#and during the show i try to etch every scene to my mind so i can replay it over and over

[florenzist]

i had the best of luck last week because i got a little life ticket for a pretty decent price and it was the last seat of the show. suffice to say after i came out of the theatre i have not been able to think of anything else. my brain chemistry. forever altered now. anyways currently im trying to find tickets again because my friends want to see (they are aware of the contents of the show) but almost all the shows are sold out and if theyre not, we arent here by those days. not to mention the tickets. its crazy

[bekaroth-reads]

Goncharov and the Symbology of Cigarettes

So, I have plenty of things that I should be working on right now, but the Goncharov brain rot has been hitting me hard.

I know a lot of people talk about the symbolism of time, which is valid and certainly one of the main themes in the film; Ice Pick Joe going as far as smashing the face of a grandfather clock and screaming, “We still have time? Haven’t you realized, Andrey? Our days were numbered- my days were numbered- the moment you walked into that office!”

But! The theme that most people don’t look into as much is the cigarettes. These scenes have some good symbolism and I love it.

When we first see cigarettes is when Andrey walks into Goncharov’s office. We see that there are two cases: a plain, dented, worn out case and a fancy, gold plated, case with leaf designs etched into it. Goncharov takes a cigarette from the old case, and Andrey asks him why he had two of them. Goncharov explains that each case has a different kind to match the exterior- the old case has cheap cigarettes and the gold one has expensive ones that are only not considered actual cigars because of their size. Andrey then asks how he decides which ones to smoke, and Goncharov replies, “The company. All of these people walking around here, spending their money on things to make them more comfortable- things to help cushion their ears from the sound of the people on the streets crying for nothing more than food- they don’t like the smell of cheap tobacco. It takes away their ear muffs and blinders and reminds them of the dirty kids they saw on their walk over here. As for the expensive ones- can’t be wasting those on people who don’t deserve them.”

We can see form this that at this point in the film, Goncharov sees Andrey as inferior to him, seeing as he smoked a cheap cigarette when he was in the office. Andrey, however doesn’t seem to mind this. He doesn’t want to be associated with the rich bureaucrats that he feels are ruining his country and killing his people. We see him embrace not only this feeling, but the role of being the fighter for his cause, no matter how little his efforts might affect, when he boldly walks around the desk, opens the old case, takes out a cigarette, and lights it with Goncharov’s own lighter. “Expensive tobacco always gives me a headache.” He blows the first puff of smoke at Goncharov before walking out of the office.

(Bonus point that doesn’t necessarily have to do with the cigarette theme: just look at the way the Goncharov watches him while he takes the cigarette from the case, especially how he focuses on Andrey’s hands. Kills me every time! 😩)

Something else that is used for the whole, “cigarettes are a metaphor for power,” thing is the fact that Ice Pick Joe is always bumming them off of other people. It’s something that he desires, but wishes that he didn’t as every time that he takes one he says it’s his last one then he’s going to quit. The same way that he wants out of this lifestyle and desperately tries to find ways to leave, but there always one more thing that pulls him back in. There’s more to this later, but I’ll talk about things chronologically so they get too muddled.

Another thing to note in this theme is the fact that Mario, arguably the most power hungry character, is almost always smoking. They even gave him a cigarette in the theatre poster. He’s always seeking power and trying to lord the power that he does have over anyone he can. When he especially lights up is when he’s in a situation where he’s trying to regain authority that he feel like he’s losing (seen in the few scenes where he and Goncharov meet in person, and in the infamous, “eye for an eye,” scene).

Cigarettes also are used to show the two-faced nature of Katya. There is some foreshadowing during the scene where she and Andrey are talking on the balcony. While they are talking, she takes his cigarette. While this might look like flirting, it’s most likely a visual metaphor for her being very advantageous with her stances; wanting to look good to people, but not actually willing to give up her prestigious status to stand up for Andrey or the others when Mario is going after them. This is represented by how she takes Andrey’s cigarette, takes one puff from it, then complaining that it’s, “too harsh,” for her before snuffing it out. She only wants Andrey to have power if it gives her power, and would rather see him taken out of the picture if he won’t stay in her grip, much like she would rather put out the cigarette than give it back to him.

The first time that Goncharov sees Andrey after he’s lost his eye, one of the first things does is to offer him a cigarette. Though there are no words spoken, it is hinted that this is also a way for him to ask Andrey to work with him now that he’s out of favor with Mario. Andrey turns it down, saying that he’s not so sure he likes cigarettes anymore, and that maybe Joe is onto something. It could also be that he sees Goncharov offering him one from the old, tin case, showing that while he respects Andrey enough to want him to work for him, he doesn’t respect him enough to call him his equal. That this would be the same situation that he was in with Mario, but just with a different person to step on him.

The Mario and Joe parts of this analogy both come to a head when Joe finally buys his own pack of cigarettes only to be shortly shot by Mario. In this case, Joe buying them showing that he’s finally accepted that much like his smoking habit, there is seemingly no way for him to escape the mafia life. And, the fact that Mario shoots him himself, and then proceeds to take pack off of Joe’s body shows that he’s desperate to regain any shred of power he can get, even if it’s over someone considered to be pretty low on the food chain like Joe.

The final bit of this we get shown is toward the end where, after taking out Mario as well as stopping Katya from killing Goncharov, Andrey is sitting on the floor and looking at his shoulder that got shot during the whole scuffle. Goncharov, almost as beaten and battered as Andrey, and certainly as disheveled, messes around at his desk for a moment before shuffling his way over to Andrey. He sits down, puts a cigarette in his mouth, puts one in Andrey’s, then lights them both. Then, Goncharov puts another cigarette into Andrey’s pocket. In the end, Andrey wasn’t worth a single, expensive cigarette to Goncharov. He was worth two. Andrey was twice the man that Goncharov thought he was.

It’s implied that Andrey kept closely working with Goncharov even after everything, as part of the closing narration says the line, “After that, I developed a taste for expensive tobacco, though, it still gave me a headache from time to time.”

[kira-fluff]

Hello! Have you done headcanons for a MC that is a really good artist? Like, that's what she loves and hopes to make a career out of it? (For the RFA, V, And Saeran?) thankyou! Bye bye! \ ^-^ /

a/n: I LOOOVEE this idea! As a passionate artist myself, this one hits home :) As you probably know, I’ve updated my rules, since you specified 2, I will pick 2 from the RFA :) Again, let me know if you’d like to have different characters than the ones I picked! I went for MC instead of Y/n this time. Let me know what you think. Thanks! 

Also, this is pre-relationship and it may or may not have turned into a confession headcanon oh gosh 

- 

MC is an Artist +Confession bonus 

V +bonus confession 

As a fellow artist, V would be incredibly proud of you 

Even though he might sometimes have trouble saying it 

V has always showed actions above his words 

You’d quickly gathered this from his lack of communication with the RFA chat and text messages between the two of you in general 

But you understood him, in a way 

You related to the freedom he felt whenever he expressed himself through his photography 

Because you felt that same feelings when you painted 

You were incredibly inspired by Beatrix Potter, your memories of her various artworks inspiring you to do the same 

You adored nature just as much as V did 

Together, you both made a beautiful pair 

You wore an adorable flower-patterned, yellow sun dress

A beige sunhat you held to your head with a hand, carrying your brushes and paint palette

Him, dressed smartly in a sweater with khaki pants 

 V could carry your easel for you, his professional photography bag slung around his shoulder. 

You’d laugh, turning around to look at him, the wind blowing in your face, urging him to “Come on!” 

V had never thought you more beautiful than the time you’d accidentally tripped into a meadow of freesias, scattering them every which way 

You gasped, whipping out your pocket book, etching down the scene before you 

After a measurable silence, you looked over at V who had been quiet in taking pictures of you 

He keeps many copies of the pictures, putting one in his wallet and other places he’d look frequently just to make him smile 

He’d never let others besides himself see them, but they were the most beautiful photos he’d ever taken, and this not just by his standards of your beauty 

You sometimes would catch yourself sketching him during your time outside with him, sitting in a quiet pasture 

The world’s creatures were your muse, but you couldn’t help yourself from taking every opportunity to capture V’s every expression

And maybe that’s when you realized you were completely and utterly in love with him. 

In those quiet times in the meadows, all along you were in love with him. 

When you’d caught V taking candids of you, you always would beg him to delete them, which he begrudgingly would, if you really begged him 

But.. other than that, you were positive V had no real feelings for you outside of a deep friendship. 

That must’ve done it. He knows.  

Because suddenly, V had become incredibly distant, flaking out of your naturalist escapades, becoming increasingly difficult to come in contact at all..

it was all pointing to the fact that he had realized how deeply you loved him. 

You in turn, pushed away everyone around you. 

Rejection hurt. So much. One does not truly understand it until they’ve felt it themselves. 

It came to a point where you had no more tears left to cry, you knew he was gone forever. 

Your love, your inspiration. 

All was gone. 

You hadn’t touched a paint brush in months 

You’d been skipping meals for a while, beginning to feel more and more fatigue because of it. 

It came to the point where all in the RFA (except V) had become so worried about you that they’d sent Jaehee and Yoosung over to check on you 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d checked your phone 

Your blinds and curtains had been shut for a subsequent amount of time. 

It had been weeks since you’d last changed your clothes, your hair was unkept. 

You stopped taking care of yourself completely, emptiness overtaking you. 

You had always had a dream of making artwork your career.. but just when your freelance career had begun to take off.. you lost everything. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to touch your paints or pocket book. It reminded you too much of him. 

You weren’t concerned about money, Rika’s apartment was already paid for and… well, with no real meal expenses, you didn’t feel any real purpose to continue. 

You heard a soft knock on the door. 

Instead of answering, you groaned, rolling over in your sheets – hoping if you ignored the knocking they’d assumed you weren’t home.

Any last grain of hope you’d had left you a long time ago. 

“….MC?” 

You slowly sat up in your bed. It was Yoosung. 

You instantly felt shame for ignoring them.. and looking, well, like this. 

“I’m coming in!” Came a loud shout, causing you to panic. 

Damn. Seven must’ve opened the apartment.  

Seven was concerned for you, given the surveillance footage, he couldn’t find almost any instances when you’d left your apartment. 

Given your apparent closeness, Seven shot a text to Yoosung, Jaehee, and of course, V. 

Yoosung and Jaehee replied in agreement and concern, V, however, said something very different. 

// V:  I’m sorry. I can’t go. >> [sent, 6:08am]

707: I thot the 2 of u were rly close. Did sth happen? >> [sent, 6:09am]

V: I’m selfish. I can’t see her anymore. >> [sent, 6:29am] 

707: ? >> 

707: > [sent, 6:29am]

read, 6:32am. //

You began to cry, embarrassed and ashamed, as Jaehee and Yoosung called your name throughout your hollow feeling apartment. 

Immediate concern covered their faces when they saw you teary eyed in your bed. 

“Oh, MC, hey, it’s going to be okay.”, Jaehee immediately held your head in her arms. 

She ordered Yoosung to get some food from your local convenience store

From there, she opted to begin cleaning you up. 

Jaehee didn’t want to force you to do or say anything, so she never asked questions – unless to ask whether you were comfortable taking a shower or perhaps, eating something later. 

You were not opposed to the help, rather, you felt indebted to them, feeling guilty for causing Jaehee, Yoosung, and likely Seven a great amount of trouble. 

Jaehee made quick work of stripping your bed sheets, stuffing in the laundry and opening the blinds, cleaning your room and dusting where necessary 

A part of her chastised herself for not doing so sooner, but she and the others were afraid that they’d be intruding on your right to take a social media break or something of the sort. 

Yoosung came back relatively quickly, a meal in hand, per Jaehee’s request. 

He made quick work of making his specialty – an omurice omelette. 

Jaehee continued to tidy up, checking up with you when she’d realized the apartment had gotten too silent

You at last stepped out of the shower, your hair taking on a glimmer, as if thanking you for taking care of it at last. 

You washed your face, trying to gather your thoughts as your shoved a crew-neck shirt over your head, opting for jeans and slippers as well. 

At last coming out of the bathroom, you at last made eye contact with Yoosung and Jaehee you began to cry again. 

Without hesitation, they rushed toward you for a hug, hushing you when you’d blubbered, “I’m sorry, thank you, I’m so sorry” in between dry heaves. 

After a quick call to Seven from Jaehee, Zen, Jumin and Saeyoung had made their way to your apartment as well. 

They each had their piece to share, kind words of encouragement and love. 

You were happy by their words, but… 

V wasn’t here. 

At last gaining confidence through their encouraging words, you ushered them to the large sofas that laid beneath your TV. 

Looking down, you said, “I-I’m sure you’re all wondering about V and I..” 

You didn’t dare look up when your sniffles began. 

You took a deep breath before beginning, “This is nothing to his fault, but….” your lip wobbled, “I believe.. I think he realized that I had completely fallen for him,” you laughed pathetically, “Still am”

Seven began, “MC–” 

“I don’t blame him, really, I never intended to tell him… it’s awkward.” 

Zen clenched his fist, “That asshole…” 

“And my friend” Jumin quickly rebutted. 

“P-please! I didn’t tell you this to make you dislike him or anything! I just felt like I owed you all an explanation…”, you begged.

Seven stared at you for a while before saying, “MC… V he’s– I think you should tell him properly.” 

Zen, ever the hot-head, stood up shouting, “And get her heart broken all over again?! How heartless can you be!” 

You smiled ingenuinely, “He’s right, Zen.” 

Before you could change your mind, you picked up your phone, and for what felt like years, you at last dialed V’s number. 

On the last ring, you heard sound that the caller had, picked up though there was no sound on the other line. 

Jumin and Yoosung ushered everyone out of the room, deciding to take a little stroll outside the apartment complex. 

After a moment of silence you started, “…..V?” 

You now heard him breathing on the other line.

“V, I know you’re there. Please…” You felt your voice wavering, “P-please… come to my apartment.”, you whispered a final, “please.” 

V was silent for what felt like hours before saying, “……..okay.” 

You hung up, attempting to mentally prepare yourself for the world of hurt you were about to endure again. 

After a long silence in which you’d zoned out, you suddenly heard the door bell ring. 

You glanced up. Only V ever used the doorbell.. always had. 

You slowly crept toward the door, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. 

Gently opening the door a crack, you took in V. 

It had been a few months, but he looked so different. So…hollow. 

You moved for him to come inside, closing the door behind you. 

“Um, V, there’s something I need to tell you.” 

“You already know my answer.” 

You looked up, tears welling in your eyes, doing your best to ignore his statement. 

“V… I love you.” 

You’d never seen V so taken aback, his whole face grew pale. 

“Y-you love me?” 

“Have. For a long time.” 

You looked down, “You can go now.” 

Yet you didn’t hear a sound of movement. 

Looking up, V was still standing there, shocked. 

At last, you managed to hear the softest whisper, “All this time….”

You leaned in closer, “What?” 

“I- I loved you.. I love you. Since we’d first met. I-I thought you didn’t want a thing to do with me. Thought you’d figured out I’d fallen in love, so I distanced myself.. selfishly to try not to get hurt, but I still did. And all this time you felt the same.” 

You were now the stunned one. 

“Really?” 

V gently smiled at you, enveloping you in a tight hug, “Really.” 

Jumin +bonus confession 

You loved to create stories 

Various areas of fiction, watercolor splashing against crisp, white pages 

Telling a beautiful story in color 

And Jumin adored it. 

He adored you. 

He admired your deep passion to create and your love for everything. 

He couldn’t understand how you could see the beauty in everything around you… for Jumin, he tended to consider things in their degree of usefulness. 

For the longest time, his father and those around him had encouraged this mentality 

And so, Jumin rarely sought for things that would have no real purpose – his penthouse proved this point by its bare walls – void of artistic charm

It wasn’t until you’d met him through the RFA that you’d immediately brought a force of color into his life 

He remembered well the first time you’d come to his apartment 

You gently ran your soft fingers against the walls of his penthouse saying, “Mr. Han, I think you need some more color in your house. It looks like a hospital in here!” You turned to him, a playful smile on your face. 

The breath was knocked out of him. 

God, he could never say no to you. If you’d ask, he’d get you anything you’d ever need. 

But he loved that you didn’t appreciate that kind of affection. Jumin knew he immediately ran to gift giving for love because it was the only way he had been shown love throughout his life…. and, it didn’t really mean anything to him. 

Still, he desperately wanted to be helpful, so if you were ever in a financial struggle, he’d offer to assist you. 

You’d proudly decline, declaring you could do it all yourself. He liked that about you too. Your independence, your kindness. 

It didn’t take long for him to realize he had taken to you greatly. 

One day when you’d come over for a visit, while petting Elizabeth III, you said, “Hey, Jumin.. have you ever fallen in love before?” 

Tension filled the air while Jumin stared at you. 

How could MC be so blind. 

When it had been a few moments he’d not answered, you awkwardly said, “J-just kidding! I figured you’re probably engaged – that was a stupid question, sorry..” 

Jumin was stricken by your sudden uncertainty, but didn’t make anything of it. 

“I’m not engaged. Don’t listen to anything my father says regarding that. And to answer your question, I think I might have an idea of what that feels like.” 

His eyes bore into yours, but he of course missed the look of sorrow that’d taken over your eyes.  

He’d watch you paint all day if he had the time. 

He couldn’t understand how you could look at a blank sheet of paper and write something so poetically beautiful and paint a lovely picture to match 

It was all a part of his amazement of you. 

He could watch you for hours, humming to yourself while you played around with contrast colors for your watercolor pieces 

No other art had value quite like your own 

He encouraged you at every chance he got, “MC, you should go into the arts.” 

“That’s what I want to do! But, Dad says the arts aren’t a realistic job.”, you frowned. 

“That may have been true in some outdated decade, but in our world today people are always looking for something hand-made and authentic. When we research our products, we look for items that have a ‘signature’ to them. Trust me, people want your art not only because it is breath-taking.. but because you made it.” 

You smiled at that, Jumin was always one to put a rational thought forward for your consideration, something you’d cherished. 

“Besides, I think you’d be happy anywhere you can create.” 

You grinned, pulling him into a tight hug, “Thank you, Ju Ju.”

Staying close friends became increasingly difficult, but Jumin wasn’t going to risk losing his friendship with you because of feelings. 

So you surprised him when you began randomly, “Jumin, I think I’m in love with you, okay?” 

You made eye contact, doing your best to show you were serious. 

As soon as he realized you were authentic in your confession, you turned around and began sprinting, flying open the door to his penthouse 

Jumin immediately chased after you, both in a full sprint 

You screamed when you heard his breathing and steps behind you and so increased your speed 

You had at last reached a dead end, but Jumin was a ways behind you. 

You reached for the elevator button, furiously clicking it – thankfully it came on the first ding. 

You rushed inside, repeatedly tapping the door-closing button. 

You sighed at last when you felt the elevator moving up, gasping for air. 

You attempted to continue going up to the highest story, which happened to be 320, grateful that this damn skyscraper had a ton of floors. 

You froze when the door came to a stop at floor 13. You panicked, trying to force the doors not to open. 

In front of you was a random businessmen, looked slightly peeved at the long wait he must’ve had for the elegant glass elevator. 

You apologized, allowing him into the elevator along with a crowd of impatient people, some gorgeous women with a smart suit and long hair, their phone resting on their cheek next to their ear, some more businessmen, glancing anxiously at their watches. 

As the elevator climbed to floor 21, a heap of people acknowledged their stop, pressing out of the elevator shaft and onto the busy hallways of what appeared to be the finance department. 

You sighed, pressing more buttons to go up higher. 

