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switchedandbewitched · 13 days

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Switched and Bewitched

Chapter 2: One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish...

Read chapters 1-7 on AO3!

The Gang filled Fred in on what they had discovered: 2022, completely changed Coolsville, their families were missing or dead. Light, happy topics.

“Wow, these pain meds sure are something,” Fred said. He didn’t believe a word out of their mouths.

“Red, rits re ruth,” Scooby said. They had snuck him into the hospital using a big trench coat and a hat. “Re really rare rin re ruture.”

“Scooby, we aren’t in the future. There’s another explanation.”

“No, Fred,” Velma said. “I can say that we are, without a doubt, in the year 2022. I, too, thought it was impossible and entertained several other more scientifically-sound ideas: a movie set, a fever dream, drugs, a traumatic brain injury-induced coma.

They all fell quiet as a nurse in blue scrubs entered the room to check Fred’s vital signs and switch out a bag of clear IV fluid. “If everything keeps going well you should be out of here in a few days,” she said, turning to leave the room.

Fred winced. “Alright, Gang, we need to split up and look for clues. Daphne, Velma you guys should speak to Red Herring. I don’t like it, but I can’t think of anyone who might still live around here. Scoob, Shag you should head to the address your uncle gave you. Maybe there will be more information. And me, well, I think we know where I’ll be.”

The Gang nodded and said goodbye to Fred. None of them had ever been hurt badly, let alone hospitalized. It made them all uneasy.

“Wait!” Fred called. Daphne turned and poked her head back in the hospital room. “Can you guys... check on my parents? I don’t really expect anything but...”

“Sure thing,” Daphne said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” Velma said with the same hard, determined look that had lived on her face since arriving in 2022. “We will meet at The Malt Shop in 3 hours. Sounds good?”

“Like, I’m so ready for a double chocolate olive malt shake. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Velma.”

The Gang split up and set off in opposite directions. Velma was doing her best to update her mental map of Coolsville, using the odd landmark or old building she recognized. The small museum where they solved the Black Knight mystery was now a huge museum and contemporary art building with two massive wings added to either side. There was a tattered flier stapled to a telephone pole, advertising Funland, where The Gang had dealt with a malfunctioning robot on the loose. The Kingston Mansion, up high on a hill outside of Coolsville, seemed to be looming over Velma and Daphne.

Daphne and Velma found the old Herring house after an hour or so of searching. It didn’t appear anyone had made any effort to repair what used to be minor cosmetic concerns and they had blossomed into full blown structural and safety issues. But, there was a newer car in the driveway and a newspaper on the front porch. Someone clearly lived here.

“Okay, Velma, you knock.”

“Me? Why me? I don’t want to knock.”

“C’mon, Velma!”

“Fine!” Velma rapped on the door three times and waited expectantly. After a moment she heard shuffling and a loud bang from behind the door.

“Goddammit!” a nasally voice yelled. A man opened the door. He was average height, a little stocky, with a red heart and arrow tattoo on his bicep. He was wearing khaki pants and a green vest. Velma and Daphne could imagine that if he wasn’t in his late 80s, his shock white hair would be bright red.

Red Herring gasped and took a step back. “I’m having a stroke!”

“You’re not having a stroke,” Daphne responded.

“You look exactly the same! You haven’t aged at all. It isn’t possible,” Red Herring responded, taking another step back. He placed two of his fingers on his neck to check his pulse and then crossed himself. “You ruined my life!”

“What are you talking about?” Velma demanded. “We didn’t ruin your life. You don’t understand, for us it has only been a day and a half.”

Red Herring darted back into the house, leaving the front door swinging open. All attempts at politeness out the window, Velma and Daphne followed him inside. It looked nearly the same as it had when they were kids, but the smell of cigarettes was stronger and there was a table of medication next to an oxygen tank seated by a recliner.

“Red!” Daphne called as they crept down the hallway. The only open door was at the end of the hallway on the left Daphne and Velma peered around the doorframe and found Red Herring standing in the middle of what was once an office. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings, copies of police reports, photos, and other documents all tacked to the walls and connected by red string.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” He breathed.

“What is all this?” Daphne asked. She touched newspaper clipping with a photo of Red in handcuffs, being placed into a police car. The headline read: RED HERRING, AGE 18, IMPLICATED IN THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE COOLSVILLE 4. The article went on to explain that evidence was gathered showing there was a rivalry between Red Herring and Fred Jones, one of the missing Coolsville 4, and police had reason to believe he may be responsible for the disappearance. The next newspaper clipping had another photo of Red Herring in handcuffs, being led up the steps of the Coolsville Police Department: HERRING TAKEN INTO CUSTODY AGAIN; NEW EVIDENCE. Article after article about The Gang’s disappearance was pinned to the wall, followed by articles headlined with things like: COOLSVILLE ELITES TARGET OF BRUTAL MURDERS; WAS HEIRESS DAPHNE BLAKE THE FIRST VICTIM?

“Oh my god,” Velma said.

“Do you know how many times I was arrested? Five! I was arrested over and over again. Always a new piece of evidence, they told me. But really there weren’t any other suspects and Fred had accused me of so many crimes leading up to your disappearance. I was never convicted but I’ve spent the last fifty years as an outcast. Everyone still believes I killed you.”

“We’re going to fix this, Red,” Daphne said gently. “But we need to get back to 1969 to do that. Can you tell us what happened after we disappeared?”

Red sighed and sat down in an office chair. “The cops said you went for a drive, out towards Okefenokee Swamp, and never came back. They searched the swamp for months but they never found your bodies or the Mystery Machine. Eventually they found Velma’s shoe and sock, Daphne’s headband, Scooby’s dog tag, and Fred’s ascot. At that point they no longer considered running away an option and you were declared missing, then presumed deceased. There was a brief period where Shaggy was named the number one suspect as they didn’t find any evidence he was harmed, but as they kept searching they found some torn green cloth that matched his shirts. They threw that theory out. Now, at this point they turned to me as a suspect as well as all culprits in the crimes you had solved, but most of them were still in jail at the time of your disappearance. I had a shit alibi but they also didn’t have much evidence to connect me to the crime -- other than the previous crimes Fred had accused me of -- which I never committed. All of your parents were interviewed, your teachers, hell, even the staff at The Malt Shop were questioned. After about two years the investigation was closed.”

“What about this article?” Daphne pointed at the article referencing the serial killer.

“They did briefly attempt to connect your disappearances with a serial killer who showed up in June, 1970. It was unsuccessful. Cops never even caught the killer, let alone connect the killer to you guys.”

“And this?” Velma pointed to a small corner of one wall, dedicated to articles about Dr. Albert Shaggleford.

“Dr. Shaggleford was quite vocal about... alternate reasons for your disappearance,” Red said. He chuckled for a moment and then sobered up. “I guess it isn’t so ridiculous now but at the time he was talking about wormholes and magic. Most people wrote it off as eccentric millionaire bullshit. I did talk to him one time and he was convinced you would return someday.”

Yes, he left a letter for Shaggy at the bank. I refuse to believe he didn’t know something,” Velma said.

“Where are our parents?” Daphne hesitated because she didn’t really want to know, after a second thought.

“Well, like I said, they were all interviewed - multiple times - after you disappeared. Most of them stayed in Coolsville for a long time in case you showed up one day, but some of them moved away.” Red spun around to face the hallway door and pointed to the upper lefthand corner. There was an article from the New York Times titled THE ILLEGAL BLAKE MILLIONS. “Your parents fled to the Caymans after being caught embezzling money. I lost track of them after that but they would be well over a hundred by now so I suspect... Anyway, Velma, your parents split up. Your mom stayed here and passed away about ten years ago, peacefully. I’m not sure what happened to your dad. Shaggy’s parents sold their house nearly thirty years ago and moved to a retirement community in Utah. Fred’s parents both passed away nearly twenty years ago now.”

Velma stared down at the floor as though it would open up, swallow her, and spit her back out in the 60s. Daphne swallowed hard and blinked. “That’s what I thought.”

“None of them ever stopped hoping.” Red offered gently but his voice still had a hard, bitter edge to it.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re going to figure out how to get home.” There was no certainty in Velma’s voice. If it was a normal Thursday she would be getting ready to leave Introduction to Quantum Physics at Cal Polytechnic right now. Instead, her parents were dead and she had no idea what would happen to them. Would time travel somehow rip a hole in the fabric of reality? Were they living on borrowed time?

“We should meet back up with Shaggy and Scooby,” Daphne said. “Thank you so much for your help, Red. I’m so sorry that they put you through hell.”

Red shrugged and coughed. “Is what it is again. If you do get back to 1969... maybe stop accusing me of things? Ya know, in case you time travel again.”

“Sure thing,” Daphne said.

“Wait, take these files. Maybe there’s something in them.” Red dropped four thick manilla folders stuffed with photos and documents into Velma’s arms.

“You don’t happen to have a new map of Coolsville, do you?”

Red slapped a map down on top of the folders. “Sure do. I’ll be here if you need anything else. Not much for an old man to do around here.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Shaggy and Scooby were hauling ass to the Shaggleford address in hopes there would be food.

“Like, Scoob, I’m starving. Wasting away. If I don’t make it, go one without me,” Shaggy said. He placed one hand on his forehead and mimicked fainting.

“Re, roo, Raggy,” Scooby said. He also placed one paw on his forehead and then fell to one side, rolled over, and stood up in one fluid motion.

Scooby and Shaggy arrived at a large house on a sloping hill that sat behind a tall, wrought iron fence. It wasn’t a mansion per se, but was definitely a close cousin of one. There were no cars in the driveway and, though the yard was perfectly landscaped and flowers in full summer bloom, there was no indication when the last time someone had been there was. Shaggy punched the code in on the silver keypad mounted to the gate and it popped open with a somewhat rusty click.

“Ready, ol’ pal?”

“Rever,” Scooby said and shook his head.

Shaggy and Scooby made their way up a stone walkway to the front door. It was an intimidating black door that stood out from the white mediterranean plaster. Shaggy knocked on the door once; no answer. Shaggy knocked again, a bit more forcefully; no answer.

“Raggy, rook,” Scooby said and pointed one claw at a white metal box, low to the ground. Shaggy knelt to look at it and found there was the same silver keypad on the side of the box. It opened with the same code as the gate and inside were five keys, each engraved with The Gang’s names and Scooby’s was on a retractable clip meant to attach to his collar.

“Nice catch,” Shaggy said, sticking the key into the door. The door swung wide open, revealing a fancy foyer with a staircase and single round oak table in the middle of the room. The table had a plastic ficus and a phone.

The phone started to ring.

“Ruh... Raggy, rou ronna ret rat?”

“Hello?” Shaggy yelled into the house. “Hello!” A heavy silence met him, broken only by the ringing phone.

“Like, yeah, Scoob, I guess I am.” With all the confidence he could muster (not much) he marched up to the phone. It wasn’t like any phone he had seen before and it had a little screen that displayed the number. It was the same as the phone number listed in Uncle Shaggleford’s letter. “Like, h-hello?”

“Hello, sir, I am terribly sorry, sir, we will be over ASAP. I do apologize for the delay.” The man stumbled over his words on the phone and as nervous as Shaggy was, this man was doubly so.

“Like, man, I’m not sure I understand. Who are you?”

“Well - ah, well I suppose I am your great-nephew, sir, Timothy Shagburg. I’ve been assigned to handle all of your affairs,” the man said. “We’ll be sending a cleaning crew over to get the house in order as well as the grocery service and --”

“Like, no need to keep going. Grocery service is all I need to hear.”

“We will have the house set up b-by the evening and once again, I do apologize for the d-delay. See you soon, um, Uncle Norville.” The phone clicked and Shaggy set it back down on the receiver.

Shaggy began tiptoeing around the house without a doubt that a monster or ghost or ghoul would jump out of a closet. Off the foyer to the right was a massive kitchen and dining room. To the left was a living room and two bedrooms. One bedroom had drawers filled with green t-shirts and brown pants. For some reason there were red t-shirts mixed in but Shaggy simply shrugged it off as a mistake. The other bedroom had a plush dog bed, basket of dog toys, and seven of the same collar hanging on the wall. Shaggy snagged one and popped it on Scooby. At some point Scooby had lost his trademarked tag. The three bedrooms upstairs were exactly what he expected, each one filled with clothes that clearly belonged to Fred, Daphne, and Velma. Shaggy found the door to the basement, took one look at the dark staircase and decided against it. The Gang could take a look at it when they got here. Across all the rooms was a thick layer of dust, it was clear no one had been in the house in years.

Shaggy searched through the cupboards, refrigerator, and even the oven for food but there was nothing. On the counter he found an envelope with some money and contact information for other employees of the Shaggleford estate.

Read chapters 1-7 on AO3!

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boyhood · 2 years

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I feel like I should add something to my last post re: having things stolen from inside my house by my employer. My books were out. My art was out. My plants and animals and clothes and antiques and most of my art supplies were already safe off campus.

I stayed over at my mom’s house one night while I was moving, and they went in, took my bed and threw it in a dumpster. They took three large and very pretty rugs and threw them in a dumpster. They “lost” my desk. I had two large very clearly labelled and carefully wrapped boxes of cups and plates and kitchen implements. These were returned to me, after I yelled at multiple people, in a different box, all unwrapped and mixed up. They opened all my boxes and went through them. There were two bins- one filled with medication and medical supplies and one filled with cosmetics. Those were returned to me- again, only after starting a deserved fuss- but not with any of the meds or with any of the expensive cosmetics, just the cheap ones. They literally handed me an empty makeup bag. They even kept the cotton rounds. They told me they “lost” two large boxes of tools, and only sourly returned them when I told them they belonged to my dead dad and I knew that they would not have put full tool boxes into the garbage like they told me they did.

The only response I got from anyone was that I “probably wasn’t going to get my deposit back” because I hadn’t cleaned. I hadn’t cleaned because I hadn’t moved out! My house was full of carefully labelled moving boxes! Even if they thought I had left them, there is not a person on campus who does not have my phone number, my email, and multiple emergency contacts for me.

The morning this happened, they were emailing me asking me for favors for gods sake!

I am in a position, for literally the first time in my life, where I can replace these things. I can buy new rugs and a new bed and new cups and plates.

But Jesus fucking Christ. These are my employers. A school! I am a high school teacher! They stole so blatantly, picked through my things and only returned what wasn’t valuable. This school fired me without HR, which is illegal, and they told me I would never, ever work for them ever again- which, at the time, was said just to hurt me, but turned out to absolutely be true.

#i simply cannot express how tired and angry and hurt I am

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opinated-user · 2 years

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Anon who found the EbaraTara account here:

I'm on Sankaku because several artists on there have been caught using real life pictures and videos of children having sex as references for their art, and if you can submit proof, Sankaku will track the IP of the artist who uploaded it/use their email and contact info to inform the police about this and will start the legal process necessary to allow for legal transfer of your evidence to the police. This allows for victims of predators who recognize themselves as the image reference to get the police involved in the case.

I was a victim of a predator and groomer from age 6 to age 12. He was a 3D shota/loli/sholicon artist, and I was used for reference pictures. I know I was, and so I'm on Sankaku because I chronically search through tags I know he could have produced art for. Although he's in prison now, the internet is forever - the art is probably still in circulation, maybe even the actual pictures, too. And the idea of them being out there gives me tremendous anxiety. I'm on anxiety meds, I'm in both individual therapy and a support group, and this has been a problem for me for years at this point. As more and more sites refuse to host hyperrealistic 3D shota, loli and sholicon, and as I get deeper into therapy and find a medication regime that helps me more, I don't go tag trawling like I used to nearly as often. I still have panic attacks, paranoid episodes and dissociative episodes, but the need to check five times a day and scroll through every new upload in the tags has gone down. I do it like once a week now at most.

And if you click on an image on Sankaku, say, to look closer and see if the image looks like it was a modified version of one of you or if the proportions are off enough that you can assume it's not based on real references, then the site has a rating bar for images and a favorite function off on the left side. Under the favorite function is a list of the last handful of users who favorited the image.

That's how I found EbaraTara's account. Alchorative, I searched for manually later, but I found EbaraTara's account on accident. I wasn't looking for it.

I clicked on the profile, which was empty, went to the faves and at the time the most recent page was all bestiality stuff, which reminded me of Lily. I sat on that for a while, not sure if I should tell anyone about it. The most recent page of favorites kept updating frequently (there were 855 faves before the account shut down) and there was a lot of gay shota, which I didn't associate with her since she talks mostly about F/F ships. I thought it could be a very weird coincidence. It still might be. It might not be Lily. I'm not saying it absolutely has to be her because all I have is what I found and what I found doesn't have identifying information beyond the name EbaraTara on it.

I don't resent anon for calling me a pedophile because I know having a Sankaku account looks bad. I know without context it looks sus. And I know it's really awful that when I look at these images I numb over and feel nothing and nothing is real and nothing matters, and that being able to browse the site probably means I'm not a good person. But 1. I am in therapy to fix the damage that has been done to me by my rapist/groomer/"boyfriend and 2. the fact that I am extremely damaged and not a good person does not change the legitimately concerning nature of what I found.

I'm not asking anon to forgive the fact that I browse the site. That's probably not excusable and my therapist has told me many times it's not healthy.

But I am asking them not to rush to assume that my being there invalidates what was found on it.

(Sorry for the wall of text, just. Being accused of pedophilia myself is really frustrating and angering given what I've been through.)

for whatever is worth, anon, me and others who recieved those messages didn't immediately jumped to make any accusation as that anon did. we could all clearly see that it was deflection from the main issue, that's still LO being a hypocrite. i'm terribly sorry for what you went through but i'm glad that you're currently recieving the help you deserve and are in a better space. wether this is all one big coincidence or happened to come across the secret account of LO, we're grateful that you brought this information to light and we can all come out with our own conclusions.

#tw: rape #tw: grooming #tw: csa #lily orchard

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fuwungi · 1 year

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Alright so! Here’s the updates on what’s been going on! I was going to put it under a read more/cut thing but I can’t seem to figure that out on mobile so just general tw for mental health talk, trauma, etc

This isn’t going to exactly be linear or anything either cuz my minds just been all over the place but I haven’t been doing good. Haven’t been for a while. I’ve been working on getting help for years now and im thankfully seeing my therapist on the 8th and hoping this one actually stays (cuz my last trauma therapist ghosted me). I got a psych evaluation before hand that took a bit and got diagnosed with severe ptsd and bpd and also paranoid schizophrenia. I never really took my mental health seriously or as seriously as I should becuz for years I was so used to hearing from family and etc that it’s nothing, im just over thinking, “everybody does that” but it’s clearly not the case.

Everything started getting much worse in January, my health started dipping again. I had someone I considered a close friend abandon me and hurt me. Eventually my job I had pretty much set me up to be fired, me and others have considered it’s due to the fact I disclosed my diagnosis cuz it didn’t take long after for me to be fired. And what I was fired for was literally doing exactly what one of the managers told me to do. The next day I had an ex friend blow up at me and trigger my paranoia severely. And after that my abuser outted me and tried to spread harmful lies and misinfo in an attempt to I guess have me run off the internet. A little while after the shop I was apprenticing at also dropped me for my diagnosis but not until the spent a couple weeks straight up ghosting me and ignoring me for hours when I came in (I would come in to practice and work and all of my stuff was moved without telling me, and I also still don’t have any of my stuff back, and nobody would say a word to me or even look at me hardly. And after hours of waiting o would just eventually go home, which was also frustrating cuz I would have the person I’m about to practice on with me waking too. I reached out with messages abt things but was always just left on read.)

All of this just made things worse. I haven’t been able to significantly leave my house for a couple months now ( I say that cuz I still hype myself up to do smaller things like run out to pick up my meds, etc. but if there’s a way around physically doing said thing like ordering groceries, etc I take that). Outside of that I was already having a hard time getting myself to be social or talk to anyone. I haven’t really been talking to anyone or very active since 2020 (which I’m still working on fixing cuz it’s not that I don’t want to talk or anything, I want to so badly, I just really feel like I’m unable to do it).

My psych also diagnosed(? Idk if that’s the right word) me with agoraphobia. Which also explained a lot and helped me realize some things that help me cope and navigate my way socially and in life (and kinnie stuff is one of the things that really helps with that).

