in golden blue as she returns to her Saryn.

“I’m going ahead,” Kore says, each word cut precisely and cleanly. Ice sheared against rocks.

“I’ll cover you,” Judge says even though she doesn’t need it.

“I know,” Kore replies.

Judge returns to his Mesa and shrugs the feeling of unease and unanchored self off.

“Kore?”

She doesn’t respond, but the line is open.

“I love the sky, too.”

#heartsfic #warframe #otp: space kids

2 notes · View notes

thelifepartners · 7 years ago

Text

E. Ray

Photo by Duran

Her name is Carissa, and he met her through Ruby, and she’s a jewelry designer, which is unusual for Robert, because he sleeps strictly with other actors, as they’re happier with, even seek out only, temporary arrangements. Each of the other two times he’s seen Carissa, she’s been wearing azure blue, although Robert wouldn’t know that was the name of the color. The first time she was in a silk button-up, the second time in a sheath dress. The first had been at her shop, backlit by siding windows and framed by rows of Southwestern stones in sparkling wires. The second had been last Wednesday, across from him at dinner, her lips slowly growing more purple with wine stain as the night wore on. Both times, the color had brought out her eyes, the golden wisps in her mostly grey hair, her just-beginning wrinkles. She wasn’t old, maybe thirty, but Californian sun had clearly shone down on her, even if she was one of those women with bone structure so beautiful wrinkles only seemed to highlight it.

She clearly liked to laugh. She was kind and attentive and he kept thinking to himself she would make a good wife. He did not really want a wife. But he was tired. And there were moments when she was more than pretty and kind; there had been that moment in the shop where she’d shown him how she bent thick wire with fragile looking hands to cup a piece of turquoise, and he saw her feeling every texture she touched as she described it to him. There had been the moment when she’d walked out of the restaurant after their last date and took an inhale so long and deep he had time to realize he’d never taken one that full in his life.

He hadn’t slept with her yet. He had a policy of not sleeping with women until the third date. It made them hungrier. And he always knew that they would. He was famous, and his agent kept him a well-groomed animal.

Cuts to his glossy Italian hair were all well over three hundred dollars. He drank the right whey drinks and went to the right gyms with the right trainers. He’d been beautiful and sensitive looking enough to play all the male leads even before that.

He already had plenty of lovers. When he was in plays in New York, he lived at Glinda’s, who he’d known since NYU. She hadn’t changed. She still always seemed high even when not high and smelled like weed and muffins. She had sex like it was a perfectly natural bodily function; they got so sweaty, so caught up in each other’s everything, so slightly gross. He’d realized a long time ago he loved her whenever he was in that city because nothing about its cynicism or pace ever seemed to get to her. She just kept loving everyone, every moment she was in, kind of like a happy, slightly dumb golden retriever. His favorite golden retriever. But when he was outside of Manhattan, she just seemed slow and out of touch.

There was Mark, in London, who he’d loved as a young man and had somehow never gotten over. The old Mark, at least. The new Mark inhabited the body of the old, and Robert could only forget how self-involved and aggrandizing the new Mark was after enough wine. But after that wine they’d sit on Mark’s porch and watch the sunset and philosophize and drink another bottle. As soon as the sun set, they would go to bed.

And then there was Ruby. Ruby was the same as Robert. Acting was her life, sex was her free time, and when he was in LA and not on set, he was in her bed, the two of them mocking everyone they knew. Neither of them believed in anything other than the good life, even if they wanted to. He would be driving to her, rather than Carissa, but she was away filming in London, perhaps making fun of him with Mark.

Ruby had been the one to introduce Robert to the friend of the acquaintance who had introduced him to Carissa. Ruby was always doing things like that. It was if she had a second sense for people who’d introduce him to people he would sleep with. When he’d asked if she was doing it on purpose, she’d just smiled, adding she thought it was a tragedy for man who liked pussy so much to go too long without it. The world, she said, had enough sadness in it already.

Robert’s wrist cracked as he pulled up to the valet and put the car into park. He was forty now, and despite the green juices and the hundreds of dollars his agent was spending on supplements, he knew he was breaking. It made him feel more empty than usual, like there was something he should’ve found by now and the cracks and the stiffness were a clock reminding him that his time to do so wasn’t infinite.

He stepped out of the car and took out a clove cigarette. The character he was playing now was a chain smoker, and he was trying to build it into his own habits, make it such a part of his personality he looked wrong when he wasn’t doing it, even off set.

Carissa was already at the table, her lips already a little purple with wine, this time in a low cut tank top, again in the same color of blue as before. She was nervous. And she was going to sleep with him not just because he was handsome, but because he was famous. He’d been in this exact restaurant, he realized, when he’d first come to California, when he’d seen Rachel McAdams, fresh off of The Notebook fame in a seat in the back. He’d been forced by his old agent to sit with his back to her. The whole meal he’d snuck glances at her. Not because she was beautiful, although she was, but because she was famous. She was so much smaller in person. But still, she seemed more than human because of her fame, and his mind had been searching for that each time his eyes took her in, and each time he’d been unable to find what he’d been looking for.