You screeched when you felt a hand on both of your wrists, slamming you into the wall behind you. 

Jumin’s eyes were glowing from the slight sweat that was beginning to form on his brow 

He looked pissed. 

“Don’t. Ever. Run. Away. From me. Again.” 

You gazed up at him, a guilty expression clouding your face 

“S-sorry..”, you quickly looked away, not bearing to look at the anger in his expression, the way he clenched his jaw and his eyes took on a darker hue… brows knit together. He was really mad. 

“You didn’t let me answer.” He said, his voice deep. 

He leaned in closer.. you closed your eyes in anticipation. 

He breathed a laugh through his nose, resting his forehead on your collarbone and shoulder. 

You blushed in embarrassment. 

Suddenly, Jumin hugged you tightly, “I love you too, MC.” 

Zen

As a fellow artist, Zen was overjoyed to say the least when he found out about your love for singing 

Your social media accounts were growing rapidly from your posts of music covers and original songs 

You also had a deep love to playing the harp. 

It had taken a lot of coaxing to convince your father to let you pay half and he pay the other of the expense of a 200,000 Won pedal harp 

But you loved it so much 

And so does Zen 

He’d definitely insist on doing a collaboration with you 

After the recording session and upload, both your following counts grew rapidly 

Comments of all types flooded your posts: 

OMG!!! ZEN!! BEAUTIFUL ZEN!!

who’s the b*tch next to him? 

omg, right? 

ew lol 

AHHHH I LOVE YOU ZEN!!! 

MC looks so cute…

fyp!! 

ZEN AND MC WOULD MAKE SUCH A CUTE COUPLE AWEEEE 

I agree!! 귀엽다   (cute) 

Over the course of your social media endeavor, you’d learned to ignore the ruthless comments of jealous fans 

Zen was worried you’d taken them personally so he validated you a lot over the period that the video was a hit 

Zen wrote a song about you (which he definitely serenaded you with): 

“your passion, my passion one in the same this song – our communicator of my love to you. your smile each day this serenade a simple translator the time we have means so much i wouldn’t spend it any other way.” - radio wave COMMUNICATION by Zen 

The song overtook the song charts, making it’s way to the #1 spot in half a day 

You’d asked him, “Zen, are you going to make that a single? You are, aren’t you? Right?” 

“No, this is something for you and you only” 

You smiled at that, but said, “Zen, love like this deserves to be shared. This song will mean something so special to someone else, just like it means something to me. Music, what we do.. it was made to be shared.” 

Zen looked at you with stars in his eyes, taking you in a big hug. 

You truly were the kindest person he’d ever met.. and he loved you so, so much. 

Even though you may not have realized yet what the truth of his feelings were in his serenade, he knew he’d wait for the day in anticipation when he’d finally ask you to be his. 

Saeran

Saeran wasn’t personally one for dramatics, but he loved watching you perform  

You’d sing for all kinds of musicals – you’d act for a series of plays 

He loved it when you’d act in classics like Macbeth or The Phantom of the Opera

It felt like a safe place to forget everything in his life and just watch you 

But he hadn’t fallen for you for who you pretended to be, but for who you really are. 

You were shy – something he found surprising (but unbelievably adorable) because you were a well-known actress 

When you’d first met him, you were walking outside the entrance way of the theater a few hours before your showtime. 

You had accidentally tripped and spilled coffee all over some tax forms you had to fill out

You let out a soft, “oh no!” 

Saeran had been early for a nice seat (hopefully away from other people) and noticed a woman in a cute over-sized sweater was muttering words under her breath, picking up what seemed to be endless amounts of papers 

He quietly walked over and just as softly said, “…need some help..?” 

You were surprised at the sudden presence of a stranger 

“o-oh! … yes please..” 

he smiled, leaning down and picking up stacks of coffee-stained paper

“would you like me to carry them for you?”, he said 

“are you– are you sure?” you looked up at him innocently in concern 

he answered by gently taking the stack of papers, “where to..?” 

“um… i’ll show you..” 

he nodded, following you to the backstage area where there was a mirror attached to a dresser, stage makeup covering the top of it. 

“you’re an actress?” 

you grinned shyly, “everyone’s surprised..” 

“n-no, i think it suits you. i was surprised because i’m watching the show tonight.” 

“r-really? you’ll watch me?” 

he nodded, blushing at your hopeful smile 

“i’ll do my best then, if you’ll watch me..” 

“good.” he looked away 

“i’ll be waiting” you said with a soft smile 

“so will i” 

yeah you two were literally so adorable.

- 

enjoy my beautifuls

[perhapsthanatos]

06:01 am with sungchan ♡

nct's sungchan x fem!reader (ok do u guys know that one vine where its in a party & a girl is vaping & a dude says “wow”? yeah, thats where i got my inspo from)

alternate title: after the afterparty

genre: fluff. pinning. non idol au. party!au (is that a thing?).

word count: 1250~

playlist: melodrama (the whole album) by lorde.

warnings: mentions of some of the nct dream members as well as some mentions of the loona members (not really a warning though). this is set before corona was a thing (pls dont do this now). it is set in a house party (with tension). mentions of drugs (weed), alcohol & smoking. mild swearing. making out perhaps? lower case intended.

a/n: this has been on my mind for awhile now & im really excited to put this out there! it also has more tension compared to the other works so yay :)) i also just wanna take a moment to thank the lovely @nct99 for helping me out with this plot & giving some prompts & ideas too?? :(( she is such a sweetheart & pls she is so talented too ugh im so glad we r mutuals & fellow lorde stans :(( give her love rn or else i will eat ur shower curtains (& nae i hope it was worth the wait! i wish i added more references tho lmaoo)

another graceless night and another house party. this time, it was chenle’s birthday. he is a friend of yours, known for having a huge mansion and known for throwing the best parties regardless of the occasion. come to think of it though, it could easily be the 7th one this week and it’s barely wednesday. the evening passes fast as golden rays already start to gently peek through the thin curtains of the tall windows near the living room, as bodies of wasters are sprawled all over the house.

you lean back on the couch further, a curtain of haze taking up your vision as you inhaled another hit of the fresh blunt. even with the sun rising, you still make most of what you can get before everyone (and everything) starts leaving. you never were a party person until your friends dragged you into it. since that day you found it to be a fun way to get rid of your problems and worries (even if it was just for a few hours). partying (as gross as it sounds) became a routine, even becoming its own cycle. you come, you leave and you have everything in between be a complete blur, maybe even staying completely jaded until the daylight returns. some nights it feels good to kiss and keep busy rather than face the constant harsh reality.

you turn your head to see sungchan, the back of his head resting on the top of the couch right next to you. his leather jacket rubbing against your bare arm. his eyes are closed showing off his long lashes and his pink lips are chapped and parted. he looks seraphic in this light.

to be honest, you didn’t know much about sungchan. all you knew was that he’s the new kid who started getting close with jisung barely a month ago. that led jisung to introduce him to the group and him getting welcomed in with open arms by everyone, except you. it’s not that you hate him or have anything against him, if anything he seems like the most charming people out there. you just have trouble opening up to new people especially when you’re already so comfortable with the others (which he could kind of guess already). but since he joined, he was also dragged into the party scene and often played the role as the designated driver and part-time babysitter (a role that he takes seriously along with jeno). it isn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to be seen wrestling the bottle of gin away from hyejoo, strapping in renjun’s seat belt for him, cleaning up yerim’s vomit or carrying an unconscious donghyuck over his shoulder. come to think of it, he fits in just fine. you have often found yourself near him during parties. just kicking back and sitting in a comfortable silence with you drinking and smoking from time to time. he is the one that notices when you’ve had enough and wanted to leave. maybe you’re more alike than you think?

“feeling good?” he asks, smelling the fresh smoke. he turns his head to you and opens one of his eyes.

you only nod and sigh, turning your head back to the ceiling. waves of calmness hit your head, forcing every burden out. you were about to offer him a hit but you remembered that he would only reject it. but you take another for yourself and he can only stare, completely enamored. we watches the smoke escape your lips in slow.

the thing is, he always had some sort of thing for you. a crush? a person he found cool and therefore admired? a person who he found so damn gorgeous all the time? god knows. all he knew was that there was something in you that was so addictive. on the nights where he’d stay sober, he’d watch you sit by his side, quietly drinking up your little movements and habits. even if he hates the taste of alcohol or the smell of gasoline, he loved how your teeth would close around the liquor-wet lime slices that would sit on the side of your cup and how your smoke always finds a way to leave him stained. he would constantly be falling into this fixation of you. you are etched into his mind as the embodiment of perfection even if you have multiple flaws just like he does. his mind constantly lays restless during the most ungodly hours while all of his dreams show you and him in different dimensions. it hurts him to violently like you like this but how can he not resist when the heartache came from you?

“sungchan,” you quietly call out, turning your head back to him, only to see him already staring.

“hm?” he takes one of your hands, in case you wanted to get up and couldn’t walk.

“may i try something?” you ask him, curiously with your hooded eyes barely holding on to consciousness.

“what is it?” he sits up, trying to help.

you gently push him back into the couch and straddle his hips. his eyes slightly widen and his cheeks turn a rosy red.

“ah, y/n, you’re fucking high.” he warns, stroking your hair and leaning further back.

you only giggle. your finger lifts his chin up, making him look directly at you. his shaky eyes are too irresistible.

“tell me when you wanna stop.”

you take the blunt, inhaling deeply. he continues to hold you, admiring the view while he’s at it.

you then gently pulled him closer by the neck (quite slowly incase he wanted to oppose) to leave an open-mouthed kiss on his plum lips to transfer the smoke into his mouth. he does not fight the feeling, how can he when your lips are the softest thing he has ever felt? the smoke began to seep through as he started to move his lips, eliciting a groan from you. is this what euphoria feels like? his grip on your waist tightens as your arms wrap around his neck, prompting him to go further.

sungchan, almost breathless pulls on your bottom lip, bruising them to then pull away to work at your neck, licking and leaving kisses all over. butterflies filled your stomach for the first time in awhile. you never felt this way towards another person in too long. is it love or desperation? you watch the smoke flow away so gracefully around your bodies, despite what just happened. sungchan pulls away and looks at you, his eyes holding the world. you pray that you didn’t frighten him away.

“you do not know how long i’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers, his forehead against yours. you smile in return, pulling away to place a small kiss on his jaw which clenches from the sudden contact. you rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as his head rests on yours and his cold hands trace patterns against the skin of your back.

“know i think you’re fucking awesome, right?” you hum, making him smile like an idiot.

“hm, no. but i think you should know that i think you’re really fucking awesome, right?” he says holding you tighter and gently swaying from side to side.

“you wanna leave here and get some mcdonalds or something?”

“ooo, what ever happened to the babysitter and designated driver, hm? so what, you plan to leave them here hungover and defenseless?”

“shut up, it’s already dawn. they can take an uber. i just wanna spend time with you right now.”

“alright.”

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 6 ~A Wrinkle in Time~

Previously in The Tethered Ties ...

And when he finally glanced back down at the laptop, he nearly choked. Right there on the screen, peering up at him, was a cantankerous-looking, crocodile Dundee version of Harry. Same eyes, the same face, and though a handsome fellow, this man's skin looked weather-beaten, and he had a scary scowl on his face.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb."

Ah, holy fuck!  Though uncle Lamb looked like Harry, Jamie knew this man was nothing like Harry. Harry was ...or had been a polite, refined and jolly ol' chap with a very posh accent. This man was far from the polished look Harry presented. This man looked like he'd seen the world and confronted danger and probably wrestled crocodiles as a hobby. Convincing uncle Lamb that he's good enough for Claire was not going to be a walk in a park. Jamie knew he had a long evening ahead as he gingerly sat down in front of Claire's laptop and braced himself.

Jamie cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Good evening, sir ..."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

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  Jamie had a dream. It was unlike any other dreams he had before.

He was cycling down a road, the cold wind stinging his cheeks, a plastic container of pastries in one hand. Excitement rose within as he followed the familiar route to Murtagh's house, huffing and puffing when he picked up speed. He was dropping off his ma's freshly baked treats to his godfather, hoping Murtagh would have time to go fishing.

An ear-splitting screech of brakes echoed in the air, along with mangling metal crashing and twisting. 

He stopped. The plastic container dropped from his hand, and his bike collapsed to the ground. He began walking towards the crash site, sensing with every step, he was nearing a metamorphic truth that would change him forever.

Despite the trepidation mounting in his chest, he couldn't stop moving towards the wreck. He quickened his pace and then began to jog, and then he ran. Faster and faster. 

He ran until the breath whooshed out from his lungs in burning gasps, and he slowed to a standstill in front of the harrowing scene that was before him.

The wind picked up, and the clouds dimmed the sun. The acrid stench of burnt rubber and engine oil filled his nostrils. A familiar face appeared through the cracked windshield, calling out his name in desperation. For a second, his heart ceased to beat, and his breath caught in his throat.

Harry?

"Save her ...please ..." 

The plea struck his ears, and he tried to move, but he was stuck on the spot. He twisted his body and stretched out his arms, willing his feet to budge, straining and grunting and chanting a soundless prayer for strength. A piercing scream jolted him out from his struggle, unfettering him from the invisible force holding him in place, almost tumbling over from the abrupt release. He realised they were cries from a child.

He moved towards the car and wrenched the back door open, seemingly the only side still intact from the collision. A child, no more than the age of five with angry red blotches on her cheeks and wild curls, was restrained by the seatbelts. Her pudgy wee arms were outstretched as she screamed on top of her lungs, crying out for her mummy.

He stared in disbelief, immobilised by the uncertainty of his next course of action. 

"Save her, Jamie ..." He glanced up to see Harry's face contorted in pain, eyes imploring. "There's not enough time."

"But ..."

"Go! Take her with you ...Now!"

Spurred by adrenaline and fear, heart pounding against his chest, he began to move. He unfastened the strap across the wean's body and grabbed her from the seat. Wee arms and legs wrapped around him as he spun around and headed for the moor. Holding tight to his bundle, one hand bracing the tiny head pressed against his neck, he ran as fast as he could. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Harry watching him through the window and then the car exploded.

Jamie woke up lurching upright to a sitting position, his top clinging to his clammy skin and his heart racing like a freight train. Swallowing air in big gulps, he yanked off the duvet and swung his legs out of bed, trying to even his breathing. Then he began to shake as he heard the distant roar from the deep recesses of his brain, and the floodgates of memories swung open in vivid hues. It came in massive waves, raising recollections and visions to the surface that had been submerged under the basement of time. A deluge of dispersed images merged into one, and a stream of realisation emerged. Suddenly everything was as clear as day. Everything that Murtagh had told him of Claire's parents earlier was now clicking into place. The child they'd rescued that fateful day was Claire! Except, in his dream, he'd been the only one to save her.

A cold shiver passed through him when a suppressed but very visual memory of Harry sprung into his head just before the car had exploded. Harry had just regained consciousness and had looked straight at Jamie with a sobbing wee Claire tight in his arms, the look on his face branding his consciousness forever. Though it had been relief carved out on the doomed man's face in knowing Claire would live, it had done nought to appease his soul. He glanced over at the woman beside him. She slept peacefully, her soft snores confirming she hadn't been affected by his fitful sleep.

Reliving the sequence of that event, he remembered now how the horror of that day had haunted him. It had been so bad, he'd been coerced to attend counselling by his mother. Too young to process Harry's demise, he'd literally felt on the edge of a nervous breakdown. After a year of refusing to talk about the ordeal, he'd shifted his focus elsewhere to stop the nightmares. There had been this unabating need to atone for Claire's parents' death, the urge to help and protect growing like a snowball, morphing into an avalanche to flatten and destroy any unpleasant memories and replace them with something good. He'd rescued animals and sheltered them in his father's barn. He'd defended kids against bullies at school. He'd volunteered for causes that involved helping the vulnerable. He'd enlisted to be part of the British Armed Forces, hoping to make a difference to the plights of those afflicted. He'd even gone as far as making a promise to his dying friend, killed in action during his SAS days. Jamie had felt so guilty for his inability to protect his best mate, Simon, he'd asked his friend's widow to marry him. Though thankful now the marriage had never taken place after having met Claire, his efforts to appease his guilt had been a struggle. All these years, he'd buried the horrors of war, the memory of losing Simon and images of Harry going up in flames with layers of what he'd thought were reparations. But what he hadn't known, his failings continued to fester below the surface. It was like a wound that refused to heal.

Had Murtagh's revelation triggered the suppressed memories to resurface? Or did it have something to do with his conversation with Claire's uncle Lamb? His mind wandered to their discussion earlier.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb. Uncle Lamb, this is Jamie, James Fraser ...my boyfriend. I'm staying with him for at least a week."

"Is that right?" the man on the screen harumphed with a growl as he stuck a thick cigar between his teeth. "Not what I was expecting."

Jamie disregarded the not so subtle dig. "Good evening, sir ..." he began.

Claire laughed. "Don't call him that, Jamie. It's too weird!" She glanced over her shoulder as she walked away. "If he's giving you "the look," don't worry. Uncle Lamb is all bluster."

"I heard that," uncle Lamb grumbled.

"Play nice, then!" she shouted from the kitchen.

Jamie eyed the man on the screen and squared his shoulders. He wished he'd been more prepared for this or at least looked presentable. Instead, he resembled a drowned cat after just having arrived home from work. Claire hadn't told him much about uncle Lamb and wondered if she'd said anything about him to the older man. 

He stared at Harry's look alike. Does uncle Lamb ever smile? Or is that scowl permanently etched on his face? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had something to do with that cigar hanging loosely in his mouth.

Sizing him up, Jamie presumed they're roughly the same breadth, and if uncle Lamb was anything like Harry in stature, they should be the same height too. It's a good thing they were meeting via video conference. If they had been facing each other in person, he might be less inclined to shake hands, seeing how the older man looked like he was capable of committing murder.

An amused Claire came gliding out of the kitchen with a bottle of beer, seemingly unfazed by tension emanating from her laptop screen. "Don't mind his mood, Jamie," she chirped. "He's just grouchy because five of his men came down with food poisoning. And work is being delayed again." 

Uncle Lamb growled. "Don't remind me."

Claire wagged a finger at her uncle before kissing Jamie on the forehead and handing him the bottle. "I'll go prepare dinner."

He took a deep breath as he watched her head back to the kitchen. Uncle Lamb could frown all he wanted. Ultimately, if need be, he would go through twenty uncle Lambs to show the world how serious he was about his relationship with Claire. 

Jamie noticed the older man watching him very closely. 

"So how are ye?"

"I don't like surprises," Quentin announced, obviously wanting to get straight to the point.

"Neither do I," he returned. Facing off each other for a few silent seconds, Jamie deliberately took a slow slug of his beer. He placed the bottle back down on the table and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "But surprises are nothing new to me. I was trained to be prepared against any surprises," he added, referring to his SAS past. 

Quentin ignored the remark. "Claire told me ..." He leaned forward and rolled his khaki sleeves up, exposing tanned sinewy, muscular arms. "...you met just before Christmas."

"That's right, sir ...I mean unc ...I mean Quentin." The older man raised an eyebrow at him, and Jamie raised one back. 

"Things seem to be moving along. Fast!"

"Claire and I have acknowledged that."

"She was there with you only a few weeks ago for her holidays. She's just got back to work. Did you persuade her to come back?"

"She's got a mind of her own."

"Are you serious about her?"

Jamie tried not to look rattled as the older man bombarded him with questions. It was only natural to be concerned about his niece. "Aye, I built her a shed." Ach shite, wrong answer ...what the fuck was that, ye clot-heid? He felt like kicking himself.

