#this is spit out with no revision so I hope it makes sense

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 6/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I have only read through this once, but I plan on revising it this afternoon, so please excuse any mistakes! The next chapter will be the last, and I'm so glad you guys have enjoyed it up to this point :) You all are the best! (Also, I tried fixing as many of the tags as I could, but if it's still acting weird, please message me or send an ask!)

_________

Chapter 6:

“Shit, you have a mean right hook, but you kinda have to hit the target for it to have the impact you want!” I pant as I move just seconds before Bethanne makes contact with the wall behind me. “You learn that in pilates? Maybe I should take it up.” 

Reggie let out a frustrated grunt from the room over where Bucky was now ducking and weaving out of angry, calculated swings. 

In assessing my opponent's fighting patterns, I sense Bethanne going in for another swing. Grabbing the picture frame off the wall, I bash it into her head, where she teeters and falls back, discombobulated enough for me to move to help Bucky.

“I should have known better than to trust you two,” Reggie grunts as he gets a slight jump on Bucky, shouldering him and taking him to the ground. “Especially you’re bitch of a fake wife-”

I go to handle the comment for myself and help Bucky, but something about the slur triggers Bucky to handle the situation on his own, and the next thing I know, he’s now on top of Reggie and twisting his arms in a way that causes a wale in pain to follow. 

“That’s not how you speak about a lady,” he grits through his teeth and winds back to swing. 

At the same moment, with my attention elsewhere, Bethanne comes from behind me with a piece of glass from the picture frame -that didn’t do the job I’d hoped- and slices deeply in the back of my arm, getting a scream and hiss from me. 

She’s seething when I turn around, her own hand dripping blood on their pristine white carpet from the clamp she has on it, ready to give another slash when the opportunity presents itself. 

I hear Bucky shout my name, distracted by my injury, and then catch a glimpse of the tussle that breaks back out between the two men. One problem at a time. 

Holding the back of my arm, feeling the blood leave my body faster than I expected, I twist my head to the side at the blonde. I learned the intimidation tactic from Wanda, and when I say it works, it works…

Bethanne’s crass smile falls, and she is smart enough to take a few steps back. 

“I’m not a gentleman, so I won’t hold my tongue, bitch,” I add emphasis on the name and start walking to her with my head down and eyes glaring at her. Instantly, she turns on her heel and runs to another room, where I pick up my speed and follow her. 

I get my foot in between the doorframe before she has the chance to shut it, and dear God, I wish I had my Doc Martens right now to kick the damn thing down. I shove my shoulder into it, and she stumbles back for a lamp in the bedroom we were in now. 

Not well calculated, she throws a small one, and I dodge it as it slams into the door behind me. 

“Come on, Bethanne. All those sole cycles and bare classes, and you don’t want to see if those muscles work? Throw a hit like a woman. Let’s make this more interesting,” I move to a fighting stance and ignore the sting on my arm, knowing I have fleeting moments of adrenaline before the blood loss catches up. 

“You’re just mad you got caught,” she spits out, and I mean literally spits out. The saliva would have hit my foot if she wasn’t such a sissy. “You think we didn’t catch on from the second bug you destroyed? Pretty fucking obvious if you ask me.” 

I could hear more pieces of furniture breaking off in the other room and realized that maybe this chit-chat needed to end. 

“Sure. Let’s go with you guys figuring it out sooner. If that makes you feel better about all this,” I shrug, rolling my eyes and stepping in to move this party along. 

____________

The night before. Bucky’s POV:

Due to the wire in the bathroom, which neither Y/N nor I wanted to deal with, I had to shift my nighttime bathroom routine to the master’s. 

Like any normal master bath, there were two sinks, and I stationed myself at the one Y/N hadn’t. For the first time since coming to this place, we actually felt like a couple as we both got situated on our side of the counter and started doing our nightly regime. 

“How intense of a wire do you think it is?” she asked quietly after washing her face and dapping the water off her skin with a clean towel. 

The doors to the bathroom and her room were both closed, creating a barrier to the others. 

“I think we’re safe to talk in here,” I answered, rinsing my toothbrush I’d just used and throwing it into the travel bag I had. 

“Ok, so I can ask freely, how much longer do you think this mission is going to take?” she sighs, opening the cabinet in front of her, taking out three cosmetic vials, and putting them in a practiced order in front of her. 

“Huh?” I let slip, and she turned to me with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Huh, what?” 

I shake out of my disbelief and look at her clean and noticeably smooth face. A subtle scar next to her eyebrow being the only form of imperfection by societal rules, but I wouldn’t call it that. 

“I didn’t think you were a,” I paused, not sure what to call what I was seeing. I just saw her as someone who would splash some water on her face at the night's end and call it a day. Then again, I didn’t know enough about face creams and serums I’ve seen Nat and Wanda use. 

“A clean person?” she finishes my sentence with a harsh laugh as she brings out a spray bottle with a maroon liquid in it from another cabinet, spritz her face three times and pats it in with her hand. 

“Don’t think that’s the word I was looking for,” I shake my head, running a hand through my hair and fidgeting as I feel her gaze shift to me. 

“Not a face washer and 20 ageless serums kind of guy?” she hums, rubbing a green goop in her hands before all over your face. “Well, not all of us are aging at the rate of paint drying. Some of us have to put in effort to look this good.” 

I smirk at that because I don’t think she realizes what she just said. 

“You say I’m effortlessly handsome?” I grin, turning and resting my back on the counter as I watch her. 

She can’t seem to help her own smile and bites her lip as she fans her face, grabbing another small dropper bottle. 

“You know what? Don’t even try and pretend you don’t know you’re a pretty face,” she blushes and tries to backtrack. “God. Can you believe the difference this conversation would have been just two hours ago? And now I’m here calling you pretty.” 

“I’m not complaining.” The grin on my face hurts with how authentic it is. “And if it makes you feel any better, I think Reggie would steal you away as his wife if I weren’t already attached to you.” 

“Ah, yes. The testosterone battle that took place tonight. Glad you brought that up,” she nods, placing the finished bottles back in the cabinet and adding the last serum to her face. Her skin had a nice glow after the magic treatments. “I knew men lay their claim, but you seemed more intense than I’d imagined you’d be about that kind of stuff.”

“He was undressing you with his eyes,” I said sternly, compared to the easy-going tone we had stuck to. “He needed to be set straight acting like that.” My arms crossed as I watched her unbothered by the conversation piece.

“And you, acting like a lion ready to bite the head off of him while trying to get on their good side, was the way to counter that behavior?” 

“I wasn’t that intimidating.”

“You’re James Buchanan Barnes. You don’t have to put on an act to be intimidating. Therefore, when you put on any protective act, the intimidation act just multiplies.” She deadpans to me. 

Ok, maybe she was right… I was a little more invasive into her space this evening, but it was to prove a point. 

“I was doing my job,” I shrug, stepping closer, picking up her skincare bottle, and examining it. 

“You played the annoyed and jealous husband very well. I’ll make sure your nomination for a Tony Award is submitted.” 

I shake my head, handing her the bottle she places precisely in the cabinet. 

“Are you a neat freak?” I ask, and she turns to me, pulling her hair out of the ponytail she had put in to wash her face. 

“I’m not anal if that’s what you think? I prefer things to be organized where it’s helpful.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s what a neat freak would say…”

“Says the man who organized the spices alphabetically and sorts the coffee pods by color.” She tidies her space, wiping any water with a washcloth, and turns out of the room, flipping the light switch with me still in there. 

“When you’re cooking, it makes things easier to find. That’s just common sense. And the color thing? Well, it’s aesthetically pleasing,” I debate, following her on her heel. 

“Sure thing, neat freak…” she laughs, going to her side of the bed and getting her nightstand prepared for the night. 

I watch her, and she doesn’t seem to mind as I silently catalog her ritual. When she finally gets things settled and looks at me, waiting for a reason for why I’m still in her room, I stumble over my words. 

“You’re question earlier.” Considering the life mic in the room across the hall, I have to be careful in choosing my words. “Maybe this suburban life isn’t as bad as we thought it was. It is a nice break from our former day-to-day.”

She nods, pulling back the covers of her bed and rubs lotion from her bedside into her palms. 

“There are some aspects I’ve come to like,” she smiles genuinely. 

“Agreed.”

____________

Present Time

In seconds, Bethanne was unconscious and lying on the ground with a curtain cord binding her on the ground. She’d be occupied enough for me to help Bucky restrain his opponent and come back to move her after. 

I held the back of my arm, which was still oozing blood. The dizziness was slowly creeping up on me, but I tapped into the reserve of adrenaline to assess the chaos in front of me. 

Lucky for Bucky, he was holding his own well enough even if his opponent was double his size (but are we shocked? No.), so I moved to the kitchen for a weapon, considering we didn’t have time to prepare before this fight broke out. 

For context, this all started with me coming over here to meet Bethanne for a yoga class she had invited me to this morning. Bucky just happened to be heading home earlier from "work," given that he actually had nothing to do.

Lucky for me because Bethanne had used the excuse of yoga to corner me, and Reggie happened to be home to help, too.

I had played into their casualness to start, feeling the energy off and their disposition askew, and tried to stall for a while, knowing it would be a better fight with my partner nearby. I texted Bucky to meet me at their place with an excuse, and by the time he got there (5 minutes later), the fight broke out, and all curtains were pulled back to reveal the truth.

“Barnes!” I shout, and his head pops up from his position, trying to disengage Reggie. I throw the knife I got a hold of from across the room, and he spins, turning the giant perfectly to where the knife embeds itself in the front of his thigh. 

A yell in pain sounds, and Bucky turns to hold his head in a lock that eventually makes Reggie pass out. 

Silence takes over the space. The only sound is our panting as he looks at the damage and sees the end of our mission come to a close. Whether intentional or not…

“So, that was fun. Glad we got some cardio in,” I huff, pulling my arm closer to my body and putting pressure on the cut. 

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky runs a hand through his hair and walks to me. “Where’d she get you?” 

His hands are gentle and light compared to how he’d been using them the last few minutes. He turns me to the side, using my shoulder as leverage, and bends to look at the gash on my arm right above the back of my elbow. I had been wearing a dry-fit running jacket that clung to me, so the damage wasn’t 100% visible, I’m sure, but the hiss he lets out when he sees it leads me to believe otherwise. 

“How’s it look, Doc?” I ask and wince with a sharp breath when he pokes at it. “Dude. Jagged glass cut. Careful.” 

“Just moved the fabric,” he grumbles, still examining it. In front of us, Reggie groans. We both look at him. 

“We can play operation in a minute. Let’s tie the big guy up, and you can help me get Raggedy Bethanne from the other room in here to interrogate,” I push past his shoulder as I move to get Reggie situated. 

Begrudgingly, Bucky helped me move the sleeping giant and we shut all the blinds and set the space for a controlled interrogation. 

Currently, Bucky is on the phone with Steve, letting him know the plan went awry. We were working on getting information while we waited for a team to come collect the two perpetrators. Steve confirmed he’d send undercover agents as cops for us to wrap up the loose ends. 

In the middle of the call, someone knocks on the door, and we share a look. I’m still covered in blood, but I find a painter's poncho on the side, throw it on quickly, and grab a used paintbrush in the convenient tray next to it. 

“One second!” I shout, making a few marks on the poncho and one on my face for show. I go to open the door, praying I don’t have any blood on my face, but I did well in keeping away from Bethanne’s pathetic attempts of retaliation. 

When I open the door, I see their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Nosy-Nancy Betrum, smiling wearily in front of me. 

“Oh, hello, Charlotte,” she says nervously, trying to peer into the house around me. “Is Bethanne in there?” 

“Oh,” I perk up casually, turning behind me for a second and looking back at her. “She just ran to the bathroom. Is everything ok?”

“I just heard some shouting and crashing and wasn’t sure what was going on,” she started, still trying to peak into the background that I’m mostly hiding, so I moved a little to show the not-as-destroyed part of the house. 

“Oh, she’s doing a kitchen renovation and asked if we could help since we have some experience ourselves. The boys are hauling and dismantling some things. Lots of grunting and noise, I’m afraid,” I cringe lightly to play into the apologetic side of the conversation. “I’ll let her know we’re being too loud.” 

“Oh, ok,” she nodded, seemingly convinced but still glancing in. 

“Char, can you come help me and Reggie with this?” Bucky shouts, and I turn to look at him as he gives me an out. 

“Sorry about the noise, Nancy. We’ll try to be considerate about it. One sec, honey!” I nod back. “See you for Wednesday book club at Katrina’s next week.” I give an award-winning smile, and that seems to seal the deal. 

“Let me know how the finished project comes out,” she waves, walking down the steps.

After I shut the door, I groan as the pain in the back of my arm throbs more and more. 

“I’ll get Beth,” Bucky stands up from where he has successfully tied up Reggie and anchored him to a chair. “You go find a clean cloth and put some pressure on that,” he points out my arm that’s smearing red into the white paint I had tried to hide it with. 

“Good plan,” I nod, hissing as I move to the kitchen to make a makeshift tourniquet. 

_____________

The mission was done. I could sleep in my own bed now. My arm hurt like hell, and I was dreading the unfortunate aftercare and restrictions to come, but the mission was done, and I was headed home. 

After we got Bethanne and Reginald situated, the interrogation started, and they squealed like pigs. Well, Bethanne did, but Reggie didn’t hold out like he thought he would after some convincing with Bucky’s form of torture. Restrained if you ask me…

We had a list of other names to hunt and find. We found solid evidence in their home to prove most of it. Steve and Nat were given puzzle pieces that we had come for originally, so we were on the right path of taking down the organization Fury had been hunting.  

Things worked out for the better, even with the fact that they had successfully hidden a bug, and we were discovered. But there was a reason Bucky and I were picked for this, and we proved that. 

“What’s the diagnosis?” Bucky asked, coming into the med-bay I had been stationed in for the last hour on the Quinjet home. 

“I won’t need a robotic arm, unfortunately. I’ll have to wait a little longer before I can join your one-man club,” I sigh depressingly before I quirk a smile at him. 

“Wouldn’t be a one-man club if you joined it, now would it?” he laughed, sitting on the bed next to me where the nurse finished the stitches and wrapped a clean gauze bandage around it. 

“Thank you.” I nodded her way as she grabbed her things and walked out quietly. 

“Gonna be a minute before you back out in the ring, huh?” he asked, bumping my shoulder. “Sam hasn’t been proving to be the best dueling partner. Maybe since you won’t try to kill me now, you can take up the title? I feel like you’d be a decent match.” 

I turn to him after picking at my bandage and eye him. “Who says I wouldn’t try to kill you still? What’s the good of training if you’re not practicing the real thing?” 

He rolls his eyes and spreads his legs a little more, causing his knee to bump into mine.

“I don’t think you’ll be up for the killing portion of our fights for a bit, so I’ll take the advantage as long as possible.” 

“You think a little scratch like this has held me back from killing before?” He laughed under his breath, and we sat in comfortable silence for a minute. “The team isn’t going to believe I no longer have a vendetta against you,” I whisper. “They’re going to think we’re putting on an act.”

Bucky’s POV:

“I, for one, prefer the nicety over the insults, but that’s me personally,” I say, noticing the nerves in her comment. 

“I’m going to miss insulting you,” she sighs heavily, and I’m shocked at her closing in the space enough for our shoulders to touch. “I don’t have to give it up fully, do I?” 

I take her attempt of trying to lighten the mood and nod. 

“Considering the team is going to give us hell for it, and Steve has a bet we’ll make up in 3-weeks-”

“Wait, make up? I thought the bet was how long until we bite each other’s heads off.” 

“Nat’s bet is. She gave it until tomorrow actually. Steve was rooting for us I guess,” I shrug. 

“Hmmm,” she nods her head as she thinks things through. I’ve seen that look many times. “What if we messed with them?” 

“Channel our energy into keeping the charade going a little longer so neither wins?” 

“You really shouldn’t be betting on your friends,” she grins mischievously. 

“I’m always down for winning a second time this week,” I smile back.

Marvel Tags:

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My Lovelies Forever:

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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

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[yamatossideboob]

ONE PIECE 1125 Spoilers!!

This week's cowerings from behind the sofa:

iirc thats the carpenter (?) who's the spit of another guy from pre-timeskip, that everyone assumed was the earlier guy which made Oda feel the need to clarify. aw man I hope he's found. Hi Yamato!!!

I feel like the Egghead Arc proper has ended as of last chapter, this to me is firmly in the inter-arc section of the OP cycle.

I'm gonna pretend that Lucci is convinced he *did* kill Stussy, he just doesn't know that this story is written by Eiichiro Oda.

So, during the Onigashima raid part of Wano, I was watching a GLR video, and he pointed out a writing device that Oda uses to subtly guide the reader's mind while they read a chapter, which is again used here: this scene where the vice-admirals are afraid of punishment from Saturn, and where he uses Haki to kill (?) Doberman, is here to get the ideas of PUNISHING FAILURE and ELDER POWER into our heads, so that the more important event that comes in a few pages isn't completely out of nowhere. It's micro-foreshadowing! It's subtle enough that your mind is primed for the next development without being alerted into expecting it. AND FUCK WAS I NOT EXPECTING IT

Also ykw that 200 YEARS AGO caption does the same thing, reminding us how not fucking human the Elders and Imu are. Putting the B in subtle, our Oda.

I hope we find out more about what happened with Emet that day. Did someone else who had the Nika Fruit activate Emet, or was it leftover juice from the Joyboy days?

a lesser appreciator would seeth and cry at York doing a stupid thing like this when she's already more or less won. I, however, benighted and worldly as I am, understand well that one can be equal parts genius and buffoon at the same time 😏

man Oda is just really laying on the fake-out deaths this chapter huh. I feel no need to revise this statement to anticipate future developments, not at all.

i've already said as much, but the fact that the Satellites are digital and robot in nature makes the fake-out easier to forgive. At least Edison & co surviving allows for this new little twist on the gameboard to occur, so now we have yet another Vegapunk causing anti-WG havoc later. And we'll see the Weatheria geezers again!

man I cannot wait for this entire wretched class to be extinguished.

goddddddddddddddd. As soon as Garling showed up I knew it would be serious business. Just HOW serious I did not yet know...

my brain was SCRAMBLING for a split second reading this, trying to remember which Elder was S&D Dept. I thought it was Mars immediately bc he's visibly shook, but then I realised NAH SATURN IS COOKED ISNT HE

Being less facetious, the quickly mounting dread I felt reading this sequence was something I hadn't felt since seeing Saturn transform for the first time earlier this year. How time flies...

This is genuinely terrifying, and fascinating for its story implications later on.