So at the moment I’m just freelancing and trying my best to work on myself. After finishing the rest of my comm queue I’m thinking of taking a break from taking comms and just focusing on my own/personal art and school (going for botany and economic science).

If you’ve read through this all, thank you so much for listening. I hope this was worded okay/sounds okay. And I can’t thank the ppl who continue to support me enough.

#txt

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idiotuvu-blog · 22 days

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plucked petals

Hiii!!!

This is my first time posting a fan fic on here, it's not a self-insert and follows my OC, Ivy!

I really hope ya'll like it and if there's anything I should change or tweak please let me know- I'm open to criticism and pointers about where this should head. :) I do wanna open this up to some smut and romance but I'm not 100% sure.

TW: ANGST ASF!! death of a parent (mom), Chris being a shitty dad, smoking, mild cussing, self-hatred (in a way), and cancer.

Word count: 2,575

ENJOY!!!

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I never really knew my dad. I know his name, I know that he looks a little bit like me, and I know my mom was crazy over him but other than that? Nothing. I remember his faint outline from before he left us when I was 4, but who remembers stuff that far back the correct way? My mom kept a picture of him around but it was only a couple. One was them, clearly drunk, at a party back in 2001, celebrating the new year.

My mom’s pale face had red from the liquor dancing with her blush, it went hand in hand with her wild red hair, curls poking out from different directions. Her smile was always the prettiest thing, I’m glad I inherited her joy. On the other side of the picture was an equally, if not more, drunk man. His tan skin and dark brown hair stood out next to my mom, he was tall and very lean. My mom would say “Oh, Ivy. He was a Greek statue come to life” Her high-pitched voice always soothed me “He carried me into my room one time, I was blushin' up a storm!” she would finish with a laugh.

Once I turned 16 her laugh quit being full of life, it would end with a cough or her catching her breath. One day when she was at work, she worked at the post office in town, she passed out as she was helping someone mail something off. I got a call from one of my mom’s friends and I immediately skipped 7th period to go to the hospital, my mom and I were connected in a way that I couldn’t explain.

I always thought it was that she saw my dad in me, we didn’t look exactly like twins but I leaned a little bit to how he looked. We shared the same blue eyes, dark brown hair, and wide shoulders. I always hated my shoulders, just another thing on the list. They made me look even wider than I was, my plush body wasn’t as big as my mom’s but it was still something that made me stand out.

When I got into the room my mom looked terrible, her smile was dulled and her wild hair was spread over the pillow she was leaning on. I rushed over and picked her hand, my thumb creasing her hand and all she did was look up at me, a little smile on her face. The doctors came in and explained that she had cervical cancer and it was spreading at an alarming rate, there was nothing they could do other than just offer her meds for the pain.

We cried, of course, we cried more than we’ve ever cried. A couple of hours passed after some shared tears and prayers, I wasn’t very religious but at that moment I knew I had to beg whoever was up there for something, anything. My phone started buzzing in my pocket, I grabbed it and read the name carefully ‘Dad’. The last time I heard from him was when I was 12, he was some military guy that moved around a lot.

He lived in Oregon, which was very far from Wisconsin, and didn’t talk about his work a lot. He always missed holidays and birthdays, he never called, only a short ‘Happy birthday, sport’ or ‘Merry Christmas, kiddo’ text and some little gift he would send me. Usually some shitty art box or makeup box, he never knew what I liked or what my interests are and I always blamed myself for that. I thought I messed everything up just by existing, by just being born and breathing, or maybe it was the fact I wasn’t a boy.

Maybe he wanted to be a boy dad? To play baseball with someone or teach them how to work on a car, not princess parties or Barbies. I thought about this as I watched his name disappear from my phone. Maybe he was coming home? Had some change of heart or finally wanted to talk to me. I looked over at my mom and I gave her a fake smile “It’s Tiffany, I’m gonna step out and call her back, okay? I’ll be right outside.” I would tell her- not wanting to say ‘Hi, remember the man who left you and moved across the country? Well, he finally wants to hopefully play dad so I’m gonna call him back!’. She just nodded her head, the medicine made her tired so as I stood up I kissed her forehead and left the room, holding my phone with a tight grip.

I stepped out into the hall and stared at the message on my phone that popped up after I missed the call from him.

"DAD: Hey kiddo, call me back. "

I just stared at the message, ‘kiddo’ was always my name to him. Never Ivy, my real name, or hell even our shared last name Redfield. I let go of a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and I hit the redial button next to his name. The line rang for about 2 rings before a gruff voice that I didn’t remember spoke up “Hello?” it said, as if I was bothering him. I stuttered for a moment “Hi, it's uh… It’s Ivy. What’s up?” I tried to sound unbothered but I’m guessing I failed since there was a pause on his end. “I heard what happened, with your mom and I guess I’m just checking in on you”.

My thoughts raced with questions, ‘How did he know? It’s only been 3 hours since the doctors talked to us and neither of us has been on our phones…’. “Oh really?” I wanted to ask how but honestly I didn’t care- I was mad. Mad that my mother dying, the mother of his only child dying. My blood boiled a little as I forced a nice reply. “I’m rolling with the punches I guess, mom is sleeping and I’m uh…” I take a deep breath to try to calm myself down before tears rush down my face, not wanting to face his harsh reality. “I feel like I’m drowning.” I choke out, tears making their way down my face. It was uncontrollable now, I was letting my walls down for a man who I hadn’t seen in 12 years.

I was guilty of being an open book, I mean I could open up to someone just minding their business. I guess I caught him off guard as he looked around for a minute to respond to me as if I was making this hard for him. As if I’m just something he can just talk to for 5 minutes and it’ll make up for years of missing that key father figure in my life. “I figured,” he said, his voice still strong and unwavering. I opened my mouth, I was an off-put, how dare he call me to just make me feel worse? My mother is dying slowly, painfully, and with her 16-year-old daughter as a crutch to ease the pain, along with her meds. “I wanted to offer you to move in with me,” He said, someone talking in the background on his side, sounded like he was at some mall or somewhere busy. At this point I’m mad, he wants me to leave my mom? Alone?

I wipe my tears and try to straighten myself up, ‘no’ I wanted to say ‘why the hell would you even offer me to leave mom?’ I wanted to bark. Instead, I just said “Why?”, a feeble and weak notion of how I’m feeling- defeated and done. “I know this is hard for you. I wanted to offer to enroll you in school here in California. I could get you into a good academy and after you can come to work with me.” He said in a very matter-of-fact tone. I roll my eyes, ‘guess he moved again’ I think to myself.

That was it. I was mad, pissed, and manic even. This was just a recruitment to whatever the hell he does for a job, he didn’t care. He didn’t care that my mom was dying, he didn’t care that I was in one of the toughest situations in my life, he wanted a perfect little daughter. Someone feeble, who would go ‘Yes Dad! I would love to make up for the 12 years you missed! Please! Pick me!’ and little did he know I split.

I wanted to be his perfect daughter, I wanted to go out on daddy-daughter dates or go to the zoo with him or hell- work with him at whatever shit hole military place he was at but I shook that thought out of my head, keeping my priorities straight. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth “I-” I was ready to give him a piece of my mind, to tell him off for everything, making me feel like I wasn’t enough, making me question myself but I was cut off by the other end of my phone “Redfield, we’re ready to roll out” some woman’s voice cut through. I heard him mumble a ‘one second’ before turning his, apparently important, attention to me. “Just think it over, kiddo. I’ll talk to you later” and a second later the phone line cut out.

I stood there for a moment, shocked. 4 minutes and 12 seconds is how long I was worth to him before ending our conversation without hesitation. I made my way back into the room and sat next to my sleeping mom, the medicine must have knocked her out. I was glad since I had silent tears running down my face.

Jump to the present with me, It’s 9 am and I’m dressed in a black dress with my makeup and hair down as rain smeared my perfect facade and pelted down on me. I just got done burying my mom. I’m 22 now and 10 times more fragile than I was at 16, I stand alone as the crowd of people disperse. My eyes are glued onto my mom’s closed casket, there are roses with a heart on the top, I put my hand on the lower part of the casket and I lower my head. Tears started mixing with the rain, and the thunder drowned out my loud wailing as I started to rest my forehead on the casket.

I was finally able to let out all of my emotions and I was alone- no mom by my side to move the hair out of my face, no mom to kiss my head and say ‘It’s okay Ivy, even diamonds are made under a lot of pressure’. There was no more light anymore and just like the weather, I was not holding back, letting my weak side show after 4 years of being the strong one, watching her hair fall out because of the medicine or watching her lose a bunch of weight to where she was skin and bone. She stopped walking after her 3rd year of medicine and we went everywhere together when she would sleep I would do online classwork for my college classes, I wanted to make her proud.

“God bless her.” a gruff voice said beside me, I watched the tan hand place a rose onto the heart of roses on her casket. I stood up straight and noticed the colossal man next to me was my father. He smelled like wood and a faint cologne that I couldn’t pinpoint, his blue eyes matched mine. He was in a black suit and in his other hand he held an obituary for my mother ‘Annabeth Marshal’, her name stood out to me before my matching blue eyes flicked back to his. “How…” I weakly start to speak but he cuts me off before I can finish “I wanted to support you, you’re my daughter and I love you.” he said as if that would fix the now 16 years apart from him. I run my hands through my hair as I try to compose myself “Support me? Now?” I ask him, my voice laced with venom.

“It’s been 16 years since you left and you expect me to what, let you back in my life? You called once, sent an occasional text and now you want me to believe that you love me?” I start crying harder, my words coming out choked. My hands shook with anger but all he did was look at me with surprise, his eyes wide. I noticed someone else I don’t know standing on a hill about 20 feet away smoking a cigarette, he looked like he was with my dad and was watching us. My eyes snap back to my dad “You couldn’t even come alone?” I ask him. My dad shook his head “It isn’t like that, Ivy” he said back, his tone becoming slightly more stern, “Oh!” I laugh “You know my name now?” I shake my head at him, I’m angry and the random man watching us while smoking is making everything else worse. “Of course, I know your name, you’re my daughter, and I, as your father-” He starts but I cut him off.

“You’re my father now? I haven’t seen you in years!” I cry a little bit harder and he sighs “I’m sorry about that, I needed to protect you and your mother. Listen, I want to be a better man for you. I’m sorry, but please… Listen to me.” he says as he moves his hand onto my shoulder. Once I feel the warmth from his hand on my shoulder, I start to lose control. I crumble because I realize I still love my dad and I want his acceptance. I’m confused as my head naturally finds its way to his chest and I start to sob, it’s like I’m a baby again and he’s holding me for the first time. He starts talking again, softer and a little bit nicer but still stern “I want you to move in with me. Make your mom even more proud of you than she already was. Start over fresh.” He says as he starts to softly rub my back as I cry harder. I catch my breath for a minute as his words linger in the air and I think about it for a minute. I huff a little as I mumble against his chest “Okay… I will.” I feel so small and weak as his chest rumbles with a laugh and he ruffles my hair.

“Great, Let’s get you a bag and I’ll send someone to get the rest of your stuff,” he says and I eat it up. I’m putty in his hands and it feels great, I’m finally with my dad. He started to lead me to a black car with tinted windows where the man who was smoking was leaning against. Watching is even more and I get to see him fully. He looks around my dad’s age dirty blonde hair with some grey, he has some stubble on his chin and he’s weirdly handsome. The black suit he’s wearing is just as drenched as my dress and my dad’s suit. look back at my mother’s casket for the last time and I take a deep breath, knowing she would have wanted this for me.

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THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

Please let me know if theres anything I should add or if I should write a part 2! :)

#chris redfield angst #chris redfield #plus size reader #oc #residentevil oc #angst #chris being a shitty dad #chris redfield dad #Spotify

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lilsnowpea93 · 2 months

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I have a few extra things to add to that longpost I made the other day about the typical working experience in America. 1. So, I suppose something I’d super advocate for is something like UBI, or at least funding of the arts of for creative people. The latter is a biased framing ofc. And we do have some safety nets here like food stamps and Medicaid. But I think those could be expanded slightly, especially healthcare. So, note that when I mention funding of arts/creativity, like we do have bigger problems. But arts are also important, and the first stuff to get cut. Anyway. I feel there’s this attitude from more centrist and conservative people I talk to that, if a system like UBI were put in place, it would lead to nobody wanting to work, especially if it was a good program (which won’t happen, like gov giving u a liveable paycheck monthly, they should do that for ppl who can’t work but broadscale it will never happen). Handout this and freeloader that. Cool cool cool. And so, in order for society to function, there are so many jobs that need to be performed, surely. Now, for many of those jobs that are considered more “skilled” and have large large responsibilities and huge consequences for mistakes- people typically go to school for that stuff, or spend years of their lives dedicated to it, it’s their thing they do. They also hopefully get paid well, which is the incentive sure. Also for the “unskilled” dirty shitty jobs that need to happen, employers should pay them well too, incentive. For transparency, I work in this field, but it’s small time. Now, idk if this is specific to me, but a lot of people I personally know, work retail and random stuff like that, (in contrast to those “societal bolster” jobs like being a building planner or whatever). And granted sometimes those overlap, like supermarket jobs. So, I think it’s fair to say that ppl working those retail or service jobs aren’t typically training their whole lives for those positions, they usually don’t love their job (sometimes you’ll hear well off ppl romanticize these types of jobs, get real usually ppl don’t want to do that for their whole life), they may have multiple of these jobs.. I get the sense this is the typical working experience in America? An aside- I’d like to note that the narrative we were all broadly told is that you “work your way up” but, haha no dear that does not happen for many people. “Started in the mailroom” type shit, stop it. Again, temporarily embarrassed millionaire brainwashing (or frankly, 100,000aire) is bullshit, I’m so tired of that. I get frustrated nearly daily how burned into my skull that is. It is a lie. Stop spreading it. It worked for a handful of people, do people understand the size of the workforce? It’s not designed for everyone to win, even a little bit. It’s clearly designed to exploit and make as much profit as possible “ethically” possible. ANYWAY, sorry. So these jobs, hate to say it but a lot of these places super don’t need to exist. They’re projects by big/med sized biz owners or corporations to make money for themselves. These are everywhere, look at all the dumb stores and restaurant chains everywhere. These are your options for pay if u don’t have a marketable specific skill (me included).. Look at all the advertising we’re bombarded with daily. U really think all that stuff is necessary for society to function? No lol. It’s people trying to get rich or rich people profiting. Now I think small one off businesses are cool and typically offer something to the local community, I have nothing against those, unless the boss is horrible and exploiting workers.. but u know what I’m saying? We’re surrounded by pointless shit designed for wealthy people to get wealthier, for us to give our hard earned money to that we got from our annoying unfulfilling job (mines ok, talking about average experience) to buy an overpriced chip bag 75% filled with air because our survival brain decided we need a salty interesting flavored snack and can’t resist. Is this not hell of our own making? My drama queen debut yes yes.

2. This is an obvious point, but I’ve always felt this (even though I’ve historically only worked for non profits I like.) When I clock in to work, I’m taking on the load and responsibility of someone else’s project. It’s like I’m living a separate life. And yes, baggage from my personal life will seep into my professional one, and definitely vice versa (worrying about work shit at home). So, personally, my own “project” is constantly majorly f’d. I have so many things I want to do at home, for myself, for my small projects where I make stuff for other people. Stuff like, I’ve hated my underwear drawer for 10+ years. I need to find out what cut and material of underwear I prefer, because it’s not the generic one. It takes time and research to do that. I do not have that time, and that’s a silly one of the 100 large important “me” projects that I need to eventually do. Stuff that impacts my daily life, like hating my underwear situation every day for 10 years. Every day I get up, and ignore all of that for my survival paycheck. I put me to the wayside, and put someone else’s thing to the front for hours and hours. Thankfully it’s a non profit I like. If it was a bs retail stuff with angry customers, well that would be very bad. But, even not having to work a huge amount of hours, I get home, and I try to work on the projects where I’ve promised things to other people. Sometimes I have to take a nap, and that’s even a privilege. But yeah, I’m tired, sometimes I don’t get good sleep, it happens. Before I know it it’s time to make dinner, time to go to bed, time to do it again. You hear this from countless people who work 9-5. Is this really life? Never actually working on yourself, always having to spend that energy elsewhere? Shirking your own happiness for money, because of survival? No one should have to do that, yet we all do. There are clear penalties to not participating. Poor and homeless people are actively punished. How many Americans are one medical emergency away from getting into this trouble? Point of all this being, we are used to putting ourselves last. Discouraged from even having the time to think about what we need as people. I believe this keeps us less effective and less mentally/physically healthy. This is a byproduct of profit being put over lives, and I would say it happens most to the lower class. Wealthy people can get away with exploiting poor people, because they need the money. Wealthy people romanticize these workers and jobs. The workers want and need the pay, they do not want to work grueling hours. They typically have little power in this relationship though. High capital earners usually do not do the right thing. Landlords do not usually do the right thing. These people are in these positions for easy money, not to be nice (gotta be some exceptions of nice rich people sure sure sure). I’m aware how cynical this comes off but I can’t help it after learning about this topic from multiple angles. I don’t have a good end to this but I’ll likely have more to write about this in the future. I understand this way of life to be broken, and so many people around me don’t, it’s frustrating, and I need to be able to prove why instead of just being like oh this sucks and having them think I’m lazy. People can think that, idc, I know I’m not, eh. But there are reaasssons there are reasons I’m dissatisfied, and believe it could be so much better. And I know other countries are worse cool awesome, it can be better. I don’t have all those answers, but the more I write the more they form, sorta. But I’m a toilet cleaner why would I have anything intelligent to say on this lol, I’m supposed to take what I can get, and I do. I think my opinion also matters though. At least I’ve had time to form this opinion, I could have easily not.

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ti-30xscalculator · 7 months

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(I hope this doesn't come off as patronizing because it's not my intention but just know I'm trying to be genuinely helpful here)

Pessimism dose not equal realism and that's something I also had to learn. I thought the same way you do " The world is bad and burning and the people pretending to be happy or joyful are just lieing to themselves" but the immutable fact is that reality is both. Reality is pain and happiness in intervals. Emotions are real in the fact you feel them. They are chemicals your brain used to reinforce how your logic says you should feel and sometimes they are right and sometimes they are wrong and sometimes they mean something deeper and sometimes they mean nothing at all but they still affect you.

I'm sorry your therapist didn't help you (I've had therapists harm me too) and giving up on the world and screaming "the sky is falling" is fine for YOU but when you start dragging others into the pit with you is where a line must be drawn aka going on their posts that they used to help themselves and others with a little boost and yelling at them won't make them stop and it won't make you feel better. I get that vengeful angry and confused feeling about how you feel your life sucks while others thrive or pretend to thrive and they fact is you don't deserve the pain. But the fact is that that vengeance is useless. It dose nothing. Their positivity is warranted as well as your negativity. They are equals.

I'll leave this off with a little advice. Look back on your life and ask if you've lived your life off negativity others unfairly fed you or have you lived it otherwise? Are you coasting from harmful event to harmful event for the next rush cause bad emotions seem to drown out everything? Is there happiness in the little moments you've missed because of your negative outlook? Everyone needs a sunset or a song to come on at just the right time or a dog to greet you in the street or a butterfly to land on your hand. You can't find joy in trauma, don't glorify the things that hurt you but also, look for the little things. If you find that you've lived your life with a negative outlook, try slowly and one step at a time, to look out positively. If you seriously think it's all useless, what's there to lose by getting a little lost in the magic of nature or music or art? Trying new things and doing some emotional and physical spring cleaning. Take the meds you need, eat right, drink more water. If it's all fruitless then you won't see the fruit but I garentee to you, as someone who once put a timer of a single year on their life if it had not improved by then, you'll find there are reasons to live and places to find happiness. You just have to stay long enough to find them and have hope that you will. You actually have to make your own happiness and if you've read this far, it shows your open to it alittle bit. I know your tired and angry and bitter but those emotions clearly haven't gotten you anywhere, there's never a better time to start than now. And if not now, then tomorrow. There is always tomorrow.

