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neonacity · 3 years

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LUCID | NCT DREAM ‘00 LINE X READER | CH.6

LUCID DREAMS - A TYPE OF DREAM WHEREIN THE PERSON IS AWARE THAT THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A DREAM WORLD.

Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless, professional transaction. You were to tutor a group of boys, get your pay at the end of the day, and go home to your loving fiance. Kids aren’t supposed to be dangerous, right? So why, then, are you caught up in a web of madness that slowly makes you feel like you’re in a living nightmare?

NOTE:This is a yandere plot featuring NCT Dream ‘00 line which means there will be mature themes in the story as well as obsessive, toxic behavior. If you’re a minor, please refrain from interacting. If this isn’t your thing, then just scroll and skip. In no way am I condoning anything written here— this is not love, this is obsession—nor do I think that any of the people mentioned here will act any way like in this story. This is purely a work of fiction.

Genre: yandere, horror, suspense

TW: abuse, obsessive behavior, toxic relationships, suggestive scenes, stalking, possible kidnapping, mental health. Age gap–though nothing dramatic. Everyone is of legal age, drugs, slight smut for this chapter but nothing graphic, questionable consent (?) I guess? Creepy, creepy, creepy! This will be updated as the story goes along.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5

“EVERYONE HAS A DARKER NATURE. EVERYONE. GOOD MEN FEAR IT, AND EVIL MEN EMBRACE IT.” - JAMES ISLINGTON

The silent hum of the air conditioning filled the space like a foreboding chant. Nothing else but the sound of the hospital machinery and random noises outside pierced the stillness of the room as you stared, unseeing, at the green and orange numbers that blinked on the monitor above the bed.

You barely have any recollection of how you managed to find yourself in the hospital, but you do remember brief memories of Taeyong picking you up from the floor you found yourself crumpled on after you got the call. You remember seeing Jaehyun's parents at a brightly lit corridor and his mother pulling you into a hug as she broke down and his father telling you how his son hasn't woken up since he was brought to the emergency room.

You remember your heart breaking in shock, mind too numb from the godforsaken pills you have been taking and your own injury. So many times you wondered to yourself if you were still caught in one of your nightmares, but every time you tried to break free from it, you're slapped back with the reality of how all of this is real.

Your fingers gently tightened on Jaehyun's hands now as your gaze landed on his face. He looked so peaceful, like he's just sleeping, that you almost wanted to bend over and try to kiss him awake. You don't even have any idea what time and day it is already, but you have barely left his side since you were brought to him. The nightmares and sleeplessness? They're barely a problem for you anymore because right now, you're entirely not resting at all unless your body forces you to crash from physical exhaustion. Even then, you usually only sleep for about two to three hours at best to make sure that you never miss a moment with your fiance.

"Severe traumatic head injury. He was lucky enough that the airbag shielded him from the worst of the impact."

The words of his attending doctor echoed in your head again like a faraway voice. You could only remember bits and pieces of what he said to his parents back then as he reported his findings, but you caught enough context for you to draw a picture of the situation. You remember Jaehyun's mother asking the chances of her son waking up again, her voice barely holding up from her emotions.

"I cannot promise anything, Ma'm. I'd say he has a 60 percent chance. He's fighting."

And he is. You know Jaehyun inside out. He might be unconscious now, but there is no way he is giving up. Not from something like this.

"Keep fighting baby…" you whispered in the stillness of the room as you lifted his hand gently to your lips to kiss. "I'll wait for you. We still have a wedding to do."

The slight creaking of the door barely made you look away from his sleeping face. You only did at the gentle sound of a throat clearing, your eyes slightly widening as you recognized the man who just walked inside the room. Taeil had the same mildly shocked look on him as he stopped on the other side of the bed across from you.

"You…"

"Are you a relative of the patient?" He asked now as he tucked his clipboard under his arm. You simply nodded, watching him quickly glance at the numbers on the monitor before his eyes settled on you again.

"I'm his fiancee."

That made him raise his brows slightly. He pulled a pen now from the pocket of his coat to quickly write something on his file. "What a coincidence. Not a good one obviously. I'm sorry to hear about him. Mr. Jung, right?"

You swallowed. You didn't want to acknowledge anything that he just said so you tried to divert the conversation instead.

"You're not his doctor. Why are you…"

"Oh. He was turned over to me today. I am one of the resident neurologists here but he had to be moved to me because his first doctor has too much in his plate already. Don't worry, I was briefed properly about his case."

Your gaze followed Taeil as he bent over to check Jaehyun's oxygen level as well as the other wires attached to him. You don't know what to feel about him taking over, but at least you already know him previously.

"Are there any changes? Positive ones?" You asked in a frail voice that Taeil definitely didn't miss. You told yourself to not act silly and ask questions that probably do not have answers yet, but you couldn't help yourself now. The man seemed to think over his words first, noticing your state, before calmly giving his reply.

"No particular ones, but the fact that there are no negative developments is… something. I will have to request for some tests to be done on him again tomorrow so we can see if there are positive changes in his brain."

Neutral. Not good, but at least it's not bad either.

"How are you? I was about to check on you again. Is your head okay?"

You were still thinking over his words that you barely caught his question. Looking up, you tried to scramble for an answer to give. To be honest, you haven't given proper attention to your own injury since this happened. You would even only remember to take your medications on your clearest, less anxious moments, which, honestly, isn’t a lot.

"I'm uh… the wound has closed. But the headaches. They're still there."

He simply nodded. "Any other side effects?"

You didn't immediately answer. You didn't want to sound whiny, but it's not like you're going to lose anything by telling him the uglier parts of your recovery. You swallowed to try and dislodge the slight blockage in your throat.

"Nightmares…" you said now, voice soft. You briefly remembered the last one you had back in the manor before you woke up to the bad news and you felt your stomach turn again. "Lots of them. Hallucinations sometimes…"

The doctor watched you carefully and you know he is trying to compute things in his mind despite his face remaining calm.

"Have you been keeping to your schedule with your medications? Are you taking too much?"

You firmly shook your head no to his last question.

"No, I haven't been overdosing. But… I've been skipping my pills the last few days because of...because of this."

"How have you been feeling since you started missing your dosages then? Do you remember?"

That made you actually stop and think about it for a moment. Now that you are paying attention, you did notice how the nightmares have calmed down slightly. Even the hallucinations are almost gone. You frowned slightly to yourself.

"A bit… better actually."

Taeil took his time to observe you a bit more before writing something on a new page of his clipboard.

"You must have had severe reactions to the mixture of pills I gave you. I'm going to prescribe you new ones and ask the nurses to pick them up and bring them to you here. Can you promise that you'll try and take them though? You really need them to fully heal."

You nodded and gave him a slightly sheepish look.

"I will, thank you very much."

Taeil dug his hands into the pockets of his coat and gave you a gentle smile.

"Well, that's it for today. I'll come back tomorrow to give you updates about Mr. Jung." He had already turned and started walking away when he suddenly stopped to look at you again.

"Oh, and another thing. Please try and get some sleep. Recover… and then focus on helping your fiance."

******* You didn't really know what woke you up. Stirring from your sleep, the first thing that registered to you was the sound of distant traffic mixed with the gentle chirping of the morning birds from outside the window. A warm feeling radiated on your cheek and made the back of your eyelids glow red.

You flickered your eyes open and immediately rolled away to escape the ray of sunshine that slipped from the open curtains and shone directly at your face. You easily evaded it as you moved over to the other side of the bed which was empty and cold from the night before.

That was when you finally remembered that you were back in your home, in the same bedroom you share with Jaehyun. The day before, his mother offered to take the responsibility of watching over him so there was a sudden change of plans that finally gave you the reason to check back into your apartment after so long. If it were you, you would have preferred not leaving your boyfriend’s side until he wakes up, but you also knew that your future mother-in-law wanted to spend time with him so you relented.

Of course you weren't thrilled to be home alone, especially with Jaehyun not being there, but the comfort that a real mattress provided—over the small couch you used to sleep in back at the hospital—is definitely a welcome change for your body. You even tried to take your medicine properly, the new ones that Taeil had provided, in the hopes of getting knocked down fast. Your adrenaline and anxiety had been fueling you in the past days, but you know from the way your heart thumped and your hands shook that you need a solid rest.

And you got it. You still feel a little groggy now but your body is definitely lighter and your head clearer. The nightmares didn't even come, and while they were replaced by total darkness or dreams in white that still made you anxious, you are willing to take those anytime over the graphic ones that you used to have.

You gently sat back against the headrest of the bed now and reached out for your phone to check the time. It's barely 7AM but as expected, Jaehyun's mom has already provided you with updates from the hospital. He’ll have some tests taken today as Taeil advised and then they’ll hear more about his progress. From the looks of it, she seems still set on watching over her son, which means you still have at least today free to yourself.

You quickly typed a reply to her and sighed. You’re thankful that even though you weren’t related by blood, his parents have always treated you as if you were their own. Having a family is not something you’ve really experienced in your childhood, so that’s something you’ve always appreciated about them. That is also the reason why you wish for the best out of this situation, because you also couldn’t bear seeing your fiance’s mother and father heartbroken. He’s their only son, after all.

A quick look around your room left you feeling empty. The last week has been so hard that it felt longer and now you’re struggling to find your normal pace again. In an effort to bring yourself to focus, you decided to pick up your phone once more and started flipping through your calendar to check your schedule. It didn’t take long for you to frown when you realized the upcoming dates there. You’ve plotted important academic schedules in advance and one quick look at it told you how much you’ve obviously missed in the past week. You’ve been so lost in the mess of everything that has happened that you’ve entirely forgotten about your job at the manor. You realized that they didn’t even call you once to ask about your absence, probably because they also know about the situation, but even that is not enough excuse for you to entirely fall off the radar.

Biting your lip, you quickly scrolled through your contacts now to look for the number you need. Your thumb hovered over the call button momentarily, but you eventually pressed it anyway. Your eyes wandered towards the clock on the wall, hoping silently to yourself that it wasn’t too early for you to call.

“Rosewood Manor, how can I help you?”

You straightened on your seat.

“Hey, Taeyong. It’s me. Sorry if I called so early.”

The other boy seemed to have been taken slightly by surprise by the way he fell silent at the other end of the line. You tapped your finger against your knee, waiting for him to speak again.

“Hi. No, it’s fine. Work started for me about an hour ago. Are you okay? How’s things on your end?”

You nibbled guiltily on your lower lip and finally got off your bed to walk over to the window. You pushed the curtains open and stared at the slight snowfall that had started falling on the ground. You’ve missed so many days of reporting to them but the first thing he does is to check if you’re fine.

“I um—things are still the same. My boyfriend’s still at the hospital.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Look, I want to apologize. I haven’t really reported to work and I didn’t even call about it. It’s just that—things have been so crazy lately, but still that isn’t an excuse for me to just not show up.”

Taeyong, however, was understanding as always. You were about to go off for another round of apologies when he gently cut you off.

“Hey, it’s fine. We know you’ve been dealing with a lot lately so we also weren't expecting anything. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“But, the boys’ examinations and portfolio review is happening in three days and I haven’t really checked in with them. How are they doing now?”

“Oh...that. Well, we actually tried looking for a temporary tutor to help out but I...uh… I think he isn't really cutting it. Maybe because he isn’t the one who started the program with them. But he’s a big help still.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry about that. I should have at least—look, I can drop by today and just try to fix things.”

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to. Don’t you need to be at the hospital?”

You started going around your room now, trying to gather the scattered papers and files that you’ll need. It’s a good thing you woke up early so you still have time to prepare for work. “My boyfriend’s mother is the one watching over him today so I have the day off.”

“And your injury? How is it?”

Your eyes landed on the new bottles of medicine sitting on your bedside table.

“Better. I’m feeling so much better.”

You heard Taeyong sigh in relief over the phone. “Thank god. We were so worried about that. Well, you really don’t need to go, but if you have time, I guess doing it today won’t hurt. It will help us a lot.”

A small smile tugged at your lips now and you switched the phone over to your other ear as you started arranging your bag. “Thank you so much for being understanding. I need a distraction anyway. I’d rather work than stay home alone… Thanks for not firing me.”

That made him laugh a little. “I’ll tell the boys that you’re coming over. Oh, and be careful on your drive here. The roads are a little bit slippery today because of the snow.”

“I will, thank you. I’ll be there by 9.”

******* “Noona!”

You have barely finished arranging your materials on your desk when the door to the room burst open and ushered an anxious-looking Jisung inside. You looked up quickly at him, only barely catching Chenle wobbling with his crutch before your vision of the entrance was blocked by Jisung’s tall frame. His hair looked swept up as if he ran and there was a slight flush staining his cheeks. He stopped right in front of you, stopping just in time for him not to topple you over.

“Hey, Jisung how are—” You tried to give him a smile but he was quick enough to grab your hands between his.

“Are you back? Are you really back for real?” He pressed now, eyes wide as he tried to bend over to look closely at you. He looked like a puppy, the only missing thing being a wagging tail to complete the look. You couldn’t help the brief laugh that passed over you as you tried to calm him down.

“I am. For the day, yes. Sorry I missed so many of your sessions.”

“We thought you left us,” Jisung continued, his lower lip protruding just a bit. Just then, Chenle had finally reached the two of you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. This is actually the first time you saw him again since the day the two of you had your accident and you’re glad to see him healthy despite his broken leg.

“Hi, Chenle. How are you?”

The boy scratched the back of his head and looked away slightly. “Fine… I’m sorry, noona. I wasn’t able to visit you when you stayed with us. I’m really really sorry about what happened in the forest.”

You tried to give him a reassuring smile and freed one of your hands from Jisung’s hold to ruffle his hair. The action seemed to have calmed him down a little because he finally looked at you again, a small apologetic smile on his own lips.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. But be careful next time, okay?”

“Are you going to be our tutor again, noona?” Jisung pressed once more and you turned your attention back to him. To be honest, you’re still not sure how your schedule will turn out after this, but you couldn’t really bear to break the poor boy’s heart at the moment.

“Yes… I’m here to teach your big brothers today for their tests though. We’ll have to schedule you and Chenle’s lessons again. Is that alright?”

A brief look of disappointment flashed on his face but he was quick enough to pick it up. Jisung smiled and gave your hand a squeeze.

“Okay. We can wait. It’s good you are back, Jaemin-hyung was so—”

“Yah, don’t hog her by yourself. You’ll scare her away.”

A new voice made the three of you look back to the doorway. Haechan smiled at your little group as he strolled casually into the room followed by Jeno and Jaemin. The three of them joined your crowd and you felt Jisung finally let go of your hand as he stepped away to go over to his brothers’ side.