Quentin watched him in stony silence. "A shed?"

He inhaled deeply, careful not to show any signs of frustration. "Actually, it's a writing studio," he explained, feeling the heat crawling up his neck. "For when Claire comes over for a visit. She can work undisturbed there. I've even soundproofed the walls, and it's been comfortably furnished ." 

Quentin said nothing. Instead, he slowly placed the cigar on the ashtray, raised his brandy snifter to his lips and drank.

Determined, Jamie pushed on. "Claire has handed her notice to her boss, and once her commitments in London are done, she'll be moving here ...to Broch Mordha." He tamped down the rising emotion from his throat as he thought of Claire preparing dinner for him in the kitchen. "Look, I may not look like the man ye hoped for, for yer niece, but ye dinnae ken me. I admit I come with a lot of baggage, but I'm working hard on it, and she's helped me tremendously in dealing with ..." He trailed off. He didn't want to pull the PTSD card out. This was about Claire, he reminded himself. "I ken her history. I ken she's moved a lot, lived in boarding schools, nae home to go to during the holidays, following ye half-way around the world when school's out. She told me she's never felt any sense of belonging anywhere ..." Quentin glanced away. "I want ye to know, I willnae be just another stopover for Claire. And even if she has to travel long distances to visit ye, she'll always have a place to return to. I have roots here, and I can give her..."

Quentin crossed his arms. "Give her what?"

Jamie cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm serious about taking our relationship further. As ye can see, she's staying here in my home until she goes back to London. Though there is this unspoken understanding between Claire and me, I dinnae want to be presumptuous ..." Jamie rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. "...in thinking, she will move in with me when she relocates here to Broch Mordha. But I plan on asking her. And it would be verrae nice if ye could give yer blessing and ..."

He shook his head. "No!" His grin was more like a baring of his cigar-stained teeth. "Ask me again in a year."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. "All due respect, I ken she will say yes when I ask. And I ken she's stubborn enough to make up her own decisions with or without yer blessing. But I'd rather I have it ...for all our sakes. I'm no' sure if ye are aware, but I have my own business that I share with my brother, I own a house, I have no mortgage, and I make enough to provide for both of us with enough left for savings. She can pursue her dream of writing to her heart's content without worrying about finances."

"You overlook the fact that she's a city girl. What if her writing career never takes off? What are her possibilities in the Highlands?"

"Oh, but it will take off. I have faith it will. She's very passionate about pursuing her dream, and rightly so, because she's a talented writer. I can attest to that because I've read one of her finished works."

Quentin's face softened just a tiny bit. "You have?"

"Aye, I have," he hedged. "Claire should have published her work ages ago, and I plan to encourage her to do just that. Her writing would be a wonderful gift to the world."

"You're doing a lot for someone you barely know."

"Quentin," Jamie sighed, swallowing his exasperation. "I'm in love with yer niece. I'm aware everything between us is happening fast, and I dinnae suppose there is a timeframe or formula to follow when it comes to relationships. I'm just winging this and going along with my guts. And my guts are telling me Claire is the one. I still cannae believe someone like her is even real and that she loves me back. I sometimes wonder if I'm dreaming. She brings the best out of me, and I want to do the same for her. So if helping her realise her dreams is all I have to do to keep her, that's what I'll do." 

A few heartbeats of silence and watching each other closely passed before Quentin spoke again. "What did you say your last name was? I didn't quite catch it."

Ach, Christ, he's gonnae do a background check on me! "Fraser," Jamie replied. 

The older man let out an impatient grunt. "Yes, yes, but which Fraser do you belong to? There are a lot of Frasers in the Highlands." 

"My parents are Brian and Ellen Fraser," he replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Quentin's brows knitted together, and his stubbled jaw flexed twice. "You mean Brian and Ellen from Lallybroch?"

Jamie shifted in his seat. "Ye know them?"

"And you're Jamie?" Quentin asked, ignoring his question.

Confusion descended over Jamie as he saw the transformation in Quentin's face. "Aaaye," he said slowly and deliberately. Where in the bloody hell is this going to, now?

"And Claire wants to move in with you?"

"As I've said, I havenae asked her, but I think she would like the idea of us living together. It would make perfect sense since we do love each other."

He grabbed the cigar and pointed the tip in his direction. "You have my blessings." Ignoring Jamie's sharp intake of breath, he tipped back the rest of his brandy. "Conditions are, there should be once a week phone-calls. Video or facetime ones or whatever you call it. And when I'm on British soil ..."

Jamie suddenly straightened up on his seat. "We'll visit, or ye can come and stay with us." 

Quentin shot up on his feet. "Very well then, welcome to the family, Fraser. Go and get your dinner ...you wouldn't want your wife ..." he coughed, his face turning red. "...I mean your girlfriend reheating what she's just lovingly made."

Jamie got up as well, ready to shut the laptop, relief and confusion at the sudden turn around washing over him in waves. What the fuck just happened? Too bewildered for words, "Of course," was all he could muster. 

Quentin hesitated, as if in search of the right words, his throat working overtime. When he finally spoke, Jamie couldn't help but hear the emotion in the older man's voice. "If Claire's father was alive today, he would think his daughter has made a fine choice."

His jaw dropped involuntarily. "He would?" 

There was no reply. Too shell shocked, Jamie stood there staring at the screen for a full minute, long after Quentin had signed off.

When Claire reappeared from the kitchen, she launched herself into his arms and whispered, "Hungry?" 

His bewilderment evaporated, happiness shrouding around him in such a way he knew everything was going to be alright.

Puffing out a breath, Jamie shoved a hand through his hair and made his way to the bathroom. He knew he wouldn't be going back to sleep for a while, so he might as well washed off those vivid dreams of Harry and clear his thoughts of that conversation with uncle Lamb. He felt like he was living in the Twilight Zone and badly needed to get his equilibrium back.

The silence of the night closed in around him until the soothing spray of the shower hit his skin. He wondered if Claire would remember anything from her parents' accident. She'd mentioned a couple of times, she had been five when they passed away. Considering that Claire was now in a happy place, content and well-adjusted, it was probably not the brightest of ideas to conjure up her past. But then, on the other hand, he suspected she might want to know what had happened that day. After all, she did have the right to know her history, no matter how painful. 

The image of Claire's bright amber eyes and husky laughter flashed in his mind. 

Jamie sighed, turned off the shower, and quickly dried himself off. When he realised Claire wasn't in bed, he made his way to the kitchen. He quietened his pace when he found her dropping teabags into two mugs, wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of woollen socks. She didn't hear him approach at first, looking deep in thought as she waited for the kettle to boil.

Moonlight streamed in through the kitchen window, creating a halo out of the wisps of curls framing her face, the whole scene reminding him she was everything he wasn't, a shining light where he watched her in the shadows. Sorcha! A force within spurred him towards her, needing to touch that light, hoping it wouldn't fade with his damaged soul.

"It's late, Sassenach. What are ye doing up?" he asked, walking towards the fridge.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" she jumped, hands flying to her chest. She tucked a loose curl behind her ears and faced him with a sigh, a small smile slowly forming her lips. "You weren't in bed, so I thought you probably had one of your nightmares. I'm making us some chamomile tea. It helps with sleep and relaxation."

He wasn't sure if this was the time to tell Claire about his dreams, so he dismissed it with a wave of a hand and smiled. "Just a strange dream. Is that one of yer herbal remedies?" he asked, stirring the subject to something neutral.

She lifted a shoulder. "Something like that."

He opened the fridge and found a rainbow of colours of fruits, vegetables, yoghurts and juices. Claire hadn't been kidding when she'd said she went food shopping today. Obviously, root vegetables, eggs, cheese and a container of hummus he'd bought wasn't enough. Smiling, he grabbed a pear and shut the fridge door. "Do pears go with chamomile tea?" 

Her face lit up, making his heart expand. "I suppose so." She poured hot water into the mugs and brought their teas to the dining table, Jamie following close behind her. "And it's good for you. You ought to eat more fruits."

"But you bought enough pears to feed an entire village, Sassenach," he pointed out, biting into the succulent fruit.

Claire giggled as she sat down. "The other bag of pears are for the sticky toffee pear pudding I'm going to make. Uncle Lamb loves making it for me whenever he comes over for a visit. So I thought I'd make some for us. He told me the recipe he uses was from my mum."

The way she smiled fondly at the memory made him want to draw her into his arms, but he took a seat instead. "With pears? I've only ever had normal sticky toffee pudding," he said, sipping some tea. "My ma makes it sometimes."

Her eyes twinkled. "I was told my mum loved to bake. And apparently, according to uncle Lamb, my favourite was cream buns."

Curiosity started to niggle in his belly at the mention of Claire's mother, even though he rebelled against it. Is this the time to talk about the death of her parents? Before he could change his mind, he came straight out with it. "Sorry to change the subject, Sassenach, but I have something to ask. What made ye come to the Highlands every Christmas?" he asked. "Ye mentioned once, ye like coming here during the Holidays. I mean, it's a great place to spend Christmas and all, but is there a particular reason?"

For a long moment, she stared at him with a faraway look. He realised he was holding his breath, half of him already regretting asking the question. There was a possibility her answer could lead to resurrecting a tragic event and snuffing the light out of her. And he needed to bask in her light some more. What was he thinking? Leave the past in the past, Murtagh had told him. He didn't know what lay on the other side of bringing up her parents' death. Either way, Claire didn't need to be dragged down with a sad memory. 

Feeling suddenly foolish, he put down the pear he was eating and reached out to touch her hand. "Ye know what. Dinnae answer that. It's getting late. The tea is working its magic already, and I think I'm ready to go to bed."

A delicate frown marred her brows. "Are you sure you don't want to know?"

Am I sure? No, not really. "Go on, tell me then."

She suddenly beamed like the light that she was. "The reason why I love coming back to the Highlands every year is, this is the place where my parents met and fell in love. I'm not quite sure where exactly, but it was somewhere around here. As far as I know, the Highlands was their happy place where they made loads of happy memories and great friends, and every time I come here, it makes me feel closer to them. You might find it odd, but I do feel most at peace here. There's something that draws me to come every year. Call it gravitational pull or whatever. But it feels like it's my parents' way of sharing their happiness with me. Am I making any sense?"

His breath of relief released in a slow rush, lightness invading his chest, as he realised she didn't remember anything of her parents' death. Or at least he presumed so. But, if it's his burden to carry the truth of Claire's parents' death alone, so be it. Why bring up something dark that has no place in their lives anymore? Maybe one day ...in the far future. Her hand still in his, he stood up, pulling her to her feet before lifting her into his arms. She squealed in surprise. "It doesnae matter if it makes sense or no', Sassenach. If it feels right to ye, then it must mean something. Who knows, maybe the reason ye're probably drawn to the Highlands is that ye were conceived here. Have ye ever thought of that?" 

Claire slipped her arms around his neck and smiled. "Or maybe ..." she leaned in to nibble at his earlobe. "...because I was drawn to ye. Have you ever thought of that?"

Jamie laughed as he started to walk them towards the bedroom. "C'mon off to bed with ye ...I have an early start tomorrow."

Claire eyed him mischievously as she snuggled closer. "To bed or to sleep?"

With a guttural groan, he lowered his head, brushing their lips together as he gave his answer in kisses.

Dear Readers,

I hope this chapter made sense to you. As you might have noticed, I didn't write the events in this chapter in chronological order, and I hope you can understand why I wrote it the way I did. If it didn't make any sense, please, I'm all ears ...ask away, and I'll answer. 

It was a challenge writing the dream part, so I hope I've done it justice. And mostly, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed seeing the feedbacks in the previous chapter. So a big thank you for that! 

Let me know what you thought about the latest instalment and until the next update, take care of your health and keep up the positive vibes. X  😀❤️

ADDED UPDATE - An explanation to this chapter

I was trying to be clever and do the first two part of this chapter in the reverse order that I may have left you confused than enlightened. I have copied and pasted an explanation to the question posted by one reader in AO3. I hope this will help clarify things. So here goes:  

The dream was brought about by two triggers. First, was Jamie's conversation with Murtagh in Chapter five. Although in Jamie's dream he'd been the one to save Claire, in reality, it had been Murtagh. But it was Jamie who carried Claire to safety after Murtagh instructed him to.  This was the conversation:

Murtagh puffed out a breath. "The last time ye saw Henry, he was in a car accident ...with his family."

"What?" he choked.

Murtagh turned tired-looking eyes on him, and there was a deep sadness in them that startled him. "It was the day they were coming back to Broch Mordha for the first time in years. I heard talks around the village that they've rented a wee cottage from Mrs Baird. And also heard words about a wean. I didnae want to stick around to find out. I thought I'd take a wee trip to Skye and stay there until Henry and his family were gone. I was just packing when ye came barging into my hoose tellin me that a car had smashed to a tree. I came running oot like a gudgeon with ye right behind me. Ye must have been nine or ten. It wasnae far from where I lived then. By the time I got there, Henry was still alive, and Jules was unconscious. He ordered me to get the bairn first and then Jules. My first thoughts were to save Jules, but the wee child was screaming, and Henry was begging me to save her. Between the two of us, we managed to get wee Claire oot, and I ordered ye to take her as far as possible from the site. And that ye did. But I couldnae save Harry and Jules because the car caught fire and Henry lost consciousness. When I smelt gasoline, I had to run, and that's when the car exploded."

The second trigger was brought about by seeing Uncle Lamb's similarity to Harry and also by their conversation via video conference. Towards the end of their conversation uncle Lamb realised Jamie was the young boy who'd carried Claire to safety before the car exploded. Uncle Lamb would have remembered this because he was the only living guardian of Claire and the story of his brothers' demise would have been passed on to him when he came to collect Claire. You will also notice that Jamie found it strange the sudden turn around in uncle Lamb's demeanour at the end of their talk. But Jamie hadn't known the reason for this until after the dream. The dream in a way brought back all the suppressed memories and everything clicked in place together.

Now Jamie is unsure of asking Claire what she knew about the crash and telling her his dreams. Seeing her happy and contented, he didn't want her to relive that past in case more grief than good comes out of it.

I hope I made more sense here. X

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Words: 2241 (only a short one)

Summary: Charlie and his girlfriend are separated by work.

Requested: Sort of. The lovely and talented @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ got this request. Charlie x reader where the reader is on a tv show like ahs or something that’s not necessarily “kid friendly”. But as she’s not taking them atm, I decided to swipe this one. I hope the anon who requested it doesn’t mind.

TW: Swearing, alluding to sexual intercourse. That’s it I think. If I miss anything, message me so I can edit.

Author’s notes: I’m baccccckkkk. This was my way of getting back into writing reader fic. It’s been a while, and I hope y’all haven’t forgotten me. Also, while I’ve seen Tiny Pretty Things, I know nothing about the cast, so anything I’ve written, is completely made up.

Being back at home in my parent’s home was both reassuring and strange all at the same time. I’d been living in L.A. for almost two years, hundreds of miles away from home. While I missed my family like crazy, I loved being out in the world, being independent, and chasing my dreams.

However, rejection after rejection after rejection were beginning to weigh heavy on me and I had been starting to regret making the move. I’d been considering heading back home and teaching dance to kids. Then, I met Charlie through a mutual friend.

From the moment I met him, there was something that drew me to him; it wasn’t particularly hard. He was charismatic, funny, and crazy talented. The good looks were an added bonus. From that first meeting, we’d been inseparable and after six months, I gave up my apartment and moved in with Charlie and his friends.

We both booked jobs on upcoming TV shows within a week of one another, and we’d celebrated the news hard. A week of partying with your friends had wrecked the apartment, but it had totally been worth it. The main difference between our shows were the target audience. His, Julie and the Phantoms was aimed at a younger demographic to mine, Tiny Pretty Things. I was just glad to be using my ballet background as well as my acting abilities. He was also playing a main character, while I was to be in the background.

I was jolted from my memories by my phone ringing, Charlie’s face filling the screen. With a smile, I answered the facetime call.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, babe. I miss you.” Charlie was still in L.A., but he was at a boot camp thing that the legendary Kenny Ortega was running.

“I miss you too. How’s it going?” in answer to my question, he held up his hand. I could see band aids wrapped around his fingers. “What did you do?”

“It’s nothing. Guitar war wounds.”

“Poor baby.” I snarked, grinning at the mock upset look on his face. “Oh please. You’re loving every minute.”

“Babe, I really am.” His grin was wide. “When do you fly out to Toronto?”

“Not for another three weeks. I’m back in L.A. the day after tomorrow though. Will I get to see you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we get any time off before we head up to Vancouver for filming.”

I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks, and I was going insane. It was one of the reasons behind my trip to see my family. They were enough to distract me, at least until I climbed into my childhood bed, the bed that only held me at night. That was when I missed him the most.

“That sucks.” I felt the lump in my throat, an indication I was close to tears.

“I know, babe. I know. I’m gonna try and get back, even if it’s just one night.”

“Please do.” I missed him, missed waking up next to him, missed just goofing around and hanging out with him. He was the man I loved, and I hated us being apart.

:: ::

I’d been in Toronto for almost six weeks. A month and a half had passed since I last saw Charlie, and it was killing me. It wasn’t as if I was alone, far from it. I may not have been playing a main character, but the entire cast of Tiny Pretty Things were close, even those of us in the background. We’d all been put through our dancing paces until we were exhausted – that had a habit of bringing people together.

Charlie and I spoke most days, if we could, and when we did, we were often interrupted by cast mates. Through our facetime calls I became friends with Jeremy, Owen, and Madison, and he became friends with the girls I was rooming with, and Brendan who played Shane. He and I had been partnered up during rehearsals and had become close. It didn’t bother him I wasn’t a main character and he was.

I had a rare night off while the main cast were working hard on some night scenes, so I was able to kick back in my room and relax. And I made the most of it. While a hot bath was running, I connected my phone up to my speaker and hit play on a relaxing playlist Charlie had made for me before we’d had to say our goodbyes and fly to opposite end of Canada.

I’d just sank into the steaming water, bubbles up to my chin when my phone rang. Reaching over, I managed to pick it up, and saw Charlie’s face on the screen. Quickly swiping, I answered the call, despite wanting to stare at the photo I’d taken almost a year ago when we’d gone camping.

“Well, if I’d have known you were in the tub, I would have called sooner.” He grinned as he spoke, making me roll my eyes.

“Charles Gillespie, you’re a damn perv.” I attempted to scold him as he pretended to try and look around the screen to see if he could see anything. Joke was on him, the bubbles came up to my neck.

“Only for you.” I laughed at the corny line. “Hey, why are you in the bath anyways?”

“Because I ache like a motherfucker and I don’t have any night shoots tonight. So, a hot bath is in order. I’ve been dancing almost non-stop for ten hours a day for six weeks. I never did this much when I was with the company.” I knew I was whining; knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I needed to get it off my chest. All of us in the cast moaned to one another, but it wasn’t the same as venting to my boyfriend, no matter how much I loved my job.

“I’m sorry, babe. If I could take the aches away, I would.” I knew he would too.

“I know. Ignore me, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. How’s your set?”

We chatted for almost an hour, Charlie making me laugh about his previous night’s filming eating what he said felt like hundreds of cold hot dogs, making me laugh so much, my stomach was starting to hurt when I climbed out of the bath – much to his enjoyment – and wrapped myself up in a large, soft towel. We carried on talking as I made my way into my room and got myself ready for bed.

“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” I couldn’t help but sigh when the call ended, and as I snuggled up in bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, I also couldn’t help crying. It was the longest we’d been apart in over six months, and even though I was loving my job, it hurt how much I missed him.