It's over go home, sorry I didn't really get to your ask

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certifiedskywalker · 3 years

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Another Memory - Kylo Ren

forthesakeofstarwars said: If you’re still taking requests, can I send one in for Kylo Ren, in which the reader is dating him and she’s sent out on a solo mission one day? She gets injured on the field and hides it from Kylo when she returns, but he finds out anyway. He was upset at first that she didn’t tell him about it but than he takes care of her and helps her wound to heal.

AN: Guess who got too carried away? Me, this guy, I did!

Magma burns. That’s what it felt like. Searing, beyond white-hot pain that shot through your lower abdomen with each aching step. You heard once of Mustafar, the lava rivers and lakes that dotted the scorched landscape like bright death traps. Within your stomach, you imagined a crater, akin to the magma pools of that dastardly planet, spewing concentrated bolts of flame towards the rest of your internal organs.

“Commander.”

Through a grimace, you dipped your head at the two lower ranking officers that acknowledged your presence with a salute. Unbeknownst to them, you were in near-debilitating pain with your right shoulder pressed against the wall of the ship’s hallway for balance. As they passed by, you stood up right and muscled through scream of hurt in your stomach.

“As you were,” you snapped back. They walked off with a little more speed than when they came upon you. You took a small bit of pride in their fear before pressing your shoulder back against the wall. Out of all of the First Order’s officials, you were the least frightening. The towering Captain Phasma and the biting voice of General Hux made even you, a being well trained in the darker arts of the Force, shake from time to time. And that was not even considering the short-fuse temper of Kylo Ren.

At the thought of him, you felt yourself weaken. A groan slipped out past your lips and you pressed yourself impossibly closer to the wall for support. If he saw you like this you would never live it down. Another wave of searing pain rushed through your abdomen, this time mingled with a twinge of shame. Eyes squeezed shut, you gritted your teeth and forced the stinging tears behind your eyes to stay there.

If only he had stayed. Stayed in your shared bed, tangled with you in sheets until the comm stopped blinking and whirring for his attention. How you wished he had ignored the device, the mission he was given, and stayed with his hands on you. But then your comm had started to blink, coaxing you out from under him and the messed sheets. You should have stayed instead of going to...you couldn’t even recall the name of the planet now.

Overwhelmed by the pain left behind by the blaster bolt that had charged through your gut, your brain worried itself with keeping you on your feet rather than the destination of your mission. Despite the battle scar and trip to the infirmary that danced in your near-future, you had been successful. The insurrection and rebels that had amassed against the Order had been dealt with. Though they had not gone down without a fight.

Seemingly triggered by the memory of battle, your wound screamed with a heat painful enough to pull the air from your lungs. With a gasp, your knees hit the cool, tile floor of the ship. Black spots dotted the edges of your vision as you fought to stay conscious. Focusing on deep breaths, you reached out to the Force for aid, for the power to push your body through the pain; a skill you had learned from Luke Skywalker so long ago.

You fell back on his old lessons only when the situation was dire. Passing out in the hallway, surrounded by inferior officers was truly dire.

“Commander?”

With an aimless, wandering hand, you pushed the concerned officer to the side.

“Leave me,” you hissed, trying to maintain a steady rhythm of breaths. The Force seemed to recoil from you as a fresh and overwhelming wave of pain cut through your abdomen. Your vision began to blur. “No, no, no.”

Murmurs from the officers and troopers around you muddled in your ears. Each comment or quip sank into a thick mud, unheard by you. Harsh and growing shallow, your breathing was the one sound you could hear clearly. A haphazard, unsteady beat of air down your throat and into your chest. Desperate to stay lucid, you closed your eyes and willed your body to stay aware. Get to your feet, your mind echoed the mantra, get to your feet.

You pushed up on your knees and, shaking slight, moved to stand. With a careful step forward, you opened your eyes. Bright lights installed in the ceiling shown in a staggering display. Darkness swept over your vision, but you weren’t sure if you shut your eyes or succumbed to the agonizing heat in your stomach. Your knees impacted the hard floor once more and, in a brief moment of audible clarity, you heard the gasps of those surrounding you.

Then you heard a deeper, familiar voice; one laced with worry. “Y/N?!”

Grey walls and bright lights enveloped you when you opened your eyes. Steady and mildly annoying, a beeping vitals monitor served as a reminder that you were alive. That, and the dull aching all over your body. Most of the lingering pain was concentrated in your abdomen and your knees. You didn’t dare to look at the mess whatever medical droid made of your wound; there would be a scar, no matter the make and model of machine.

“What happened?”

You let your head fall to the side, your gaze shifting from the unentertaining ceiling to your right. Sat beside you, masked in a shadow of his own creation, was Kylo Ren. The soulless visor of his helmet was fixed on your face. In any other position, the intensity of his hidden gaze would have set you aflame. Now, you felt only shame.

“Tell me.”

“The mission was a success,” you replied curtly, ignoring the truth he wanted.

“That’s not what I meant.” Coldness edged Kylo’s tone, mostly due to the modulator embedded in his helmet mouth piece. You hated how it changed his voice and, despite it’s mechanic alteration, how it was still so wonderfully familiar to you.

“The dissidents fought back,” you explained, “nothing I’m not used to.”

“You’re hurt.”

You can’t help but laugh at how plainly he makes the statement. “I hadn’t noticed.”

At your mocking tone, Kylo stands. You watch as he moves towards the entrance to your infirmary room and forces the door shut. The metal screeches against the floor until the two sliding doors meet in the metal. Kylo’s arm falls as he turns to face you once more.

A biting comment makes its way to the tip of your tongue. Just as you’re about to spit it out, Kylo moves again. He brings his hands up towards his helmet and you hear the telltale hiss of release as he lifts the metal from his head. The comment dies between you lips the moment you catch a glimpse of his skin. A breath of relief takes it place.

Without hesitation, and slight shame momentarily forgotten, you meet Kylo’s eyes. Dark, wavy strands of hair covered part of his face, nearly obscuring the med-tape covering the gnash the scavenger girl carved into his cheek. Against the uncomfortably thin sheet of your infirmary cot, your finger itched to traced the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw. The want became nearly unbearable when he moved to stand by your bedside once more.

“You should have come to me when you returned.” Without the modulator and helmet, Kylo’s deep voice was smoother. Akin to fine granules of sand running through your fingers rather than grating gravel. You felt comforted by the sound, even if he was chastising you.

“I thought you were still out on your own mission.”

“You couldn’t sense me? My presence on the ship?”

When you shook your head in reply, Kylo frowned. Disappointment flashed in his brown eyes but did not linger; nor did the downwards turn of his lips. Quickly, Kylo collected himself and plastered on that flat expression you assumed he wore often beneath the mask. He took a step closer to your bedside, resting his heavy helmet on the end near your feet.

“I could sense you,” he said lowly, “your pain. How you were thinking of me.” Heat rose to your cheeks, spreading to every inch of your skin. The warmth further dulled the ache in your abdomen. Your attention was fully focused on him now.

“Is that why you came to my rescue? You were a little late if you…” You trailed off as Kylo’s leather-gloved hand brushed against your cheek. A shaking breath rattled in your chest and you closed your eyes for a long moment to search after your words in the dark.

“I’ll never be late for you again,” he murmured when you opened your eyes again. Sincerity dripped from his tone, filled the dark depths of his eyes. His hand brushed against your hairline at you stared up at him, covered fingertips dancing down along your jaw. “Never again.”

“And I’ll find you the moment I return from missions.”

Kylo nodded and you saw the slightest up tilt in the left corner of his mouth. An almost smile. The same expression he would often give you when you came to him, ready to share a bed for the night. If you were lucky, you would get a half smile, large enough to bring out the lines in his face; the evidence you had that he could be happy.

“Good,” he replied, pulling his hand away.

You watched as he plucked the glove from his fingers, exposing the skin of his palm to you when he reached out. Picked up by the vitals monitor was the quickened pace of your heart as Kylo tugged the thin sheets tucked around you down from where they rested. Cool air kissed the skin of your nearly naked chest and then your bare abdomen. You wanted to recoil, hide from him despite knowing he had seen you far more exposed before.

His eyes held your gaze before you lost your nerve. Daringly, you glanced down at your abdomen and eyed the dark red, inflamed scar left behind by the blaster bolt. The medical droids had done well, better than the last time. There was still ample room for improvement. Displeased, you looked away, back up at Kylo.

“Another memory,” you mused bitterly, “though yours is far more handsome.”

Kylo let out an amused huff before studying your new scar. He leaned forward and let his bare fingertips traced the outer edges of the puckered mark. His touch did not hurt but the vitals monitor alerted you both to an uptick in heart rate again. In response to his fingers, your body tensed; wound itself tight like bacta-gauze around a bleeding limb. Enjoying the sight of your body reacting so precisely to his touch, you saw Kylo wore another almost smile.

“Do you want it gone?”

His question catches you off guard. Is he serious? When he moves his eyes from your wound to meet yours once more, you see that he is. The almost smile is dropped, his brows are relaxed, and he reads as unconcerned.

“Yes,” you say, more curious to see what he means than to actually have the scar removed. Kylo nods and moves his bare hands away from your abdomen, though just barely. Palm facing down towards your wound, Kylo’s hand hovers. A moment passses and there is nothing but the want to make a teasing comment.

Then you feel it. It, the Force, is warm as it licks at your wound. Licking is the only way you can describe the feeling though it is not wet. Only warm, comforting, and moving. You gasp and your eyes lift to study Kylo’s face. His eyes are closed, lashes fanned out against his cheeks as he focuses all his energy, the Force, on your scar.

You feel a shift in the air as he lifts his hand. When he opens his eyes, he does not meet your gaze but peer at the scar. Or where the scar was. A few inches above your hip, fresh, unharmed and unblemished skin was shown. It was as if you had never been struck at all. The dull pain that gripped your torso was relieved like a dark cloud being brushed from the sky.

Speechless, you barely react when Kylo leans further down. His hair falls around his face as he pressed his warm lips to the spot where the scar had been. The ends of his hair tickle your skin but you’re still too enthralled to twitch at the sensation. Kylo turns his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are knowing and his mouth quirks up into the slightest of half smiles.

“Beautiful.”

Falling from his lips, the word thrusts you back into another memory; this one not embodied or immortalized in a scar. You are back, caught in the morning before you mission, with your skin pressed against Kylo’s. Sheets are scattered around you and he is kissing your bare shoulder when he says it over and over again, punctuated by a new kiss each time.

“Beautiful.”

When he says it for a second time, you’re back in the present, in the infirmary. Kylo has straightened his posture and is reaching for his helmet now. You move, sit up in your cot and throw a hand out to his. Your fingers wrap around his wrist and gently squeeze.

The touch brings his eyes to yours. His mouth is open slightly, shallow breaths coming and going as he waits for you to say something. To say what he is thinking, wanting, too.

“Stay.”

Wordlessly, Kylo moves to meet you in the middle. Before you can react, his lips find yours and you are falling back against the cot. You are lost in him again and more than enjoying the feeling of it. When you feel his bare hand against the skin of your waist, you smile into the searing kiss. What another good memory this will make.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren imagines #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fanfiction #ben solo #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #tfa #tlj

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buckys-forgotten-plum · 3 years

Text

Hold Me Tighter ||3||

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Peter and reader have a talk and Bucky overhears.

Warnings: Swearing I think? A big of angst, fluff, Buck jumping to conclusions bc he’s a soft dummie...

A/N: Hej hej friends, it’s been a bit since i’ve posted something. My life has been wild and though i’ve been working on various things I have yet to complete said various things. Hopefully posting this gets me back into the groove. Please enjoy and give me feedback as its very much appreciated!! <3