“Hi. Sorry, I only returned now. Taeyong told me that you—”

You weren’t able to finish what you wanted to say as Haechan gently stopped you mid-sentence. He leaned his head to the side, eyes briefly scanning you from head to toe. Unlike Jisung, he looked calm and only barely excited.

“It’s fine. We knew you’ll come back. How are you?”

“Oh… I’m good. My head is better. I haven’t had the chance to thank all of you for taking care of me when I was here.”

“How about your boyfriend?” It was Jeno who asked this time and you quickly turned to him to address his question. Your eyes briefly slipped to Jaemin who was standing behind him before you could even speak though, and for a moment you had the impression that Jeno was shielding him—or blocking him from you. You blinked a little bit in confusion, wondering if it was just your imagination that was making you think that way.

“He’s still… still unconscious,” your smile dropped a little but you tried your best to keep your voice casual. “We’re getting more tests for him. His doctor said that he isn’t showing bad signs at least.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about him,” Haechan said with compassion and you gave him a grateful look. Your gaze settled on Jaemin again, however, who for some reason had barely looked at you since he came into the room. You know that he can be quiet and reserved at times, but there is something in the air around him that makes you slightly worried. He’s so still, but the way he carries himself makes it seem like he’s so strung up at the same time. It also doesn’t help that Jeno seems to be almost pushing him back from view.

“Hi Jaemin… How are you?” You tried to gently ask him to make sure that he is okay. He didn’t look at you at first, but when he finally did, you felt yourself freeze a little. His eyes looked dark and almost emotionless when he met yours and there were shadows under them as if he hadn't slept properly for days. He didn’t even answer and just simply stared, his gaze blank and accusing at the same time.

Haechan casually glanced over his brother and chuckled. “Our Jaeminie here has been sick for the past couple of days so he’s a little out of it. But he’s going to be fine now,” he put a hand over the other’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze as if to calm him down. “Right, Jaemin? We’ll try our best to go to class today since noona is finally back, hmm?”

Jaemin, however, didn’t even seem to hear him. He continued staring at you the same way that kept you pinned on your spot.

“Are you leaving again?” he finally asked and you almost felt goosebumps rise on your skin. It didn’t sound like a question… but more of a threat. You swallowed.

“I’m going to have to arrange my schedule till things get better…” you answered carefully, as if you’re navigating dark waters. That didn’t seem to cut it for him, unfortunately.

“So you’re not leaving. Forever?”

You blinked. To be honest, you’ve been thinking of quitting and just finishing the rest of the month if things didn’t improve, but you don’t think that’s the right answer to give at the moment.

“No… not for now,” you finally managed to say. You watched as Jaemin seemed to visibly relax, his stiff shoulders loosening under Haechan’s grip. He didn’t say anything after that, but he at least looked away, seemingly more satisfied with your words.

“Great. I think we should get to work,” Haechan broke the silence and looked around the room as if the tension you were feeling was just something only you could feel. He nodded towards Chenle and Jisung then. “You guys go back to your own classes. You’ll have your share of noona once it’s your turn.” He then glanced at you, smile still in place. “Should we start then?”

You nodded. “Is Renjun still not back?”

“Not yet. He’s going to be here tomorrow though,” Jeno answered as he took his seat on one of the desks.

“I see…”

Haechan also found his spot, but not before you’ve noticed him urging Jaemin to do the same. Playfully, he took the pencil you’ve arranged on the desk and started tapping it against the wood of the table.

“Don’t worry. We’ll tell him you’re back. I’m sure he can’t wait to have his lessons again~”

******* You looked over the window for the third time in the last fifteen minutes and sighed. The day had been busy with you trying to catch up on the boys’ lessons that you barely even noticed the state of the weather outside. When you finally did, it took you by surprise when you saw how much of the ground was covered by snow—one look at it told you that it is at least a feet deep by now. Your first instinct was to try and maneuver your car out of the lot before your tires get entirely buried in it, but then you remembered that you promised to wait for Taeyong to come back before leaving the manor. The butler requested for you to temporarily watch over the manor while he tries to do some last minute errands back in the city, but it’s been two hours since he originally promised to come back. You eyes glanced at your watch now, then back at the quickly darkening view outside.

“...severe snowstorm has blocked some of the main roads in the city at the moment. Expect heavy traffic and don’t forget to drive safely.”

You turned to the television now to catch the last of the rambling dialogue of the reporter about the weather. You’ve been debating on whether to call Taeyong or not to check on him, but you didn’t want to seem impatient to go home when you only really wanted to make sure if he’s safe. From the looks of it, he’s stuck somewhere because of the hale, too.

You were on your way to get your phone from your bag to at least try to shoot him a message when you suddenly heard it ring. Getting it just in time, you almost sighed in relief when you saw his number there. You quickly took it and went over to the window to answer it to make sure you get some proper signal.

“Hello? Taeyong?”

“Hey. Finally. I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour, thank god it finally connected.”

“Oh, sorry, my phone’s in my bag. I think the signal’s getting bad because of the snowstorm. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, about that, I’m still stuck in town. The traffic’s so bad here because a section of the main road is blocked. Road maintenance is supposed to come thirty minutes ago but I think there’s a delay because there are other roads they are working on.”

Your gaze drifted back to the television where scenes of the same blocked avenues were being flashed. “Yeah… the news says the same. Are you safe though?”

“I am. I’m really sorry for making you wait. I’d tell you to drive back and not wait for me anymore but I don’t think you’ll also make it home in time with all this traffic going on. I don’t think it’s going to be safe. Do you mind waiting for a little bit more? I’ll tell you once the roads are better.”

You thought it over quickly, a frown settling on your face. You really want to go home, but he’s right. There’s no point in trying to drive back if you’ll only find yourself stuck in the roads for hours. Not being a big fan of night driving yourself, you can already imagine the stress waiting for you if you add a snowstorm to the mix. As much as you wanted to leave, you’re left with no choice, at least for the moment.

“I can… I’ll just wait for you, I guess. Do you want me to do anything here while you’re gone? Dinner for the boys?”

“Oh no, no, you don’t need to do that, that’s not part of your job,” Taeyong sounded abashed when he said that. You stepped away from the window then and took a seat by the fireplace that Jeno started earlier. Half of your concentration was on the news which has now shifted to a different set of reports also caused by the snowstorm. “They’ll know when to go down and eat. Don’t worry about them. Where are they right now?”

“Ah, I think they went back to their rooms? I did tell them earlier that I’ll try to wait for you.”

“I see. Yes, I think that’s better. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated. If things don’t get better, I think I’ll have no other choice but find a hostel here and wait for the weather to calm down. You can stay there and just ask for help from any of them. You can stay in the same room just in case.”

You didn’t quickly react to the offer. Instead, your eyes flickered to the doorway of the room before refocusing your attention back to the conversation. It’s not like you have anything against spending the night again at the manor—you’ve done it before, after all—but it’s honestly not really something you’re comfortable to do again. Maybe it’s because you’ve never really been okay with overstaying at strangers’ houses but your gut feel is also telling you right now that it shouldn’t be your top option regardless of the situation you are in.

Still, you didn’t want to come off rude to Taeyong, not when he is only being kind to offer you temporary shelter while being stuck in the middle of nowhere himself. So instead, you went against your initial doubts and offered him your thanks in return. It’s just Plan B that he’s proposing after all.

“I will. Keep me updated though if you need anything you think I can help with.”

“Thank you and I will. I have to go now though. Please make yourself at home. I’ll try to call again after an hour.”

“Okay. Take care.”

You put your phone down now with a worried frown as you heard the line drop. You couldn’t believe this is happening the first day you got back to work but it’s not like you can really blame anyone for it. The only good thing is that you’re sure Jaehyun is being taken care of right now so that is at least one thing off your shoulders. You didn’t really need to rush anywhere, not especially to a vacant home. Leaning back against your seat, you tried your best to relax as your gaze travelled around the room once again. You deliberated on sending a text to your mother-in-law to tell her about your situation but decided against it, not wanting to worry her more. You sighed. For now, you guess you didn’t have any other choice but to wait.

You did try to distract yourself by watching the news for a few more minutes before finally giving up on it. With resignation, you picked yourself up from your seat again and turned the television off. For a moment you simply stood in the middle of the room, trying to figure out what to do with your time when your gaze settled on the door again. Everyone retreated to their own rooms after they finished with their lessons so it means the house is pretty much yours for exploring if you wanted to. You toyed with the idea for a little bit, before finally resigning yourself to it. It’s not like there really is anything else left for you to do, and Taeyong did say you can make yourself feel at home if you wanted to. With a sigh, you finally turned on your heels to leave the room and peered silently into the hallway. It was deserted as expected, but still your eyes travelled left and right to check if there’s anyone out and about at this hour. It was only after you made sure that you were alone when you finally allowed yourself to step into the corridor.

Of course, you have a plan. You’re pretty much sure that checking out the rooms on the first floor is acceptable since it’s where you’ve been rotating your classes so you’re going to stick to those areas. You remember finding a library there once and you focused on finding your way to it to maybe check out some of the books in the collection.

It did take you about five minutes to finally find the place you were looking for. For some reason, the sections in the manor always confuse you no matter how many times you try to memorize each one, probably because of how big and similar-looking they are on the outside. You’ve already tried four doors when you were finally welcomed by the familiar-looking bookshelves at the fifth one. You sighed and gave one quick look around the room before slipping yourself inside after making sure that you’re alone.

There will probably never be a time when you won’t find yourself fascinated by anything in this grand home. If the architecture of the mansion is not enough to convince anyone how rich the family is, their book collection is enough to assure that at the very least. You’ve only ever taken a quick glimpse of it once during one of your lessons with the boys, but one look of the titles in their shelves is enough to make any literature major excited. You looked at the floor to ceiling collection now, your fingers gently running over the spines of the books you could reach with a small smile on your face.

You were about to check out the rest of the collection on the other side of the wall when something in the middle of the room caught your attention. You didn’t really catch it at first because of the shadows that concealed it when you first came in, but you could pretty much discern the outline of a blanket covered standee now from where you stood. You frowned. Taking careful steps, you closed the distance towards it to try and figure out what exactly it is that you’re seeing.

A closer look revealed it to be an easel covered with white cloth. You could see the outline of the canvas where the blanket falls over it while shadows of colors peeked out into the thin fabric from the surface it was covering. How odd… you knew that Renjun had a different art room for his paintings so to see this now here in the middle of the library seems uncanny.

You didn’t know how long you remained standing in front of it, too. You know you should have walked away—after all, the white cloth hiding it away from plain view means whatever is on that canvas is not meant for everyone’s eyes to see, but you simply couldn’t tear yourself away from it. It’s as if there was a silent force asking you to pull that cloth to reveal what’s underneath, the inclination so strong that you could almost hear its voice breathing down next to your ear, unrelenting until you do what it says.

The next thing you know, you had your hand attached to one end of the fabric. You stared at it now, wondering last minute if you should go ahead or not. You swallowed and glanced around one last time around the room. If you’re alone… it wouldn’t hurt if you could take a peek, right? Nobody will know. You just have to see, then cover it back again. Before you could even think about it too much, your arm was finally moving on its own as it gently tugged at the covering. You watched as it fell gently on the floor, like a bodiless ghost melting into the shadows on the ground.

Your eyes couldn’t make out what you were seeing at first. The dim lighting of the room wasn’t helping at all, but you were sure that it was a woman’s silhouette that was staring back at you from the canvas. Colors swirled around her, like some unknown mass trying to drag her back into unknown depths. Shapes and tones jumped from the picture, but her form stood out from the rest, gracefully twisted as if she was in the middle of trying to fight and succumb to it at the same time. You frowned. Taking a step closer towards it, you tried to study its details under what little illumination the lamps above afforded you.

That’s when it all happened simultaneously. Your heart stopped beating the same time your eyes widened as they finally focused on what’s in front of them. It’s as if the ground suddenly vanished from underneath your feet and you were falling, falling, deep into the abyss despite your body being frozen in fear and shock.

You know this painting. You’ve seen it before. It was the same one by Renjun, the one that you saw on your first day working in the manor.

But it was different now. Instead of the unfinished state that caught your attention before, everything about the picture now is in sharp focus. The lines on the woman’s nude body, the hands—which you thought were simply dark swirls dragging her back—and her face twisted beautifully in pleasure and madness stared back at you like a nightmare.

But it was not those which truly shook you to your core. It’s the realization that it was your own face in the portrait that was staring back at you, silently screaming for you to run away.

You stumbled back in shock. Your chest felt tight as you tried to grasp for air while your hands fumbled to find something to hold on to keep you from crashing on the ground. Before you could even take another step, however, something hard hit your back and you felt strong arms wrap around your waist like a vice. You have barely realized what was happening when you felt someone lean over your shoulder, lips pressing against the shell of your ear.

“Isn’t it beautiful? You’re the perfect muse, don’t you think?” Renjun asked softly as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

******* You didn’t know how long you stayed frozen in his embrace. For a brief moment you thought you were dreaming again until you felt his arms slowly tighten around your waist. As if a jolt of electricity shocked you, you immediately turned to push him away as you scrambled to put some distance between the two of you.

Renjun didn’t seem the least bothered when your eyes finally focused on him. He remained on his spot, his gaze on you unwavering. You, meanwhile, were shaking from head to toe, the vision of the painting still branded vividly in your head.

“Renjun—what’s this?” you managed to stutter as you pointed at the artwork in the middle of the room. You couldn’t even spare to look at it again while he merely gave it a casual glance.

“It’s you. I’ve been working on it for a long time. I was about to show it to you but it seems like you couldn’t wait for it yourself.”

You felt nauseous. A part of your rational mind was slowly losing it as you tried to process his answer. Something's not right. Something is so terribly wrong.

“Why—why did you do this?”

Renjun simply stared at you and leaned his head a little bit to the side as if he was only mildly curious of your reaction. Your stomach turned even before hearing his answer.

“You said it’s beautiful.”

“This is not right—!”

“I came home because they said you were leaving for good,” he continued speaking softly, effectively cutting you from what you were about to say. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and you took another step back as you watched him get close to his artwork. You watched in horror as his thin fingers lovingly ran over the corners of the canvas. “Jaemin almost lost it… It’s a good thing I got here on time.”

And just like that, everything seemed to have clicked into place. The glances, the touches, the words that seemed to have a different undercurrent under them… they weren’t just fragments of your imagination. Every little thing that has gnawed at you from the inside came into crystal clear focus and you felt your knees go weak from the weight of it all. It took every fiber of your being to try and keep yourself steady now, your legs moving on their own as they took small backward steps away from the boy staring at you now with dead eyes. You couldn’t breathe, but it was the last words he told you that finally snapped you to run.

“I don’t think you’ve realized it yet. But no, you cannot leave. Ever.”