:: ::

When I walked onto set the following day, it felt as if everyone was acting a little shifty. No one seemed to look at me directly and whenever I initiated a conversation, they either found something else to do, or the director made us begin working.

“Hey, we’re all going out for dinner and karaoke tonight. Make sure you look pretty.” Brendan whispered in my ear as we got into position in the ballet class, ready for our scene.

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He gave me a smile before walking away.

We’d all be out a few times during filming and the rehearsals we’d had before, but this was the first I’d heard about plans for tonight. Rolling my neck and stretching my arms, I put it out of my mind as I followed the instructions of the director as the scene began around me.

By the end of the day, I was yet again exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out. But, as I packed up my gear, putting my comfiest shoes on, Brendan came over.

“Don’t forget we’re going out. We’re all meeting up in about an hour. Make yourself pretty.”

“Can I give it a miss? I’m ready to have a shower and crawl into bed.” He knew how I was feeling, I could see it etched onto his face too.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Attendance is mandatory for all.” He flashed me a wide smile before spinning away from me, no doubt off to get ready.

When I got back to the apartment I was sharing with a couple of the other female background cast, they were almost ready. The three of them ushered me into the bathroom to shower, telling me to find a nice dress.

The shower did reinvigorate me, and by the time I was dressed and applying my make-up, I was feeling much better, and was even looking forward to some great food and a good night. There were no shoots the next day, so we were able to let our hair down for the night.

When we all met up, the atmosphere was electric. We’d all worked so hard, and were more than ready for a night of not having to worry about getting up early or having to be in hair and make-up at the crack of dawn.

“Ready for a great night?” Brendan asked, linking arms with me as our huge group began to walk to a restaurant nearby we’d all been to on more than one occasion.

“I am actually. Thanks for making me come.”

“No worries, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning to talk to the two guys behind us.

:: ::

Moving from the restaurant after dinner, we all made our way to a club where all of us were able to let go. I got myself a drink from the bar, and stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching my cast mates and friends having the time of their life, showing off their dancing skills. Laughing, I finished my drink, I put my empty glass down and joined them, losing myself in the deep bass. Brendan was in the center, lapping up the attention in a way only he could. He and Barton, who played Oren in the show, were busting out one of their routines from the show and had attracted a hell of a crowd.

As everyone whooped and hollered, I moved away, needing to head to the bathroom. I pulled my phone out of my purse to check if I’d missed any messages or calls from Charlie, but my screen was blank beyond a photo of the two of us. Disappointment flooded me as I shoved the phone back into my purse. Just as I zipped it up, I crashed into someone, strong hands grabbing my waist to stop me falling over.

Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as my senses were invaded by the aroma of Charlie, the aroma I knew as well as my own. I looked up to find my boyfriend smiling down at me.

“What… how… huh?”

“Surprise, by airplane, Brendan organized it. Hew knew you were missing me as much as I missed you, So Kenny gave me a couple days off while Madi does some scenes with Jadah.”

“You’re really here?” I still wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.

“I’m really here, until tomorrow afternoon.”

With a squeal, I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him. The evening suddenly got one hundred percent better.

:: ::

Waking up wrapped up in Charlie’s arms was the best thing. I’d missed it so much, and I knew I was going to struggle when he had to leave again, but I felt so happy being with him.

After he’d surprised me at the club, we’d mingled with my friends for a while before slinking away, going back to the apartment and making the most of the quiet as we got reacquainted with one another, multiple times, all night. So much so that when I managed to untangle myself from Charlie’s arms and legs to go to the bathroom, I ached in a completely different way I had been from work.

Once I was finished in the bathroom, I swiped my phone off the counter in the kitchen and sent a text to Brendan.

Thank you. I owe you one.

Once it had sent, I set the phone down and crawled back into bed with Charlie, making the most of having him with me. Especially naked.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Tagging: (strikethrough unable to tag) @dream-a-little-bigger-x​​ @calamitykaty​ @crybabyddl​​ @xplrreylo​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @lovesanimals​​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​ @echocharm17618​​ @kinda-really-lost @n0wornever​ @all-in-fangirl​ @5sosmukefan​ @kcd15​ @charliesmountains @amazinggracy​ 

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[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

1

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here 

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her songs to the gods in the wind.

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

Pro tip: Italics denote scenes in Akaashi’s dreams / past.  

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

Time passes. 

Akaashi graduates from university with top honours and gets recruited immediately by a publishing company. He’s mildly disappointed when he’s dispatched to the manga department instead of the literature department as he originally hoped, but it’s not all that bad, he gets to work with Udai-sensei on his new volleyball manga. 

He’s content, all things considered. 

His mother is constantly on his case to find a girlfriend - because she insists she’s growing old and wants grandchildren soon. To placate her, he goes on arranged dates with daughters of his father’s business associates, with nieces of his mother’s friends. While they’re pleasant enough, they all seem to come from the same mold - well bred middle class university graduates more interested in complaining about their bosses and talking about the branded bags they’re going to get next. 

Once he tried asking one of them about the type of flowers she likes best. His date blinked in confusion at first, but immediately brightened up and she said ‘roses, I guess? They look so good on instagram!’ 

He did not ask for a second date. 

Honestly, he’s not exactly looking to date anyone at the moment. He’s young, barely twenty three. Work is time consuming enough, with his days filled with constantly looming deadlines and chasing temperamental mangakas like Udai-sensei. His mother will just have to accept that grandchildren are very much not in the near future. 

But he does feel somewhat guilty -  ‘even Yuji-kun is seeing this lovely girl, auntie tells me,’ his mother nagged last Sunday, so he picks up a habit of buying flowers to soothe her every time he heads to his parent’s home for a meal. 

‘Pink carnations for your mother again?’ the florist asks brightly. 

Akaashi nods, insisting on paying for the baby’s breath she adds to the bouquet. The florist lets him when he assures her he’s no longer a starving university student, and pulls her gloves off to rifle in her drawer for change. 

‘Here you go!’, she chirps, holding out a tray with his change. His gaze is drawn to the pink burn scars streaked across her hands, and flushes when she meets his curious eyes with a knowing look. 

‘Sorry, I - uh didn’t mean to stare’, he begins to splutter, but she waves it off. 

‘It’s fine. I got them a long time ago’, she replies, a wistful smile twisting her lips, tugging her sleeves down to her wrist. 

He bows and takes his leave. He doesn’t spare a second thought on the encounter when he reaches his parent’s house, his mother exclaiming over the little bouquet.

The table shakes when his colleague slumps into his seat, sighing deeply. 

‘Did your boss get on your case for typos again?’ Akaashi asks, his spoon pausing on the way to his mouth. 

‘Worse’, his colleague groans. ‘He’s sending me to Hokkaido for next month’s feature on crimes that shocked the nation, and I have to travel all the way up the mountains to some dinky little town without a train station.

‘Hm’. Akaashi raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. ‘What’s the feature about?’ 

‘See for yourself’. His colleague dramatically slides his folder of articles across the table, bumping it into Akaashi’s plate. 

He thumbs through the folder. Nakamura Yakeru, the mayor of a small mountain town in Hokkaido, found guilty on a multitude of charges - breaking and entering, causing arson by fire, assault and attempted murder of a schoolgirl, her identity redacted. It’s shocking in and of itself - but there’s something awfully familiar about the man’s face. 

He smooths out the creases in the paper, bringing the newspaper clipping closer to his face, and oh - 

He knows that face. 

His mind echoes with the memories of flinching at the sight of Nakamura’s teeth, yellowed from nicotine and bared in a smirk, the acrid stench of cigarettes lingering on his shirt, cursing whenever that inconsiderate bastard left sparks smouldering in dry grass. But it doesn’t make sense - there’s no reason for him to have ever met the man. He’s never been farther north than Sapporo, a born and bred Tokyo city boy after all. And he doesn’t recall seeing the man’s face on the news either when the crime was committed. 

So why would his dreams feature this man? 

‘Akaashi?’ he hears his colleague call his name, but his voice can barely be heard over the pounding of his heart in his ears. ‘You’ve gone really white, is everything ok?’ 

‘I’m fine’, he replies, hastily shoving the article back in the folder. ‘Everything’s fine.’ 

His colleague doesn’t look like he believes him. Frankly, Akaashi doesn’t believe himself either. 

Try as he might, he can’t get the eerie coincidence out of his mind. And after a few restless nights, he finds himself back in his childhood bedroom, holding the old omamori in his hands. It’s just an inanimate scrap of cotton fabric, but he’s tempted to borrow his mother’s sewing kit to pick its stitches apart, to discover the secrets woven into its threads. 

It feels silly being so superstitious, but he can’t help feeling that he’s on the verge of discovering what his strange dreams have been trying to show him - so he tucks the omamori under his pillow, his thumbnail catching on a stray thread, before he surrenders himself to his dreams. 

‘Akaashi Keiji’, a cool voice pronounces his name with faint amusement. ‘Back to change the terms of our bargain? ’

His eyes fly open. 

This time he’s on familiar ground, kneeling on the twenty sixth step of the shrine he visits with his parents for  Hatsumode, the other twenty five steps below him shrouded in mist. But the woman standing before him is not familiar to him - in fact, she’s clearly not even human, not with her red eyes and pale lips, not with the wisteria trailing from her hair and disappearing into her skin. 

That should scare him, but it doesn’t because he can’t discern any malice in her eyes, and the scent of the wisteria is soothingly sweet. 

So his curiosity wins out over his sense of caution, and he asks politely - ‘I’m sorry, who are you exactly? And, um. What bargain are you referring to? ’

Her eyes gleam. ‘I’m offended. Don’t you recognise the guardian of the shrine you’ve been praying at your whole life? And as for the bargain you’ve made with me - I thought you already figured it all out by yourself, little boy.’ Laughing airily, she crouches over him, a wooden plaque dangling from her finger. ‘Remember this?’

He reads the words etched on the plaque.  ‘I wish I could have more time. I wish for yesterday to come again.’ Then he glances up at the shrine deity sharply. ‘I remember that from my dreams. Does this mean they’re real?’  

‘What do you think?’ Her lips stretch into a grin. 

‘Logic would suggest that they aren’t. It shouldn’t be possible to swap bodies, let alone with someone I’ve never met in my life. And yet…’ 

‘And yet?’ she prompts, tilting his head towards her with the nail of her finger.

‘It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore the fact that I know Nakamura Yakeru from my dreams, so that suggests at least some semblance of it is real.’ He looks at her pleadingly. ‘Are you here to help me?’ 

She laughs again, the sound ethereal like the flutter of butterfly wings. The sleeves of her purple kimono slide down her wrists, the scent of wisteria enveloping him growing sickly sweet. ‘Help you? Well, since you asked so nicely, little boy, I guess there’s no harm telling you your dreams are real. I granted your wish on a whim, and look how amusing you’ve been!’

Oh gods his dreams are real. They’re real. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, they’re real.  

Akaashi feels his stomach churn. He inhales a shaky breath. 

That means she’s real, doesn't it?

He thinks about the salaciously titled newspaper articles, the violence implied in its words. He thinks about the innocence in her impulses, the whimsicalness of her thoughts. He feels ill at the thought of someone deliberately trying to extinguish her. 

‘What happens in the end ?’ he asks, blood surging to his head, slamming his palms flat on the ground for support. ‘What happens to her?’

Sunlight pierces through the fog, and the wisteria spirit starts to fade before his very eyes. 

‘Why don’t you see for yourself?’, her voice echoes.  ‘You’ll find all the answers you’re looking for at the shrine in the forest. You know the way there - you’ve been there a thousand times, both in real life and in your dreams.’

He gasps as he jolts awake, hands clenching his sheets. 

He’s in his bed in his apartment. Everything is exactly as it was before he went to sleep. 

Well - everything except the scent of wisteria lingering in the air.

Udai-sensei’s eyes bug out from its sockets when Akaashi tells him he’s off to Hokkaido for an impromptu holiday. 

‘You aren’t burnt out, are you? Is it me? Is it the deadlines? Don’t quit on me - there’s no way another editor can provide the same input on my new volleyball manga like you!’ he begs, sounding dangerously close to tears. 

Akaashi sighs, muttering under his breath about ‘ highly strung mangakas’  but manages to reassure Udai that no, he’s not quitting, he’s just taking a four day break. He thought it’d be nice to visit the flower fields during summer in Hokkaido, and he has an old friend in those parts he might pay a visit to.  

So he puts himself on a short flight to Sapporo, and a painfully long bus ride further north into the mountains, arriving at the rural village he’s traversed countless times in his dreams. He drags his luggage past the high school, the  crunch  of wheels on gravel slowly knocking loose memories of bones aching, flesh bruising, from tumbles down the stairs, from falls off drain pipes, from predestined losses against cement floors. 

He exhales through his nose when he walks past the florist’s shop. It’s a hollow shell of bare concrete and cardboard shutters, a gap where the signboard should be on the shopfront, a stark contrast to the bustling bakery and  combini  it’s sandwiched between. Thank the gods, he mutters, the blaze of hurt and desperation in Hana-chan’s eyes haunting his mind. 

The only inn in the town is serviceable enough, though he’s looked at in askance by the innkeeper when he admits he’s an editor for a publishing company. ‘Another gossip hound ’, the old lady mutters resentfully, and Akaashi has to do damage control lest she assign him the dampest room in the establishment and assure her that he’s no journalist, just a flower enthusiast interested in the lavender blooming in the fields. He charms her enough with his politeness that by the time he checks into his room, she offers him free use of a bicycle to explore the town, and he takes her up on her offer once he drops off his bags in his room. 

The summer sun is starting its descent from the sky as he cycles past familiar dirt paths lined with trees, the anticipation in his blood thrumming as he passes sprawling farms he’s sure he’s eaten stolen eggs from, passes the gas station  she  bragged about stealing petrol from. The rush of blood to his head hits a roaring crescendo when he reaches the edge of the woods. 

Leaning the bicycle against a fallen tree, he sets off to the very heart of the forest, his feet seeming to recognise a path his eyes cannot see. The deeper into the forest he ventures into, the thicker the branches overhead seem to grow, leaves interwoven into a net that blocks the sun. 

The wind ripples over his skin. The trees seem to whisper out to him. 

Okaeri, he hears. Welcome home, the Kodama spirits murmur over the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Sunlight from the setting sun spills into a clearing just ahead, and though he’s almost blinded by the sudden flash of light, he can make out the outline of a shrine, situated dead center of the clearing and breaks into a run.  There it is , he thinks, dropping to his knees, hands trembling as he brushes fallen branches and leaves off the shrine, deaf to the growing whispers from the trees surrounding him. 

‘Please grant me your secrets’, he breathes, eyes closed in prayer. 

He can feel a pulse in the ground, a sudden shift in the air. Wisteria blooms from the soft earth in his heart. 

Oh. 

Oh gods. 

He remembers. 

Taglist: 

@forgetou @animeflower26​ @kageyamakock @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito​

[dewykth]

—lilies (m)

“… white lines, pretty baby, tattoos, don’t know what they mean, they’re special just for you…”

muses. bad boy! & tattooed!jungkook x female reader words. 1.3k+ contains. smut notices. explicit sex scene, mentions of drug use, jungkook’s just rly in love (he’s also a drug dealer oops) 

↳ listen to: florida kilos by ldr

"Is that new?"

The hand trailing down your thigh freezes. His eyes move to your face, where you’re staring at his chest, a curious expression adorning your flushed features. Jungkook loved seeing you like this. He thinks you look beautiful all the time, but especially like this, underneath him, rosy cheeks and wide eyes. You were such a sight. Jungkook could stare at you like this forever.

You hum, and his musings are cut short.

He looks down, completely forgetting the new piece he had inked on his body a couple nights ago. It was the reason he came over tonight, something he’d been thinking about doing for a while, but when you set your lips on his as soon as he walked through your apartment door, all thoughts of surprising you with the new tattoo faded away (as did everything when he was with you).

“Oh, uhm,” he clears his throat, “yeah… I, uh,” he struggles to find his words, especially when you’re staring at his chest like that.

He would never admit it, but he was scared you’d think it was stupid, or worse, too much. The extent of his feelings for you even terrified him.

Your lips quirk up into a small smile, and the small sliver of teeth showing glimmers under the soft glow of the moon. Jungkook feels his heart skip a beat.

“That’s my favorite type of flower, you know,”

He knows, of course he knows, but his words stay lodged in his throat. Instead he watches you lift your arm, tentatively tracing your fingers over the blooming lilies inked onto his chest, right above his heart. Your smile only grows when you feel the goosebumps rising on his skin.

“When did you get it?” your hand stays on his chest, but your eyes trail up to meet his own and the hand holding Jungkook above you almost slips at the sight of the pure adoration swimming in your eyes.

“I just did it a few days ago. That’s actually what I wanted to show you before we got… distracted,” his hand continues it’s path up your thigh, stopping right at your heat.

“That’s also my favorite color,” You let out a small sigh as his fingers ghost over your clit.

“I know.” he mumbles.

He doesn’t have to say it. You know who he tattooed those lilies for, who he took the time to design it for and even fill it with the inklings of their favorite color (probably Yoongi’s doing, Jungkook hated using colored ink). It’s stupid, you want to say, but in all honesty, the thought of him being etched with traces of you permanently made your tummy fill with butterflies. Almost as if he was whispering a promise.

Your panties soak, and Jungkook’s eyes flash.

“Do you like it, baby?”

"Yes." you respond, no hint of hesitation in your voice.

You bite your lip when his fingers move your lace panties aside and begin to rub your clit. How he could go from being so shy and sweet one second to being a tease the next, you still wondered.

Jungkook wasn’t like this. Normally when he would hook up with other women, he focused on his own pleasure. Of course, there was no doubt about how good he could make a woman feel during sex, but he always a taker.

It was different with you, though.

Maybe it was because he felt something more for you than he had ever felt for anyone else. With you, he felt something only those white lines on his coffee table had been able to construct. Euphoria. The only word he chose to use to describe those overwhelming senses. But no, he knew that wasn’t it. In the back of his mind, he knew exactly what words to pin those feelings under.

Those three words were always on the tip of his tongue when he was with you, but it was the small moments that almost had the words tumbling out of his mouth. When you would reach for his hand while walking, when you would make his favorite meal the mornings after the nights full of passion and ecstasy, when you let him mark you with hues of pink and purple. His head was always filled with you, you, you, even when you were in front of him.

He wanted to say it now, when you were moaning and begging so beautifully for him.

But, as always, the fear of the weight of those words seeped through him, keeping him quiet. So, he pushed those thoughts out of his head as he focused on giving you pleasure.

Give, give, give. That was all he wanted to do.

“Nngh… Jungkook… please!”

His lips form a smirk as he moves his fingers down to your entrance, slowly pushing one finger in. You throw your head back onto the arm rest of the couch, gasping in pleasure. Jungkook attaches his mouth to your nipple, swirling his tongue and sucking in the way that made your back arch prettily.

“More, please baby,” you moan out, “I need more!”

How could he ever deny you?

“So needy,” he whispers, but he complies, pushing another finger inside of you as he begins to fuck into your throbbing pussy.

Your hand finds its way to his hair tugging harshly when he curls his fingers. He moans around your nipples, the pain only making him want to give you more, more, more.

He slips a third finger inside you, and you cry his name out. Jungkook pulls back from your tits, gazing at you as his tattooed fingers fuck into you. Your eyes are shut, face contorted in pure bliss as sounds of elation continue to spill out of your red, bitten lips.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muses, lost in his thoughts again.