Part ||1|| Part ||2||

~~~~~~

“Do you have an ace?”

“Nope, go fish,”

“Do you have a crush on Bucky?”

You almost drop your hand full of cards on the ground as the words leave the man's mouth.

“Wha-Peter!”

“What? It kinda looks obvious, on both sides, but it’s like you guys or holding back or something,” Peter shrugs nonchalantly as he plucks a card from the deck before laying down another set of matches.

You pout, “Why are you so good at this game?”

“Answer my question first,” He laughs lightly while playfully nudging your shoulder with his fist.

You and Peter had been the ones left at the tower while the team was on their latest mission. You felt grateful for the company, or at least you did before he started asking questions while he taught you how to play various card games. The pair of you sat facing each other, legs crossed and knees almost touching as the deck of cards sat in the middle.

“I dunno… Maybe?” You could feel the fire in your cheeks and ears as you answered, forgetting to ask if Pete had a card and taking straight from the deck instead.

Peter smiled widely and set down the few cards he still had, putting his full attention on you, “That’s great, Y/n! I think he likes you too! Why haven’t you guys gotten together yet? You spend like every day with each other when Bucky isn’t on a mission. He even cooks for you all the time and I’ve never seen him do that with anyone-”

“Peter, it's not like that. I’m pretty sure he just thinks of me as like… A charity case or something. He’s helped me a lot since I’ve gotten here but it was solely because he felt obligated too. Kind of like when you find a puppy on the street,” You set your cards down to the side as well, using your free hands to nervously tangle your fingers together.

“That's ridiculous! Y/n he calls you pet names all the time, he carries you around, I even saw him kiss your cheek before he left!” Peter points an accusatory finger at you.

Your eyes widen in shock and you stutter before responding, “Why are you paying so much attention to us? It’s weird how much you notice...And besides, lately he hasn’t really been the same. He tells me that he’s always busy with training or meetings or something, and I get that it happens, especially with what you guys do! But it just feels like he’s been avoiding me lately,”

“The whole team has noticed! You guys have done almost everything but make it official,” The man sighs exasperatedly before leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours, a silly habit the two of you developed for serious conversations, making you giggle a bit before pushing back, “You should talk with him about it dude,”

You keep your forehead pressed against Pete's, sighing quietly before responding, “I just think… If he doesn’t feel the same way, then everything is going to change. He won’t want to spend time with me anymore, or talk to me, he won’t wanna watch movies with me… He just- he won’t be able to think of me as more than just the silly mutant that’s been obsessed with him for as long as she’s known him,” Your face had scrunched up into a scowl as you thought about what life would be like without Bucky by your side.

“Hey, hey, hey! He won’t do that, I promise. Bucky isn’t like that, he’d never just start to ignore you or think of you as some obsessed girl. It’s obvious he cares about you a lot, and I think it would be good for both of you to talk about it,”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start-”

“Start with how you feel, put it all out in the open,” Pete says confidently.

“That’s crazy!”

“How is it crazy?”

“I can’t just go up to him and say, ‘Hey I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been deeply enthralled and have wanted to be with you since the first time we met!’”

Peter was about to respond, but a deep voice interrupted, “Y/n?”

You and Pete pull your heads apart and gape at the tall brunette standing in the doorway, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown and his eyes full of confusion. “Bucky I-”

He puts a hand up before you can continue, “I um-I gotta go shower. Sorry I interrupted you guys,”

You sat frozen on the floor as Bucky quickly made his exit, Peter switching his gaze between you and the now empty doorway. “Oh my god-” he muttered in absolute bewilderment.

“Wh-what just happened? What should I do? Oh my god he hates me! He’ll never speak to me again-”

“No! No, no, no it’s fine! Just a misunderstanding! You need to go after him and clear it up,” Peter tells you, hurriedly standing up before grabbing your hands and helping you stand. “You need to tell him everything Y/n. *Everything.*”

You nod your head in agreement, starting for the doorway, “Thanks pete, I’ll see you later,”

Peter’s response doesn’t quite register as you quickly walk down the maze of hallways, trying to find the fastest possible route to Bucky’s room. Your heart felt like it was pounding hard enough to escape your chest.

You let out a yelp as you suddenly hit a wall, “Oh hey kid, you seen Barnes yet? He was lookin for ya,” Tony’s hands are on each of your arms to steady you as he begins to ask how your week with Peter went.

You can’t focus on any of his questions, solely focused on fixing the mess you had made.

“Kid? You okay?” Tony steps closer to you, his overbearing father coming out as he reaches up to check your temperature, “hmm maybe we should get you to med, you feel a little hot,”

“Tony I’m fine-” You try and back out of his grasp but he holds onto you firmly.

“Hey if you’re gettin’ a fever we want to catch it quick-”

“I don’t have a fever, please-”

“C’mon, it’ll only take a minute,”

“Oh my god, goodbye!” You huff out before pushing Tony away from you and using your power to disappear from the hallway.

Tony lets out an annoyed sigh, “If you get anyone else sick you’re the one who’s taking care of them!” he shouts into the empty space.

You however, had already popped up outside of Bucky’s door, your hands clenched into fists of stress and nerves. Your right hand went to open the door but when you tried to twist the handle it didn’t budge.

“Friday can you let me in?”

“Mr. Barnes has specified to not be bothered for the time being,” The AI responded simply.

You let out a huff of frustration, “Okay well it’s either you unlock the door and let me in or I just pop up in there, so…”

There was a moment of silence before you heard the quiet click of the door unlocking, making you smile victoriously, “Thank you, Friday,”

Bucky was still in the bathroom with the door closed when you had entered his room. You took a quick look around before deciding to sit on the bed and wait for him to be done. Your fingers began to tangle and pull at themselves in a stressful manner and you couldn’t help the tight feeling in your chest. It only got worse when you heard the running water turn off and the sound of Bucky drying and dressing himself.

When Bucky opens the door, the both of you freeze in place, eyes locked on to each other for what felt like ages.

Bucky is the first to break eye contact and move, “I thought I told Friday I didn’t want any visitors,” he mumbles quietly, going over to toss the damp towel in his hands into a laundry hamper.

“I uh- I told her I would just pop in anyways…”

“Shouldn’t invade people's privacy like that, kid,” his cold tone made you cringe, “can’t start abusing your power like that,”

“Listen Bucky, I came here to explain-”

“You don’t gotta explain anything to me. I saw what I saw, it’s not a big deal,” he interrupts you and avoids your eyes as he begins to unpack from his mission.

“Except I think you might not understand entirely-” you begin only to be interrupted again.

“No! No, I get it. Pete is a good kid, good morals, good background. I can see why you’d like him, it makes sense,” Bucky’s voice was clearly stressed as he spoke and it just made your chest tighten even more.

“Bucky no-”

“He’s closer to your age, you have a lot in common, spend a lot of time together…”

“Why is everyone interrupting me today?” you groan out in frustration before getting up off of the bed and walking over to the disgruntled man.

You move to sit on the other side of the duffle bag he continues to empty, still avoiding your eyes. You let out a huff of annoyance and quickly grab hold of Bucky's hands, bringing them to a pause.

“Kid, I gotta unpack-”

“No. Not until you let me say what I need to say. Without interrupting me,” You state firmly.

Bucky visibly clenches his jaw, giving you a small nod to continue, “You didn’t hear me say those words to Peter-”

“Yes I di-” “What did I just say? No interruptions!”

Bucky sighs, “Sorry,”

You take another breath before restarting, “You didn’t hear me say those words to Peter. You heard me telling him about what I’d say to someone else,”

Bucky’s face scrunches up in confusion as he replays your words in his head, trying to put the pieces together, but failing. “Who were you going to say-”

“You! Ya big dummy. I was telling Peter what I would say to you,” You blurt out with a breath of exasperation.

Bucky shook his head, as if to try and wake himself up from a daydream, “Are you serious?”

“Yes! Of course I am, Buck. I- Peter said that it would be good for the both of us if I admitted my true feelings for you, and I didn’t know what I would say, so he suggested that I just flat out tell you, and…” You trail off, hoping the older can figure out the rest on his own.

“And that’s when I walked in? When you had figured out what exactly you’d say?”

“More or less, yeah,” you answer quietly, giving Bucky’s hands a gentle squeeze to try and bring even more reassurance.

“Why were you so close to each other?” You looked back up to Bucky, a smile gracing your features as his gaze finally met yours.

“Because we were having a serious discussion. Isn’t that what everyone does?” You ask, brows slightly knit in confusion.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, “No I think that’s only you two,”

“Oh…”

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, mulling over what you’d like to say next and trying to organize your thoughts. When Bucky didn’t say anything for a while you decided to continue on, “So um...Do you maybe uh-maybe do you feel the same way? About me?”

Bucky doesn’t even wait a beat to answer, “Oh my god yes! Yes I’ve felt the same way for ages, doll!”

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you take in the new information, “You have?”

Bucky nods his head, a smile on his face as he looks into your eyes, “Sweetheart I’ve been head over heels for you since I first caught you in midair,” he chuckles.

You grin at Bucky and feel the familiar flickering of your powers take place, knowing your emotions were much too strong to stop it. Within the blink of an eye you had popped out of existence and popped right back up into Bucky’s lap, making him fall over in a huff of laughter.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into the softness of his hair, “What gives then you goof? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a tight squeeze, “Once you started gettin’ the hang of your powers and began training with the rest of the team, I dunno… It felt like you didn’t need me there for you anymore, I didn’t want to risk holding you back from making new friends and connections,” Your heart split in two hearing Bucky’s explanation.

You pull your face out of his lovely smelling hair and stare into the soldier's pretty blue eyes, “That’s silly Bubba. You would never hold me back! You’re the reason why I’m so comfortable around everyone now. You gave me the strength to get out of my comfort zone,” Bucky grinned at your words and shook his head, mentally chiding himself for being so foolish.

“M’sorry lovie, I guess I got in my own head about everything. Almost messed it all up too because I got so upset when I saw you and Peter,” Your chest swelled with happiness when he calls you one of your favorite nicknames, knowing the two of you were back to normal.

“It’s okay! I can understand why you thought what you did. But I promise I’ve only ever been deeply enthralled with you,” You laugh and push your forehead up against Bucky’s, making him let out a deep melody of chuckles.

“Does this mean I don’t have to hold back anymore? I can love on you as much as I want?” Bucky pairs his question with an affectionate nuzzle in the crook of your neck before looking back up into your gleeful eyes.

You giggle and brush your nose up against his as you nod your head, “You coulda done that before,”

Bucky’s hands move from around your waist to your thighs, easily lifting the both of you up from the plush carpet, “M’never lettin’ you go ever again. Gonna hold on real tight, sweet girl.”

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck and try to pull Bucky closer, burying your face back into the crook of his neck and breathing him in. He moves the two of you over to his bed and flops down onto it, pulling the both of you under the covers and tangling his legs with yours. The two of you stay like that for what feels like ages.

A perfectly content tangle of happiness and relief.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes request #marvel fic #Winter Soldier #peter parker #tony stark #Bucky angst

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the-scandalorian · 3 years

Text

Tempered Glass: Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of wounds, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: Chance brought you and the Mandalorian together on Nevarro. Now, on his ship, you have to broker a careful trust with him, despite both his and your instincts to distrust others. Notes: I’ll be loosely following the events of the first season and see what happens from there. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @honey-hi @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @red-leaders @zoemariefit

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Before you could decide what to say to him, the Mandalorian rushed across the hull in two long strides and grabbed your shoulders forcefully, lifting you from your seated position and pushing you up against the wall. You exclaimed in surprise as a strong forearm came up to hold your chest in place, restricting the expansion of your lungs in a painful way. Your hands automatically scrabbled against his arms, trying to break his grip, but his hold was iron. He was leaning all his weight into you, crushing you into the wall, and even bracing your legs against his armored thighs didn’t budge him.

“Who sent you?” he yelled, his helmet inches from your face. The depth and rasp of his voice through the modulator made your stomach drop, and your fight instincts kicked into high gear.

Here’s the Mandalorian I was expecting.

Your upper arms were trapped against your sides, but you could lash out just enough to dig your fingers into his injured side, exploiting his weakness. He grunted and faltered, loosening his hold, and you took the chance to shove him off of you while pulling the long knife from your belt and whipping it up to his neck. At this same time, he recovered and yanked his blaster out of his holster to press the barrel into your stomach. His left hand had a vice-like hold on your bicep.

“No one! No one sent me!” you panted. Your right hand pressed your knife against the fabric at his throat, and your left gripped the back of his neck so he couldn’t move away from the blade. Your finger hovered over the activation switch on the hilt.

In this position, you had to tilt your head up to look into the t-shaped visor of his helmet. You tried to make out his eyes, but all you could see was your own reflection in the inky black surface. You were sweaty and out of breath. His breath was fast and loud through the modulator, chest heaving just inches from yours. This is not an opportune time to be turned on.

“Why were you following me this morning?” he demanded. So he had known.

“Why were you watching me in the cantina a few weeks ago?” you countered.

He tensed, surprised by the question, and cocked his head to the side, considering. “...You looked familiar,” he offered.

Maybe he really had recognized me from my bounty puck, like the bounty hunter in the alley today.

As you contemplated this possibility, the threat you each posed to the other became almost palpable.

He was worried that you were after him or the child—both of whom were clearly high-value targets. And if you had really run into him by chance and didn’t know that before, then you obviously knew how much they were both worth now. You could easily take advantage of that. You, on the other hand, suspected that he knew you yourself had a bounty on your head—and here you were, on his ship, mostly at his mercy. However, you’d say the stakes were higher for him. He had more than just himself to worry about. He clearly cared about whoever this child was.

“I wasn’t following you today. I wouldn’t have been so obvious if I was tracking you. Is that how you would follow a bounty? I was trying to talk to you,” you admitted.

He seemed unsure of whether or not he should believe you. His grip on your arm loosened almost imperceptibly. You reciprocated by easing the pressure of your hold on his neck.

Perhaps, the fact that you were both so vulnerable meant you could come to an understanding.

“Can we just talk? I’m not after you or the kid. I don’t even know why they’re after you. I saw you the other day in the cantina, and I was curious about why you were watching me, so I followed you to talk today. Then I got caught in the fray when I ran into you in the alley. That’s it. It sounds ridiculous, but that’s it. Let’s lower these and just talk.”

You hoped you could earn back the fragile trust you’d had between you just minutes ago on Nevarro, but you had no reason real reason to trust each other. It was clear that neither of you was used to trusting others.

Trust was a bad habit you’d had to unlearn to survive, and the same was true for bounty hunters. His was also a brutal, solitary profession.

But, there was also no explicit reason you had to be enemies.

He hesitated. “You first.” His voice rasped in the modulator.

You continued to hold him where he was, close to you, for another moment as you considered what to do. You didn’t want to hurt him, and it seemed like his instinct was to protect rather than attack.

You slowly released your grip on his neck and dropped your blade.

He lowered his blaster and replaced it in the holster at his side, still standing just inches from you. You knew that he was only open to this truce because there were several ways he could overpower you if he needed to. You hadn’t forgotten the fire that had erupted from his vambrace. He likely had a myriad of other deadly tricks up his sleeve—literally.

After a tense moment, you both stepped back.

“Why did you help me?” he asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Why did you help me?”

“I... don’t know. It made sense at the time.”

“Why’d you let me on your ship?”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill you,” he shrugged, like that was obvious.

“Well, I appreciate that,” you laughed. He cocked his head in surprise. The tension thawed slightly.

You sat down on opposite sides of the hull, a safe distance apart, watching each other warily.

“Are you Guild?”

“I’m not a hunter.” He seemed skeptical but didn’t press the issue.

You reached for your bag, and he tensed.

“Just getting water.” You yanked your water bottle out of your bag and drank.

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “What weapons do you have?”

“Blaster, knife, spare blaster. Not quite the arsenal you have,” you motioned to where his weapons closet was partially open, displaying an impressive array of firearms, explosives, and knives.

He nodded and explained, “Weapons are part of my religion.”

“Right,” you muttered, not really sure what that meant. You met his visor briefly then looked away again. Having his attention trained solely on you felt like sitting under a spotlight. And it wasn’t just the threat of danger that made you squirm.

You flicked your eyes back up to him when he shifted. You followed his movements as he pulled the blaster from his holster and stood to put it on its hook in the closet, then did the same with his rifle and vibroblade. He clicked a button on the wall, and the weapons closet clanged shut. You were still acutely aware that his whole body was a weapon, so this gesture of peace was largely symbolic.

Nonetheless, you responded in kind by placing your large vibroblade and both your blasters on a crate out of your reach.

You sat in awkward silence for a moment. You weren’t really sure if these empty gestures meant anything real... or were just that—empty. How likely was it that you were going to progress from strangers to two people who actually trusted each other in the confines of this tiny ship within the span of minutes? Not very.

“I’m going to use the refresher,” you announced. He nodded.

His searing gaze followed you the short distance to the door, and you suddenly forgot what you usually did with your arms when you walked.

It was a relief to close the door behind you and be alone for a moment. When you washed your hands, you noted the generous amount of the Mandalorian’s blood drying on your fingers, smeared there from when you made contact with his blaster injury. From the looks of it, his injury was worse than yours.

You scrubbed your hands clean and leaned down to splash water on your face, wiping away the sweat and dirt on your brow. Then, you rested your palms on the edge of the sink and took a few steadying breaths, studying your face in the small mirror before you.

I’ve been in tighter spots than this.

And this time, like every one of those other times, you steeled yourself and concentrated on the next immediate step you could take to improve your situation. You let your anxiety fall away as you narrowed your focus to a tangible action: treating your thigh wound. If you let yourself consider more than that, spiral in uncertainty and linger on every unknown and variable in this situation, you’d feel overwhelmed.

One step at a time.

When you returned to the hull, you opened your bag to pull out your med pack, sat back on your crate, and got to work cleaning the graze wound through the hole the blaster shot had left in your pants.

The Mandalorian reached into a container and pulled out his own much larger med pack. With precise movements, he removed his cape, his bandolier, and the top half of his armor. He turned away to pull up his shirt and inspect his wound. He was careful to stay angled in a way so you couldn’t see any of his exposed skin—you weren’t sure if he didn’t want you to know the extent of his injury or if he wasn’t allowed to reveal any of his skin to you.

From the way he was contorting awkwardly, it was clear that he was struggling to reach the extent of the wound.

“Do you want help?” you offered, knowing he’d refuse. You felt compelled to try anyways.

He snapped his helmet up to look at you, like he was surprised you were there. You waited for his answer. Several moments delayed, he jerked his head slightly, like he’d rediscovered a lost train of thought, and muttered: “I’m fine.”

You shrugged and finished tending to your own wound. When you had finished tying a clean bandage around your thigh, you noticed he was squeezing a tiny amount of bacta from an almost empty tube.

“Do you need this?” You held your full tube out to him.

He looked up. Again, he seemed to have forgotten you were there, or perhaps, was so caught off guard by your question, that his answer came after a long stretch of silence. It seemed like a weird reaction to such benign questions.

“Thank you,” he replied, dropping his shirt to walk toward you.

He reached for the bacta, but instead of taking the tube, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it hard. You cried out in pain as the bacta clattered to the floor. His free hand whipped behind his back to grab a pair of cuffs from his belt. Despite your struggling and flailing, he wrenched your arm over and cuffed your hand to a rung of the ladder that was just a few inches to your left.

You kicked out a foot to trip him, but he evaded it. You reached for him with your unrestrained hand, but he jumped back.

Shit. You cursed yourself for placing your weapons out of reach. The small blade strapped to your ankle wouldn’t be of much help at the moment. You let out a frustrated huff of anger. You were better than this, smarter than this.

“I’m sorry. I have to,” he insisted. He started to pace back and forth.

“You really don’t,” you argued, as you slouched against the wall in defeat. He’d cuffed you part way up the ladder, so your arm stretched uncomfortably above your head when you sank to the floor. You rubbed your free hand over your face, thinking.

“I can’t risk it,” he continued, almost apologetic in tone. He seemed to be convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He tilted his helmet down at you: “Nothing?”

“I mean, what’s the long term plan here?”

“I’ll leave you somewhere nearby—you can choose the planet—but I need to sleep before I can do anything else. And well...” he gestured vaguely to you then to the compartment where the kid was sleeping.

You watched him resume his circuit of the tiny hull and weighed your options. There weren’t many, and the fact that he was so worried about what you’d do to him or to the kid made you feel less threatened by him. He was spending his time thinking about how you might hurt him, not about how he could take advantage of you. At least, you hoped that was the case.

“I understand,” you relented, letting out a heavy sigh. At least he didn’t freeze me in carbonite.

He froze midstride to stare down at you.

As annoyed as you were by the restraints, you couldn’t really blame him. Honestly, you’d do the same exact thing if you were in his position. You’d already started thinking about the safest way to get some sleep in his presence—your next clear course of action—knowing that your temporary truce was fragile.

He regarded you silently, as if waiting for the catch.

“You could have just asked. I probably would have tried to talk you out of it, but I really do get it. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”

He stood, looking down at you, incredulous.

It was strange, but not unfamiliar, to have to read someone in full armor, to take all cues from body language and tone. And in the Mandalorian’s case, even his tone was somewhat obscured. You stared back up into his blank helmet but felt sure you were reading him pretty well.