Like, what do we know now? That no one, NO ONE, is safe from Imu, that even Stars can die (heh), that the Elders' diabolical powers are far more transactional than expected, and that even this power has constraints? Much to think about!!

Plus, the vice-admirals must surely have less faith in their exalted leaders, after Doberman's maybe death, and witnessing one dying from a Faustian bargain gone fucked up. This plus Akainu's frustrations with the Celestial Dragons... I think patience with World Nobles will soon reach its limit...

and FIGARLAND FUCKING GARLING!!! This makes his late-game intro make so much more sense now, if he was going to be this big a player in due time. Even the knowledge that a character exists can lead to speculation, and this fandom can be clever indeed. Saving Garling only for when necessary made this twist hit as hard as it did... Oda fucking blindsided us babes. Kudos.

Also yeah I'm not even going to joke here, Saturn is DEAD. I'm glad Oda got those earlier fake-outs out of the way earlier, this helped this demise hit harder too lmfao. and fuck, what a way to remind us what a threat Imu really is, I was chilled by this.

ykw it makes sense that the Vegas had spare parts laying around. I hate this though bc when me and my OP bestie was discussing this chapter, she accused me of wanting to "Scrooge McDuck dive into a pile of headless robotiddy York torsos", and I was furious bc she was completely right lads.

Koala taking notes, gwan gerl use that literacy

I love that the RA are taking this new information so seriously, and considering the possibilities in such a clearheaded manner. I need these guys to make a big splash in the final war, and most of GET READY EVERYONE BECAUSE MONEY D. DRAGON IS FINALLY ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING! MAYBE!

No but fr things are going to get worse before they get better and its going to hurt, bc Oda's writing this and we're about to see old locations and past friends duke it out for whatever scraps they can muster before FLOOD 2 FLOOD HARDER hits. This won't be pretty friends 😥

But that's a problem for the next arc, as now we'll probably do a quick round robin and see how everyone else is doing before we commit to Elbaf. New chapter in 7 days! See ye all there nakama! 💪✖️

[angrydame]

EATEN BY A BASEHEAD

The nonce Parker was now swinging by his crushed adams apple. All varieties of purple and blue and scarlet dripping with nicotine spit and unkept scruff crowded his cold skull; almost as ugly as living Parker who always looked a bit sunken in, like a dented car hood. The earth a foot below him didn't miss him, and neither did Blue who sat slouched glum on the now broken camping chair staring up at the ugly prick hanging by stocky electrical wires. The room felt like lonesome town, crowded only by the stale smoke active gravefully like a ghost, maybe Parker's ghost searching for a gap in the crusted tiles to make his jailbreak. He should feel guilty for his shit jokes; he's not funny he's fat and looks as though he should be but he's not. He's dead now.

I'll go to hell with you. Let's go to hell together. But now Blue sits crestfallen under her own snapped stocky electrical wire, the remanence hanging blench around her purple throat and she's cringing thinking about the lack of damage. What was that thought? I was born here, I'll die here. But she was terrified in the presence of the monged out man, the one with the melted face; the fax drips past his toes and suddenly Blue can see the manipulation.

Blue thinks a second, I'm going to leave the corpse. She takes a fag between her scabby lips to fill the lack of romance in her life. The joint suicide crashed but left a splendid spirit the teen will now use at odds with fucked judgement; we're all trying to make mum and dad upset. I want the next man I meet to actually terrify the shit out of me. I want him to remind me so much of myself that I hate him, someone hopeless shit struck and dead beat by religious people. I;m going to eat him whole.

Blue's favourite colour is trepidation, it looks nice through her thick lenses; stretched champayne stockings pulled tight against her temples, torpefying her sense of mother wit and making the red flag a fucking rose petal tea. As she leans over her scribe, revising it next to the burning suicide note constructed by a senile Parker, the block letters held brawn. i hope his mother finds him. It reads 'Parker the nonce' and Blue can pray for the punch it will blow the unlucky sod that discovers the cadaver. She'll leave this note taped to his breast giving disdainful mug; she could kick him to see if he moves, like a dead dog. He's dead, right? I'd be astonished if he wasn't.

She sports Parkers bomber which left weight on her shoulders that before the battered jacket felt buoyant, she no longer felt his yellow gnasher grinding into her collar bone nor the fucker's burden. I'll leave the corpse hanging until his blood and guts spill out of his tight arsehole, his skin hollowing out and his bones rotting away until he's paper thin flesh. I should see someone about this.

After leaving a swollen phlegm inflamed sputum on Parker's welcome mat, Blue slammed his front door for the last time, hoping the swinging fucker's bones shook a little upon impact. She felt little to nothing as she paraded; the mastery of the centre. She harks back to all the fuckery, she'd misconstrue reveries with memories. According to Blue her first words were-

"What crevice of Satan's arsehole did you crawl out of, you evil unmerciful little cunt?"

directed towards a fag-dragging, cadaverous mother itching wrists and rubbing dicks with Nathan, or was it Darren? Some forgotton stepfather. Her vocabulary broadened until she started to cough roses and thorns; she's been eaten by a basehead. This beasehead was splintered, it had a haircut like a cracked out choir boy and ugly fucking shoes.

She thinks of the nonce often. Roses and grand placebo, her temporary fix could be satisfied through this murder. She's killed herself but not completely. Had she been killing herself all these years? Although dead she still parades through the entrance and out into the centre nightlife. It's raining. I'm hoping this cold water scrubs me clean and spits me out again.

MY WRITING IS FICTION

[rays-animorphs]

All right, so, I’m 70-ish percent of the way through book 19 and I’m loving it.

I’m at the point where Aftran is all “it’s not fair, if I can’t brain-control other sentient life forms then I have to live as a blind slug, and what kind of life is that?” what I’m saying is, we’ve circled back to disability as a central theme.

Don’t ask me if I think any of this is intentional on Applegate’s part, I’m just spitballing with what’s coming up for me.

We’re a few months into Year 3 of a global pandemic, which somehow managed to turn into a political issue, because fuck Republicans, that’s why. (Not literally. Literally, do not fuck them, definitely don’t procreate with them.) Which brings up the question: how much is it reasonable to expect and/or require people to limit their life (their social life, their haircuts, their education and employment opportunities, their chances to visit dying family members while they’re still alive, the chance to see new babies in person before they’re walking and talking, etc etc) in order to prevent the deaths and long term adverse health consequences of others?

And thing is, you know what else limits your ability to live fully? Death.

And disability — like long covid.

I’m a bit sensitive to this, unusually so for someone who’s had as few personal losses to covid as I have, because I have CFS, and the descriptions of long covid sound remarkably similar to CFS. So when I hear “long covid”, I hear “people who have to live the rest of their lives like me.”

And, I mean, I’m happy to be alive? I find joy and meaning in things I can do — reading and crafts and games and TV and hour long zoom calls and whatnot, and lots of yoga, and my housemates’ cats and the garden out back and trips to the farmer’s market and my goodness people in my new neighborhood are really into gardening.

And in many ways I’ve got that blind slug life, in the sense there’s vast swathes of life that I used to enjoy that I no longer can, or can only partly enjoy.

I might be able to start riding a bike again, for instance, if I’m sufficiently careful about it and don’t go too far at one time or uphill. Or I might not be able to. And I used to love riding my bike. And camping. And backpacking. And I used to be able to go to day-long classes and workshops. And I used to be able to go to Sunday morning worship in person. And I used to be able to get a full week’s worth of groceries at a grocery store; now, I can do grocery stores if I plan for it and limit the items I buy, which I’m very bad at that, so I don’t. (I can have sex again, so at least there’s that.)

And I used to experience my search for meaning in life largely through what I was doing, which makes being unable to work or engage significantly in activism or volunteering extremely…challenging. I’m trying to shift to a sort of virtue focus or spiritual seeker thing or whatever. It’s hard though. I want to be doing things. I was going to be a minister. Anyways.

For the most part, what other people do doesn’t really affect my limitations. (Except, for instance, when I want to attend worship remotely and whoever’s set up the live cam or whatever has put like zero effort into making sure it’s actually a worthwhile experience on the watching end.) But with covid? If you can do things I can’t, I got no sympathy for “I want to do this but those covid restrictions mean I can’t.” I can’t either. At least with you, those restrictions mean you’re fucking saving someone’s life, and moreover, it’s temporary and it’s not for the rest of your damn life. Get some perspective.

I mean, yeah, sure it’s hard, it’s normal to have Feelings, by all means go to someone for sympathy. But maybe for instance don’t expect sympathy around having to cut back on international travel for someone who’s likely not doing that ever again anyways, you know?

Anyways, I really don’t know how restricted a Yeerk’s life in a pool is compared to living as a human or Hork-Bajir or whatever. But I’m pretty sure it’s strictly better than living a life where you’re a prisoner in your own body.

Cassie has a great deal of kindness. It’s a good thing. (And Applegate presents it as a good thing without oversimplifying, which I appreciate.)

(At the same time; I think the passages where Aftran’s going off about blindness vs sight is best understood as a metaphor for something harder to explain than literal sight. We now know Yeerks don’t have parent/child relationships, and it’s unclear what other forms of emotional bonding they have, and it’s a stretch but it seems to me to be within the realm of possibility that the social bonding they experience indirectly through their hosts is more emotionally compelling than anything they experience when they’re not actively parasites — they are evolved to be parasites, it’s possible their emotional realities are pretty malleable depending on who they use as hosts, and that they don’t feel much in their natural states. If vision is being used as basically a metaphor for a range of emotions, not that different from how color is used in The Wizard of Oz, well, that’s a significantly more compelling story I think.) (maybe it’s less that there’s no beauty in a Yeerk pool, and more that Yeerks are literally incapable of experiencing the emotions associated with seeing beautiful things except when they have a host. And that’s what Aftran doesn’t want to give up. It’s reasonably consistent with her describing battle as making her feel alive, and making ordinary life seem uninteresting in comparison.)

Of course what Aftran and the book have been ignoring so far, is that the Yeerks are going to absolutely wreck Earth, destroy the beauty that Aftran is so reluctant to lose. We know that. We’ve seen the future.

(There’s also really hard to miss I don’t think this can be accidental parallels to Western colonialism and the associated environmental devastation.) (In general there’s a lot to be said for seeing alien invasion stories through a lens of “this is how Westerners process guilt over colonialism.” Just because it’s not especially visible doesn’t mean it doesn’t work it’s way into fiction.)

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Kim Sunwoo - Reflection [Requested]

Request: Strangers to friends (dom! Sunwoo), new kid Sunwoo meets the school troublemaker in detention. Tensions rise and antics ensue.

new kid! Sunwoo x bad girl! reader

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up kiddos), underage sex, semi-public sex, slight praise kink, slight angst, mentions of bullying/misconduct/mischief

Sorry for the wait @l0v3bugch4nh33 but I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again for requesting 💖

What do you do when your position as the baddest person in school is threatened by some obnoxious newbie with equally obnoxious pink hair?

Mr Lee sighs for the umpteenth time as you tap your foot incessantly. He glares at you, knowing full well he has no effect on you. Every teacher that's tried to talk some sense into you or punish you has given up and resigned to waiting for the day you graduate, which proves to be difficult since your grades were trash and your conduct was just as terrible. You had to repeat your senior year and it just meant you had more time to mess with the teachers and staff. Why hadn't they just expelled you? Well, you doubt it had anything to do with the fact that you'd been expelled from two other high schools already, and your parents had offered a large sum of money to the principal to keep you in this school until you graduate.

You hated studying, period. You hated how rigid the academic systems were, and you had little to no interest in anything. Not science, not languages, not arts. You just felt stuffy and controlled all the time. That was why you ended up terrorizing the other kids and even staff, just to feel alive and free. Smoking in the school bathrooms, skipping class, vandalism; just to name a few. You revelled in the way your juniors would scurry away if you so much as looked in their direction, and even some teachers would avoid you. You ran the school, and you were untouchable. Until about a week ago.

Some new kid transferred into your class with obnoxiously pink hair and a slight accent from the countryside. Who even transfers into a new school in their senior year? Anyway, some of the girls were immediately taken by his looks, whispering to each other about how cute he was, and your classmates began spreading mindless gossip about him.

I heard he was expelled for beating up some teachers

I heard it was because he set the school on fire!

I bet it's cause he slept with a teacher

You roll your eyes at their stupid words, effectively shutting them up with a glare. As your luck would have it, the new guy (Sunoo, was it?) was assigned to be your seating partner, something your teacher belatedly realized was a very bad idea. In horror, she reminded the class that it was a temporary arrangement and that she was revise the seating plan, internally vowing to keep you two as far away from each other as possible. It wasn't something for her to worry about, you thought. You had absolutely no plans to get close to the pink-haired fool who was not-so-subtly checking you out.

Days passed and you tried to assert your dominance by acting out even more than usual. You swapped all the locks to the gym equipment storage and started a food fight at lunch, earning you a week's worth of detention. However it didn't seem to faze him at all, and he went about his business, staying out of your hair, despite appreciating the view every time you walked past in your short skirt. So what if you weren't abiding by the school dress code? He himself had flaming pink hair, which apparently landed him in detention too, since he wasn't willing to dye it back to black or shave it all off within the stipulated time. That, and he was caught smoking in the boys bathroom. Detention within the first week of school? You had to applaud him, even if you decided you hated his guts for being indifferent and callous. Only you were allowed to be like that.

A knock on the door brings you back to the present, and Mr Lee huffs when he sees the fuchsia mop poke through the door. "So nice of you to finally join us, Sunwoo. Your seat is there. And I'm sure you're familiar with the rules of detention by now, most schools are the same," your teacher smiles, a fake saccharine tinge to his voice.

"Afraid not, sir, would you be so kind to inform me again?" Sunwoo drawls, his big round eyes blinking with faux innocence. You resist the urge to laugh at the way Mr Lee is fuming, sinewy arms ready to burst through his tight button-up and you swear you could see steam pouring out of his ears. "I do not want to hear a single word from either of you. Stay put, and maybe do some reflection on why you decided to be such menaces," he spits through gritted teeth, storming off through the door and slamming it shut, locking it from the outside. You groan, slouching into your seat as you fiddle with your phone, already bored out of your mind. Your eyes are on your phone but you can sense Sunwoo's gaze lingering on you again. It's not unpleasant, but it leaves you feeling hot, and you refuse to believe he's got that effect on you.

"You're an idiot," you mutter under your breath, your eyes still trained on your phone.

"Pardon?" his artificially sweet voice is back, taunting you with that drawl of his.

"Smoking on school grounds, getting detention in your first week? Rookie mistake."

"What if I did it on purpose? To spend some quality time with the mysterious bad girl everyone's been talking about?"

You scoff loudly and Sunwoo is still grinning annoyingly at you. He stands up and walks over to the teacher's table, plopping into Mr Lee's seat. "You're interesting." He stretches his long legs out, resting them on the table, putting his hands behind his head, sending a cocky smirk your way; and you can’t decide if you want to punch or kiss it right off his face. You roll your eyes, uncrossing your legs and you suppress a laugh when you notice Sunwoo’s line of vision goes straight to the spot between your legs. He licks his plush lips subconsciously, and oh, what you would give to feel those lips on your body. You spread your legs just a tad further, and the smirk on his face slowly drains away, eyes transfixed on the wet spot on your panties. “Fuck you, Sunwoo.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs absentmindedly, his mind racing thinking about all the dirty things he wants to do to you. You scoff, crossing your legs again, about to curse at him. You’re no easy girl. Especially for someone like Sunwoo, with his stupid puppy eyes, fluffy pink hair, pouty pink lips, thick thighs straining through his tapered uniform trousers and- your thoughts were disrupted by his figure looming over you. He had crossed the room while you were busy listing off everything you found attractive hated in the boy. He stands before you, round eyes darkened with want, and his hand comes up to tilt your chin upwards, his thumb carelessly rubbing against your bottom lip.

"Are you really as bad as they say you are?"

"Don't try me Kim Sunwoo."

"No… I don't think you are. I think you're actually a good girl, hmm?" Sunwoo whispers, deftly unzipping his trousers and pulling his erect cock out, perfectly level with your glossy lips. He tucks a strand of stray hair behind your ear, and gently coaxes your head closer to his twitching length. Your mouth falls open unwittingly, and you can't help but lick your lips at the sight before you.

"Such a good girl only for me."

A shiver rolls down your spine at his deep voice, and you find your lips around his tip, lapping up his oozing precum, your hand grasping the base of his cock. Sunwoo lets out a shaky moan, his fingers twisting into your hair. “Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. You bob your head up and down, swallowing around his shaft, and Sunwoo’s pretty moans fill the classroom. He guides your head up and down his length, admiring the way your luscious lips are wrapped around his veiny member. Soon, he tugs you off by your hair, making a 'pop' sound as your mouth releases his dick. You look up at him questioningly, and his cock twitches at the sight of your spit-slicked swollen lips. "Don't wanna cum yet, cutie," he grins, dragging you by the shoulders to push you against the teacher's table.

You hop up the table and lean back, parting your legs wide to accommodate him. You pull your skirt up, and he pulls your drenched panties aside to dive in, licking ravenously at your slick folds, causing you to mewl and throw your head back, nearly hitting your head on the table. He slides your panties off and his free hand sneaks up your body to cup your breast, massaging it through your shirt and bra as he makes out with your pussy. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, feeling those plump lips close around your sensitive clit, and you can't help but writhe in pleasure. Sunwoo smirks up at you from between your thighs, balling up your panties and holding them in front of your face. "Open up~ can't be too noisy can we, or else the teachers will find out we don't hate each other as much as they think we do," he mocks you in a singsong voice. You open your mouth to rebuke, but he takes this opportunity to shove your panties into your mouth, prompting a disgruntled moan from you.

Your annoyance at being forcibly shushed fades quickly when he sticks two thick fingers into your pussy, clenching tight around the intrusion. He laps at your clit as he pumps his fingers, scissoring them to stretch you out, his other hand back to groping your other breast. Your mind is turning hazy from all the stimulation, and you can only grip onto the edges of the table as you drown in the feeling of Sunwoo's touches all over your body. He pulls away once he thinks you're ready, making you whine at the loss of contact. He straightens up and you wordlessly stare at each other with lust-filled eyes as he languidly lubes up his erect cock with your juices. You position yourself right at the edge of the table, holding your legs up and apart with your hands, presenting yourself to him.

Your pussy throbs as he approaches, lining up his cock with your entrance and he pushes in slowly. The stretch burns deliciously, and Sunwoo hurriedly pulls your panties from your lips, muffling your moans with his lips instead. The kiss is messy, spit and precum and teeth, as your pussy adjusts to having him fully sheathed inside you. You break apart, gasping for air, and Sunwoo is shaking from resisting the urge to pummel into you immediately. "M-move, Sunwoo, hurry," you whisper, and he nods, pulling out and slamming back in instantly, shushing you softly when you unwittingly moan out loud. He continues to fuck you at a brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass, and slowly you feel your arms start to give way. He notices this, and takes over, holding your thighs apart with a bruising grip as he drills into you. He buries his face in your neck, his hot breath and warm lips on your skin bringing you close to climax.