You didn’t know where you got the energy for it but in seconds you were flying out of that room and running blindly down the darkened corridors. Your blood pumped noisily in your ears and your chest felt like it was going to split from the sudden exertion you put on it, but you didn’t stop, not even looking back as you tried to put as much distance between you and the library. You didn’t even know where you were going. All you’re focused on is to find the exit and leave the house as soon as possible.

A loud bang that sounded off to your right startled you and you screamed, the force of your shock making you whip around and almost lose your balance. Before you could even hit the floor, however, a pair of hands caught you and you immediately turned, grasping at the chest of your rescuer.

You froze. Haechan smiled down at you as he tried to steady you on your feet.

“Haechan,” you gasped as you took fistfuls of his shirt and tried to shake him in your panic. “Renjun—he’s—please, help me. He’s after me—” you gasped out, almost out of your wits. You’re on the verge of a total breakdown that it almost escaped you, the way he simply smiled down on your shaking form. It was only when you felt one of his hands gently caress the top of your head that reality slapped you in the face again. You suddenly stopped struggling in his hold, pupils shaking as you watched him study your features lovingly.

“Shh… it’s fine. I got you,” he whispered and you could swear ice pricked you from the inside. A slight movement to the right made you turn your head and you saw Jaemin lean casually against the banister of the stairs, his face serene. He gave you one quick look before a gentle smile finally lit up his features.

“Has it started?” he asked and you felt Haechan’s hold on you tighten.

“It has.”

You didn’t struggle. It was as if any trace of fight you had left you in that moment and you let your hands fall limply on your sides. Haechan also loosened his grip on you and you stared at the two boys blankly, your chest heaving as if fighting for air. They didn’t move from their spots and simply followed you with their eyes as if relishing the fear and realization flashing in your face.

Trapped.

You’re trapped.

You’ve always been.

You didn’t even realize that your legs had started moving again on their own as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall together in your mind. You were only shaken from it when your back finally hit the front door, the cold metal of the knob pressing against your spine. Jaemin and Haechan remained on their spots still, even as you blindly reached out for it from behind.

You were expecting it to be locked, so you were a little bit surprised when you felt it give way under your hand when you tried to turn it open. Just before you could even entertain the idea of escaping, however, any trace of hope you had quickly died as you turned and came face to face with Jeno standing right in front of the entrance. He didn’t look the least surprised seeing you there, as if he was waiting for you in the first place.

You eyes took in his calm countenance before slowly moving to stare downwards at what he was holding by his side. Your gaze locked on it in fear, and that’s when the flight response in you flared up again.

Jeno’s hunting rifle shone dully in the light of the entryway, his pale fingers wrapped on its handle.

“There’s really only one place you can run, noona, but I won’t advise it,” he said evenly and you felt your blood freeze in your veins.

“After all, no matter where you hide, I’ll still find you in that forest.”

It happened all at once. You broke into a run, your body screaming at you to go faster as you heard gunshots pierce the air.

---

CHAPTER 7

A/N: Good lord, I wasn’t expecting I’d finish this today but I got one large iced coffee and well... things happened. Anyway, enjoy! Let’s hope the format won’t mess up this time. T.T Finally, all hell broke loose~ <3

Tag list!

@negincho, @jhornytrash, @jaeminhyuckiii, @jungwoosswhore, @jsturkey, @aj-7, @pukupukupawpau, @tomiesgirlfren, @vsszn, @those-winternights, @xsnelly, @lihyuck, @laheyspizza, @miyeux27, @haoshitt, @mindofthescattered, @huangberryyy, @d1nne, @choppedupcactus, @neokat, @yutasnabi

#nct dream yandere au #nct dream yandere #nct dream yandere fic #jaemin x reader #jeno x reader #renjun x reader #haechan x reader #nct dream 00 line fic #nct dream 00 line x reader #nct horror au #nct dream yandere imagines #jaehyun x reader #yandere!nct dream #yandere!jaemin #yandere!jeno #yandere!renjun #yandere!haechan #nct-writers #yandere!nct dream 00 line

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teawithkpop · 3 years

Text

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 7

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6 - pt 7

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 5.4k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, a lot of emotional turmoil, talk of pregnancy scares (birth control, contraceptives, etc.), implied discrimination towards sex workers (not by any of the boys dw), mentions of sexual acts

slowly hands you a cake that says "I haven't updated this fic in 14 months and I don't know when the next part is coming but here's an update thanks for being patient" in comic sans

-------

The rush to the hospital goes by in a blur of tears and shouting and panic and questions that you can't bring yourself to answer. The only constant is Min Yoongi's hand, firmly locked in your own throughout the ordeal, tethering you to reality.

You now sit in a private room on a sterile medical table and wait to be seen, too numb inside to feel the sting of the cold metal as it cuts into the backs of your thighs. Yoongi stands beside you, still holding your hand, his fingers are laced through yours and squeezing as if it could sap away the fear that eats away your insides, leaving you hollow and empty.

"It'll be alright. Don't worry about a damn thing, okay?" He shifts his weight anxiously, betraying his own underlying worries.

You barely remember him throwing his jacket over you before being rushed out of the house, and you don't feel deserving of the modest coverage. Though the leather is worn and soft against your skin, all you can feel is the harsh metallic zipper, scratching at your chest as though reminding you of your wrongdoings.

"Yoongi…" you start to say, but he cuts you off, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Don't you fucking dare. Don't apologize."

You feel tears well up in your eyes. Your chest grows tight with the words he's forbidden you to say.

"I've already called Namjoon, it'll all be fine. Don't worry." He works his jaw and rubs your hand with surprising tenderness, glancing to the little window in the door every other second.

He's been assuring you with those same words for the past half hour, but it feels like it's been an eternity. As you glance at the clock on the wall, watching the hands tick by, you imagine a scene like that of a health documentary. Tiny sperm, swimming up your insides… fertilizing your previously dormant eggs.

Fuck. You've fucked up.

You might be pregnant with Min Yoongi's child. Your Opticon birth control implant could send you into toxic shock at any moment.

You don't see how things can get much worse than this.

The door finally opens, and what appears to be a nurse steps inside. She holds a clipboard, and examines it while she lets the door close behind her. "Let's see now, Miss..." Her shoulders slump marginally as her eyes reach your name. "Oh, right. The PhysCom."

You don't have the energy to ignore the change in her tone from friendly to disinterested, and simply nod. However, you feel Yoongi stiffen beside you.

The nurse lets out a brief sigh and dons a professional expression. "So, what appears to be the problem?" She directs the question to Yoongi.

"We think her birth control implant isn't working." Yoongi explains, his eyes darting furtively between you and the nurse. "She, um… she reached orgasm."

You flush at the memory, ashamed of your failure to adhere to even the most basic of rules set before you.

The nurse makes a noncommittal noise and jots something down. "Says here it’s an Opticon. And you didn't turn it off, sir?"

He shakes his head.

The nurse touches the end of her pen to her mouth, a note of sympathy forming in her eyes. Not for you, but for Yoongi. "How long have you had her?"

"Excuse me?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

The nurse tucks the clipboard under her arm, giving him a weary, patient smile. “With PhysComs, we have a list of probable scenarios we’re supposed to check for, to better inform the doctor of the situation, and speed along the treatment process.”

She barely spares you a glance before returning her attention to Yoongi, her voice lowered just a fraction. “It’s not uncommon for newly hired female PhysComs to try and… well, intentionally get pregnant from their clients. Especially if those clients have any amount of wealth or status.”

Yoongi seems lost for words.

She nods as if to agree with his surprise. “It’s some psychosis associated with the job,” she says with a shrug, then straightens her posture once more. “So has she been acting strangely at all? What are her symptoms?”

Your ears burn a bit at being talked about like you’re not in the room, but this isn’t the first time you’ve been in such a position. Oftentimes checkups during training were the same way, the physicians would speak exclusively among themselves and Madame while they examined every inch of you, inside and out.

Yoongi, however, is not used to such an experience.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” He says, in a voice much calmer than you would have expected. But one glance at his face tells you all you need to know. His eyes are burning like hot coals. Molten and dangerous.

The nurse doesn’t pick up on his irritation, and busily flips through the pages on her clipboard. “I need reliable information, sir. If you please,” she prompts him.

You can feel Yoongi’s hand clench around yours, and you turn to quiet him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hoping to reassure him enough so he’ll talk to her, but he stands his ground, his eyes glued on the nurse.

“Get out,” Yoongi says.

The nurse does a double take. “Excuse me, sir?”

“I said get the fuck out of here.” He points to the door. “Send us someone who will actually help.”

She fumes silently for a moment, but decides not to argue with him, and heads for the door in a huff.

Yoongi scoffs as you two are left alone once more. “What the fuck kind of bedside manner was that supposed to be?” He mutters, staring at the door.

“It’s okay.” You place a hand on his arm.

“No, it’s not.” He’s adamant, and you sigh wearily. How do you explain that this is only what can be expected?

You pick out a few haphazard words from the maelstrom in your brain, too tired to find the best phrasing. “Medical personnel… they don’t really get it.”

“Get what?” He asks, turning to you in outrage. “Being a fucking decent human being?”

You flinch, withdrawing your hand. You’re too tired to try and get your point across. But he notices you wilt and immediately comes closer, lowering his voice and placing both his hands on your arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the edge of anger fading away to gentleness. Kindness. “What do you mean?”

You sigh, looking off to the side. You don’t deserve to have him look at you like that.

You carefully remove his hands, trying to maintain some semblance of a professional distance, even in the face of disaster. “Most hospitals don’t look favorably at PhysComs. We were given a few lectures about it in training. We use up their resources and time that could instead be given to patients who didn’t willingly put themselves at risk.”

You remember how your fellow trainees had reacted after those discussions. Many of them found the treatment to be unfair, but you yourself felt that, in a way, the medical field’s viewpoint was reasonable. Your choices are what landed you here.

“What the- what are you talking about?” He huffs, still seemingly in the dark. “You didn’t ask for this… this scare. It wasn’t your fault.” He tries to meet your eyes, but your gaze is fixed firmly to the linoleum floor.

A mirthless smile paints your lips. “But I chose this life. And these risks along with it.”

Before he can question you further, the door bursts open and Kim Namjoon enters the room, both his dress shirt and his hair are rumpled, and his eyes are frantic. “Sweetheart?” He rushes to your side and crushes you in a hug. “Are you alright?”

You hear Yoongi let out a breath of relief. “She’s okay, for the moment.”

Something about the way Namjoon holds you feels like a lamp being held against your cold skin. You’re too damp inside to light a flame yourself, but his own body warms you from the outside in the meantime. You want to let yourself enjoy it, but the memory of your unresolved questions leaves you limp in his arms, filled with nothing but misery and confusion.

He pulls back after a moment, checking you over for signs of injury. His eyes are wide with concern. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

A flare of shame rises up in you at the notion of telling Namjoon about your rule-breaking and everything that occured since this morning.

Thankfully, Yoongi seems to sense your hesitance, and he fills in most of the pieces for Namjoon. Namjoon’s expression remains stoic as Yoongi recounts what happened - you being brought home unconcious, seducing Yoongi - up until the mention of your orgasm. Namjoon’s jaw slackens slightly at this, and his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

It’s at this moment that the doctor walks in, a different nurse at his side. He’s a slightly older man, a few wrinkles creasing his brow, and a smile that appears kind until it lands on you. His face is then tinged with that same indifference that most medical professionals give you.

You wish it was your usual physician, but since this was an emergency, you didn’t have time to take the trip to your usual practice. Whatever hospital is nearest, that’s what Yoongi had told the driver.

The man turns to Namjoon, who arguably commands more presence than Yoongi, and the kindness returns. “Sorry for the delay. Busy night. From what I understand, your PhysCom has malfunctioned, is that correct?”

“Her Opticon malfunctioned, yes.” Namjoon corrects him. His diplomatic tendencies are a blessing right now. You just want to know if you’re pregnant or not. You want to know if you’re losing your job. You want to go home.

The doctor runs a few physical tests on you, feeling your breasts, peering down your throat, and examining your vaginal canal, checking for any other symptoms of malfunction from your Opticon. “All’s well so far.” He says, pulling his forefingers out of you, snapping off his gloves, and disposing of them. “May I take a look at the ComGear?”

You feel a flash of panic, waking you out of your stupor. Fuck, was it still in the group chat? You pull out the slim device, heart hammering as you check. Nope. Just settings. Thank god.

You hand it over, and then remember with a looming feeling of dread exactly why it might have been left on the settings page...

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving… Now it’s time for you to receive.”

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

The pieces fall into place, and there’s no doubt in your mind. They must have switched it off.

But why? Why, why, why…?

The doctor - you’re too frazzled to read his nametag - pulls out a pair of reading glasses and takes a look at your ComGear, poking around the device with his pointer finger. “Hm. Strange.” He squints. “The Opticon does appear to be switched off.”

Namjoon blinks. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid that’s the case.” The doctor shows him the setting, the toggle very much in the off position. Namjoon takes the device and looks at it in shock.

The doctor coughs. “I know that, um… for some individuals, the temptation and the… risk associated with no protection during intercourse can be sexually arousing. It’s not the first time we’ve gotten a case like this.”

He removes his glasses, folding them back into his pocket. “However, I would remind you and anyone else who uses this one’s services that although Physical Companions may be virtually expendable, it can become quite expensive for your own sake to impregnate them on a whim, using and discarding them, what with the standard fees for breaching their contract and-”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Namjoon interrupts him, and you notice the iron grip he now has on Yoongi’s arm. Likely the only thing restraining him from throwing a punch. “We’ll be more careful.” Namjoon glances at you, confusion making a little crease between his brows. “Is there some sort of morning after pill she can take, or…?”

“I’m afraid the lingering effects of the Opticon implant render any outside hormone blockers ineffective.” The doctor says, his smile turning thin. “It’s a bit of a blessing and a curse. The hormone production and ovulation suppressant in the Opticon normally make the chance of fertilization zero percent while in use. After it’s switched off, chances are still fairly low at 30 percent, for up to 24 hours. But the chances of fertilization after taking a morning after pill are significantly lower than that, at only five percent.”

He shrugs. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Chances are, your PhysCom will be right as rain and ready to pleasure clients again in about a week.”

A week.

First a week of suspension on Namjoon’s terms… Now it’s on medical advisement.

“A week? What should we do until then?” Namjoon voices your very thoughts, Yoongi seething silently beside him.

“Well, we won’t have any results until three to five days from now.” The man clarifies. “But I highly recommend you leave the implant switched off and keep her on traditional contraceptives until we know for sure. I strongly recommend utilizing other PhysComs in the meantime, just to be safe.”

You’re finished.

The doctor hands Namjoon a paper bag, most likely containing birth control pills and condoms. “She may be somewhat volatile for the next few days. You can bring her in for another checkup in a week.”