Carissa rose to go to the bathroom. Her pants were clearly expensive leather and too tight. She was trying too hard. He tried to remember what they’d been talking about as he watched her weave through the restaurant. He couldn’t. He watched her shoulders drop as she moved out of the way of a waiter, focusing, he knew, on what was at hand rather than whatever was in her head when she was sitting across from him. He knew she must be beautiful when she was relaxed, that she must have more moments like when she wrapped the wire around the turquoise. Carissa had made it to the bathroom door and was resting her hand for a moment extra on the ornate, gilded handle. He imagined her admiring its craftsmanship, maybe the way the oils of so many hands had smoothed it over the years.

He looked down at his roll, which he’d covered in butter but still hadn’t touched, and imagined a conversation with Carissa. He imagined her coming back, her leather pants fitting better, her gait more confident than he’d seen it. You think you know me, she’d say. I saw you thinking it to yourself. You think I want you because of the symbol you are. But I want you because of who you are. I see you. I see things even you don’t see in you. She’d snatch up his roll, almost angry, take a bite of it, a little butter left melting on her lips. He’d lean in and take her hand saying, Let’s get out of here. They’d kiss in the parking lot as they waited for his car, the taste of butter still on her mouth. He sighed. He remembered a fan had tried something like that on him once already, almost a decade ago now. There’s been nothing behind her words.

When Carissa returned, more relaxed but still with shoulders too tight, he smiled and excused himself to use the bathroom too. The waiters moved out of his way long before there was any chance of them intersecting with him. When he made it to the door he put his hand on the ornate handle, but felt nothing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an illuminated EXIT sign above the door next to him. Before he knew what he was doing, he checked behind him to make sure Carissa wasn’t looking, saw that she wasn’t, pushed down on the handlebar, and walked outside.

The sky had turned completely black since he’d come into the restaurant, and he could smell the heat of the day in the air, but was met only with coolness. He heard the ocean to his right, and began walking towards it.

When his feet hit the sand, he opened his phone and texted Carissa. So sorry, he wrote. Suddenly under the weather. Please order whatever you would like and put it on my tab. See you next time. He pressed send and closed his phone. He looked up at the palm trees above him, their fronds illuminated by lights attached just below them. He could not see the stars.

Robert took off his shoes and walked to where the waves were hitting the still-warm sand, finding the water was even a few degrees warmer. He turned his face towards the ocean so that no one would recognize him until he reached a less well-lit part of the shore. Afterwards, he looked back only towards the sand dunes, realizing he was looking for someone to talk to.

There was a retirement home along the water he liked to walk to when he felt like this. It was the only place he could reliably find someone who didn’t recognize him. The combination of senility and water had always seemed like a bad idea to him, but he hadn’t seen any deaths publicized, and he supposed it was the least depressing old folks home he’d ever seen. Still, lately, even people there had started recognizing them. He assumed one of the nurses was a fan of his movies, had them on repeat, allowing his image to seep into the brains of people too old to remember their own children or ages.

He was in luck tonight though. Through the gaps in the fence Robert could see a blind man, identifiable by his red and white stick, was on a ground floor unit’s patio. The man was sitting on the ground, his arms holding him up, his legs stretched out so that they bent where the patio ended, his feet in the sand. It was a strangely limber looking pose, and only looked stranger as he came closer and saw how wrinkled and saggy the man’s skin was. Apart from the pose, he looked to be in his nineties at least. Robert waited until a bored looking teenager walking the home’s therapy dogs exited the gate in the complex’s fence and slipped inside.

“You okay sir?” Robert asked, embarrassed immediately to be asking someone sitting on his own porch if he needed help.

“Just fine,” said the old man. “Yourself?”

Robert liked the sound of the older man’s voice. Its pace was slow, maybe once Southern, and as if he actually cared.

“Doing okay,” Robert said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Come on over,” the old man said, “Goddam, it’s boring here.”

“Thanks,” Robert said.

“You visiting someone?” the old man said?

“Yes,” Robert said. The old man turned his head towards Robert, but Robert had nothing more to say. He didn’t like to lie to people this man’s age.

“I won’t ask more then,” said the old man. “There are some hard visits here. I’m Hank. What’s your name?”

“Robert,” he said, hoping he wasn’t giving himself away.

“Robert,” said the old man. “Had a son named Robert.” This time Robert cocked his head towards Hank, but Hank did not continue.

“How’s your night been?” Robert asked.

“Good,” Hank said. “Just moved here. Sunset smells different here, better.”

