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jjk-anime-horray · 3 years

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A Call in the Night

Dazai Osamu x reader x Oda Sakunosuke

Series Summary: While Dazai finally gets over the death of his friend and moves on with his life, he has to watch him unnaturally return into the world, and now he has to watch him turn twisted and into everything he hated in a way.

Chapter Summary: The Armed Detective Agency gets a call about an warehouse incident that happened in the middle of the night, and send two detectives to respond to it.

Notice: This fic series is going to have some dark themes in it so be warned, and in this AU Dazai and the reader are members of the armed detective agency, and this is a spiritual successor to “Late Night Tickets, and Meeting Him.” So I recommend reading that first even though you don’t need to. This is going to be a series!

Trigger Warnings: Blood, mentions of extreme violence, and description of illegal activities.

Getting a call about a mandatory and emergency investigation in the middle of the night, to be specific 2:32am, was something no one at the Armed Detective Agency wanted to do. So what's the most logical solution? Draw straws and the two people who draw the shortest are forced to go.

Unfortunately for you, you were one of the two unfortunate souls that drew a short straw. At least the other person who drew the short straw was Dazai Osamu, your coworker but most importantly the first friend you made in this city, so maybe you would be able to get a kick out of the bad situation at hand.

But when the two of you emerged from an alley to meet the crime scene at hand, that would by no means be the case because by the sight of the horror that layed out infront of you two it was enough for the both of you want to hurl.

Crime scene would describe the atrocity in front of as much as the phrases bloodbath and massacre would. No wonder this was an emergency for the ADA there were probably more than 30 people dead killed in various atypical ways.

First walking into the warehouse the most out of the ordinary sight would be a round wooden table with a duffle bag on it, but once someone took a closer look the rest of the ware house was completely empty other than the congealing crimson liquid that was pooling everywhere.

The five chairs around rickety table were matched with four bodies of executives of some sort laid face down on the table or dangling of the chairs.

But the most appalling sight was what was inside the duffle-bag, you were wishing it would be something tame like left behind money, however, much to your displeasure, they where severed off human heads. That by the looks of it were cut off with some sort of serrated knife my the edge markings.

"What are you thinking (Y/N)?" Were the words that Dazai spoke to snap you out of your spiraling train of thought. "I sure as hell am thinking this isn't the way I would have wanted to go."

"I'll have to agree with you on that one, this shit is something right out of a cheesy crime or horror movie.The only thing I can think of is the heads were a message of some kind to the people who were sitting at the table, and either the person at the empty seat with accomplices who killed everyone or are the only survivor, but it could be either. Were you able to identify anyone bodies or do you recognize anyone?"

"I don't recognize anyone, and most of the bodies are too mangled to be identified, but everyone at the table is wearing a customized Rolex, so I suspect that they were all executives of a organization of some kind, probably an illegal on based on all the gun men that were probably guarding the meeting before they got taken out."

"The only lead we have is the Rolex I guess, so Daz, will you take one for reference, we can visit all of the watch makers in the city to try to find out who was the person who commissioned these watches to be made, and then maybe through that we kind find out who the soul survivor was."

"Agreed."

Honestly the two of you would have been a little more playful and chatty if the events that took place tonight weren't so gruesome. The two of you were used to having to see and do brutal things, but Dazai had this gut feeling that this wasn't the typical violent act, and things weren't as the seemed.

The brown eyed detective just wanted to go take a nap after this, which was something you also wanted to do after see all the blood. Deciding to leave the true start to your investigation for a decent time the two of you swiftly communicated with the responders about the potential situation at hand. Then left to go deal with is mess the next day.

Timeskip........

After a horrible night's sleep and about three cups of coffee you were finally able to be semi-functional, so then you decided to grab your partner Dazai after dressing to impress and make for the horrible mood you currently were in from multiple factors. Dazai was even in a worse state than you where, you found him at the trying to convince Kunikida to go on the investigation for him, which was ultimately denied by the blonde haired man. Also leaving you to drag the genius yet idiotic maniac out of the office.

Walking down the streets in-between visiting different watchmakers and jewelers, you noticed some was off each time your boots hit the ridged pavement. In particular something about Dazai, his face was contorted into a being in deep thought, not to be disturbed for any reason. It was so out of character you were going to ask what he was thinking about, but then opted out.

"I know you were going to ask what I was thinking, I am a detective you know." He said his face morphing into one not of deep thought but of cockiness with a smirk. Damn, sometimes you really loved and hated that smirk, but right now you didn't know what to think of it. "I was just thinking of how now I know exactly who made the watches, and where is is for your information."

"Really who would that be? For my information."

"His name is Opāru Shokunin, he's done a lot of custom jewelry for Elise-chan and the port mafia in the past, but recently he's been doing a lot of foreign commissions for gangs and syndicates outside of Japan my word of mouth. When I first saw the watches I was initially reminded of how it looked like his handy work, but since the first three places we've visited were a bust, i'm confident it's him."

"Alright Mr. Mic-cocky, lead the way by all means." You scoughed lightly.

Unfortunately for the two of you, your desired destination was all the way across yokohama, so you had to hail a taxi which you knew you were going to be the one paying or it. The icing on the shitty cake was that you got stuck in rush hour traffic, so, the total time until arrival was three time longer than it should have been. At least you got dibs on the radio choice.

When the two of you arrived at your desired destination you now witnessed a normal looking office building, unfortunately, there was no elevator so the two of you had to work your legs up three flights of stairs to make it to Opāru's workshop.

Before you went in however you whispered to Dazai "how do we know he's even gonna be willing to talk to us?"

"He's going to be willing...."

"Why?"

"Simple you're gonna pay him."

"Um no you're going to pay him because I payed for the cab!"

"Um no."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"You realize I can hear you two bickering right?" was the raspy voice of the man you were looking for that ended your whisper argument. He was actually younger than you expected, about 38, but he looked older than his body by his eyes, the eyes of someone very worn out. Which would explain the smoking. "He's right i'll talk if you pay me, just come in before ya give everyone else a headache."

The two of you swiftly made your way into the working man's shop room. The room was a lot nicer than you thought it would be, and a lot lighter too. The man possessed a very nice view from his wall because his wall was almost completely filled with by windows. Dazai did mention something about the craftsmen liking natural light in the cab on the way here, so it wasn't too surprising and really lightened the room up.

You followed Dazai to the two chairs across from the white tufted sofa that Opāru was already occupying. Then Dazai placed the watch and a thick wad of cash on the coffee table separating the two parties of people.

"Oh, so you're here to ask who paid me to customize this for them? No surprise there they were particularly nasty."

"How where they particularly nasty?"

"I'm pretty sure that they were doing things even nastier than the port mafia, like taking kids of the streets and shipping them off."

"So, supposedly by word of mouth were human traffickers."

" Yeah, supposedly, but I didn't ask when the guy approached me."

"The guy?" You reconfirmed.

"Yeah, the guy, he had this weird tattoo on his wrist. The guy's name was Zinnnnnng, THUMP.

The two of you didn't even have time to blink or create when the bullet zipped through the head of the craftsman from. The crimson liquid from his head pooling on the couch were he was just alive a few seconds ago. The blood seeping into the fabric like the disparity of situation into Dazai and yourself.

Glimpsing out middle window now tainted with a hole you see the silhouette of the person responsible for this.

Dashing up without a second thought you sprint to pursue the culprit of the murder that just took place infront of you. Eyeing your target through the broken window.

Ahhhhhhh! Okay I’m literally really proud of how this came out! I’m really hope people like it. I’m really new to writing full fanics so if any experienced writer is reading this will you please give some pointers, that would be very helpful!

-Ellie

#anime #weeb #x reader #manga #platonic #romantic #bsd fanfic #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd au #bungou stray dogs au #fanfic #fan fiction #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #oda sakunosuke #odasaku x dazai

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roseymess · 3 years

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hii! ig it will be too late while i send this 😭 but i'd like taking part in the game! I want to know random things about my future spouse (like look, personality, his message-) -> DR & 🤠💕🥺

for your future spouse:

i got straight away, that they are a very generous and grateful person! I get really warm, nice vibes from them but i also get, that they have also a really strict look. They know how to set boundaries und choose the people they want to hang out with. I got, they are pretty spiritual and know how to protevt theirselves. As a partner they are very giving and loving. They are good listener. Your person is def a keeper. 🥺

i got brown hair and black hair, maybe they change their haircolour often or just have darkbrown hair lol. I also got fluffy hair. They take good care of theirselves, know how to dress well and they know that they look damn good. They don't actually care what other thinks about them.

their message for you; "I want you to take care of yourself and take three deep breaths, everytime before you choose a decision. Trust your intuition more"

thank you so much in forward!! take care🥺💕

Omg?? Thank you so much😖😖 I hope to meet my fs soon,he sounds like such a dreamy and happy man💞💞💞💞🥺🥺🥺I love the reading,and yes,I will definitely hold onto us💓💓💓💓

For you:

Looks:

Tall

Blonde/Brown hair

Chiseled cheekbones

A little stubble/clean shave

Tall,like very

Tattoos

Very intense eyes

Blue or green eyes

Straight hair

Abs, definitely a defined body,like 8 pac🤯

Reference for looks.

Personality:

OKAY,NOW THIS PERSON IS A DOM. You get what I am saying? There is a high chance that he is very rich,like very. He might have family business but decided to start his own at a young age. He might have been hurt a lot. Or it seems like right now,he is hurting and is in emotional pain. He is actually a very good businessman. He is prideful though. But he is a very good son,friend and brother? He might have a younger sibling. He wouldn't be open at first and you two would be awkward. But I feel like he will make you feel like you are on top of the world. He would be very patient in this relationship. He wants to understand you. He wants to be there with you. He might appear cold because he has been hurt. But he will be very loving to you. Awe,I want someone like him as well🤧🤧( I am shameless). Anyways,but I see him literally treating you like a Queen. Soft whispers,sweet kisses.

Message: You have absolutely no idea what you do to me. I want to keep you locked but it's you who keeps me locked. I want to kiss your pain away. Sleep well baby. I want you to take rest. I want to share your pain but right now we are apart. When we would be together,there shall be nothing but happiness and love.

Hope it resonates. Please leave a feedback 💞💞

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fallingstarnovel · 3 years

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Chapter Four

“Holy fuck!” Evan yelped, before running down the stairs and opening the front door. “Dude, you are fast!”

Ruth laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “It seemed like an emergency.”

“You’re not wrong,” Evan grumbled, before quickly ushering him inside. “I was going to apologise for the mess but I guess you’ve seen everything already.”

Ruth, to his credit, managed to look completely non-judgemental as he stepped over a pile of shoes and pizza leaflets. He waited patiently for Evan to close the door behind him before speaking.

"May I see it?"

Evan hummed and hawed for a moment, before sighing. May as well get this over with. He turned around and lifted up the back of his hoodie so that the tattoo was poking out over the waistband.

There was an intake of breath behind him. He felt a warm hand nudge his hoodie a little further up his back, being careful not to actually touch his skin.

"How bad is it," Evan said, full of dread. "Can you read what it says?"

Ruth hummed under his breath. When he spoke, he sounded like he was trying to be very careful. "Would you believe me if I said that someone put a curse mark on you?"

Evan laughed out loud, and looked at Ruth. The laughter died at the dark look in the other boy's eyes.

"Oh. You're serious."

Ruth nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, curses are..." Evan began, before stopping himself. There was no polite way to say "curses aren't real". "They're... Kind of spiritual, right? More based in belief than fact."

The dark look was still there in Ruth's eyes, but he did manage an amused smile. "You're a skeptic."

"I'm a scientist," Evan replied flatly. "Trying to be. Sorry. If you're one of those people who believes in magic and stuff, that's super cool, I'm not going to call it bullshit. But this is probably just a normal tattoo."

"Just a normal tattoo that appeared on your body without you noticing."

"I might have been drunker than I realised," Evan said hotly. "But even if someone was trying to somehow curse me by tattooing me, I'm not bothered about that. Curses are... um. Probably not replicable in lab conditions. I'm more worried about the fact that they managed to somehow jab a needle in me when I wasn't looking and do some of the chunkiest black work I have ever seen. So what does it say?"

Ruth's gaze skittered away. His pleasant smile was like glass. "I don't know."

"Damn it. You're sure?"

"..."

"So how do you know it's a curse?"

Ruth swallowed. He hesitated, before holding out a hand. "May I touch it?"

Evan said "yes" without really thinking about it. He realized his mistake as soon as he felt two warm palms come into contact with the small of his back, brushing along his skin.

Oh no. This was really nice. It had been quite a long time since he had been touched by someone. With a nervous laugh, he jumped away in shock at the electric feeling that rushed through him.

"Cold hands," he lied.

"Oh. Sorry."

That was his second mistake. There was the sound of Ruth blowing on his own fingers and rubbing them together to warm them up, and then the hands were back, except now they were hot and unignorable.

Idiot. Idiot fool stupid ass. He just invited this random guy over to his house and said "oh sure touch my back in a totally normal kind of way" and now he's making it weird, and poor Ruth was probably standing there like, what's this weirdo doing blushing like some kind of idiot because I'm touching his freaky new tattoo? His weird drunken tramp stamp? Just copping a feel of this guy's lower back like a spectacularly PG version of a freaky train groper?

God, he wished he could get his brain to shut up when he was nervous.

"... It doesn't feel like a tattoo," Ruth said after a moment. "It feels like a curse."

"A curse to do what?"

"It's a bad luck curse," Ruth said. His voice was strange. "Luck so bad it'll force you to..."

Evan stared at him over his shoulder. "To what."

"..."

"To what."

"But it is only triggered when, under certain conditions..." Ruth began before trailing off. "The conditions will not be met. There is nothing to worry about."

His smile was very reassuring. One of his dimples popped. It was incredibly sweet.

"You're sure?"

"I'm certain."

Evan tore his eyes away and sat down heavily on the couch, putting his head in his hands. "So some kind of spiritual nutjob has put a weird mark on my ass. Wonderful. That's really great."

"I'll fix this."

Evan looked up at Ruth in surprise, before shaking his head. "You can't just remove tattoos so easily. It's going to cost so much money to remove, and it might not even work. And it's going to hurt."

He sensed Ruth coming closer, close like he might reach out and touch. But he didn't. He was silent.

"... You think it was someone at the party."

"Yeah. Maybe. I don't think I had it before then, and I don't know when else I would have been drunk enough not to notice it happening."

"A curse mark can be placed with just a touch–"

"Dude," Evan groaned, throwing his head back, "it's not a curse mark, it's just a pain in the ass. It's a tattoo. And I have to deal with it. I wish I–" he groaned, and buried his head in his hands again. "This always happens. I shouldn't go to parties."

Thick silence again.

Ruth’s voice was gentle. His hand landed on Evan’s shoulder. "You didn't ask for this."

"But what if I did?" Evan said. "It's the not knowing that’s the worst. What if I did want this? But why would I... I never would, but who knows? Who knows?" He stood up suddenly. "That's why I have to find someone who was there and ask them."

“I can help you do that.”

“... you can? How?"

"I think I might know a couple of people who were there," Ruth answered. "I can ask them."

Evan stood up and grabbed Ruth's shoulders. "Please! Can you come with me to meet them?"

His expression turned sour. "I would prefer you didn't. They are... they're not good company."

"I don't care. I need to ask them. Please."

A long tense silence, and then:

"Alright. I will ask around."

Evan sighed and collapsed back on the sofa. "Thank you. Really."

"There's no need. Anything you want, I'll do."

He gave Ruth a weird look, tilting his head in curiosity. "Are you this charitable with everyone? You've been so nice to me."