You glanced up at the handcuffs and were comforted by the knowledge that you could pick the mechanism fairly easily with some combination of your small vibroblade, the bobby pin in your hair (which was only there for this express purpose), and—if it came to it—the underwire of your bra. You’d done it before.

He doesn’t need to know that.

It seemed like, as someone who regularly restrained people, he should assume you could pick locks, but you weren’t about to bring that to his attention. You were going to let him think you were completely at his mercy because clearly that’s what he needed to feel safe. Plus, you didn’t want him to resort to a more extreme means of restraining you.

“Could you at least cuff me to something so I can lie down?” You wiggled the arm that was stretched awkwardly over your head.

He tucked his thumbs into his belt and cocked his head as if trying to decide whether or not this was a trick. He sighed quietly though the modulator.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, striding forward to unlock the cuffs. You held your hands up in surrender. He led you toward a spot along the wall where a pipe ran a few inches off the floor and gestured for you to sit by it.

When he leaned over your body to snap the cuffs to the pipe, you caught a glimpse of his neck, where a sliver of skin was exposed between his cowl and his helmet. His skin was golden brown—definitely not green like the child, definitely human. It was less than an inch of skin, but you couldn’t help but feel that you’d witnessed something scandalous or intimate, like you’d accidentally walked in on someone changing. You also couldn’t help but notice that he smelled good under the faint odor of metal and blaster residue.

He wasn’t rough when he secured your hand in the cuffs this time.

Walking around the hull, he collected a ration pack and a thick blanket from two different crates and grabbed your water bottle from where you’d left it by your bag. He tossed the items to you one at a time.

Thoughtful.

He picked up your bacta from where it had fallen to the floor and sat back down to finish tending to his own wound.

You pulled the blanket under you so you weren’t sitting on the cold, hard floor of the ship and leaned back against the wall.

You opened the ration pack, picking at the contents, and considered the man before you.

You had a million questions for him but somehow couldn’t think of one thing to say. Nothing seemed particularly pressing as the stress and exertion of the day were beginning to catch up with you. He wasn’t a particularly chatty guy and didn’t seem interested in conversation beyond determining whether or not you were trying to abduct his child—and the jury was clearly still out on that front as far as he was concerned.

Eventually, he finished treating his wound and replaced his upper armor. He disappeared into the refresher for a few minutes then returned to what you had assumed was a storage bay, where he had placed the child. After shifting the child gently, he climbed—in full armor—into the smallest, most ridiculous bunk you’d ever seen before closing the door and disappearing from view. Doesn’t he have a room?

You finished the ration pack, kicked off your boots, and curled up in the blanket to lie down. You were grateful that your physical exhaustion was absolute. Otherwise, you were sure your mental chatter would have kept you awake. You needed rest before you could decide your next move. Telling yourself that you’d just doze, not sleep deeply, your eyelids drifted shut almost unwillingly.

***

The next morning, you woke to the Mandalorian leaning over you to release your wrist from the cuffs. You started at his unexpected closeness, jerking back, and he looked down. Clearly, you’d fallen into a deep sleep for several hours. Whoops.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You still weren’t used to that rich, raspy voice. Does it ever not sound seductive? It didn’t help that you could smell him again when he was leaned over you like that. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to move away.

“That’s okay.”

He stood, clipping the cuffs to the back of his belt. You sat up, leaning against the wall, and rubbed your eyes.

He sat on a crate across from you, with the baby on his lap, feeding him little pieces of something gross looking. The kid was perched happily on his knee, wiggling his giant ears in satisfaction as he chewed and watching you with unguarded interest.

“Who is that?” you asked.

The baby was alert and cheery, periodically letting out joyful little chirps, a marked difference from their subdued temperament the night before.

“He was a bounty,” the Mandalorian stated simply, as if that explained the whole situation.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his non-answer and didn’t respond. Obviously, there was more to the story, but he didn’t want to share it. That was fine. You didn’t owe each other anything (except maybe your lives, but in that regard, you figured you were even).

You watched the Mandalorian. He was sweet with the child—patient, too—but awkward and unsure. You didn’t have all that much experience with children either, but you knew holding a baby out in front of you with straight arms, as you’d seen him do for a moment yesterday, was not normal. He seemed caring and invested but inexperienced.

How long has he had this baby?

“I think we can help each other.” The Mandalorian spoke slowly, interrupting your train of thought.

This development surprised you, especially considering he’d made you sleep cuffed to a pipe.

From the moment you set eyes on the armored warrior, you had expected him to be cold, withholding: a lone wolf. In some ways, he was—the armor alone was enough to make him seem hostile and untouchable—but in other ways... He was almost... kind? He’d protected you, a stranger, without hesitation. The fact that he was caring for a wanted child was another piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.

“How’s that?” You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket in your hands.

You hadn’t had the chance to formulate a full plan for yourself, but you didn’t really need to. You’d do what you’d always done: disappear. You’d lay low for a few weeks, then return to one of the three places you had hidden supplies: namely, new identification and credits. And then you’d disappear again. Maybe change your hair. Find a temporary job somewhere. Same old routine.

“The same people are after both of us.”

You snapped your head up to look at him.

“They saw you holding the kid and board the Crest. They know you’re with me,” he continued.

The same set of questions played in your head: Did he recognize me as a bounty that day in the cantina? Or did he notice the moment when the bounty hunter had recognized me in the alley yesterday? Or does he really just think I’m caught up in this with him because of pure chance?

He took your silence as an invitation to proceed.

“I can drop you off on a nearby planet. We can go our separate ways, but I think they’ll be looking for you too. It might be best to stay together for the moment.” He spoke carefully, like he knew he was out on a limb, and he didn’t expect you to agree. This was the most you’d heard him say at once. When you really considered it, he was right. Based on they way the fight went down, with you and the Mandalorian protecting each other, everyone would conclude that you were a team. That’s how the word would spread. Hunters would come after you both. If they found you separately, they’d assumed you knew where the other one was.

Between bites, the kid let out the cutest, tiniest sneeze you’d ever heard. The Mandalorian wiped his nose gently with the edge of his cape, and the softness of the gesture made your heart squeeze. You looked away briefly to hide the smile on your face.

You turned back to him, expression neutral, meeting his inscrutable gaze once again. “We’d be harder to find if we went our separate ways. We could lead them in two different directions,” you reasoned, trying to parse out all the options.

“I... feel bad that they’d come after you for no other reason than you happened to run into me in an alley.”

Again, his thoughtfulness surprised you.

For now, it seems safe to assume he doesn’t know about my bounty.

And you weren’t ready to share that yet...even though you knew hiding it was unfair to him and to the child. They were both already at risk. If you decided to stay with him for the moment, you’d eventually need to admit that you were a liability all on your own.

Not yet though.

“What’s your plan?”

“Head somewhere deserted. Lay low for a couple weeks, then go from there.”

That’s what you would be doing alone anyways. He’d already proven his skill in battle. Would it be so bad to have someone looking out for you for once?

It would be a relief, if you were being totally honest with yourself.

“Okay,” you agreed hesitantly. “For now, this makes sense,” you gestured between you two.

He nodded once.

You posed the question that was plaguing you: “What made you change your mind about me? Why are you trusting me all of a sudden?”

“You stayed cuffed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. Apparently, it had been a test, and you had passed. I guess he was being smart, not underestimating me.

He seemed satisfied to leave the conversation there, but your curiosity got the better of you. You took the chance to build on this blossoming trust.

“So, does the helmet stay on all the time?”

He met your gaze for a moment before looking down at the kid and saying, “No living being has seen my face since I was a child. This is the way.”

Well, that’s super sad.

You thought back to the exchange between him and that huge blue Mandalorian. They’d both said the same thing then too.

Mandalorians have a catchphrase?

You wondered what this helmet rule meant in practice: for instance, does that mean he could be helmetless around someone if they couldn’t see his face... Like, were blindfolds or very dark rooms on the table? And what about the rest of the armor? Can he take that off? How bad should I feel that I’d seen a sliver of his neck? You wanted to know the answers to all these questions but obviously couldn’t ask.

Instead, you nodded and said, “What’s your name?”

“Mando is fine.” Impersonal. Business-like. It’s what Karga had called him.

His proposal to stay together for the time being had felt like an opening, but clearly peeling away all his layers of metaphorical armor would take a long time. He was so guarded, but it seemed like he didn’t really want to be. You related to that on a deep level.

“Mando?” You voiced the question that had popped into your head when Karga called him Mando the first time: “Isn’t Mandalorian spelled m-a-n-d-A-l-o-r-i-a-n?”

“...yes?” he confirmed tentatively, unsure of your point. His hand, which was in the process of feeding the child another bite, paused midair as he watched you. The kid made impatient whiny sounds and reached for his hand.

“So shouldn’t your nickname be Mand-a?”

He scoffed, making a sound somewhere between amusement and annoyance, and resumed feeding the child, who let out a contented coo as he chewed.

There was an awkward beat of silence while you waited for him to ask for your name. When he asked, you’d share your fake name, as always.

He didn’t ask.

***

Chapter 3

#my writing #tempered glass #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic #mature #the mandalorian reader insert #din djarin reader insert

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vtforpedro · 2 years

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health - TWs in tags please read them

I wish I could say I'm doing better. I was, actually, for a while after I got on this new med. finally felt a good bit of relief from the severity and was working on art like crazy, even tho I am noticeably going downhill in other areas? about two weeks ago the severity came back with a vengeance and I feel like my body is slowly giving up. not just me, but my body. I feel extremely unwell and off and like something is deeply wrong, which is how I felt at the beginning of all of this. scares me my symptoms are getting worse and I have new ones. living in actual hell right now and just want it to stop I finally got my 'urgent' MRIs done a couple of days ago and the reports came in last night. pm everything looks the same except one thing and that's 'minimal CSF flow [medical jargon for the back of my brain] decreased significantly and more conspicuous on this exam' in comparison to april 2021. when you have minimal spinal fluid flow in an area of your brain, you're typically symptomatic and I am. very. symptomatic lol scares me even more got an appt with the big specialist at the neuro hospital in 5 weeks but genuinely don't feel like I'm going to make it. I keep telling my mom I'm going to end up in the ER soon because of how bad it's getting I can barely walk without losing my balance, I'm losing muscle mass, having trouble swallowing, thinking clearly about anything at all, typoing and mixing up words constantly, mixing up my meds despite my pill box, not having much of a memory anymore. scared to take a shower, scared I'm going to fall or pass out daily so I try to carry my phone everywhere like idk falling apart physically and emotionally and still waiting to be taken more seriously. my neuro just wants to wipe his hands clean of me and send me off to the specialist but it's like my guy that's far away and I am suffering. I didn't think I would make it yesterday emotionally or physically lol I don't know how to keep doing this. I truly don't. I don't want to, I don't want to suffer and feel like I'm going to fall and die in pain and agony soon. I go to sleep afraid I won't wake up but lately I've been hoping that's the case because at least I won't be afraid or in pain. I feel alone. I feel like only my mom would care if I was gone. I feel like no one cares to hear about this anymore and would rather I just stop talking about it when I need support now more than ever I'm sorry to talk like this but it's how I feel. wondering if you are actively dying, going to die, should call the paramedics, go to the er, end things for yourself, all day long, every single day, is not only exhausting but it's not living I saw my pcp and she said I looked miserable, unwell, unhappy. she said it like three times and said she was sorry I felt so unwell. but because my labs were not off the charts abnormal it's just 'eh drink a little more water' and idk. I feel like I am telling these doctors serious, serious things about what's happening to me and none of them will ever care. none of them will ever lift a finger if it means they have to research or ask for help because it hurts their egos and people suffer for it I suffer. I wanted so badly to work on medical trauma with my therapist but the only thing we talk about is how severely my body has deteriorated each week and how I can barely handle it lol I obvs can't go to a hospital, the lights and sounds and meds and my health conditions would do me in lmao so she asks me what we can do to keep me here and I don't know anymore I'm sorry. I am in a lot of pain right now

#vtforpedro personal #mental health #very very poor mental health #idk if tumblr is still blocking things like this but yeah suicidal thoughts #poor physical health #personal #im sorry this is an awful post but I'm having an awful time haha 🙃

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ordonianhero · 3 years

Text

Above and Beyond

author’s notes: This is a complete one shot. please excuse grammar and spelling mistakes. this story turning out way differently then what I was expecting. The characters belong to jojo56830 Linked Universe. I am sorry I haven been writing much and Chapter four of my main story is on hold till I feel motivated to work on it. so for now I am working on short stories. Hope you enjoy this one. Feel free to take inspiration and do fan art of this if you wish.

Genre: Fluff- lots of fluff and comfort.

words: 2,805

Synopsis: They had been traveling for some time, the weather not letting up. Wild is running a cold. Everyone seemed tired and they needed shelter. Time’s own old injuries are acting up. So Twilight takes it upon himself to make sure they all get somewhere to settle down till the rain settles down and they can recharge.

Characters: EVERYONE

Above and Beyond

It was officially the first day of spring. The grass in the fields they crossed were lush and green. The trees just starting to blossom and gain back their leaves from the long winter days. little flowers bursting from the grounds. The sky was partly blue, with blankets of grey clouds of an upcoming spring storm. The birds were far more lively and chirping as they flew past the nine heroes as they wandered the land. However, despite it being spring, the cold air of winter still lingered. At night the temperatures would drop near to freezing, with frost caking the area. Then as the sun showed the warmth of the day would melt away the cold some. However the cold had seeped into the Older hero's bones. The aches were from old injuries he had gotten long ago.

Legend was being extra quiet. He didn't trust his words to lash out wrong. enough of the cold and hard ground. Their feet sludge through the mud as another bout of showers begin. Spring showers as they are often called. Legend held in his outwardly grumbling. Twilight's own hair stuck to his face, water droplets dripping to his eye. He looked over at the Smith who was not really covered, he removed his pelt and placed the hood and rest over them. Meanwhile the traveler wore a brown cloak. The Captain had used part of his cape to shield Wind from the rain. Wild had been friendly to share some of his hood to Sky. Even though he had his own hood, it wasn't doing much. as the Cub sneezed.

They at this time should find a place to say. From what Twilight could gage, this rain wasn't going to give up anytime soon. The sun teasingly shining through the clouds. The kept moving on with the Leader moving forward quietly. Every once in a while twilight caught him massaging a sore spot on his body. "This rain is really not letting up is it?" stated the Traveler. The rain drops bounced over a few flowers they passed. "They are spring showers." replied Twilight, the heavy rain now just letting up into a drizzle. "is it truly spring?" asked Wind as he peeked out from Warrior's cape. "It sure is. I remember the days working on my uncle's apple farm and dealing with such unexpected showers." Legend said very coldly.

They sloshing of their feet through the mud only made things even more dampening. The captain approached Twilight as they walked. "we should probably look for shelter. I doubt Time will want to. He seems determined to keep walking, but with each step, I am seeing him in pain." he spoke in a low whisper to the rancher. "I agree. I will offer to scout a head for shelter." he replied patting the Captain's soaked back. Twilight walked up to Time who's eyes were focused all about him. "We should find shelter. There's no point to trudge more in this weather. I can scout ahead if maybe to find us something." Time didn't reply. Twilight looked directly into their leader's eyes. They were filled with tiredness. The bags and dark circles gave part of that away. He then looked over at Twilight and nodded to him to do so.

Twilight nodded back as an understanding and took off ahead to go scout out ahead. "where is he going?" asked sky out of curiosity.

"Maybe he is abandoning us." Legend jokingly stated. Wild's eyes widen to that statement. "No he wouldn't." The young sailor's voice came.

"No. he is just scouting ahead." replied the captain, glaring at Legend.

"why didn't he ask anyone to go with him, it's not safe to go on their own." Replied Four.

"He can handle things on his own. I have seen him do so. Fear not." Came their leader's tired voice.

Wild then felt weak and begin to lean against Traveler. He let out another sneeze. Hyrule looked at his friend, he looked flushed. He was clearly sick. Oh Rancher, please find somewhere we can rest at.

-----

Once twilight was out of sight, he transformed into Wolf form. He could find places much faster that way. His paw sloshed as he went into full run and only stopping to sniff by old tracks of travelers from weeks ago. Which then lead it way west towards some forest. He stopped at the edge of the woods. Using his sense, he was able to calculate that they were not far from a traveler's cabin. He also used it to sense out if there was any enemies nearby. So far. none. Once he gathered all the information, he turned around and rushed back toward the group. Mud splashing against his fur coat.

The closer he got he transformed back and met up with the group.

"There's..." He was trying to catch his breath.

"whoa, looks our Rancher age is catching up with him." Legend laugh.

"Oh cut it out." Snapped Four.

The captain moved up to the front where Time and Twilight were. "find something then?"

Twilight shook the rain off him and then took a deep breath, "I was able to find a cabin. not far. I didn't see any enemies along the way."

"well that's good, wait- how close?" the Captain questioned.

"Oh, 'bout two miles away." replied Twilight.

"You ran, two miles." The sailor said surprised.

"I told you, I have faith in him." Time spoke giving the Captain a look. He reached over and ruffled Twilight's hair a bit.

The captain snorted. Twilight then eyed the rest of the group and spotted the Cub leaning against Hyrule. He looked bout ready to fall over. He rushed over to him and catches him. The group stopped. Twilight picked up the cub to carry him. Wild made a fuss to fight him on it. however he was too weak to do so. Goddesses you're stubborn. He walked over to Epona. Hyrule following behind him. Twilight Lifted the Cub onto her back, followed by himself. "Rest."

"I am not a baby..." Grumbled Wild.

"And you're in no condition to be traveling. You are not well." Twilight replied.

Wild let out a grumble and just rested against Twilight as they traveled on. Twilight own warm body helped combat the cold he felt throughout his own. Hyrule stayed close by Twilight.

-----

Once they had reached the cabin, they all sighed with relief. The rain had gotten to be coming down harder. Twilight hopped off Epona, Captain offered to take care of Epona as Twilight got Wild into the cabin. Four and Legend got a fire going. Twilight got Wild bundled up to keep him warm. Wild was about to grumble again. Sky helped set up Wild's bed roll. As Hyrule made up some herbal med to give to them. Wild was about to fight him on it till he gave in and took it. Wild could feel its effects as it relieved his aches. Twilight quickly got Wild into much drier garments and then let him fall to rest in his bed roll. some sleep would do him some good.

Everyone managed to get into much drier garments themselves. Time had even though known to not sleep much felt sleep take over him. He had fallen asleep himself. Hyrule was careful to not wake them as he went over and using some of his own healing magic, eased some of the old man's pains. Twilight looked about the room. Everyone looked grateful for the shelter as the rain pounded the roof. Sky found some wood to carve on, while four took to reading a bit. Wind was huddled up Warriors under a blanket. The fire was slowly getting the Cabin warm.

Twilight moved over to fill a kettle up and placed it over the fire to make some tea. Legend was sitting near Four. "So since the chef is sick, whose going to cook?" He asked.

The room stayed quiet. The sounds of those sleeping could be heard, mixed by the rain. "I will make a soup." Twilight replied. Anyone willing to help with the ingredients, much appreciated.

Sky stopped carving, "I can help."

"Me too." replied Four.

"Hyrule, you rest, okay." said Twilight, knowing the traveler need to recharge his magic.

"So what you going to make?" questioned Legend.

"Oh something I have learned from being around you all." Twilight winked.

"Oh this better not be something hyrule made up." Snorted Four.

"thee has little faith in me?" Chuckled twilight.

"Oh I trust you...just couldn't peg you for a cooker." replied four with a soft laugh.

"you'll be surprised." twilight said, as he grabbed out some potatoes, carrots, onion and celery. along with a big chunk of meat.

------

Sky helped peel the potatoes and cut them up in to cubes. Four was helping cut up the celery and carrots. while Legend was put to dicing up the onion. Twilight made work with cutting up the meat. Twilight filled a stew pot with water to let the water get to boiling. Legend as he cut the onion was fighting off the tears from cutting it. Which they all quietly chuckled. "aww so you do have feelings." Sky joked.

"shut it bird boy. someone had to cry at the travesty of this meal being done by the rancher." jest Legend.

"or I could of just let you starved." said twilight sprinkling herbs into the stew pot as the meat went in. Followed by him putting the cut potatoes, carrots and celery. He took the onion and tossed it in.

"you wouldn't?" smirked legend as he took everyone stuff to clean up.

"could be worst." Four replied.

"whats worst then-ooooooh. yeah that is worst." sky suddenly remembering about the goron spice.

Twilight finished stirring things up, letting it simmer.

Sky then poured them each a cup of warm herbal tea. which warmed their souls. The rain still falling. Daylight fading.

Legend sat beside Twilight. "So what kind of stew are you making anyways? It seems familiar the ingredients."

Twilight softly smiled softly and bumps Legend gently, "something to feel like home."

----

The Nice warm hearth with a stew simmering nicely. The Smell was beginning to fill the cabin. Twilight checking it once in a while and adding more seasonings if needed. Legend took to reading some, while Four worked taking care of everyone's weapons. Sky was plucking gently at his harp. Twilight looked over and seeing a solemn look across his face. Twilight moved over closer to him. "Missing your gal hu?"

"Am I that really that easy to read? You and Time seem to be the two who pick up on that." Sky looked up at Twilight.

"Hm, cause love is easy to spot and the missing of those we care about is easy to spot." smiled Twilight. He saw Time slowly waking up as well.