"You think you're so big and bad huh? The students fear you and the teachers hate you, but look how good you're being for me," he pants into your skin, groaning when you clench around him, clearly affected by his words. "S-shut it Sunwoo just- ahhh!" your words are cut off by a hard thrust into your g-spot. You hate him, for being a tease, for taunting you, for threatening to take your spot as the top dog in school, but most of all, for edging you. He chuckles darkly, pulling your hair so you look up at him with desperate, wild eyes. "Come on now, ask nicely and I'll let you cum, babe," he teases, hips still pistoning relentlessly into yours. You let out a frustrated groan, and you grab him by his collar, pressing your lips against his. "Let me cum, Sunwoo, wanna cum all over your pretty cock," you mumble against his lips, and it seems to do the trick.

His thrusts begin to stutter, and you smirk into the kiss, realizing that big bad Sunwoo likes being praised too. "Your lips were made to eat pussy, and you just love the taste of mine, don't you?" you continue, getting bolder, revelling in the way a shiver rolls down his spine at your words. He thrusts erratically, groaning lowly as you cling to his frame, burying your face in his shoulder to muffle your moans as you cum hard, clenching tightly around his cock. Sunwoo hurriedly pulls out before he cums inside you, jerking himself harshly to completion, growling and cursing as he paints the side of the teacher's table white with his cum. He falls forward, clutching the table as both of you gulp lungfuls of air as you come down from your highs.

"Fuck, that was-"

"Insane. We're insane for doing this, really." you finish his sentence. He snorts loudly, shaking his head at the sticky situation you had gotten yourselves into. Suddenly you hear footsteps and voices coming down the hallway, and you look at each other in horror. You quickly straighten your clothes, hurrying to put your panties on and wipe off Sunwoo's cum from the teacher's table with a gym towel you had in your school bag. Mr Lee opens the door to find the two of you sitting very peacefully apart, and with any luck, doesn't notice the messy hair, wrinkled clothes, flushed cheeks or the stench of sex and sweat in the classroom.

He chalks it up to you two delinquents being perpetually unkempt, and dismisses the two of you, as it was well past the time your detention should have ended. You and Sunwoo duck around him, uncharacteristically quiet and meek as you exit the school together. Once you make it past the school gates, you both break out into raucous laughter, still not believing how you went from hating each other to swallowing each other's faces in the span of one meeting. The smile on Sunwoo's face suddenly disappears as a thought crosses his mind. "Wait… was there a CCTV camera in that classroom?" he asks worriedly. "Yeah. There is." you reply casually, and a look of alarm crosses his face.

"Don't worry, it's broken though." you quickly assure him.

"What? Who broke it?"

A devious smile graces your lips and Sunwoo immediately understands, barking out another incredulous laugh. You two share stories about the trouble you've gotten into at your previous schools all the way home. Before you part ways, Sunwoo smirks cheekily at you. "So… Same time next week?"

You gnaw on your lip as you consider. Maybe there was space at the top of the food chain for two, and that you both aren't so different after all. You mirror his impish grin as you walk away.

"See you in detention, Kim Sunwoo."

[azalea-mcyt]

uhhh… can we have a part 2 to your latest fic please 👀

𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖, 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖

Pairing: Teacher!Sapnap x Fem!Student!Teacher

Content Warning: ageplay, degradation, hair pulling, spitting, sir kink

To read the first part, click here :)

You stayed at the college for a little while longer, not wanting to be caught by students or other Professors alike. Any that did enter the lecture hall were greeted with the idea that you were staying behind for extra revision.

But you both knew differently.

Sapnap headed out in advance as you 'went' into the bathrooms. Reapplying your mascara and lipstick, you made your way to the car park where you met up with him.

"Anyone see you?" He asked.

"No." You replied, putting on some sunglasses. The two of you were out of there quicker than a flash.

(the song will make sense shortly!)

As the two of you were on the road, Sapnap passed his phone to you. You scrolled through his music, trying to pick what you wanted to listen to.

A song caught your attention. Pony by Ginuwine. It was the only one of its kind. Odd, but nevertheless good taste.

As the song started up, your teacher looked across to you. He fidgeted in his seat, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

'I'm just a bachelor'

'I'm looking for a partner'

Your teacher was a bachelor. But was he looking for a partner? You hoped he would find one in you. The song carried on, until you tuned into the lyrics again.

'If you're horny'

'Let's do it'

'Ride it'

'My pony'

Your palms started to get sweaty. The image of Sapnap in your mind fucking into you so deep made your pussy throb. You wanted more.

Dirty words were ringing in your head. You wanted him to ruin you- make you beg for your release. Pull on your hair, spit in your mouth. Manhandle you and fuck you on everything.

"Hey babe, you still with me?" Sapnap asked, bursting your bubble of thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry." You replied. Tonight was going to be interesting.

The slapping of skin could be heard around the house as your teacher was thrusting into you. Your eyes were watering with pleasure as he threw his head back in the same feeling.

"Ahh~ you're so fucking tight..." He told you. Sweat began running down his forehead and chest. You spread your legs further apart on the worktop counter, trying your best not to cum.

"Sir, please can I cum?" You asked him. He wrapped his hand around your neck and thrusted into you harder. You screamed. It all felt so good.

You came undone around him, your sight going blurry. Sapnap pushed himself deeper to make himself cum. He dripped out of you, watching as your hole spasmed around nothing.

It was beyond you how you were going to get to your lectures the next day...

i've really enjoyed writing the second part to this, i hope you all like it too <3

xoxo,

azalea

[chunhua-s]

Tendou in an enemies to lovers situation 🥺

wew chile, eye— this was longer than i originally planned and that’s due in part to me switching from writing on mobile and my bad word vomit tendencies said ✨start the cameras✨ i originally had a bit of trouble coming up with the solid plot itself while i was losing myself on concepts (nothing new :D just my regular clown shit y’know?) and my sweet goddess @bootylikepeachy was there to tickle my braincells with this “got paired together with your enemy for a class assignment” idea!! bb thank you for brainrotting with me on this, honestly 🥺💖 i dunno if i could have made a final decision if it weren’t for you and your sexy ass brain. i decided leave the ending a bit open?? one to prevent myself from going over 5k words (cause wow, i really hit the slow burn on this one) and two because i kinda like the ambiguity of their relationship after the reader comes to her turning point. since it’s an enemies to lovers type of scenario, i figured it would be better to let things kind of trickle off instead of having it all happen on the same day?? or so it doesn’t feel too rushed or force and i really hope i was successful in doing it justice. i hope you guys will have as much fun reading this as i did writing it!! let me know your thoughts, okay? and as always, thank you for reading!!

SUNSET AND MIDNIGNT ➽ SATORI TENDOU x READER

genre: fluff, slowburn

au: enemies to lovers

warnings: uhhh slowburn? word vomit, ramblings..... that’s about it

tendou is the fall from an ocean cliff. he’s the feeling of the wind sweeping past your body, of your breath disappearing from your lungs and vanishing on the whisps of a blue sky. he’s the dread that wraps around your heart like a vine, the heavy rock that drags you closer and closer to a dive you can’t remember taking. and you, with your heart racing against your ribs so hard that it scars itself with blue and purple bruises, you’re terrified. you’re terrified of heights, of blue waters that run to the deepest parts of the earth and what they don’t show to you. you’re afraid of the heat that comes from a blazing fire and the embers that fly from it on red hazes. it’s the fear of that unpredictability that keeps you away, the fear of being burned and left for dead that leaves you feeling as if you’re walking on egg shells around him.

to you, he’s a variable that you can’t ever be prepared for. a step added to a dance you’d already learned by heart, he messes up your rhythm and throws off your tempo until the melody becomes something you can’t recognize anymore. he leaves you guessing about what comes next — it’s like a game of roulette that he’d dragged you into by a thin chord, wrapped so tightly around your throat that it makes it hard for you to breathe. you hate the feeling of it, hate the way he so easily turned your world on its head and cast the familiarity of monochrome into a scenery of blinding colour. 

you’re pouting, a frown etched across your lips as you methodically stir over your pot, head cocked to the side and one hand resting akimbo on your hip. it’d been well over 30 minutes since you’d started boiling the ingredients over a low flame, and you were beginning to tire from stirring constantly; your arm ached and your shoulders were beginning to feel stiff as you tried rolling them to relieve some of the tension. frustration makes a loud groan slip from your lips as you throw your head back. normally, you’d consider yourself a patient person, yet that very same patience was beginning to run as thin as the liquid that should have been thickening by now. you couldn’t understand why it was taking so long, however. you’d done everything by the book! mixed each ingredient in the order that it’d said to, set the flame on the right level, measured everything correctly, so what was wrong?

you hear a snort come from somewhere behind you, but you don’t turn yourself to look at the red-headed male who sits comfortably atop the other side of your counter, well intent to ignoring him. you had neither the time nor the energy to entertain him right now, but your companion didn’t seem to understand that from the cold shoulder you’d been giving him ever since you two began working on your project together.

“you know you don’t have to keep stirring it, right?” tendou hums between bites of chocolate that slightly muffle his words. you don’t see the way his eyes close and his smile widens on delight for the sweet flavour that melts on his tongue. “you can leave it for about a minute before you have to check up on it again.”

you stubbornly roll your eyes, a huff coming from under your breath that disturbs the strand of hair dangling in front of your face. “that’s not what the book says.” your voice comes out evenly, though there’s nothing you do to cut the edge from your tone as you sigh immediately after. the frown on your lips only deepens with the next few seconds that pass you by.

“and that book was released in 2015.”

it’s invasive in its arrival, the question of why that spits on bitterness and undiluted anger. why were you so unlucky to have been paired up with the one person you couldn’t bear to be around? he was everything that dug under your skin, the symbol of chaos in a place where you’d rather solace and routine. he stands on the opposite end of the colour spectrum; where your life molds with deep purples and blues of a dark midnight, he’s the flaming oranges and reds of a burning sunset. your worlds meet on a collision, a burst of light that would consume entire dimensions and leave nothing but bones and ashes in its wake. 

there’s a pettiness in your hatred for him, a one-sided scorn that bears its fangs on dark poisons that trip like ink. it tells its tale of irrationality in your law of reason, and, you consider, perhaps that was why you hated tendou. perhaps it was the way his voice could so easily insight the burning taste of anger and annoyance on the back of your tongue, where it forms on a large ball that stops inside your throat and makes it hard to breathe without feeling as if you would implode. it’s something you can’t understand, but you despise the feeling it leaves you with when your eyes meet his.

hot, as if you’d been cast into the open arms of hell. 

“well,” you force behind gritted teeth, hearing the noise of them grinding in the back of your head. “i’m gonna stick to what the book says until it gets revised.” 

there’s absolutely no reason for you to be so insistent on something that’s clearly not working, you know that. you’re sure tendou is thinking the same, if the long, drawn out sigh he lets out is anything to go by. it isn’t difficult to imagine his expression, lips pursed together, brows furrowed as his narrowed eyes burn holes into your skin. you’re not sure what exactly is pushing you to be so stubborn, but you blindly let it control your thoughts; you run on impulse and immature decisions that have no place in your life. 

a silence blends with the sounds of your bubbling pot when he doesn’t respond, insighting an urge to glance around and see why he’d suddenly stopped talking that you force away from your mind. the quiet would give you some semblance of peace, you consider decisively: if he’s decided he would no longer disturb you with pointless musings, then what reason would you have to complain?

there’s a touch on your shoulder that causes your heart to latch inside your throat and rushes on uneven beats of a two-second fright that has you freezing on yourself. on instinct, your body turns to meet red eyes and a bemused grin as tendou’s fingers wrap around your wrist, catching the hand that held the mixing spatula you’d been using in your pot. “relax, will you?” he murmurs, a chuckle on his breath — the taste of his mint breath clouds your mind like a ghostly fragrance — as he pries the instrument from between your clenched fist. with narrowed eyes and your guard put up on a weak barrier, you watch closely as he gently sets the spatula against the counter before he finally releases your arm; it falls lifelessly to your side while the feeling of being burned slowly spreads across your skin. “just trust me on this.” 

there’s a hidden promise on his voice, a teasing grin that pulls at his lips and leaves your curiosity ignited on hesitance and uncertainty. you glance at your still bubbling pot, though your gaze isn’t allowed to linger for long as tendou shoves his face into your line of sight with a light chime of “ah-ah-ah.” it was as if he was scolding a child, the thought quickly comes and goes before you can dwell on it — there’s not much chance for you to think about it when tendou’s steering you to your island counter by your shoulders. “sit down for a sec, alright?”

a scowl forms on your lips as he shoves you down into a seat, and you open your mouth to protest when you’re suddenly pacified by the sweet taste on your tongue. slowly, you begin chewing, letting the confusion you feel be washed away by the quickly melting chocolate that fills you with a sense of appreciation. 

“better?”

it’s reluctant, but you give the red haired boy a nod and a small smile, all which he returns with his familiar grin. “i set a timer for one minute,” he informs you, lifting his phone screen to show the seconds counting down from 50. his actions are carefree and relaxed, with his arm resting on the edge of the chair and one of his legs folded beneath him, red hair tousled and flopping over his forehead just like he wears it on campus. he’s attractive, you won’t deny, though you wouldn’t let yourself ever say it out loud. helplessly, you sigh, your shoulders dropping to release the tension from standing for so long and you lift a hand to sheepishly run over your neck as you avoid his gaze.

“fine…”

tendou’s smile widens as soon as you relent, a pleased hum leaves him as he further leans back into the chair. “so,” he begins on a cheerful tone, and your eyes curiously watch him as he opens conversation. “what’re your plans after you finish the course?”

a short moment passes you by where you glance away from him, eyes drifting to the pot on your worry. was it really okay to leave it alone? “uh,” you mutter out on your distracted tone before you center yourself. you take a deep breath and let it out on a soft puff that has your cheeks pushing out slightly before you give your answer. “i wanna open up a coffeeshop.” 

“oh?” when you meet tendou’s gaze, there’s a spark of interest in them, a sheen of gold that lights vermillion red on the afternoon sun. it causes you to become self-conscious suddenly, your hands tangle together in your lap as you avert your eyes almost as quickly as they’d met his. 

“yeah,” you affirm softly. “i’ve always thought that it’d be nice, you know? and i’d be able to relax in a place like that.” 

another hum comes from the man next to you, a low sound that dwells on pondering as he takes in your response. “you do seem like the kind of person who would work in a coffeeshop.” he muses, and his word leaves your mind on pause as the alarm goes off, the soft ringing of a song you don’t know disrupting your thoughts and prompting you to stand up. however, there’s a hand on your shoulder that hurriedly pushes you down before you’re at your full height. “no,no—” tendou urges you, “i’ll do it, you just sit there and rest.” 

you’re not given the chance to argue as he breezily saunters over to your stove, reaching for the spatula while humming that same song from his alarm. it’s not one you’ve heard before, and it’s another thing that leaves you curious as you watch him stir over the bubbling liquid. you notice the way he holds his hand at a weird angle that leaves his elbow jutting out, the way his tall frame has to hunch as if to see the contents better. doesn’t he wear glasses? you’re lost on the thought as you try and recall whether or not you’d seen him wear a pair before. when he turns back to you, his smile is wide and triumphant, a show of all teeth as he moves himself to the side and just barely tilts the pot with his free hand. “would’ja look at that?” he sings, a telling smugness to his tone as he looks at you. you have to lean over the island counter to see the white liquid has thickened considerably more than when you’d been stirring it. “told you to just let it sit for a while and it’d do it’s own thing!”

unable to help the smile that spreads across your lips, you huff and wave a hand across your face in dismissal, harmlessly rolling your eyes at him. “alright, no need to rub it in now,” you chide as he replaces the pot and skips over to your side, large steps that have him swinging his arms back and forth like an excited child. there’s no hiding the glee in his expression when he sits down again and immediately turns to face you, as if he was waiting for you to admit something. and maybe that’s what he was waiting for, but you’re still stubborn when it comes to him, so you only turn your eyes away from him and cross your arms with a false pout. “just set the timer again, will you?” you grumble, and you’re rewarded with laughter that rang as pure and innocent as the sound of trickling water. it leaves you stunned for a moment, echoes in your mind and finds a home inside your chest so that it plays back for you to hear. it’s a beautiful sound, you think; there’s a part of you that wants to hear more. it horrifies you. 

“what about you?” you shake your head as you lean your elbows on top of the counter top, eyes focused on your fingers wrapping around one another rather than to meet vermillion red. the cool feeling of the marble does very little to ease the warmth coursing beneath your skin. “what’re your plans after finishing the course?”

tendou’s laughter dies down like the wind comes to a pause, where the leaves stop rustling on an easy rest as he sighs long and full, his chest rising with the action as he leans backward ever so slightly. “i was thinking of making chocolate,” he tells, tilting his head and lending his gaze to the scenery outside your window. it gives you the courage to look back at him, at the sight of his figure bathed in sunlight where the gold bounces off his skin like a gem. with his expression set on pensive and his eyes bearing a wandering glint, he looks nearly ethereal inside your kitchen, a picture of immortality that you’ve never bothered to look at before now. he glows under a melting light, the picture of him robs you of air and leaves you gasping, desperate for your blood to start flowing the way it had before. 

it’s when his eyes find yours that you relearn how to breathe.

his gaze is half-lidded, touched by a visual of content that makes him look at peace, nearly drowsy as his hand supports the weight of his head. the smile on his lips is slight, the kind that quirks the corners of your lips and tells you a story of effortless charm. 

“is there any particular reason?” you hate that your voice comes out weak, that it breaks on it’s departure and tumbles out of your lips like white feathers flutter from the sky. the onslaught of emotion leaves you reeling, your center of gravity cast from your body and you struggle to find your footing over uneven ground, all while he watches you, red eyes picking you apart and leaving bear to him the parts of yourself you’ve never seen. a boyish smile settles over his lips as he turns his head to fully face you, leaning forward ever so slightly, but it’s enough so that you’re once again able to taste peppermint on his breath. it washes over your skin like an autumn wind, leaves a chill that reminds you of the first signs of snow on the throws of a mid-summer’s heat.

“not really,” he confesses with a shrug, carefree and unbothered while he leaves you as the perfect image of flustered. his voice is low, like a whisper. it’s hushed, and you’re able to hear something of a sigh on his words that leaves you to wonder about the way the sunlight reflects off of pools of red, how the golden hue makes them appear like the butterscotch candies you’d snack on between classes. “i just… like sweet things.”