Ruth's smile returned with a vengeance. Cheerful sunshine was practically flowing from every orifice. He said, rather carefully, "not with everyone, no. But you could say that it's something that sustains me. Being helpful, I mean."

"Huh. You enjoy being a good Samaritan, then."

Ruth nodded. In between talking about the curse nonsense, and the desire to help people, and the way he was a little – hm, intense, Evan wondered if he hadn't accidentally made friends with a very motivated missionary. Weren't Christians supposed to love thy neighbour?

Oh no, was Evan being indoctrinated into a fundamentalist cult? Was that why Ruth was being so nice?

"... Are you religious, Ruth?"

He hummed, seeming to think about the question. "That... is complicated. I guess so. But maybe it's more accurate to say that I... that I do my own thing. Are you?"

That did not rule out the cult side of things. Evan nodded, hiding his suspicions deep where they couldn't possibly offend this potential fundie.

"I do my own thing too," he said, deciding to be cautious just in case. "I just try to be nice and hope for the best."

"A good philosophy to have," Ruth said with a laugh. "Keep it. Well, I should probably go and track down the people at the party. If you want anything, you can call me whenever you like."

Hm. Way, way too nice. "I will," Evan lied, before guiding Ruth back to the front door. "Thanks again."

"It's nothing at all," were Ruth's last words before he left, bundling out onto the street and walking away.

Evan watched him go. Watched that bundle of curly blonde hair and a warm blue scarf grow smaller and smaller until it turned a corner and once again disappeared.

A few days later, Evan was waiting outside of his lecture hall, when someone suddenly stopped beside him. He squinted at them, finding their face oddly familiar. That long brown curly hair, the wide set of their shoulders...

Wait a minute, this was the person from the party who kept giving him shots! Sand! No - Ice?

“Rock,” said Rock, looking exceptionally nervous. Their eyes kept darting to the side. “From the party.”

“No, yeah, I remember,” Evan mumbled, feeling a little dazed. What the hell. They just suddenly turned up with no warning. “What’s... up?”

“You said you had questions,” Rock said quietly. They seemed completely different now from that night. Whereas before, they were loud and bouncy, projecting their voice across the music, now they seemed to be holding their arms close to their body as if trying to look smaller.

It was weird.

“Um. Yeah. Hey, let’s just...”

Evan stepped aside from the other students who were waiting outside the lecture, and Rock followed, until they were both in a slightly more private spot.

“Are you good?” Evan asked, because Rock looked very sweaty.

They nodded quickly. “I’m good. I’m chill. Look, whatever you wanna ask, please go ahead.”

Evan thought about it. This was his chance. He needed to make sure he didn’t mess it up.

“So... did I do anything weird?”

Rock stared at him in disbelief. After a moment, their gaze once again skittered around the place. “No. Not really.”

Okay. Good. He would just have to try and believe that. “Sweet. Okay. Christ, um. Did anyone at the party have a tattoo gun?”

Rock swallowed and shook their head. “No.”

Shit. “Are you lying to me?”

Rock’s eyes widened, and their back stiffened. “No. No, I swear. Nobody had a tattoo gun.”

“Were you upstairs with me when we were... playing a game?”

“I was.”

Nice! A witness!

“Did I kiss someone?”

Rock nodded.

“Who?”

“Ophelia,” Rock said hesitantly. “She kissed you.”

Ophelia... “Was she, by any chance, the girl with the black hair and the platform boots?”

“That’s her.”

Wow. Hot Goth Girl kissed him. Evan thought he would feel excited about that, but instead he just felt a little nauseous. He was so drunk. How could that have been enjoyable? Surely he was way too much of a mess for her to get anything out of it...

“Rock, can I have your number? I might have more questions if that’s okay.”

Rock suddenly looked a little panicked. “You’re not satisfied?”

“What? Uh, I guess? Look, you don’t have to, I just--”

“No, you can, you can,” Rock said, hurriedly pulling some paper and a pen out of their pocket and wrote down a number. “Here. And... please, look, tell him that I’ll do anything you want, okay? I’ll cooperate, I’ll behave!”

Evan stared at them. “Tell who?”

But Rock was already running away, visibly sweating.

Huh. Weird.

Evan kept throwing glances behind him as he finally trailed into his next lecture. He found it difficult to concentrate on the class.

Bad luck followed Evan around that week like a bad smell.

He dropped his phone while he was walking, and the whole screen shattered so bad that he could barely see what he was typing anymore.

Whenever he went walking, he ended up stepping in dog muck. He didn't even know there were this many dogs in the city. How come all the owners had suddenly decided to be lazy bastards who didn't clean up after their mess?

If he forgot his umbrella, it rained, and if he brought it, he lost it. And then it rained anyway.

But all of this wasn't so bad when he thought about it. At least he still had his health, and his lectures were still taking place, and anyway. He wasn't doing as much walking now that exam season was underway.

It was today. Exam day. One of the big ones. He had small exams all week leading up to this one, but this was the one he was most worried about.

Evan still wasn’t sure he believed in the concept of luck, but he figured that now was as good a time to start believing as any. He pulled out his favourite pair of socks from the drawer and decided that they were lucky. As he walked to the exam hall, he made sure not to step on any cracks.

He wasn’t sure that cracks would affect his exam score. Weren’t they supposed to break your mother’s back if you stood on them?

He didn’t take any chances. If he wanted to pass this exam, he couldn’t risk getting called out halfway through because of any back related medical emergencies.

He also avoided walking under any ladders, or seeing any magpies, or opening any umbrellas indoors. If avoiding bad luck was a game, he had the high score.

Evan was just across the road from the exam hall when he saw that strange flash of black in the corner of his vision. He turned on instinct to see the black cat he often saw around campus sitting on the pavement a little bit ahead of him.

The cat looked up and made direct eye contact. Evan stared. He stared so hard that he didn’t notice where he was putting his foot until it was too late.

There was a groan and the sound of old metal creaking, and Evan found himself stuck up to the knee in the rusty grating of a road gutter. He tried to pull himself out, but he was well and truly stuck.

Something honked. Evan looked up to see a truck racing towards him. It was okay - the truck was far enough away that it could brake long before it reached Evan. He hoped. He tried yanking his leg out of the gutter again, but it felt like something was holding onto his foot.

Lazily, he felt the swish of something soft against his hand. The cat jumped past him, before racing up the road towards the truck. It ran out into the road.

The drive had presumably already been stressed out by the sight of a kid stuck in the road. He was already honking his horn and slamming his foot on the brakes, making an awful screeching noise. The cat must have exacerbated the situation, because all of a sudden, the cab of the truck veered sideways as if the driver had just pulled a sharp right.

In horror, Evan could only watch as the side of the truck began to tilt. It leaned, and leaned, tires squealing, black smoke pouring from where they scraped along the tarmac. Cars beeped, people screamed, but nobody was close enough to help.

Evan was going to die here, he realised. The truck was rolling over, and it was going to squash him flat. He would die right before his exam and fail it. Why couldn’t this happen afterwards? Didn’t he study hard? Didn’t he spend all night revising his notes and memorising formulas?

All that hard work, wasted! If he knew he was going to die today, he would have spent last night doing something fun instead!

The sun suddenly broke through the clouds. Sunlight bounced off the wet tarmac and the muddy puddles at the edge of the road. Evan couldn’t even think. All he could do was watch.

A strong hand suddenly gripped his underarm and pulled. There was a horrible lurch as his leg was pulled free from the grate, his jeans getting shredded and a terrible pain running down his calf, and then Evan was being lifted up and out of the grate into someone’s chest.

A sudden flurry of movement, and Evan was out of the road. A mere second later, the side of the lorry slammed down on where he had been stuck. Someone screamed far away.

If he was still there, he would have been flattened into a pancake.

Someone laid him down on the pavement, gentle and kind. Evan looked up, dazed and dizzy with adrenaline, everything seeming too sharp and too clear. Above him, looking down with a sweet smile, was a boy with curly blonde hair. The sunlight hit him from behind and made his hair glow gold at the edges, his face cast into shadow.

Evan swore he saw two huge white wings spread out from the youth’s back, one tall and strong, the other held slightly lower as if it was injured.

“Ruth,” he gasped. “Ruth, you're...”

“Don't talk,” Ruth replied gently. “Just rest. I have you.”

“Hey... hey, kid! Are you alright?”

Someone was running towards him, one of the bystanders who had seen the accident. Evan closed his eyes for a second. The pain in his leg was unbearable. At least he wasn’t flat.

When he opened his eyes again, Ruth had disappeared. A random woman was hovering over him, asking him questions and sounding panicked, but he could barely pay attention at all.

Was that... real?

Author's note:

if you've managed to read this far, it's lovely to have you on board! i've had internet issues so i had to post this later than i wanted to :( but now it's here!

thank you and enjoy, see you soon :)

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hansolmates · 4 years

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jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried.

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now.

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung.

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police.

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact.

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions.

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.”

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back.

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either.

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?”

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing.

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.”

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure.

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly.

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos.

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.”

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan.

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone.

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?”

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly.

“Well, do you know where she is?”

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.”

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers.

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.”

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!”

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.”

A victim?

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.”

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he?

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest.

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up.

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days.

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?”

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge.

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.”

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.”

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do.

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand.

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace.

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home.

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life?

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went.

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well.

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands.

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.”

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.”

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.”

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it.

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you.

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you.

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees.

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.”

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole.

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.”

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much.

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.”

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them.

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.”

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.”

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.”

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.”

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.”

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.”

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out.

“So does your Jungkook do film too?”

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.”

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—”

“God this is so weird.”

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?”

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.”

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?”

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.”

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.”

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch.

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt.

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly.

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely.

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.”

“Done and done.”

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast.

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.”

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.”

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you.

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection.

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures.

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Will you… fall in love with me again?”

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer.

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.”

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.”

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.”

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time.

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face.

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile.

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.”

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.”

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

When you wake up, it’s loud.

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals.

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months.

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand.

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!”

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice.

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!”

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that.

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning.

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.”

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!”

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion.

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?”

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.”

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook.

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed.

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip.

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.”

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you.

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you.

#jungkook fic #jungkook angst #goldenclosetnet #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff

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syubub · 4 years

Text

SOULMATE READING- TAEHYUNG

First of all, sorry about the pic. Second is the disclaimer. This is a tarot reading meant for entertainment only. Thirdly, I decided to do each member as an individual post bc I think it's less hassle that way 💕

Okay

Okay. So. Wow.

I don't know where to start with Tae. His soulmate and him have the most ideal relationship. The cards for the relationship aspect is 100% soulmate vibes. I mean come on, the 2 of cups (soulmate card), 4 of wands (marriage) and the lovers all right next to eachother? Hot damn. They definitely travel together a lot and his Soul Bae might be a good entrepreneur? Idk but they are both financially set.

I think we should start with physical attributes first. I have a strong feeling that they will be naturally blonde or have blonde hair at the time they meet. The color yellow is also important (Taes energy is very yellowish gold to me. Coincidence?). I also get the sense that this is an old soul. May be older than Tae but definitely an old soul. A youthful face. Sort of fun yet intimidating look to them. They might have sharp features (specifically eyes which could be a grayish brown? Possibly even have heterochromia? Might have light freckles. Puts effort into the way they look but also just wakes up looking flawless. Might be from abroad. His soulmate might be very interested in France, have a very French aesthetic or lived in France. His soulmate is very much like him. Relatively tall? Modelish but unconventional, like kinda built, lanky, boxy. Strong legs. Wavy hair? Idk. A balance of masculine and feminine traits. The type to enjoy being fancy but also super down to play video games and can definitely out drink Tae. Definitely. Looks good in sweats lol.

onto how/where they'll meet. It might be when he is alone at a museum in France standing in front of a statue of Venus (It popped into my head and i couldn't not write it down) or perhaps when one party is traveling and they meet on a hike or in nature or something like that. Possibly even at a work function. As for when they meet. It is up to both parties to decide to come into union spiritually. If that makes sense? They both will be drawn to eachother when the time is right for them.

Onto this person's personality. Earthy influences. Romantic!!! Romantic. So romantic. Their love language is words of affirmation. This person is very chivalrous? Idk like this person is very gentlemanly? Like, they want to take care of tae and will open doors for him and stuff. Makes him chocolate covered strawberries. Also very intune to ~otherworldly~ things. Lowkey a psychic. Idk why but this person it like guided by Taes guides sometimes? Like, they'll just pop in. And like, when it's time for them to meet, Tae grandma will give him every fucking sign to be like, "THIS ONE!! THIS IS YOUR SOULMATE, KID!" (Also, topic for a different day but i have a mad feeling that Tae communicates with the dead, specifically his grandma, and that's why he trust/ relies on his "angels" so much.) I don't want to be insensitive or step on toes or anything but like Taes grandma probably communicates with Taes soulmate too? And like, I keep getting an image of Tae and his soulmate sharing dreams? Idk it's a lot. And I think I've said it before but Taes soulmate is... massive... like, energy wise. Theres almost like an archaic, out of this world feeling to this person and they have to be spiritual or imma shout. Like, this person. Is. Crazy. Idk what's up but it's almost like there's a wall? Like, I'm not privy to it because my small little fragile conciousness would shatter in its presence? Maybe a bit dramatic but there is a lot behind this person and their union with Tae. This person has been through a lot and might be closing an old chapter in their life when Tae comes in. This person might feel lost? Like, they have such massive energy but human life is stupid and confusing and they dont know how to channel energy into productivity? Might also fear abandonment and commitment so they have a hard time really connecting with people because they get attached easily and are afraid to lose them. An empath? Very creative and able to manifest pretty much anything. For archetype cards, I got: artist, shape-shifter, knight, messiah. Very very creative and can probably draw in experience from different levels of conciousness? Like this person is an artsy, spiritual Joan of Arc.

So. Cards about their situation are Soul Family and Inner Temple. Essentially they both need to awaken and call eachother in. They need to fully be themselves and just exist!

Cards to Tae from his Soul Bae: progress, not perfection, answered prayers, unconventionality, big bold vision, beyond the mind the heart beats, sacred fool.

Okay. His Soulmate is a funny one, I'll get to that soon, but also very genuine. Like this person wants to see him grow and Express full potential. Bae wants him to stop caring what others think and be weird! Theres stuff he doesn't talk about with other people (perhaps the fact that hes way more spiritually intune than most. Not by choice either though. He was born with this shit. He probably saw faeries as a kid and shit) Bae wants him to settle back and listen to his inner self and nurture what's already there. This is a line from the description of sacred fool, "Don't try to be appropriate, don't try to be socially acceptable and worry about what others may think about what you are doing-just be. If you want to wear a mad hat whilst doing so, fine." Bae wants him to have fun and do whatever the fuck he wants to do because Tae being happy is what's important. Like, if Tae went and bought a literal circus and was like, "this is my dream, its who I am" Bae would be like, "...are you sure?" And if he was sure, then his soulmate would double check everything, make sure hes safe and dive in head first with him. It's very supportive but also his soulmate is practical. Like, his soulmate wouldn't willingly let him do anything that would directly harm him or ruin his life, you know? This is his guardian angel. His love. His tried and true. One and only. It's ridiculous and they will have kids and a farm. Fight me on that.

I wanted to channel a message from his soulmate to him and I got a laugh, something about "our four leaf clover" "He needs a haircut" and, "Tell him he's dense but I'll love him forever in this life and the next. Forever."

Then I thought, well, Jimin is definitely Taes platonic soulmate so like Taes Bae and Chim have to get along and I got the cutest image of Tae, Taes Bae, Jimin and Jimins soulmate all sitting together in a garden drinking tea and laughing and all of their guides are watching them with smiles and the rest of Bangtan and their soulmates come into the garden with their soulmates and it's a cute Soul-party and now I'm super soft.