Sky plinked one last note before setting his harp down. "It's like before when I was searching for her. I was always one step behind to reaching her."

"Hm. That's got to be saddening." responded Twilight.

Time filled his mug with tea and sat by them on a stool. Hyrule also slowly woke up from his own rest, as he slept beside Wild. Warriors, snorted his self awake, not realizing he had fallen asleep. Which gain a chuckle from the Veteran.

Sky blushed a bit. "It's stupid."

"Nah, being in love isn't stupid. It can be amazing, painful and hard sometimes. But when you are that bonded with someone-its magical." Smiled twilight. He went back to the stew to check on it. Taking a sip of the broth.

"Oh, well aren't you a romantic." teased the Captain.

Twilight sputtered at that statement, burning his tongue a bit on the broth. Time just let out a soft chuckle.

"Excuse you, At least I know what being romantic is. versus whatever garbage you try." jeered back with a smirk at the captain.

"Yet you were the one with your heart shattered." the Captain threw back.

"Oh, oh we going there? be very careful what you say, or I may just put something special in your own food." replied twilight.

"Hey. question." their attention was pulled by wind speaking up. he let out a yawn as they all stayed quiet. "why Do you and captain always banter like this? do you have like something against each other?"

"Not at all, it's all out of fun. never intended to hurt each other. It's like a older younger sibling rivalry." Explained Twilight. Warriors nodded in agreement.

"So, like when my sister gets annoying like banter?" asked Wind innocently.

"nah, that would be the Veteran and pretty boy." Chuckled Twilight.

"Oi! No. We just pick on each other like a pair of old friends who attempt to one up each other." Legend replied.

Twilight went back to the stew and snorted.

"I am actually use to this style of talking sometimes. Back when I lead. The men and I would banter in our sparing practices." The captain explained to wind.

"would you like to lead then." Time joking stated. "cause you said 'Use to.' " his arms crossed and a smirk across his face.

"and put up with his left right march- how about no." Teased legend.

"any time old man. Any time." Captain stated with a smirk back.

----

Once the Stew was finished, Twilight filled their bowls. He then went over and got Wilds own bowl and filled it. He then gently Woke them up. Wild let out a grumble, then woke. He then smelt the stew, He looked at it and then back at twilight who was giving him a soft smile. He saw everyone Smiling at the having something to warm the belly. He slowly sat up and took the bowl. "you cooked this?" he asked quietly.

"its editable, trust me." smirked Twilight.

Twilight sat beside Wild. Wild leaned against Twilight and took a sip of broth. The flavor was so rich and full of flavor. His mind flashed to something he had made back when he was home in his own hyrule. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he at the stew. Nobody had noticed it except Twilight who had finished his own bowl.

"it remind me of home." wild hoarsely said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Everyone looked at Wild. Twilight gently rubbed his back. "It's something I learned from Legend, I am sure it something you picked up in your land too. I felt it was the best thing to make."

"Wait, you knew how to make my Uncles stew?" Legend stated in shock. "That's why I recognized this."

Twilight blushed. "well yeah."

"Can I have more?" asked wind.

"Is it better then Grandma's soup then." teased Captain.

"No, but its homey." Wind said, getting a second helping.

Everyone chuckled a bit. Wild finished his bowl and sleepily curled up into Twilight. Like a smile child when sick, all they want is to be comforted. Twilight just wrapped an arm and held him.

"Well since Twilight did most of the cooking, I think its best we help do the clean up." Time spoke up. The captain agreed. Time came over and picked up both Twilight's and wilds empty bowls. He gave Twilight a soft smile to the pup and Cub. Everyone seem to help out with clean up. along with making the fire more.

---

More Tea was made as bed rolls were set up. Hyrule made sure to give Wild more herbal med to help fight the cold he had clearly developed. Captain had gotten to telling a story at some point. Everyone was in such a chipper mood. As their night was starting to settle in for the night. Wild had drifted off back to sleep, bundled up in his bed roll and Twilight's pelt. Time pulled Twilight away. Twilight caring side often could get in the way of him getting actually sleep.

Twilight’s bed roll was set beside Time's. Captain put on last log to keep the fire going for the night. Before settling beside Wind. Time poured a sleep potion and gave Twilight it. "Here."

"I-"

Time just gave him a look and Twilight slouched and took it in his hand. Threw it back and scrunched up his face. Letting out a grunt of disgust. Time chuckled. Taking a bit himself. Twilight could instantly feel the effects of it in his body. He couldn't fight it any longer as he laid down in his bead roll. His eye closing, his body going into a resting state. Time just smiled and brushed a bit of Twilight's hair aside. "I am so proud of you. So proud of you."

He leaned over and gently kissed the top of Twilight’s forehead.

"my son."

-fin.

#Linked Universe #linked universe fanfic #lu time #lu twilight #lu four #lu wild #lu legend #lu warriors #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu wind #linked universe fan content

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apolloloki97 · 3 years

Text

“Still Family” Mickey Milkovich x Ian Gallagher

IMAGE CREDIT: Cliff Lipson/SHOWTIME

Summary: After Mickey is released from prison, Ian is still with Trevor. However, when Ian has a full meltdown and refuses to take his meds, Lip makes a call and gets Mickey to help sort out his younger brother. How will Trevor react to meeting the man that Ian once devoted his life to? ---- Or when Ian won't take his meds and Mickey shows up to get his ass in line.

Word Count: 2558

Warning: Bipolar, Swearing, Violence

Song I Wrote To: “I Don’t Like You” by Grace Vanderwaal

Note: I had this idea and couldn't get it out of my mind. I am a massive sucker for outside POV Gallavich so I hope you enjoy it! I have a lot of Gallavich ideas and I'm just going to keep posting them whenever I have time!

-------

Ian had been going through a lot since his diagnosis.

Well, a lot was an understanding when it came to the Gallagher house. His older and younger siblings tried to do everything they could to help Ian with his bipolar episodes, but it wasn’t always so simple.

Fiona wanted to get Ian back into the hospital, but Lip was against it, afraid it would only make things worse. Debbie was blaming herself for not keeping a better eye on her big brother while Carl and Liam were a bit clueless when it came to their brother’s illness.

Then, there was Ian’s boyfriend, Trevor. Trevor was used to dealing with a lot of chaotic things with his job as a social worker, but Ian Gallagher was as chaotic as it came and not just because of his illness. Ian’s life was an entire circus in itself. However, he had come to really care about the ringmaster and the many acts that floated in and out of 2119 South Wallace. Still, there were still things that Trevor was finding out about his boyfriend and especially his boyfriend’s past.

Mickey Milkovich was the largest part of Ian that Trevor had yet to understand.

He knew a few things about the Southsider, but nobody seemed to want to talk about the man, especially around Ian. Trevor knew that Mickey had been someone incredibly important to Ian, especially during the beginning phase of his illness. Trevor had been surprised to hear that it was Mickey who had convinced Ian to seek treatment after the latter had run off with the former’s baby.

Around the Gallagher house, Milkovich seemed to be some sort of Saint in ways. When Ian wasn’t around, Trevor heard Fiona and Debbie talking about the ex-boyfriend as if he was still a constant fixture in their lives. Carl would make comments about how much he missed the gun-toting asshole and even Liam would mention Mickey and Mickey’s sister, Mandy, and how much he missed them when the bullies were getting more relentless at school.

Lip was one of the only ones that tried to not speak about Ian’s former flame around Trevor, but even the eldest Gallagher brother slipped up at times. It was actually from Lip that Trevor learned the most about the tatted thug. One evening, Lip had let it slip how Milkovich had come out after his son’s christening. Trevor was shocked to hear how public he had made it but was not surprised to hear how his homophobic father had reacted. Even if you weren’t from the Southside, everyone knew Terry Milkovich and how much of an asshole he was.

Still, it remained a surprise every time Trevor learned something new about Mickey. The latest was that he was recently released from prison and was out on parole. Trevor and Ian had found out a few days before when Mickey’s parole officer had shown up at the house to speak to Ian about Mickey’s former work ethic at the Kash and Grab. Trevor had never seen Ian’s eyes light up the way they did when he spoke about Milkovich. Even when he was just describing how Mickey would help stop the neighborhood kids from stealing Snickers bars, it looked as if Ian was talking about a work of art rather than a street thug.

Trevor was worried that Ian would break down again after the return of Mickey, but he seemed to be taking it rather well. Well, that is until a panic attack had taken over earlier in the evening and Ian had collapsed onto the floor, shaking and gasping for breath.

As soon as it happened, Trevor had yelled for Fiona. Ian was laying in the middle of the hallway, his eyes wide and his hands clawing at the scuffed-up floor. When Trevor had tried to help him up, Ian had shoved away from him, not wanting to be touched.

"Did he take his meds?” Fiona asked. Trevor just shook his head because he didn’t know. Ian had been doing well with his EMT job and he thought that he had been taking the necessary stabilizers for his illness, but Trevor couldn’t be sure.

“He hasn’t taken them for three days,” Debbie announced as she came out of the bathroom holding the orange bottles. “I counted them.”

“Dammit, Ian,” Fiona sighed as she tried to reach for her brother. Ian, however, wanted nothing to do with his siblings.

“No! No!” Ian said, backing up from them, pressing himself into the wall behind him.

“Ian, come on,” Fiona said softly.

“Don’t touch me!” Ian yelled back, raising his hands in front of his face in a warning.

“Fi,” Lip said from the other end of the hall. The eldest Gallagher sister looked at him and Lip gestured for everyone to go downstairs. Exiting into the living room, Carl remained at the top of the stairs just so he could see Ian and make sure the ginger didn’t throw himself off the second-story railing. “This is just like that time at the lake,” Lip said.

“What time?” Trevor asked as he glanced up at the second floor.

“It was last year,” Lip said. “Something set him off and Ian went into full shutdown mode. He wasn’t taking his meds and then he just...snapped. He wouldn’t let any of us touch him.”

“What did you do?” Trevor asked and then everyone in the room went silent as the sibling looked at each other. “Guys?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Liam said. “Mickey did.”

“Mickey Milkovich?” Trevor asked and Liam nodded.

“He was the only one who would calm him down,” Debbie explained. “Dammit, I should have noticed that he was starting to spiral.”

“It’s not your fault, Debs,” Lip said, offering his sister a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Well, what did Mickey do that was different?” Trevor asked. “Can’t we just do that?”

“It wasn’t what he did,” Fiona said. “It was because…” she trailed off.

“It was because he’s fucking Mickey,” Carl piped up from above them.

“Maybe we should call him,” Liam offered. “Maybe he could talk to Ian?”

“I already texted him,” Lip said with a sigh.

“You what?” Trevor asked, struck.

“I texted him SOS as soon as I heard Ian yell the first time. He’s on his way,” Lip said. Trevor sighed, collapsing into the armchair in the corner.

“Just like that?” Trevor asked as his hand played with the charm around his neck. Liam just shrugged.

“It’s Ian,” Liam said as if it was obvious.

The yelling upstairs continued and Carl cringed every time he saw his brother throw himself to the ground or grapple for some invisible thread to hold onto. Fiona was pacing as she waited for Mickey to show up. Debbie was holding the pill bottles, staring at them as if they had personally offended her. Trevor hadn’t seen the Gallaghers this rattled before. He also had never seen them so determined to let one of Ian’s ex-boyfriends become the savior of the day.

It was only another ten minutes or so before the front door opened and Fiona stopped pacing. Trevor looked up just as a dark-haired, tattooed, and clearly annoyed man walked in. “Alright, I’m here. What he do now? Steal another fucking baby? Rob a bank?” Mickey asked as he faced the Gallaghers. His eyes landed on Trevor for a second before looking at Fiona.

“He didn’t take his meds,” Debbie said, approaching Mickey with the bottles. Mickey frowned at her as he scratched at his temple with his thumbnail.

“He’s in full-blown shutdown, Mick,” Fiona said. “We can’t touch him and he’s not responding.”

“Ah, so like that fucking time at the lake,” Mickey remembered. Lip nodded and Mickey sighed before glancing up at the second floor as he heard Ian cry out for the first time. Trevor didn’t miss the way Mickey flinched as he heard Ian struggling. There was almost a desperate look at him as he stared upstairs. However, it was gone after a second as Mickey turned back to the Gallaghers. “Did you hold him down and shove the pulls down his throat like you do with a fuckin’ dog?” Mickey asked, slipping back into his usual demeanor.

“No,” Debbie said. “He won’t let us touch him, remember?” Mickey groaned as he snatched the bottles out of Debbie’s hands.

“Fucking Gallaghers,” Mickey said as he trudged up the stairs, passing Carl with a quick ruffle of his hair. Carl didn’t seem to mind as Milkovich moved past him and into the hallway. “Ian Gallagher!” Mickey sang as he disappeared up the stairs.

Trevor and the Gallaghers didn’t move as they listened to what was going on upstairs. Carl had snuck back down the steps to give the men upstairs some privacy, but it didn’t do much considering how loud they were being. Suddenly, there was a loud crash as if someone had been slammed into the wall. The sound of pill bottles crashing to the ground littered the air. “Fuck! Ian, come here!” Mickey yelled.

“What the fuck, Mick!” Ian answered and Trevor was glad to hear him speak rather than just yelling or crying. There were more sounds of fighting before Mickey grunted in pain.

“You son of a bitch!” Mickey shouted. “You’re just fucking lucky I didn’t bring Svet as back up, you fucking carrot top. Stay still!”

“Who’s Svet?” Trevor asked as another banged reverberated from upstairs.

“Mickey’s Russian hooker, ex-wife. Baby momma to his kid,” Lip explained. Trevor didn’t have the opportunity to respond to that when suddenly Mickey shouted again.

“You bite me and I will not hesitate to do it back!” Mickey yelled. “Don’t fucking test me, Gallagher. I know where Carl keeps his handcuffs, fucker!” Another loud crash and Ian grunted in pain.

“Where did you learn to do that!” Ian shouted.

“Cell Block D, bitch! Stay still!” Mickey yelled and then Trevor could hear the sound of pills being scattered on the floor. Debbie was sitting across from him on the floor, rubbing at her temples. “Ian!”

“This is not going well,” Liam said.

“Just give him a second,” Lip said, wringing his hands. Fiona was in the same position as she stared up the stairs, trying to see what was happening. Trevor jumped then as Ian shouted something that clearly wasn't English.

“Where the fuck did you learn Ukrainian?” Mickey said which only made Fiona look at Lip in complete confusion.

“Don’t look at me,” Lip said. “That motherfucker reads too much.”

After a few more minutes of banging and crashing, it was silent. Ian was still grunting, but it sounded more muffled as if someone was covering his mouth. “Ow! Shit!” Mickey suddenly exclaimed. “I fucking warned you, dick!” Ian then cried out in pain after that and then the house shook as if someone had been thrown to the ground again. “Open up now before I break your fucking jaw,” Mickey was said. “Then your EMT ass is gonna have to go all 911 on your own fucking face.”

“Fuck you!” Ian shouted and Fiona slid to the floor, trying not to let the yelling get to her, but it was too late.

“Fuck, Ian, I don’t care if you fucking snort them, just take the goddamn pills so I can go meet my fucking dick of a PO,” Mickey said. “Do you want Debbie to feel like shit for the rest of the day, huh? What about Liam? He’s fucking worried about you, you psycho. Lip had to call me, me, because you wouldn’t let anyone put their goddamn hands on you!”

“Don’t touch me!” Ian said, but it sounded a little less hostile than before and Trevor could tell Ian was getting tired.

“I think we are well past that, asshole,” Mickey said. “You may be mister Army, but I can still fucking take you especially when you’re acting like this. Now, do I gotta go get Iggy and Colin to hold you down so I can shove these down your throat, or are you going to cooperate?”

Trevor looked at Debbie for answers. “Mickey’s brothers,” she explained and Trevor nodded. It was quiet for a moment then, no scuffling, no swearing, just silence. Nobody moved and nobody spoke as they waited for the fighting to start up again.

Eventually, Mickey spoke again. “See, was that so fucking hard?” Mickey said and then it was quiet and everyone strained their ears to listen, but all they could hear was a faint whisper coming from Ian. Mickey then laughed and groaned as he got to his feet, his work boots knocking into the baseboards. “Nah, fuck you, bitch,” Mickey said with a lighthearted chuckle. It was another moment before Mickey jogged back down the stairs, fresh blood blooming from his hand and his face. “Mission accomplished, motherfuckers,” he announced, shaking off some pain in his arm.

“What happened?” Carl asked, gesturing to the blood on Mickey’s hand.

“Oh, bastard bit me,” Mickey said, showing Carl the half-moon wound on his hand. Mickey shrugged, not surprised by the act as Trevor clearly was.

“Did you bite him back?” Debbie asked.

“I fuckin’ warned him,” Mickey said with a nod. Mickey then looked at Trevor. “Who’s this? Another new half-sibling I’ll have to lock in a fuckin’ shipping crate?”

“This is Trevor,” Liam said. “Ian’s boyfriend.” Trevor gave him a quick wave. Mickey just chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second before nodding.

“Right, well good luck,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He took his meds, but I hit him pretty hard. Gonna need something for the headache,” he said to Fiona as he passed her. Fiona reached out and stopped him before he could leave.

“Thank you, Mickey,” she said.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, but his tone was soft.

“I mean it,” she said as she looked at him and he could see the worry in her eyes. Fiona always put too much pressure on herself and Mickey had always seen it because he understood. He, too, had spent his childhood looking after his siblings. Always having to make sure Colin and Iggy didn’t get arrested and of course, protecting Mandy from Terry. With a sigh, he pulled her in for a hug. Fiona didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him and tuck her chin against his shoulder.

Mickey wasn’t a hugger except when it came to the damn Gallaghers, and he sometimes needed it more than they did. Mickey then pressed a kiss to her cheek before stepping out of her embrace. “Hey,” he said, getting her attention, “you’re still family to me. No matter what.”

Fiona smiled then. “Family,” she agreed.

“Alright, enough of this soft shit,” Mickey said. “Later Gallaghers!” Mickey moved past Fiona and rubbed Liam’s head before grabbing Lip’s hand as the latter thanked Milkovich. Mickey played it off, but he knew Lip was being sincere.

As soon as the door slammed behind him, Fiona ran upstairs to go help Ian. Trevor, who had been watching the entire thing with a whole lot of questions could only think of one thing to say. “So, that was Mickey,” he said. All the Gallaghers nodded.

“That was Mickey,” they chorused as the circus finally closed its curtains.

#mickey milkovich #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #ian and mickey #bipolar ii #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfiction #shameless fics #trevor #gallaghers #ian x mickey

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nneogram · 4 years

Text

think about it — part one. get laid!

pairing: jaehyun x reader (f)

genre: enemies to lovers!au, college!au, fluff

word count: 8.4k

warnings: language, mentions of sex but not really (oc keeps being told to get laid “emotionally” idk), jungwoo gets scolded about the importance of consent, jungwoo’s in a frat but not really but yes really, quick reminiscent phone call w/ bestie jungkook, oc has unhealthy studying habits but dw it gradually gets better from here

a/n: i’ll say it for all of us - FINALLY, an update on here. this is result of my own college shenanigans, stories from my friends, and far too many fantasies whilst in quarantine. jeni needs to lay off the k-dramas, sheesh. i’d also like to note that this is unedited! there may be a few grammar/spelling mistakes.

▸ playlist (to be linked later)

Your roommate claims that you need to, in the simplest terms, “Get laid.” You are vehemently against this proposal, despite her insistence and clarification.

“Emotionally. You need to get laid emotionally, Y/N,” Megan whines. That’s all she can do from where she is sitting, tucked safely away beneath the blankets on her bed. It’s cocoon-like, she’s explained to you before, “like being in the womb.” Safe. Secure. Warm. You think that if that was her cocoon, then Megan would emerge a butterfly. If you were in her place? You would emerge a moth.

“I don’t think any getting laid needs to be done, regardless of if it’s emotional or not.” You take another flashcard from your prepared deck. Strong Acids. HCl, HBr, HI… HClO4? A hiss leaves your lips when you flip the card over to see the answer. You were missing two more acids. You reluctantly place the card into the pile to review again, which sat next to a much smaller pile of correct cards. The goal for the morning was to move all the cards in the “wrong” pile to the “right” pile, but considering the size difference of the two stacks, that goal would not be achieved.

Megan’s sigh pulls you from your focus. “Dude. Do you see yourself right now? I don’t think I’ve seen you doing anything other than studying for the past two weeks. I’m going to ace this chem midterm and I’m not even in chem. I’m not even a STEM major.”

You frown. “Sorry. Was I being too loud? I can go-”

“No, don’t worry about me. This is about you. I’m concerned for you - you’ve been cooped up more these two weeks than you were in the entirety of fall quarter. Have you taken a break recently?”

“I slept for eight hours straight, I think that’s a good enough break?”

“No, like a real break. Away from studies and school and just doing something… I dunno, fun?”

You shake your head. The past few weeks had been nothing but relentless studying. In an effort to maintain your pristine GPA, you shoved aside what little downtime you allotted yourself in fall quarter to focus on school. It was the least you could do, considering that you were on track to apply to medical school at the end of your undergraduate career. You were only in your first year, so all of the other requirements for med school - clinic, shadowing, research, the works - were inapplicable for the time being. There wasn’t much to get you ahead other than your 4.0.

Megan knows this, but she also knows that you have little to no social life outside of the bare minimum. It’s an unspoken truth that the two of you being assigned as roommates was a blessing in disguise: your studious tendencies help motivate Megan to stay on task while Megan’s more laidback nature reminds you to take a breather sometimes.

This was one of those times.

“I’m telling you,” Megan crawls over to the edge of her bed to get closer, “You should relax a bit. Just a teeny, tiny bit. Have some fun, live out your first year of college! Make some art, go to the gym, I dunno, step out of your comfort zone. Get laid!”

“You say that last one as if talking from experience,” you tease.

What was the charge on sulfide again? Fuck, it was two minus. Another card goes into the “wrong” pile.

Megan scoffs. “Please. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and that was in middle school. The most we did was hold hands. Besides, we don’t need men… I just want one.” She mumbles this last part as an afterthought before returning her focus to you. “I think getting a boyfriend would be a great distraction for you.”

You gawk at your roommate, eyes flitting from her to your toppling stack of incorrectly answered cards and back to her. “Do you see this? I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“No, no, I - fuck. I got that all wrong, didn’t I.” Megan facepalms. “What I mean is maybe you should befriend some people, or find some kind of emotional outlet. As much as I pride myself on being your source of positivity, I’m not around all the time to tell you to take a break and relax. You tend to be hard on yourself, y’know?”

Your gaze once again travels to your flashcards, their amount of use prominent in the worn-down corners and smudged ink. “I guess…”

There’s a smile of satisfaction on Megan’s face. “Think about it,” she concludes, then crawls back to her cocoon of blankets to take a nap.

The gloom of the rainy weather hits most forcefully in January. With the merriment of the holiday season behind you, it seems there is nothing ahead but cold, and rain, and emptiness. Only so many mugs of hot chocolate could keep your heart warm, and it wasn’t even the good type of hot chocolate - it was the powdery stuff that you mixed in with your lukewarm water because the water kettle you brought with you to the dorm was buggy and never fully heated up a pot of water.