“oh.” 

you’re reminded of the taste of caramel when you think of tendou. it comes as a surprise when you take the first bite into a chocolate bar, an unexpected drop of golden sweetness that makes you pause for, if only, just a second to properly let its flavour spread across your tongue. he’s the warmth of sunset that embraces your body, the feeling of the waves that brush against your toes, the sand that fills with water and wraps around your feet. you’re left on the shoreline to watch in awe as flames of orange and red dance on the ocean’s surface, where the blazes and embers of a passion unimaginable to your midnight moon leave traces of ethereal gold in its wake. 

there’s a sudden thought that invades your mind, slow like molasses and just as bittersweet; you want to sink beneath those burning waters, to let them cover you from head to toe and consume all that you are. until your heart learns his melody and your body falls to his tune.

there’s a part of you that yearns after satori tendou, and the realization if it scares you. 

you’re the first to look away when the timer sounds once more, your face burns and you purse your lips together while your hands tangle together on your lap. beside you, tendou arises wordlessly to saunter over to the pot, humming once more to the tune that continues to play from his phone. it doesn’t sound like a typical alarm, and it leaves you intrigued by it’s upbeat melody.  “what song is that?” you curse the way your voice breaks, clearing your throat and hoping that he didn’t pick up on it. why were you suddenly becoming such a mess? 

tendou answers you a bit distractedly while he tilts the pot from side to side, his head cocked in contemplation and his expression pensive. “it’s called circus,” he glances at you from over his shoulder and uses his free hand to gesture you forward before reaching for the pair of yellow, sunflower-themed muffins you left to sit close-by. “bring the chocolate for me, would’ja?” you meet him just as he’s moving your pot to sit on your counter, the plate of chopped up chocolate bits in your hand while he moves to the side to let you dump them into the mixture. “i found it on this playlist from youtube and i kinda got obsessed with it.” 

you take in his words over the light-hearted melody that plays from his phone, enjoying the sound of it before it cuts off and sets to snooze since tendou hadn’t turned it off. it leaves you wanting to hear more, and you wish it would have played on for a little bit longer as you set the plate to the side. “can i look it up?” you ask; the thought that it was silly to ask for his permission rings in your head before you can stop it, and you feel your face heating up when he looks up from mixing the chocolate to you, his eyes alight with amusement and his smile teasing. 

“go ahead,” he chuckles, giving his attention back to the pot after casually waving a hand in the air. “mind bringing me the setting tray?”

it doesn’t take you too long to open up the youtube app, your fingers typing in the name of the song before you pause and glance over to your partner. “is it the one by showmore?”

“yup!”

soon, the familiar intro bleeds into your kitchen space, filling up the absence of conversation between you and tendou as he bobs his head along to its sound. you’re left to lean against the counter, your hands folded beneath you while he pours out your chocolate mixture into the little cube shapes in the tray. what you feel is a comfort, a type of quiet happiness that calms your breath on the sound of drums and the piano that blends with the singer’s voice. “it sounds nice,” you mutter quietly, unable to help the way your head nods in time to the melody. 

tendou shoots you an excited smile. “it does, right?? i’ve been listening to it nonstop ever since i found it.” his enthusiasm draws a laugh from you, a grin stretches across your face as you watch him sway side to side. it’s an adorable picture of him dancing and smiling so brightly, and when he looks up at you with excitement in his eyes, you feel your heart skip a beat. 

“wanna dance?”

“huh?”

the question catches you off guard, leaves you to stare wide-eyed at his back as he pops the tray into the freezer before turning back to face you. his grin widens and becomes almost teasing when he sees your stunned expression. “c’mere!” he urges you with an eagerness, his hand waving you over.

“tendou, i—” you avert your gaze, feeling your skin warm up once more as you murmur your answer. “i can’t dance…” 

he makes his way over to you in a sequence of movements you can’t hope to describe — it’s almost like a prance, where his steps are exaggerated and his shoulders lift up in a kind of rocking motion while he’s snapping his fingers to the beat. “that’s fine!” he grins at you just as he reaches out for your hand, pulls you to your feet and coaxes you from behind your island counter. “i can’t either!” 

for a moment, you’re caught between amused and hopelessly confused while the man before you lifts your arms like wet spaghetti, letting him swing them between your bodies as if you were a puppet, and he the puppeteer. he’s beaming at you so widely that it’s almost ridiculous, but he seems so vivid and joyous while he maneuvers your limbs, and it causes broad laughter to bubble up from your chest as your body doubles over. it’s a pure, weightless type of laughter that leaves you, like the chiming of bells on the summer wind. it echoes over the music, and when tendou joins in with you, there arises between you both a new kind of song, whose story is found at the evening time when the world holds her breath. it’s a harmony that’s carefree, like the fall from an ocean cliff, like the breath that vanishes from your lungs and cries on laughter beneath the blue sky. it’s the feeling of your fears melting, and when your body finally plunges between those fireset waves, you’re wondering why you were scared in the first place. 

“that’s it!!” the excitement in tendou’s voice is infectious, his smile as bright as the sun itself when your fingers intertwine with his and your body finally moves on its own. here begins a dance between you two where he pulls you in closer, and when you pull away, your hands remain intertwined. an irresistible force that you can’t help being drawn to, that spins you around his fingers and wraps you in his arms, all while eyes of the sweetest sunset promise you gold on your midnight sky. the feeling inside your chest is warm, sets through your body like a quiet buzz and it leaves you wanting more, so that the yearning you feel would only ever be satisfied by him.

your hand in his feels like a slow burning flame, and as the both of you are laughing with a song you create with each other, you realize that you’re no longer afraid of its heat.

taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue @waitforitillwritemywayout @mixxfi @shnnn

send an ask to be added or removed!! (also pls lemme know if i’m forgetting anyone? i think i got you all but just in case)

[goodlookingforagirl]

Oc-tober Day 6: Mask

I’ve written (but not published) a lot of interactions between Randy and his mother, but rarely from his mother’s perspective, so this is a unique approach for me! The connection to the prompt is a little loose, but after some revising, it turned out okay. 

Thanks for @oc-growth-and-development for creating this list!

Day 6: Mask

When Ilene’s sister called to tell her that Tom was dead, she didn’t gasp, or cry, or ask her sister to repeat herself. Instead, she had to ask, “Who told you?”

“The newspaper,” Clare answered.

“How did he die?”

“Natural causes.”

After everything Tom had done, natural causes seemed too simple. “He was only fifty-one.”

“You’ve been keeping count?”

“Honestly, Clare, you should know not to joke about him.”

“I’m not joking,” Clare assured her. “I’m just saying, I’m surprised you kept count.”

Ilene closed her eyes, as if it would bring her any peace. “I have to tell Randy.”

“Is he home?”

“Yes, but he’s leaving soon. For a friend’s house.”

“You should tell him when he gets home later. Don’t send him off with bad news.”

“I'm not even sure if it will be bad news for him.” Normally, hearing that your father was dead would be some of the worst news you’d ever receive. But Randy had never met Tom; he barely knew a thing about Tom. Ilene had made sure of that. And Randy never expressed much curiosity about his father, except to ask a few basic questions, which Ilene always answered succinctly: He’s older than me. He lives down south. You look a little bit like him, I guess.

“Nonsense,” Clare chastised. “A father is a father, whether you know him or not. This could really hurt Randy if you’re not careful, Ilene.”

“You’re right,” Ilene relented. “I’ll tell him when he gets home. I’ll wait up for him.”

“I wish I could be there to help you,” Clare soothed.

“Thanks. I’ll think of something. He’ll be okay.”

“Are you okay? I know this must be...complicated for you.”

“I’ve spent so much time trying to forget about Tom that I can’t answer that yet.”

By the time Ilene hung up the phone, she still had no clue how to tell her son. How could she possibly bring it up? Remember your father that we never talk about? Well, he died. And his family doesn’t know about you so you can’t go to the funeral, sorry. 

She didn’t miss Tom. After the way he treated her, it would take a miracle to make her miss him. But she still felt strange knowing that he was really gone. She had always wondered if he thought about Randy. As years passed, she had hoped deep down that he’d reach out and ask to talk to his only child. Maybe he’d regret turning them away all those years later and want to make up for lost time.

But Tom died a coward. And for Randy’s sake, that made Ilene’s heart ache.

She was still standing by the phone when Randy brushed past her, stopping at the shoe rack. “I’m going to Johnny’s,” he said without looking at her. “We’re going to watch TV.”

“We have a TV here,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“Johnny’s TV is bigger.” He was tying his shoelaces when he finally glanced up at her. Randy looked more than a little bit like his father: if he gained a few pounds of muscle and grew out his facial hair, he’d be the spitting image. Why does this all have to be so complicated? she thought to herself. Why couldn’t this family just be normal? 

“I don’t know when I’ll be home,” he added.

“Please be home before late,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

“Because I said so, Randy.”

“Mom, I’m —”

“Eighteen, which makes you an adult, I know.” She had to fight to keep her voice calm. “But please come home before late tonight. Please.”

“Is something wrong?”

What could she say? He looked so young right now, crouched down, looking up at her like he used to when he was a little boy. She couldn’t lie to him.

“We’ll talk about it when you get home,” she finally said.

“Am I in trouble?” “No, honey, you’re not in trouble.” She wanted to push him out the door so she could stop faking that everything was okay. Her mask was slipping more by the second.

“Okay,” he replied, unconvinced. He stood up, his six-foot-three towering over her five-even, and he didn’t seem so little anymore. He’s a man now; he can handle this.

“I love you,” she said, wrapping her small, insufficient arms around him, as if she could keep him safe with love alone.

“Love you, too.” He and his mother weren’t exactly huggers, and Ilene could sense his wariness, but he let her hold on for a moment before stepping back. “See you later.”

“Not too late,” she reminded him.

“I’ll do my best,” he sighed, already halfway out the door. Ilene watched from the window as he ran to the nearest bus stop, knowing that he wouldn’t be so carefree tomorrow.

“Dammit, Tom,” she muttered out loud. “Even when you die, you make things hard on me.”

[gallavictorious]

Do you think Mickey feels he got closure with terry?

Short answer and based on what we’ve seen so far: not really, no. Or rather: not yet.

Long (and I do mean really quite long) answer below.

Admittedly, writing on this topic now, before we’ve seen how Mickey deals with the aftermath of Terry’s death in the next episode, strikes me as a bit of a fool’s errand, because what we get on Sunday will (probably, hopefully) offer us more insight into how he feels about his dad and their relationship now. But I am fascinated with the subject, so I’m going to go ahead and indulge in rambling, though with the proviso that everything below is a tentative analysis that might well need to be revised once 11x09 has aired. As always, I’m glad of other people’s input, because I suspect I’m nowhere near done forming my opinion on this.

Before we start, I’d like to note that this post solely and specifically addresses how Mickey reacts to his dad and trauma on the show; it’s not a statement on how actual live trauma victims should or should not relate to their abusers. That really, really isn’t for me to say. Okay?

All right, then. Let’s get to it:

Following 10x12 I thought that Mickey was pretty much done with Terry; as far as he was concerned, that bridge was burned once Terry burned down The Bamboo Lotus, and even though they must have reached some sort of unspoken cold war type of truce (ie not actively trying to kill one another) Mickey seemed content to ignore his dad. No more asking for advice; no more helping out with various “jobs”; no more attempts at some semblance of a relationship, be it a cordial one or a murderous one. What we got in 11x06 didn’t really change that: seeing Terry thus weakened understandably stirred a lot of emotion in Mickey but both his choice not to kill his dad and his choice to eventually help him have arguably less to do with Terry or Mickey’s relationship to him, and more to do with what sort of person Mickey wants to be. At that point, he chooses to be a man stepping away from his father’s hateful legacy, wanting to be better than that. (And by God, Mickey dearest, you are so much better than that.) And that could have been the end of it, you know? That could have been closure of a sort – not in the sense that it in any way healed the wounds of the past, but in the sense that it signified Mickey finding a way to live with the hurt that allows him to move forward.

Now, we knew (from the episode descriptions) this wasn’t the end of their story, but I was still surprised by Mickey’s overt preoccupation with Terry in 11x08. This isn’t just someone doing the (more than) decent thing to be a decent person, this is genuine concern for Terry’s welfare – and while part of it might be tied to the ingrained idea that “family is family” and while Mickey is still very much aware of the fact that Terry is an utter piece of shit, it’s very hard not to read this as Mickey – once more, and probably without fully acknowledging it– being driven by a latent wish for his father’s approval, that need for connection. (As I’ve argued before, I think that’s why Ian’s not necessarily very enthusiastic about Mickey’s dedication, even though he thinks everyone should receive aid and even though he probably is quite taken with Mickey being so caring.)

But while I didn’t really see it coming, I do like it. I get why you’d rather have him finally and vocally and possibly violently denounce his dad; it’d be cathartic, surely, for a lot of people to see that. But to me, what we get feels truer to the complex push and pull of their fractured bond and is quite frankly more interesting to me because it is messy and complicated and unfinished. Terry is a nightmare; he’s still Mickey’s dad; the relationship between an abusive parent and a child is often highly complex, and I think the show has done a consistently good job of showing that. 11x08 is no exception. You might think Mickey should tell his dad to fuck of once and for all because Terry doesn’t deserve Mickey’s time or devotion (I mean, he really doesn’t), but I find it highly realistic that Mickey would opt for this instead now that it’s a possibility. (It’s relevant to note, I think, that Mickey only allows himself to approach Terry again when Terry is helpless and not in a position to actually harm him; Mickey’s ultimately in control here, and I think that’s very important.)

So yeah, I think Mickey is searching for something from his dad still, but I don’t think he quite gets it. Can’t get it, really.

See, I believe that Terry, to some small degree at least, regrets not having a better relationship with Mickey: that’s how I read “you’d probably have made a half-decent son”. However, his regret isn’t tied to any notions of “I wish I’d been better and given another chance I’d try to do things differently” but instead an expression of “yeah, it suck’s that you’re gay so I had to hate you”. It’s not an acceptance of responsibility or even a vague hint of being willing to change or to accept Mickey for who he is, and because of that – because Terry is not willing or able to change and because Mickey will no longer accept anything less – Mickey’s potential but unvoiced dreams of reconciliation cannot be fulfilled. (And let’s be clear: even if Terry did repent and changed and made what amends he could that doesn’t undo or make up for the damage he has done and Mickey has zero obligation to forgive him or spend even another second in his company.)

So it’s not enough – what could be? – but it is something. A grudging acknowledgment of Mickey’s good qualities, an admission that he is desirable as a son – or would be, if it weren’t for that one thing. :/ It’s recognition and rejection all wrapped into one, and I really like Mickey’s response: he makes it clear that he knows that he’s not the problem here and that he’s fully aware of what an evil bastard Terry is but that he still chooses to be there; chooses to feed Terry and find him a nurse, rather than scoop his eyeballs out or piss on him or use his mouth for a fucking ashtray.

It reminds me of a passage from the Swedish novel Beartown by Fredrik Backman: “She will hold all the power in that moment, but she will spare him. She doesn’t forgive, she doesn’t pardon, she merely spares him. He will always know it.” (2017[2016]:466, my translation.)

It’s remarkable too, I find, that Mickey doesn’t try to hide his hurt here: he allows himself to be vulnerable, to let his father see the pain he has caused. And Terry doesn’t pounce on it; he doesn’t scorn Mickey’s “weakness” or argue with his denunciation; he accepts the judgement and opens his mouth to accept the food without further protest, accepting – in that moment, at least – what Mickey chooses to give him. He concedes his loss of power and his dependance on the son he tortured and disowned. (But it’s not like he gives fully either – there’s no apology, no thanks, no actually asking for help: he just opens his mouth. It’s a lot for Terry, and I think we can acknowledge that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is an utter and total asshole – and I’m glad that the show didn’t have him do more, because that would have felt… unlikely to me.)

It’s such a small thing, and so far less than what Mickey deserves, but probably more than he expected at this point. In time I think it will be helpful to him, to have gotten even this much, but at the time of Terry’s death I’d argue that it adds to rather than lessens Mickey’s burden. Because it’s possible that this could serve as a bookend to their relationship: not a reconciliation but as much of peace as they’ll ever know – eyes lifted to momentarily meet across the abyss in one brief instance of seeing, and being seen by, one another. But going only by what we get in 11x08 I don’t think that this is quite it, and rather than Mickey (in the moment) taking this as the final word or where they stand I think that he – in spite of everything Terry has done – can’t help but think of this exchange as an opening, the potential start of something. Not sure it’s a conscious thing, or how comfortable he is with this notion, because of course he is still very angry with and hates his dad, but consider the way he keeps looking at his phone and insisting they check back in with the nurse: that’s not the actions of someone who has laid things to rest and let it go, that’s Mickey doubling down on being a concerned son and… Yeah. As things stand, I tend to think that he was hoping against hope that maybe, possibly–

And then Terry is dead and Mickey is left with all of his conflicting emotions and nothing to do with them. It’d have been easier, probably, if it hadn’t been for that tiny, tiny softening; that small flare of hope I think Mickey might be quite angry with himself for feeling, if he admits to feeling it at all. It’d be easier if he could just hate Terry, you know?

Now, we don’t know what Mickey would have done if Terry (and that’s a big fucking if) had ever indicated any actual regret. But whether Mickey would have wanted that opportunity to rekindle a relationship with his father or if he’d have used to spit in Terry’s face and spend five hours telling him why Mickey would never forgive him and felt nothing but hatred and revulsion for him, that choice was forever and finally taken from him.

However, I don’t think this means that Mickey won’t find closure; I believe he will, and I think – hope – that we’ll get to see some of that in the next episode. Because the thing about Terry not being willing or able to change means that he would never have been able to give Mickey what he truly needed anyway (and as mentioned, even if he did change there’s no undoing his crimes). It was always going to come down to Mickey finding a way to live with the scars; finding a way to make some sort of peace with the past (which doesn’t have to include making peace with Terry at all) and to let it be the past. He doesn’t strictly speaking need Terry for that and given what an asshole Terry is, maybe it’s actually easier to manage it when he’s not around to fuck it up.

So yeah. It’s not likely to be sweet or neat or even very conclusive – these things rarely are and recovery is a process – but I think that Mickey will get some closure one way or another, and I believe that in the end he’ll be glad for the tiny moment they shared just before Terry’s death, even if it’s a complicating factor now.