“Tell me more,” Robert said. And Hank did. He talked about sunset that night, and the week before, and, with minimal prompting from Robert talked about the smells of all the sunsets of all the places he’d lived in. Robert didn’t listen to everything Hank said, but the whole thing was comforting, it reminded him of when he was young and the men on his block would just talk to each other and at him about nothing, it not really mattering if he was there or not.

But around the fourth neighborhood Hank was describing, Robert found he was bored. The different smells of sunsets in different neighborhoods described by a ninety year old slowly falling asleep at the sound of his old voice wasn’t what Robert had been looking for, which was to talk himself, and he found himself thanking Hank for his time, exiting the door to the complex and looking back into the ocean.

He realized he wanted to call Ruby. Ruby would know exactly what he was feeling, he always did. For a moment, his chest tightened and his heart felt lighter, and he thought he was on the verge of feeling something more for her. He knew that if this were a movie, this, this moment after talking with a blind old man who noticed things he never would’ve on his own, would be the moment for him to finally realize that Ruby was what he’d wanted all along. He braced for the moment to come. But there was no further tightening, no further lightness, and soon he was just looking into dark waves on the water, feeling the same sort of lost he’d felt all night.

Still, he picked up his phone to call Ruby. She’d be awake if she hadn’t had too much to drink with Mark the night before, and she’d give him all the new gossip. He could tell her about Carissa and the old man and how he hadn’t felt anything with his hand on the gilded handle. And she’d understand, and for just then, that would be enough.

#prose short story

2 notes · View notes

goodbye-susan · 8 years ago

Text

Unproductive day. But I started collating a sort of ‘top monologues’ list for RuneScape quests.

Stuff I picked so far is below the cut.

Departure - Ga’al-Xox, The Brink of Extinction.

“Before I... go... I want to thank you, human. You nurtured me where others thought me worthless. You fought for my kind, and I have learned much from you. The TzHaar have much to learn from humanity... of compassion, of respect. There are other ways to vanquish an enemy than by blade, mace, or staff.

Whatever awaits us in the next life, beyond the confines of stone or flesh, I hope that we shall meet again. Goodbye, my friend.”

The king’s tax collector - Adventurer, The Fremennik Isles.

“Right! That's it! I've had enough! No more lying! No more biting my tongue!

Do I take you for a fool? Yes I do! You are so paranoid about Neitiznot that you are running this island into the ground! Neitiznot is not going to attack Jatizso. I'll say it again to try and force it into your thick skull! Neitiznot is not going to attack Jatizso. They don't care about Jatizso. They care about the trolls and Troll King who are the real threats to the islands.

You are so obsessed with your cousin, however, that you stick your head in the sand whenever it comes to the trolls. But I'm not sure it matters, since I think there is a good chance that you will destroy this village long before the trolls get here! You do not have to dress in a jester's costume to act the fool, your royal crown is more than enough!”

The Laughing Miner Pub / Battle of Barendir story - Veldaban, Forgiveness of a Chaos Dwarf.

“I don't think anyone who was at that battle came back quite the same.

It was a few years ago. The trolls had been attacking our miners, so the Supreme Commander sent a Black Guard regiment to deal with them. I was just a lieutenant at the time. Our commanding officer was Colonel Grimsson. He was a real slave-driver. The new recruits think Colonel Grenda is bad, but Grimsson was ten times worse. We had to attack a position where the trolls were entrenched. The trolls rained rocks down on us from behind cover, and attacked from side-tunnels and pits.

We lost hundreds of men. There were bodies everywhere, and the smell of blood was... I wish I could forget it. Colonel Grimsson led the charge. He burst through the barricades that the trolls had set up, and I saw him in combat with the troll general. WE took the cavern, but Grimsson kept hacking at the trolls that fled. He was screaming like a demon and his whole face was covered in blood from a wound to his forehead. Then the trolls were gone, but Grimsson didn't stop fighting. He attacked anyone who came near him. He wounded several soldiers. Maybe he wound to his head affected his brain. Maybe the horrors of the battle just pushed him over the edge. I don't know. I made the call. I ordered my squad to subdue him.

When we got back from Keldagrim there was a court-martial and he was discharged from the Black Guard. A while later he disappeared. No one else went berserk like Grimsson, but I don't think anyone who was at Barendir has been the same since.

Never mind all that though. It's all over. Thinking about it will do no good.”

The World Guardian is right - Adventurer, Sliske’s Endgame.

“Of course I am! Who do you think has been at the centre of all of this mess?

Not you. Neither of you have seen friends killed by Sliske. Neither of you have seen allies warped into monsters.

Neither of you had to face a god built out of the screaming remnants of human souls. Neither of you have had to travel back in time to visit an old friend, only to be brought back staring at his corpse.

For all that you've been through, know that it's a drop in the ocean compared to what Sliske has done to me. So now, for once. Just for once. Shut up and stop giving Sliske what he wants.”

But we can fight - Zanik, The Chosen Commander.

"We can fight!