He can feel your legs start to shake, so he quickly crawls down, planting his mouth directly onto your clit and sucking.

“Fuck! Jungkook… I- I’m cl-… I’m c-close!”

He hums in acknowledgement, picking up his pace. His fingers fuck you roughly and swiftly as his mouth continues to suck on your clitoris, lapping up as much of your juice as he can. God, he adored this. He adored you, every piece of you.

Your legs tense, body seizes and—

“Fuck! I’m coming! Jungkook!”

His eyes move to your face, absorbing the fucked-out expression on your face as you ride your high. He continues to swallow your juices, only stopping when you tap his hand, the stimulation becoming too much.

“You look so pretty when you cum for me.”

The compliment makes a rose-colored tint appear along your cheeks. You move to cover your bashful smile with your hand, quickly becoming shy. How were so goddamn cute and sexy?

Something hard pokes at your thigh, and when you look down, it’s hard not to notice Jungkook’s boner. You move your hand to palm him through his jeans, but Jungkook grabs your hand, shaking his head with a smile as he lays beside you.

“Are you sure? I could suck you off.” you offer, completely ready to let him fuck your mouth

He only smiles, “As tempting as that is, I just wanted to please you tonight.”

Your heart stutters, and feelings of fondness bubble up in your chest. You cuddle into his side, trying your hardest to not fall off the small couch holding the two of you. His arm wraps around you and you sigh contentedly, letting his warmth radiate into you.

The thumping of his heart lulls you to sleep, and soon your soft snores fill the quiet living room.

It’s only when he’s sure that you’re deep in another world that he whispers the words that he’s so afraid of. He lets them hang in the midnight air, until fatigue succumbs his body and his dreams take him too.

© dewykth. all rights reserved. no reposting, translation, or modification of any kind is allowed.

[soukokuwu]

↳ genre: angst

↳ characters: dad!chuuya, wife!reader, you guys have a child

↳ synopsis: a small look at how he handles himself in the aftermath of the catastrophe.

↳ warnings: implied death

↳ word count: 1,689

↳ requested by anonymous || Do whatever you want have s/o killed by one of Chuuya's enemies or die in childbirth idc which one you choose or how you do it JuSt maKe iT hURt

Chuuya sits in the living room, in the dim opalescence of the moon, picture perfect memories scattered on the coffee table before him. He takes a sip of shiraz as he carefully appraises the photo in his hand, thumb delicately grazing over the smile set on your face.

You were so beautiful.

No, not like those typically featured starving adolescents on countless magazines, covered in so many products they barely appear human. Not in that way. You were much more.

Your kind of beautiful was a smile so freely given, a sign of how tender your soul was. It was that spark in your eye — the one that showed him you were always up for an adventure. They held such an intelligence and serenity that he couldn’t help but be prisoner to them. Your kind of beautiful was a mind singularly practical and sagacious.

Your kind of beautiful... was who you were.

And the most precious beauty you graced him with in this life, he thinks, would be the faint memory of your voice muttering out an “I love you”, a phrase that rolled off your tongue so smoothly like birdsong, forever echoing in his heart.

He spends every night like this, as he has for the past twelve years. A nightly routine, brought about by a nameless sadness which is always born of moonlight. And each time, the colours of the day will fade into the black, and it gets dark with unutterable sorrows.

Your death haunts the recesses of his memory. What was supposed to be the happiest day of your lives turned into his worst nightmare. Chuuya can’t remember how many times the scene plays back in his head; the doctor apologising and the sounds all turning into muffled feedback right after, the blood staining your hospital gown, the sounds of his screams muffled by the blanket covering your hollow shell and the gentle touch of Kouyou trying to pry him away from you. It didn’t matter how much he held on to you anyway, Chuuya had already lost you to death’s grip.

The incomparable happiness he felt just a few hours before had given way to immeasurable grief. And he was conflicted, so conflicted, because in another room, she was crying too. So he did what a father was supposed to do — he straightened up, cradled his little baby in his arms and hushed, telling her everything was going to be alright.

One of the first few sentences he had ever said to his newborn baby, and it had to be a lie. Because how was he supposed to know if everything was really going to be okay? For the first time since he’s met you, Chuuya had felt utterly lost, despondent. Every day since that moment, he has felt his mind being beaten into the ground because of the catastrophe.

Not to say there aren’t happy moments — how could there not be? He lost you, but he also gained an amazing daughter who, he realised after some time, was quite like you.

The first few years had been extremely hard on him. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know if he was doing it correctly, he didn’t know what else he should do. He had thought the two of you would figure it out together, learn how to be parents together. Turned out to be just another unattainable dream. But Chuuya considers himself lucky. Even until now, the mafia takes care of her as they do him, because she is, by extension, a part of him. She keeps him sane, grounded, particularly during her waking hours. She is not only his miracle but also someone who never fails to distract and beguile his soul. When he spends time with her he can’t help but be completely absorbed in it, in her.

There’s so much that reminds him of you. Why wouldn’t there be? She is your daughter too. Although, she has his eyes (he silently wishes she got yours, so that maybe, somehow, he might see a glimpse of you from time to time). But there are other, more significant, things that reminds him of you. Her smile; the way it slowly and sometimes unwillingly (when she’s feigning being mad at him) shapes into a grin, before the silence gives way to a laugh of jovial significance. It’s not just in its melody — it’s in the way her face changes into a vision of unrestrained mirth. Just like you. Even her, as a person, reminds him of you; the way she manages to touch someone’s life just with mere words (he’s very surprised at this, considering how she’s still just a kid), and the way she protects those she loves with utmost enthusiasm. Even the way she manages to make Chuuya, the hot-headed brute with short temperament, have a patience worthy of admiration, is remarkable in itself.

It’s only in the night that he allows himself to feel about you; to let it out. It’s only when his daughter is asleep that he allows himself to crumble under the pressure of trying to hold it together for them both. Never once does he allow himself to falter in the face of his daughter. Chuuya feels the undeniable need to be her pillar of support, an iron wall that would never break. He can’t let her see him like this, ever, lest she worries. And she would, because she is exactly like you. If he can’t protect you, the least he can do is to safeguard what you left behind — the family.

“I miss you,” he utters into the night, well aware that no one is there to hear him, to respond to him. His eyes are glued to your face.

“I miss you so much.”

But someone does hear it. She has heard it ever since that night two years ago when she woke up due to a little nightmare about fictional monsters. But she met an even greater one that night. The one that haunts her father until the dawn breaks each day. She hears him sobbing every night through the little crack in her door, the door that faces the living room, allowing her a small peek at her father’s shoulders trembling, his crimson locks — now mixed in with several white hairs — a disheveled mess against his body. She knows he goes through this every night — mind in a daze and wandering in a mist of memories.

It’s when she realises that her father is just like her — not a villain, not a hero, just human.

Have you ever felt responsible for something that wasn’t your fault? For something that you had absolutely no control over?

Because that’s how she feels. She feels responsible for her mother’s death. She feels that it’s her fault her father is miserable. She feels if she wasn’t born that none of this would have happened. And she only blames herself… because she knows it’s true. Without pregnancy, you wouldn’t have died. Without a baby, you’d still be here.

And every moment there’s a chorus of conflicting thoughts playing in her mind: “I’m the reason mommy’s gone”, “I wish I could meet you, mommy, daddy loves you a lot”, “I should’ve been the one, not you”. There are more, but she’s lost track of them as the years passed.

Her misty eyes train on the back of her father’s head. Should she finally talk to him about it?

“Daddy?”

Cerulean eyes shoot to the clock on the wall. 1.12am. He wonders why she’s even awake but he pulls it together. This is no time to be panicking. He clears his throat, subtly wiping the tears away from his cheek.

Keep up the act.

“Yes, my little princess?”

She skips toward him in spite of the somber mood. Anything that can make her father smile, no matter how small, she will do it. But the real tension comes when she opens her mouth seeking the truth.

“Is it my fault mommy is… dead?”

Many a times Chuuya had wondered what was the right thing, the best thing, to say in a situation like this. But somehow, in this moment, now that she’s actually asked him the very thing he wished he would never have to address, he knows exactly what to say to put her at ease.

“Honey,” he calls as he carries her up to sit on his lap. “It could never be.”

He lifts an index finger to boop her on the nose, just to watch as she adorably scrunches up her face in response.

There it is — the same reaction as you.

“Wherever mommy is, she’s glad you were born. And you weren’t there but, the moment she laid eyes on you that day you were born? I promise you, I’ve never seen her happier than she was.” He plants a kiss on her temple. “She loves you, little lady, and so do I. So don’t worry your pretty mind with this, okay?”

The relief they both feel — it’s unbelievable. A huge burden off their shoulders. And he carries her into bed, tucking her in as he usually does, but this time he stays beside her, lulling her to sleep, just as he did you — tenderly, softly, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. And your daughter? She feels safe, warm, tranquil.

...

Or so she would have.

But she’s still a child.

The doubt of the practicality of the ideal situation etches itself in her mind, securing a permanent spot in the back of her head. Fear takes over, and she snaps out of her daydreams, closing the room door instead of going to talk to her father — coming back to the nightmare where her father cries himself to sleep at night, all alone on the couch, then to sleep in a cold bed; coming back to the nightmare where her father lives with the monster.

The monster called pain.

And unfortunately, that’s a monster they both share. And will share, for as long as they live.

@yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[starry-seongmin]

 “

#22 -  “For once I thought someone was actually interested in me”

#42 -  “S/he’s right behind me isn’t s/he?”

 non idol!au, highschool!au,

Songs I listened to: Baragi - Hyunjoon , Promise - EXO

a/n: I may have gotten carried away from how much I usually write.

Ni-ki was a shy boy. He wouldn’t express his emotions and feelings so openly and easily. There would definitely be times where he would let himself go and be an open book and sometimes he would bottle his feelings and thoughts until they exploded. He was a young boy and he had plenty of time to learn how to keep his emotions in check and express them and he was slowly getting there.

The older boys were very well aware of Ni-ki’s habits and were with him every step of the way to help him and keep him in line when he would just explode or bottle up too much.

Right now, Heeseung, Seon and Jaebeom were contemplating over Ni-ki’s recent mood swings. He was keeping something to himself and being all quiet and dismissive during certain conversations. “Did Sunoo do something?” Seon asked and Jaebeom was the first to answer. “Sunoo hasn’t done or said anything to him. He’s treading on eggshells around him these days” he said, ruling out the energetic boy being the reason behind Ni-ki’s sudden change in behavior.

Heeseung’s eyes fell on the said person, approaching their table accompnied by Daniel and Ta-ki. He nudged Seon and nodded towards the trio of boys. Jaebeom and Seon followed his gaze and sat up straight and started talking about a video game as if they weren’t discussing one of their younger friends.

Ta-ki greeted the older boys with a bright smile and sat down. Daniel followed suit and Ni-ki silently took a seat next to Jaebeom. “Hyung, are you gonna eat that?” Ni-ki asked, eyeing Seon’s remaining cookie, unaware of the fact that the others were throwing him cautious glances, deciphering his current mood. “No, you ca have it” Seon replied, placing the cookie on Ni-ki’s tray.

The younger gave him a grateful smile and dug in, finishing the cookie in two bites. The boys were secretly relieved that he seemed to be in a good mood and soon they all busied themselves in conversation and finishing their lunch.

In the middle of Ni-ki telling them about how Sunoo got himself in trouble and had to held during recess, he stiffened as he noticed you walking with your friends towards their table. His sudden stillness didn’t go unnoticed by the others. Following his gaze, they soon understood the reason behind Ni-ki’s lack of functioning. 

Exchanging knowing looks, Jaebeom waved you over to their table. Telling your friends that you’ll catch up with them later, you wave back and reach their table. “Hey guys” you chirp, a smile etched across your face. “What’s up?” 

It was exactly as the boys thought. Ni-ki’s gaze was lowered, focusing on his tray and fiddling with his food an his eyes darting towards you in between for a fleeting second. His ears were red and he was not pitching in the conversation the boys and you were having.

“Ni-ki, you okay there?” The boy’s head darted up at you addressing him suddenly. “Yeah..I am perfectly fine” he managed to reply, the heat creeping on to his cheeks, painting them a delicate pink. “You’re turning red, bub..you sure?” you asked again, placing the back of your hand against his forehead and then his cheek to check his temperature. 

Ni-ki swore his soul left his body and his heart jumped out and ran away as soon as your hand came in gentle contact with his skin. “You’re warm. I think you should go to the clinic just in case” you suggested, genuinely concerned for his health.  

The spectators watched the interaction between you two, engrossed in what was going on. What they suspected was so obvious now. Ni-ki had the biggest crush on you and he was trying his best to withhold his composure and not pass out and Daniel admitted he was doing it quite well because it appeared that you were absolutely oblivious of the effect you had on the poor boy who was currently the center of attention and borderline passed out.

“I promise I’m okay” Ni-ki replied and removed your hand away. The contact of his hand with yours sent warm rushes all over his body, heart hammering. You frowned but chose to believe him and nodded, low-key disappointed that he let go of your hand. 

“Okay, but if you feel weird you have to go and get yourself checked” you warned. “And it’s also your responsibility as his friends to look after him” you gave a pointed look at the audience of 5 boys who nodded, even managing to get a salute from Daniel and a “yes boss” from Jaebeom. 

Satisfied with their answer you nodded and subconsciously, as if your hands had a mind of their own, patted Ni-ki’s shoulder, “Alright then, I’ll see you guys later” you announced, glancing over them one last time. “Also, I almost forgot..” you turned to Ni-ki. “Your free style dance was amazing. I’m looking forward to your next performance” you complimented him with a shy smile and taking off.

Ni-ki stared at your retreating figure with a dazed look, as if in a trance, processing the compliment he received from you seconds ago. He was brought back to his senses when Seon coughed to get his attention. He turned his head to be met with knowing looks and smiles from the boys, knowing they were bursting with questions, teasing and comments. 

“Don’t” he warned, shooting a glare at them. “So...this explains your mood swings” Heeseung voiced the elephant in the room. “When are you gonna make a move?” Ta-ki asked the real question, leaning forward, eyes bright. “I won’t. Now you guys can shut up” he shot back, gently shoving Ta-ki’s face back. 

“If you’re afraid of being rejected and possibly ruining a friendship and not having the ability to show your face and quite possi-” Danel began only to be silenced by Seon’s glare. “What he means is...if you’re afraid of being rejected and ruining a friendship, you won’t because as it was obvious with you being totally head over heels for Y/N, Y/N was also obvious of having a crush on you” Seon explained in hopes to encourage the younger boy to confess to you.

“I don’t know...Y/N hasn’t exactly given any sign of being interested in me” he voiced out, trying to recall anything you said or had done to give him a green light. The boys sighed and Seon even rubbed his face. “Your entire interaction is enough proof?” he pointed out, hoping Ni-ki would understand. However, the blank face from the boy said otherwise. “Let’s see...” Heeseung began with a ‘thinking’ look. “Y/N kept physical contact with you just now, from checking your temperature to patting your shoulder and resting their hand” he recalled. 

“Y/N was also quite concerned about you having a temperature and feeling unwell and was adamant about you getting yourself checked and even made us promise to look after you” Jaebeom continued.

“Let’s not forget complimenting you on your last class’ performance...Heeseung hyung also takes that class and so does Ta-ki. Were they mentioned? No. Only you and they even said they looked forward to your next performance” Daniel added.

“Y/N had their eyes on you most times if not all the time. They even smiled at you in a way they don’t smile at anyone else... they had this soft gaze which is only reserved for you” Seon finished, a complacent smile on his face. 

“You guys think so?” Ni-ki asked, getting a sliver of hope and boost of confidence to profess his feelings to you. “We know so” Ta-ki confidently replied, face stuffed with his sandwich. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot...after school” he promised himself, feeling a bit better thanks to the support his friends gave him. 

[After school]

True to his words, Ni-ki made his way to your locker after extra-curricular activities before chickening around. Just as he turned round the corner, he was met with a scene he was not prepared for. You were standing at your locker with someone else, receiving a small bouquet of flowers. He quickly hid behind the wall, not knowing how he felt. He peeked to see you smiling at the person. He couldn’t hear what you were saying and he decided that he didn’t want to.

His heart was thumping loudly and he was pretty sure that it was echoing through out the school hallway. Feeling dejected and miserable, he walked away, to where his friends were waiting for some kind of update from him. Slipping your favorite snack back in to his bag, he reached the school gate where his friends stood.

Jaeho was the first to notice Ni-ki walking slowly, head down. Pointing it out to the others, the atmosphere changed from lively to heavy as one by one it hit them that Ni-ki didn’t come bearing good news. They shared confused and worried looks, feeling guilty for accidentally giving him false hope when they themselves were sure that his feelings were reciprocated.

He reached them and smiled sadly at them, shaking his head. No one had the heart to say anything. “Someone already beat me to it” he shrugged, playing off as it didn’t matter to him but he was only convincing himself as no one believed his facade.

“What do you mean someone beat you to it?” Jimin asked, putting an arm around his shoulder. “When I rounded the corner to their locker, they were smiling and had accepted flowers by someone else”, he replied. “I can’t believe that I actually had hope..” he murmured, resting his head on Jimin’s shoulder, as the older boy ran his hand through his hair to comfort him.  “For once I thought someone was actually interested in me”

The boys exchanged looks, not really knowing what to say to make him feel better. “Hey, I know it’s easier said than done but forget about it, maybe you guys are better off as friends” Jake spoke up. 

ni-ki only shook his head. “It’s not easy..” he admitted quietly. “I don’t think I’ll  be okay. Everything seems different when I fell for Y/N. I couldn’t help my feelings then and I can’t help them now. They’ve already grown” his eyes were sad and obvious he was hurting. “I don’t want to feel like this” he groaned.

“Hyung, I think you should l-” Daniel was cut off by a wave of Ni-ki’s hand. “I’ll be okay soon, hopefully...I just need to avoid Y/N for a while until I’m able to control my feelings” 

“Okay but I think you shou-” Youngbin tried to talk only to be interrupted by the younger boy again. “I know, I know...to be expressive and share my feelings with you guys, I know” he dismissed. 

Not receiving any response from the boys felt strange. It was only when he realized they were not looking at him but rather behind him did he feel a sinking feel. Hoping it wasn’t what he was thinking he sighed, dreading the obvious answer. “They’re right behind me aren’t they?”

The apologetic looks from the boys was enough to confirm his fear. “Uhh, can you guys excuse us for a moment, please?” you timidly asked. The boys nodded and with a chorus of “see you later”, they dispersed. 

You stepped down and stood next to Ni-ki who was avoiding eye contact. The both of you stood there, awkward. You wanted to talk to him about what he said earlier and you even requested the boys to give you privacy yet you had no idea what to say nor how to start the conversation with him.

“So...” you started, “You heard me being all melodramatic over you not reciprocating my feelings” he spoke up, getting straight to the point no matter how desperately he wanted to run away and never face humanity again.

“How much did you see? The flowers and everything?” you asked. “Just you receiving the flowers and being happy. I saw you guys talking but I couldn’t hear what you were saying.” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ahh..that makes everything easier” you whispered to yourself. You smiled at him and placed your hand on his shoulder. The stiffness from didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Relax..it’s not what you think” you said. “Yes, I was given flowers and yes I accepted them and yes I was smiling and talking” you explained. “But, the flowers weren’t for me. They’re actually for Mrs. Kwon. Our class collected money to buy her flowers as a token of congratulations for being promoted to Head of the Science Department. As the class president, it was my duty to give it to her on behalf of my class.” you finished.