(It should also be noted that Terry isn’t horrible just as an evil response to Mickey being gay; he was plenty horrible to him and the rest of his kids outside of that too. Consider Mickey listing the awful things Terry did when Mickey was just a kid; consider Mandy telling Debbie in season 5 that she learned how to cover up a bruise form living with Terry. The attempted murder(s) and corrective rape and disowning Mickey was a result of Terry’s virulent homophobia, but he was an awful father long before he knew Mickey was gay. So even without the homophobia, there’d be a hell of a lot to hate him for.)

There’s certainly more to say on this topic, and I think that we’ll have reason to return to it come Sunday - but for now, that’s most of my thoughts, I think.

[hunnybadgerv]

Confession | Far Cry 5 - Leah Rook

Summary: The confessor of Eden’s Gate finds himself in the position of having to reveal his own failings to the Father.

a/n: This one kind of surprised me and popped up after the fact when I was revising Shattered Impressions for the first time before beta. I felt like I just wholly abandoned John in that trying moment. So, this kind of came together unplanned, but I felt like that given all things it was only fair that I see how things affected him as well. Thank you once more to the brilliant betas who took this and the other stories on: @chyrstis and @amistrio. You guys are amazing and I really appreciate you taking the time out of your own schedules to help with this.

Link: AO3

(I know this was revised last summer, and beta-ed around the same time, but I had not gotten back around to it ... shamefully. I figured since I could only right now wrap my head around revising that it should be one of the things I focused on.)

Confession

Crossing the yard to the packed dirt drive, Joseph Seed slipped his arm under John’s shoulder and lifted his younger brother back to his feet. John’s blue eyes just stared after the blur of a screaming banshee that was Leah Rook. His eyes watered and struggled to focus on any one specific thing. If ever there a person could fit the description fit to be tied, it was her at that exact moment. She railed against the sheriff and his deputy as they hauled her, bodily, down the driveway and finally forced her into the farthest of the vehicles. Of those watching from the white-washed farmhouse, only John knew precisely why she reacted as she had. And her ire wasn’t just about the house she grew up in or the land that had been in her family for generations.

John Seed’s gaze remained fixed on the blue and red flashing lights as the squad car sped down the drive, spewing gravel as it carried Leah Rook away from what had been the Rook family ranch. His hobbling gait migrated him to the fence and he rested his weight against it as his head spun.

Joseph held a handkerchief out to him. “You’re bleeding, brother.”

John took it. His head pounded and he couldn’t produce enough saliva to wash the coppery taste of his own blood out of his mouth when he bowed his head to spit over the fence. A stream of red poured from his nose, with no sign of ceasing.

“I think it’s broken,” Joseph told him.

“Probably.” He’d heard and felt the crunch when Leah punched him.

They stood there in silence. John knew the reason why his brother stayed silent, why he waited. Leah’s reaction and John’s own behavior. Both were revealing, especially to a man as attuned to human nature as the Father. Plus, it was likely that Joseph had heard every accusation she spat at John on the back porch before she kneed him in the groin. He still didn’t feel like he could catch a proper breath, which was only hampered further by the fact his newest injury restricted him to breathing through his mouth.

He coughed roughly, spitting again, and staining the soft green blades of grass red. Joseph stood beside him, with a single hand resting on John’s shoulder. The weight of it bore down on John immensely, making hiss guilt curl through him and cause him to feel small. Perhaps his brother still carried faith in him, despite his proven weaknesses and tendency to falter.

“I apologize, Joseph,” John said finally.

Joseph said nothing.

John knew why. An apology was not a confession, and he was guilty, a sinner. He had been weak and let it happen—leapt headlong into sin,if he were totally honest. It mattered not that, in the moment, the time he shared with Leah felt nothing like a transgression. With her, things felt right, natural, even though his reasonable mind knew that neither God, nor the Father would see his behavior and maybe not even his feelings in a similar light.

The confessor of the Project at Eden’s Gate also knew that had it been his choice, their romance would have continued. Even if she had not ended their relationship in so many words exactly, there was no doubt in John’s mind that anything that had existed between them was no longer. Even if her accusations had been baseless, her anger was not misplaced.

“I asked for her phone number after the brunch in May. We’ve spoken regularly since. Shared coffee together on occasion. Another time, she invited me to her home for pizza and a movie. I also flew her home from Helena once. We stopped on the way for dinner, and got caught by the rain.” His voice was flat, like it came from someone else’s mouth as he spoke about it.

Joseph sighed.

John could tell by the mere sound of it that Joseph knew there was more, but he struggled with the admission. Lust and greed cost him a lot of things in his life. This was yet another that he could add to that list.

“And the two of you—”

“Yes,” John said plainly before Joseph could even finish the question. Lowering his hand from his face, John turned and looked at his older brother. This was the man who had found him at his most degraded, shown him another way, and given him purpose.

“It wasn’t like before.” The words flew from his lips, though even John wasn’t sure if it was an explanation or merely a justification of his actions. “She was different from the others.” He tried to find a way to explain what he felt with her, and for her still, that could make sense to his brother. “It wasn’t merely about the act; it wasn’t just sex. I …”

John shook his head, then bowed it, bringing the blood-stained cloth to swipe at the blood flowing freely once more.

“We were only together that way the once.”

His mind wandered back to that afternoon as he closed his eyes. He could see her standing there soaked to the bone but smiling in that way that made his heart tighten in his chest like it might never be able to beat properly again. The ghost of her touch burned across his skin and the echo of the way she’d said his name in such intimate ecstasy filled him with a rush of emotion. Shame quickly doused the sensation with cold guilt.

“God forgive me,” John whispered.

A hand tightened on his shoulder. “He does, brother. He does.” The embrace caught John off guard, but no more so than when Joseph rested his forehead against John’s, offering comfort as his brother cradled the back of his head. “We must be strong. We are examples, even in our failures. You will have to atone.”

John nodded against his brother’s forehead. “I will. Publicly,” he added, feeling his transgression as deeply as his heartache. He had dared to care for her, battled his baser desires in a search for something more real. Maybe it had been an illusion, he told himself. A fabrication drafted merely to excuse himself for when he would inevitably falter.

“That is not necessary,” Joseph said.

“I know.” John swallowed, gagging on his own blood.

“You should have someone see about that nose.” Joseph leaned away and gestured to one of the members working around them.

John just nodded once more, keeping his eyes focused on the ground not far from where they stood. Self-reproach sagged his usually strong shoulders beneath the weight of his actions and the knowledge that he’d disappointed the Father.

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” Jacob chortled when he approached. His hand landed heavily against the back of John’s neck.

Raising his gaze to meet Jacob’s, John’s shoulders sank further under the weight of that meaty palm, though the tight squeeze offered some comfort. The oldest of the three of the Seed brothers then relieved the youngest of the handkerchief he’d used to staunch the spigot of blood that poured from his nose.

“Keep your head forward. It will bleed like hell again,” Jacob warned him.

John leaned back against the fence, gripping it tight in anticipation. His vision blurred and the sickening crack made his stomach turn, but the pain … the pain was welcome. A reminder that he was alive. Deserved punishment for his failures.

“Pinch here,” Jacob told him.

John did as he was told, teasing at the bridge of his nose gently, probing the sensitivity of the injury.

His brother tilted his head and smirked at him. “Probably going to end up with two black eyes, little brother. Guess it’s true what they say.”

“And what, exactly, do they say?” John asked, taking the bait.

“Dynamite comes in small packages.” Jacob raised his brother’s chin and inspected his face. “Little girl packs a hell of a punch.”

“That she does,” John agreed. His brother laughed once more and slapped John on the shoulder before turning toward the house. John let his gaze travel back toward the road.

The sheriff’s car still sat at the end of the drive. Presumably, he waited there in case Leah made her way back. Perhaps he hoped to head her off before any infraction could be broken. John silently hoped Earl Whitehorse would achieve that goal, if the situation arose. He loathed the idea of following through with the threat he’d made.

Even amidst the ache and throb in his face, he couldn’t fight off the fondness that swelled when he thought of her. She’d had every right to be angry with him, to accuse him of betrayal. He had drafted and brokered the transfer of her family’s land and property. All without telling her a single word about any of it, despite how close they had become over the last few months. In the back of his mind, he could still justify keeping it from her; attorney-client privilege held him to silence about the matter. Even so, it still felt like a weak excuse even as he comforted himself with that caveat.

Jacob hit the nail on the head though; Leah Rook certainly packed a punch. She left a lasting impression on John Seed, one that would far outlast the bruises she gifted him that day in her ire.

“That she does,” John whispered once more to the breeze unable to wipe the thought of her from his mind just yet.

[alottamoney]

Lisa again.I hope you have been well.

Tae loving jk more in the truest sense of this word has nothing to do with jk intentionally choosing to do so. Whatever I will say now, no one can provide any proof of that.Not even JK himself because feelings change,mindset change from morning to noon to afternoon. This is just my thoughts thinking about the way things have happened. 2 things are important here. The importance of BTS to JK and V's depression.

JK has spent more time with BTS than his own family.His puberty, adolescence and youth have been shaped by bts. Compare it with V and Jimin.They were already a teen when they joined bh.The hyungs were late teen. The way BTS was JK's home,the hyungs' perception of bts do not compare in the same way.JK's has an extra emotional weight added to it.When he says bts is family, I am not sure about the others,but JK means it,and not just Tae.

That aside, lets dive into Tae's depression that came to the public light in 2020 after all the members decided to write all at the same time(?) uplifting messages to Tae about him 'being down recently' ,where as his depression was actually in full public display starting from 2018 Fake Love era. He was spiralling into the darkness day by day. Judging by how his change in mood became prominent after the new contract took effect in June 2020, and judging by the immense circumstantial evidence of him wanting to consider to leave bts in 2018-19, I would deduce his depression was partly linked with this which occupies a large portion of his life. What a coincidence that it perfectly coincides Taekook's tumultuous hot and cold relationship during the same period.

Now starts the "what I think" part. I think....I asked myself why would Tae be so deep into depression that it was visible to the public?Was there no one(Read Jungkook as he is the closest to Tae emotionally) who he could talk to or open up? If I followed this thought then the answer was no, he could not. Either, JK was largely unavailable emotionally, or Tae himself did not open up, or JK was so busy he did not have enough time. All of them stem from them not being on the same page about something.So what did Tae do?He started going out. Entry of Park Bogum.In Feb 2019, Tae was seen publicly with Bogum,on 2019 June 16, Tae went out to celebrate Bogum's Bday by drinking wine, at the same time Jungkook made a Vlive drinking wine and spitting out some iconic lines.The summary is Tae was bonding with friends but he still was depressed.A lot of jikook happened during that time, probably just jungkook shit talking Tae going out every day and oh boy the song recommendations from them both!!Beyonce-"I know you don't care too much ,but I still care" and Air Supply-" And I don't know how you do it,Making love out of nothing at all" and Air Supply- "All out of love"...The final blow came when Tae went away to vacay with wooga squad for weeks and Jungkook was hiding in twitter,whenever Tae made a post, he revealed himself like a genie. Whatever their problem was during that time, it was connected with the contract and staying with bts.Around that time news were reported that BTS members are revising their contract with their own lawyer.I am not too sure about the date and year so don't quote me on that.This is the most plausible and realistic reason. Other unrealistic reasons could include they were cheating with other people which they were not because their relationship was not cold throughout.It was hot and cold.They actually continued acting very intimately.

Family could be a reason, but if family was a reason, tae and jungkook would be on the same page. It was something that Tae could not resolve by sharing with jungkook,hence his sadness kept growing. Jungkook may have thought he could be saving both bts and his relationship but he was so loaded with work that there was no time.

Now if I try to psychoanalyze Jungkook then I can ask -why he did not choose his relationship over the betterment of the group if he loves Tae so much,which he does? A very complex question.The simple answer would be people are rarely one dimensional. JK too is not. Jin in 2018 speech said he is thankful to the members who hold their heart. I, in one of the previous asks mentioned about the story about a galactic princess and sheepherder,which is JK's recommended story to read,he thought of it as being very romantic. Combine with that sensibility his natural drive to excel at everything.People like that are never satisfied with doing less. The situational separation was much harder for Tae to get accustomed to than it was for JK simply because their attachment to BTS/the members are different. That's why JK is always mindful of serving BTS best even at times at the expense of his own relationship;aka hurting Tae, most probably because he wanted Tae to understand and thought of Tae as stronger than he is when it comes to Taekook. I think if you read the lyrics of My Time, you get a sense JK realizes some of it were misjudgement on his part about Tae being able to handle being away from him for the group's sake the way it was expected of them. I get the feeling that Jungkook is learning to manage now.That's where the hypothesis comes from, that while Tae is only and only JK focused, JK is trying to manage both ,right now 50-50. That's why when Tae's actions may not be in bts's best interest, instead of going the previous route, he tries to meet him 60-50.I have no doubt if Tae really left, JK would have followed, but not without trying his hardest to make him stay.Speaking in Business way,right now, BTS without any 7 will lose its appeal massively.Maybe before it was different.The hyungs know this. And if things remained the same, tae would have u-turned no matter how slow the speed was. Jungkook has a role to play here.

I am not saying Tae completely changed his mind about leaving.I do not know his mind right now.But Jungkook is catering to Tae's wish and BTS'interest at 60-50 because they are interwined,as every member is with bts's future legacy.

It is kind of funny to think that when the hyungs wants Tae to do something, they let Jungkook handle it because Tae is not going to listen to them once he made up his mind---this is just funny to think about.

Lisa anon,

That is a lot. I'll share my thoughts in the next post.

[ariannjs]

ROLE PLAY | A SasuSaku FanFic One Shot

Late for these! But here’s my fic for SasuSakuSara Weekend 2020 Day 2 (In Another World/Connected Feelings) and #SasuSakuTwitFest2020 Day 6 (Marriage / "Idiot! We're married.") | @sasusakusara2020

Here's a maaaajor revision of one of my first fictions back in 2009 for a different ship. Ya gurl cringed on her old way of writing, HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Hope you enjoy this!

-A

–––

“Come on, dear. Please stop..."

She just wouldn't.

"Papa! P-papa!" She would just repeat that all over again.

Sakura paced towards Sarada’s crib, planning to carry her with the hopes that her tantrum would subside. But the moment she reached out to her—

“I want Papa now! Please, Mama!" She croaked with her tiny voice. "I miss Papa!" 

The Uchiha matriarch almost fell on her knees as her daughter continued to cry out.

She sat on the bed beside her crib and leaned near her. If only an explanation of many words would be understood by a three year old. "Sarada, sweetie...Papa isn't coming home."

"Why, Mama? Why?" Little Sarada paused, but her tears were nonstop.

Sakura looked away. She struggled to find the right words, trying to think of an excuse about the rash decisions that led to their current situation now. She pinched the bridge of her nose. It shouldn’t have come to this, to the point that their daughter would be affected.

“Sweetie, just...calm down, please."

Sarada stared at her with glassy charcoal eyes, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and then she cried, “Mama, I want Papa here! Here! Here!"

Her heart clenched at the sight, she had never seen her baby this hurt. And what pains her the most was the fact that it was because of her and Sasuke. 

Then, the idea finally settled in...

“Okay, okay. Calm down."

Sakura got her phone from the table on the other side of the bed. Her hands were shaking; her tears almost coming out. I didn't have to do this...

She didn't have to go to her list of contacts anymore just to look at his number, besides she memorized it, just like how she memorized every single detail about him.

She took a deep breath before pressing the call button. One ring, two rings, three rings...no answer. She cancelled, and then called again, with much conviction this time. It was actually difficult for her to concentrate as Sarada's muffled cry continued to fill the room.

"Ssh..." She told her, as if that would make sense.

"Hello?" Oh, gosh. What am I going to say? Sasuke finally answered his cell phone. It was apparent that his voice was serious, angry even, because who in their right mind would call someone at 2AM?

"Uhmm...good morning, Sasuke. Sorry." She paused. "But this is...this is about Sarada."

"Huh? What happened to her?" There was a noticeable change in his voice, from an angry husband to a concerned father. And it was enough to calm Sakura's nerves as she continued to speak with him.

"She just wouldn't stop. She—"

"P-papa!" Sarada screamed.

Sakura’s head fell on her hand. There was no point hesitating now. "She wants you to be here, Sasuke." Tears trickled down her face, but she kept her composure for she didn't want to sound like she’s crying. I didn't want to see him yet...

There was silence on both lines aside from the ringing cries of their daughter. Sakura didn't know if Sasuke's still on the phone. Every tick of the clock increased her anxiety about what Sasuke might be thinking at the moment, for she didn’t want him to think that she was using their child to force him to come back. They both needed this space after all.

She heard him sigh after a moment, "Okay. I'm coming over."

"T-thanks," she muttered, and then hung up.

A sigh escaped her lips as she turned to check on Sarada again, whose cries have finally subsided into hiccups. "I'm sorry, baby. Just wait a little longer."

Sakura stared at her, realizing for the millionth time that she and Sasuke were able to create such a beautiful human being. Sarada’s face resembles hers, but her hair and her eyes were the same as Sasuke’s, making her the spitting image of her handsome father. There was no question to that. Never will she be able to forget her husband after all, whatever the circumstances would be. Besides, she didn’t want to forget.

Moments later, she then heard a familiar sound of an engine stopping in front of their house.

"Wait here, Honey," she said as she made sure Sarada’s crib was locked. The kid was still in tears, but she had high hopes that it would change in a little while.

Sakura went downstairs to open the door, but before that, she glanced at the mini monitor of the CCTV camera for their front porch, just to make sure it was Sasuke.

"Thanks for coming," she said, avoiding his face as she opened the door. There was no response. "She's in the bedroom."

Sasuke went straight to their bedroom with her following suit. It didn't matter anymore if her anxiety about what Sasuke might be thinking was reaching its peak right now, as long as her baby would finally be happy after crying her heart out for hours.

"Sarada?"

"Papa? It's you! Papa, it's you!" Sakura finally felt relief at the sight of the apparent joy on her daughter's face. Sarada was standing on her crib now, with her arms raised expectantly towards her approaching father.

"Aa. It’s me." Sasuke instantly carried and embraced her tightly. "I missed you, Sarada." Well, it's been more than a week.

Tears streamed down Sakura's face once more, but much thanks to Sarada's bib that she was holding, she was able to wipe it away before Sasuke even noticed. Ever since Sarada was born, it always warms her heart seeing Sasuke with their child. There was no doubt that Sarada was precious to him, that’s why it hit differently seeing him with her again after what transpired weeks ago.

Sarada has completely stopped crying now, but her face was still wet with tears so she went near her, with her face towards Sakura as she wrapped her small arms around Sasuke’s neck. Her father soothingly patted her back.

With the bib on her hand, Sakura wiped her face and smiled at her, relieved that her baby is now relaxed in her father’s secure arms. 