Theres so much to say about this soulmate union and really even just his soulmate because it's such a powerful energy and I think someday I want to do a part 2 for this because I have lots of questions. I feel like these two can have any sort of life together. Like they both hold the pen and are constantly writing and revising their life scripts. Also, I get the feeling that his soulmate is...hmm.. they give me the feeling that they might not exist? Like they do but at the same time they don't? Or maybe they're just like, deep. Like an onion. I'll put a pin in this for another time but it gives me a deep indigo type of feeling, you know? It's a whole thing. I'll do a part 2 for this.

Last comment. Taes Soul bae has great eyebrows? Idk why but that's a thing apparently.

TLDR

Tae has a fantastic soulmate who is impressively cool, they have the cutest life together and they are definitely going to live the cutest domestic life ever? Also, Tae probably wants to have 6 kids so each kid can have a designated Bangtan Godfather lol. Think artsy-museum-farmer-millionaires who have a house made of Gucci and matching rocking chairs.

Cute cute cute. Like I said, I'll expand on this later! Also, I apologize if it isn't very cohesive or doesn't make a lot of sense. I've been busy and my life is a little messy but I wanted to get this out!

Stay safe💜

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 3 years

Photo

Credit for 22-Jump Street 2014 Movie goes to Columbia Pictures & Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

Credit for Cuphead Series goes to StudioMDHR

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

it seems that scene is really REALLY popular by fans,

that it has become a meme....I just had to draw it.

sure I can’t make it into animatic, but this is just as good.

I do plan to post this at the other place I go to.

but I think I will wait until later to do it, maybe a hour or so.

the word “Patty-Cake” seem like a good word to put down.

playing patty-cake can be personal to toons.

so yeah I am using the word as a censor for the real word

that is used and well even if I have only seen little bit of clips,

and seen the animatic crossover of the Captain’s Daughter.

I hope to watch the full movie someday.

as for who the Angel (with demon horns headband on to hide the fact she isn’t a demon.) is in this drawing.

she is suppose to be Devil’s Daughter and King Dice’s Step-Daughter.

and no she doesn’t have a Mom,

and the Devil didn’t just create her on purpose.

ya see when a Soul, even a former Angel like Devil,

they can go through a fragmenting, where a piece of their Soul

will break off from their very being and make what is called

a newborn soul, if there are two souls about to fragment

a part of themselves then the two fragments will merge together,

making the newborn soul that is formed have two Soul-Parents instead of one.

so yes the daughter in this drawing

was born Soul-Asexually.

and I know I said this before

but I will say it again, that the Asexual Reproduction

should not be confused for the Asexual Identity,

even if you only use the word “Asexual”

and could mean one or the other, it is best to be clear so there is no misunderstandings.

speaking of identities, I wonder if it is normal to form

a type of Species Identity?

is it weird the other day ago

I started to think of myself being Demi-Human...?

well with the soul/spiritual heritage I have,

I guess I would still be a Demi-Human either way.

I mean try to hope that me having Vampire heritage was just a prank,

but my pendulum gave another Yes about it,

went Yes again when I asked if my spiritual heritage

is Earth Angel & Succubus.

well spiritual heritage is something you are stuck with for life,

even when you end up being reborn, it will be stuck with you for eternity.

at least I was given a No when I asked if I have werewolf heritage.

but it be cool if it did give me a Yes about that question.

it did give a Yes when I asked if my Older Brother has werewolf heritage, so if I had to guess, if he supposedly has it,

it would most likely be from his dad.

my pendulum did give a Yes when I asked if my Brother

has Vampire heritage too, and another Yes when I asked if it comes from our Mom.

so if my pendulum isn’t pranking,

that would mean that my brother is like Vampire/Werewolf.

well I know I wouldn’t want to go all drinking the same thing as the full vampires....no thank you.

plus I do like garlic sauce and find it really yummy,

and I have a reflection.

well, even if I am some kind of descendant of some unknown vampire

ancestor (unless it is my and Vlad The Impaler’s shared paternal ancestor, who’s two wives make us distant half-cousins.)

that would only be my biological heritage, my vessel form.

like I said the spiritual heritage is something you are stuck with...

for life and eternity.

at least I got permission to go live with the Divine Mother/Goddess

over at Earth-Heaven/Neo-Heaven...

because of what I am, I don’t think I would fit in very well...

I know one thing, if it is true that the 9 Circles of Heck

is in the 5th Heaven, then people might not take it very well.

I think I want to see that as a Fan-Headcanon for Hazbin Hotel.

of course it might only be Fan-Canon to a AU of it.

plus hypothetically let’s say that it is true

that the Circles/Rings of Heck/Hell is in the 5th Heaven,

and is in Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss.

wouldn’t that mean that Charlie doesn’t know that her subjects,

both demon-born and former human/sinner-demon,

are technically already in heaven, they are just in the 5th part of it,

but are inside a type of Ring Prison.

wouldn’t that blow one’s mind if that turned out to be canon.

but I don’t think that would be added into those two shows.

but it would still be good and interest for Fanon-AU use.

some stuff that fans come up and theorize,

wont always be canon to the series and that’s fine.

well Starco ended up becoming 100% Canon.

which I think if things turned out different, Star could of ended up with Tom because of that vote/poll.......pretty sure that had something to do with Star and Marco ending up together in the very end.

also while playing Yandere Simulator the other day,

I had figured out that it is a bad idea to take a ring...

cause if you don’t put it in Osana’s bag

or keep it and then try to leave Akademi,

you will get in big trouble, so if you are trying for a Pacifist Route

and only want to befriend Osana and try to get her to be with Kyuji,

then do NOT take that ring that you will find on the rooftop

next to one of those two purple haired sisters.

I had to start all over because of that, of course I still have the save where I fully beat Osana and it now says that the new rival is Amai.

so right now I have two saves, and in the new save I wanted to try to save Osana’s cat and try to get her and Kyuji together.

so far Kyuji has changed himself to look like Osana’s dream guy,

I just hope me leading him to the library and getting him to study,

had helped....

of course when I did help him talk to Osana while hiding behind a tree,

I had to re-send that letter to Osana and tell her about it again,

because when I was waiting behind the school, she was a bit late.

so yeah I had to leave the place and go and send the letter again

and then I had to tell her about it again.

interesting to know, that before I went to save her cat,

I got the blonde hair dye first (from using Ayano’s computer.)

and then when I ended up at the Stalker’s place,

Ayano’s hair was blonde, so that was fast.

and it was still nighttime in the game too.

I also decided to join the cooking club,

I think if I am a part of the cooking club it might make it more easy

to try to talk to Amai, at least I can only hope it does.

each time I tried to talk to her in my other save,

she just couldn’t and was busy.

in my other save I am in the Music Club.

when I make another save, I want to try to join a different club.

I am taking a bit of a break from playing the game right now,

I will play more of it later.

I do have a theory about Fun-Girl from Yandere Simulator,

I can’t help but think of her being a like Gaster.

I even did a crossover drawing of Fun-Girl and Gaster.

I will post it up on here too, and also post it over at the other place I go to as well.

anyway back to this drawing, it is a crossover

and it is a reference to that 22 Jump Street Movie,

which once again I hope to watch someday.

and yeah Cuphead is holding a cross, for obvious reasons.

Mugman is of course is still thinking and processing

what Snake-Eyes are talking about.

well we know how it will end up,

and Mugman is going to be very amused.

I don’t really feel like drawing that, so it’s fine that it is just this.

the OC in this drawing, in the role of the daughter,

might end up being a one-shot character...

if someone wants to do a continue drawing response to this drawing,

like make a short comic or animation of it, I guess I be okay with it...

but the likely of someone drawing a continue/comic version of this,

is perhaps very little and not likely to happen.

but at least I enjoyed drawing this.

I think sometime I will post a song I wrote a few years ago,

when I was in a very dark place, I was happy to find out that it survived

after what happen in March this year....

it is something I put some very personal feelings down in the song.

also it’s okay that not many agree with me having a species identity,

I mean if I am Aroaceflux, Gyno-Agender and Demi-Human,

then that’s just makes me, well, me.

even if it it did take me time to figure that out.

I just figured out this year on the Month of May,

that I started to see myself as a Demi-Human.

sometime I should draw three flags

that has to do with the Sexuality, Gender and Species Identities.

also I need to point out that I have added a certain site

to my list of Semi-Misanthrope.

first I want to say that I have nothing against Jesus,

but that Jesus-Is-Savior site.......

it is just....I can’t stand it, Rock’N Roll ain’t evil,

I mean there can be mature rock, but there are different forms of music.

and even if someone is homosexual or homoromantic,

outside the human body and at the core of the soul,

we may appear Masculine or Feminine, but the soul doesn’t have a biological sex/gender, and has no organic binary.

plus if a man did like other man in his present life,

were to be reborn as a woman in his next life and still like men in her new life where she is reborn as a woman,

would that still make her a homosexual...?

I think that truth would kind of make anyone think.

if when I do get reborn, I don’t EVER want my biological body

to be male....I feel more comfortable with the other, and if it takes me time to figure out I am Gyno-Agender in that next life, then it’s fine by me too....

I don’t know if the humans who dislike homosexuals,

really think about the logic that has to do with when a human dies,

if they become reborn into a different bio-gender/sex

they might still be attracted to the guys or gals that they were in their past life.

I hope my explaining about that doesn’t get misinterpreted.

I don’t like when my words end up misunderstood.

well small misunderstandings okay, but when it is big and ends up hurting feelings then that is really not good.

but yeah, I just don’t like the toxic stuff that is going on in that site.

maybe I should try not to worry about it.

right now I am listening to some music,

I’m listening to Agnes’s Don’t Breaking My Heart.

anyway, I’m just gonna hurry and post this

and then post that Undertale x Yandere Simulator Crossover.

hope some of you like this drawing,

and I hope some like how King Dice

is making the scary eyes at Cuphead lol.

once again I enjoyed drawing this,

I even drew wedding rings on King Dice and Devil’s fingers.

and them saying the same thing to both Mugman and Cuphead.

#22 jump street #reference #meme #Cuphead #devil's daughter #mugman #king dice #devil #cuphead x oc

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XII

The royal retinue and guardian split up in their respected groups. Noctis and Ignis went to search for the base's commander while Prompto, (Y/n), and Gladio caused a diversion. The blonde glanced between the two. "So, what's on the menu today for diversions?"

"The bigger stuff will make the biggest explosions. We'll start with any tanks or mechs," Gladio answered.

"That's great and all, but how're we planning on getting inside?" (Y/n) asked.

"You can carry two people, right?" The shield rebuttals with his own question.

"I think so."

"Good, because we're gonna find a hole in their patrol schedule and you're gonna carry us inside."

The spirit looked at the tall walls of Fort Vaullery. She wondered if she could jump to the top with two people on her back. "Guess we'll see soon enough..."

The trio watched the soldiers and MTs for a while before locating a place where they could infiltrate the fort without being spotted. (Y/n) transformed and the two boys climbed onto her back. She pushed herself off the ground and took note of the slight difficulty it was to carry two people. Her spiritual form was about the size of three chocobos and only really allowed for one person to ride on her back. She just mentally prayed she wouldn't drop one of them in her attempt to reach the top of Fort Vaullery's walls.

Getting a running start, the fox sped towards the fort. She leapt as high as she could and managed to land on the ramparts of Fort Vaullery. Watching the enemies' movements closely, she waited for the perfect opportunity to hop down to ground level. She carried Prompto and Gladio towards the area of the fort where they stored the energy tanks and mechs.

When they arrived are their destination, the two boys slid off the fox's back. (Y/n) reverted to her human form and glanced around the area. In the distance, she spotted the black car that had been following them earlier. "What a surprise..." She sarcastically muttered.

"What is?" Prompto asked, following her line of sight. "Oh..."

Gladio wondered what the two were looking at. Seeing the vehicle, his eyes narrowed. "Guess someone from the empire was really following us. But it's not our problem anymore. Let's blow some shit up."

(Y/n), Prompto, and Gladio got to work on their diversion. They blew up many of the energy tanks and mechs, grabbing the attention of the entire base. The two boys used their weapons to wreak havoc while the guardian used her variety of fire spells to destroy the imperial weaponry and the approaching enemies. Among the crowd of soldiers and MTs, she spotted a familiar pair of emerald eyes and spiky black tresses. She glared at Callyx as he pushed through the imperial forces, commanding them to stand down.

The girl, noticing Callyx has a sword in his grasp, placed herself in between him, Prompto, and Gladio. She summoned the Creator's Blade, eyes never leaving the man for a second. He came to a halt a few feet in front of her, scowling. "I don't know if you all are moronic or brazen for infiltrating this place in board daylight."

"You were the one following us. Why?" (Y/n) demanded.

Callyx raises his sword and points the sharp tip at her chest. "You're the spirit the empire's searching for-the conduit. I was convinced you weren't until I saw your blade. You've a lot of nerve lying to me."

"I only became the conduit after visiting the Archaean," she spat. "But why does that matter? You told me yourself you wanted to protect our people."

A wicked grin manifested on the man's face. "Oh, please. That was a bunch of nonsense. I only said such a thing to get closer to you, but it didn't work. You were guarded the entire time."

Her glare sharpened. "So then what's your true goal?"

"To kill the conduit."

(Y/n)'s grip tightened on the hilt of her blade. "Were you the one who killed the woman in Lestallum?"

Callyx chuckled. "Of course, but I only did so because of you. You are the reason she died. Her husband must've been devastated."

"You've got a lot of nerve blaming me. You're the one who betrayed his own people."

"Of course I did, and I'll keep doing it until I become the conduit. All I have to do is keep killing spirits until Brahma has no other choice but to choose me. With his power, the empire will be indestructible and no one will be able to stop them."

"You're a sick bastard," Gladio growled.

"Call me what you like. Just like you, I'm only serving my kingdom with every fiber of my being," Callyx scoffed.

(Y/n) swung her sword and forced the man to retract his blade from her chest. Without looking at her companions, she addressed them. "Prompto, Gladio, regroup with Noctis and Ignis. I'll handle him."

"Be careful," Prompto said. He, although reluctant to leave her, trusted in her fighting abilities.

Gladio also believed in her strength and didn't argue. "Don't keep us waiting too long, short stuff."

"I'll try to make this quick," she replied.

Prompto and Gladio rushed off. Callyx ordered his men to pursue them while he remained behind. He stared into the girl's golden eyes once all the imperial troopers and MTs were gone. "Are you going to hand over that sword or will I have to pry it from your dead body?"

"No way in hell you're getting this sword," she hissed.

Callyx sighed. "This would've been much easier if you knew who you truly were."

She couldn't help but laugh. "I already know the truth about myself, but that doesn't change my loyalty."

"But what about that boy you care so much for? Does he know the truth?" (Y/n) tensed, which caused Callyx to guffaw. "So he doesn't? A shame if he or the others knew who you truly were. Would they cut all ties with you? Or even try to kill you? I am quite curious as to what their reactions would be. Maybe I should tell them."

"As if they would believe you," she sneered.

"Very true." Callyx jammed his sword into the ground. "Enough chitchat. Let's fight like real guardians." His body was enveloped in a bright light. When it vanished, a black tiger with emerald stripes, black horns, and wings stood in the man's place.

(Y/n) didn't hesitate to transform. In her spiritual form, she growled threateningly at Callyx. She nimbly leapt to the side when he launched himself at her. His form was bigger than hers, which meant she had the upper hand in agility. She kept her distance from the emerald-eyed tiger, trying to think of a plan of attack.