Yeah, you could buy yourself a cup of cocoa from the coffee shop on campus, but as the college kid stereotype proved, you were broke. So you settle for your half-assed attempt at a comfort drink, taking extra effort to stir the dregs that tend to settle at the bottom of your styrofoam cup.

“So you need to get laid?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the phone.

You sigh. For getting into one of the most prestigious universities in the country, Jungkook lacked the ability to draw proper conclusions from given information. He clearly hadn’t paid attention to your five minute spiel on your deteriorating motivation for life and your roommate’s unusual suggestion. “No,” you begin slowly, because if you didn’t control yourself you were going to get annoyed quickly, “I do not need to get laid.”

It’s dusk, around that time of the evening where the world slows down as the sky is painted a myriad of pinks, purples, and oranges. Even in January the sunsets in your college town never failed to astonish you. However, it’s also the time of the day when loneliness hits you most, and for a fraction of a moment you get homesick and usually end up calling someone from home. In this case, you end up contacting a close friend - though you’re beginning to question Jungkook’s title as a close friend, considering he completely missed the point of your rant.

“Well it sure sounds like it,” Jungkook refutes. There’s a loud crunching noise on the other end of the call, and you have to bring the phone away from your ear as the crackling continues. You know for a fact that Jungkook has bitten into a chip, most likely the barbecue ones he always had on hand. The audacity to snack on junk food in the middle of a conversation about your existential crisis - you sometimes wonder how you and Jungkook became friends in high school.

Then again, you were on the other end slurping the remnants of your hot cocoa. Maybe there was something going for the two of you.

“Think about it.” You’re reminded of that afternoon when Megan said the exact same thing. “You’re unmotivated. Why? Because you’re lonely. How do we fix that? You need to get laid-”

“-Emotionally. Emotionally laid-”

“-Yeah yeah, same difference. They go hand in hand,” Jungkook brushes off. “The point still stands. When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

You hesitate to answer. “I’ve never been in a relationship,” you mumble.

“I couldn’t hear you. What?”

“I said I’ve never been in a relationship,” you repeat with a sigh.

There’s a beat of silence. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head, momentarily forgetting this is a phone call and not an in-person conversation where Jungkook can see you. Students begin to flood the sidewalks outside of the dorms, likely the last wave of students returning for their later classes. A girl - Megan, you realize after squinting - waves at you from across the street. You wave back, gesturing to her that you’re on a call. She nods and goes on her way to the dorm.

You return your focus to the call. “No, not kidding.”

“I’m taking that lapse of silence as you actually having to think about it.” You roll your eyes, another gesture that Jungkook cannot see. “How? You’re telling me all four years of high school you never got with someone? Not even a fling? Not even that weird ‘talking’ phase kids do these days? What have you been doing all this time?”

Your mind immediately goes back to your high school graduation. “Valedictorian, weighted GPA of 4.8, Y/N Y/L/N, attending…” You remember the smile on your face as the principal handed you your diploma. You remember the smiles on your parents’ faces, the pride and joy in their eyes. That was when you knew it had all been worth it - no one but you, your parents, and your own pure ambition fueling your fire for the four years of high school.

Maybe the closest you got to any sort of romantic relationship was… with Jungkook.

You liked Jungkook before your brain could fully process it, denying it as platonic affection for the better half of three years as he took you under his wing your freshman year. It was comforting to have someone older than you help you navigate high school, but as much as you tried you could not view Jungkook as an older brother as he so claimed to be.

Of course, nothing was ever to happen. Jeon Jungkook was a boy entirely out of your league - star student, star athlete, poster child for all things good and right in the world - but most importantly, he was your closest friend. It was this label that helped set a boundary for your affections, and your crush became more of a pastime to delve into when you wanted a break from your studies. A fantasy that would never come true.

It wasn’t until he moved away for college your senior year that your crush subsided, hitting you like some sort of epiphany when he returned for his winter break. You had been beyond elated to reunite with your friend, but when you looked in his eyes it dawned on you that the weight of his words and actions no longer affected you as much as they did in the past.

That was your only stint with romance, and you were fine with it staying that way. Yeah, it was a fruitless endeavor, but look what you got out of it: a great friend! And only at the price of three years of unnecessary emotional turmoil and relentless unrequited pining. What a bargain.

“I’ve been busy with school, mainly.” It’s an insufficient summation of your high school experience, but it got the point across. Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of you and all - and I respect your decision to be single! Human rights and all that - but maybe it’s time for you to get into a relationship.”

You snap your fingers loudly enough to startle a group of guys walking past. You hope the grimace on your face is enough of an apology. “Oh my God, thanks Jungkook! Now that you mention it, let me just hit up one of the many young eligible bachelors pining over me, because there are so many right now.”

The feigned enthusiasm in your voice does not entertain Jungkook as much as you would have liked it to. “I’m sure there are, Y/N. There were plenty in high school.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” The playful smile you sport falls from your lips as he proceeds to dive into a list of names.

“The one guy with the yellow hair… Yugyeom thought you were cute… Oh, Taehyung liked you too-”

“-Taehyung?” You gawk. “The Kim Taehyung. The guy two years older than you, editor of the yearbook and captain of the lacrosse team? The Kim Taehyung who was Prom King. Him?” It’s difficult to process a senior that you had regarded so highly had taken interest in you in your lowly freshman year.

“Yeah, I know, right? I told him he was out of your league-”

“-Hey!”

“-But I said that out of jealousy. Heck, even I liked you at some point, Y/N. You’re quite a catch, just super oblivious.”

The reminder of your phone call with Jungkook consists of your disbelieving laughs and Jungkook’s reassurances that yes, that many people liked you in high school.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people interested in you. You just have to see it for yourself first.” Oddly prophetic for someone who claims he could survive solely off of energy drinks and barbecue chips, but considering he was studying at an Ivy League, he had to have some credibility. You end the phone call possibly more confused than you had been before the conversation. Swirling the contents of your cup absentmindedly, you realize you’ve drunk all of your hot cocoa. All that is left at the bottom of your cup are the clumps of cocoa powder that hadn’t been properly stirred. The dregs. Of course.

You relay your findings to Megan the next day over a lunch of poorly cooked rice and under seasoned chicken. “Food crafted by the gods to remind us of our inferiority,” as Megan liked to call it.

She claps her hands like a seal. “So I was right!” She cheers over a mouthful of food. “You need to get laid!”

You’re a bit too late to cover her mouth, her ambiguous words now out in the open for others nearby to hear and assume the wrong thing. Glancing around, you’re relieved to find that no one seemed to notice, save for one boy at a nearby table surrounded by some of his friends. He gives you a look but you refrain from making eye contact.

“I feel like you and I heard different stories just now.” You keep your voice down. “Meg, I just found out my high school crush - debatably, my first love - liked me at some point when I liked him. Do you know how big that is?”

“Do you know how big that isn’t?” Megan shoots back. “Because nothing came out of it. You never acted on your feelings. And something tells me that even if this John Cook-”

“-His name is Jungkook, but okay-”

“-Even if he had acted on his feelings, you would never believe it.” Ouch. She really went for your lack of self-esteem right there, and that shit hurted. Regardless, she’s right, and you both know it.

“You know when we say this, we’re not trying to force you into anything you don’t want to do,” Megan clarifies. “I’m not saying you should get dicked down by the first guy who gives you attention, but wouldn’t it be nice to let someone - someone who genuinely cares for you - to let them into that dark and twisty mind of yours? God knows what’s going on up there.” She gestures to your forehead with her spoon.

Brushing aside Megan’s crude wording near the beginning, you’re at a loss for words. Unsure of how to respond, you mumble, “But there’s no one like that in my life. Other than you, that is.”

“Because you never let anyone close enough to truly know you. Just…” she pops another spoonful of rice into her mouth, “Just think about it.”

D-1 until your midterm. Nomenclature and ionic charges are now extremely familiar to you, having taken the spot from Megan as Number One Friend. And yet, you still haven’t successfully completed your flashcards.

Strong Acids. You suck in a deep breath, swerving in between groups of people as you make your way to the cafe. Walking quickly with your head down as the sure fire way of getting to any destination as quickly as possible. Okay Y/N, you got this… HCl, HBr, HI, HClO4… HNO3? You flip the card over and hiss. You were missing one more response. You truly hated it here.

The cafe is bustling with students on their laptops and scribbling away in notebooks, all likely studying for their respective exams. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans pervades the entirety of the interior, drawing you further inward until you’re standing at the cashier.

“One tall vanilla latte, please.” You hand the girl behind the counter your money and stand aside to let the next person in line order. Once your order is called, you grab your drink - Ah, nothing like a fresh cup of capitalism to revitalize your motivation to study - and search for a place to sit. As if by the grace of God, someone leaves their seat at the barstools just as you turn around. Beautiful.

“Excuse me,” you tap the shoulder of one of the people next to the open seat. “Is this seat taken?” He shakes his head no, and you take that as your signal to sit.

You find yourself sandwiched between two young men, each immersed in their own studies. The one to your right, the one you had talked to briefly, appears to want no further interruptions, both earbuds in his ears. The one to your left never turned around to begin with, head down as he types away at his laptop. All you can make out are his broad shoulders in a brown leather jacket and a mop of strawberry blond hair. An interesting choice of hair color, but you weren’t one to judge. He’s nodding his head to some tune, and it’s only then you realize he has one earbud in. You wonder what kind of music a cute man like himself would listen to -

Get a hold of yourself, Y/N, you chastise yourself for showing sudden interest in a complete stranger. The day before your midterm at that - there was no space in your head for an unknown young man who was probably good looking, too - No! Focus. Flashcards. You fumble in your jacket pocket for your index cards.

Chemistry nomenclature, round fifty-six.

As you’re reviewing, you overhear the conversation proceeding next you with the cute guy and a girl. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The familiar words make you think of mere moments before when you were asking the same thing.

“It isn’t, but… you can’t sit there.”

Huh?

“I’m sorry?” The girl seems to mirror your confusion.

“You can’t sit here. I’m sorry.”

“But someone else can?”

Your flashcards go ignored as you choose to eavesdrop on the full conversation. The man stalls, looking at the girl up and down. “... Yeah, maybe.”

Trying your best to not draw attention to yourself, you turn your head in slow, languid movements to look around. Was anyone else seeing this? Hearing this? Were you the next unsuspecting victim on an episode of What Would You Do? You were half expecting a game show host to step out and introduce himself at any moment. Y/N, you’ve just been Punk’d!

Unfortunately (or fortunately, you couldn’t decide which scenario was better), no game show host steps out from behind a curtain, and it sinks in that this guy wasn’t joking. He was intent on not letting this girl sit next to him.

“Look,” the girl runs a hand through her hair, a habit of frustration, maybe. “I really need a place to sit and work on things, and this seat is open. That, and it’s a public space. So if you’ll excuse me-”

The young man easily lifts his backpack from his chair with one hand and places it in the open seat. “There. It’s taken now. Sorry.”

The girl’s eyes widen, and you can only imagine what your face looks like right now. You’re in just as much shock as she is.

You scoff, and this time you don’t care if he hears. And he does: the stranger finally turns around in his seat to reveal an extremely attractive face. Chiseled jawline, deep brooding eyes, dimples even when he was scowling. You freeze and your breath hitches in your throat. It’s a shame he had to go and open his mouth.

“Excuse me,” you cut in sweetly, making a point to only make eye contact with the girl. “You can sit here. I’m about to leave.”

The girl’s eyes go wide at the addition of a third party. “Oh, no, you don’t have to! Thank you so much though.”

You shove your flashcards into your backpack and stand up from the seat. “No no, I insist, it’s fine. Besides, I didn’t want to sit there anymore.” Only then do you shoot a glare at the young man. “I couldn’t focus.”

Judging by the way the girl eyes the strawberry blond next to you, you think she doesn’t want to sit there anymore, either. Nevertheless, a seat was a seat. She thanks you profusely and you head out the doors and down the path to return to the dorms.

Naturally your mind drifts back to the stranger. Who was he to have so much pride as to deny a seat to someone he didn’t know? A seat that wasn’t his, either? The thought that people like him exist irks you.

He was so good-looking, too, your subconscious proceeds to remind you.

But alas, a jerk was a jerk, and at the end of the day you had far more important things to worry about than an indecent stranger whom you doubt you would see again. More important things such as -

Your phone rings with an alarm notifying you of your next scheduled event: Final Review B4 Exam! You sigh. Looks like it was back to the books (and flashcards) for you for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t hit you until you crash land into your desk chair: in your anger-fueled exit from the cafe, you had completely forgotten your barely touched vanilla latte sitting at the barstool counter. At this point you’re ready to tear your hair out at the roots. You’re five dollars and one fresh cup of caffeinated capitalism short for the night’s study session. You really hated it here.

If Megan were here, she would whip you into shape real fast, shouting at you that you’re a “Bad Bitch!” or some other expletive motivation that would comfort you. Except Megan isn’t here, attending some kind of club meeting, leaving you alone in the dorm. Another sigh escapes your lips and you tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling.

Maybe, just maybe, you needed to follow through on this whole “getting emotionally laid” thing.

The midterm you had so diligently studied for was a success. Inorganic Chemistry A5 didn’t know what was coming when you rolled up with your beloved flashcards - all successfully completed, mind you - ready to fight. Needless to say you were able to enter the weekend with no qualms. You now had much needed time to recuperate and as Megan had said before, to “take a break” (among other things you were not going to address anytime soon).

Some students recovered from the trauma of frequent exams via partying, deciding it was better to be under the influence in order to get over their academic standing. Some would meet up with their friends, maybe gossip about the latest episode of the hottest reality TV show. In your case, you decide to binge watch as many k-dramas as humanly possible. While you preferably do so in the comfort of your bed, tonight Megan has taken authoritative control over the dorm room. Meaning, she had a psychology midterm the following Monday and needed to be able to focus on nothing but the role of the amygdala without the OST of whatever drama you were watching in the background. You know for a fact if you were in the room minding your own business Megan would ultimately get distracted and join you in your k-drama marathon. Thus you are thrown to the streets with nothing but the clothes on your back and your belongings stuffed into your backpack.

You take extra care to avoid the puddles forming on the sidewalks, the result of on and off rain throughout the day. There are noticeably less people outside, and you have a feeling that any building you choose to house yourself in will be quite the opposite, likely packed with students.

After milling about campus for a few minutes, you finally settle down in the Student Community Center - a fancy name for yet another building on campus where students could lounge about and study slash socialize. As predicted, there are significantly more people crowded in the lobby area of the two-story building. Your boots squeak against the tiled floor as you make your way down an inconspicuous hallway. Tile turns to carpeting when you step into an almost empty study room. Only a handful of people are present in the room, scattered across the tables and couches. No one ever bothered to check the rooms at the very ends of the hallways - only those more dedicated to being unbothered ever made it that far - and you were grateful for this as you settled down at one of the open couches.

Hotel Del Luna is the show of choice for the evening, and you cuddle up to the armrest of the couch as you press Play. You had watched this one before, having been forced to do so with Jungkook at its release. Curse him and his admiration for IU - some of the ghost scenes kept you up at night the weeks after watching. You much preferred the more lighthearted slice-of-life k-dramas, but following your phone call with Jungkook you were drawn to the darker show. Call it nostalgia, call it an attempt to relive the happy memories of the past, call it denial of reality, whatever.

You’re two hours into your binge watch when you notice an unfamiliar presence at your side. A boy, and a breathtaking one at that. When he had joined you, you’re not sure, but you catch him glancing at your laptop screen every so often. He doesn’t stick out too much, black hair hidden beneath a black baseball cap and similarly monotone attire with a black hoodie that was definitely way too big for him. Yet no amount of nondescript clothing could cover up his impeccable bone structure. This man had a jawline and a nose bridge that were to die for, and although you haven’t made eye contact with the stranger you’re already feeling self-conscious. There’s no way in hell you’re initiating any sort of interaction with him.

But there’s no need to worry, because the stranger does it for you.

You’re on episode three when there’s a gasp from beside you. “Lee Jun-Ki!” You crane your neck to see the stranger leaning over to watch your laptop screen. The work in front of him - whatever that mess of hieroglyphs and symbols was - is completely forgotten as he scoots closer.

It’s not until you lean a bit away from him that he realizes his actions. “Oh, sorry. I kinda needed a break from studying or else I was gonna lose it.” His ears turn a bright pink as he explains himself. “Is it okay if I watch with you?”

“Uh…” Now that your full attention is on him, you give the stranger a proper glance-over. He was indeed studying, some sort of language of shapes and numbers that was foreign to you sprawled across his notebook in a variety of colors. Other than the all black attire (which was reasonable for college - wasn’t everyone attending their own funeral during exams season?), he didn’t look too shady… “Sure.”

“Sweet.” He extends a hand to you, pulling back the ginormous sleeve that threatens to hang over his fingers. “My name’s Jungwoo.”

You tentatively take his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N. Are you a first year?”

You nod your head, and Jungwoo smiles. “Cool. Me too.” He moves back to his side of the couch, but quickly scoots back to sit directly beside you after he has shoved all of his work into his backpack. He settles beside you on the couch, slouching down similarly to you. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You crack a smile at the boy’s unabashed boldness. He immerses himself in the episode alongside you, clear adoration in his eyes whenever IU makes an appearance on screen. “You like IU, I take it?”

Jungwoo shakes his head. “Not half as much as one of my friends. He idolizes her. I just... look at her very respectfully.”

“Me too, actually,” you confess. “My friend forced me to watch with him. I usually watch happier things. My favorite is Weightlifting Fairy.”

Jungwoo’s eyes go wide. “I love Weightlifting Fairy!” His theatrical gasp attracts the attention of the few students nearby. This newfound information seems to make something click in Jungwoo’s head, because he wiggles all the more closer to you. “You’re quickly becoming my best friend, Y/N.”

“I’m a friend?”

“Duh. This was established when you didn’t run away from me in fear when I was quite literally looking over your shoulder. And that’s happened before with other people. Twice.” He seems to feel the need to add in the last few details, much to your amusement. “Now shush. Lemme admire IU in peace.”

That interaction with Jungwoo is only the first of many, many more. While you’re the type to keep to yourself and not approach others, Jungwoo was the opposite. You’re only a bit surprised when he yells out your name from across the street a few days later, sprinting towards you with unbridled excitement on his face. The last time someone was that happy to see you was when your dog greeted you after returning home for the holidays.

“Good morning, Y/N! Where you headed? I have Material Sciences in an hour. I got time, so I’ll walk with you wherever you’re going!”

Much like your first encounter, you agree with some hesitance. Jungwoo seemed to not have a bad bone in his body, no ill intentions whatsoever. It was refreshing to be in the presence of someone who wasn’t already jaded by the world.

As promised, Jungwoo walks with you to your destination, the coffeeshop, even waiting with you in the insufferably long line. You find out that Jungwoo is the same age as you, a Mechanical Engineering major, and is a part of some sort of club that allowed him to connect with upperclassmen of different majors but with similar interests.

“It’s called Nu Kappa Tau, everyone there’s really nice! I’ll bring you with me to the next social event.”

“Nu Kappa Tau?” You test out the syllables on your tongue. “Greek? Are you in... a fraternity?”

Your tone of voice insinuates something bad, and the way Jungwoo reacts quickly tells you he has a similar stance on the Greek life in college. That similar stance being that frat boys were vermin. “No, no no no no. It’s Greek, yes, but we are definitely not a fraternity. It’s more like… a social, cultural, and academic club?”

“Jungwoo. That’s exactly what a fraternity would say to make it seem like it’s not a fraternity.”

“Okay, but in this case we’re actually not a fraternity, I promise.” He tugs on your shirt sleeve and looks at you with pleading eyes. “You should come with me to the next event. It’ll be fun, and I’ll prove to you it’s not a fraternity. Please?”

You remain silent, eyes turning to the coffeshop’s menu. Even when your gaze is somewhere else you can sense the way Jungwoo is staring you down with those puppy dog eyes of his. This was what, the second time you were talking to him, and already he wanted to go to a social event with you? “I don’t know. You’re nice and all, but I’m not the type to warm up to people easily. I’ll have to hang out with you more first. No offense.”

Most people cower at your denials, retreat to more comfortable territory where there’s no fear of rejection. Jungwoo, however, beams at you. “None taken, Miss Y/N. You know why?” He pauses for dramatic effect, quirking an eyebrow in mischief. “Because that wasn’t a no.”

A few people in line crane their necks to peer at the two of you as a resonant smack rings out in the coffeeshop.

“Ow - Y/N - Ow!” Jungwoo rubs at his upper arm. You know you didn’t hit him hard enough to elicit this sort of dramatic reaction, but it’s what he deserves.

“You can’t use that logic, Jungwoo,” you scold, bag poised in the air ready for another attack. “The only means of consent is a yes. Say it with me. The only means of consent is a-”

“-Yes, yes, okay! I got it, I’m sorry. I sincerely apologize.”

Fast forward two weeks later, and you know Jungwoo a bit too well for your liking. Following your rejection of his offer, Jungwoo goes ahead and makes it a point to see you for at least an hour a day, weekends included, in order for you to “warm up to him.” Some days, it’s lunch shared in the cafeteria between classes. Other days it’s hours upon hours of studying together in the back of the library, you and Jungwoo taking shifts napping while the other crams for their classes.