The young Uchiha returned the smile before slightly pulling away to face Sasuke, she said, "Papa, please stay..."

Stunned, Sakura took a step back and waited for her husband’s response. She couldn’t see Sasuke’s reaction for his back was towards her, but she did notice the halt of his hand’s movements.

Sasuke remained silent, causing Sarada to start tearing up again as she stared at him. "I don't want you to go again, Papa." 

"Sssh. Don’t make that face." He wiped Sarada’s tears through his thumb. "Your mama's here, there's no need for you to worry."

Sakura almost scoffed. There is, Sasuke! If I were the baby, I would really tell you that I need you for you are my father!

Then the hissy fit began again. "But...but papa...I want Papa here! I want Mama here! I need papa and mama here!" She exclaimed, catching both her parents off guard.

Sakura noticed that Sasuke tilted his head to glance at her. But her gaze fell to the floor, knowing that it’s still up to Sasuke if he would finally decide to go back home. He already got the space that he needed, but Sakura wasn’t sure if the kind of space he really wanted was long term. Her heart constricted at that thought.

Sasuke sighed after a moment. "Ssh. Okay, okay, don’t cry, Sarada...we'll be here for you," he whispered.

Whether that was true or it was just a trick, it was thankfully effective in calming Sarada.

Sakura went outside the room and proceeded downstairs to give the father and daughter their time with each other; when suddenly – Oh, God. Thank God Sasuke is here! – she saw from the bottom of the staircase that the knob of their front door was visibly shaking.

She silently walked towards the locked door and glanced at the mini monitor by the wall which she has left turned on when Sasuke came. She then gasped. A guy in black was on the other side of the door, with his face covered with black cloth too. As he continued to try opening the door with whatever tool in his hand, Sakura darted to the bedroom, totally terrified.

She took a deep breath before she spoke, "Sasuke..."

The head of the family glanced at her with confusion written on his face. When he noticed how Sakura's face turned even paler while she pointed downstairs, he gave Sarada to her and instantly went to their first floor.

Sakura then talked to Sarada, "Honey, I need you to keep quiet now, okay?" The little girl nodded as she embraced her much tightly. "Mama and Papa's gonna be here."

With Sarada secure in her arms, she followed her husband downstairs. "I-is he still there, Sasuke? I'll call the police now."

She received a nod. "Are the windows all locked?"

"Yeah."

"How about the back door?"

Did I lock it? Oh my, did I? There was a moment of silence until—

"Sakura!" Sasuke grabbed her hand in an instant and pulled her beside him.

Gasping, Sakura breathed heavily upon realizing that there were already three men inside their house, one of them was able to go through the front door. Thank God Sasuke's here!

"M-mama…" Sarada was already noticing the commotion. She then buried her face onto her mother's chest as the Uchiha matriarch hugged her tighter.

"It's fine, baby. It's fine."

"Papa's here, Sarada," Sasuke whispered. That statement assured even Sakura that she almost forgot that they were not exactly in good terms with each other.

Clearing his throat, Sasuke then spoke to the three strangers, "What do you want?" He paused. "Please...not my family. Not them, please," he added, now standing protectively in front of his wife and daughter.

"I asked you, what do you want?" Sasuke asked more firmly this time. And yet again, he only received silence from the other party.

Sakura's eyes softened as she stared at his back. To hear that he cares so much about them despite the tensions they've had made her heart full, as if it's been waiting to hear those words after a long time. But it wasn't the right time to be sentimental with the situation they're in now.

Only then did she notice that the invaders were carrying weapons. One of them was holding a long piece of wood, the other one had a big knife, and the last guy who was from the front door had none; maybe his primary job was to open its lock.

"Mam–"

"Yes, Sarada…" There was a crack in Sakura’s voice but she wanted to be firm in front of her daughter. "Everything will be fine." 

One of the strangers stepped forward, the one carrying a piece of wood.

Sasuke tensed at this, mentally blaming himself for not having his phone with him. He also saw Sakura's phone on their bed, so they couldn't contact the police right now. As he calculated possible scenarios, he noted that it was too risky to move or attack, especially with the fact that the strangers could harm his wife and daughter. He clutched his fists as he turned to Sakura, eyes telling him things that he knew his wife would understand.

And indeed, she did. A stray tear escaped from her eyes as she shut them and shook her head. No. This won't be the end. This won't be the—

"Sasuke!" Sakura flashed her eyes open upon hearing a loud groan. Gasping at the sight, she was frozen in place as she watched her husband writhe in pain after being hit with the long piece of wood by one of the invaders. She didn't know what to do now.

"Pa–pa!" Sarada squirmed and began crying in her arms but she held her in place.

This time, Sakura faced the men. "What do you want from us?!" She forced her voice to not waver. "If you wanted to take something, you didn't have to hurt my husband like that! We don't even have much here! And you are scaring our baby!"

Sarada cried even harder despite not understanding what was going on.

Then, to her utter surprise, she heard them laugh…

The three invaders suddenly guffawed as they one by one removed their black masks.

With widened green eyes, Sakura felt as if a vein popped in her head when she finally realized who the men were. "What the—How dare the three of you!" 

Sarada stopped crying when she saw what made her mother shout. "Uncles!"

Sakura put her down and minded herself for a while, recalling the past few minutes that made her feel like her heart was going to explode. She was sure these three were their friends, but she wasn't quite sure now.

"Hey, Sara-chan!"

Gleefully, Sarada ran with her tiny feet. "Uncle Naruto!"

Naruto carried his niece as if nothing had happened. "You okay now?"

The little girl bounced in his arms.

Confused and still in pain, Sasuke tried to stand and welcomed Sakura's assistance to him. "What?! What's going on here?"

"Oops...by the way, sorry, Teme. I think that was pretty hard."

"Naruto Uzumaki! That did hurt!" He groaned. 

The three idiot visitors – invaders – continued laughing.

"Anyway, maybe you should change your door knob now," Sai said as he laughed, "and choose a better one, huh? I think that one is way too easy to open."

"This is not funny, Sai!" Sasuke exclaimed as he gave them a glare, trying his best to not punch anyone in the face tonight.

"Calm down, children," Kakashi instructed, still chuckling with a shake of his head. 

"Stop it! You scared us!"

"Too bad I did nothing, though," their former sensei added, not minding what the Uchiha matriarch said.

"Haha! But you did well in holding the knife, Kakashi-san!" Now Sai, who was usually emotionless, was losing control.

"What is this damn role play all about, huh? Didn't you even think that you might scare Sarada?" Sasuke interrogated, feeling a bit better but still assisting his lower back.

"Hmm...I think it's just that I want you to get out of my house already. A week with a married guy felt irritating." Naruto grinned and then turned to Sarada, "You want Papa here, right?"

"Yep, yep, Uncle!" She chuckled. And Sakura couldn't help but smile as she saw the corners of Sasuke's lips twitch upwards.

"This is actually for her, Sasuke, Sakura-chan," Naruto explained as he embraced his adorable niece.

"So what's the plan now?" Sai asked. 

Then the three of them stared at the couple, grinning like Cheshire cats.

Sakura met Sasuke's confused gaze.

"Remember your daughter, you're not kids anymore. Go, talk," Kakashi uttered seriously this time, pointing upstairs as if grounding Sasuke and Sakura due to an offense.

The husband and wife were frozen in place upon realizing that everything was planned behind their backs.

"Oh, come on. We're giving Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha their time of privacy. Go!" Sai nudged them to go upstairs. There was no escape now.

To her surprise, Sasuke began walking upstairs before looking at her with a smile. "I think they're right."

She smiled back after a few moments and followed suit, unsure of what was going to happen now that they were finally going to confront their situation.

They proceeded to their bedroom, leaving Sarada with her uncles so they didn't mind closing the door. They were finally on their own after a week. And for a moment, they were tacit as they drank each other's presence, uncertain about how to begin settling what they should have decided to settle on the same day their argument sparked.

It was rather awkward until they met each other's gazes, and then, they both laughed.

"Silly, right?" Sasuke commented while chuckling.

"Yeah. That whole thing was a mess!" 

When their laughter subsided, Sakura was finally at ease. Knowing that Sasuke was there all along was relieving. He never left them as he stood his ground to protect their family, that's all that stuck into her mind.

"Sakura," Sasuke soon paused and then held her hand, making her realize that she missed him so much more than she thought. "I'm...I'm so sorry."

Tears began brimming Sakura's eyes as she stared at her husband.

"I've been selfish. I knew I hurt you with my words but all that mattered to me was my own frustrations at work that day, to the point that I chose to have my space and leave the two most important persons to me." His dark orbs now focused on her seafoam ones. "Please forgive me, Sakura. I've been a stupid husband and father."

"No, Sasuke." Sakura squeezed his hand and smiled. "I had my own mistakes too. I shouldn't have nagged you and blamed everything to you knowing that you were already feeling so low about yourself that day. I should've been your number one supporter, but I failed in becoming that. I'm sorry. And I forgive you." She beamed once more.

"Thank you, Sakura, for everything. I forgive you as well." The corners of his lips moved upwards. "This would never happen again. Should we have another argument, I'm not going to let a long time pass and we'll deal with it immediately. Because damn it, I missed you." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I missed you and Sarada. I'm really sorry."

Sakura's hand moved to his cheek, she blushed when he leaned into her touch and slowly opened his eyes. "You're here now, Sasuke...that's all that matters."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Will you take me back?" He then pouted, causing Sakura to chuckle. Seeing that made him feel accomplished and gave his heart the warmth that he hadn't felt for a week.

"Idiot! We're married." She pinched his cheek this time, making him grin despite wincing slightly. "We just needed some space to cool down but that didn't change the fact that you're my husband and I'm your wife."

"Hn. Say that again."

"Eh? What?"

"That you're my wife." He now pulled her closer to him.

"I-i'm your wife…" Sakura bit her lip as a tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks.

Sasuke smirked at the sight. "This is what I missed the most." And then he closed the distance between them to meet her lips with his.

Moments later, they heard footsteps from the stairs.

"Whoa......" Three people, including their baby, were now in front of their room.

"Don't mind them," Sasuke whispered and then slammed the door of their bedroom as he kissed his wife again, making Sakura chuckle against his lips.

"Yay! Mama and Papa will both be here again!" Their Sarada shouted for joy on the other side of the door.

Her parents felt the gladness as much as she did.

So the role play was effective after all.

–––

May 2020 © AriannJS

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Sorry for the mess, lol. But your reviews would be appreciated! Check out my other fics also and let me know what you think :) Hope the SSS Weekend and SS Twit Fest are helping you cope better during this tough time! SS is here for you, and so am I!❤️

-A

[writingawaymylife]

Dance Around - Jump Forward Part IV - Finale

A/N: This bloody part has been through five revisions, countless energy drinks, and hours of Metallica editing sessions, but I finally think I’ve gotten it to a quality that it deserves - especially since it’s technically the ending of DAJF. I’m really grateful to everyone that has read this so far, I really appreciate the patience and support - it has literally made me so happy. Seeing the comments and people getting excited for it... Oof, it’s really made me so, so excited to write again. I really hope this is everything you guys hoped for, and maybe even a little more. K, I’ll let you get to it before I get soft and shed tears (gross). Love you all!

Ship: Higgs/Reader

DAJF Masterlist

Warnings: Near death experience (Higgs), swearing, a bit of soft served ice cream at the end.

_______

Everything he had ever built for himself was falling apart. One crumbling piece by crumbling piece, slowly turning to dust until there was nothing left in the ruins but remains of the one thing he had fought so hard for. He didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Resentment? Betrayal? Fear. That one he knew without a shadow of a doubt. 

He hadn’t felt this in a long, long while. Not since his last conversation with…

Higgs looked down into the sand his knees were slowly sinking into. Mind fading out and away from the voices of that fucking bastard Sam and that bitch of a woman Fragile. He felt sick. Too many emotions that didn’t fit underneath the terms “happy”, “proud”, and “accomplished”. Even when he had so much power, even when all the odds pointed his way, he would never accomplish anything in this pathetic life, would he?

He was bound to be the failure. The loser in the Endgame. He was nothing more than a tiny blip in the fabric of time and space. He was nothing. 

His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Each breath felt like he was sucking in nothing. For the first time in years, he felt his eyes burn. His eyes closed, head bowing even more as he tried to get some semblance of poise. He couldn’t do this, not now. Not with Fragile and Sam a mere few feet away from him. But the reality still crept into his mind and held his heart in a vice grip. 

This was his end. On a Beach, surrounded by dead, stinking fish and at the end of a gun, pointed by none other than Fragile. It wasn’t what he wanted - no, what he wanted was to be by Amelie’s side. Watching the world crumble and burn before the end dragged him down with it. He wanted to end knowing that he had some impact on this world and the next, that he had done something that was right. But, when looking back, he should have realized that it wasn’t in the cards for him. 

What did he really accomplish? What was it that he did that would mean anything in the end? The lives he had taken would have been for nothing. All that effort to weave this pathetic tale with Amelie to use Sam, would be for nothing. Throwing away his entire life for a cause would be for nothing. Pushing away the one person that had ever wanted to be with him for him would be for nothing.

How naive he was. An incompetent, powerless, obtuse man. He should have known. 

He should have seen this coming from a God-damned mile away. 

In the end, it was (Y/N) that seemed to appear the most in his mind. As they had for the past couple weeks. It hurt to think about them, shame and anger accumulating and overflowing in ways that had made him a near ticking time bomb.

What would have happened if he had stayed with (Y/N)? Taken that chance to fix the mess he had made. Even if it terrified him to admit whatever he felt towards them, he had a chance to form a connection that wasn’t based on power and manipulation. They were safe. A serrated knife that was never used against him, even when they were tempted. They were a haven that gave him much-needed respite from the crumbling world outside of that small bunker. 

They had risked everything in knowing and befriending him. If anyone had found out about (Y/N)’s connection to him, they would have been in a world of danger, their life ripped away from them in a blink of an eye, and they wouldn’t have been able to do a single thing about it. Yet they let him stay, let him carve himself a place in their life, and take up residence there. Then as soon as the both of them had begun to really become something, he ran away. Tore open a wound and left it there, untreated and bleeding. He couldn’t stop thinking about the shaky breath they had sucked in, the fear in their body and eyes when he had pressed he had appeared behind them, had threatened them. For most people, he didn’t care. But, in a disgustingly cheesy way that had Higgs’ upper lip lifting in disgust, (Y/N) wasn’t most people. 

Higgs didn’t regret many of his actions in life. What happened, happened and there was nothing anyone could ever do to fix that. But if there was one thing that would weigh on his shoulders as the void took him, it would be how easily he had thrown out his relationship with them. 

It was the sound of a magazine locking into place that brought him back to reality. Death, casting her shadow over him, ready to pounce. This wasn’t how he wanted it to end.

Higgs looked up. Eyes catching Fragile’s who were cold and calculating. She looked so unremorseful, and he could see there was a part of her that took pride in this. In knowing that the last face he’d see would be hers before he was filled with led. The roles had reversed, and now she was the one with the power. 

“So. This is it, isn’t it? The end of the line.” His voice was steely and rough, not a single sway as he kept his vocal cords in control. He pushed through the pain, sitting up straight as his aching muscles protested with pulls and stings. In the end, it wouldn’t matter, his pain would be gone in a few moments. And if there was one thing he knew, it was that he was going down with as much dignity as he could have. 

“I’m proud of you, for comin’ all this way for revenge. It seems that in the end we really did have something’ in common, didn’t we?” The butt of the gun was shoved into his face with just enough force to leave him light-headed and on the ground.  Blood was filling up his mouth yet again, copper taste overriding his senses as he spit onto the sand below him. His chuckle sounded weak, even to his ears, but he forced the shaky, sore smile onto his face. A liquid, thick and warm and most definitely blood, was seeping from his forehead.

“You never know when to shut up, do you?” Her voice, just like her face, was flat. Any spark of emotion he had seen before was gone, there was nothing there. No hatred, no anger. Only cold, hard apathy. 

He slowly got back onto his knees, digging his shoulder into the ground to help push him up, and fighting the grunt of pain that slipped from his lips. “Oh Honey, what else would you expect?”

The gun was turned in her hands. Stock pressed into her shoulder, and the barrel pointed in his face. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing just the slightest as she spoke. “Will those be your last words?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy and terrifying as he realized that this really was the end. ‘There’s no avoiding the inevitable’, as he always said, and, in the end, he knew that the idea would always extend to his death as well.

But he was never one for going with passive compliance. If he was going down, he would make sure he left a stain she would never be able to scrub off.

He sighed, shaky and thick, as he shook his head and looked up at her with narrowed eyes. A smile, sickly sweet and just as poisonous, crept onto his face.

“I hope ‘ya know that my blood will always be on your hands.” 

Fragile seemed shocked, eyes widening slightly as she looked over his face. For the first time in their brief conversation, he saw hesitation. 

He rolled his eyes, trying to feign as much boredom as he could as he looked up towards the sky. 

“Well?” He started, voice casual and disinterested. “Get it on with.”

The seconds ticked by, and, as he lowered his head and looked over at her, he could see the trepidation in her face. Eyes narrowed and jaw working, body shifting just slightly as if she was fighting with herself. 

He wondered, for a brief moment, if she was going to let him live. 

The gun, which had lowered just the slightest, was aimed back at him before he could really give the thought much attention. Whatever it was she had been fighting against, she had stifled. Fragiles finger was on the trigger. His eyes moved back to the cloudy sky. He sucked in his last breath.

“Stop!” 

Time seemed to freeze when the word broke the tense atmosphere. A voice he hadn’t heard in so long, thick with fear, relief, and desperation, had everything within him freezing just like the atmosphere.

No. 

His brain stopped. Heart skipping a beat. The breath left his lungs. He felt frozen, just like the atmosphere. Scared to even look in the direction of the voice. 

That couldn’t be them. They had told him they hadn’t Jumped in years. Hell, they said that they would never jump again! 

There was no possible way this could be happening.

“Oh. Fuck.”

He couldn’t handle it any longer as the words, now dripped with more terror than the first word, forced him to look over his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” His voice sounded ragged and breathy, lungs crying out for air as stopped working, and he caught eyes with the last person he had ever expected to see.

(Y/N)’s eyes made contact with his, and he swears he sees a look of relief and concern wash over their face as they look him over. Shoulders slumping with the slightest release of tension as they gave him this soft, reassuring smile. It took only a few seconds for him to see just how exhausted they were, bags under eyes and thighs shaking with the need to rest

“Higgs.” Their voice was rough and drained, lungs heaving as their hands slipped from their place by their head and they turned to look at him.

“Do not move.” (Y/N) frozen, eyes widening as they moved from his to Fragile’s.