Callyx used a lightning spell. A bolt of lightning emitted from his front paws and darted towards the fox. (Y/n) promptly used her tails to form a large fireball and used it to absorb the lightning. She then hurled the fireball towards the tiger, but he easily jumped out of the way.

The moment (Y/n) went to conjure a fire vortex, Callyx pounced on her. He tackled her to the ground and dug his sharp claws into her side. She cried out in pain, struggling against the tiger as his fangs sunk into the flesh of her back. Using her many tails, she wound them around his body and yanked him off her. Tossing him aside, she got to her feet. Blood seeped from her injuries, trailing down her side and dripping to the ground. She bore her fangs with a menacing growl, the white tips of her tails becoming engulfed with flames. Each one shot forward and impaled the tiger.

Callyx roared as the blazing appendages pierced his flesh and burned his insides. Although the pain was unbearable, he managed to fight through it and free himself from the tails. Before he could attack (Y/n), she had pinned his body to the ground with hers. Her gold-slitted eyes bore into his emerald ones as she snarled at him. She placed her paw against his front right leg and used all her weight to step down. She heard and felt the bone crack under her weight.

The tiger roared out in pain, but he was soon met with even more anguish when a searing pain overtook his right eye. (Y/n) had used the tip of one of her tails to burn his right eye, permanently blinding him. She leapt back, putting some distance between her and Callyx.

Reverting back to her human form, she pressed a hand against her bleeding side with a wince. Her golden eyes never left the tiger, watching his right eye bleed and his front right leg twitch slightly at the strange angle it was bent. She huffed out a chuckle at seeing his pitiful state. "Looks like you lose, Callyx." She exhaled deeply, the pain in her side and back blooming. "As much as I would love to watch you squirm around like this, I need to catch up with the others. I'm sure some of your imperial buddies will patch you up, but don't expect to be seeing anything with your right eye ever again. After all you've done, you deserve more. Have fun writhing around in pain, you bastard." Turning her back to the tiger, she walked away.

With her hand still pressed against her bleeding side, (Y/n) trudged through Fort Vaullery in search of the boys. She came across some imperial troopers and MTs, but she quickly disposed of them with her fire magic. Her vision was beginning to blur due to the blood loss, the edges of her eyes slowly being consumed by darkness.

After trekking around the fort for some time, the spirit found the boys fighting against a woman. She saw how skilled she was, admiring her movements before deciding to help her friends. She conjured a throwing knife made of pure flames and threw it at the woman, catching her off guard. Noctis took the chance to attack, but his blade only sliced air when the woman leapt up into the air and landed on a platform above. "Aw, is it that time already?"

Noctis lowered his sword, puzzled at her question. "What time?"

"Quittin' time. Sorry, but this girl doesn't work after hours. I could, but there wouldn't be a single gil in it for me. We should play again sometime, pretty boy. And you." The woman met (Y/n)'s gaze. "I look forward to seeing you in action, firefly." She leaps out of sight, almost as if vanishing into thin air.

All the boys turn in wonderment as to whom the woman was addressing. Their eyes landed on the injured (Y/n), who was having difficulty standing on her own. Prompto gasped in horror when seeing the blood seeping through her fingers and cascading down her side. "(Y/n)!" He rushed over just in time to catch her as her legs gave out. Her body slumped against his as he fell to a single knee. "I need help over here!"

Ignis rushes over and kneels beside the couple. He pulls (Y/n)'s hand away from her wound and saw the severity of it. He saw not only her side was injured but her back as well. Using a couple of hi-potions, he was able to mend the wounds and stop the bleeding. "She will be needing rest."

"Thanks, Iggy," Prompto sighed in relief.

(Y/n) was able to get back on her feet, but the blonde wouldn't let go of her. "Prom, I'm fine. I can walk."

He shook his head. "No way. You're pale and you still look like you're about to pass out. Lemme give you a piggyback ride."

She exhaled heavily, knowing he was right. She was feeling lightheaded and wouldn't make it far before passing out. Accepting his offer, she climbed onto his back when he turned around and squatted down. She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck as his hands cupped the back of her knees. He gently hoisted her onto his back, making a few adjustments when he stood up.

"What happened to you?" Noctis asked the girl as they make their way out of Fort Vaullery.

"Callyx happened," she replied. "That bastard's the one who killed Cynthia and so many other spirits. He's so desperate to gain Brahma's powers that he's willing to kill his own people for it. I made sure he suffered."

"Is he still alive?" Gladio questioned.

"Yeah, but I left him with a broken leg and blind in his right eye."

"Why didn't you kill him?"

"Death would be an easy escape for him. I want him to suffer for all he's done." (Y/n) leaned her head against the side of Prompto's. She closed her eyes, intending to clear her head. However, she wound up passing out.

<-------------<<<<<

Back in Old Lestallum, the royal retinue regrouped with Iris. The young Amicitia noticed the passed out guardian on Prompto's back and began bombarding them with questions as they piled into the Regalia. With Gladio's help, Prompto was able to get (Y/n) off of his back and into his lap in the front seat of the car. Riding out of the small town, he held her close against him.

Gladio, wishing to shatter the silence, spoke up. "I coulda gone another round."

"Given her prowess, you should be glad you didn't," Ignis stated.

"Yeah, that Loqi guy was nothing compared to her," Prompto chimed in.

"Though we may not have fared so well without the marshal."

"Think things would've gone differently if he were here now?"

"She offered to play again. Maybe we'll get the chance to find out," the shield said.

"Wonder what happened that other guy," Noctis pondered. "Y'know, the one who injured (Y/n)."

"You mean Callyx?" Prompto asked.

"Yeah."

The blonde combed his fingers through the spirit's (h/c) locks. "(Y/n) did say she injured him pretty badly."

"Probably pissed him off, though," Gladio spoke up.

"I pray we do not encounter him soon," Ignis added. "For (Y/n)'s sake."

Prompto continued to stroke the sleeping girl's hair before twirling a single strand around his finger. He listened to her even and steady breathing, which brought him some semblance of peace. He didn't care that the others could see him. He wasn't as shy as before in front of the guys when it came to (Y/n). It may have also been easier to control his emotions when she wasn't awake and teasing him.

During the drive, Prompto removes one of his hands from the spirit and searched for his camera. When he found it, he flipped through the pictures until he came across one of Callyx and (Y/n) at the Cauthess Coernix Station. He examined the photo closely, eyes widening when he took a closer look at the man standing beside the golden-eyed spirit. Callyx was wielding a small dagger that was partially hidden by the sleeve of his jacket. Thinking back to the time he took the picture, he remembered he interrupted the two guardians right after taking it. If he hadn't intervened, Callyx could've possibly killed (Y/n).

"Is everything all right, Prompto?" Ignis asked after noticing the blonde's extended silence.

Prompto didn't hesitate to show the picture to the others. Noctis took the camera from his best friend and analyzed the picture, easily spotting the small dagger Callyx was trying to conceal. "Would he really have killed (Y/n) right then and there?"

Gladio took the camera from the prince and took a glance at the photo. "Wouldn't put it past the bastard, especially after hearing what he said at the fort."

"It's a good thing I showed up when I did," Prompto said. "If not...(Y/n) could be dead right now."

"Oh, that reminds me," Iris spoke up. "What did Geralt have to say?"

Prompto looked over his shoulder and peered into the backseat. "He told me a couple of things about a guardian's death."

"Well that's...gruesome," Noctis mumbled.

"Like what?" Gladio pried.

"He showed me the ring he wore that had Cynthia's gemstone on it. He told me it once was blue, but the gemstone was cracked and black. If a spirit dies, their gemstone loses its color and cracks." Prompto glanced down at his bracelet with a solemn gaze. "He...also mentioned what it felt like to lose her."

"He felt her die?" Iris gasped.

The boy nodded. "Yeah. He said it felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest."

"The connection between Geralt and Cynthia was severed," Ignis said.

"You know about it, Specs?" Noctis inquired.

The strategist nodded. "I've read a plethora amount of tomes in regards to guardians. When a spirit is killed, the connection to the soul of which gave birth to them is torn asunder. The pain is a result of the rupture between the two binded souls."

"Damn..."

Prompto bit his bottom lip with a sorrowful expression. He inhaled deeply, remembering what he told the widower. "I promised Geralt I would protect (Y/n), but...I guess I've kinda already failed."

"I don't think you have," Iris voiced her opinion. "She's still here, isn't she?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Who cares about what happened at the fort," Noctis sighed. "(Y/n)'s still breathing, right?"

Prompto tunes in to the spirit's deep and even breaths again. "Well, yeah."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I just... I feel like I could've changed the outcome, y'know? Like, if I would've stayed behind with her to deal with Callyx, then she wouldn't have been injured."

"You can't protect her from everything and everyone, Romeo," Gladio said. "You're not some invincible, know-it-all hero from a comic book. So she got hurt this time, but she's still alive. That's all you need to care about."

Prompto's eyes gleamed with realization at their words. He nodded with a small smile. "Yeah, you guys are right. Thanks."

"Well, you cheered up quicker than usual," the shield commented.

"Glad we could help," Iris giggled.

"Eh, it's no big deal," Noctis replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Glancing at the road ahead, Prompto's smile blooms. He holds (Y/n) as close as possible, overjoyed his worries were washed away by the words of his friends. He couldn't ask for a better group of people to travel with. "You guys are the best."

Gladio grinned from ear to ear. "Tell us something we don't know."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader

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stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland · 3 years

Text

Half-Dead Dreams

I dreamed that I was dying ... or something like that.

It sounds a bit ominous if I put it a certain way, but yeah. In my dream I was dead. I remember that the first thing I saw was being outside the general hospital in my city and my best friend was taking me to it. I remember taking her hand trying to pull her to take my friend with me, but she told me: "I can't accompany you now Mari, it's your turn." "Not mine...".

I remember nodding and then I let go of her hand. I saw my friend turn around and walk away until she disappeared.

I think it is not a surprise to me that my best friend was my spiritual guide in the dream and not someone in my family, because she was always there.

After that moment in a completely blue environment I entered the hospital that was not blue but gray. Everything was just as gray. I remember carrying a backpack and a folder with documents, it was all I remember carrying in that dream. A backpack that at that time was light while he was touring the hospital. The first thing I saw when I entered was that I was in a kind of waiting room. The room was long and full of windows and also black chairs and long seats like those in a park near the center of my city.

I remember seeing one of my aunts in those seats, (with whom I don't talk much by the way), along with her older son and a baby in his arms. I remember I went up to them to greet them, but they were asleep. The three. Except for the baby who opens his eyes when he sees me in front of him and smiles at me. I smile back at him and go on my way.

My path leads to some normal offices and corridors where I am supposed to register. It was actually a nursing station that was manned by two women. An older woman with fair complexion and light blond hair and a little overweight of medium height and the other taller and slimmer woman and a little younger who was identical to the witch of the circus, Dvora Englefield.

The two women look at me and know what to do. The Englefield-like witch writes a document that she then hands me and tells me to go to a specific room that I don't remember what it's called, but she gives some vague directions that I'm supposed to follow. I nod my head to say goodbye and continue on my way out of the nursing station and as usual wandering through corridors and rooms until I arrive at another nursing station that looks more like a food stand than anything else. I remember being lost on my way until I found that much brighter place and it was attended by another woman who was looking at me with a big smile. I remember asking her for directions, but the woman was talking to me about food. She was telling me that she had to try a Canadian sandwich because I was going to like it. She never specified the type of sandwich for me, but she kept mentioning Canada in every one of her sentences. In the end, the woman's conversation is interrupted by Englefield who appears in the bright room and tells me to follow her.

And I follow her. I walk behind her and see her standing in front of a gray wall that overlooked a narrow, totally dark hallway. Englefield looks at me and says: Go to the end.

That was where I was supposed to go, my final destination. I nodded silently at the witch's indication and started to cross the literal darkness, carrying my increasingly heavy pack, but not impossible to carry. The funny thing is that the dark corridor was lighting up with each of my steps.

The road was flat and it wasn't that long. When I got to the end I discovered that said corridor ended in a large room with several closed doors. I tried to open a few but they wouldn't open until I got to the last part of the hall and a door opened by itself in front of me.

I assumed that I had reached my destination so I crossed that door that led me to another room. A great room indeed. A large room that looked a lot like a gym. It was totally gray with a large mirror on one of the side walls and a kind of black mat covered half the room. On the mat was a girl exercising and on the wall to the left in front of the mat were chairs and people sitting on them looking on with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. All those people were men. Men I could hear muttering "What is she doing here?" or "She doesn't belong here."

I decided to ignore the men who were looking at me almost angrily and started walking away from the center of the gym to reach a new nursing station. This station was a long and large table that was lattice. On the side of the counter where I was standing, I handed my document to the nurse dressed in blue who was attending and he smiled at me, read the paper and was thoughtful. He didn't seem to understand what the paper said and if he read it aloud he had something to do with "Breathing therapy" but the handwriting was illegible.

I remember that the man was going to ask for directions, but then Englefield appears followed by her partner, the older woman who tells the nurse in blue that I was there for breathing therapy.

Or what I later understood, a resuscitation therapy.

The man behind the counter got the message, but he told the older nurse that I needed supplies. The man mentions things I don't remember and the nurse bangs on the wall in front of the counter asking for the supplies. I never knew what kind of implements because that's when I woke up from the dream.

It is assumed that when you die, a close relative already deceased is the one who welcomes you to cross to the next kingdom. I should have understood that not even seeing my mother in that dream meant that I was not dead.

But I wasn't alive either.

Maybe I have been in a coma. At least that's what I understood from that dream and I don't know what to make of it.

I don't know, because I wouldn't want to experience a coma. Putting my family and friends through that trance is screwed and I would not like it.

But what caught my attention was seeing Dvora Englefield in my dream or someone just like her. What I do remember is that even in dreams she did not inspire confidence in me. Another thing that caught my attention was the mention of the country of Canada. I always liked it and always wanted to visit it so it's not that strange, but it was still something that was mentioned a lot in my dream.

The last thing that caught my attention were the men and their reaction to being in the resuscitation room. Why did they look at me like I didn't belong when in fact there was a girl in that place?

That is something that I will never understand because I do not have dramas with men, I complain about bad men, it is true, but I always try to highlight the good men who are out there but who are never highlighted because the bad guys always get along all credits and I hate it.

It is possible that this place has been for boys and girls and men, but not women and they have taken me there anyway?

I guess I'll never know.

But, a warning to myself after this dream: Don't go to sleep with a too full stomach.

#personal #dreams #canada #coma #almost dead

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aphspain-pure · 4 years

Text

Back to de past, right to the future [Chap. I]

Category: Fanfic.

Pair: EngSpa, UkSpa.

Words: 2.611.

Genre(s): drama, historical, yaoi.

Abstract: England feels some magical disturbance in the air that morning. How could he have imagined that it was caused by his own self, but some centuries ago.

Pirate England suddendly appears in the Modern Era.

________________

When he opened his eyes, England could not focus well.

It was dark and cold, but the tremendous and familiar humidity of his cabin or any of the parts of his ship was not noticeable. Nor could he feel the typical rocking of the waves of the high seas, so he deduced that, God knows why, he was not in his boat.

He scrambled to his feet and took a quick look around him in dismay. He was in complete darkness but, thanks to the patch over his left eye, he was quickly able to get used to the lack of light. Only then he did recognize the place.

This was his magic room, where since Viking occupation times he had conjured his spells and his miracles. It was cloudy, dark and penetrating as always. There was nothing out of place except for him, who couldn't bring himself to remember how in the hell he had gotten there. He did not remember even having arrived at port, even having approached Great Britain. The last thing he remembered was being on his ship, somewhere between the Caribbean and the West Indies, and he couldn't figure out how or when he ended up there.