Realization dawned on him as everything was put in to place. “Well, this is embarrassing...” he chuckled shyly. “You still have time, you know?” you spoke up, trying not to smile. He gave you a confused look, not getting your hint. 

“To express your feelings?” you weren’t able to hide the excitement. feeling all giddy at the thought of finally being confessed to by the guy you had been crushing on since the past year.

“Well...” he started, pausing in between to take out the snacks he got for you. “You’re already aware of how I feel about you so all I’m gonna say is that even if we are quite young, you’re the one I want and if you feel that I’m the one you want then please accept my feelings because you deserve the world and i’m willing to try my best to give you just that” he softly voiced the words he was dying to say.

You smiled and accepted the snacks, your eyes and smile brighter than ever. “I’d love to..I’ve been waiting for this moment myself” you admitted. Ni-ki laughed, light hearted and ecstatic that he finally could hold your hands and you just how he dreamed.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//sober thoughts. kuroo tetsurou//

Warnings: slut shaming, vulgar language, swearing 

Word Count: 2K

Notes: I was listening to the Breath of the Wild soundtrack while working on this and now, I may or may not be planning on spending my weekend FINALLY beating the game on Master Mode

*Characters are aged up because I am a responsible adult who does not condone underage drinking*

*Read Part I - ‘Drunken Words’ HERE*

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was expecting when he sat down next to you in the lecture hall.  Maybe he was hoping that things would go back to how they used to be, before he made a total fool out of himself.  Maybe he was hoping that he’d be able to sit down and joke with you.  He was hoping that you’d start doodling little pictures in the margins of his notebook just like you always did when you were bored during lecture.  

But, he got none of those things.  He was welcomed by a cold silence, a quick glance up from your phone to recognize that he was there.  As he sits down in the seat next to yours, he watches you shift your body, leaning further away from him as if not wanting to be seen anywhere near him.

And who could blame you?  The videos of drunken Kuroo making all of those snide remarks, telling everyone about the relationship that you had with, had been circulating the campus all weekend.  Everywhere you went, you could feel the judgemental eyes on you, staring you down to punish you for your sins.  Even now, in a lecture hall filled with hundreds of students, people were turning their heads to get a glimpse of you and the fraternity brother who let all your secrets out after a few too many glasses.  Hushed whispers were filling the room as the rumors continued to grow and increase in severity.  Calling you any number of filthy names in the book.  

As if the guilt wasn’t already eating you alive.  The heartbreak that had crept into Daisho’s eyes as he realized that this wasn’t just Kuroo talking to talk felt like a punch to the gut.  He hadn’t even bothered to yell at you, he just walked upstairs, locking the door to his room.  You could’ve knocked on his door all night and he never would’ve answered.  You had sat outside for what seemed like hours before you heard the lock slide out of its place, the door creaking open ever so slightly as he poked his head out.  His eyes had been trained at the floor, refusing to meet your gaze.  But, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, there was no mistaking the slight puffiness to his eyes or the tightness in his voice.

“I think you should just go.”

Nothing else.  He spoke six words to you and went back into his room, locking the door tightly behind him.  You didn’t know why it hurt as much as it did.  You had said yourself that you weren’t in love with him anymore, but seeing all of the pain etched on his face overwhelmed you with guilt and Daisho wasn’t even giving you the option to try to fix things.  It was over.  Plain and simple.

It didn’t matter how many times you tried to text or call him, each one was ignored.  You showed up at the house the next day to try to talk to him, but you were turned away at the door by one of the fraternity members.  You didn’t deserve it, but you wanted to see him one more time, try to leave things off on a better note, but he wasn’t having it.  All of the pictures of you that had been posted to his Instagram were gone by the end of the night.  He was already forgetting you, obviously having no intentions of trying to work this out.

And then there was Kuroo.  To everyone around him, he was perfectly normal.  He still had his normal kind smile plastered on his face as he greeted people on campus.  He was still able to laugh and joke, this entire weekend just being funny for him.  No one was belittling him or calling him a whore.  If anything, people were high-fiving him, congratulating him on getting Daisho’s girl.  Kuroo Tetsurou’s life hadn’t even shifted.  Sure, the extra shit he got from Daisho wasn’t fun, but it was bearable.  This whole thing was so easy for him.

At least, that’s how it looked from the outside.

If anyone were to get a look inside of his mind they would see the same scene playing in his mind, the loop never seeming to end.  That look of shock painted so sadly on your face as he finally said what he had been hinting at throughout his entire drunken rampage.  Those solemn eyes staring up at him, mouth open as if you wanted to say something, but then closing as you come to realize that nothing could save you.  He broke whatever trust had been built between the two of you and now, he was being pushed away as you put up another wall around yourself.  Kuroo was getting pats on the backs, fist-bumps, and high-fives from guys he didn’t even know.  They would simply say, “Man, I saw the video! Epic!” and leave him to carry on with his day, unaware of the guilt gnawing away at him, worsened by the fact that it seemed that everyone around him had seen that stupid video.  

So, when he sat down next to you, he wasn’t expecting to be completely ignored, but he couldn’t say that he was surprised either.  But, you both carried on throughout the class like normal, silently taking notes, glancing over at the other’s notebook to copy something missed, phones being checked for the time every few minutes.  

1:51 p.m.

The sounds of students shuffling to put their books away echoes throughout the lecture hall, quiet conversations being held between friends filling the air. But, nothing could fill the awkward silence that enveloped the area that surrounded you both.  It’s not like he wanted to stand there in silence, eyes locked on you trying to fit your binder back into your bag, but what was he supposed to say?

“Kuroo?”

Amber eyes snap up to meet yours and he sees you adjusting your bag onto your shoulders.  He’s pulled out of whatever mental games that he had been playing with himself, expecting you to start the conversation that he had been anticipating all weekend.  But, his “Yeah?” was only met with:

“You’re blocking the aisle.”

“Oh, right, yeah.  Sorry, about that,” he mutters, shouldering his own bag to move out of your way.  But, the slight bounce to your hair as you walked away, the soft pat pat pat of your well-loved sneakers against the tile floor, the various enamel pins that you had stuck to your bag, glinting off the harsh lighting of the classroom.  He wasn’t ready to let all of that go just yet.  He wasn’t ready to let go of all of the time that he had spent with you.  Kuroo wasn’t ready to let go of you.

Before he could even second guess himself, Kuroo’s fingers wrap around your wrist, keeping you from moving another step away from him.  “Y/N.”

“Kuroo, let me go.  I have class.”

“No, you don’t.  It’s Tuesday and on Tuesday’s you have Italian in the morning, you used to go take a nap at the house afterwards, and then we’d walk to lecture together.  Don’t lie to me.”

“Well, don’t you have class?  You should get going,” you argue, trying to get out of his grasp, but Kuroo’s fingers only tighten around your wrist.   

“I’ll be late.  I don’t care.  Please, can we just talk?”

“What the hell is there to talk about, Kuroo?  Do you want to call me a bitch?  A slut?  There’s nothing to talk about as far as I’m concerned.  I’m done!  Do you know how many random guys are harassing me, asking if I can give them head, see if I’m as good as you say I am?  You may just get to laugh Friday night off, but I can’t!”

“I’m so-”

“I don’t care!  Your apologies aren’t going to make this all magically disappear.  This whole thing was a mistake, Kuroo.  I threw everything away.  I was stupid and now Suguru hates me.  He won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me!”

“But, didn’t you say-”

“I know what I said!  I know that I told you that I didn’t love him, but you should’ve seen him, Kuroo.  I don’t remember the last time that I’ve seen him so upset and knowing that he was that hurt because I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life? Seeing him so close to me, but so stupidly far away, because he didn’t want anything to do with me? That hurt and it still hurts.”  You pause, turning away from him.  A little laugh leaves your lips.  “You just- You wouldn’t understand.”

The grip that Kuroo has on your wrist releases as he drops his hand down to his side.  “I wouldn’t understand?  What makes you think that?  Just because I didn’t cheat on my high school boyfriend, doesn’t mean that I feel good about what happened either!”

“You ruined a relationship with someone that you already didn’t like.  Do you want me to buy you ice cream for your loss?”  You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.  “I know that after all of this, it probably seems like I don’t care about him, but I really do.  He- he was good to me and he didn’t deserve this, but I fucked up and now I can’t do anything to fix it,” you say, your voice straining to get through your sentences without falling apart as all of the shame comes bubbling back up.  “I hurt someone that I cared about, Kuroo.”

“What?  And you think I didn’t?  Y/N, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t buy you coffee after lab because I just want to be your friend.  I don’t put granola bars in my bag because I know you always wake up too late to eat before class, because I just think of you as someone that I’m sleeping with.  I don’t carry around a pack of your favorite pens for me.  Whether you like it or not, I love you.  And I know that this is the worst possible time to say it, but I love you and I was too stupidly drunk to realize that I was hurting you before it was too late.”  Kuroo runs his hand through his hair, exasperatedly pushing his fringe back.  “I keep thinking about how sad you looked and every time I see that in my head, it feels like someone just stabbed me in the heart.  I know that my apologies aren’t going to fix a damn thing, but I’m sorry, Y/N, really.  And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re any of those things that people are calling you.  I still think that you’re the same person that I fell in love with.”

His words catch you off guard.  After everything, Kuroo Tetsurou is professing his love to you in the middle of a poorly lit university building, students slowing down as they try to overhear what’s going on between the two of you.   Part of you already knew it deep down, but you had hoped that his feelings would just go away and your arrangement could go back to what it was meant to be.  Seeing that you were likely not to give him an answer, Kuroo spoke up once more before turning to leave you.

“I know that I can’t tell you what to do, but I care about you, really.  So, remember, that I’ll always be in your corner.  I want it to be us versus the world, but I’m okay with just supporting you from the sidelines.  I just want you to be happy, okay?”

[all-hallows-evie]

Athenaeum: 7

Warnings: Canon typical Violence is coming into play this chapter, mentions of blood, capture and WORST OF ALL:...I cant write fight scenes for crap. LOL

A/N:...so yeah...shit’s hitting the fan this chapter...not sorry about it, lol

***

Two months come and go and every time a ship lands near the outskirts you feel your heart clench. You did him rotten, what you did was unfair. He was trying to be kind but just like you always do, you ruin it.

You fall back into your daily routine: sorting, mindlessly storing away information that may never be needed again, but the kid is always at the back of your mind no matter how hard you try to push him away.

You hope he is okay.

You hope he is managing to slip through the Empire's grip as whispers begin to turn to murmurs. The Empire is rising from the ashes, attempting to be reborn, but this time it is darker. You can feel it in the atmosphere, the darkness that had clouded the sky during the reign of Darth Vader was starting to clog everything again.

You are terrified for the kid. Maker knows why the Empire wants him, but it is never a good thing to be wanted by the Empire in a way like that; a need so fierce they would be willing to burn down entire towns to find you.

The sun has just set on the horizon and the lamps all around are warming up their golden glow. You sit on an all too familiar duracrete wall, a cup of steaming tea in your hands.

The small girl from the pack of children approaches you with caution, she pushes a long strand of straight auburn hair behind her ear, "When will the baby be back?" She asks fearlessly. 

Your lips press into a line, "I don't know."

"Do you think it will be soon? We miss him."

"I hope so." You respond before you bring the cup to your lips, the hot water burns your tongue. 

The little girl seems satisfied, but disappointed with your answer and sighs before returning to the group. Her little shoulders dropping low, the chorus of “awwww” comes from the other children a few feet away.

You spend the night watching them play in the streets and making polite conversation with anyone who approaches you. You congratulate a newly wed couple as they uncomfortably ask if you might know of anything in your collection that might help them with their first child. You smile and ask them to come see you tomorrow afternoon, you'll be sure to get them what they need. "A gift." You respond when they look at each other nervously, unsure of what they could offer in trade, "We need more innocence in this world."

The moon is high in the sky by the time you wander back to your home. You catch yourself holding the spot on your chest where the child would lay his head when he was here, wrapped tightly against your body, tuckered out after a long night of play.

Sleep evades you that night. 

Something about tonight was bringing out the worst in you. Something about the way everyone around you was starting to carve their way into the universe made you feel...lonely. 

Inadequate. 

Lost. 

Again and again, you feel the urgency that only loss brings out in you, like you want to reach out into the universe and grab a hold of something - anything - to keep you from falling into the void but there is nothing. 

You need to stay busy. 

You don't remember when you pull yourself from the warmth of your covers and pad softly downstairs. The lights of your private archives hum loudly in the silence of the early morning. You slide into your helmet, the cold sticks to the inside spaces making little puffs with every breath you take. 

You start your search, finding files with old wives tales and home remedies, scanning them for anything you can think of that the new nervous parents could need. And when you can't think of anything else, you read past accounts of births in this tiny little town, taking notes on your data pad as you go.

You don't feel your eyes start to slip closed halfway through your research, you don't feel your head drop forward suddenly heavy with exhaustion, you don't feel your entire body curl up to the desk as sleep completely overtakes you, and most of all you don't feel the Mandalorian pull you from your awkward sleeping position on the table to bring you upstairs. You don’t feel him lay you on your own bed, helmet still firmly attached over your shoulders. 

You sleep through the tiny claws pulling themselves up beside you, but when the little warm body curls up under your chin your eyes finally flutter open.

Your hand comes up, landing with a soft plop between the kids ears. "Hey buddy, I've missed you." Your voice is raspy and thick with sleep.

He gurgles, little claws digging into the collar of your shirt. 

"Where's your big beskar friend?" You sigh as you sit up slightly, you hold the child tight against you with one hand while pulling the helmet from your head with your other. It bounces on your mattress as you let it slide off. You look around, running the sleep from your eyes and trying to piece together how you even got back here.

The kid reaches up and touches your chin, a shiver runs down your spine as he shares more memories with you. 

Sand and heat. Double suns high in the brilliant blue sky. 

There was a nice woman there with wild curly hair, you can feel how much she makes him happy. She's fun because she lets me get in trouble. It's not words you exchange but feelings. 

Holding the child in your arms and staring into the inky black of his eyes you can feel your resolve melting away. 

If Mando asks again, you won't say no. You'll leave this all behind...but you've got to tell him the truth first. You hide your worry behind a smirk as you turn to the child, your hand curled into a C shape as you run it down the front of your chest, “Hungry?” 

His little arms immediately spring up as he squeals.

“Not surprising.” You smirk as you inch out of bed, slowly standing with him still held carefully in your arms. 

“I told him to let you sleep.”

You almost jump out of your skin at his sudden appearance, you aren’t sure how long the Mandalorian has been standing in your doorway watching you. “Mother of a mudscupper, I didn’t think you could be so quiet!” You shout, your heart racing up your throat. 

This time he does chuckle at you before disappearing into your living area. You walk out behind him, still holding the child tight. He leans against a side wall, seemingly looking out of your window into the street below. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back.” You say as you place the child down on the thick carpet, he wobbles over to the closest data pad, tucked into your usual place between one of the cushions of the couch. 

“He likes it here. He’s safe here”

“You have a bounty nearby?” You ask instead.  

“No.” he replies, “My offer-” 

“To come with - wait.” You stop before you can finish the thought. 

You hear it before you even see it break atmo, your eyes train on the sky. Mando looks up as well, following your gaze. You murmur it as you see it land in the outskirts. “T-4a shuttle.”

The Empire.

"Fuck, you have to go Mando, and you have to go now!" You scramble away from the window, you snatch the kid from the ground and hand him roughly to the Mandalorian as you both move as far away from the window as you can. Your data pad falls from his little claws, shattering against the floor. The Mandalorian tucks the child safely away in his canvas bag, trying to keep him calm as he starts to cry and squirm. 

"Come with us."

"You won't make it out of atmo alone." You grit, "Go, I can buy you time."

He hesitates, "Why? Why does the Empire want you?!"

"Dank ferrik Mando, we don't have time for this!"

"Tell me why, tell me what they want."

You roll your eyes, your hands card through your hair harshly, annoyed doesn't even begin to describe the sensation that blooms in your chest, "For fucks sake Mando, it's because I belong to them!"

He takes a step back. If you could see his face you would put money on a look of betrayal probably etching itself into his gaze as you spoke.

You rip yourself out of your thin jacket and toss it on the ground and show your arm to the Mandalorian, the red of the ink even brighter than you remember in the daylight. This is not the way you were hoping to have this conversation. 

"You're a deserter."

You huff, "No, life would be much easier if I was. A blaster bolt to the brain and that's the end of that. I am a creation, a monster born and bred for the Empire, they are inclined to bring me back."

He is frozen solid, the only sign of life is his chest which keeps rapidly rising and falling.

You clench your fist, he's running out of time and all he can do is stand there and be shocked by the inhumanity of the Empire, "Please Mando, you need to go."

"They want the kid, something about his blood-"

"Gods damn it, will you please go?!" You were so riled up that you felt the tears starting to blur out your vision.

"Are they making Jedi? Are they making more of you?!"

He was downright impossible. "I was force sensitive when they snatched me di'kut!" You growl, "They can't make us, but they can do other things."

Chaos is breaking out on the streets outside, you can hear screams and the sound of blaster fire. Panic rises up in your throat like acrid bile.

"Look, I don't know what they want from the kid, but please don't let them get him. If he survives whatever it is that they want him for or if he survives whatever they do to him, he won't like himself afterwards."

The Mandalorian is still and you wonder how long it will take for your words to bounce around his helmet before they sink into his head. The kid cries and he finally nods, "How do I get out?"

***

You can hear them coming closer. The sounds of doors being ripped off their hinges as imperial troopers in their white plastoid armor lay waste to the houses of the people you call friends and neighbors grows louder and louder. You are scared, your heart hammers under your ribs and if you don't keep reminding yourself to breathe you are sure you are going to keel over dead. 

The Imperials drag out the men and women from their homes, shouting at them for information.

“Where is the bounty hunter?!” 

“The one covered in beskar!” 

There is no death, there is the force. The words appear in your mind like a message from some nearby god.

You close your eyes and open your door and step out onto the main road, your long handled electro-axe dragging lines into the dirt of the road beside you. You stop in the middle of the road and turn to face the small squad of troopers, a few lieutenants scattered between them, the silver emblems of their caps shine in the sun. 

"The Mandalorian was with me." You call over, your voice cuts through the chaos.

The chaos quiets down for a moment as eyes land on you. Your own gaze lands on two lieutenants in the center of the fray, you can see their eyes flicker down, as they take in the brands on your skin. You grip your weapon a little tighter under their gazes.

"Deserter!" One of them growls before the other holds him back, a tight and sudden grip on his shoulder that stops him between steps. 

The dark haired lieutenant approaches warily. "What is a Praetorian doing in these quadrants?"

You smirk as there is a noticeable nervous shuffle in the group, "You're outside your jurisdiction boys. There is no Empire or New Republic presence here, but if you insist on asking questions about the Mandalorian, you are going to have to deal with me."

"I repeat, Praetorian," The lieutenant shouts as he visibly gathers his courage and shuffles closer, "Why are you here?"

Your eyes scan his face, the small smirk growing into a toothy grin on your lips, "Let me repeat, lieutenant: you have no jurisdiction here, and if you think you rank above me...you are in for a harsh reminder." Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst from your chest, but you swallow down harshly and refuse to let it show. 

His lip quivers and fear rolls off him in tidal waves, he turns to his partner, "Kill them." 

The heat from the blasters is immediate as every blaster attempts to take you out, you ignite your vibro axe, it’s blue arcs of electricity snapping to life. You dodge a couple of shots, blocking the rest with a quick push from the force, snapping it back before regathering your focus and sending another wave before the troopers can get another shot in. 