You’re weak.

“Thank you.”

You’re numb.

-------

It was a silent car ride back to the house, and as Namjoon helps you step out of the vehicle, one hand holding yours for stability while the other rests on your lower back, you can’t help feeling utterly useless. Detached from your surroundings.

What’s the point of any of this now? There’s no way they’ll want to use you until this is resolved. You’re of no use to them as a sex toy until at least a week from now, and by then it’ll be far too late to earn their favor back.

“We need to have a meeting. Call the others into the living room.” Namjoon speaks to Yoongi in an undertone, and you feel a small ache of hope. Maybe things will work out if everyone just talks to each other.

But when you enter the house and Namjoon begins to steer you upstairs, you finally find your voice.

“No.” You resist against him, turning around at the base of the stairs. “No, I want to be part of the meeting.”

The surprise quickly fades from his face, instead turning to concern. “You need to rest."

Something about the look on his face, about being told yet again through his actions that this doesn’t concern you, it causes something inside you to snap, your apathy vanishing in the wake of this new beast beginning to rear its ugly head within you.

Your throat closes up and a scream erupts from your aching chest. "You don't know what I need!"

Namjoon matches your desperation with an infuriatingly patient look of sympathy. He approaches you, his hand outstretched, but you stagger back away from him. He smiles sadly and drops his hand. "Stay here. It's what's best for you."

What's best for you.

The words throb in your mind, like the memory of an old wound. They bounce listlessly off the walls of your grandiose prison long after Namjoon shuts the door, sealing you away again.

You don't know what comes over you as you see visions of launching yourself at the door, pounding and scratching at the wood like a wild animal.

You could just open the door and follow him downstairs. Some part of you does register that.

But you want them to hear you. You want them to hear you rip your throat raw as you exorcise your demons.

You blink and you're standing still.

You haven't moved.

Your spacious room feels stifling. Like the walls are closing in on you, suffocating you.

Silken ropes sway in the dusk, catching your eye from beyond the balcony window. Your escape route from earlier that day.

You don't think twice before stuffing a few meager belongings into the long forgotten backpack kicked beneath your bed.

You need to leave this place.

You can't stay here.

-------

It had started drizzling not long after you left the house, and even now as you sit on the damp curbside, waiting for the next bus to take you far away from this place, it strikes you as funny, in a way, that the weather is crying for you, since you can't muster any tears of your own.

It's cold and misty, a foreboding atmosphere, by all accounts. It makes you question if what you're about to do is the right call.

But you shut down the arguments in your head as quickly as they appear.

Second guessing was what had gotten you into this situation. You need to follow your instincts.

And your instincts are telling you to flee.

It won't be so bad, you try to convince yourself. After the first night on the road, you'll eventually find a new town, a new home, a new place for yourself in this fucked up world. You've done it before, you can do it again.

You're considering suitable aliases for your new persona, when you sense another person approaching, their shoes tramping through the wet grass.

You don't look up at them, hoping they'll pass by and leave you alone. But they come to a stop beside you.

You keep your gaze on the road, droplets rippling the puddled potholes.

Then the stranger goes to sit on the curb too, and you can't help but look at them.

You'd recognize those lips anywhere, even beneath a baggy hooded sweatshirt.

"It's a bit late to run errands, don't you think?" Seokjin says, pulling his sleeves down to keep out the chill as he perches beside you.

He glances at you, then looks ahead at the road, the same way you were. You return your gaze forward, too exhausted to make a run for it. Though you don't get the sense that he would chase after you, even if you tried to escape.

Maybe that's exactly why you decide to stay put, but you don't give the suspicion any more thought.

"What do you want?" You finally ask, your voice croaky from being silent for so long.

"Nothing."

"Liar," you mutter, hugging your knees to your chest. "Everyone wants something."

He chuckles. Rests back on his hands. "I guess you're right about that."

Damn right you are. You didn't study the human condition through your years of training to be fooled so easily by pretty words.

"So?" You prompt him, still staring at the dreary horizon.

He takes a moment to respond. The silence is punctuated by the distant noises of traffic, an occasional car passing by, its headlights shimmering in the mist before disappearing down the road.

“The others are all out looking for you, you know,” he says simply. “Why do you think that is?”

If it were anyone else that had run away - their manager, a friend - you know what the answer would be. Because they care about that person. But how can you believe that about yourself, when you know you can never amount to anyone with that level of importance to them?

Ironic, since you’re the person with which they can be most intimate and vulnerable.

“I’m a liability,” you reply halfheartedly.

His silence serves to confirm your suspicions. A runaway PhysCom? Far too risky for a group at their level. You could become one of those anonymous sources like you saw in the news. A firsthand account of the BTS members’ secret sexual urges. Unacceptable. Snatches of words from the NDA you signed buzz around the edges of your mind like stray flies.

But since you're no longer connected to your network, then your tracker is probably disconnected. If the bus had come just a little earlier, you might already have escaped without a trace.

“You really think that’s the only reason?” Seokjin’s voice pulls you back to the moment.

His abysmal attempt to divert from the problem gets a hollow laugh out of you.

“Any other reason has ulterior motives. It’s just business.” You check the time on your ComGear. The bus should be here any minute. “I’m leaving, and I won’t let you stop me.”

“I don’t intend to,” he agrees, to your surprise. “God knows you’ve been put through enough.” He then leans forward, resting his forearms across his legs. “But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Your ears perk up at this.

Seokjin seems to take your silence as permission to continue. “The reason we decided to suspend you. It wasn’t… entirely selfless.”

You purse your lips in irritation and fix your gaze upon the horizon, settling your chin beneath your crossed arms. “Right. Ulterior motives, like I said.”

He clicks his tongue. “Touche.”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

Your curiosity gets the better of you.

“So, what… were you planning to replace me?” You ask, trying to sound contemptuous. “I heard you all having your little group meeting in the kitchen. There are plenty of shiny new whores at your disposal, take your pick.”

He still makes no noise.

You wait, preparing to accept a bitter confirmation of all your fears.

But then he finds his voice. “We could never replace you, dear.”

You stop. Look over at him. His eyes are half lidded, his smile bittersweet as he stares off into the distance. After a few moments, he fishes around in his pocket and pulls something out, then hands it to you.

His smartphone.

“Here,” he murmurs, sympathy in the quirk of his lips. “In case you need to call anyone. Those devices they give you don’t have a cell plan, I assume.”

He seems to sense your wariness, and waves the phone a bit in a gesture of insistence. “I can buy a dozen new ones. It’s no trouble.”

You very hesitantly take it. “Thanks.”

Of course, he has no way to know that your ComGear is now jailbroken, for all intents and purposes. But… is this a trap? What if there’s a tracker in the phone? But why would he need to put a tracker in it if he doesn’t know your ComGear is off the grid?

The rumble of an approaching motor pulls you out of your cyclical thoughts, and you get on your feet, slowly coming out of your dissociative sulk.

But you still feel numb. Nothing matters anymore.

Nothing at all.

Jin gets up along with you, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Stay safe, alright?”

You give a brief nod of acknowledgment, only half in his direction as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder more securely. The hydraulics of the bus screech as the vehicle comes to a stop and lowers slightly, allowing you to step onboard.

You glance back, fully expecting Jin to stop you. But he doesn’t. He blinks raindrops out of his eyes while you board, and gives you a small smile once the doors close behind you. He lifts a hand in farewell, then turns and starts to walk away down the street.

He’s really letting you go.

You pay your fare and find a seat towards the back of the nearly empty bus. Rain pelts at the windows, picking up in earnest, and it feels like yet another layer, another barrier, separating yourself and creating an ever-growing chasm from the life you knew up until yesterday.

You pull out Jin’s phone, staring at the dark screen and wiping away stray raindrops from the surface with your sleeve. Why had he come to find you, if not to stop you?

“But for what it’s worth, you deserve to know the truth.”

Maybe he felt guilty. Or remorseful for the hell you’ve been put through recently. You would normally have felt immense satisfaction at such a thought.

But you can’t feel much of anything right now.

You don’t think you’ll be able to feel properly again. At least not for a long, long time…

Hm? The screen lit up. You must have pressed a button by accident. You swipe at it again, and to your surprise it unlocks. Who doesn’t put a passcode on their phone?

Is it possible… he disabled it before he gave it to you? Maybe. Whatever. You’re so tired of thinking, playing investigator and second guessing people’s motivations.

You scroll over to the phone icon, and tap on it, briefly considering calling your parents. But the wetness on your fingers messes with the touchscreen and you open the messages app instead.

You’re about to wipe the screen and try again, but… the most recent messages are… all about you. You tap on the group chat among the seven of them, currently bustling with activity.

[ Kim Namjoon ]: has anyone found her [ Park Jimin ]: hyung I’m so sorry [ Park Jimin ]: it’s all my fault [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not at the studio [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’ll talk about it later Jimin [ Kim Namjoon ]: everyone keep looking [Jeon Jungkook]: manager said they can call her network to track her down [Kim Taehyung ]: should we do that? [ Jung Hoseok ]: no! she could get in trouble :( [ Min Yoongi ]: she’s not a stray pet [ Kim Namjoon ]: exactly [ Kim Namjoon ]: we need to keep this quiet for her sake [Kim Taehyung ]: she hasn’t replied to my texts or calls [ Min Yoongi ]: me neither [Jeon Jungkook]: hyung... will she be okay? [ Kim Namjoon ]: everything will be fine don’t worry [ Kim Namjoon ]: we’re going to fix this somehow [ Min Yoongi ]: whatever it takes [ Jung Hoseok ]: where could she have gone... [ Park Jimin ]: what if she doesn’t come back?

You scroll further up, past days and weeks and months of texts between them… not even a day between mentions of you. Wondering if you’re alright. Hoping you’ve eaten enough. Wanting to do more with you.

The thread of texts Jimin sent to Seokjin just yesterday.

Hyung I wish things were different I want to hold her I want to tell her she’s enough I wish I could kiss her… I think I love her Do you ever feel that way?

And Seokjin’s reply.

I do I know just what you mean Why do you think I turned those secondaries away last night, hm? No one can compare She really is special…

He didn’t… fuck the secondaries? After you broke at dinner, he… didn’t...?

You switch to his thread with Namjoon from a few days ago.

I know you’re our leader but I don’t think this is the way to go You need to be more cautious

Namjoon’s reply.

What we need is action, hyung If we work together on this, we could get rid of these unnecessary rules We could all have what we want Including her It’s what’s best for everyone

Seokjin took several minutes to reply.

You’re going to lose her.

Jin knew. He tried to talk Namjoon out of writing that stupid essay, or maybe it was about your suspension.

Either way, he defended you.

You open his thread with Hoseok. Dimly, you recognize that you shouldn’t be snooping, but you’re too absorbed to stop.

Hyung, I think she really wants this All of us ♡ I don’t know how, but we need to show her that it’s okay That we want it just as much

How do you know that’s what she wants?

I can’t say ♡ But I know now She wouldn’t reject us Our feelings She feels something too

The date and time lines up with this morning. The morning after he made love to you.

He didn’t tell them. He kept your secret.

“Our feelings”? What does he mean? Him, Jimin, Taehyung… Seokjin? Do they all…?

Your head spins, the hollowness of your heart filling with a rush of jumbled emotions, like a tide crashing in. All your numbness is washed out with light, just a pinprick at first, that grows rapidly into a ray of warmth as you consider what all this could mean. The chasm starts to narrow, and you get the urge to jump ship, to turn back and figure this shit out. To know once and for all what they want from you. What you mean to them.

But how can you trust this isn’t a trap? How can you be sure?

The answer is as simple as they come.

You can’t.

You can’t be absolutely certain that their intentions are pure… that this is the right thing to do… that you won’t be hurt again.

But maybe... trust isn’t about being infallible. Being right. Being sure.

Maybe it’s built on what ifs. On trying again, even with no guarantees.

Guarantees are only as good as their word, and talk is cheap. Lies are easy. Your Opticon had a 100% guarantee, and look where that got you.

But you remember the way Hoseok held you that night, and made love to you like you’ve never felt in your life... When Jimin kissed his way down your body, with only the best of intentions. Namjoon’s strong arms embracing you when you felt powerless. Yoongi’s hand never leaving yours, even while you waited in the hospital. Jungkook carrying you home after you fainted, breaking your door to make sure you were safe in bed. The look in Taehyung’s eyes when he finally kissed you, breaking the ice you’d been growing around your heart.

How Seokjin let you go.

Maybe...

You get up with a start, rush to the front of the bus, and hastily ask the driver to let you off, much to the old man’s disgruntlement, but the moment the doors whoosh open, you take off at a run.

You want to go home.

You want to try again.

No matter how much you try to bury it, to forget the way they make you feel, you care about them. All of them. On a much deeper level than that of a PhysCom and client. And it scares you.

But you’re done running from fear. From uncertainty.

Now you’re running towards it willingly, as you give chase down the torrential streets, searching for that familiar hooded figure and hoping you’re not too late. You’re embracing the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty, the paranoia... letting their shadowy claws sink into you until they can’t hurt you anymore. Until they fade away, cowering under the glow of your determination.

You’re setting some new rules for yourself, no longer letting fear control your thoughts and actions, barring you from any chance of happiness.

You see Seokjin in the distance, trudging home through the pouring rain. You run faster.

You’re fucking terrified. But you’ve never felt so free in your life.

“Jin!” You shout to get his attention, still a block away. He turns around, and shakes his head, seemingly confused, but a smile starts to appear. You smile too.

Finally, you catch up to him, and without warning, you throw your arms around his shoulders. Damn, he’s always taller than you remember.

He laughs, shocked by your change of heart. “What are you doing?”

“I want to hear you say it.” You reply, looking up at him as rain dashes down your face. You don’t know when you started crying, but you’re grateful to the weather for masking your tears.

“Say what?” He asks, his hands resting on your waist to support you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, rain sliding down his perfect face.

“How you feel about me.” You reply, studying his eyes. “Be honest.”

He seems to sense the gravity in your words. He holds you closer. His eyes soften.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

For the first time since all of this started, you sense no deception in his words, no double meaning, no hidden agenda.

Because you aren’t searching for reasons to doubt this time.

You’re searching for reasons to trust, and you find them.

You want to kiss him. So you do.

#bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts x reader smut #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts ot7 #bts ot7 smut #bts smut fic #bts fic rec #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #thank you all for waiting ;w;

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baby-bearie · 4 years

Text

the 7 ways he’ll tell you he loves you

(NOT MY GIF ALL CREDIT TO OWNER)

jj maybank x reader

taglist: @snarkystarkey @sunflowermotel @howdyherron @drew-starkey @maraseavey @outerbanqs @yelyahryan @obxwriterfan @avashroom @rewindlr @raekenliar @imsad05 @ceruleanjj @dolanfivsosxox @heyhargrove @lashtonandmalumsbaby @beautyandthebleh @pancahke @outrbank @johnbsflowr @corleigh @poguemacking @maybe-maybanks @katie-avery @5sos-seavey

a/n: this is unedited, so sorry about the mistakes. i saw a lot of trouble going around with plagiarism on wattpad and i did report a lot of books with stolen fics and props to you guys for getting a few actually taken down!! plagiarism and theft of intellectual property is HURTFUL, writers put SO MUCH into their work, and it’s not so you can get some votes on a wattpad page. also, boys using lovely as a nickname is ;alsdjffenve.

How long is forever supposed to be? Months? Years, decades, lifetimes? Forever was supposed to be you and JJ.

Forever feels like the 15 minutes that he’s been fighting you for.

“Y/n, I don’t get why you’re turning this into such a big deal.”

“Stop doing that. Stop acting like I don’t get to be mad. I do! I am! You know, you always do this JJ.” “I do not.” “You do. I’m sick of it. I’m- I’m sorry, JJ, but I’m done. I don’t wanna do this anymore,” you sniffle. You refuse to cry. Not in front of him. “We’re going in circles, I really think it’s time to, to just call it quits.” You shrug. JJ is silent. You wait, you yourself need to process what just came out of your mouth.

JJ is on the couch. He leans on his knees with his elbows and his head is hanging low. He nods. Slowly at first, then quicker.

“Okay,” he sighs, “You’re right. You’re right.” You nod, relieved that he agreed with you. A bigger part of you was upset that he agreed with you. It would’ve been nice if he had put up some kind of a fight.

“So, uh, I’ll go.” “Yeah.”

You collapsed onto the couch, rubbing a hand over your face. A brightly colored magazine was open on the coffee table in front of you. Cheetah printed bold letters spelled out a headline:

The 7 Ways He’ll Tell You He Loves You.

Talk about bad timing. You flipped the cover back over it.

#1: He’ll flat out tell you.

“You know, you’re one of the dumbest boys I’ve ever met.” “Right back at you.” JJ grinned up at you. “Oh, low blow, dude.” You laughed, tackling him down onto the bed. JJ fell back with a loud oof, the breath knocked out of his stomach.

“One day, you’ll do that and I won’t get up, you know that? You’re actually going to be the death of me.” “Oh, I hope so. I’m already sick of you.” “This is literally you confessing to my murder.” He laughed, shoving you off him so he could hover over you instead. “They won’t arrest me, I’m too cute.” You gave him a cheesy smile.

“That you are,” JJ smirked, leaning down to press soft kisses into the skin between your jaw and your neck. You hummed in approval as he pulled away. You fiddled with the necklace which dangled from his neck. “I love you,” he muttered.

“ ‘Til I murder you?”

He pecked your lips. “Til you murder me.”

He couldn’t have fought for you? Put up some sort of argument? This was a stupid battle to pick with yourself. You were the one who instigated the break up.

Maybe you weren’t expecting him to actually agree with you. You weren’t expecting him to let you end things.

#2: He’ll protect you.

“Maybank, I swear to god, if you don’t get us down from here right now I will throw your ass off this cliff.” “It’s really not that high up!” “Holy shit!” You yelped and turned to bury your face in JJ’s chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you.

“Hey, you’re okay, alright? You’re okay. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I got you. It’s okay, I got you.” JJ assured you, laughing a little through his words at how tightly you were clutching his tank top.

The next couple of weeks hurt like hell. It’s a sad process, trying to leave behind someone you were rooted to so deeply. You’d see him at parties or even just out on the street sometimes.

His eyes always followed you. When you were dating, you were amazing at being able to tell when JJ was watching you. A shiver used to run over your spine, and you’d turn and immediately meet his eyes. He’d smirk and raise his hand to salute you.

God, how you missed that smirk.

Apparently, after you stopped dating, your body never forgot what it felt like when his eyes were on you. These days, when you turned to look at him his eyes were intense. He held your eyes for a second. One second when you could forget how you cried and how he left without kissing you goodbye.

Then he looked away.

#3: He thinks of you when you’re not with him.

“Hey, baby, look at this.” JJ threw the door to the Chateau open and marched over to you. His smile was proud, like a child trying to impress his mom. He stuck out his hand and dropped a small square magnet into yours. You flipped it over to see the front.

It was brown and painted badly to look wooden. There were two u-shaped magnets painted on as well, and it read, ‘I can’t help but be attracted to you’. You read this out loud and JJ grinned, ecstatic with his choice.

“Where did you get this?” You snorted. “It was at some cheesy gift shop. It made me think of you so I had to buy it.” “It’s perfect. I love it.” You stood to kiss his cheek and slid the magnet onto the fridge. “You’re very welcome.”

JJ has always been nearly unreadable. He’s scarily good at hiding his thoughts and feelings from everyone around him, often including his best friends. You knew John B at least had some knowledge of JJ’s emotions, but you doubted the rest of the group did.

You had at least managed to make a couple cracks in the hard walls he had built up around himself.

#4: He shows you his emotions.

You gaped in awe at the bruises littering his torso. You had no idea just how bad it was. You had no idea why he never told you.

“I can’t take him anymore, Y/n, I can’t take it- can’t do it anymore.” JJ sobbed, his arms tightening around you. You guided his head down to your shoulder.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, J. C'mere.” You took a deep breath. You would not cry. Not when he needed you to be strong. “Let it out. You’re okay now.” You locked eyes with John B, terrified.

His tears soaked the skin on your shoulder and the first of many that night fell into his hair.

But since the breakup, from what you saw of him you couldn’t get anything. His face was expressionless every time you made eye contact with him.You had seen him smile at his friends once or twice, but nothing real. JJ was very good at fake smiles. They looked nearly identical to his real ones. But you loved him for long enough to know what a real one should look like.

#5: He’ll try and make you laugh.

“Why are you sad, lovely? Stop it, I hate seeing you sad.” JJ pulled you on his chest, brushing hairs out of your face. You shook your head, tucking your face into his chest.

“Ok. Fine. You leave me no other choice.” JJ sighed loudly. “What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when he tells time?”

He waited a second for an answer that never came. “Dwayne ‘The Clock’ Johnson.”

You laughed abruptly, but it came out as a sob. You didn’t lift your head.

“Alright, you want more, fine. What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when he won’t shut up? Dwayne ‘The Talk’ Johnson. What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when the doorbell is broken? Dwayne ‘The Knock’ Johnson. What do you call Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson when he wears comfortable, breathable footwear? Dwayne ‘The Croc’ Johnson.”

Your whole body was shaking with uncontrollable laughter now. You were certain that JJ had been practicing those at some point.

“No more, no more, please,” You finally lifted your head and JJ wiped away a fallen tear with his thumb. You choked on a laugh. “So how long did it take you to come up with those?”

JJ frowned. “What do you mean, I came up with those like just now!” He laughed.

“Okay, sure, JJ.” “Don’t test me, I have like, 8 more.”

You think the worst part about this is being lonely. You’re surrounded by comforting friends who try and take you places and get you to have fun but at the end of the night you go home to an empty bed and you wake up in an empty bed.

And every morning without fail, you’ll wake up and reach for him. And every morning without fail, he won’t be there.

#6: He’ll make romantic gestures.

“JJ? Where are you?” You sat up, groggily. He wasn’t in bed, that’s for sure.

“G’morning, lovely,” JJ strolled into your room, carrying a tray. You propped yourself up on the headboard and took it from him.

“Aw, JJ, what is all this?” “Breakfast.” “You made breakfast?”

JJ stole a berry off your plate and popped it in his mouth, nodding. He took a seat near your legs.

JJ can’t cook for shit.

“Baby, it’s okay, it’s the thought that counts, I thought it was sweet!” “Nah, dude, that was shitty, I’m sorry. That bread tasted like a frying pan.” “The berries were good.” “That’s because all I did to them was wash them.”

You hit up another party with your friends. They were the best kind of distraction. You pulled up the green bikini strap that was falling down your shoulders. This was his favorite top.

“Y/l/n!” You heard a voice shout. “Y/n!”

You turned to see who was shouting your name and smiled at John B. “Hey, Routledge, good to see you!” “Hey, Y/n. Look, I know you guys aren’t on talking terms- “John B, no,” You interrupted, but he kept talking over you.

“But, please, Y/n, he won’t talk to anybody and we’re all worried about him.” “I really can’t, I don’t think he- “He’s in the van. Driver’s seat. Thank you!” And then he was gone. You huffed.

You could see the van from here and you could barely make out a figure sitting in the front seat.

You stood there for a second before you forced yourself to get over it and you made your way around dancing teenagers to the van.

You pulled open the door and climbed into the passenger seat. He turned to look at you.

“Hi,” you forced out. This felt uncomfortably unfamiliar. “Hey, Y/n.”

“How are you?” He asked. He was being formal. He was never formal with you.

“Fine, I guess. What about you?”

He said nothing. “Small talk? Is that what we are now? We have to make small talk?” He laughed, exasperated.

“I know you hate small talk.”

“What happened to us?” His eyes are wet, and he doesn’t look at you, just stares straight ahead. “I made a mistake.” You said it out loud. You hadn’t forced yourself to admit it yet. That you were wrong for putting him in this position.

“What?” He turned to look at you.

“I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I think some part of me thought you wouldn’t actually let me do it. That you would fight to make us work.” You shrugged. Your eyes watered up.

“Well, I didn’t want to break up with you.” He spoke quickly.

“What?” Now it was your turn to be confused.

“Of course I never wanted to leave you, Y/n. I love you.” “But you said I was right. And you left.” “I thought that was what you wanted. I want you happy. If that means I have to get out of the picture, then I’m gone. I left because I thought you wanted me to go.”

You scoff. “So, all this time we’ve just been playing ourselves.”

JJ laughs, a wet one. “You know, nobody told me just how fucking useless I was going to be without you.” He finally really looks at you.

There’s a half smile on his face and his eyes are full of tears.

You leap into him, and he meets you halfway. He buries his forehead on your shoulder and his hand is holding the back of your head. “I missed you. I missed you so much, lovely.” He cries into your hair.

#7: He’ll do anything if it means you’re happy.

#outer banks imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagines #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj imagines #jj outer banks #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fic #obx imagine #john b routledge #rudy pankow #outer banks fluff #outer banks angst

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

holly's august extravaganza day 4: a friend in me

📍 anon - I don't know but I feel like Carlos and Nancy can have such an awesome best friend dynamic. Maybe something sad/scary regarding Nancy happens where she has to make a report at the precinct and Carlos doesn't tell anyone as she made him promise so he starts to just check on Nancy and they just develop this caring, supportive, beautiful, fun, full of banter friendship to the amusement of TK and the 126.

kept this separate from your original ask because i want to keep those other prompts you sent alongside this one for later 😊

ao3 | 2k | hurt/comfort, brief references to gun violence, mostly just carlos and nancy being besties

Carlos has never seen Nancy look so small.

She’s sitting hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, hands seemingly moving of their own volition to tear the empty styrofoam cup in front of her to shreds. As soon as Carlos had seen her being escorted into the precinct, shaking like a leaf and clutching her coat like a lifeline, he’d persuaded the officer with her to let him take over the case. His association with the 126 is well known so the officer had been reluctant, but Carlos had managed to wear him down, saying that he doesn’t really know Nancy that well.

And it’s—it’s not exactly a full lie. Through their hangs and TK’s stories, he’s coming to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But of her personal life, Carlos knows next to nothing; she mentioned a sister a few weeks ago, and TK delights in teasing her about her growing crush on Marjan, but that’s about it.

He needs to make more of an effort, he decides. When they’re anywhere else but a police station.

Carlos knocks lightly on the door to announce his presence before entering the room, sending her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Nancy visibly relaxes at the sight of him and she drops the remains of her cup, though Carlos doesn’t miss the continuing tremble to her hands.

“Hey Nancy,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite her. “How are you doing?”

Nancy’s lips twitch, the corners barely curving into the beginnings of a wry smile. She breathes out shakily, meeting Carlos’s eyes for the briefest second before staring back down at the table. “I’m not great,” she answers, and for her to admit to that… Well, Carlos suspects it’s not a regular occurrence.

He nods, reluctantly pulling out his notebook and pen, hesitating before flipping to the next blank page. Nancy tracks his movements, resignation clearly etched all over her features. Carlos glances at the two-way mirror—not that it does him any good—then reaches across the table to take Nancy’s hand.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” he murmurs. “If you need more time, just say the word and I’ll leave. Or if you’d prefer to talk to someone you don’t know, we can do that too. Anything you need.”

The sudden tightness of Nancy’s grip is unexpected, as is the flash of panic in her eyes.

“Please, don’t go,” she whispers. “I don’t—” She cuts herself off, shutting her eyes and breathing slowly for a few seconds. Slowly, her hold on Carlos begins to loosen until her hand is slack in his, then she draws both hands into her lap and straightens in her chair. When her eyes reopen, she seems more like the Nancy Carlos knows—strong, confident, assertive—though there’s still clearly an undercurrent of fear underneath it all.

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

Carlos bites back an are you sure and settles for clicking his pen, his smile unwavering. “Can you run me through what happened, exactly?” he asks. “Take your time.”

A second or two passes, then Nancy nods, her voice steady when she speaks. “I was restocking the bus at the end of shift. I was alone; Captain Vega was in her office and TK was with the others in the showers—he did try to help but he’d had to go into a fire on our last call to help a patient and the smell of smoke was giving me a headache, so I told him to go.”

Carlos pauses in his note-taking, mentally filing that last piece of information away for follow-up as soon as he sees his boyfriend again. Judging by the amused quirk to Nancy’s eyebrow, she’s fully aware of where his mind has gone, so Carlos clears his throat and motions for her to continue, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

“Like I said, I was alone. I didn’t mind it; it was kind of relaxing, you know? Then this guy appeared from nowhere and pointed a gun at me, saying if I called out or turned on the siren or anything, he’d shoot. I thought—” She inhales sharply, her knuckles going white on the tabletop and her jaw clenching tightly. Her voice sounds different when she next speaks, more controlled, as though forcing each word out. “I thought it was happening again. I thought he was going to take me somewhere, make me his personal pet paramedic, something like that.

“Turns out, he just wanted drugs. I gave him what we had on the rig and he seemed satisfied, so I figured he’d shoot me anyway ‘cause I’d seen his face, right? He didn’t—obviously—but it looked like he was considering it.” Nancy pauses and flicks her gaze up at Carlos, biting her lip. “I think he might have done it,” she admits quietly, “but he got spooked by one of the guys making noise so he just bolted. I’m not sure how long it was between that and TK coming back and finding me. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head. “It’s okay. We can check the cameras at the station. With luck, that should get us an ID, maybe a license plate if he drove. I think that’s almost everything; just one more question, if that’s okay. Can you tell me what you gave him exactly?”