“Don’t shoot!” Their hands were up. Breath coming out in short, barely controlled and quavering every few seconds, and body as stiff as a board as they turned their body so they were facing hers. “I don’t want to hurt you or anyone, that wasn’t why I came here, I have no intention of doing so.” Their eyes moved between Fragile’s and her gun, voice just slightly higher than usual. “Please, there’s… no need for that.”

Any fear he had felt for himself shifted with a sharp and freezing knife in his chest, trailing up his spine and forcing him to fight the reaction to tackle Fragile. He sucked in a breath sharply, brain working a mile a minute as he tried to comprehend what was happening, and desperately trying to calm his breathing and manage the terror at the idea of them getting hurt.

They shouldn’t have been here. Not after their last conversation, not after what he had said, and how he had threatened them. Why would they be here?

His eyes darted in the direction he had heard Sam and Amelie head in, and relief flooded him when he realized that they were too far away to have seen or heard the commotion. He could only catch a glimpse of Sam from behind a whale, though he hadn’t caught on to what was happening. 

He hoped the fuck would stay that way.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Fragile demanded, taking a small step towards (Y/N) as her finger slowly inching towards the trigger. 

Higgs felt powerless, eyes moving between the two as he tried to find a way to get the gun pointed anywhere else. He grunted as he tried desperately the get out of the rope wrapped around his wrists, a low growl in his throat as they cut into his skin. Fragile glanced over at him, but nonetheless kept the gun aimed at (Y/N).

(Y/N) looked just as scared and shocked as Fragile and he himself was, body shaking with adrenaline and fear as they tried to keep themselves from making any sudden moves. If they so much as took one step that Fragile didn’t like, all three of them knew that there would be a bullet in their skull. 

He was so powerless. 

Binds felt tighter than they ever were in this moment, digging into his wrists as he tried to tear them off or get his hands out of them. This wasn’t what he wanted. He could deal with himself dying, he knew that was going to happen, whether it was for or against his plans. But the mere concept of them getting hurt sent a spike of rage through him that had him nearly seeing red. No. No matter how many bodies he saw or created, the brutal image of them, on the ground, dying, was one that shook him to his core. He didn’t want to see that. Not now, not later, not ever. 

Fuck, why did they have to be so reckless?

“I don’t think it would be the greatest moment to share who I am-” They stopped when Fragile glared, an intimidating step and gun being pointed with more force than before. He hoped he knew Fragile enough to know she wouldn’t hurt them, but in this moment, when she was so ready to go against her set of morals to kill him, he wondered if she would let anything get in her way. “and I swear that the only thing that I want to do is get him out of here. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Higgs’ eyes widened. Out of anything he expected to come out of their mouth, that was most certainly not that. He didn’t need to be saved. He wasn’t saveable, he was a doomed man who was already reaching the end of his ticking clock. His life wasn’t worth risking theirs for. Not now. Not ever!

“(Y/N),-” The serrated edge in his voice was enough to them to look over at him, but he didn’t have enough time to finish before Fragile cut him off. 

“I can’t let you do that.” Fragile had taken another few steps forward now, eyes narrowed as she tried to gauge them out. He wanted to scream, panic overriding his system as the image of them, dead and bleeding out on the sand kept repeating over and over in his head. 

“Get the hell out of here!” He hissed, tugging hard enough to feel something pull tightly in his shoulder. He let out a groan, deep and low in his throat as he closed his eyes and managed his breath. 

“Did you not just hear me?” Their voice, a pitch higher and faster, ripped him from the throbbing in his shoulder enough to look over at their distressed and angered expression. “I’m not leaving without you. I’m trying to save you, dumbass!” He bowed his head, mumbling a string of expletives and insults as he let out a clipped and sardonic chuckle. Even with the situation, (Y/N) had still found a way to insult him. He could practically feel (Y/N) glare before he looked back up to see it in full effect.

“He isn’t yours to save.” 

They looked back towards Fragile. “But he’s yours to punish?” (Y/N) took a step forward as well, hands lowering slightly as they tried to work with Fragile. “I know he has done some horrific things, and he has hurt far more than he was healed. But that doesn’t give you or I or anyone other than Death the right to take his life away. He still has some hope, he can still be good. I still have hope. I have faith in knowing that he could be so much better than he ever was. Please. Do you really want his blood on your hands? What would that do?” They sucked in a deep breath, voice breaking in fear as they moved closer to him.

“What if you’re wrong?” Fragile’s voice was softer than it had been in the tense past five minutes, though it still held a serrated edge. Her head tilted and turned just enough to look at him. 

“Than I’m an idiot?” They kept their eyes on her. “Then he will be…” Their jaw clenched and they winced. “My responsibility. Whatever that entails. Just… please. Please don’t do this.”

The air felt suffocating. Thick and buzzing with more than just Chiral Matter and death. The beat of his heart, fast and heavy, filling his ears with the blood rushing sound as he kept his eyes on (Y/N).

They needed to get out of here. This was so stupid. 

“Take him. Before I change my mind.”

His eyes widened and he looked over at Fragile, eyes connecting with hers as she let the gun slip from its hold and rest against her hip. Fragile stood there for a moment, staring at (Y/N) who stayed where they were standing, before she walked around him, eyes moving from (Y/N)’s to his, as she leaned down and picked up his Chiral Mask and her bag. The look in her eyes when she stood back to her full height, was one he would never forget.

She turned and walked away, towards Sam and Amelie. 

No. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. 

(Y/N) was in front of him in seconds, knees pressing into the sand and thighs brushing against his as they cupped his cheeks. It took everything to take his eyes away from Fragile’s back and turn to look over at (Y/N), afraid that once he did everything would disappear. Their eyes, that beautiful inviting colour that pulled him in and left him breathless. Clear as day and just less than a foot away from his. Their thumb, gentle and with more emotion than he thought possible in the action, brushed gently against his cheekbone. 

His shoulders slouched, and eyes moving across their face as his breathing came out in short, light huffs. He couldn’t stop searching their face, looking for anything, a flaw, and warping, to prove that he had just finally completely, purely, lost it.

“Hey.” Their voice was so delicate at that moment. The briefest of whispers as they looked over his face. 

The warmth from their palms seeped into his skin, and, as the realization truly soaked in that they were here, for the first time in so long, he let himself melt into the touch. A laugh, thick and heavy, left his lips as he looked into their eyes, searching for the answer for their stupid decision. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” His voice was rough and thick, wavering slightly as he raised his brows. 

They let out a laugh, one that had his lips perking up into a soft smile as they shook their head. And tears, fresh and confusing him with the happiness they held, spilled from (Y/N)’s eyes.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Home. 

He liked the idea of that.

“Okay.”

[fandomsnerd]

Secrets from a Drowned Man

(cross post AO3)

Of all the ways he had thought about most likely dying, he must admit drowning had never made it to the top of the list.

Drowning, most of the time hadn’t even been on the list. Look, he has the basics of swimming down, and he doesn’t exactly spend extended time on any boats, so not drowning rather just felt like a given.

Particularly given the long list of other things around in his life he had assumed were very capable of killing him off long before water became an issue.  

 Evidently his list may require some revising.

There wasn’t supposed to be anything wrong with the water, no one said anything about the water.

It was something in the crypt they said. Something killing anyone who dared to get too close. So Geralt had gone into the crypt to deal with it.

And Jaskier was staying outside, in the graveyard. Alone. well, not completely alone, he supposes he did technically have Roach for company, but unlike Geralt he refused to sink to the level of desperation of talking to one’s horse.

The point is, they were outside. Where it was safe. Where he wouldn’t be killed and eaten by whatever monstrous being that was terrorising the town.

 No one had said anything about the water. They hadn’t even bothered to mention the stagnant pond, located just on the edges of the graveyard.

It was as unremarkable as it was unpleasant, water an ugly grey in the evening light, much too murky and deep to make out the bottom.

He’s not even sure why he went over to look, to peer down, into the muddy depths, using it more as a mirror to see his own reflection than anything else.

 Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t noticed anything, no movement, no shift, not even the faintest ripple offering a warning, before it had burst free from the depths.  

Webbed hands clutch the front of his doublet, he finds himself staring back, into dead white eyes.  

He only just manages to get out a somewhat concerned, “oh dear,” before finding himself quiet promptly dragged headfirst into the deep water below.  

 His world rather quickly narrows around him. limited, now, to the murky blackness, unable to see his hands in front of his face. Not that he tries to for very long, the dirty water stinging his eyes, he squeezes them shut tight, useless as they currently are.

It’s cold. Gods is it cold. Most of what little breath he had is knocked out of him by the biting shock of the freezing water. He doubts he will last long without a chance to resurface.

He is aware of hands, slimy and smooth, wrapping around him, tugging insistently, down down down, further into the depths.

He kicks out. Uncoordinated and desperate. Feels his foot connect with something, hands scrambling to find it as well, bat away the being currently attempting to drown him.

He kicks out again, but it seems to do little for him, whatever it is that has him in it’s grasp pays little mind to his kicks. He can feel his lungs, just starting to burn. He had barely had the chance to take a proper gulp of air before being pulled down, he knows he won’t last long if he doesn’t get free soon.

His hands find the attacker, uncoordinated punches and hits proving as useless as kicking had.

His lungs are truly beginning to burn when scrabbling hands happen to land on a face, an eye socket. A thumb drives into the eyeball, feels it pop beneath the force, the webbed hands loosening in shock.

 He yanks himself free. Desperate, lungs well and truly burning, screaming out for air. Pushes upwards. Gods, he hopes it’s upwards, hopes he hasn’t gotten turned around, completely disoriented, in the depths.

His head breaks the surface, gulping down a mouthful of air, gasping. He manages to stutter out a rather desperate cry of “help!”

Eyes still stinging he manages to get just enough of a look at his surroundings to realise with a feeling of pure terror that he has already been dragged a ways from the shoreline.

He manages another scream when something wraps around his leg. This time at least having the chance to gulp down a proper lung full of air before being pulled back down into the depths.

 Eyes snapping shut his world is reduced to inky blackness once more. He kicks out, the action actually half doing something now that the main grip on him was round his leg. The offending hand releases him momentarily, returning before he has time to make it back to the surface.

Hands wrap firmly back around his legs, torso, arms. Dragging him down. He twists, turning, tugging, trying desperately to pull himself free once more.

Blunt nails scratch against his skin, digging in. Long, thin fingers tearing at his clothes, ripping them open.

Distantly, part of his brain becomes aware of the fact that there appears to be more than just one pair of hands currently tugging him down.

 Even more distantly he thinks he can pick out the sound of splashing, a muted, distorted voice, crying out for someone. He doesn’t have the time to focus on it, the time to even attempt to try to make out the words.

His lungs are emptying quicker than he expected, quicker than he had hoped, already starting to sting.  

 Something hits him in the chest, knocking more of what little breath he had left out of him. His mouth opens from the shock of it, dirty water instantly flooding in. He gags, snaps his mouth shut the best he can, mud already stuck to his teeth, rough and gritty on his tongue.

He wonders if he will die here, alone in the murky depths.

Wonders what Geralt will think, returning to find him gone. Will the man know what happened, know he has passed, or will the Witcher assume he finally got sick of it, turned tail and ran, mid job and all?

 He wants to scream, knows he can’t. knows doing so would kill him. He kicks out, desperate, lungs on fire.

Something rough strikes him, cuffs him round the head. His head spins, a sharp pain exploding through his skull, mind completely disoriented, quickly losing any sense of direction.

 A hand wraps around his arm, tight enough to be painful, yanks him firmly upward.

The limbs wrapped around his legs and torso tug back in protest, yanking him back down. Refusing to let go. They wrap even more firmly around him, hanging on tight.

The hand on his arm tightens more, wrenches him up with a determined tug.  

 It works. He feels himself slide loose of the clasping and slimy hands.

He hears movement, as muffled and muted as it is. Feels the water swirl around him, something colliding with his body, knocking free the hold on his arm.

He tries not to panic, floating, alone, afraid, and completely disoriented.

He flails, desperate, trying to find purchase, trying to find the surface, lungs well and truly screaming out for air.

 Suddenly, a hand breaches the surface, cold air hitting exposed fingers,  

He kicks out, desperate, pushing in the direction he now believes is up, and by some miracle, surfaces once again, gulping down the clean air. He swallows down a mouthful of mud and grit in the process, coughing and spluttering, trying desperately not to choke.

Something finds purchase, wrapping round his leg once more.

 He screams, kicking out, franticly trying to get away. Feels his foot connect with something, the slimy hand sliding free. He tries to open his eyes, eyes stinging, vision much too blurry to make out a single thing.

Something grabs hold of his arm once more, a vice like grip, yanking him back and away, but not down, thank the gods, not down.

 The grip shifts, a strong arm sliding around his chest, keeping him lifted, head above water, pulling him back.

He wants to cry when he feels hard ground beneath him, feet sinking into the mud, half dragged, he scrambles onto the hard ground. Hands sinking into the dirt and weeds. He coughs, chocking, spluttering, spitting out mud and bile.

He gags, a fine layer of dirt and grit refusing to leave his mouth.  

 A heavy hand whacks him on the back, he choughs again, spitting up water. Blinks, rubbing at his eyes, trying to clean the mud from them instead. They still sting, an awful, burning pain, watery tears leak out to mix with the grime all over his face.

He finally manages to drag them open, blinking in the hope at least some of his site will return.

 His head, he realises, is pounding. A dull, radiating ache, beating like a drum within his skull. He bites back curses, tipping forward, eyes sliding shut as he hacks up more bile. The hand returns to his back, rubbing in gentle circles against him.

He groans, hand reaches out, finds a firm leg to hold to, use to keep himself propped up, gasping, exhausted, feeling as though he is still fighting for breath.

 Pries his eyes open once more, watery tears now well and truly streaming down his face. He chokes back a sob, daring to dab at one eye with the back of his sleeve. Slowly, his vision returns, blurry at first, before gradually clearing.

He realises he’s clinging to Geralt’s leg, arm wrapped firmly around it, as though still worried something will emerge from the depths to drag him back down. He manages a choked and spluttering, “fuck,” lungs still sore and aching.

Geralt grunts, awkwardly patting Jaskier on the back. He coughs again, sighs heavily, leaning against Geralt’s leg. The Witcher sighs, hand moving up to gently rub Jaskier’s shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Geralt asks, voice low and calming.

“…fuck,”

Geralt offers his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“I feel… half drowned. Fuck.”

Geralt hums, “drowners, that’s what they do.”

“Fuck.”

 “Can you stand?”

He takes a deep breath, sighs, nods, letting Geralt half drag him up, to his feet.  

He lets out another groan, tilting forward, head falling against Geralt’s chest. lets the Witcher keep him standing.

Geralt grunts, shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t push him away.

 He lets out another tired and exhausted, “fuck,” feels Geralt burry a hand in his hair, soft and gentle. He sighs at the feeling, so soft and comfortable. Breaths in, instantly gagging and stumbling back. Fuck, whatever Geralt was coated in was absolutely vile.

He retches half bent over, straightens just to catch another whiff of it, promptly retching again.

Geralt offers a dry chuckle, seemingly not minding the smell himself.

 He straightens up best he can, tries to ignore the wave of wooziness that settled over him, deciding to push through it, shake it off. Doesn’t miss the frown slowly growing on Geralt’s face.

“How are you Jask?”

He groans, so many questions, gods. How is he? He doesn’t fucking know. He goes for the practical answer, “tired… sore,” he sighs, looking down at himself, “I don’t think I’m hurt at least.”

 Geralt’s frown deepens. Fuck.

“…you almost drowned.”

“I’m fine.”

Geralt snorts, eyes flicking out over the now once again still water, lip curling.

“I’m just a bit shaken up, that’s all.”

 The lip curls further, into a pained half snarl, “you could have died,” the Witcher growls out.

“but I didn’t!”

“Dammit Jaskier, you almost died!”

 It feels like a punch to the gut. He almost died. He sucks in a breath, suddenly cold, feeling the lack of sunlight, the night air a cruel combination to his soaked clothing. He shivers, a chill settling in his bones.

Geralt doesn’t notice, eyes dancing across the surface of the pond, not daring to so much as glance over at Jaskier.  Geralt sighs again, heavy and uncomfortable, “I thought… I thought you had died.”

“…what?”

Geralt rubs a tired hand down his face, still refusing to meet Jaskier’s gaze, “I heard a scream and you were gone. I thought you were dead.”

 He doesn’t know what to say. Stumbles out some words, rolling disjointed and messy off the tongue, “yes- well, I’m- I’m fine.”

“…you could have died. It’s not safe, having you around.”

He sucks in another breath, no longer noticing the sting of cold air, nothing able to freeze him more than those words just had. He doesn’t know how to respond. Doesn’t know if he would be able to if he did, if he would be able to choke out the words around the heavy ball of emotions filling his throat.

He follows Geralt’s gaze, staring out over the water, trying to hide the fresh wave of wetness now stinging his eyes.  

 Geralt sighs again beside him, eyes finally flicking over to Jaskier once more, “I didn’t mean… It’s just not safe.”

 He bites out a harsh laugh at that, safe. When was anything ever safe, “I didn’t intend to be half-drowned- I was being safe! I stayed outside!”

“And you still wound up half dead!”

“What else was I supposed to do!

“…I don’t know.”

 He stops. Swallows, manages to choke out a question he needs answered, “would- do- do you want me to leave?”

Geralt stills, and for a second he thinks the man won’t answer, will leave the question hanging there, in the space between them. Souring the air with its implications.

The answer comes so quietly he almost misses it, “…no.”

Geralt sighs again, mutters out a half-felt, “fuck,” frown managing to deepen even further. “fuck. I don’t… know.” Geralt sighs, tries again, “I don’t want you to leave. But… perhaps that’s selfish of me to want.”

 “No. no, I don’t want to leave either, I want to be here.”

“You almost died.”

“But I didn’t… I… I didn’t.”

“No. But you could have.” Geralt groans, eyes falling shut, “you could have and that… fuck. I- was… I am… scared.” Geralt says it almost as a whisper, little more than breathing out the word, letting it slip from his lips into the still night air.

 Gods. If hadn’t known what to say before… “I… Geralt, I didn’t- I- “ he searches for the words, the way to say I was scared too, to say I can’t believe you would feel fear because of me, say how much it means to him, say I love you say something, anything.

“I’m not leaving.”

Geralt snorts, “Just like that huh?”

“Yes.”

Geralt chuckles at that, shakes his head, “good, good. I don’t want you to leave.” The Witcher smiles then, a small, slight thing, finally turning to look at Jaskier once more.