Grunting in disagreement, with a hangover of a thousand horrors, he decided to leave the questions unanswered for later and get up, dusting himself off, ready to go out and yell at the first servant who crossed his path. He didn't know what was going on but he didn't care, at least he wouldn't think about it until he'd had his first shot of whiskey or rum and kicked a couple of arse.

Or so he thought, unhinged, until he opened his special room’s door and took a look outside.

- What the bloody hell?

____________________________

In another part of London, England watched the energy in the air with a puzzled countenance, noticing slight arrhythmic disturbances in the wind while enjoying his famous breakfast tea. He was in a cozy old café from his Victorian era that still stood to this day and which England cherished with pure English love and courtesy. He had decided to have breakfast there, early, to arrive with plenty of time for the world conference that day. That was why he had left the house exceptionally early, even if he usually preferred to get up at a moderate hour and take it easy on homely mornings.

He sighed. He had once been a man of action.

Maybe America was right when he accused him of being a boring old curmudgeon.

He calmly finished his cup of tea, retrieved his coat from the courteous waiter who had stripped him of it earlier –a practice which, now almost extinct in modern times, England greatly appreciated-, thanked him and left. The day was cloudy and threateningly rainy in London, as usual.

Thus, once outside, he felt again that feeling of unease that had been attacking him for some time. A spiritual unrest, as if something bad was about to happen. Deciding not to become paranoid, he called his chauffeur to take him to the boardroom right in the center of Westminster.

__________________________

He arrived early, and the only other nations besides himself already there were Germany, Switzerland, Netherlands, and Japan. The rest would still be in their respective hotels or even, if they had decided to fly from their countries that morning, on the plane or the airport. As far as he knew, France used to prefer the latter option when meetings were held at his place, preferring to spend as little time as possible on British soil. And England could not say that it did not understand or disapprove of it; moreover, he would resort to the same when the situation was the opposite.

He walked over, respectfully greeted the three blonde nations, and calmly placed himself next to Japan. His transoceanic friend gave him a slight bow of the head. - Ohayo gosaimasu, Igirisu-san. How has the sun risen today? –he commented, in an appropriate and neutral tone.

England appreciated the chivalricism. – It isn’t being one of my best days, but I cannot complain. Anyway, good morning to you too, Japan. –And the Japanese gave him a small and short smile.

After that all went silent, and the only thing that was heard for a few minutes was the chalk of Germany hitting the blackboard as he wrote down the important points of the day. Everyone knew that the meeting would probably end as usual, with nothing clear, with the United States laughing and claiming to be a hero every few seconds, the odd country asleep, hysterical discussions between itself and France and Russia trying to make people become one with him, but Germany still insisted on trying to create a serious atmosphere. Internally, England admired and appreciated his dedication, even if it didn't get real results in the end.

Eventually the rest of the countries began to arrive one by one. The feeling of discomfort and that something was wrong did not leave the guts of the host country, anyway.

There was something strange, even dangerous, floating in the atmosphere. His sharp, mint green eyes scanned every corner trying to find the source of the discomfort, unable to find anything. He had a pleasant conversation with Luxembourg when he arrived and later he chatted with Portugal a bit, all automatically while he went over everything. Each time the air was tighter from a supernatural point of view, as if the Disaster itself was drawing closer and closer.

It wasn't until Norway appeared in his field of vision that England paid any real attention to something.

Usually they would do nothing but greet each other from afar with a minimal movement of the head. But if Norway had stood there, in front of him, it definitely meant something.

Getting to the point, the Nordic inquired. - What the hell is happening here? –With his frankness and usual calm voice.

England, sighing, crossed his arms and furrowed his thick eyebrows.

- It's been bothering me since this morning. I don't know what the hell it can be, but it's downright disturbing. It is… like a powerful presence but at the same time cloudy. And the strangest thing of all is that it looks strangely familiar to me.

- Yeah… -the other man agreed-. It's ... certainly familiar in some way. –Then he looked around-. And every time it seems to increase that energy. You haven't used magic again while drunk, have you? –And for a moment, England looked offended. At least before recalling the hundreds of times it had actually happened, after which he quietly apologized.

Trying to hide that he was somewhat ashamed of himself, he cleared his throat and muttered that he didn't remember conjuring anything lately. That definitely upset the Norwegian's stern gesture a bit.

- So this doesn't make sense.

A moment later the Italian brothers entered and Germany called the session off. He and Norway were forced to separate, but not before sending each other glances of beware of anything and nodding in agreement.

But in these, just as Germany was about to start with the first point of the day, the main gate that led to the huge boardroom was thrown open.

And the most incredible thing happened.

- What the hell is going on here by gad!? –The sordid growl of the new presence broke in. They all immediately turned to look there and, simply petrified, England stood up, shocked, knocking the chair over.

In front of them stood an astonishing 17th century pirate captain, dressed in his grandiose red coat, his worn flat boots, his jeweled saber, his open ruffled shirt, the typical gold ear rings, the eye patch in the eye and the so characteristic captain's hat. His voice had been sordid and commanding and his eyes exuded the amusement and danger of a true saltwater buccaneer. Someone who, at least the European countries and some former colonies, recognized immediately. He licked his lips leisurely as he began to draw his sword.

- You're already singing if you don't want to die, you louts! What does this all mean? –And pointed the sword towards the large table full of perplexed countries.

The attention fell entirely on him, in a frozen moment of time, until someone else claimed it.

- What the bloody hell are you doing here!?

Then the newcomer pirate's eyes lifted until, surprised and interested, they rested on the emitter. He looked directly at England, dressed and mature, with an uneasy and confused smile. - I should ask you the same. What is this all supposed to be? –taking great strides and dangerously dancing his saber with that deranged look of his-. You better start spitting it all out if you don't want to taste my steel, you fucking bastard.

And England, still not fully recovered from his shock, tried to articulate something to calm the hotheaded just as the door opened a second time. This time, timidly and slowly.

- Eh… Hello? I'm sorry I'm late again, I've fallen asleep again haha… -from a newcomer Spain who nervously rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed gesture.

This intrusion impressively attracted the pirate’s attention.

- You... –he blurted out, lifting the eyepatch to see perfectly with both eyes, as a wolfish grin stretched the corners of his lips and he screamed in exaltation-. On guard, you bastard!

And before Spain could even react, the subject came forward like a veritable bloodthirsty beast towards him. The ancient empire, instinctively, placed his body on guard against the imminent attack, which he would have been about to receive if it had not been for the sudden cry that devastated the room:

- SLEEP!

And the body of the said pirate man fell inert to the ground. England had conjured something to make him abruptly fall asleep. The boardroom was suddenly silent.

England and Spain looked at each other in shock.

- ...What the hell?

_____________________

When pirate England emerged from the dark abyss of unconsciousness again, it appeared to be back at its home outside London. He blinked a few times as he growled and groaned at the post-spell pain in his tormented mind. He cursed the other England, the one from the future who had had such a naughty face, and tried to regain control of his body.

It was then that he was known prisoned. His arms were tied with a thick, scratchy rope to the back of the chair he was sitting on. He raised an eyebrow for a moment, really not very impressed, and later turned his gaze straight ahead.

The familiar face of his presumed captor managed to get an idle, amused smile from his lips.

- Scared that I might bite you, darling?

Which was quickly answered by a. – Dare to even suggest such a thing and I will hang you before you can take a step. –Which brought an even bigger smile and a greater sparkle in the other's eye.

There, sitting on the sofa, Spain was holding a rare article of paper with many hyper-realistic letters and images that he seemed to be reading carefully. But England knew better. He knew as the best what face this handsome jerk made when he was really focused, and the one he made when he tried to fake it. Catching Spain in the middle of that picaresque action seemed as charming as it was amusing, and he could not but fall into the temptation to frustrate him in his attempt.

- I do not know anything about the future, but just by seeing those whore's clothes that you bring, I think I would not mind being in your humble care a little more.

A vein was marked in Spain’s forehead who, honestly, had been years, decades…! With no real dislike for England. An insincere and tight smile showed his vain attempt at impassiveness. –This I am wearing is a simple "shirt", the type of garment that is worn today for formal meetings.

- Well, what a scandal, how immoral! With that tight-fitting blouse, I could see your nipples from nautical miles away. –To which, with a new vein marked, Spain jumped just at the time that contemporary England entered the room.

He carried with him a small silver tray with two porcelain mugs of Earl Grey and a few small butter cakes. His entrance surprised the other two. Immediately, however, Spain pointed at the captive and yelled at the newcomer. – Tell this uneducated you that neither my shirt is obscene nor am I a whore, now!

That sudden demand caught England off guard, whose first thought was to look directly at the named shirt, seeing, therefore, how the white fabric hugged and made the tanned skin transparent. He swallowed hard for a moment, which his other self took advantage of to act funny.

- From the familiar treatment that you two maintain I deduce that, very and at the same time not so much to my regret, in the future the Spanish Empire and I have that kind of intimate relationship. –Whistling at the sudden sight of a red and indignant England and an angry Spain-. In the bull’s eye, isn't it?

Making that this time, yes, Spain was so frustrated that he ended up pouncing on him.

The action awakened the green in the captive's eyes, amused to the core that he had finally made the future version of his rival lose his temper. Spain fell on him, a pair of strong hands and –although not as calloused as he himself remembered- still rough from the work in the fields surrounding his neck with accumulated resentment.

He held back a smile.

- Ahh... I see that you are both quite rusted …

And, shocking Spain (who had still been trying to hang him), he broke free from his moorings and abruptly swapped positions.

England, from outside, watched in shock and without being able to speak as, in front of his eyes, his former self turned the tables and placed himself with the force of a beast above his current EU partner. Spain had fallen backwards and his hands had been forcibly captured on his head; he writhed like a sardine as he looked badly and –almost- growled at the one who just two seconds ago had been tied to a chair. Immobilizing his body, the pirate had mounted on him, leaving him unable to actuate any movement.

Looking indiscreet and almost with little concealed grimace, England glanced in the direction of present-day Britain. - Even a bastard child who has not seen more boobs in his life than his mother's would have loosened a knot that simple. –He growled, nodding at the untied rope lying on the ground. Making disgust, this time he directed his words to Spain under his grip-. Are you grossly underestimating me or are you so old that you have forgotten what you were capable of in the past...?

The three pairs of green eyes maintained that tense look for a few long seconds in which, little by little, the pirate began to change that tension for a deeper emotion.

Darker and more penetrating eyes as they went down through the other's tanned build. – Although I have to admit that this body is not that of an old man, no sir ... –taking the liberty of passing a hand from Spain’s chin to his tanned chest-. It's been a while since I saw this sinful skin so closely, I presume since 1588 …

And Spain’s eyes expanded in shock, while modern England’s nearly shook in bewilderment.

The apparition of Pirate Era England had opened something that had been buried centuries ago.

#hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #engspa #ukspa #spuk #aph spain #aph england #aph norway #pirate england #sorry this was kinda better in my mother tongue

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blondrichclosetwitch · 3 years

Text

We took off, but it's all hazy

People say I'm going crazy

B—I need a fucking drink. Anyone?

L—Didn’t you feel it? The discontent in you, your whole life? Others manage to be happy around you but you just don’t feel that? I know you’ve both felt it. We talked about it. Wanting to jump when the train came. Maybe just in a corner of the mindsometimes but it was always there. Just in case you decided to listen.

They just don’t admit it.

L— That may be true but they are telling me This is our job.

M—Please someone take the handcuffs off of me.

B—Well all bets are off so. Honey I think you need to see a doctor.

L—No just listen to me. I felt it when we were together. Remember how tightly we would hold each other? Like we couldn’t let go. When you were high you would clinch me so tight. Because together that feeling of “oh my God it’s going to be OK I have someone who loves me who’s going to be my family and it’s OK that I’m crazy, he’s going to love me anyway.”

We both felt that. You know you felt that. You both felt it. People feel that when they fall in love.

C—Keep going.

L—Something happened, when I …..I can’t even see it. (Starts to get upset. )That’s when I started to hear them. You brought me back here, we all strangely went to sleep, and I started to hear them. Have you ever heard voices before? it’s pretty fucking scary. I didn’t know who they were so of course I started to think maybe I’m crazy.

Or it was the crash you talked about, blond.

But I was too afraid to tell anyone so I just pretended they didn’t…

B—Lula, how… How could you keep that to yourself? We should have gotten you to a doctor right away.

L—Exactly, exactly why I couldn’t tell you. But…

B—Those are delusions. It’s your mind playing tricks on you because it’s been through a psychological trauma and it can’t deal with it, and…

M—What are you guys talking about? ——C—Lula… Got pregnant.

B—

I was there. for the abortion.

M—Oh.

L—And I’ve been hearing them ever since.

C—So what are they saying?

L—They’re saying the baby was a prodigy. that mankind is getting so fucked up that the world needs a new leader. And it had to be a female, and it was her but because she’s gone, it’s up to us, and that we don’t have to feel guilty or self-hatred for what we’ve done, we just have to commit to helping each other,. She’s around us anyways, she’ll be a spiritual support to us.

B—Oh. Is she talking to you too? —L——-Not yet but I don’t know. She’s not even fully formed yet so I don’t know. But this is what they tell me.

B—Jesus fucking Christ Lula, do you know how crazy you sound.

L—You are focusing on the wrong thing. I’m telling you the wrong thing. It’s my fault that was too much, I’m sorry.

B—We can talk this through with someone… But listen to me we need to get to the point of why were all locked up,

fucked up whatever you want to call it.

M—

I am locked up because I don’t know who has the goddamn key and Lula seriously I am calling your mother, she needs to know that you have fucking lost it.

L—

You’re assuming it’s not true but you knew I was gifted before. You knew it. Don’t make like I’m crazy. Don’t do it miso. I see. And I am here because you’re all asleep.

B—We’re asleep? Listen you fucking degenerate waitress you can’t do anything without smoking weed so I’d say you’re the one who’s asleep.

L—You’re right. I can’t deal with the world sober. I can’t live with the volume all the way up. You take pills to lessen it, I smoke pot. I can’t breathe without it. Do you understand what is happening to me?

B—You’re a train wreck Lula.

L— Just because my brain is different than yours doesn’t make me a train wreck.

B—You’re holding us at knife point. You need help.

L— I am trying to explain to you. But you can’t even let me answer a question can you? Because you’re scared. You have to go right into your little intellectual narrative” Lulu is crazy, she can’t hold any truth, she’s just a pot smoking waitress.” the little competitive voice inside of you seeps out, Fear pouring out of you.

M—I’m afraid.

L—me too.

B—Fear! Of what??

L—You’re afraid of losing him. You’re afraid of our sex. You’re afraid to question the plan. You’re afraid of your connection with me. But mostly you’re afraid that I might be right.

(To christopher) And you’re working so much so you don’t have to think about all the things that plague your brain like how unhappy you are. And you just wanna cling to the next sparkly thing that doesn’t know all the darkness you’re hiding and how much you hate yourself. You think the newness will be different.

B— what’s yours?

L—My fear? That no one will ever love me again. That I made the biggest mistake of my life. That you won’t believe me.

C— so what’s the answer?

L— they tell me we’re supposed to work our shit out. Be a strong force.

B— this is officially bullshit. you are making this shit up.

L—This way of living, this “I won’t let anyone else love you because they might give you more, and you might love them better than me” or “no I don’t want to hear anything about them because then they might be real and I certainly don’t want you fucking them in our house or “ I can’t use the word love because I made a promise to not fall in love” and “ let me rush right over and give you an engagement ring to calm you down”…… you know what, fuck marriage. marriage is an outdated construct designed by the patriarchy to imprison us to the idea that another person can make us feel safe or give us any guarantee at all.