Nancy nods. “Morphine, Ativan, tramadol… I’d have to check stocks for the exact amounts.”

“We’ll do that, don’t worry about it.” Carlos taps his pen on the pages before flipping his notebook shut and leaning across the table again. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Speaking as a friend and not a cop, if there’s anything you need, anything I can help with, let me know.”

She smiles wanly. “I’m okay. I just want to go home and forget all this ever happened.”

“Fair enough. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Carlos half-expects her to brush him off, but she just nods and allows him to escort her back through the precinct and out to her car. He dithers awkwardly, shuffling his feet as Nancy turns to him, one hand on the door handle.

“Thank you, Carlos. For real. I have the feeling it wasn't a coincidence that you were the one in that room with me.”

The tips of Carlos’s ears go pink as he finds himself caught out. “That, uh… That would not be inaccurate.”

“Well, thanks.” She pulls open the car door and Carlos takes a step back, wanting to wait until she’s safely away to go back inside. Nancy ducks as if to get in, then pauses and straightens again, biting her lip as she looks back at him.

“Hey, Carlos?” she says. “Can you do me a favour and not tell the others? Not even TK. They— They know vaguely what happened, but I’d prefer it if the details and, uh, some of the other stuff I told you could be kept between us.”

He agrees immediately, just grateful that she trusts him enough to handle this for her. “No-one will know any more than they need to,” he promises, which seems to relieve her. She thanks him again, then gets in the car and drives away, Carlos watching after her with one hand raised in farewell.

It grows from there.

It’s not intentional exactly, but one text to check up on her soon turns into a steady stream of messages, stories and jokes and even the occasional meme passing back and forth between them. Carlos especially appreciated Nancy's carefully curated collection of dirt on TK, which, as a concerned boyfriend, it is his duty to know. Many a conversation has been spent griping about TK's accident prone ways or sighing over his latest mishap.

Lovingly, of course.

Nancy, 15.48: you’ll never guess what happened this time

Carlos, 16.22: ?

In answer, he receives a picture of a dejected-looking TK sprawled on the floor with Buttercup’s front paws squarely resting on his chest. Buttercup’s tongue is lolling out, a wide grin on his face, and in the background stand the rest of the crew. All of them also seem to have their phones pointed towards TK—probably the reason TK looks so down, as Carlos knows his boyfriend couldn’t be upset with Buttercup to save his life.

Nancy, 16.26: he thought he’d try to teach buttercup some tricks. turns out, dog trainers exist for a reason

Carlos has to stifle a laugh—technically, he is supposed to be working—but his attempt at being subtle is thwarted when his phone repeatedly pings with similar texts and photos from Paul, Marjan, and Mateo. He screenshots the sudden influx of notifications and sends it to Nancy before saving every single photo.

Nancy responds with a laughing emoji and a promise to keep him updated.

Not all of their conversations are about TK, naturally.

Carlos, 19.10: I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her

Nancy, 19.12: i do talk to her. every shift, actually

Carlos, 19.13: Nancy

Nancy, 19.13: carlos

Nancy, 19.14: i don’t even know if she’s into women, alright? it’s not like i can just march up and ask, that’s like waving a banner saying ‘hey, i’m in love with you’ in her face

Carlos, 19.16: Oh, we’re talking about love now, are we?

Nancy, 19.17: can it, reyes

Carlos, 19.20: Noted. Look, take it from someone who’s been navigating gay relationships in Texas his whole life. Sometimes you just have to go for it. Ask her for coffee, test the waters, see where it leads. You never know, it might work out. I mean, look at me

Nancy, 19.24: wow, way to rub your happiness in my face 😑

(Carlos doesn’t find out if she follows his advice, but he does notice her and Marjan showing up to their hangs together)

(Nancy does not appreciate his smugness)

Without even realising, they become a formidable team. This fact is highlighted one game night about three months after the incident, when Nancy and Marjan blow into his and TK’s house, a determined glint in both their eyes.

“We’re switching up the teams,” Marjan declares, much to TK’s outrage.

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Nancy continues, “we’re tired of losing to you guys. You’re like, freakishly good at board games and it’s not fair. Plus, we have to watch you both being all lovey all the time when you’re on the same team and it’s exhausting. We want to see you being competitive for once.”

TK pouts, but Carlos just shrugs when he looks to him for backup. “It’ll be fun,” he says, smiling at Nancy and Marjan. TK still looks put out, so he leans in close and half-murmurs, “C’mon babe. How about a prize for the winner?”

TK perks up considerably at the suggestion, and, going by the twin looks of despair on Nancy and Marjan’s faces, they caught both the comment and the innuendo. Marjan groans and Nancy raises her eyes skyward, as if pleading for divine intervention.

“This was a great idea, actually,” TK says, grinning. He quirks an eyebrow at Nancy. “You and me, Nance?”

That seems to shake Nancy out of her silent prayers for strength. “Uh, no. I’m with Carlos.” To emphasise the point, she strides forward and grabs Carlos’s arm, dragging him to the couch. He nudges her gently when they sit, smirking at the disgruntled way she digs into the snack bowl.

“You did say you wanted to see us being competitive.”

“Shut up.”

In the end, TK ends up paired with Mateo, and Marjan with Paul. It’s clear from the outset who’s going to win—Nancy and Carlos dominate the board, and not even Paul’s master strategy is enough to catch up with them.

They win by a comfortable margin, fist-bumping in celebration. There’s a general air of bemusement in the room, and when Carlos looks round at the others, he finds four pairs of eyes fixed on them.

“What?”

“Since when have you two been such a good team?” Paul asks, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow.

Carlos shrugs, sharing a smile with Nancy. “Guess we just are.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #carlos reyes #nancy gillian #marjan marwani #tk strand #tarlos #lone star #911ls #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #📍 anon

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manicpixiess · 3 years

Text

✨coaching kid aesthetic✨ (for my desi stem gang where y’all at)

I have been in 12th grade for approximately fifteen months now (my thanks, Ramesh Pokhriyal, it’s been fun :) ) and if I don’t romanticise studying for entrances, I Simply Will Not Do It, so here goes!

~ that ever-growing pile of dry, used up pens that you cannot bring yourself to discard because goddamn it took a lot of effort to get them that way

~ finding yourself caught in a rabbit hole on chemistry stack exchange at 2 in the morning, because you’ll be damned if you let that one possibly irrelevant question on the DPP sheet slide

~ standing around the momo/ assorted shady street food stall outside the coaching centre, wasting that sweet, sweet fifteen minute break discussing a deliciously unsolvable question with your academic rivals; for a while you’re all just confused kids together, and it’s not that bad

~ quiet moments of absolute despair in between classes or after a test or at your desk after a long day, because oh god there’s hundreds of thousands of people writing this exam and I can’t compete with any of them

~ flipping through your full rough books once the last page has been completely covered with scribbled equations, because I did that I did that I did all of that

~ your walls are a collage of zany inspirational posters that your parents thought would somehow help, pages and pages of organic reaction mechanisms, handy math formulae, tiny physics concepts that are so important and so forgettable, salt analysis spreads that you know you won’t give a second glance

~ finding a youtube video from a Kota coaching centre or a 7 year old reddit thread that exactly answers the ultra specific question you had is as close as you’ve come to happiness in 3 years (followed closely by solving a hard question from one of those textbooks that no one remembers the actual name of, it’s just the author’s name)

~ the only revision you need before a test is the notes you scrawled to yourself that fill the covers and end pages of your notebooks; most of them are quite profane and that is okay, it drives the point home

~ stacking all your reference books and textbooks into a tottering pile, laughing hysterically as it grows taller than you

~ books everywhere; on your bed, on your desk, on your parents’ bed, in the kitchen, in the closet; an aggrieved do you really need them all from a family member. Yes, you think, but don’t say, because it’s more a fact from here and a reaction from there than anything else

~ saturday morning classes; watching the sunlight streaming in through the window while learning something fanciful and difficult, eating lime and orange popsicles with your friends, everyone pretending to hate it, but really, they’re all happy.

~ going from nervous, to eager, to tired, just tired over the course of two years; sleep is for the weak, your friends tell each other as you all stay up till the sun rises, cramming for something that will be forgotten in a week. You fall asleep anywhere, anytime, because it’s been so long since you slept a full eight hours

~ reminiscing about tenth grade, the good old days, but you know that these are the friends you’ll remember for the rest of your life; nothing brings people together quite like common suffering, after all

~ talking often of all the things you could be doing if didn’t have to study, but really, you wouldn’t know what to do yourself

~ saying no, over and over again, to all the people who call you out, to family engagements, to other friends, because you’ve lived so long in this world that you’ve forgotten what it’s like on the other side

~ the group chat after 3 am is for detailing exactly how you screwed are for the next day’s test, for a friend to point out that they are, in fact, more screwed than you (discussions on what exactly the point of life is are also allowed)

~ coming out of exam rooms sweaty and relieved, because no one will expect anything of you for the next fortnight, waiting outside them for your friends to finish so you can have a collective freakout (you can’t be the only one who forgot about instantaneous axes of rotation and acid catalysed aldol reactions, right? Right?)

~ your friends are your therapists, and you are theirs, because even (or especially) in a system intent on pitting kids against each other, you rely on each other to keep (some approximation of) happy and motivated

~ jokes about being sad, scared, tired, angry, hurt; because feeling any of it takes up more time than can be spared

~ ink stained hands, heavy bags, clothes that are loose and old

~ regular schoolwork is ignored, bio/comp labs are gossip sessions, physics labs are for getting confused when g isn’t 9.8, chemistry labs are for unleashing pyromaniacal chaos

~ it’s either one question taking up an entire day or 200 questions in 4 hours, there’s no in between

~ looking at the stars in the sky after a late class, thinking that some day, you’ll be far away from here, doing something you love; then thinking that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all bad

#jee #desi #coaching #academia #studying #desi academia #thoughts #aesthetic

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

The Librarian’s Trick

Day one Ectoberhaunt: Trick or Treat

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34213519

Wes was certain this Cassius guy was a ghost. He had to be. Humans didn’t live on the outskirts of town in large decrepit clock towers that Wes was pretty sure didn’t exist last week .

Humans didn’t have red eyes and white hair (unless they had a condition called Albinoism, Wes had looked it up. But Albinoism also meant they had no melanin anywhere and Cassius Dark was decidedly tan in an admittedly attractive but decidedly not Albino kind of way)

Humans didn’t have fangs when they smiled but normal teeth whenever Wes tried to point out that He had FANGS. They were right there!!!

Humans didn’t spend all their time either with Danny Fenton (who was Also very much a ghost!! Which should be in the list of proof but no one believes it so it’s seperate but still!) or mysteriously absent.

And humans didn’t seem to know everything all the time but talk like a bad astrology website.

So Wes was going to find a way to prove it.

His first try had him sneaking a “ghost translator” he didn’t remember the stupid name Fenton’s dad called it when he bought it with his allowance, into the library where Cassius Dark supposedly worked.

Supposedly, because while he could be found there, Wes had never actually seen him doing anything other than reading. And it was never a book Wes recognized, like, he wasn’t reading the Twilight series or anything. The last book Wes saw had been a large ancient looking tome written in a language Wes didn’t recognize. But Everytime he tried (subtly! He was super nonchalant about it!) to take a picture it ended up blurry!! And No Kyle, it wasn’t because he was bad at taking photos .

But that didn’t matter because Wes had a different plan now. He was going to use the Fentons’ new version of their “ghost translator” thing, and see what happened. It was supposed to be both a translator and a truth decoder at the same time. So no matter what a ghost said, the device should say what they actually mean. Or something.

With Danny, a bunch of innocuous stuff went off around him, but people always hand waved it as faulty tech. Wes wasn’t sure that was the case, in fact he was positive it wasn’t. But if he could get something useful to build up from, that would be a good start. And every good reporter needed a start.

He stepped up to the Library’s front desk, where Cassius was sitting reading what was clearly a spell tome if the different summoning pentagrams in the open page Wes could see were anything to go by.

“Welcome Young Weston,” Cassius said, the hint of a smile hidden behind his red eyes as he closed his book. Wes could swear they were glowing slightly. Geez did this guy get his ‘how to pretend to be human’ classes from Fenton ?

… that would certainly explain why no one ever believed Wes, since that was a long beaten dead horse in his closet.

He, very discreetly, had the device hooked up to one of his earphones, which he kept in one of his ears like any normal less than perfectly mannered teenager as he asked Cassius Dark his questions.

“Excuse me sir? Do you work here?” he started with, it was a more or less innocuous question and one he actually wanted the answer to.

Cassius Dark smiled. “I do.”

My Job is all that was, is, and shall be. That which I set as my goal is beyond mortal comprehension and those I call master shall fall to my machinations. But yes, I get paid for sitting at this desk and answering questions sometimes. I am a ghost, fear me.

Wes tried not to sweat too obviously. What the fuck?

“Can you tell me where the journalism section is?” Wes decided to make a tactical retreat, at least his voice didn’t crack.

“Straight back for eight shelves and then turn right. It’s next to the Non-fiction books.”

I know what you’re looking for, I know why you are here. I know the exact time of your death and what will happen next. Your efforts amuse me though. I am a ghost, fear me.

What Wes did next was not exactly fleeing. But it wasn’t not fleeing either.

He’d have to try something else.

The next thing he wanted to try was a bit riskier. If you thought about it a certain way. But it also wasn’t if you thought about it the way Wes did.

He was going to use a phase-proof net.

Genius, because unlike the translator machine thing, it would actually stop the ghost from attacking Wes if it got angered. Which it would, probably, since Wes was throwing a net at it.

The plan was really simple though, he’d gotten a very large net, paid extra for the little aim thing, practiced half a billion times of his brothers before they went to the parents and got him grounded for a week, and then memorized the path Cassius Dark took in the mornings to go to his “job” at the library.

Right now he was hiding in one of the leafier trees, right above the path that Cassius always used, waiting.

And waiting.

And… waiting.

Honestly he was about to go home and was fairly certain this guy was going to be like, super late to work, when he finally appeared.

Wes wasted no time aiming, making sure the trajectory was absolutely perfect, and firing the net off. He was just about to jump in celebration, watching the net as it curled slightly around its target, but before it could hit and wrap around him, Cassius was suddenly not there.

Or he was, but just a little bit to the left, so that the net sailed harmlessly past.

Wes cursed.

The third one was fool proof. It had to be.

Which was why Wes was staring at a large conspiracy board, covered in paparazzi-esque shots of the librarian and random notes he’d taken, all connected with a dizzying amount of red string.