He forces - “heavily insists” - you to share your location with him on your phones, so it’s of no surprise to you when he starts showing up outside of your lecture halls after class. It’s when he’s walking you back from your last class of the day that you find that he lives a floor above you in the same building. Of course.

Dare you say it, it’s easy having Jungwoo in your life. He walks with you everywhere, always initiates conversation, and eats as many meals as possible with you - or as many as Megan allows.

“Hey Y/N,” your roommate greets you with a warm smile which quickly turns into a steely glare when he acknowledges the young man standing by your side. “Ahem. Jungwoo.”

If Jungwoo was a legitimate candidate for your mission of “getting laid,” Megan would be ecstatic. However, you explain to her that Jungwoo is nothing more than a friend, and suddenly Megan thinks he’s out to take her spot as Y/N’s Best Friend (insert trademark emoji here).

“Megan, always a pleasure,” Jungwoo croons. If he’s perturbed by your roommate’s aloof greeting, he doesn’t show it, a smile growing on his face. Jungwoo turns to you. “See you at nine?”

You nod. “See you at nine. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jungwoo waves then walks down the hallway to the stairs. You wait until he’s out of sight to turn back to Megan, who has one eyebrow raised.

“What’s going on at nine?” She questions.

A defeated grin makes its way onto your lips. As much as you had been dreading what was to come, you couldn’t deny the excitement building up within you at the thought of something… new, for once in your life. “I’m going to my first party.”

Jungwoo, as promised, picks you up from your dorm room later that evening. He texts you an ominous message of i’m outside ur dorm lol for you to find him in the driver’s seat of a car far too expensive for any broke college student to own.

Hesitantly, you hop into the passenger seat and gingerly close the door. You’re not sure who he borrowed this from - or maybe it was a rental? - but you wanted to make sure you took no part in any damage fees he’d pay later. “I thought first years couldn’t have cars on campus.”

“I know. I’m a rule breaker, Y/N. I can’t be stopped… And maybe I borrowed it from a friend.”

Jungwoo insists on manning the aux, which you oblige to as you don’t trust your music taste to be liked by others. Something about the artist name Sergio Rachmaninov didn’t always hit well with the young folk these days. The queue starts up as he pulls out of the parking lot, a bass-boosted R&B song filling the expanse of the lush interior.

“I’m going to warn you, this music queue is all over the place.” All over the place is correct, because after the R&B song finishes a ballad comes on, followed promptly by the song “Good Time” by Owl City. It’s a good song, a tolerable one, but after the second run, and third run, and even a fourth run you can’t help but wonder if the queue is glitching.

“Jungwoo.” He grunts in response. “Did you mean to put this song on loop?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? It helps me focus.”

You’re really questioning the sanity of the man behind the wheel.

Four and a half plays of “Good Time” (or fifteen minutes) later, you and Jungwoo arrive at your destination.

You audibly gulp. “Jungwoo. You are so in a frat.”

“No I’m not!” The man whines. “I swear!”

You and Jungwoo must not be looking at the same house, because the one you’re looking at is nothing less than a mansion: two stories, covering a wide expanse of vivid green lawn, with pillars on either side of the double-door front entry. Windows line the top and bottom floors, and hedges line the cobblestone walkway in the front. It looks like something out of a Southern period drama with the Victorian, colonial style architecture.

“You sure?” You can’t break your gaze away from the three enormous Greek letters placed above the entryway. “‘Cause no normal house emblazons the symbols of their group name across the front like that.”

As soon as you step foot in the door, you regret your decision to come. “Kim, I think I left something in the car-”

You’re rudely interrupted by Jungwoo swinging an arm over your shoulder a bit too harshly.

“Relax,” he reassures you. “My friends don’t bite. Only I do that.” You’re given no time to question that statement before he leads you further into the house.

If there’s one thing you can count on with Jungwoo, it’s his ability to socialize. It seems he knows everyone in the house, proven to you by the way he either nods his head or does a handshake with every individual present. He leads you to the kitchen where two guys are conversing, one looking like an overgrown man child and the other looking like… well, an actual child.

“Hey, look who finally decided to show up,” the much taller boy croons. “And he brought a friend.”

“Johnny, this is Y/N. Y/N, Johnny. He’s in his fourth year.” You shake hands with Johnny, who grins at you. He seems nice, other than the fact that he continues to stare at you through the duration of the handshake. Perplexed, you refuse to break his gaze.

Johnny is the first to look away, turning immediately to Jungwoo. “Oh, I like her. No one has yet to win my staring contest this year, other than you, Y/N. Congratulations.”

You force a laugh. “Thanks?”

Jungwoo steers you to the second boy, this one noticeably shorter - or was he still tall? Anyone standing next to Johnny seemed to be dwarfed in his presence - with dyed blond hair. He has a cap over his head and circle glasses, and you can’t help but think he looks awfully young to be at a frat-but-not-really house party.

“And this is Mark. He’s a fellow first year, but he’s our baby.” Jungwoo coos the last word, making Mark huff. Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Jungwoo explains, “He was born in 1999, so we have a good year on him.”

You click your tongue. Ah, that explains why he looks so young. You deem Mark to be far more approachable than Johnny and shake the young boy’s hand eagerly.

“Where’s Peaches?” Jungwoo asks Johnny. The older boy shrugs.

“I dunno. Not my problem.”

“Oh, I don’t think Jaehyun’s coming,” Mark cuts in. “Texted me saying something came up. Something about a paper due. Wait. Didn’t you take his car?” He points to Jungwoo, who shrugs with a look of Whoops, sorry on his face.

Johnny groans. “Oh, shoot. That’s right. We have a paper due tomorrow morning.” As quickly as the realization hits him, the worry is gone. “Eh. It’ll be fine.”

The three boys converse a bit longer, exchanging pleasantries and whatnot, before you and Jungwoo make your departure. The most that comes out of your mouth are feeble courtesy laughs and the occasional sarcastic quip to keep Jungwoo’s chaotic energy at bay. You wait until Jungwoo’s led you away to voice your thoughts. “What kind of name is Peaches?” You repeat.

“Right. One of the upperclassmen got the nickname because he smelled like them his first day of recruitment. Apparently he lives near a peach tree orchard or something. Therefore, he’s Peach Boy.”

You make a mental note of the phrase recruitment your friend uses. One day, you’ll compile a long enough list of evidence proving Nu Kappa Tau was a frat, and the word recruitment was one of them. “So what’s your nickname then?”

“Me? I’m not technically initiated yet,” - did this man use the word initiated? Yet another piece of evidence for the fraternity agenda - “but if I had to choose…” Jungwoo pauses and drums his fingers against his chin. “I’m Cheese Boy.”

You pause, letting his name sink in. The laughter bubbles up within you, threatening to spill out in a snort. It instead comes out as a strong exhale through your nose.

“Whatever, Cheese Boy,” you tease. “How much longer until I can go home?”

The next time you see the boys of Nu Kappa Tau is when Jungwoo drags you to yet another one of their events but a few days later. “This one’s right up your alley,” he insists. He also bribes you with the promise of buying your lunch, and the kabob food truck was on campus today, meaning you were eating well this afternoon. Making an appearance at his frat was but a small price to pay for your beloved meal of choice.

Jungwoo’s right - this event is up your alley, because you recognize the route he takes across campus. “The library?”

He nods. “NKT Study Hall.”

As you enter the building Jungwoo pulls you down an unfamiliar corridor then up a flight of stairs. An unspoken farewell is bid to your usual study spot by the second floor window as you continue up, up, up, until finally stopping at the fifth floor where no more stairs remain. You didn’t realize the library went up that high, and you probably frequented the building more than all of the boys combined - not that you knew any of the Kappa Tau boys yet.

Though they do look extremely threatening now that you’re standing in front of them.

Jungwoo brings you to stand in front of him. “Men and Mark Lee-” (“Hey!” Mark complains,) “-I introduce to you my partner in crime, Y/N.”

You give a feeble smile to the young men surrounding the table. You recognize a few of them from the party, Johnny and Mark being the only ones you can put a name to. The two wave to you and you feel a little more welcomed. Aside from the duo, everyone else is unfamiliar, giving you emotionless head nods and scowls.

“Y/N, you know Johnny and Mark, over there’s Lucas, and that’s Sicheng.” You nod at the two of them, who seem nice enough. The latter actually gives you a soft smile, so you consider that a win in your book. “And over at that table is Doyoung, Ten… You know what? I’ll just introduce you to everyone later. Have a seat.”

You trust your friend to guide you to the safest open seat, directly across from another empty chair at one end of the long table. Immediately you pull out your biology notebook and pens, hunkering down and getting to work without further notice. If you couldn’t feel welcomed by the boys at the table, you could at least get some decent studying done. You felt far more familiar with the speciation concepts in front of you than the actual human beings next to you. You allow your head to burrow itself closer to your notebook, dwelling in this small comfort in an environment of unfamiliarities.

The moment of peace doesn’t last long.

“Peaches!” Johnny’s bellowing voice makes you jump in your seat, your beloved biology notes neglected.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Huh. You’ve heard that voice before. You can’t place where you know it from, but it causes a sneer to form on your face. Glancing up from your notes you can’t help the strangled gasp that leaves your lips.

It’s him. You’d recognize that faded pink hair and smugly complacent upturn of lips anywhere. That, and he’s holding a coffee cup that violently catapults you back to the incident from a few weeks ago in the coffee shop. You left your perfectly good vanilla latte behind because he made you mad, that jerk.

“Oh, Jaehyun.” Jungwoo leads the man to the open seat across from you. Pointing to you, he says, “This is Peaches - I mean, Jaehyun. Jaehyun, this is-”

“-Y/N, right?” Jaehyun interrupts with a grin. You lower your eyes at the dimple that forms when he smiles. “I believe we’ve met before.”

Jungwoo looks from your displeased state to Jaehyun’s smug smirk. “Uh, okay. Cool. Well then. I’m gonna go ahead and grab lunch, I’ll be right back.” You watch as Jungwoo beckons Johnny and Mark to join him, the only three familiar faces present at the table now leaving.

Jaehyun leans back in his chair, arms moving to rest behind his head. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

You weigh your options. You could recognize that the two of you have indeed met before, and try to get past your differences. Or, you could refuse to acknowledge Jaehyun’s presence a mere few feet across from you at the table and try your best to study until Jungwoo returned with your food, at which point you would then flee the scene as fast as your non-athlete self could. Only one of these outcomes enticed you, and it wasn’t the one that involved talking.

“So, Y/N,” Jaehyun leans forward. The width of the table is enough to keep him at a safe distance from you, yet he’s still close enough to invade your personal space somehow. It’s suffocating, how whatever musky cologne he’s wearing wafts over to you - he smells nothing like peaches. “How’s your day been?”

“Fine.” You keep your eyes glued to your biology notes. Allopatric Speciation occurs when two populations of the same species become isolated from one another due to-

“Aw, just fine? That’s it?” His voice is low. With Jungwoo, Johnny, and Mark out getting food, you’ve been isolated at one end of the table with Jaehyun. Lucas and Sicheng are present as well, but both seem to be deeply immersed in their own studies. It’s just the two of you.

“Yep.” Allopatric Speciation occurs when two populations of the same species-

“C’mon, I’m sure someone like you has had at least one interesting thing happen today.”

Allopatric Speciation occurs when - Someone like you? What was that supposed to mean? You sigh, but refuse to look up from your notes. Allopatric Speciation-

“Are you a first year? I took that class last year. If you ever want notes or something-” Jaehyun jumps a little when you slam the notebook shut. Good. Serves him right.

“I don’t like you, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the end of his lips. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

He leans in by resting his forearms on the table, leveling his gaze with yours. “I don’t think you do.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re distracting me.”

Jungwoo comes back at the most opportune time, wielding a kabob skewer in each hand - one untouched and the other halfway eaten. “One chicken kabob for Y/N.”

Deeming the conversation with Jaehyun at its end, you stand up from your seat and grab your backpack from the table. Jaehyun fixes you with an intense gaze but remains silent. Whether he was sizing you up or not you didn’t care.

The tension is palpable at the table, and Jungwoo clears his throat. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” you respond quickly. Grabbing your food from Jungwoo, you give him an apologetic smile. “Something came up. I gotta go. Sorry, Kim. See you tomorrow?”

You despise this man. You don’t even know Jaehyun - he is nothing but a familiar stranger - but you despise him. Him and his ethereal appearance. Why were the terrible ones always the ones blessed with above average looks? Why’d he have to open his mouth?

“Wait.” You do not, in fact, wait, but instead continue marching forward. It’s not until the figure stands right in front of you do you stop. It’s Jaehyun. Holding your biology notebook in the air. “Don’t want to leave anything behind. Like last time, right?”

The last few words out of his mouth have your blood boiling and your fists clenching at your sides. That explained the foreign lightness of the bag on your shoulder.

“Oh, right, the vanilla latte.” You fake a cordial laugh. “You mean the time I was so desperate to get away from your insufferable presence that I left behind a perfectly good coffee? The time when you treated that girl as if she wasn’t a human being? That time you couldn’t be a decent enough human being that you were that disrespectful to someone you didn’t even know?”

Jaehyun stands before you with an astonished smile and a hand frozen in the air. You pluck the notebook out of his grasp and stride away before he has a chance to respond.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Jaehyun calls.

“I’ll see you around my ass,” you mutter under your breath. You’re willing to go out of your way to avoid interactions with Jaehyun, no matter what it takes.

a/n 2: hope you enjoyed part one of this series! it’s been a while since i last posted a fic on here so i apologize for my rusty writing skills. part 2 is projected to be posted in one week from now, but that’s tentative. we’ll see where life takes me and if i have the capacity to post in a week from now. in the meantime: stay safe! 💕

#cznnet #jung jaehyun fic #jung jaehyun nct #jung jaehyun scenarios #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun fluff #jaehyun fic #jaehyun nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun #nct fluff #nct fic #nct scenarios

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weathergirl8 · 3 years

Text

Master of Deflection - Part 5

LOOK!!!! AN UPDATE!!

My muse has finally cooperated in small helpings and I was finally able to finish this chapter. Here's to hoping it continues. I don't need any more WIPs hanging out in the dark depths of my brain waiting for attention. Also, the dark part of my mind doesn't need any help.

This is for you @ak47stylegirl and anyone else who enjoys Alan whump/smothering. Of course, there will be some extra Virgil in there too, because I just love the big guy.

@misssquidtracy - LOOK SQUIDDY!! AN UPDATE!

@gumnut-logic - Not much Virg, but still Virg :)

@willow-salix - Some smothering John if you'd like (also no beta on this one, 'twas a late night impulse post)

As a friendly reminder, I originally came from the TOS and TB 2004 era. I’ve tried to write a few TAG point of views, but my comfort zone is the previous. This will take place with Gordon as the redhead, and Virgil as the middle bro. Sorry!

Summary: Being the youngest of five is always hard, especially when they pounce at the slightest hair out of line. Sometimes the art of deflection can sting.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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

John quietly pushed open the door to his youngest brother’s bedroom. Alan laid fast asleep under the strewn covers. The poor kid had clearly been restless. John laid the fresh glass of water on the nightstand and gently checked his baby brother’s forehead. Heat radiated from the eighteen year old’s skin, making the older blonde frown in concern. Pulling his hand away, he pushed a few stray strands of hair that stuck to Alan’s sweaty forehead.

The younger blonde began to stir, letting out a quiet moan as a cough erupted from him. John turned on the light from Alan’s ensuite and wet a washcloth. Returning to his baby brother’s side, John laid the cool cloth along his brother’s forehead.

Alan coughed once more and opened his eyes to the blurry figure leaning over him.

“Hey, Allie,” John smiled as Alan’s eyes slowly focused on him.

“Aww, man, Dad’s overreacting,” Alan groaned. “He pulled you from the station?”.

“Nice to see you too, Squirt,” John chuckled. “No, he didn’t pull me. Brains insisted I come down to give an extra hand while you’re laid up.”

Alan pushed himself up against his headboard, pulling the wet washcloth from his forehead. He reached for a kleenex to blow his nose. “It’ll be nice to have you around. Even if I am sick.”

“How are you feeling?” John asked as he handed his brother a glass of water.

Alan coughed as the water tickled his already irritated throat. “Like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

“You sound like it, kiddo. Anything I can do for you?” John asked as he took the water from Alan and laid it back on the nightstand. He didn’t like how congested Alan sounded. “Are you up to eating anything?”

Alan groaned at the thought of food as he let his head lean against his headboard. “Food doesn’t even sound appealing.”

“You’ve got to eat something, Allie. It’ll keep your strength up to fight this bug. How about some soup?”

“Okay, fine,” Alan agreed as he tried to move out of bed.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going? I’ll bring it to you. You stay here and rest,” John ordered as he pushed Alan back down.

“Okay,” Alan sighed, only causing another coughing fit to erupt. He moaned as he rubbed his chest.

“You okay?” John asked worriedly.

“Peachy,” Alan croaked. “Chest hurts a little. Can you ask Virgil where the humidifiers are? Maybe that’ll help me breathe.”

“Sure,” John smiled in sympathy. “Maybe he can give you something that’ll help with that cough too, along with the congestion.”

“Yea, maybe,” Alan said as he laid his aching head back against his pillow and pulled a blanket back over him as a sudden chill filled his achy body.

“I’ll be right back,” John said, heading for the door.

“Mmm,” Alan muttered and closed his eyes as John left the room.

John quickly made his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, his eyes set on exactly what he was looking for. Kyrano’s homemade soup generally cured any sickness that filled the Island.

Grabbing a tray, John waited for the soup to warm in the microwave. His mind wandered to the day's events. To the rogue Captain and how close two of his brothers came to being hurt.

A beeping sound erupted from the microwave interrupting his thoughts. Turning, the astronaut heard the sound of whistling. John immediately recognized the tune and smiled as Virgil entered the kitchen.

“Hey, John,” the middle Tracy greeted. “How’s the adjustment to Earth? Feeling okay?”

“I’m all good,” John replied, taking the soup out of the microwave and placing it on the tray. “I’m not the one we need to worry about.”

“Alan?” Virgil asked, concerned.

“I just checked on the kid,” John sighed. “He agreed to try some soup, but he complained of his chest hurting and having trouble breathing. He wanted me to check with you for a humidifier. I think he thought it would help.”

Virgil frowned. “Try and see if you can get him to eat, and I’ll meet you in Alan’s room. I’m going to stop in the infirmary and grab a few things.”

“Okay,” John nodded and headed back toward his baby brother’s bedroom.

Entering Alan’s room, the older blonde smirked as he noticed Alan had fallen asleep once more. Turning on the light on Alan’s nightstand, John frowned at how pale his baby brother looked. Rubbing Alan’s arm, John noticed a bruise had formed along the younger astronaut’s arm. Exactly where Captain Stern’s had grabbed him. Anger filled the second oldest but quickly dissipated as Alan’s groggy eyes peered open. “Hey, kiddo. How about we try that soup?”

“Okay,” Alan croaked as he pushed himself up. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he nearly smacked his head against his headboard before John steadied him.

“You okay?” John asked with worry as he helped Alan lean against his headboard.

“I’m fine,” Alan reassured hoarsely, coughing once more. The eighteen year old rubbed his chest in discomfort. Looking down at the soup on the tray John laid in front of him, he smiled. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Sure is, Sprout. Let’s hope it does the trick!”

Alan took a couple of spoonfuls of Kryano’s soup while John rewet the washcloth. A chill shivered its way throughout his whole achy body. Grabbing a blanket from the floor, Alan wrapped it around his body. “This sucks,” he muttered to himself.

“I would have to agree with you,” Virgil grinned as he entered the room. “Lucky for you, I come with presents.”

Alan rolled his eyes as John laid the cold washcloth against the back of his neck. “How the heck can I be freezing, but my body on fire?” he grumbled.

“Let’s check that fever, shall we?” Virgil smirked as he ran the thermometer across his baby brother’s forehead. As the machine beeped, the medic’s smirk dropped.

John peered over Virgil’s shoulder as 101.2 shined across the device, causing both brothers to meet each other with an uneasy gaze. A deep cough erupted from the youngest Tracy, causing him to hold his chest as several coughs followed.

“Alan, does your chest hurt every time you cough?” Virgil asked as he grabbed his stethoscope.

“Just about,” the teen wheezed.

“Okay,” Virgil nodded. “Take a few deep breathes for me if you can.”

Alan did as his brother asked but was quickly overtaken by another coughing fit. “Easy, Allie,” Virgil coaxed, trying not to let his concern show. “I don’t like the sound of that cough. Let’s try another round of meds, and I’ll get the humidifier hooked up to help with your congestion.”

“Whatever you say,” Alan moaned as he closed his eyes and leaned his aching head against his headboard once more.

John looked at him with sympathy. “Do you want to try to eat any more soup?”

“No, I just want to sleep,” Alan said, as John took the tray away and he collapsed back against his bed.

“Get some more rest, Sprout. I’ll come back and check on you in a couple of hours to see how you’re doing,” Virgil said, handing Alan his meds.

The teen gladly took the meds as he watched his older brother start the humidifier, the vapor mist filling the room. “Thanks, Virg.”

“Don’t mention it,” Virgil smiled as he ruffled Alan’s hair. “If you need anything, just reach out, okay?”

“Mmm,” Alan mumbled as he closed his eyes once more.

Virgil turned off the lights and followed John into the hallway, closing Alan’s door behind him. “Should we be worried?” John asked as he turned to meet his closest older brother.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck as he noted the time on his watch. “Viruses are quick-change artists, Johnny. You know this. I’m concerned about that cough and the discomfort in his chest. I’ll check on him in a couple of hours and decide whether we should start him on a round of antibiotics. I’m hoping his body will start to fight it before we get to that.”

John nodded in understanding, his knowledge of medicine filtering in. “Should I loop Dad in?”

Virgil smirked, recognizing John’s need to play communicator even on Earth. “No, not yet. He worries enough as it is. Let’s not give him another reason. I’m hoping to keep him out of Allie’s room as much as possible before he sets up camp. I don’t want to impose the caffeine restrictions unless absolutely necessary.”

John chuckled. Jeff’s consumption of caffeine was well known across the Island in stressful situations. Something Virgil and Jeff’s cardiologist were particularly strict about. “Agreed, let’s not poke the bear.”

“Well, it’s nearly midnight. We better get some sleep before the next mission interrupts us. I’ll be up in two hours to check on the kid,” Virgil said as he headed toward his room.

“Keep me updated, will you? Don’t worry about waking me.”

“F.A.B,” Virgil replied and entered his room. The medic couldn’t help but feel a sense of worry creep its way into his mind. All they could do was wait. After all, it was just a simple virus, right?

TBC...

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderfam #alan tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #my writing #part 5 #fanfic #writing

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