 Jaskier’s smile drops almost instantly when a flash of fear crosses Geralt’s face the moment the man faces him.  “Shit,” Geralt curses, moving briskly away to search through the one saddle bag they had brought, most of their belongings left in safety of the inn.

“what?”

“Your lips are turning blue. Fuck.” Geralt all but growls, searching somewhat frantically through the bag.

He almost wants to laugh, he had forgotten, in the mess of this, how cold he was, how tired and chilled and damaged.  Reaches up to touch his lips, they feel like ice, but then so do his fingers.

 Geralt tugs free a small blanket, he’s not even sure why they had it, why it was in there, not that it matters now he supposes.

Geralt wraps it round him tightly, pulling him into a close hug in the process, pressing their bodies together.  He gently lets himself rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. tries to ignore the stench of mud and blood and guts.

He sighs, feeling the warmth creeping back in “This is… nice.”

Geralt grunts, “it’s to keep you alive.”

Right. Keeping him alive. That was all.

He feels Geralt sigh, feels the heave of the Witcher’s chest, the hot breath against the back of his neck, before Geralt speaks again, quiet and uncomfortable, “but it is… nice.”

It is nice, he would be happy to stay there, let this moment stretch out, into eternity, just the two of them, shared warm fighting off the cold, world bright and clear in the rising moonlight.

But it cannot last.

He is cold and bloody. And by god does Geralt desperately need a bath. But perhaps he can take just another moment, another second, to just exist. Here and now, comfortable and protected.

 He tilts, daring to look up at Geralt, eyes noting each little turn and quirk of Geralt’s face. Wanting to remember it, remember this moment, categorise it away and hold on to it as long as he can.

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him, questioning but not requesting, not forcing.

 He’s not sure why exactly he does it. Perhaps it’s the last whispers of adrenaline, still strumming through his veins. Perhaps it’s the cold, the exhaustion, making him woozy, unable to think clearly. Or maybe it’s just the buzz, from hearing Geralt was scared, that Geralt cares.  

Whatever the reason he finds himself pressing in, pressing ice cold lips to Geralt’s.

The man doesn’t react to begin with.  

He has the time to think he fucked up. The time to run through everything that could happen next, Geralt yanking away, telling him he should leave after all. It would be justified; he would not blame the Witcher for such an action.

 Then Geralt cups his cheek, pressing back ever so gently, and he sighs, in relief, in comfort, in joy.

 They break apart slowly, when Jaskier’s shivering becomes too much to ignore, when he can stand the stench no longer, when they can bare too.

Geralt speaks, low and calm, “we should get you somewhere warm.”

He nods, not trusting his chattering teeth to manage a response.

Lets himself be bundled up onto Roach, fingers curling round the edge of the saddle, Geralt taking the reins, walking beside him, one hand resting on Jaskier’s thigh. Keeping him stable. Keeping him present.

Keeping him whole.

 Knowing it will be okay.

[kingjinxii]

five (Undertale meta fic)

A/N: tw sui ment In 2015 when Undertale first came out, I was heavily depressed. I wrote a vent fic about Frisk leaving the underground, experiencing heavy trauma as a teenager, and then returning so they could ask a monster to kill them. It was really dark, but...pretty well written. So, five years later, here’s my revision.

~❤~

You are fourteen when you crawl out of that hole in the ground, the one on top of the mountain where no one has ever returned. You stumble through woods and brambles, toward the fading sun and the lights of your hometown, just beginning to flicker on for the night. By the time you reach a familiar house, on a familiar street, teartracks cut through the grime on your skin and you can’t tell your parents why, not because of secrets, but because you’re unsure yourself. You throw your sweater and your jeans on the ground and curl up in your bed, exhausted in every possible sense of the word. Before you can remember what you’ve experienced, you’re consumed by sleep.

You are fifteen when you realize you’ve crawled out of one hole just to fall into another. High school is harder than talking with monsters, than dodging spears of light, than negotiating for your own life. Friends don’t come as easy, and they’re not as warm as butterscotch cinnamon pie, their smiles like glass, their own dark thoughts visible beneath a cheery mask. If determination is supposedly power, it takes all of it to make it through the day. You perfect your own smiles, don invisible armor, and find weapons to spit through your teeth when it comes time to fight again. On a particularly dark day, you write about what you expect for yourself in the years to come. Because humans, you are quick to realize, are much harder to fight than monsters.

You are sixteen when you retreat online, desperately hoping to find someone similar. The world is much larger than you could imagine, and while you’ve experienced cruelty, an anonymous face makes it grow. It’s a puzzle you’re unsure of how to solve, screaming into a pixel void when you realize nobody is coming.

You find one person, who seems similar, familiar but a stranger. When you mention monsters, they don’t flinch.

“I know them too.”

You are seventeen and the world may be larger, but it’s also bright and you love to bask in the sun’s rays. Graduation passes and you know where you want to go, who you want to be. It’s a new adventure at a new school, similar to your old one but jumbled. You’re on your own for the first time, and it’s exciting. You don’t forget about monsters, but you seem to start making new friends to guide you when it gets dark. You just didn’t expect them to snuff out your lantern so soon.

You are eighteen and you’re home again. You’re not a failure. You just have to get up again. That’s what your parents tell you, and what you keep trying so hard to believe. A memory of a monster strikes you when you thought your well of tears was finally bone-dry, and you realize how long you’ve been running in circles, but refusing to look around. It’s deja vu, constant resets that you keep digging yourself deeper into. What ever happened to your human determination?

You are nineteen and you tell someone. A group, in fact. They listen carefully, and although they don’t understand you entirely, that simple considerate act is enough.  You learn, through isolation, that it’s not enough to want to be heard if you don’t speak yourself. You keep reaching out, in person and online, and there’s connections hidden in plain sight, a solution to the emptiness in your heart that hasn’t left since you returned. You laugh, and you sob, and you sing, and you fight, but it’s raw and real, and there’s your soul again. Despite everything, it’s still there.

You are almost twenty, and you don’t know what you want to do with your life still. You have a vague idea, but first, you remember an old note you’d written years again, when you were empty and exhausted and you survived on the last sparks of determination you had left. You reread it, and remember who you were, and where you’ve come from, and how long you have left to go.

And you sit down at your computer and you write something to give to them.

You write about how the world is as merciful as it is violent.

You write about the kindness and pain of memory and the past.

You write about your actions and what you could have done differently.

You write about wanting to reset your life over and over again.

You write about Determination.

Afterwards, you fold it up neatly, put it in the pocket of your sweater, and head out for a hike.

You are almost twenty and you decide it’s time to fall down a hole again.

~❤~

Happy 5th anniversary to Undertale. I can’t possibly explain in words how much that game means to me. I listened to the orchestra concert and basically bawled my eyes out.

Keep living with Determination everyone.

[itssolonelyhere]

I dont know if you prompts or requests but can you do a Sakura or Joker being sick and the other having to take care of them from Tyaku and Queen? I like both versions of her from each and wonder how theyd react to it.

To be honest, I never gave it any thought. This is a good idea to flex my writing muscles and give me a break from the mountain of revisions I’m working on. I’ll give it a go and hopefully, it’s not too bad… I’ll do one for Tsūyaku now and when I’m done work, another for Queen of the Rhombus. If you have any more, I don’t mind doing them.

Tsūyaku – Sakura’s sick in bed when J comes back from a job.

It's hot. Too damn hot.

Sakura groans and tears her eyes away from the ceiling to stare out the window. The snow's still falling and it doesn't seem as if it'll stop soon. It's a beautiful sight that would have delighted her on most days, but she can't find it in herself to relish the view.

Green eyes watch the feathered crystals dancing in the wind, twirling around as it gently falls to the ground. It's a struggle to crane her neck up, hoping to see how much area it covers since she fell asleep. To her surprise, everything outside is pure white, leaving nothing untouched. The dead trees and grass, the bench where she likes to sit on to read, the van parked alongside the building, even the wrap-around porch. All blanketed by winter's frosty kiss and it's so dazzling that it's hard to look at for too long.

The darkening sky is still white, but she can tell it's getting late without rolling over to check the clock. Dropping against the mattress, Sakura lets out a shuddered breath and swallows hard. Being sick is a miserable experience that leaves her with nothing to do aside from mulling over everything that worries her. It's foolish, she knows, but part of her is still concerned.

Joker's been gone for a few days, which isn't unusual at all. Sometimes he stays for brief periods in the city for his 'job', but always comes back. Usually, it's with a cocky smirk and filthy clothes, yet on those few occasions that he doesn't… Someone ends up in the basement where he spends hours doing God-knows-what with his tools. The pinkette knows what goes on down there and it's not a secret, either.

That area is off-limits, especially to her, and Rocco is the only one that's alive who's seen it. If curiosity got the best of her and she took a tour, it will only haunt the pinkette's days and night. She doesn't enjoy that kind of 'entertainment' and Joker knows that. Snooping around might end up in a little punishment, but that's about it. Anyone else would be terrified at the thought, and rightfully so. Her discipline doesn't end with broken bones, missing limbs, or death.

Hearing the familiar stomping up the stairs, Sakura wants to push herself up the bed to greet him. Another trickle of sweat trails along the pale skin of her face from the effort, but she can't muster the strength to even sit up. It's pathetic to find herself in such a state, especially with her abilities. The pinkette can't remember the last time she was sick, let alone to this degree. With a strained groan, she gives up and settles into the mattress, waiting for him to burst through the door.

The doorknob twists and she peers over the fluffy duvet to see a tall figure standing at the threshold. Just as she expects, Joker looks like a mess as he stalks into the bedroom, leaving a wet trail of shoe prints across the hardwood floor. His purple trench coat has splotches of ash and dried blood, mixed with other substances she'd rather not think about. The greasepaint is smeared and missing in patches, revealing his tan skin beneath, with the rest weeping down his face. As always, J's hair is a faded, stringy mess that never listens to any commands, just like its owner. No matter when she catches him, he forever has the appearance of a wild madman.

And that's just fine.

Right away, his brow furrows when he notices her lying beneath the covers, unnaturally pale and sweaty. Usually, Sakura is busy doing something or another, whether it's reading or wrapped up in a craft. Not today. Those black pits in his sockets narrow on her as he shrugs off his trench coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. They make her want to shrink into nothingness, no matter how many times she gazes into them.

He moves to stand at the end of the bed, staring without saying a word. It's hard to tell if he's in a pleasant mood or not when it's like this. No one's better at keeping everything hidden than him, whether it's his thoughts, feelings, or intentions.

"I missed you…" Her voice is low and raspy, trying to suppress a cough working its way up. All-day the pinkette's been hacking up and the sensation of blades dancing along her throat won't go away.

The side of his mouth quirks up at her words, even if it seems like someone's tugging on it with a fishline. She knows Joker won't repeat it back, but it's his eyes that give him away. He always says they're the gateway to the soul and in the privacy of their room, they can reveal what his words won't.

"You're sick." It's not a question or guess, and she knows it. He can always tell when something's off or not right, no matter if she tries to hide it. They grew up together, and he's already seen it all, even if she's still missing pieces to their puzzle.

Sakura gives him a weary, apologetic smile, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. When he comes home, she likes to greet him and show how much she missed him, whether he disappears for a day or five. Right now, her aching muscles can't bear to even get herself up.

"Hmm…" Joker grunts and saunters off towards the bathroom and she almost calls after him. From the looks of his clothes, he can use a good shower, but those are trivial matters to him. Even if she wants to spend time with him, he's a busy man and has been gone for days.

Sighing, the pinkette leans back against the pillow and closes her eyes. Jack will come to her when he's ready and needs his space. Who knows what kind of shit-show he just pulled off? She might as well try to get some sleep and hopefully, this sickness will run its course faster.

'I need to get better soon. I'm useless like this.'

Something sopping wet and cold drops onto her face, jolting Sakura back to her senses. Sputtering from the water running down her skin, she reaches up in surprise and yanks it away. Joker's looming over the side of the bed and arches a brow, trying to hold back a cackle she knows is coming. Glancing at her hand, there's a soaking, wet rag he didn't bother wringing out.

'Fucking figures…'

"Keep it on your forehead, doll." Despite his expression, there's something playful in his pitch-dark, glassy eyes. When she doesn't move, he snatches the rag and folds it over, smacking it against her forehead. Beads of cold water trail down her temples into the pink hair strewn over the pillow and she bites her lip to keep back a retort. Most people would see this as being heavy-handed and crude, but she knows better. This is his version of care and it's the best he can do. This is more than she can ask for. It's the intent and effort that's appreciated, even if J's harsh with everything he does.

The cool rag feels heavenly against her heated skin and she breaks out in goosebumps from the difference. A breathy sigh spills from her lips and he smirks at the reaction.

"We're not done yet." Sakura finally notices what's in his gloved hand. A bottle of medicine and a spoon. She has no clue where the spoon came from and doesn't ask. It'll only result in a vague or arrogant remark, neither she wants to deal with at the moment.

Watching him fiddling with the cap, the pinkette can't help recalling all the times she did this in the past for him. Eight years ago, when his mouth was healing after being slashed open. He consistently kept tearing the stitches open, and they became so infected, yet he refused to go to the hospital. Jack was always so goddamn stubborn and never listens, even if it results in making himself suffer twice as long.

"Open up." The spoon is right near her lips, and she grimaces from the strong scent of the medication. It's dark red and reminds her of blood, but she'd rather smell that over this. Noticing her expression and distaste, gloved fingers pinch her stuffy nose, and she reluctantly opens her mouth. The nasty liquid runs down her throat as the metal clangs against her teeth, making sure she takes all of it.

"Don't spit it out or I'll have to punish ya." Joker pops his lips, ignoring the way she's kicking her feet around under the covers and the disgruntled noises eating away at the small amount of energy she has left. It's disgusting, and he knows how much she hates medicine, but she needs it. Sometimes people have to do what's necessary for the ones they care about.

"Gross!" She swats his hand away from her nose, letting annoyance overpower her exhaustion. If looks can kill, Batman would have one less chaotic problem to deal with.

"How 'bout ya just relax? Hmm? Ya won't get better by being a pain in the ass." This time, J doesn't restrain the cackle that's been building up in his chest. It's harsh on the ears, but Sakura finds it enjoyable and contagious, causing her annoyance to wane. She can never stay angry at him long, no matter what he does.

"That's my girl." He leans down and kisses the tip of her nose, leaving a red smudge behind. That only makes his fit worse, falling into hysterics. She never understands why he finds leaving greasepaint on her face so funny, but that doesn't stop her from smiling.

"Heh. Looks good on ya." Grabbing the rag, he wipes it off before dropping it back in place. She frowns at the water running down her neck, even if it feels good. J is such a weird man, but she loves him anyway in all his vicious glory.

Joker's eyes don't leave hers as he toes off his battered dress shoes and starts plucking the buttons of his green waistcoat. When he was standing next to the bed, she noticed everything's wet and cold from being out in the snow. If the pinkette wasn't so sick, she'd help take it all off for him and use herself as bait to tempt the clown into a hot shower. That's the best way to get him cleaned up, otherwise, he doesn't care about any of it. He'll go filthy for days without batting one of those heavy, shadowy lids.

"How'd it go? Did you guys have any problem with the snow?" Jack frowns after throwing his belt on the floor when the inquiry causes a coughing fit that makes her small body shake beneath the duvet. His lip curls up and she thinks he's about to snarl, but it doesn't come. Stamping across the hardwood floor, he clicks his tongue and throws the covers off his side of the bed and flops down.

For a moment, Sakura thinks he might be angry that she asked. Since the day they ran into each other, he never really liked talking about his 'job' to her but has been opening up a little more as time goes by. Sometimes he complains about a goon making a grievous error that Joker rectifies with a bullet or attempts to lure the Bat out from whatever cave he's been hiding in after Dent's death. The pinkette finds it all fascinating and exciting, even if it's terrible, but this is who Jack is now. He revels in the explosions and fires, all the mayhem and complicated plans.

"Shaddap if it hurts to talk." He grunts and slides across the mattress, dragging the duvet back over. Sakura shifts to look at him, watching the clown leaning his bare back against the headboard. The muscle in his cheeks twitches and he mutters something under his breath, but she can't pick up on it.

'What's he doing now?'

"C'mere." Despite telling her to come to him, he scoots over and the bed dips under his weight. Laying on his side, J moves closer until there's no room left. She knows he missed her, even if the words won't come out. Actions always speak louder and prove more than anything else. Sweet-nothings and heartfelt confessions are what most people yearn for, but Sakura would rather a man show her the truth than speak lies.

This is his form of care, even if it's gruff and obnoxious. Jack's violent, arrogant, manipulative, and downright cruel most of the time. However, it's those specks in between that’s saved especially for her that makes the rest inconsequential. The clown keeps her safe from the other monsters that lurk in the shadows throughout the city. They won't hesitate to rip her to pieces or abuse her ability, unlike this man. He likes the pinkette staying whole, even if their nights result in minor cuts and bruises in the shape of a large hand or long fingers. It's nothing she can't heal and they both have fun causing them. That's what happens when a man's rough in bed and he does it right.

Sakura closes her eyes when he buries his face in her hair, greedily breathing in her scent. J treats it like huffing in fumes he's trying to high from and never wants to stop. A hand slithers under the sheets and rests on her abdomen, drawing lazy circles over the thin fabric of her shirt with his fingers. He's been doing this more often lately, and she's not sure why but is worried he might stop if she asks. It's soothing and helps lull her into a peaceful state, letting all the worries from outside the bedroom melt right off her shoulders. Nothing matters anymore, except the two of them.

The small action elicits a groan from the pinkette as she leans her head against his chest, finding a comfortable spot. His skin is always so warm as if the fire he loves so much dances just beneath the surface. It's like having a safe, heated blanket wrapped around her that no one can get through. As long as she stays here, nothing can touch her besides him and the thought is oddly pleasant.

"Well, doll… Since ya asked so nicely and you're stuck in bed, might as well give ya some entertainment while I'm here." Sakura knows what that means. He wants to paint a vivid picture of his exploits from his excursion in the city, yet is trying to make it seem like he's doing her a favor. The showman in him enjoys the applause and awe he's able to draw out from her by giving every gory detail and miraculous feat, becoming completely smug from his ingenuity and perseverance.

"Great. I want to hear it." She coughs again and her voice is still raspy. He can feel her muscles jolt from each one as his fingers pulse against the flimsy material. The moment the fit stops, the pinkette jerks when he pinches her cheek, giving it a little tug to get his point across.

"I thought I told ya not to talk if it hurts? Hmm?" Glancing up, he has an exaggerated frown that almost looks like a wide smile from her angle. His tongue snakes out to prod the broken skin of his scar, waiting until she slowly nods before continuing.

"Good. Just re-lax and I'll tell ya all about my little run-in with the, ah, Bat."