I've had that... thing inside my head. It's not merciful. It doesn't see us as people. It only wants to dominate, to control.

Our ancestors defied it. They escaped its clutches, they broke all of its hateful commandments, they built a new city – a new world – where we could be free. We haven't gotten rid of conflict or suffering entirely – maybe we could have, given more time and effort – though we have done pretty well. Our whole history since then, every one of us who has lived and loved and built and dreamed, has been one glorious act of defiance.

If we surrender, that rebellion will be undone. Bandos won't just make us suffer, he won't just reduce us to barbarism – he'll turn us into an instrument of evil. But if we fight it now, then even if we die, that will be the crowning of our defiance.

I thought I couldn't fight, but [Player] told me that... that [he/she] believed in me. That's what we need now; to believe in one another. You say that we can't win, that we can't fight.

Well, perhaps you're half right; perhaps we can't win. But we can fight.”

Shield for Gielinor - Nomad, Nomad’s Elegy.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to show up here, in the Underworld. Alive of course, just to be special.

Don't worry, you're not going mad. I am speaking only to you, no one else can hear me. How, you ask? It's quite simple really, I am speaking to your soul. The obelisk calls to it, but you are quite safe for now. Your pet god has seen to that.

But here we are again. Must we play the role of 'dastardly villain' and 'selfless hero' once more? Is that the lie you tell yourself? That you're the hero? That you've changed the world for the better? Because it is a lie. Because of you Guthix died. Do you remember? You let them all in to his resting place. It was your hubris that allowed Sliske to slay him. You know that don't you?

It is because of you that the gods have returned. To threaten us all. They flooded in to our world in droves. Each of them giving orders, imposing their idea of order. I saw what my master had become and I destroyed him. I saved the world from his madness. But you...you have so many masters. Do you even realise you're a servant?

Yes I know. You want to deny me, you feel you are in charge. It is a comforting lie I'm sure. But you are here on the word of gods, both alive and dead. You have been told that I am dangerous. That my plan is madness and it is, it's also our only hope. My fortress stands in opposition to the gods. To all the gods. I will be the shield for Gielinor, protecting the world from their arrogant machinations. No matter what the cost, I will pay it. Because to not do so would be far far worse.

So build your siege weapons and storm my gates. I wish that when you reach my gates it is as a friend, as someone who knows my way is the only way. But I am no fool, Player. I know that when we meet again you will give me no choice. When we meet again, it will be the day you die. I am sorry, but there really is no other way. So farewell Player, I look forward to devouring your soul. I imagine it will be exquisite.

The curse of the dragonkin - Phalaks, Hero’s Welcome.

“What do you know of our curse? What do you know of being cursed?

Imagine that every moment of every day you existed in torment, and this could only be relieved by killing a specific person. And, to make things worse, this person was so powerful that the only way you could kill them would involve enduring more torment to get to their level.

How many centuries, centuries I ask you, would you last before you too treated the death of a subjectively 'nice' False User as a cause for celebration?”

Alone - Safalaan, River of Blood.

“I understand what you're going through. Better than I did before. Better than I did when we talked in the castle.

When I was human - when I thought I was human - I believed that vampyres were beasts led by their bellies. And it's true, the hunger is terrifying. All-encompassing. But that isn't what drives you, is it?

The euphoria I felt wasn't the blood in my throat. I saw something very different: a mountain of lives - mortals - and me at the top of it. Nobody above me, everyone else below. The thrill came from being at that summit. Of knowing that all life fed me.

It became an intense joy. I felt safe, like I was unbeatable. I felt like I was the culmination of everything. But then I heard the cries of those below me. I saw the fear in their eyes when they looked up. They were terrified of me.

You know that intense joy and loneliness, don't you? That's why you were set on an alliance with Misthalin. But it won't work, Vanescula. You may sign treaties and alliances, but nothing will have changed. You will still be alone on that mountain, and they will look at you with as much fear as before.

Stop this. Step away from it all. Look to your own people, and stop asserting yourself on the world.”

Lord Jovkai - Vanescula, River of Blood.

“Years ago - thousands of years ago - my family wasn't in the position we are now. We had lost battles against the other houses. We were weak. One loss was against Lord Jovkai and his sycophants. A narrow loss, but a loss nonetheless.

We invited him and his family to our camp to discuss reparations. We prepared a meal. We prepared riches. Such was the custom. But when he arrived, Lord Jovkai had brought his own banquet. He sat at the head of our table, and beckoned us to sit. Meals were placed in front of us. I looked around at my brothers. We ate without joy. I could eat nothing.

Lord Jovkai watched us. He asked if we were enjoying the meal. My brothers nodded in agreement, but I remained silent. Then he filled his cup with wine again and stood up. He told us that this was it: this was to be our reparations. We would be strangers in our own home, dining from his scraps. He walked over to me, placing the cup in front of me and forced me to drink it. I had to; his blade was at my back.