Get it through your heads we are doing it wrong. We have this amazing opportunity to take our lives, our damaged lives, and bring them all together with our strengths and weaknesses and create a force.

B—You’re just trying to stop us from getting married because you want him.

L— it’s not going to last.

B— what?

L— it’s not going to last, just the two of you. Both of you need more.

That’s just not your job

#bibliomancy #rough drafts #art imitates life #2014 #alcoholiday #5150 #If you fuckin' with this girl then you better be paid #what you do is up to you #To have a girl like her is a dream come true And of all the girls in New York she loves me true #that last one was for someone else #oh Adam please you must believe that snake put it in front of me

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theuntamedmdzssideblog · 4 years

Text

This was written because of a random headcanon that went wildly out of control with, and written for, my best friend @vitaminpusher She insisted I post it, so here it is:

It wasn’t love at first sight. No, it wasn’t anything as silly as that. Xiao Xingchen would admit that Song Zichen was beautiful and graceful. He could never deny that. But it wasn’t love then. He was enamored of the man in black, and respected his obvious abilities. Love grew slowly as he got to know Zichen. He fell in love with his beliefs, his morals, his dreams, all his little quirks.

Xingchen didn’t notice at first. While a physically affectionate person, he didn’t go around touching people he didn’t know well randomly. It took a few days of traveling together before it happened. It wasn’t dark yet, but would be getting dark very soon. They were passing by a clearing that would be a perfect spot to rest for the night. Not thinking, he reached out and grabbed lightly onto his companion’s wrist. Before he could speak, Zichenhad jerked out of his light hold as if he had been hit with spiritual energy charged with killing intent. Xingchen drew back and looked at Song Lan, not knowing if he should apologize or ask if he was okay. Zichen looked away from his confused gaze and spoke quietly. His voice sounded loud in the silent air. “I… don’t like to be touched.”

Xingchen smiled and nodded once the embarrassed man looked back. “Okay.” He said simply and then pointed to the clearing. “We could camp here for the night. What do you think?” No more was said on the matter for several weeks. That is until he began to notice something else. Zichen flinched from human touch. Fierce corpses, restless spirits, demons and ghouls could all grab and paw at him and he would never flinch. But if a human even brushed against him on accident, he would flinch and jerk away like he was being struck. Noticing this wasn’t what caused Xingchen to say something though. It was the pained and embarrassed look that would always cross Zichen’s face when it happened. He may hate touch, but he disliked his reaction to it even more.

Xingchen wanted to help. He was aware of himself to know he was already falling for this man. He wasn’t in love with him yet. They had only been traveling together for half a year, but he could be soon. He may not be in love yet, but he cared for him deeply. And he wanted to help him. He didn’t care if the man never wanted to be touched, but he couldn’t stand that pained look on his face every time he acted like he was afraid.

The night they finally stayed at an inn, he decided to confront him and offer his help. Before they retired for the night, he asked Zichen if they could talk. He explained to him what he had seen his reaction to touch and thought he might have an idea that would help him. Song Lan rose and took a defensive, aggressive stance and sneered down at him.

“You think you can ‘fix’ me, Xiao Xingchen?” Xingchenflinched slightly. They had only dropped surnames a few weeks previous, but it already hurt to hear it used again; even more so in that tone. He had never heard that tone come from Zichen before. It was harsh and coated with contempt and betrayal. No, he could live the rest of his life happily if he never heard that tone from his friend again. He shook his head and spoke quickly, “Never. There is nothing to fix, Zichen.” He continued once he saw the man relax, albeit only slightly. “You liking or disliking touch matters naught to me. You have your reasons-“ he held up a hand when the scowl became even darker and he had opened his mouth. “which are your own and none of my business. I am not asking you to tell me. You will tell me when you choose or not at all. I will not pry. That isn’t even why I brought it up. I never would have spoken of it at all except that I have seen your face after you jerk away from strangers. You may not care that you don’t like touch, my friend, but you do care about your reaction to it. I have tried to keep myself between you and others so they do not touch you, but I cannot always do so.” He shook his head when he saw the mix of mild guilt and embarrassment on his face. “I do not mind, Zichen. It is a small thing and I am happy to do it for you.” His honest and earnest voice wiped the look from his face and he was happy to see him relax even more. “I only wish to help you not react in such a way anymore, not ‘fix’ you. You aren’t broken, my dear friend, so what do you think I could possibly wish to fix?”

Zichen finally sat back down and they spoke through the night and into the early morning. Just before dawn, they settled down for a few hours of sleep. As he drifted off, Xingchen smiled. He may not be in love yet, but he was falling fast.

They had been traveling together for a year now, and Zichen no longer flinched violently when Xingchenbrushed his fingers against his hand or lightly touched his back. He still jerked away when his wrist was grabbed, but if Xingchen moved slowly, he would keep himself still and allow the hold for a few seconds before he became too uncomfortable and had to pull away.

The first time that Zichen was bumped into by an overly grateful granny and he didn’t jerk away, Xingchen couldn’t help the small smile he flashed at the man. But when he saw the look in Zichen’s eyes when he realized what hadn’t happened, Xingchen’s golden core expanded so rapidly through his body he almost lost control of it. It had taken close to a full year to get this far, but they had done it.

He didn’t stop the casual touches. Zichen didn’t ask him to either. He still avoided touch from anyone else, still loathed the touch of strangers, but he didn’t pull away when Xingchen would brush his shoulder or back with his palm. Xingchen knew what a gift he was being given. He never took it for granted; was thankful for every moment Zichen didn’t pull away. He relished in the way his friend would walk cloely at his side so that he only had to reach out slightly to brush a fingertip over a hand or arm. He never took advantage of this. He knew if he did it too much, touched for too long, he would grow uncomfortable and he didn’t want that. He never wanted to make Zichenuncomfortable.

One night, they were settling before a fire and Zichencame and sat beside him. Xingchen didn’t question this new development. They sat and spoke like usual.Thesecond night when, once again, he sat next to him, Xingchen leaned slowly until his shoulder and upper arm was softly touching his. “Is this okay?” he quietly asked, needing to know that he wasn’t pushing too far. He stayed quiet and unmoving as Zichen thought. He smiled in relief when was answered with a small nod and he felt the man relax. A new routine was formed. When Zichen would sit next to him, Xingchen would lean in. Only their shoulders and arms would touch, but that was all they needed. If Zichen sat across the fire or table like he used to, Xingchen never asked him to move or questioned why. He knew his friend’s actions by now. He could not handle being touched anymore on those days, not even from him and he wouldn’t push him for more than he could deal with.

One morning, many years into their friendship, Xingchenwatched Zichen comb his hair and put it up in a simple knot. Hesitantly, he opened his spoke, “Zichen,” he said softly into the early morning air He fought away a blush when those dark eyes looked questioningly into his own. “May I…” he swallowed and pushed on. “style your hair for you?” He swallowed his reaction to tell the man to forget what he had just said when he saw the apprehension appear. Instead he sought to reassure him. “It’s okay if you say no. It’s just something I would like to do, that’s all.”

He refused to show his disappointment when Zichenturned away. He couldn’t hide his surprise, however, when Zichen suddenly walked to him and handed him the comb and hairpin with only slightly trembling hands. He smiled widely when Zichen sat in front of him in silent permission.

The surprise of that first morning was nothing compared to the shock he felt that night when he was once again silently handed the comb so that he could take Zichen’shair down. From that day on, Xingchen would comb and style Zichen’s hair before doing his own.

A few months later, Xingchen realized that he was fully and forever in love with Song Zichen. He could cultivate into immortality and in four thousand years, he would still love this man just as much. And as he looked at Zichen’sshy, embarrassed face and then down to the new comb he had just given him, he thought maybe, possibly, he loved him back just a little.

He found himself studying the comb every day as it glided smoothly through Zichen’s hair. It was simple, unadorned with carvings, but it was perfect. Unadorned it may be, but the proof of skilled craftsmanship showed better this way. It took great skill to successfully meld the two woods together. It was made of two different woods; one so dark it was almost black, the other a pale blond wood. He ran his finger across the seam where the dark and light woods met. Like the Taoist symbol Zichen carried on his sword, like and dark – balance. He smiled and went back to running the comb carefully through Zichen’s hair. ‘Like us’ he thought fancifully. The comb really was perfect. He began to think of a possible gifts that could be just as perfect to give in return.

Xingchen smiled to himself as he saw Zichen’s fingers twitch again. He knew what Zichen wanted to do. He also knew it would take the man a long while to actually do it. It always did. Zichen always had to take the time to decide if the truly wanted to touch Xingchen or not. He wasn’t afraid of rejection. He had assured Zichen long ago that he would never reject any touch he wanted to give as long asit was really what he wanted to do and not what he thought Xingchen wanted. After that conversation, Zichenhad relaxed, but he always had to think for a long time about each new touch to decide if he really wanted to or not. The more intimate the touch, the longer it took. So Xingchen waited patiently. From the way his fingers twitched and the aborted movements he made, he knew the other man would eventually decide to do it. He just hadn’t admitted to himself that he really wanted to yet.

Xingchen hoped he came to his decision soon. He couldn’twait to fee Zichen’s fingers in his hair. He loved taking care of Zichen this way. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. But he adored the trust Zichen expressed when he touched Xingchen in return. But he would wait, no matter how long it took. He could be patient.

A month later, it all fell apart. Xingchen’s heart broke when Zichen yelled at him and blamed him for everything. His heart shattered, however, when he reached down to lay his hand on Zichen’s shoulder and the man jerked back so violently, he fell over over and screamed, “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Everything was over.

He stood over the sleeping man, listening to his even breaths. He wished he could look at his face one more time, to see it relaxed in sleep and no longer red and swollen from the powder that took his sight. He consoled himself with the knowledge that the man he loved so dearly would wake tomorrow with his sight back. He listened to the peaceful, steady breaths for a few more moments. His fingers itched to reach out and touch for the last time. He didn’t though. Zichen never wanted to be near him again and had screamed out his desire to never be touched by him again. Xichen refused to violate him in such away while he was unaware. No, he wouldn’t touch him again. He wasn’t that selfish; not that cruel, no matter how much he wished to. He allowed himself one selfish action, though. He kept the comb Zichen gifted him. He thought, for one moment, about returning it. He had even pulled it out to lay it on the bed beside him. But once it was in his hand, he had run his finger over the seam where light and dark met and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’tgive back this reminder that Zichen used to care for him. Used to love him. Use to trust him. He may not have that anymore, may not have Zichen anymore, but he would have this. He would be selfish in this. He tucked the comb away again, took a deep breath, and sighed a soft goodbye. His heart shattered into even tinier shards as he forced himself to walk away. Zichen would see again, it was all he could do for him and it would have to be enough.

He smiled for the first time since Zichen yelled at him when he was able to use his sword again successfully. He could help people again. He smiled for the second time when he met the girl, A-Qing, and she tried to rob him. She was so full of life, it was impossible not to smile around her. He didn’t have the heart to tell her no when she announced that she would be staying with him. And if he was honest, he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Maybe, with someone else around, he would stop dreaming of what-had-been.

The man they saved was mysterious and interesting. He never offered his name, and Xingchen never asked. He knew he was hiding more than just his name, but he never asked about that either. At first, it was because he didn’twant to get too close to anyone else, but soon it was because it no longer mattered. They grew close faster than Xingchen thought possible, but he didn’t care. He found himself relishing in the way this man all but melted into his touch. A-Qing would throw herself on him in an almost possessive manner, but only tolerated a light pat on the head from time to time, more happy to skip circles around him any other time.

It took a year of the three living together before the man was comfortable enough to give them a name to call him by. Only his courtesy name, Chengmei, but it was enough. He hugged him, lightly so he didn’t feel trapped, and whispered, “thank you, Chengmei” into his hair. He petted the tangled hair lightly when he melted into Xingchen’sarms.

The first time Xingchen caught himself carding his fingers through the ends of Chengmei’s hair as his head rested on his shoulder, he froze and fought back tears. The head lifted and a sweet voice asked him if something was wrong. He shook his head and smiled, resuming the rhythmic movement of his fingers. Could he do this? He hadn’t thought when he began playing with Chengmei’shair. It was a comforting action for his as well as Chengmei. But now that he was aware of what he was doing, it hurt.

He thought about his reaction for a long time. He was confused. Loving someone else, because that is what had happened, didn’t make him feel guilty. Knowing he had fallen in love with Chengmei didn’t hurt. But playing with his hair, taking care of him the same way he used to take care of Zichen, that tore him up inside. He wanted to. Ohhow he wanted to take care of Chengmei in that way. He wanted so badly to show this man that he loved him. He wanted to run his fingers through the full length of his hair. He wanted to gather it up and feel it fall softly down again. He wanted to know if he would relax fully to his ministrations. He ached to find out how he would react to his show of love.

But it hurt just to think about doing something he had only ever done for Zichen for someone else. He knew he was acting like the man had died, but in a way, he had. He knew the love Zichen had felt for him had died that day and Xingchen had grieved that death. He grieved still and always would. And though he loved a new person, the love and pain he held for Zichen would always be there. He wasn’t being fanciful when he said four thousand years. It was true then and was still true now.

Eventually, the pain lessened as he stopped being bombarded with memories every time he touched Chengmei’s hair. He contented himself with little touches of his hair. Finger combing the ends, light petting along the length. But he still wished he had the strength to pull out his comb.

They had been living in Yi City together for four years. It had been seven since he had lost Zichen. As he and Chengmei relaxed together before the fire, Xingchendecided he was ready. He pulled away and shushed Chengmei when he made a noise of protest. “I want to do something for you.” He moved behind the other man and stroked his hair for a few moments and smiled as he relaxed again and stopped complaining. The smile stayed as he pulled the comb from his sleeve. His smile grew, and a feeling of content satisfaction bubbled up when Chengmei relaxed so much he slumped a little and a deep sigh fell from his lips at the first stroke of the comb through his hair.

Xingchen was so content that the burst of pain that shot through his heart almost made him cry out. At first, he didn’t even know what had caused the painful image to flash through his mind. The hair was the wrong length, a slightly different texture. What had caused him to remember combing Zichen’s hair so vividly that he could even smell his scent? His finger twitched and he suddenly knew. He cursed himself even as he rubbed the seam again. He should have gotten a new comb long ago, or at least asked Chengmei for his. He couldn’t even comb his own hair longer than it took to get it pulled back from his eyes, why did he think he could use it to comb someone else’s?

His free hand twitched and he gripped the hair in it lightly, tugging slightly in his loss of control. He took long, deliberate breaths, fighting against the urge to curl up in the dirt and sob out his pain. He startled slightly as another hand covered his. “Xingchen? Are you alright?” He smiled, lips trembling, and nodded, unable to speak yet. He cleared his throat and released the hair from his fist, petting it lightly in apology. He cleared his throat once more and spoke in a broken whisper. “Yes. I’m okay. Thank you.” He took another breath, this one a little steadier and raised shaking hands to resume combing. The rhythmic motions were familiar, soothing. No less painful, but soothing just the same. They must have been too familiar, however, because he suddenly found his hands were making a familiar topknot. He freezes once again, trembling, shaking violently. He lets go of the knot and just stands there fighting for breath. He startles more violently than Zichen ever had when he feels hands wrap around his own. “Hey, it’s okay,” he hears Chengmei’svoice, soft, soothing, like he is trying to calm a frightened animal. “It’s just me. What’s wrong?”