“Kyle, seriously. I need to figure out what kind of ghost he is or he’s always going to have the upper hand!!”

Kyle just rolled his eyes and continued playing his video game, as if he didn’t care that Wes had set up his very important planning and plotting in the middle of the living room so long as it didn’t interfere with his own plans.

“It has to be pretty powerful, he was able to dodge my net before it even touched him. And the translator thing clearly said ‘my goal is beyond comprehension’ or something,” Wes mused, “and he also said his job was like, everything?”

Wes checked his notes, “yeah, ‘all that is was and shall be’. What could he mean by that?”

His very annoying and clearly not taking this as seriously as he should brother just chuckled. “I don’t know Wes, maybe he can see the future?”

That… no. That’s way too OP. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down Wes’ spine. There was no way a ghost could see the future right?

Right?

He had to test this theory.

But how do you even test something like that?

“Kyle, how would you test if someone could see the future?”

“Throw something at the back of their head and see if they dodge?” He answered way too quickly.

Wes thought about it for a moment. “No, what if they just have really good reflexes?”

“Oh huh, I guess that could be true. No idea then.” He shrugged and Wes had to fight the urge to throw something at the back of his head.

Whatever. He had to make plans.

He’d tried just throwing things. It was risky, and kind of terrifying, but Kyle was right it was the first that came to mind.

But Cassius never dodged. He was always just, not where Wes thought he was. Or Wes had really bad aim, which he didn’t!!! He was a basketball ace!! He had great aim! And great situational awareness!!

So why couldn’t he hit Cassius Dark?

Obviously it was because he could see the future. And the smug smile he always had when he knew Wes was looking reminded him an awful lot of a certain other Phantom.

Ask him about his family.

Easy enough. Especially without the Fenton’s weird translator because that might have been a bit terrifying. And also this time he had back up.

He dragged Kyle by his sleeve into the library.

“Mr. Cassius!”

Cassius looked up from his book, removing the delicate reading glasses balanced on his nose. “Can I help you Mr. Weston?”

“Yes!” He smiled broadly, taking out a small notebook that he had used to take notes on the suspicious and ghoulish things going on around town until it was mostly shreds of paper. “I’m writing an OP ED on the town library, and would like to know more about the librarian. Can you answer a few personal questions?”

Kyle snorted and Wes had to elbow him in the side to get him to shut up. He was here as back up, not to ruin his plan.

“So,” he began, “is Cassius a family name?”

“No.”

Wes nodded. And then frowned. Did ghosts have families? Supposedly they were alive once right? At least that was the general idea, Wes thought.

“So what can you tell us about your parents? Like, what’s your father’s name?”

Cassius raised an eyebrow, and had a soft smile filled with good humor. Wes felt it hit him like a threat. What was this ghost hiding?

Well, other than the fact that he’s a ghost.

“I can’t tell you much I’m afraid. My mother is long gone and I never had a father.”

Kyle grimaced and elbowed Wes himself before saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s no matter,” Cassius replied, still smiling, “I may yet see her again.”

Ah, so either she wasn’t dead or he’s convinced she became a ghost too. That made sense. It could be his unfinished business as they say among the paranormal hunters. At least, the not fight-y and crazy ones.

“So Dark was your mother’s name?” Wes asked, wondering if he could maybe find any records on her where he had failed to find them on Cassius himself.

The smile slid right off his face. Wes and Kyle both felt the subtle chill in the air as Cassius leaned back and looked off to the side, as if to glare at something that wasn’t there. “No, I’m afraid Dark is my ex-husband’s name.”

“Why keep it?” Kyle asked, completely ignoring the danger of the situation.

The smile came back, except this time instead of soft and barely there as if he were indulging a child, it was sharp and twisted. He chuckled at an inside joke no one else in the room would ever understand and then he said, “Well, it’s not like he has any use for it now.”

Wes paled. Had he killed his husband?!

After a hasty retreat from the library Wes treated Kyle to a milkshake and fries at the nasty burger just as he had promised. Payment for going along with his ‘weird ghost theories’.

But Wes couldn’t eat, he was too busy thinking. This one actually helped! He found information about the ghost’s previous life! He had a mother, but not a father, and had a husband.

With the current politics it was one of two options. Either he was from a previous culture that allowed men to marry each other, or he was a more recent ghost than Wes had been expecting. He had already taken out his laptop and was scrolling through obituaries with the surname Dark, trying to think if he knew any off the top of his head that might have been in town when they died.

Nothing particular came to mind.

Wes’ thinking was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious slurping noise from his brother. He shot him a glare, but Kyle didn’t react. Wasn’t even looking at him. Instead he was looking out the window and watching one of the daily ghost attacks with Phantom playing hero as always.

“You know, it’s kinda cool that they’re hiring actors to build the town’s lore like that,” he said, clearly ignoring the obvious evidence of ghosts right outside his window.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Wes groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He needed coffee or something, it was a shame the Nasty Burger only served sludge no sane person would drink.

Kyle finally looked away from the window, his eyes wide as if he was the one confused. “You know, how they got the librarian to say he was married to Pariah Dark? And then imply he’s the reason he’s a ghost?”

Wes felt like the seat underneath him had suddenly disappeared. “Where did you get That from?!”

“He said his ex-husband was named Dark! Pariah Dark’s Ghost Zone show is the first thing that comes to mind!” Kyle argued back. “Isn’t it?”

Holy shit this guy was married to the ghost king.

He thought back to the ominous answers he’d gotten that first day from the Fentons’ translator. Maybe he should leave this one alone.

Wes was at the library, studying quietly and absolutely avoiding the librarian. Not that he’d seen him today, but it didn’t hurt to keep his head down. With any luck the guy had a short memory and would forget Wes had been trying to find a way to out him to the town.

A portal ripped from the air in front of him, sending a static energy throughout the library and causing Wes’ hair to stand on end. It was a swirling purple, deeper and more… well more than most of the natural portals that Wes had seen appear around town.

He wanted to scream, but years of living in Amity Park had fully trained that out of him. Screaming was the number one way to get a ghost locked on you as their first target. Especially if you were there when the portal opened.

Before Wes could even think to duck under the table he was using a figure stepped out of the portal, poised and composed. He had a deep purple hood that seemed to swirl with the fabric of galaxies and a large ornate clock embedded into his chest. His skin was a rich blue and he had glowing red eyes.

Wes recognized him immediately.

“Oh, hello Mr. Weston, is there something I can help you with?” Cassius Dark asked.

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #clockwork dp #wes weston dp #background dark ages #Bee's writing #fanfiction

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kitakataramen · 3 years

Note

Actually, I wanted to ask you how do you solve the dokkai correctly. I've been trying to get the answers but, I'm not able to do so.. So, if you could give me some suggestions on how I can improve myself that would be great help.

Well, for 読解 (dokkai, reading comprehension) sections, the main thing I find helpful is 1) vocabulary and 2) grammar. These are the obvious elements that they are testing with reading comprehension. But, don’t stress too much about that. On the test, they will purposefully throw in vocabulary or grammar patterns that you haven’t studied yet. The point is not to understand every word 100% - it is to see if you can understand the gist of what’s going on.

So, what do you do?

TIP 1: Get your hands on some JLPT practice books. The more you practice, the more vocab you’ll learn and the more comfortable you’ll feel. Reading comprehension is a skill you have to practice just as much as the language itself- and they are different skills.

You can get some practice material for free from the jlpt.jp website.

Links to pdfs: N1 sample 読解 | N2 sample 読解 | N3 sample 読解

N4 sample 読解 | N5 sample 読解

(There are also listening practice questions available on the site.)

The physical practice books with audio CDs, which you can buy on Amazon or from the JLPT website here are also recommended:

Now, you’ll want to handle reading comprehension in Japanese the same exact way you deal with it in your own native language- reading comprehension and language are actually different skills!! Just take what you already know and apply it with reading Japanese.

TIP 2: Before you even look at the reading passage, you need to look at the questions. Looking at the questions first shows you what information you need to find within the text. You should start with the basic questions- who, what, where, why, and how. These will help you figure out who is talking, what the passage is about, and what tense it should be in.

Let’s give it a try, using some questions from the N5 practice test.

Question 5:

You can tell from the answer choices to this question that it’s asking about either 行く or 来る, and whether its past tense or present tense. (when, where)

Question 6:

Which vocabulary is most appropriate. (what)

Question 7:

Looking for which form of 見る is most appropriate. (when, what)

Question 8:

Which form of さびしい (loneliness). Note that some of the options end in か, so the first thing you should look at is whether this should be a question or not. (when, who)

Question 9*:

This question is slightly more complicated, but there’s an easy method for categorizing the information. What are the main words you can see in each option?

Immediately, and without even reading the sentences, you can see that 1 & 2 are about 学校 (school) and 3 & 4 are about うち (home). (where)

Next we have 毎日 (everyday)、友だち (friend)、あそび (play)、姉 (older sister). (who/what/when)

Alright! Now that we’ve looked at the questions, let’s look at the reading!

TIP 3: Do not waste your time on vocabulary you don’t know. You might be able to pick up on a word from context- for example, maybe at this time I don’t know what じこしょうかい in the above passage means. That’s okay! It doesn’t matter! I don’t need to know what it is in order to answer the questions. Once I start reading, I can see from context that this is a self-introduction, and guess that じこしょうかい must mean “self-introduction.”

TIP 4: You do NOT need to read the entire passage from start to finish. In fact, you should not read the whole text- this takes far too much time. I always start at the sentence of the the first question, and if I need more information in order to answer, then I’ll go back and read more. For example, question 5. I don’t need to know the information that came before to deduce that the answer is アメリカから来ました。(I came from America.) But for question 6, I don’t know what vocab is most appropriate, so I need to look back at the sentence just before it. If we do that, we get アメリカのえいがはよく知っています。でも、日本のえいがはあまり知りません。（I know American movies well. But, I don’t know many Japanese movies.)

To test this, let’s check out how much of passage 2 we actually need to read in order to answer the questions! We already looked at the questions, so we know question 8 is about さびしい。So let’s read the sentence for question 8: 姉がいるから、＿＿＿。(Because my sister is there, ______.) Maybe you can answer the question just from this (we can see it’s present tense, and likely not a question, which leaves only one answer.) If you need a bit more context, read the sentence before it. 今は、学校のちかくに姉と住んでいます。(Now, I live with my sister near the school.) So the answer must be the present tense option, 1!

Next, number 9. みなさん、_____。This is not enough information. Look at the sentence before. わたしは、日本でたくさん友だちがほしいです。(I want a lot of friends in Japan.) So using what we already know about question 9 from before, we can rule out option 4, which is about his sister. We can now look more closely at options 1, 2, and 3.

Now, for practice, let’s pretend that we don’t know what あそび means! Looking at options 1, 2, and 3, we can see that option 2 is in the wrong tense, so we can rule it out. If we read option 1, it doesn’t have anything about friends in it, so we can rule it out, too. Option 3, on the other hand, has うち (home) and 来てください (please come) in it. We can guess, even without knowing what あそび (play/hang out) means, that option 3 is the correct choice.

So with all that said and done, how much of the passage did we actually have to look at?

Only about 50% of the passage was necessary in order to answer the questions. This works even on much longer, larger chunks of information. Scanning and skimming to find the information you need within a larger piece of text is an extremely important tool when it comes to reading comprehension- this will save you so much valuable time!

Let’s try this method again on a larger piece of text. Remember, the first step is always to check what the question is.

So the question is, つぎの中で、ヤンさんのうちからいちばん近い店はどれですか。We can tell from どれですか that this question is asking which. ヤンさんのうちからいちばん近い店 - Which shop is closest to Yan-san’s house?

1. にくや

2．パンや

3. くすりや

4．さかなや

We only need to scan for these keywords!

Okay, so let’s look for information on where these places are located.

1. にくや　 ⇒ 　The meat shop is 近くに (nearby)

2．パンや　 ⇒ The bread shop is となりに (next door)

3. くすりや　 ⇒ The drug store is 近くに (nearby)

4．さかなや　 ⇒ The fish shop is はなやのとなり (next door to the flower shop)

The answer is quite clearly option 2. As you can see, by scanning for the information we needed, we hardly had to do any reading at all!

TIP 5: If you don’t know it...GUESS! Time management is also an important skill to learn for test-taking. The flow should go like this:

⇒ Answer as many questions as you can, quickly. There is an easy way to do this. Look at the pages we just reviewed- 107, and 110. You can see that by reading the short passages on page 107, you can answer questions 5, 6 ,7, 8 and 9- that’s 5 whole questions! Using the passage on page 110, you can only answer question 11 and 12 (which I didn’t show here). That’s only 2 questions, and the passage is much longer and will take more time to read. Do the quicker ones first.

⇒ Once you finish all the questions you can answer quickly and easily, go back and try the longer ones, but be careful not to spend too much time on them.

⇒　If you don’t know the answer or if you are running out of time on a long passage, GUESS! On multiple choice questions, you have a 25% chance of guessing the correct answer. Take this chance! Do not leave it blank.

I know reading comprehension is difficult and feeling like you don’t understand anything is super frustrating, but don’t let it fluster you on a test. These sections are more difficult than what you have been studying, on purpose.

Remember:

1. Reading comprehension is a skill you have to practice- practice, practice, practice! Practice reading things in Japanese. Books, newspapers, manga- whatever! It really helps.

2. Look at the questions before you start reading! This will save you so much time. If you don’t understand the question or answers, skip it and come back later. Don’t waste your energy/time on it.

3. Don’t worry about vocab you don’t know- you might be able to guess it from context, or you may not need to know that word at all.

4. Do NOT read the entire passage. Scanning and skimming are your friends! Look only for the information that you need to answer the question.

5. If you don’t know it or are running out of time, GUESS!

みんな頑張って！！

#studyblr #langblr #japanese study #reading comprehension #jlpt #test-taking tips

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

Red Kryptonite causes drama and trauma – The series.

Part 4 – There is happiness past the blood and bruise.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2370.

Warning: I cried writing this, so be prepared. But happy ending, I promise.

Previously on the series - part 1, part 2, part 3

You would love it if things had suddenly gone back to normal again. If you could just forget what happened, and go on with your life. You are not angry, really. It’s just this feeling of sadness you can’t ignore. Every time you look at Kara you remember everything she said. So, you’ve been keeping your distance these past few days. You’re not being mean, or impolite. You’re just not soft and sweet like your usual self.

It’s Monday, and Kara flies in through the window in her Supergirl’ suit and sees you sitting there on the couch, working on your new invention.

“Hey, you didn’t show up at training today, I got a little worried.” She says and you move on the couch uncomfortably.

“Oh! Ah, yeah. Did I- did I forget to mention that I’m not doing that anymore?” You don’t look at her while speaking. You just keep working.