Once the meal was finished, Lord Jovkai made me wash the plates, like some disobedient child. Vanescula Drakan, tending to tables. So I washed Lord Jovkai's cup in slow poison. Every time he took a sip from that cup, he grew more ill. And he loved to drink. Though he was tended to, he died less than a year later.

We did not lose another battle after that meal. There was a fire in all of us. We would never eat scraps again.

You made me lose this battle today. So if you ever make me feel like a stranger in my own home, I will be the slow poison in your cup.

Enjoy this victory. This battle was yours. You did well. Relish it. And when the dust falls on all of this, you should join me at Castle Drakan so we can share a meal. It will be my treat.”

United - Adventurer, The World Wakes.

“That's enough! All of you!

We made it this far, didn't we? We have the head start on our enemy; all we need to do is defend this area and the battle is ours.

If we just give up now, Guthix will be killed and the edicts will fail. The gods will return and the world will be in chaos once more. Another God War will erupt, with no one to stop it. Is that what you want?

Yes, our enemies are powerful - but so are we! We each have our own strengths, whether they be physical prowess or great intelligence. What's more, we are united while the enemy bicker among themselves. Together, we will taste victory!”

Final request - Guthix, The World Wakes.

“...I should have seen it coming. I introduced them to the world, I had a power greater than they had ever seen. The mortal races began to worship me. They built shrines to me, made sacrifices. They waited on my every word. It pained me deeply to see myself becoming what I had always loathed. They should not have been living beneath me, serving me. I wanted them to be free, balanced, to make their own decisions. Knowing my presence was thwarting my efforts, I withdrew into the earth, to sleep. I hoped I would be forgotten over the ages. But it was not long before the other gods arrived.

When I ended the war of the gods, I did it with no pleasure. I knew I had already failed. Looking over Gielinor, it was like looking at my homeland: the land ravaged; the mortals worshipping a multitude of gods, including myself. The races brought in by the now-banished gods remained, and disrupted the balance at every turn. Battles raged on, in the names of the absent gods. I could banish the gods themselves, but I could not remove the memories of them; the blind faith displayed by their followers. Besides, my own interference would only disrupt the balance more. I have disproportional power; more than any single being should have.

I could have prevented this, Player. I have been awake since you triggered the alarm. I knew what would happen.

Player, I have been the most powerful being on Gielinor since my arrival. Of course I could have stopped Sliske if I had desired to. But I embrace my death. It must occur, if the world is to be balanced. If the gods return, another war is inevitable.

Gielinor must be returned to peace before war destroys it... before it becomes like my own home. A dead, desolate wasteland... Gielinor must be protected, Player. But not by me. By a mortal. Someone with the power to defend against the gods, but not the power to be one.”

#runescape

34 notes · View notes

spectrumscribe · 8 years ago

Text

Friends don’t care about their friends’ teeth issues.

a quick drabble for my friend @sassatello for their super awesome 2003 TMNT Constellation AU, which you should all go check out because it is neat and adorable.

I hyper focused a little on Donatello’s teeth, and this was born from that hyper focus. Just a nice thing for some hurt/comfort, and budding friendship.

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

Don liked a lot of things about himself.

He liked his brain, and he liked his skin, how the stars and constellations on it would glow and spiral. He liked his voice and he liked his height. He liked his personality, and considered it to be a pretty good one.

He didn’t like his teeth so much.

Hardly at all.

His tongue and teeth, the length and sharpness of them- he disliked them quite a lot.

Don tended to keep his mouth closed, on the days he felt most conscious of them. He was thankful that his skin was so dark, that no one could see his mouth at all when he shut it.

He still smiled, mostly. There wasn’t anyone but his brothers to see his teeth, and at this point, there was nothing to hide from one another. They’d been alive and together so long, what purpose was there to hiding any part of himself from them?

Then April had come, and things had gotten a bit more difficult.

As they’d all met her, one by one, it’d been hard not to like her.

April was bright and hardworking and like a breath of fresh air, after decades and decades of it just being Don and his brothers.

April smiled at Don every time she visited. Don couldn’t smile back.

He mumbled, and waved, and did his best to communicate how happy he was to see her each time, without opening his mouth all the way.

He would’ve loved to have long conversations with her- because really, good conversation partners were so hard to come by in his situation- but he had to settle for short responses and short questions and just- short everything. To keep his teeth hidden.

He wasn’t sure how April would react. He didn’t want to chase off his and his brothers’ first chance at a friend in so long. Not because of his stupid, stupid teeth.

He’d shown them to humans before, by accident, on purpose, and…

Well. Don couldn’t say any of them had taken the reveal kindly.

April was comfortable with them being what they were, but how comfortable would she be if she saw what Don hid behind his lips? She’d seen Raph’s, but Raph’s were so much smaller than Don’s. Oddly large eye-teeth, but nothing too abnormal.