‘I forgot,’ he thinks. ‘I forgot, that’s what wrong. Remembering hurts so much more when you let yourself forget. Even if it’s only for a moment.’ He squeezed the hands in his and took large, gulping breaths. Forcing away the memories and tears, he made himself smile and shook his head again. “I’m fine,” he managed to whisper. ‘Sorry’ he said in his head, though to which man, he didn’t know. Perhaps to both. He managed to get Chengmei to turn back around and let him resume combing his hair. His smile became genuine, though still shaky, when he heard Chengmei tell him he didn’t have to comb his hair if it upset him. This is one of the reasons he loved Chengmei. He hid behind his tough attitude and cruel words, but under it all, he still cared. He might only care for him and A-Qing, but he cared. This is why he was so determined to do this. He might be on the edge of breaking completely right now, but he would show this man how much he cared for him, how much he loved him, no matter how much it hurt.

He sacrificed his eyes for Zichen hadn’t he? He could sacrifice himself in this way for Chengmei. He steeled himself and began again, pushing back the urge to break down, and forcing himself to stay in the present. This moment is for Chengmei, not his memories of another. Not for himself.

He smiled, even as he lost the battle with his tears, as Chengmei relaxed once again. He reveled in the contented hums and sighs that slipped past those lips that are usually pursed in a snarl and spat snark at every available opportunity. He rejoiced in being able to express his love for this man in any way, but especially like this. He smiled and his heart swelled with love for this beautiful, wonderful man even as he cried bloody tears and he heart broke all over again for a different but no less beautiful, wonderful man.

Tomorrow, he would learn just who Chengmei was. Tomorrow, he would learn what he had unknowingly done. Tomorrow, he would learn that his new love had tricked him into killing his old love. Tomorrow, he would feel his heart fall to dust as he draws his own blade across his throat. Tomorrow, he would know heartbreak like he has never felt before. That was tomorrow though. Tonight, he would show Chengmei that he was loved the best way he could. Tonight, he would let the man he loves tenderly wipe away his tears of blood as they both whisper tender words of comfort and reassurance to each other. Tonight, he would simply love and let everything else go.

#xiao xingchen #song lan #xue yang #songxiao #xuexiao #xue chengmei #theuntamed #the untamed #cql #cql fanfic #fanfic #angst

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years

Text

A Thought For Every Occasion

Boy Meets World Masterlist

Sorry guys, I’m catching up to myself here, so updates are spreading a little bit. :)

“Ya know… I’m his best friend n’ it’s like he don’t hear me anymore,” Albert complained, walking up to his parents who were standing at the gate with Mr. Kloppman. “I mean, why does he have so much faith in The Refuge?”

His father turned to him. “Ya know what? Let’s just get in the car, go down there and drag him out ourselves,” he decided, walking over to grab his car keys.

Kloppman pushed his gate open too, following the younger man. “I’m coming too,” he stated. “I’m well acquainted with The Refuge. I’ve been trying to shut it down for years. This Mr. Weisel is a frightening man…”

That didn’t make Albert feel any better.

But just as they all might have gone, someone walked up through the yard, hands in his pockets and eyes down at his shoes, like he was afraid they were going to be mad at him. Albert wouldn’t lie to him if he asked. They were. “Hi…” he greeted.

“Hello, Tony,” Mr. Kloppman replied, relief in his eyes.

Mrs. DaSilva walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tony, are you alright?” she asked kindly, much like she always spoke to him, like she wanted so badly for him to feel welcome and secure that it all just sounded superficial and fake.

He liked her well enough. But he felt out of place.

He shrugged her hand away. “Of course I am,” he assured. “I’m totally centered.” He reached into his back pocket. “I just came to give Albert back his homework. I… I don’t need it anymore…” he stated. Albert took it, wanting to say more. But he didn’t. So Race looked around. “Okay… I hope you all have a peaceful night… I’m goin’ back ta The Refuge…”

Mr. DaSilva put up a hand. “Whoa whoa, no you’re not,” he stated. “While your parents are out of town you’re our responsibility.”

“That means you’re staying here, in this house,” Mrs. DaSilva agreed.

Race sighed. “Yeah… Mr. Weisel told me that people like you would try to talk me out of my beliefs,” he stated, glaring up at them.

His best friend's mother looked taken aback. “Tony… honey, we love you!”

“He said you’d say that…”

Mr. DaSilva shook his head. “Alright! That’s enough! Get him in the house and tie him up!” he demanded, only sort of joking.

The boy wasn’t amused.

“Antonio, these aren’t beliefs,” Kloppman tried to explain. Race turned to him, clearly ready to argue. “This is just a way to escape a life that doesn’t have beliefs.”

“That’s a judgement,” the boy accused, his voice harsh and pointed.

Kloppman didn’t flinch at the tone. He just looked disappointed. “You’re damn right it is,” he stated without shame.

The young blond was sure he’d never heard that man swear before in his life. But he didn’t let that catch him off guard. “What’s wrong with me tryin’ ta find somethin’ ta believe in?”

His principal raised up his hands in surrender. “Look, Tony, I’m all for your search for spirituality, okay?” He sighed, gesturing to the boy. “But you don’t seem to realize that Mr. Weisel is conducting his own search for lost souls that he can influence and manipulate.” The old man tried to calmly step away.

The boy stared at him. “He said you’d say that…”

That was just about driving Kloppman mad. So he turned back to the child. “Yes, I’m sure he gave you a thought for every occasion!” He wanted to say more, trying to talk some sense into this boy who he cared for so much.

But the phone began to ring inside his house. So he sighed and turned to get it, giving one last sad look to the boy. “Excuse me.”

“Look, Race… I don’t say this very often,” Albert cut in. “But Kloppy’s makin’ sense.”

“Not ta me!” Race countered. “Why would Kloppman feel the need to attack what I believe in! Why do you all feel that way? Kelly too!”

“Tony, why do you need to believe in The Refuge so strongly?” Mrs. DaSilva asked, folding her hands in front of her and waiting for a reply.

The kid didn’t quite understand. “What?”

So Mr. DaSilva stepped in. “Tony, before you met these people at this place, what did you believe in?”

The kid fumbled for words at that, eventually only able to shrug. “I dunno… nothin’...” he supposed.

“Did you believe in God?”

The question made Race pause for thought. Because he truly didn’t know. Maybe he did. Papà had told him stories about God. So had so many others.

He tried to think of what to say.

But Kloppman was back outside before he could.

And the second Race caught sight of him, he knew something was wrong.

“Todd? What is it?”

Kloppman looked at the group, pacing back and forth slightly, as if torn between talking to them and rushing to do something else. His hand was shaking and he reached up to cover his mouth for a moment before a single name finally left his lips. “Uh… James Kelly…”

Everything inside Race dropped at that name. He couldn’t speak as he waited for the rest of that sentence.

“H-he’s been in a motorcycle accident…”

“Oh my God… is he okay?” Albert asked, stepping forward to be beside his best friend.

Kloppman seemed at a loss for words. “Uh… no… no, he isn’t.”

Something inside of Race broke. It was unlike any other kind of pain he’d ever experienced. Suddenly all he wanted to do was scream. But he couldn’t. It was like he was just too sad to cry, too frightened to move. This wasn’t real. This was too much.

“Conor, would you mind giving me a lift to the hospital?” Kloppman asked rather frantically as Race stood frozen, his hands shaking at his sides.

Mrs. DaSilva nodded. “Oh, we’ll all go,” she stated.

Albert turned to go to. “C’mon, Tony,” he called.

“I’ll meet you guys there…” Tony promised, his voice breaking as he looked up into Al’s eyes.

His best friend could see the frightened tears in his eyes. “Race, what the hell do you mean?!”

“I’ll meet you guys there!” he repeated before running off on his own, leaving Albert even more worried than he’d been before.

—

JoJo cautiously walked into the quiet waiting room to find her boyfriend sitting with his entire family and Mr. Kloppman. She’d never seen them this quiet.

Albert looked heartbroken. “How’s Mr. Kelly?” she asked.

The redhead didn’t even look up at her when she sat at the the armrest of the chair he occupied. “The doctors are with him… we’re waitin’ ta hear…”

The young girl nodded, taking a look around the room. “Where’s Tony?” she asked, figuring he’d be off in the bathroom or getting something to eat.

But her boyfriend only shrugged. “I have no clue…” He sniffled, wiping his nose on his shirt.

His girlfriend wasn’t pleased with that answer. “What does that mean? I know Race doesn’t like hospitals… but this is Mr. Kelly… how on earth could he not be here?”

Looking up at her, Al could only shrug again, his face solemn and sad.

None of them had ever seen Jack look even remotely scared. He was always so confident and sure of himself. None of them ever expected to be waiting there in the hospital, fearing he may lose his life without any of them getting to say any kind of goodbye to someone who was like family to them.

And then in strolled Tony, feigning calmness though they all knew it was fake. Albert stood, ready to greet him before a man walked in just behind him.

“Mr. Weisel…” Kloppman greeted, not at all sounding happy about it.

“Tony thought I could be of some help,” the old man offered, looking around the room.

Everyone just glared at him. “Weisel, you don’t belong here,” Todd state’s as calmly as he could. He didn’t want to think about this man right now. A dear friend of his was laying in the hospital and this man didn’t give a rat's tail.

The whack job cocked his head. “Well, one of my children invited me, and as always, I’m going to be there for him as well as any other child who calls for me…”

A hand grabbed Race’s arm. He was spun around to be met with the face of his best friend. “What is he doin’ here?” Albert demanded.

“Al, I couldn’t do this alone—“

“Okay, first of all, we’re here,” the redhead stated, gesturing to his family, girlfriend and neighbor. “And second of all, I am beginnin’ ta see that you are even more alone than I ever knew…”

Race’s blue eyes darkened. “What does that mean?”

Albert didn’t get to reply as he watched Weisel stroll over to Mr. Kloppman. “I just want you to know that I forgive you for trying to shut us down,” the man stated smugly.

That just about made Kloppman snap. He rose from his chair as Weisel walked on by. “You forgive me?!” he demanded.

But Mr. DaSilva stood and put a hand on his chest, glaring at the man who had Racer wrapped around his finger. “Hey… you aren’t dealin’ with gullible little kids here anymore, buddy. So watch it,” he warned. “You brought Tony down. Thanks. Now why don’t you just take a hike back to conland, huh?” Albert’s father reasoned darkly, pointing towards the door.

The man just smirked and scoffed, looking over to find Race watching the scene. “Now, Tony, do you see how judgemental these people are—“

He was cut off by hands shoving against his chest, forcing him back into the wall. “No, no! Listen! You see! The judgement I made a long time ago is that Antonio Higgins is the best friend that my kid ever had… n’ I will stand in the way of anyone who tries ta take him from me or this family.”

It was only mere seconds away from getting truly physical. But the delicate hands of his wife made Conor pause. “Honey, he would love a lawsuit,” she reasoned, effectively getting the man to walk away.

So Weisel straightened his blazer and stood up straighter, catching sight of Tony, big blue eyes still trained on him. “I think there’s a lot of anger here,” he stated. “And I don’t feel that this is a healthy environment for Tony.”

“Well, I really don’t—“ Kloppman tried.

Weisel cut him off. “Look, I know you don’t respect my philosophy. But for kids who feel lost and have an emptiness in their lives, I’m here,” the idiot said, as if he was preaching. “To give them a sense of belonging.”

The old principal in the room glared. “You can’t have Antonio!”

Weisel smiled and shrugged. “Well… that’s up to Antonio…” he stated. “And, in any event, there are many more just like him…” He nodded, turning to find the boy. “So, c’mon, Tony, lets go…”

Only, he turned to find an empty room.

Tony was gone. And so were his friends.

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rosethesongbird · 4 years

Text

Angelic Illness

Crowley looked on as his best friend of six millennia lay alone in a large bed. He shifted in the armchair next to the bed, serpentine legs desperately trying to find comfort. Aziraphale’s brow—normally so gentle, friendly, and soft—was knitted in a pained grimace, and moist with sweat. He inhaled a shuddering breath, exhale quickly becoming a wet, productive cough; then, a coughing fit. The demon quickly rose from his seat at the sight of the angel rising from the nest of pillows, face in the crook of his elbow, struggling to breathe.

“Ngk— Come on, let’s get you sitting up a little.” Aziraphale nodded, still choking on air. Crowley supported him with one hand on his shoulder, the other hand fluffing up pillows so he could rest more upright. The coughs finally stilled, and the angel leaned back, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing.

“Don’t be, angel,” said Crowley, frowning. “I’m sure you would get rid of this, if you could. And it’s no hardship for me. Not like there’s much else to do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” whispered Aziraphale. After the Armageddon’t (as Crowley had named it), life had fundamentally changed for them. They both had the same desire to do good or evil, respectively, but no one to answer to whether it was done or not—so they were more like freelancers at this point.

A soft, cautious knock came at the door.

“Everything okay?” a head of curly brown hair poked in. “I heard you coughing, Z,”

“I’m really quite alright, Dawn, and we really should get out of your hair, don’t you think Crowley—“ he said, breaking out into another coughing fit. Crowley’s jaw set with concern as he rubbed his friend’s back.

“Nonsense,” said the gamine, walking over to the bed. “It’s my pleasure to be able to host you. Not counting the fact that if you were human I’d have you admitted. Although, I’m not sure if I should count you as ‘over sixty-five’ or not.” She smiled and sat down on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, smiling. “And don’t lie. It’s not becoming of angels.”

His smile fell. “Well, um, not—not very well, to be honest.”

“Let’s take your temperature again, huh? What was it last time, Crowley?”

“38.5,” said Crowley, a little too quickly. He was worried.

Dawn froze for a moment while retrieving the thermometer from the cupboard. She laughed to herself. “I was really confused for a minute, then I remembered we’re measuring in Celsius like sensible people. Now open up, tenderheart.” The thermometer let out a small beep as she placed it under Aziraphale’s tongue. Her gaze lingered on the angel for a moment, before brushing white-blonde curls off his forehead. She turned to face the lithe demon.

“Get any sleep last night?”

“Don’t need to,” said Crowley.

“I know, but did you want to?” Dawn asked, accusingly. Crowley only responded with a “Ngk,” and looked away. She was perceptive—an advanced nurse practitioner and American expat whose husband was one of the few stationed at the Tadfield Air Base. She had what she called “the spiritual gift of discernment”—upon first walking into the bookshop on a rainy day, she had immediately “discerned” Aziraphale’s angelic nature, and by “discerned” Crowley meant “she could see the wings for some reason.” Aziraphale had made quick friends with her, although, to be fair, he made quick friends with just about everyone who liked old bookshops.

The thermometer let out a second digital beep, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hm,” said Dawn.

“What, what is it?” said Crowley.

“39.7,” Dawn frowned. “I think this is bacterial,” she stated to no one in particular. “Have you ever taken medication, Z? Like, would there be any point in me giving it to you?”

“I’ve never tried. Never needed to,” said Aziraphale, crestfallen. “But, I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

Dawn ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right back,” she said, a half smile on her face. The door closed softly behind her.

Aziraphale sighed. “I really do feel awful, Crowley.”

He looked awful, too. His face was sticky with fever-borne sweat, the usual pink flush to his cheeks was multiplied, the rest of his skin looking so pale it was almost grey, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that normally only appeared when he smiled were emphasized. His sparkling blue eyes were weary and dulled.

“Well, Dawn said you probably had been sick for a few days by the time she noticed. I mean, have you ever been sick before, angel? Or did the bacteria or whatever make you stupid?”

“I don’t think so,” said Aziraphale, grimacing and rubbing his chest. “I think I would remember feeling this bad,”

“What you’d think is that you would have, I don’t know, mentioned something to your lifelong best friend before keeling over in a pile of dussssty old books,” Crowley’s agitation came through in a snakelike hiss. They always came out when he got upset.