Your wave tackles the first row of troopers, causing havoc down the next two lines of troopers. Shots ring out in all directions as troopers go flying into each other, you take this moment to jump into the fray, slicing at the splayed out troopers who are still attempting to stand. 

You try to keep tabs on the snarky lieutenant as he melts into the crowd, Imperial troopers pouring down the street en force. A blaster bolt rips through your shoulder, sending a searing flash of pain down your side. You see red as you throw your hand out and catch the trooper responsible by the throat. You fling him bonelessly into the closest hard surface, the sidewall of your own home.

 Before he hits the ground you're already preparing to lash out at the next wave, quickly flipping your axe to your good arm, but you are not fast enough. A trooper charges under your outstretched hand, knocking you over. 

The air leaves your lungs as you hit the road hard on your back. 

The troops lunge forward and you hear distant shouts:

"Bring the e-net!"

"Clear the field!"

The crowd of white and black troopers part and you see the sky darkening as the electric net fills the sky.

"Fuck." You manage to gasp before it lands against your body and pins you to the ground. You hear it hum for a moment before it cracks to life like a lightning strike. Thick arcs of blue electricity fill the air and every muscle in your body spasms. 

Your screams fill your ears, eyes brimming with angry tears as white hot pain tears through you. The pain stops for a moment, just enough time for you to see the silver shine of the Razor Crest break out of atmo at the corner of your vision. Electricity arcs again and your vision is gone behind a wall of tears and a tidal wave of pain. 

You hear the boots around you surge forward in rhythm and then darkness. 

Sweet, sweet, painless darkness.

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<<Back to Master List  II  Chapter 6  II  Chapter 8 (In Progress)>>

[papichriscnco]

‘My Ex is Here’ ~ Richard

Description: You and Richard go to your friends birthday party but your ex is there. 

You and Richard had only known each other for a few months and you both still considered it to be a very new relationship. Your close friend had invited you and Richard to her birthday, warning you that your ex-boyfriend Jason would be there. You and Richard had spent the day together, deciding to get ready at his house. You had been stressed for the entire day, concerned for Richard’s reaction when you told him your ex would be there. Slipping on your shoes, you looked into Richard’s room watching him pull his shirt over his head. You knew you had to tell him about Jason so before you grabbed your keys to leave for the party, you leaned against Richard’s bedroom door hoping to capture his attention.

“You good baby?” he asked, sliding his shoes on.

“Y-yeah.” you nodded shakily, “I just thought I should let you know my ex, Jason, will be there.” you spoke softly, anxious for his reaction.

You and Richard had already spoken about Jason before and you knew how much Richard hated him without even knowing him. Jason had treated you so poorly that everytime you told Richard a new story, his face turned red in anger. You had tried your best to hold back on telling him about Jason but every time you recoiled during an argument or became highly strung around him, he knew it had to do with Jason. Richard would often pry the story out of you, desperate to know what he did that could have triggered you, hoping to not do it again. Richard tensed at your statement but saw the stress in your eyes. He sighed standing up and engulfing you in his arms. He rubbed your back soothingly, trying his best to ensure you were calm. 

“I’ll be there if you need me. I won’t cause any trouble,” he spoke as he kissed the top of your head before taking your hand leading you out of the apartment. He didn’t truly believe that he could control himself if he saw him but he knew he would have to do his best. As you pulled up to the venue Richard tried to soothe you, “You know, we might not even see him.” 

 You tried to smile to show him that you weren’t fazed but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hopefully.” you mumbled playing with your fingers. 

Your shoulders were tense, your eyes conveying your panic and your thumbs twiddling together showed just how alarmed you were. Richard couldn’t help but think maybe you still had feelings for Jason. He didn’t want to ask you but his own insecurities began to filter through his body. If he had to sit around while your ex was going to be starting trouble, he wanted to make sure he was doing it for the right girl. Richard had to put his own needs first for just a brief moment. He tried to hide his resentful tone but he couldn’t, “are you nervous to see him because you, maybe, still care for him?”

You looked over, even more panicked as Richard tightened the parking brake. “No! Of course not.” Quickly, you placed your hand on his leg another on his face reassuringly. “I just don’t want a scene or the attention. The last time I saw him, it didn’t end well.”

“I like you. I really like you and if you’re in love with your ex then you should just tell me!” he spoke honestly. 

It was an odd place to be having such a serious conversation. The middle of a car park outside of your friend’s birthday. The nerves you felt about seeing Jason rapidly disintegrated as you became more bothered about how Richard was feeling. 

“I care about you Rich. I care about you so much. I hate him. I hate Jason. The way I feel for you is-is,” you take a moment to calm the thoughts racing through your head, “I’ve never felt like this for anyone. Not the way I feel about you.”

Richard's hurt pride slowly regained itself as he calmed himself down. Leaning his forehead against yours he took a deep breath squeezing your leg gently. This time, he was trying to calm you down. Leaning forward, he kissed your forehead affectionately. “I’ll be there for you. Okay?”

You nodded smiling, “Okay.” 

You had been at the party for almost two hours without seeing your ex. As soon as you walked in, the music and Richard’s consoling arm around your shoulders helped you to loosen up. Instantly, Richard took you straight to the bar, the both of you downing three shots as quickly as possible. You had turned into a giggling mess as you danced around the party smiling with Richard’s arms wrapped around you. 

After a few hours, Richard took your hand deciding it was time for more shots. Rolling your eyes jokingly, you agreed heading to the bar. Taking another few shots together, the two of you laughed, excited to be having fun when you spotted Jason on the other side of the bar. Your face fell but the alcohol coursing through your veins prevented the nerves from overwhelming you but quickly you regained your composure deciding to pretend you never saw him. 

“He’s here. My ex is here.” you commented, “But don’t worry about it.” Richard looked around but you grabbed his face making him look at you. “Look at me. Don’t look for him. We don’t care about him.” 

Richard laughed, “We definitely don’t care about him. Only each other.”

Before you realised he was approaching you, Jason strutted over, a smirk etched on his face. You could see he was looking at Richard up and down like Richard was his prey. Your shoulders became tense and you took Richard’s hand trying to pull him away from the bar. Before you could make your escape Jason tilted his chin towards Richard, commenting, “So I guess you downgraded huh?”

Hearing his voice made your skin crawl. Richard smirked, excited that Jason decided to come over. Richard had hoped Jason would make the first move to come and argue. It meant you wouldn’t be mad at him when he fought back. Richard smirked as he placed his drink on the bar, slowly turning to Jason.

Speakly calmly, the words coming out of his mouth shocked you, “Listen here you little fucker.” You were almost more scared of how calm he was than anything else. “I was going to play nice but if you come at me like that,” he chuckled before turning serious, “I’m going to fuck you up.”

Richard’s energy was turning you on but at the same time you were worried about the scene beginning to unfold. Deciding you were more concerned than turned on, you stood in front of Richard placing a hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him down. Turning back to your ex, you feel the courage building up inside you. The courage you should have had in your relationship. 

“Fuck off!” you growled.

You had never spoken up against him and he quickly changed his expression from cocky to surprised. Making an effort to move a step towards you, Richard quickly shoved his shoulder backwards.

“You don’t need to go near her.” Richard snarled

Everyone looked on and you couldn’t help but catch the eye of the birthday girl who appeared to be growing angry that everyone’s attention had moved on from her. Suddenly, your ex became aware of everyone's watchful gaze and of Richard’s squared shoulders. Clearing his throat he moved his hands up in defence as he began walking away.

“I could have taken him!” Richard whispered in your ear as everyone’s attention disappeared from the two of you.

Your cheeks had turned red from the attention and you placed Richard’s cold hands on your face to cool you down. “Yeah baby. I know,” you laughed, “but he isn’t worth it.”

Richard nodded, “do you want to head home?” 

Checking your watch, you noticed it was still very early but the events had drained your energy and you were ready to go home. 

“Are you okay to drive?” you asked.

“I have a higher tolerance,” he laughed, “I’m fine. You on the other hand,” he joked.

Giggling you took his hand, “take me to your house please.”

“You want to stay at mine?”

“Mmhmm.” you mumbled leaning your head on his shoulder as he led you back to the car. A smile moved across your face. Sure, it was annoying to have to deal with Jason but having Richard there to support you, was what you didn’t know you needed.

---

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[common-blackbird]

it’s time... for a dragon age 2 playthrough post. scroll on!

The things i loved most:

1) the frame of the game - Cassandra interrogating Varric.

What a great way to get hook the player. Like, the opening of guards dragging this poor dwarf with cuts of the title, and then Cassandra demanding answers... Whoaaa! I have no idea if that’s usually done in games or not, but it’s definitely such an amazing intro with characters introducing themselves as well as the story so perfectly, it captivates instantly. The tutorial has a charm to it bc varric is messing around. Which serves to show more of his character. Cassandra’s personality was pretty much blank here but her presence is so powerful. Something happened, something huge and they know and i was about to find out. I can’t describe how excited that intro made me feel. Each time the scene cut to the interrogation scenes, my eyes were glued more than ever. Just GREAT.

Also it makes for a very convenient scapegoat for every plothole ever with the argument “it’s just his version of the story”.

2) The story.

It’s tragic. It’s amazing! The further you play, the more you can see that no matter what you do, everything leads to a disaster. Hawke doesn’t want to take sides, tries to mediate, does not want to get involved, but just can’t stop it. For every thing gained, Hawke loses two more. Your friends come with packages that get you involved in terrible stuff. Your good intentions result in disasters. The whole game you spent time climbing  the social ladder not only to reach the top hauntingly alone after losing all of your family, but also losing even that empty title and watching as the city you started to find your place in fall apart in blood. UGH! GAH! FEELS!

3) Kirkwall.

“ But, I beg you my dear readers, never forget that, no matter the subject of any story that might ever be explored between the cliffs of Kirkwall, She will find a way to steal the thunder of the protagonist. Or become the antagonist. Kirkwall is never a mere background. We could even understand it so: the challenge for you dear readers is to prevail against the smokescreens and observe to what extent our characters are players or played by the merciless black souled stone giant. Enjoy playing the dare of the ages between the lines of these humble memoirs. “

Memoirs from the Downfall - Act I. Mirage    by Pfefferminze on ao3 (fic rec!)

This paragraph summs up what Kirkwall is better than I ever could. This shrouded mystery that surrounds Kirkwall keeps you on toes. From the first intro when Varric describes it (paraphrasing from memory) “Kirkwall. The city of chains. It is a free city - keeping in mind i use the  the word loosely”. You already start seeing how dark Kirkwall gets. The name, that derives from its black walls (interestingly, the walls in the game aren’t black...), the history of slavery etched into every corner of that city  and its surroundings - the names (The Gallows, the Bone Pit, the Wounded Coast, the pub The Hanged Man), the scenery (sculptures of slaves, the sunken ships by the Wounded Coast, slums and underground of the Lowtown and the Darktown).

I was really digging the History of Kirkwall and it loved it. Kirkwall has a history of violence, from the times of slavery of the Tevinter Imperium, to Qunari conquests and liberation from Orlais. Many revolts and uprising. And though free now, it’s suggested that, seeing that the Templars hold the most influence, Kirkwall is in the hands of the Chantry.

It’s full of cultures mixing together. I love how not one of your companions is a native to Kirkwall, and it feels like a crossroads to every character’s life. a very tragic crossroads in their life, seeing there’s nothing ever good waiting for you in Kirkwall.

Also there’s these codex entries you look for about the Enigma of Kirkwall. It was when i started digging that up that i fell in love with the city and all. Combined with the History of Kirkwall and every codex entry for every place in and out of Kirkwall, I was pulling my hair out reading about the Enigma. I..i’m still not quite sure what happened. Did the magisters use blood of thousands upon thousands slaves to unbound a forgotten one? if so, is that corypheus? And around what time did that happen?? I get that part (or all?) of Kirkwall’s mysterious violent agency is owed to corypheus slumbering relatively close to the city, but is that all? or is there something more? In either case, the Band of Tree are my heroes.

4) The characters.

I’ll talk more about them later, but in general, i just love how they oppose each other, how complex they are, and there is just not pleasing everyone. They feel genuine. They are all deeply flawed. They all have a solid background that makes their beliefs and actions convincing. The friendship/rivalry points are shaky though, and sometimes really don’t fit the character, but i guess there must be someone hating/loving your bad choices for the sake of the game regardless of characterisation. But all in all, i really appreciated each and every character, and loved how their viewpoints challenged me.

First i want a disclaimer: i love each and every character in the game, whatever i say against them doesn’t diminish my liking of them. My issues really aren’t significant. Also, i might and probably will say smth wrong bc i’ve only played it once. I’m a baby.

let’s start with Family:

Mama Hawke:

i really loved mama hawke. after reading her codex entry and an excerpt of some book on this site, i really feel for her. I mean, imagine going back to your home city where you only remember being respected and wealthy only to find out everything you remember is gone, you are forced to live in poverty, your kids are doing dangerous jobs and you can’t stop them bc you do need that money, you write letters trying to get the old connections but keep failing (at least it was implied?), it’s really been hard for her. I get why she was so obsessed with her legacy. She wanted her childhood home back. She can’t feel like Kirkwall is her home until she is home.

Also loved her antagonism towards Hawke. It seems she can no longer treat him like a child, so she criticises him instead. and honestly, hawke is doing some crazy things so he defintiely deserves some criticism. And stopping Hawke from taking carver with him is just logical to me, idk. since she knows she can’t stop Hawke from going, she will at least attempt to prevent the last kid from going into mortal danger. I’d do the same. AND AFTER HAVING CARVER DYING IN DEEP ROADS I AGREE WITH HER

All in all, i don’t think she’s a perfect mom, but there is no perfect mom, and Leandra does care a lot for her kids. The All that remains killed me too :’(

Bethany

RIP :(

Her codex is not long, but i guess she wasn’t happy with her magic :(

CARVER

My favouritest bestest bro in the game. A secondary character with an inferiority complex towards his sibling, with no sense of humour, blaming everyone else for his inability to get a life? I see a lot of myself in him.  He is sooo bitter, but doesn’t even realise (or at least doesn’t admit) that he’s his biggest obstacle. He feels like it’s Hawke’s fault for Carver not getting his place in the sun, but honestly, it’s Carver’s devotion to Hawke that keeps him from getting a life. He’s just tied with that responsibility and can’t break from it unless forced to.

His interactions with other characters are so funny. Either he’s bitter or he’s awkward, i die every time ;;__;;

Anyways, he became a templar in my game and i thought it fits better thematically (throughout the game the grey wardens felt more like a fanservice material since they really aren’t connected to the story), but after reading that meta about carver and seeing the striking difference between warden!carver and templar!carver i wanna reload and redo everything ;;__;;

i mean... carver isn’t exactly a templar material. The codex entry for templars says that the wanted characteristics of templars are strong faith and utmost  obedience, none of which carver really has... . But that moment when he stands up against meredith was *chefs kiss* worth it. I’m just wondering what happens after, is he still a templar? is he with hawke? is he in Kirkwall or if not, where did he go?? so many questions ;A;

Uncle Gamlen

I feel bad for him. Mostly he’s mean but i like to think it’s bc he’s so ashamed that his sister sees what he’s become. And he’s bitter about his own life. I was so happy when i realised he has a personal mission ;__; I feel bad that he didn’t come to live in the hawke estate tho, especially since Hawke is also alone there :(

COMPANIONS!

Varric

There are no words that can properly convey the amount of love for this guy. He is simply flawless. He’s a charming godfather of the dwarven mafia. I wanna have a charming godfather of the dwarven mafia in my life... He already becomes interesting with the intro, and i gotta say, out of all ~storyteller~ types of characters, he is the best. he puts a disclaimer at the beginning with that game tutorial, and during the whole interrogation he’s like “well, how do you know i’m not lying? i could be.” Also, his voice is the second best voice in the game. 

As for his personal missions, oh wow, that thing with his big bro really hurt. I also gave him the red lyrium... was that a mistake? will i regret it? ;__; I know the true friend would prevent him, but i also trust that varric knows how to handle dangerous stuff...

On a side note, since i’ve read the comics (no self control whatsoever), i loved the beginning of the Until We Sleep, where varric mentions it’s easier to imagine all the people he had to kill were evil than to face the fact that those were normal people just doing their job or trying to survive. Man, it hurts TAT

*garret hawke’s voice when he looks a certain way at the family crest in the hawke estate* ISABELA!

Ok ok, so, i love Carver bc i relate,  i love Varric because he’s simply perfect. But I love Isabela because she’s the most intriguing.

She just crashed in Kirkwall and really didn’t sign up for all the trouble she got. She never likes to have deep conversations, she is always downgrading herself and you just wonder, what is it that happened in her life, and you know her past mistakes haunt her, and she’s doing her best to move on. Her arc was i think my favourite. I think the comic Those Who Speak really adds a lot to her arc in DA2 and makes some of her choices more understandable. Her whole story is about her internal conflict of whether to survive or do the right thing. Her story about freeing the slaves got her ship wrecked is great and all for making her be a pirate with a golden heart, but that story about her drowning all the slaves few years previous make this freeing of slaves a big character moment for her. She finally did the right thing. And she got for it was more trouble, because she’s a pirate which means she can’t afford to just do the right thing. And throughout the game, that same story is going back and forth. She runs off with the Relic bc she’s done the right thing before and it got her nowhere, so now she decided to put her own survival as a priority, but comes back bc she’s too kind to just leave Hawke standing like that. And again, with the slaver papers, it’s the same reasoning: it’s her or the higher cause. She needs that ship. She chooses herself. It’s her biggest flaw. But hey, between pros and antis in your party, it was really refreshing to have someone who, along with varric, just gives you a break with moral high-grounds.

I only wish we actually got to see her more as a captain in power in the game or that she showed me that amazing hat she saw in lowtown. It’s cool that it’s implied that her crew doesn’t like her and she also lost most of them during the crash while the others probably left her after.

I love it when she says she goes sometimes to the docks just to watch the ships. That there is no feeling like sailing. I just want a spin-off with captain isabela’s terrible adventures (´A`)

Also, isabela’s VA is my fave, she really did an amazing job. she voices so smoothly, i wouldn’t know if i was playing a game or watching a movie. And has such a pretty way of talking...

Aveline

I’m really neutral towards Aveline. I like her personality and i like that she’s found herself a purpose and advanced in the guards, and she’s always looking out for everybody. I just wish her personal missions went in the vein of the one in act 1... i feel it would have been more interesting to see her having trouble in her position and that you can’t just waltz into Kirkwall and take command. It’s implied she’s being pressured, so i guess she’s just dealing with it herself, but i just... eh. She’s ok.

Merrill

Merrill actually has one of the if not the most tragic story-line that really challenges you both morally and emotionally. 

Her cheerful and cute personality is dampened by her constant dark leitmotif of willingly practicing blood magic. And i think her story really showed well the indirect consequences of it.

Not in one instance was Merrill’s practice of blood magic an active culprit for all tragedy that surrounds her. First, it seems that blood magic is practiced in the clan, seeing there is no freeing Flemeth without it, but i’m guessing it’s seldom practiced and with great caution. So Merrill wasn’t in any danger of being prosecuted for her blood magic. It’s actually her wish to study it further with the help of the demon that makes her an outcast. That and the magic mirror that apparently is forgotten for a reason. Also, it’s made quite clear that Merrill would be welcomed back no questions asked if she at any point decided to ditch the demon and live without the study of magic mirror. She, on the other side, is driven by the higher cause, the idea that figuring out the forgotten purpose of some evil mirror might help her clan, and is willing to be an outcast if it means reaching her goal and helping her clan. Fast foward to act 3, the clan is still there when they should have moved away, and it’s only when you face the demon possessed Keeper, you realise why. She knew Merrill would sooner or later bargain with the demon again. And she sacrificed herself, trapping the demon within her, as to prevent it. And i think that is why the clan stayed so long there. She waited for Merrill because she wanted Merrill to kill her, and hopefully with her the demon. It didn’t go as planned, obviously, but i really think she had good intentions. When Merrill does manage to kill the Keeper she’s forced to face the clan and i chose the wrong option of telling the truth which resulted in a massacre. Merrill gets back and regrets everything. She, however resolves to help the alienage.