Don’s had looked like that, back before they’d been transformed. He missed that part of being mortal.

He didn’t want to risk it, so he kept his mouth shut. Even when he wanted to laugh out loud like his brothers and friend were, or give April an encouraging smile when she asked them questions about their history and lives, he kept his mouth shut.

His brothers didn’t comment. Maybe because they didn’t notice, maybe because they were giving him space to figure things out himself. Either way, Don appreciated they didn’t ask him why he kept so quiet around April.

He continued doing so, keeping his teeth secret and his smile hidden. Every evening April came around, so carefully, so very carefully, hiding a part of himself from her.

Until-

-she saw.

A dumb mistake. He was hundreds and hundreds of years old, he should have known better, and he should have been more careful.

She still saw, though.

April had been bringing them snacks, soon after she’d started visiting. Fresh produce, straight from markets Don and his brothers couldn’t enter without causing a panic. She brought vegetables and fruits they wouldn’t steal from the groves of hardworking people, and sweet man-made treats from further into civilization that they’d never even tasted before.

Sometimes there were still some leftover, after she’d delivered them. Sometimes they didn’t eat all the treats right away, and there would still be some the next time she came around.

Don liked the apples she’d bring, the crunchiness of the fruit and how sweet its insides would taste.

He and Raph had been killing time together, lounging comfortably in one of the many rooms of their ruins. They’d been talking, and Don had lost track of time as they did, because debates on anything he liked always did that to him, and-

-he’d taken out the apple he’d saved, snagged straight from the bin they kept all the perishables in, and he’d opened his mouth without hesitation. Fangs- which they were, no way around it- out in plain sight as he bit into the apple.

He’d swallowed, still half distracted by Raph and their debate, and he’d opened his mouth again to take another bite, long tongue darting out to catch sweet juices dripping off the fruit-

When light had shone over him, exposing him and his teeth, and someone had let out a startled gasp.

Don’s grip on his apple slipped as he startled, as he whipped his head around to look for the source of sound.

April, standing in the doorway of the room, flashlight in hand to pierce the darkness of their home. She was staring at him, lips parted.

Don’s apple hit the stone floor with a dull thunk. His mouth was frozen open, horror and shock keeping him still.

April, with her light still shone on Don, inhaled to say something, her eyes wide and visible even with the flashlight obscuring most of her expression, and-

-Don bolted before she could say anything.

She’d seen, she’d seen, she’d seen-

He dissipated his form, turning into a rolling cloud of black and stars, and escaped around his friend. As a cloud, formless and light, he skimmed along the ceilings of the ruins. Running, fleeing, hiding from someone who’d seen something of him he hadn’t wanted her to see-

-she saw him, she saw his teeth and his secret he’d so carefully kept-

Don flew through the ruins, spreading himself out and whirling through the ancient halls. He kept going, deeper and deeper, until he came to an atrium.

No light. No windows. Just a few locked doors, including the one he shoved shut with his telekinesis.

Alone, Don filled the ceiling, and let his formless body turn into a small storm. Purple star constellations breaking and forming all over, shifting rapidly as Don’s feelings were.

Don couldn’t quite speak like this. He didn’t have a mouth either.

He didn’t have his teeth. His stupid, stupid, horrible teeth-

Don made a shuddering sound, coming from every part of him, and the dust clinging to the walls fell.

He should have been more careful.

She’d seen, April had seen, and he had no idea what to do.

Raph hadn’t had time to react before Don ran- or something, whatever you called escaping via smoke form- and he got stuck with the explanation of things to their very confused human friend.

“Did I startle him?” April asked, turning off her flashlight as she did. “I-I was just coming to find you guys, because you weren’t waiting outside like you usually are, and Mikey said you two were in this wing of the ruins-” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I didn’t mean to scare Don like that. Um. Could you tell me why I did though…? And… the teeth?””

Raph sighed, and crossed his arms. This had been a while coming, but he’d hoped it would go better. For Don’s sake. Raph and their other brothers had been hoping Don would do this by choice, and not…

“Yeah, he’s… kind of really touchy about them,” Raph said slowly, choosing his words carefully as he did. This was Don’s to explain, not his. He’d leave the bulk of thing to his brother, whenever Raph coaxed him back out of his metaphorical and physical shell. “They’re not something he really likes to talk about. S’why he didn’t show them up till now.”

“Oh jeeze, I’m really sorry then. That was a complete invasion of his privacy.”

Raph waved off April’s apologies. “You didn’t know you’d be walking in like that, and he should’ve told you sooner. He’s been puttin’ it off for too long. We were just hopin’ he’d do this by choice is all.”

April seemed upset still. “I’m still sorry. Do think I could, um, talk to him? I know he’s a bit quiet, but I’d just… I feel like I should tell him I really don’t mind? They’re actually kind of neat.”