“It came on fast, Crowley! You know I would have said something if I—“ Aziraphale leaned forward into another coughing fit. The wet coughs sounded like they came from the very pit of his lungs, and were so strong they shook his whole body. Crowley reached over and began to rub the angel’s back again, drawing slow circles onto the tartan pajamas he had conjured up in a quick miracle on the way to Dawn’s cottage in Tadfield, the Bentley screaming down the country roads like a—well, like a bat out of hell.

Dawn had called from Aziraphale’s phone, upon finding him unconscious in the bookshop. She had dropped in with a box of homemade macarons—telling Crowley later that she had intended to use Aziraphale as a guinea pig for new recipes, but he loved sweets too much and would never say which one he liked the best—only to find him lying curled up on the floor, shivering, sweating through his shirt and burning up in fever. Upon waking, he had started to cry (a sight Crowley had only seen a few times, and was not interested in seeing again) and Dawn had been concerned enough to call out of the rest of her day at work and take him to her home. Thankfully, in the past day he had grown much more coherent, but his symptoms had gotten worse. The wet coughing, the chest pain, the sound Dawn described as a “crackling on inspiration” when Crowley arrived and she was still in “work mode.” (Crowley thought he was going deaf when she thankfully explained that she could only hear it through the stethoscope still hanging around her neck.) Dawn had decided it was pneumonia, but none of the three were sure quite how Aziraphale got it in the first place. I mean, they were heavenly beings after all. Aziraphale had said that he felt too weak to miracle it away, so it was up to Dawn and Crowley to nurse him back to health.

The cautious knock came at the door again, and Crowley was knocked out of his inner monologue to find Aziraphale now still except the rise and fall of his chest. He normally chose not to sleep, unlike Crowley who was quite a fan of closing his eyes and hallucinating wildly for eight hours each day. This illness was taking so much out of him that it was all he could do to stay awake for short bursts of time.

Dawn entered, Crowley holding a finger to his lips in a “be quiet, the baby is sleeping” motion. She smiled. “I went ahead and called in some antibiotics, but they won’t be ready until later today,” she whispered. “Would you like anything for breakfast?”

The demon cocked his head, thinking. It was early, about half past six, and the first light was beginning to peek through the curtain. “Cup of coffee might be nice,”

“Cup of coffee it is, then. Oh, and I brought these,” she set out a bowl of cool water and rags, alongside a cup for drinking water. “That fever’s worrying me, I don’t want to let it get back up to where it was yesterday if I can avoid it. Think you can persuade him to take these when he wakes up next?” she handed Crowley a few pills. “Just aceta-uh, paracetamol, I promise. Nothing sketchy.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Crowley. “Maybe they would go down a little better if they came alongside some sweets?”

“Oooh, good idea,” Dawn remarked. “I normally wouldn’t encourage macarons for breakfast, but can I really deny a poor little angel his favorite?”

“Exactly,” agreed Crowley. “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last six thousand years.”

A laugh bubbled up from Dawn as she left the room. The bittersweet aroma of coffee snaked through the house.

—

Aziraphale didn’t wake up until it was nearly lunchtime. He had been stirring in his sleep, and started breathing faster and heavier. Crowley almost woke him up, but decided against it when Dawn didn’t seem exceptionally concerned. When he actually woke, however, was a totally different story.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Yep, I’m here,” he said, calmly. “What’s up?”

“Oh, heavens, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, eyes glassy. “The books,”

“What books? The bookshop’s fine, remember angel?”

“Crowley, the books, I forgot,” the sick angel suddenly appeared frail to Crowley. He grasped at Crowley’s shirt in agitation. His hands were burning like holy water in Hell’s mop bucket.

“Angel, you’ve got to calm down, I can get you whatever book you want,” said Crowley, confused.

“No, no, Crowley, my books—“ said Aziraphale, breathing heavily, nearly choking. “The books are going to get blown up,” he grimaced in pain, with a sorrowful groan. “Crowley,”

Crowley called out for Dawn. He tried shushing the angel. “That was a long time ago, Aziraphale. Your books are safe now, I saved them, remember?”

“No, no, Crowley, help—“ he broke out in another fit of coughing, gasping for air. Dawn rushed in.

“What’s going on?” She crouched at the angel’s bedside, opposite the worried demon. Aziraphale jumped and turned to look at her, searching her face.

“I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening,” he said, wheezing. “Have you seen my friend?”

“Sweetheart, we’re right here with you,” she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, honey, you’re burning up,”

“Aziraphale, look at me,” said Crowley, sternly.

“Oh, Crowley,” said the angel, leaning into Dawn’s hand, cool on his feverish skin. “Please, would you take me home? But, I forgot my books,” he said, relieved at first to see his longtime friend then distraught again at the thought of the unspecified books being damaged. Hot tears began to fall from the blue eyes as he let out a sob.

Crowley and Dawn looked at each other, yellow snake eyes meeting deep brown. Dawn’s hands moved to the angel’s back as he shook with sobs.

“Angel, I promise to go find your books, but for now you have to take thesssse,” There was the hiss again. He handed Aziraphale the medication and the water glass, thin bony hands supporting soft pink ones. His hands were shaking worse than Crowley’s houseplants after a bad day. The angel cooperated but did not stop weeping.

“Which books did you lose, my dear? I can go look for you,” said Dawn, now rubbing small circles on the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

He sniffed and seemed to calm for a moment, before wailing “I don’t remember,” and going back into hysterics.

Crowley looked at Dawn again, exasperated, and Dawn shot back a look that so clearly communicated “I’m trying,” that he decided not to speak.

“Here, how about a snack to regain your strength so we can go look later,” said Dawn, softly. She turned and retrieved a plate with two macarons on it from the nightstand.

“Oh, yes,” said Aziraphale, tears still falling inexplicably but demeanor significantly changed. “Yes, that sounds good.” His hands still shook as he took the plate, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He quietly started eating the sweets as Crowley and Dawn both took a simultaneous sigh of relief.

After the snack, Aziraphale thankfully fell back to a fitful sleep.

“Well then,” sighed Dawn, brushing crumbs off the reddened cheeks. “That was exciting.”

“You’re telling me,” said Crowley. “Exciting” was not exactly the word he would use. Maybe “upsetting,” “very concerning” or “horrifying” would be better words.

“I guess I didn’t realize quite how attached he was to his books,” said Dawn, chuckling. She wiped his face with a cool, wet rag. “Whatever they were, they were pretty important,”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley waved his hand. “I had to rescue the books a few times. The Blitz, the fire in the bookshop… The whole Library of Alexandria thing was really rough. Had to do a lot of damage control on that one.”

“Oh, goodness, I can imagine.”

A beat of silence followed as they both looked down at the sleeping angel. Even sick, a sleeping Aziraphale was practically the definition of “angelic,” between the white-golden curls, upturned nose, and softly parted lips.

“The medicine should bring down his fever,” said Dawn, standing from her place by the bed. “Which I’m pretty sure was the cause of… all that. Shouldn’t happen again, theoretically, but steel yourself just in case.”

“Gotcha,” said the thin, tall redhead.

“I have a random question,” she said, coming around to Crowley’s side of the bed.

“Shoot.”

“Do they have… mothers? In heaven, I mean?”

“Ngk, not really,” said Crowley, shrugging. “You kinda just… start to be.”

“Hmm.” Dawn looked lost in thought.

“Well, consider yourselves ‘mothered’ then,” she said, grinning at the demon. “Everybody needs a mama, especially in tough times.”

She patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Part 2 here

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands #whump #hurt/comfort #sickfic #pneumonia #my writing

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skekzok-the-ritual-master · 4 years

Text

Out Of Character Questions

ROLEPLAYER GET TO KNOW YOU PROMPT

Tagged by: @hedonistschambers

Tagging: @ask-skeksa-the-mariner, @allpowerfulemperor, @asktheornamentalist, @askurva-thearcher, and anyone else who wants to :)

OOC About Your Character(s)

1. What do you want to get out of playing this character(s)?

I used to RP on Tumblr a lot in the Megamind fandom, and seeing other Dark Crystal RPers on here made me want to try getting back into RP a little. Since I don’t have any Dark Crystal OCs who lend themselves well to RP, I decided to go with a canon character, and skekZok was a prominent one who hadn’t gotten a blog yet. I’ve always liked looking at characters and thinking about what makes them tick, so this gives me a fun chance to do that for him.

2. Describe your character(s) with three words.

Cultured | Sadistic | Hypocritical

3. What made you decide to write this muse?

I’d been following the blogs of a few other Skeksis RPers, and the absence of Zok had been remarked on. Since he’s one of my favorites, I decided to make a blog for him and join in the fun.

4. If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

That’s a tough one, because Zok really doesn’t suffer that much in canon compared to other characters. I might stop ZokZah from trying to burn out part of his soul, but skekZok wouldn’t exist and there wouldn’t be much of a story if I did that. (If we include the JM Lee novels, I’d change it so he doesn’t throw skekSa under the bus.)

5. If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

“Don’t stab the blonde Gelfling girl. It won’t prevent the prophecy, and she’ll just come back to life anyway.”

6. If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

I’d love to see his reaction to a Swiss Army knife.

7. If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

I’m not sure how positive this is, but I’d take away his ability to believe his own lies. It would be interesting to see how he tries to juggle all the conflicting rules and stories he’s come up with over the centuries.

8. If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

His talent for speaking in public. I wish I could command an audience like he does.

9. Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

Considering the kind of things that tend to make Zok happy? Maybe. As for what would make him happiest, he believes it would be achieving immortality and remaining one of the highest-ranked of the court and having skekSa as his permanent mate, but that still won’t heal the spiritual emptiness inside him. Much as I enjoy Zok and Zah as separate beings, I do think reunification was the best thing for them. If he and SaSan could have been together after that, that would have been even better.

10. Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

I don’t mind angst in small doses, as long as I plot it out with the other player(s) beforehand and we agree how it will turn out in the end. Zok doesn’t lend himself easily to angst, but losing his place in the court hierarchy or having one of his allies turn on him would do it. He’s also come to genuinely believe the mythology he’s invented over the centuries -- anything that seriously challenged that worldview would be hard for him to deal with.

11. What do you love about your muse?

A lot of things. His charisma, his striking blue eyes, the way his voice is deeper and smoother than most of the other Skeksis, how over-the-top his gold outfit is, how he’s so attached to his headdress that he doesn’t even take it off in the spa, how unrepentantly creepy and sadistic he is -- he’s a very enjoyable character, even if he is a horrible birb.

12. What do you hate about your muse?

He's not an easy character to have interact with everyone. He can pretend to be nice when it suits him, and he’s not totally incapable of caring about people, but he’s still nasty enough that I can tell in advance a lot of interactions wouldn’t go well.

13. What about your muse amuses you?

The contrast between the austere image he tries to keep up, and how frazzled he gets when something upsets that image (”MY CARRIAGE!”). Also when he gets sarcastic or looks down on the others when they act in a less-than-civilized way.

14. What about your muse makes you sad?

All the people he’s hurt, and how unwilling he is to see that his way of life isn’t sustainable and won’t truly make him happy in the end.

15. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

“This guy is a creep, but he believes in good manners. Tread lightly, and you should be okay.”

16. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

LOL no. He’s an awful person who is best left in the realm of fiction.

17. In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

I like to think I’m a much nicer person than he is. I can be blunt and a bit of a troll sometimes, but I really don’t like hurting anyone, or trying to force people to do stuff they don’t like. As for Zok, he’s much more confident and well-spoken than I am, and he’s had the determination to stick with one job for a thousand years.

18. Why do you think you connect to your muse?

We’re both interested in culture, myth, and history, and feel better when we can assign some order to the world around us.

19. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

As I see it, the core of Zok’s character is that he wants to bring order to the world; that’s why his job title is ‘Ritual Master’ rather than ‘High Priest’ or something more overtly religious. If he can’t see an obvious reason why things are the way they are, he’ll invent one that makes sense to him (and serves his needs).

I think this is what Zok sees as his most important trait too -- in his mind, he took a bunch of feral newborn creatures who (by all rights) were never meant to have existed in the first place, and helped turn them into a civilized, godlike people who rule an entire planet. But that feral nature is always under the surface, and they still need ritual and order (and yes, punishment) to keep it in check.

20. Has your character(s) changed over the time that you have been playing them? How have they changed?

I haven’t been playing Zok for very long, but I’ve recently had a chance to write how he feels about deeper questions, like what it would mean for Skeksis to have children, and what happens to Skeksis and urRu souls after they die. I think it’s made him a bit more three-dimensional.

About You!

1. What is your name?

Kate, a.k.a. Crow or Lady Stormcrow

2. What is your profession?

Social worker, currently working in substance abuse treatment.

3. What do you do to relax?

Watch favorite TV shows, play video games, listen to music, hang out outdoors, chat online.

4. What is your favorite treat (desert)?

I have a big weakness for flan and other custard desserts. Also caramel.

5. Favorite movie

Amadeus (1984).

6. Favorite book

Good Omens (and yes I loved the series too).

7. Favorite vacation spot

Grand Cayman. We were supposed to visit again this spring, but COVID happened.

8. Favorite Disney movie

I’m not sure I have one favorite, but I love Fantasia and The Rescuers.

9. How did you first get into role playing?

Almost 20 years ago, lol. When I first started going online in high school, I made an online friend ( @ksclaw ) who introduced me to the concept. We played interactions with our SWAT Kats fan characters, and she helped me get the hang of it.

10. What was your first platform? If it was something other than Tumblr, what made you get into Tumblr?

It was Livejournal. I discovered Tumblr in late 2011 after my friends in the Megamind fandom introduced me to it, and most of us migrated here from our old LJ community. I loved being able to reblog whatever struck my fancy, and while my interest has waxed and waned, as you can see I’m still here.

11. What’s a grammar rule you find yourself breaking or ignoring a lot?

I like to think I have pretty good grammar. I know I’m guilty of run-on sentences, though, and I overuse ellipses and mix up ; and -- far too much.

12. Are there any languages besides English in which you think you could comfortably roleplay?

Not really. I can speak and understand a little Spanish and French, but not enough to write anything meaningful, and I’m wary of translation software for anything beyond a short sentence. Sorry!

13. Do you listen to music while your write?

Sometimes. Usually not when I’m doing the actual writing (that’s distracting, and I like to hear the words in my head), but I’ll listen to it beforehand to get myself in a mood or get some inspiration.

14. Are you a morning, day, evening, or night writer?

Late morning after I’ve had my coffee is usually my best time. Unfortunately I’m usually at work during that time, but on slow days and weekends I try to take advantage of it.

15. How does tiredness affect your writing?

It turns me into a zombie who can dream but cannot actually write.

16. What is your biggest obstacle to writing every day, if time doesn’t count?

Lack of motivation. I daydream and imagine stuff easily enough, but putting it down into writing is much harder, especially when I’m braindead from work.

17. How many drafts is a paralyzing amount?

More than 5 is daunting, though fortunately Zok hasn’t gotten that many yet.

18. Is there anything character-wise or writing style-wise that you can’t stand?

Players who are unwilling to have their characters be in the wrong, or who get upset if my character doesn’t react the way they wanted. Not all interactions are going to be smooth and happy, and I’m fine with that. Your character is not you, just like mine is not me.

19. What kind of anonymous questions are your favorite?

Weird ones. I like having my muses react to them.

20. What is your weakest point in writing? Angst, fluff, dialogue, etc.?

Fluff is kind of tricky. I don’t have trouble imagining it, but I get paralyzed thinking “this is too indulgent, I shouldn’t publish it, no one but me will like it, etc.” Maybe that’s part of why Zok appeals to me, because he’s not the fluffy type.

#ooc #writing

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