The thing is, there is no one to blame Everyone had the best intentions. Everyone is working for the safety of the clan. it’s a story of sacrifice and when sacrifice feels like the wrong choice (whether it truly is or isn’t depends on your worldview) and it’s really done well.

But here are my issues with Merrill. I love her as a character, but i don’t agree with her decisions.  It’s a personal issue. Merrill is giving up everything as to help her clan by learning history of the evil mirror. And while this is a game where old things are important and significant, her mission is always explained as this duty of preserving history. And while i agree that preserving history is very important, there is a limit to it. you should never put history before the present. If your research endangers the present, you give up on that line. The other is that you need to make peace with the fact that many, many things are forgotten and will be forgotten. It’s sad, but you gotta make peace with the fact that some things are just gone.

And Merrill, who is a magic historian, fails to see that. So that kinda irks my historian moral codex. And in the end, as far as i know, Merrill doesn’t succeed in reviving the evil mirror and dedicates herself to help the alienage. It was a terrible way to learn that some things aren’t worth it.

The other, less personal issue, is that none of this had to happen. I mean, the keeper obviously didn’t think Merrill was experienced enough to actually deal with demons and therefore distrusted her and warned the clan about it. So, if Merrill was a little bit more patient she could have just studied normally under the keeper, and when she herself becomes the keeper, she could have fraternize with that demon however she wanted without much complications. So yeah... i guess youth is made of idealism.

But as i said, minor issues. Her story is really, really great.

Fenris

Fenris and Anders are my “i love you but i am soo annoyed by you but i still love you” characters. Half of the time they’re just there to make you feel guilty for being a neutral party. Which sometimes has me rolling my eyes. If Fenris and Anders actually got along with each other, slavery and mage oppression would have ended in 2 days. Which makes it all the more frustrating that they do not.

Fenris.. his voice. What a nice voice colour. So elegant, but kinda rough, sometimes he talks like he’s 80 years old, sometimes like he’s a teenager. I love it.

As for the rest, i mean, i don’t agree with his methods, but very often, the guy’s got a point. I get his experience with mages colours his view on them, so while i symphatise, it’s really hard to have him on my “free mages” missions when he’s my best tank and i want him to be on friendly terms with Hawke so this makes things... difficult. That aside, it’s interesting that fenris doesn’t see mages as evil per se, but rather victims who, in his experience, will always, always going to succumb to a demon. It’s an inevitable reality to him. And this makes me wonder if he ultimately, despite being his friend or lover, is just waiting for the day he will be forced to kill Hawke too :(

As for his missions, they were ok, it led up to culmination and i didn’t let him kill his sister bc Hawke has just lost his mom, don’t do smth you’ll regret ;__;

also, somewhere around the end of act 2 i decided to romance fenris bc i love to suffer, so i worked the whole act 3 trying to get more aproval points and also wondering why are there no romance options when i talk to him... turns out that one night stand with isabela romanced her and canceled fenris. But i never even finished the romance with her so i’m just ??? about it all.

I wish it was more explained about the tattoos fenris has? I just thought the tattoos would play a big role somewhere in the game and it just never happened. There was a banter with Merrill about how his tattoos are similar to valaslin, so i thought, hmm, interesting, maybe the two are connected. But nah they just glow in the dark and make you pass through walls. Whatevs.

also dude just goes and kills without a second thought, i’m just “mate, you gotta calm down”. But that’s his thing. He’s constantly bitter and is very bad at anger management. I can’t blame him, considering he lacks around 10- 20 years of experience due to amnesia.

He’s the only one who left me when Hawke sided with mages, and i was like, “ok i getcha, it’s been nice knowing you”, but then when i asked him to join me 5 minutes later he just went “ok changed my mind” which was so funny, like, where did all that integrity dissappear??? It would have been more impactful if the dialogue went in the line of “i want to stand by my principals but you’re a living breathing proof that not all mages are weak to succumb to demons so i’ll join you in the end” (and then side-eye “i told you so” when orsino turns into a demon)

And i wanna read the fenris comic now bc my question for every character here is what is their fate after kirkwall. I only know that isabela & varric are working for alistair and merrill wants to help the alienage. Aveline is i guess either dismissed from her job or got a pass after cullen took  the command.  But Carver?? Fenris?? Anders?? They never talked about long term plans...

Anders

ooh boy, here we go. there are many questions i have for him and am generally just hmmmm. First, as for his pro-mage rights - it’s like opposite fenris so i just have the same feelings: you mean well, i don’t agree with your methods, your experiences define your worldview so i let some things slide, but other things i will not agree with. Though, question: in how many circles has Anders been? He knows the kirkwall circle, he knows the fereldan circle. Seeing he has excaped 7 times, did they send him to a different circle each time or was the fereldan the last one? or the first one? Or maybe it was his boyfriend they transferred? did i miss something?

I’ll just whisper: awakening!Anders >>> da2!Anders. I just miss the old anders. Which says a lot bc during the awakening i was just “shut up anders”. I miss his bad jokes, his terrible attempts at flirting, his enjoyment of freedom, nagging all the time, and generally being more moderate in pro-mage rights. Like, in awakening, because it was not the only thing he talked about, it felt more personal and intense. Here mage-rights are the only thing he ever talks about + justice. I mean, please correct me if i’m wrong, this was just general impression. But to defend da2!Anders here, it makes sense that merging with mixed both of their personality, and i like that they did that. It’s also very sad.

The thing is, when i’m thinking about anders, i love his story and character. Just as it’s terrible that Fenris, having no memory from before being Fenris, Anders can never go back to being just Anders. And this, people, is why you don’t fraternize with spirits. He’s obviously afraid of how justice is affecting him and there are some bare traces of his old personality and i guess he wouldn’t be as radical if he didn’t have justice personality that can’t stand the injustice. And in combination with anders quite selfish personality (form awakening, and i say that lovingly), it makes him do things that justice wouldn’t condone. Anders is literally a walking bomb.

Again, same problem as with fenris, i really thought that the justice glow would have a incredibly significant culmination, and it didn’t, it was just to show that anders and justice are very bitter. Eh, ok.

Also, i let anders join after he blew up the chantry, bc he started it, so might as well follow it through.

Some minor characters that i remember

Senechal Bran for the next Viscount! He hated hawke so much but still put up with him.

Feynriel is the coolest mage in Kirkwall. I think his missions were my favourite. Dude goes from “oh no i’m a mage” to “i will just dreamwalk to tevinter and learn control the reality” to “i dream-killed bad people from thousands of miles away”. Does he appear in the next game? I want him on my side. He’s so cool.

I think the Maker is sending Cullen signs to quit being a templar. First job: evil mages that tortured you. Instead of “this job will kill you” h took it as  a “never trusting mages again, got it”. Second job: your boss is evil possessed paranoid maniac. Man, talk about bad luck.

What is the story of the Lady Elegant?

Flemeth had that big great talk at the beginning of the game and i thought by the end of the game i’d realise what it meant, but nope, still no clue.

Ok so I defeated Corypheus, but there was this looong shot of Larius walking away. Corypheus possessed larius, didn’t he? He’s out there. In a madman’s body. I know he appears in inquisition.

Many thoughts

I gotta say, in Kirkwall, at least, it didn’t feel like much of a challenge to pick a side. Like, there was no mage who said “hey i actually really like it here in the circle, the templars aren’t so bad”, and having templars actually smuggling mages from the circle says a lot to say the least. Every time a mage talks to you, unless you go with “oh they’re 100% lying”, their stories invoke sympathy and of course you want to help them. And then in 99% cases they turn to blood magic bc there was no other way. Except that dude who always hanged out with the wrong people, he only did blood magic to save Carver. But yeah, that turning to blood magic was like having Fenris side-eye me with an unspoken “i told you so” bc every mage, whether in desperation or hunger for power, will turn sooner or later into a demon. Regardless, blood magic was always in the act of desperation and self-defense. The only times where magic was actually evil was the slavers and the serial killer, who is a madman.

When i was reading the Enigma of Kirkwall, there was a part that talks of a blood-mage conspiracy and i was all, oh shit, there is a reason why templars are mean to mages! maybe the conspirators are framing innocent mages on blood magic crimes that they actually commit, maybe Meredith is actually on trail of the conspirators, maybe there is a reason for animosity on both sides. After all, Kirkwall was known for having a bigger number of apostates, a bigger number of blood magic cases and far more ruthless templars. It added up.Thinking back now, i never even got any specific reason why meredith was so intensely anti-mage, other than going mad.

But yeah, no conspirators. Just sad mages and mean templars, and good templars that get screwed by desperate and mean mages.

While in Kirkwall it’s easy to be a pro-mage, i was thinking a lot about mage-rights in general so let me indulge myself: there are circles, but the mages aren’t oppressed. Rather, the circles would be educational centres and society in every larger city where one learns how to properly handle magic bc magic is dangerous. You can leave when you pass the final exam and also come back anytime to hang out with mages who decide to live there since the institution would support mages.

Also, when one gets possessed, i’d invest more into “walk into their head and free them of demons” specialists. It’d be cool if you could have a dreamer who does that bc no lyrium spent. Honestly, why don’t they ever do that? How did the keeper do that rite for Feynriel? Was it blood magic?

I guess, you’d still have to answer for your crimes, tho no death punishment and degradation allowed. Blood magic wouldn’t be punishable by death, but rather have specialists who study it, but practice with extreme caution and use of another person’s blood is strictly prohibited.

Templars would still exist but completely reformed. No more “mages are all potential disasters”, but i’d rather make it that mages can too be templars, since they both have abilities that prevents the others from casting magic. This way the control system would be much like the dalish: if the keeper(mage) is possessed, the clan (which means the non-mages and the first(mage)) need to kill them. You could argue that you don’t need templars as non-mages, since mages can do it too, but seeing that in general people fear magic and feel inferior to it (since there’s a collective memory of the great tevinter imperium), having non-magic specialists would make them feel like on equal ground. The extra-reformed templars would be under Circle, not under direct command of the chantry, and circle, depending of whether chantry is reformed, might or might not be under chantry.

(a side note, i was thinking about templars recently and i can’t recall an instance where it says who had the clever idea to chew lyrium first? i just wanna know)

I know that DA2 wasn’t about grey wardens and therefore not about darkspawn, but seeing as in legacy we get corypheus being... an evil version of the Architect(??), i was only wondering do we get more answers about the darkspawn? is there hope for them? is the Architect still alive?

And oh, to turn to the Anders question:

Is he a terrorist, or was that just activism? I mean, i don’t see why those two can’t go together. blasting a building with a symbolic significance killing and harming many innocent people to get a message of your radical activism across belongs into a schoolbook of terrorism. Does he have a good cause? He sure believes so, and i, too, agree that mages should not be oppressed for just being mages. But does that mean this is the right way to do it? Personally, i do not condone any act of violence in service of a political or religious cause. I know it’s sometimes inevitable, but i like to believe there are more diplomatic ways, or at least not including an attack on civilians.

That aside, the moment where anders goes in front and just announces that the church was gonna blow up in a minute was the best anders moment for me. Until that point i more or less just viewed his activism as a hobby since he just did it in his free time, but now he put his money where his mouth is and freaking went all out. Cool character moment. And incredibly heartwrenching. He was aware of how many innocents he killed, but just didn’t see other way to get the point across.

I still don’t agree with his idea of blowing up the church tho. Maybe if he told Hawke, they could have done something to empty the church previously and further people away from it and then blow it up?

But still, blowing up religious buildings isn’t the answer. If i was the radical mage activist, i would have gone for the open assassination. Seeing it worked in WW1, i don’t see why it couldn’t start a fantasy war.

Some random things i liked:

uniportant but lovable interractions in the house: it starts innocently with gamlen’s house, to see how you’re doing, and becomes really fun during act 2 when you see your friends have been here and left you things. In act 3, however, it feels melancholic. no more family to come back to, just ghosts of friends that have visited, Bodahn and Sandal being there for you, Orana still not getting some sunlight and your dog at the fireplace. The Hawke Family Suite is playing, and you feel older than you are, lonlier than you should be. just... ouch. I hope Bodahn adopted Orana and took her out of Kirkwall :(

t i named the dog “Maker” which is very funny to me bc every time i summon the dog i just imagine Hawke yelling “Maker help us”. Carver hates the name bc he needs to chase the dog often in the streets. Mama Hawke never ever calls the dog Maker, but she never has to call the dog anything: he’s super obedient towards her.

Fighting wasn’t as hard as in origins, i like that.

The haunted house mission was so cool.

When random people greet aveline in Hightown.

And that’s i think about it. There are probably plenty more things i loved, but i think this is already enough. if somebody told me i’d be playing so much this year, i’d laugh, but I already want to play the next game ;;___;;

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 4

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Nothing bad as such ;) A/N: HUGS! Just because I miss hugging people. Tags are open: just ask or reblog.

4. The Speed of Pain

…   Reader  …

Sitting on the bed, you’re completely absorbed by the gorgeous light show outside the window where gazillions of stars are drawn and condensed into a rim brighter than anything you could have imagined – at least compared to the orb the width of your thumb inside. A black hole. The term is familiar but that’s almost the only knowledge you have of the phenomenon, and most astronomers would probably kill to be in your place right now under the guise of “knowing more” or for the sake of “research”.

With a view as mesmerizing as that why would you bother turning when Loki enters and leaves by the whoosh of the door? You don’t.

Minutes drag by until a detail registers in your mind. Did the locks activate? Torn between hope and the nauseating confidence that you’re imagining things now, the few steps to the access panel are further away than ever before. Hands shaking, breath superficial, you reach up to poke the dark screen.

What the -?! It takes all your strength to keep standing as a couple of blue symbols present themselves, each with an obvious option. The reasonable thing would be to expect that it’s a trap and Loki it waiting just on the other side of that door to catch and punish you for trying to leave. On the other hand...maybe luck actually exists.

It’s unreal when the door slides into the wall to reveal a way out. Never has painted metal looked more inviting or as liberating, and you almost admire it for too long, barely slipping out as the gate to freedom begins to close.

The interior of what you since have learned to be a space ship had appeared dismal and claustrophobic when you arrived.

“Freedom.” The shakingly whispered word is all you can muster for now.

Looking around, your minimal knowledge of space travel tells you that you’re in a sort of cargo hold with cabins lining the sides towards a metal staircase leading up to the right at the very end. To the left is...nothing. Well, there’s a sort of ramp slanting up against a wall but even though you instinctively know that’s the real way out you also know it’s usual considering that thing called “space” outside, reducing the options to just two.

“You’re not ‘sposed to be out.”

The warbled, deep voice makes your cheek sting with the memory of pain. It doesn’t take long before the cool metal stops your frantic backpedalling, making Arox-or-whatever-he’s-called grin. Like a hyena just without the sound. The only way is around him.

“See’f you can catch me, then.”

As stupid as he’s repulsive, the man charges headfirst towards you, leaving you just enough time to slip out a piece of song that conjures a dense fog. Judging the distances by the sounds only, you press yourself to the wall just in time to avoid a collision with him – it does sound like he collides heavily with the metal you’d been backed against just a second ago: first a hard smack and a grunt, then a sound like a sack of lour hitting the ground.

Move, c’mon legs! Thankful for the support of the wall, you pass the closed door to your former confines as you aim for the edge of the fog and a clear view. At least there isn’t much to trip over, but you know you have to move fast or the mist will start spreading before dissipating as the magic fades, so your hands slide along the wall, feet gingerly probing the metal grate of the floor for fear there should be an unevenness.

In the haze, the blue lights of a door panel are eerie, ghost-like, and you can’t help but be comforted by the clear view as you access the room despite what you actually see. The layout is identical to yours the place is still less spartan thanks to the pile of leathery, inhumanly big clothing in one corner and the neat array of weapons on the table. What must be guns of the space variety flank some vicious knives with jagged handles and symbols etched into the blade. Tempted to take one, you also realize that they’d be as big as swords for you...not to mention that you have no idea how to fight with a weapon of that kind.

Quickly deciding to move on as the fog is thinning, the next two cabins flanking the staircase are empty which brings you to the one at the very end of this level. This gotta be Loki’s. Already, the little hairs on your body are standing, your feet itching to move away and you have to force yourself to walk up to it. Let him be upstairs. Or something. Blue lights glare accusingly at you, but no one complains as you have a look inside the place. Empty.

A few steps, the brush of a finger, then the door slides shut and you lock it behind you before getting to work. Confident that you don’t have much time, you ignore the muzzled, silk sheets on the bed and the clothes dangling from hanger in an open cabinet. No, it’s the personal trinkets and the row of old-looking books that are of interest to you – at least until you realize you can’t read a single word and the thingamabobs are nothing more than writing tools, pretty drinking glasses, and something akin to a chess set.

“If I were an insane killer alien...where would I hide anything personal?” you mutter as you keep searching, now head deep into his closet.

“Tsk tsk.” The sound makes you freeze with the fingers around a leather belt. “Haven’t we learned our place yet, little pet?”

...  Loki   ...

Green and black shimmer in the shadows as [Y/N] straightens her back. “Leaving the door to my prison unlocked wasn’t an invitation?”

“A test.” He can’t help chuckling at the sight of muscles working in her shoulders and arms as though she’s wringing her hands.

Her breath trembles. “One designed for me to fail if I did anything.”

From your point of view. Loki, however, has learned much more about the stubborn creature now than during the last fortnight by watching her actions. Unseen at the top of the stairs, the scene between the attempted escapee and [Y/N] played out to reveal more of the nature of the magic in her blood and her tenacity. It had even surprised him when the weapons were left untouched.

“As fun as this has been,” he smiles, “it’s time to return to your own...cell.”

A lesser man, a mortal, would not have seen the leather belt whipping towards his face as she turns around but being a god, Loki catches it in the air even before the air cracks at the force behind the attack of the insolent girl. It stings his skin, but the eyes widening with fear in her face is a balm to soothe the worst of wounds.

“Pray tell: what did you intend to accomplish with that?” He tugs sharply and secures the entirety of the belt, and still she doesn’t answer. “Was it a blunt attempt to prove your strength of spirit even under less than favourable circumstances? A, shall we say, display of force of will?” Stepping close to her, the Jotun slips the leather around her neck – spicy, cold fear fills his nostrils immediately. “Or did you simply not...think?” One wrong word and Loki will cut it short.

Pupils have dilated with fear. The lips caught between her teeth. Still the jaw is set stubbornly as if to prove that regardless of every thought (if any) before the rebellious action has a strong foundation in which to grow. Loki will savour the thrill of breaking her slowly, watching her crumble to be rebuild in his image. Or to die.

“Do as I wish, mortal. Heal the priestess and I may let you go home.”

[Y/N] hesitates, brows furrowing as she tried to determine the odds and figure out where the catch lies. “Liar.”

“So you’d rather let the priestess suffer a slow, painful death than have a chance at freedom?” He can see the protests boiling within her even if she stubbornly refuses to retort. “I suppose we’ll see in a few days’ time.”