“Don’s less quiet than you think. Kind of a motor mouth when you really get him going on stuff.”

“But he hasn’t been around me, because… of the teeth?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, Don.”

“Yep. I’ll sort him out. Just head back outside, we’ll join you guys whenever I drag his sorry shell out to talk.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t worry. I got this.”

“Tell him I’m sorry for this, I really didn’t mean to. If he needed more time…”

“We’ve had a couple hundred years plus. Time is the last thing we need more of.”

April gave him one last apologetic and worried look, and then left. Alone in the room, Raph sighed. This was a mess, and more stress than they’d had to deal with in a good while.

Change was nice, but less so when it was at the cost of someone’s emotional wellbeing. They had a hard enough time with that as it was.

Raph took his time making his way through their ruins, giving Don ample time to collect himself. If Raph tried to confront him right away, it would just be a lot of incoherent anxiety on Don’s end, and frustration on Raph’s.

Raph followed the disturbances in the dust, sweeping drag marks along the ceiling where Don had been. It wasn’t hard to find his brother, he just had to keep going until the tracks stopped, and there Don was.

Pushing the door open with a grunt, Raph entered the room his brother had hidden himself inside.

Still a swirling ink cloud, his constellation patterns the only source of light in the room. Don resembled closely a bunch of black and purple glow paint dropped into water and stirred around. Raph’s brother had spread across the whole of the atrium ceiling, and created an indoor night sky.

A crackle of purple electricity went through the cloud, showing that Don was still anxious. Raph didn’t react as the miniature lightning strikes flashed. He’d seen it all before.

“Are you done freaking out yet?” Raph asked, crossing his arms and craning his neck upwards.

Don’s reply was mostly wordless, shuddering through the air, and caused another discharge of dust from the ceiling.

“Could you at least calm down enough to talk?”

Don’s smoke roiled over the ceiling, stars spinning wildly as he did. His voice came from every direction as he spoke. She SAW, Raph, she saw them she saw me.

“Yeah, and she was fine with it, which you would have known if you stuck around to listen,” Raph said. Don’s swirling form slowed from maelstrom to drifting smoke, and there was an audible pause as he processed what Raph had said.

…really?

“Yes really. Get off the ceiling and we can talk about that.”

...not yet?

“Don.”

Fine…

Raph made himself comfortable, sitting down to lean against the stone wall. It took a moment, but Don slowly drifted down from the ceiling to collect around Raph. The black smoke settled quietly, no longer rushing with anxious emotions. Now it was just Don calming down, with just the tiniest, mostly harmless crackles of electricity.

“You gonna to change back, or no.”

No… I’d rather not, Don’s smoky self replied, his voice disembodied as he spoke. Another pause, and then he asked, Did she really not mind?

“Nah. Mostly, she’s worried about spookin’ you off like she did,” Raph said. He watched a few of Don’s stars drift by him, the soft purple lights subdued now that his brother was calming down. Raph’s own red glow was gentle, matching his mood. “She was just coming to find us, since we lost track of time again.”

…I’m so embarrassed, Don confessed, a ripple of agitation going through his smoke. I… I was just so worried, and then I panicked, and… ugh. I didn’t want this to go like it did.

“Don’t you mean you didn’t want it to happen at all?” Raph said pointedly.

…shut up.

“You were avoiding it, and this was going to happen sooner or later. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t been just burnin’ with questions every time April rolls by.”

I… yes, but I just…

Don’s sigh wasn’t physical, but it was certainly audible. His constellations swirled around as he released the heavy sound, and they all collected beside Raph. The rest of Don’s smoke followed, and it condensed back into Raph’s brother.

Don now sat beside Raph, knees to his chest and his arms around his knees. He sighed again, and dropped his head onto Raph’s shoulder.

“I didn’t want to deal with this at all, okay?” He said quietly. “There. I said it. I was procrastinating and now you can all call me on it.”

“You were scared,” Raph said without aim to poke fun. Not right now. Later, when things weren’t so raw. “You were nervous about scarin’ April off in turn, and tried to hide from it.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, Don. You weren’t doin’ anything wrong. You’re entitled to your privacy.”

“It’s stupid though,” Don mumbled, a tightness in his voice. Self-incriminating. “I should be over it by now.”

“Hey.” Raph reached up and flicked Don’s forehead, making his brother grumble. “Don’t do that. Spiralling into self-pity is what’s stupid.”

“But…”

“No buts. Think positive or something.”

“You sound like Mikey.”

“God I hope not.”

That got a huff of laughter out of Don, and Raph smiled. He bared his own, smaller, canine like teeth in a smile. A reminder to his brother that Don’s weren’t so special. “You ready to go back? I’m sure you two have a lot of questions to ask.”

Don made a “mgh” sound. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“If it helps any, Mike’ll probably be there the whole time, same as me.”

“Where’s Leo?”

“Who knows. Probably doing yoga somewhere on the roof again.”

“Ha, he hates it when you call it yoga.”

“I call things like I see them.”

Another huff of laughter, and Don moved away from Raph. “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s do this before I chicken out again.”

“Last I checked, you were a turtle,” Raph said cheekily. He got off the ground, dusting away the… dust, from his legs as he did.

“Shut up,” Don replied, a hint of grin showing on the darkness of his skin. Teeth showing, that was a good sign then.

Raph shoved Don’s shoulder, and then grabbed it again to pull his brother into a one armed hug. “C’mon, you can do this fine. April’s cool. She’ll think they’re great.”

Don made a disbelieving sound, and Raph tightened his arm on Don’s shoulders.

“You’ll see, just you wait.”

April was waiting for them, just Raph had said she’d be. Dressed in sensible clothes for hiking, and her hair done up in a messy braid. She and Mikey were talking- or Mikey was talking, and April was trying to get an amused word in edgewise.

As Don approached her, she smiled the same way she had since they’d all met and started to befriend each other. Open, welcoming, not in the least bit put off by who and what they were.

That gave Don the confidence to talk, even though he would’ve liked to have gone back to being a formless smoke cloud.

She listened patiently, and let him take his time.

Don clasped his hands nervously, and spoke despite his tight throat. “I didn’t mean to, um, run away like that. Or I did, but I feel bad about it, and… I panicked, and didn’t give you any time to explain yourself. Um. Sorry for that. I guess even I act before I think things through sometimes.”

April shook her head. “No, I invaded your privacy, even if I didn’t mean to. The turning into a black cloud thing was a bit surprising, but I’ve already seen Mikey do that at least twenty times, so… even with that happening? It wasn’t much of a shock. Why don’t we call it even, and both apologize? Since we both seem to think the other did nothing wrong, and put the blame on ourselves.”

Don gave a tiny smile, with just a little of his teeth showing. “That sounds good to me. I apologize, then.”

“I apologize too,” April echoed. Her then eyes drifted to Don’s small smile, and she carefully asked, “Are you willing to explain them? If it’s not too stressful for you. I mean, I’ve seen Raph’s pointy eye-teeth plenty, but yours…”

“No, no I owe you at least a brief explanation. Or, I’d like to give you one. You’re our friend, and you’ve shared a lot of yourself already. It’s my turn.”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” April cautioned.

Don nodded. “I know. I think I am now. Thank you for that.”

“I didn’t do anything particularly special, but okay,” April said. She gestured for Don to start if he wanted to. Don took a breath, and started to.

“They used to be smaller,” Don explained, showing the tips of his long teeth. “Um. A lot smaller. Then they got larger, after we ascended. If that’s the term for what we did.”

April looked at Don’s teeth closely. Not with reluctance or nervousness, but curiosity. It made Don brave enough to smile a bit for her. She smiled back. “I only have one question though. How does your mouth fit them, exactly? They’re too large for your jaw line to physically close with.”

“Now see, I’ve been trying to figure that out for centuries,” Don said, a swell of excitement growing in him. “My best theory is that since I’m not mortal, and have basically transcended into godhood, physics don’t apply quite practically my physical being anymore. It would make the best sense, since we developed so many other powers.”

“So it could be like Schrödinger’s cat? They don’t exist if your mouth isn’t open?”

“Possibly, yes!”

“Oh no, they’re bonding,” Raph said dryly from his seat on the amphitheatre stairs with Mikey. “Mike, we should run while we can. I feel like Don and April are going to get chatty real quick here.”

Mikey put his hands on the sides of his head, grimacing. “Yikes, I don’t think I can take two Donnie’s. My head already hurts just thinking about it.”

“Your head hurts if you think period.”

“Wow, rude, Raph. I think plenty without it hurting.”

“Not before you speak you don’t.”

Mikey scoffed, and shoved Raph’s shoulder. Raph shoved back, and the two of them devolved into a wrestling contest on the crumbling stairs.

April laughed, shaking her head at Don’s siblings. “I guess we’ll have to leave the theoretical sciences for later.”

“I guess so,” Don agreed, also shaking his head at his brothers. He smiled though, because they’d kept quiet the whole time up to this point, and been solid presences that gave him support. “Could we talk about some other things too? I have some questions about what the field of archeology looks like at the moment. I haven’t had time to brush up that area of sciences in a few decades. And how much do you know about biology? Or mathematics? I dropped those too, and I haven’t been able to catch up in a while. Humanity moves almost too fast even for me to keep track of it all-”

“See what I told you? Motor mouth.” Raph said pointedly to April, multitasking his attention as he held Mikey in a headlock.

April laughed again, and Don felt like he’d missed something.

“Just a little bit,” April chuckled, giving Don a quick grin.

Don hesitated only for a split second, before giving one back. Complete with teeth.

67 notes · View notes