“Doing what? Training?” She asks and you nod. “Kid, you need to practice.”

“Oh no, I know. I mean, I will. Just some other time, and with…” You mumble. “Someone else.”

You don’t have the courage to look at her. You know she’s hurt, and you don’t want to see it written in her face. Kara sits down on the couch in front of you. She is still in her super suit, which is weird because usually the first thing she does when she walks home is change. She doesn’t say anything for a while.

“I thought it would be good to learn different fighting styles and all.” You try to explain, but you both know that’s not the real reason.

“Okay.” She finally says. “Sure. That makes sense. So, who are you training with from now on?”

“Aunt Alex.”

“Oh yeah, great! Alex, yeah, she has a great fighting technique.” She stands up fast. “Ok, yeah. Cool.”

“I hope it’s ok.” You say even though she just said it was. You know it’s not really ok.

“No, yeah. It’s fine. It’s, um, cool.” She paces around a little, you can see from the corner of your eyes. She looks like she still wants to say something, but doesn’t have the courage. She keeps opening her mouth. “And the powers?”

“Sorry?” You ask, finally looking at her.

“Who are you going to train your powers with? I mean, Alex doesn’t have them.”

“Oh. I actually talked to Nia about it, she said she would love to help.” You try to smile, but it doesn’t seem right. You don’t know what to do with your face. Or with your hands. And you can’t hold her gaze any longer.

“Nia!” She screams. “Wow, that’s wow.” She keeps pacing nervously.

“I thought it would be good since it took her awhile to have control over her powers too.”

“Yeah. Mhm. Great idea. You’re so full of great ideas…” Kara stumbles on a chair behind her. “Well, you’re working on something so, I’m going to-to leave you to it.”

Your heart shrinks a little, but you know it is the right call. Training with your momma is what got you in the red kryptonite mess in the first place.

Next day you get to work with aunt Alex and things go great. You’re practicing on a dummy at first, and she just shows you a few moves. It’s easier with her, you don’t know why, but it is. Even Jamie joins, because Alex wants her to learn some self-defense moves.

“Hey kid.” Kara says when she sees you walking home after the training session, she puts the TV on mute and looks at you. “It’s a little late, where were you?”

“I had a training session.” You say making your way to your bedroom.

“Oh. How-how was it?” She asks, adjusting the frame of her glasses and you stop walking.

“It was fine.” You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how hurt she would be if you told her the truth. “Aunt Alex just showed me a few different moves that are easier for me to do.”

“That’s great!” Her voice comes out loud and squeaky. “Do you want to order pizza?”

“Um, not really I... already ate.” You point to the hallway and give a little smile. “Gonna go work on my project.”

“Sure. Ok!” She gives you a flat smile and a thumbs up and you disappear inside your room.

You’ve been in your bedroom for an hour when you hear a knock on the door. You lower your glasses and look through the door.

“Come in, mom.”

“Hey babygirl, what are you working on?” Lena asks, putting her face inside your bedroom and you look up from your prototype.

“Anti-kryptonite force field.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” She walks in and sits in your bed in front of you. “How does it work?”

“It doesn’t, yet.” You give her the prototype. “But when it does, this bracelet will automatically generate a force field around you as soon as you enter a space with kryptonite. No matter which one.”

“That’s bold. So why is it not working?” Lena looks at the calculations on your notebook.

“Well, it might be, but I can’t test it without being exposed to kryptonite, so...” You shrug.

“Do you want me to test it for you?” She seems excited to work on it and you agree with your head. “Really? That’s great! I’ll take it to the lab tomorrow! Can I have the notes too?”

“Sure.” You point at the notebook and she picks it up again.

“You can come by after school tomorrow and we can work on it together.” She says while flipping through the pages.

“I can’t, I have training.”

“You do? I thought training was on Mondays.” She is still looking at your notes.

“Oh, it’s, um, with Nia. She’s helping me with the powers and Aunt Alex with combat.” She looks up to you right away.

“And your momma?”

“I thought maybe she could be just my momma from now on.”

“Oh.” It’s her only reaction.

“Do you think she’ll hate me for it?” You ask looking down. Lena puts all the things she is holding aside and hugs you tenderly.

“She could never hate you.” Lena kisses your forehead and you smile lightly. “It will take her a while to get used to that, you know how much she likes being around you all the time, but things will fall into place.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for things to fall into place.”

“Have you spent any time with her lately?” Lena asks and you shake your head disagreeing. “I thought she was your best friend.”

“Jamie’s my best friend.”

“Right. But she was close second?” She’s not exactly asking, and you know. You shrug. “I know you are hers.”

“I thought you were.”

“Oh, I was. And then you were born and I happily gave up that title so you could hold it.”

“Mom, I…” You breathe heavily. “I can’t.”

“No pressure, baby. You have to respect your time, but just think about it, ok?” She stands up grabbing your prototype and your notes. “I’ll test it tomorrow, and I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks mom.”

Lena closes the door and you lay on your bed thinking about what she said. You don’t want to use your super hearing, but sometimes your powers have a mind of their own, and you can’t really control them. That used to upset you, but now you just embrace it.

“Hey, is that her project?” You hear Kara’s voice.

“Yeah. Automatic anti-kryptonite force field generator.” Lena’s voice comes and you can hear she’s very proud of you. “It’s amazing, and I never thought of this.”

“Wow. That’s incredible! Does it work?” Kara also sounds impressed.

“I’ll test it tomorrow. But the math looks right.” You can hear Lena’ smile through her voice.

“She’s so clever, I can’t believe she’s my daughter sometimes.” Kara says and you hear a deep breath, but you don’t know from who.

“Are you ok? With the whole training with Nia and Alex thing?” Your heart skips a beat and you even hold your breath to hear better.

“I’m, yeah, it’s fine.”

“Kara.” Lena calls her on her bullshit. She doesn’t answer for a while. You think this is the time for you to stop listening. You should put your headphones or something like that, but then you hear:

“I’m so sad, Lena.” Her voice comes out small, and you know she’s crying. “She didn’t, she didn’t call me when she got shot. And now she is going to train with other people. She doesn’t need me anymore.”

“That’s not true, honey. She needs you.”

“She doesn’t though. She has you to help her with science. She has Jamie to talk to, Nia to help her with her powers, Alex to call for help.” She’s crying so much it’s hard for you to listen. “Lena, I have superpowers and she called Alex to help her!”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“We used to be so close, and then I ruined it. She used to tell me everything, and now she won’t even talk to me. And it’s all my fault.”

“Just give her time. She’ll come around. She always does.” You can hear the pain in Lena’s voice too. It’s so hard to keep listening.

“I think this time is different. I told her to use the watch only for emergencies and she got shot, but thought she was not emergency worthy. Then, Lena, I beat my own daughter. I told her horrible things and I left her all alone. I don't think she'll come around.”

“Kara, hey hey. That wasn’t you.” Now you and Lena are both crying too.

“I know! Of course it wasn’t me. But-but it was my face she saw flying away while she was suffocating and begging for help. It was my voice she heard yelling for her to get up over and over again, even when she couldn’t.” There’s a long pause when you can only hear crying and desperate noises leaving her mouth. “Lena, when she was born, I promised I would always keep her safe, now it’s my name she associates with pain.”

You are also crying hard now. What are you doing? What were you thinking? What Kara did was bad. But what you are doing now is just as bad, if not worse. You know how much pain she is in. She’ll never forgive herself for any of that, and you’re not forgiving her either.

It’s red kryptonite. It’s not like you are immune to it. What if you get exposed and you physically hurt the people that you love the most, and they can’t forgive you for that? What if you say every single unfiltered dumb thought you’ve ever had in your life and they hold you accountable for it?

And it’s Kara of all people. She is the person you want to see whenever you feel sad. She is the arms you want around you every time you cry. She is the one you want to calm you after a panic attack, or a nightmare. She is also the person you want to go on waterslides with, and laugh with, and sing with. So, what the hell are you doing?

You use your super speed and run to their bedroom, quickly opening the door. Kara’s holding her pillow with so much strength it looks like it’s about to explode. Lena is kissing her shoulders and hugging her sideways.

“Momma.” They both raise their heads to look at you crying on their doorstep. You run to Kara’s lap before they can say anything, and she drops the pillow to hold you instead. “I’m sorry.”

“Little one, what happened?” She asks wiping your tears, even though her face is wet from her own tears. She immediately stops looking sad and starts looking worried.

“I’m-I’m horrible. It wasn’t you, I’m so sorry.” You hold her as tight as you can. “I know you would never hurt me. I know.”

“Hey, you’re not horrible! You’re perfect.” Kara says kissing your head. “You’re my baby. I love you so much, kid. I’m sorry you had to go through all of this. I wish you never got hurt like this.”

“But you didn’t mean to hurt me. It was the red kryptonite. I don’t have that excuse for hurting you like I’ve been doing.” You’re still clinging to her so hard you didn’t even notice Lena has left to give you two some privacy.

“Baby, I’m ok. We’re ok.” But you can’t stop crying and you can feel Kara’s tears falling on you. “We’re going to be just fine, kid. I promise.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Hey. You don’t have to apologize.” She hugs you tight and breathes in relief. “You didn’t do anything bad, my love. I did. I hurt you and I said horrible things and I’m sorry for all of them.”

“You were right though. I’m crying to my mommy like a little baby.” Kara wipes your tears, and then hers, and she smiles at you.

“You have no idea how happy I am for this.” She kisses your forehead. “Little one, I love you more than anything and anyone in the universe.”

“I heard that.” Lena says putting her head in the door frame. Ok so, apparently, she wasn’t exactly giving you guys privacy.

Kara calls her with her hand and Lena comes to the bed and holds you too. You’re squeezed between you moms, and your heart calms down a little. You’re home.

“I love you both so much.” Lena kisses your forehead, and Kara’s lips. “I’m so glad you two are fine.”

“Yeah.” You smile. “We’re fine.”

And it’s true. Things finally fall into place, and you and Kara are perfectly fine again. You’re still training combat with aunt Alex, because it got way more fun now that Jamie joined too, and Kara noticed it. But she always joins your training sessions with Nia, which is great and really fun. You’re happy in your new found confidence and when you look at Kara, you see the real one, and not the freakish version anymore.

So, for the first time in a while, you are actually fine.

Notes:

That’s it for this series, I really hope you all enjoyed it!

Another shout out for my idea buddy @hermen0404 who came up with the prompt in the first place

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #kara x lena #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #supercorp daughter #kara x reader #lena x reader #reader insert

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blackcherrykiss · 3 years

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BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.8)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7] previous chapters

[CH.9] next chapter (now avaliable!)

You tiptoe yourself towards the room where detention was being held that lunch hour, not surprised to see a familiar face after Jaeyun's warning of Sunghoon or Heeseung being there. You clashed eyes with Sunghoon whose eyes flickered up and down at you like a light switch as you entered the room. Sunghoon's stone face would only vanish into the only other facial expression you've ever seen him give, a sinister smile.

"Have a seat... Y/N" Your gym teacher lowered her head, visibly more interested in the flyer she had in hand.

You took a slow gander at the other people in the room, a couple of recognizable lower classmen and duos of pranksters. Sunghoon stuck out like a sore thumb, remaining the centre of your attention. You willingly took up the vacant desk beside him at the very back where a few shadows lingered.

"Unexpected meeting." Sunghoon was subtle, speaking in a deep voice was just audible enough to be heard by you. You both didn't make eye contact as it would've made it obvious you were talking and God knows how many more detention sentences you'd be given for being caught chatting.

"Jaeyun told me you're here all the time, no surprises for me." You whispered while making yourself at home in your chair.

You blink in frustration as you realize if you had brought your physics textbook, you could've worked on the questions you hadn't done in class. You pull out some notes to study in the meantime, dreading the fact you were about to spend the next half hour wasting brain energy reviewing for a test you were getting quite confident with.

After using most of the detention time repeating your study terms, you peek over at Sunghoon who rested his head down on one of his arms that dangled off the front of his desk. You got the idea of passing notes to communicate with Sunghoon in the last 10 minutes of detention. Tearing off a medium-sized square of paper, you began to write in a sharp font:

hey, just wanted to ask if you're flirting with dahee or something? rumour has it you already have a girlfriend... i won't tell anyone :-)

You fold the paper and carefully flick Sunghoon's shoulder, eyeing the teacher while you're at it out of caution. Sunghoon slowly lifted his face, squinting to adjust to the bright light before seeing the paper you held out for him. With a raised brow he grasped it between his thin fingertips, stretching it out of its crumpled form. You don't bother looking at his reaction and rather wait for him to write down a response in the empty spaces you left. Within a quick exchange, the folded paper was back in your possession with a couple of words written, his writing a lot smaller than you imagined.

since when did I have a girlfriend? and who says I'm flirting with dahee?

You obviously only pretended there was a rumour of Sunghoon having a girlfriend to avoid telling him the truth. From what you could recall, Sunghoon would "kill" Kyungeun if he found out what you saw. You weren't just going to throw Kyungeun under the bus and get her into trouble so here you were stuck thinking about your reply. Your pencil began to move once a response was in mind.

I saw it with my own eyes yesterday! something is up between you and dahee

Sunghoon took the paper right off your desk before you could fold it nicely as if he was reading as you wrote. This time he scribbled in loose and long lines as a way of communicating faster.

why does it matter? let me answer my own question, I know you saw me with Kyungeun

Your eyes went white, blinking in horror as you read the paper over and over. How could he have known you were there? You could've sworn it was too dim in the library that day. It would also be practically impossible to identify anyone behind or even through the cracks from where Sunghoon was standing. The only answer would be Jaeyun then, right?

The teacher extended on knee down to push herself into a standing position "I'm going to the bathroom, there are only a few minutes left but I better see all of you still here and quiet when I get back." The teacher left in a flash, probably doing her best to get back as quick as she could. But it didn't take more than 20 seconds before people broke the silence and started chatting it up with each other. You also took the absence of the teacher to speak.

You stood up in disbelief to interrogate Sunghoon, "Who told you I was there?" You looked around to make sure no one was watching while you moved in closer to Sunghoon.

"I could sense you there, behind the fiction bookshelves" He slumped back in his chair to observe your face in full light, "No one told me you were there."

You swallowed harshly at the correct observations of his, you believed he was lying just to scare you. "Cut the bullshit. So what is it about my friends that you NEED so bad? Sex?" You gasped in your head at your own retort.

"Sex?" He wheezed, hitting the table with an open palm. His loss of breath was an indication that he found your assumption pathetic. "I'm not that low Y/N," He pulled you in more than you had expected to increase the volume of his whisper, "Kyungeun will be of no use to me once I have Dahee... I'll let Kyungeun free soon, don't worry."

You hear footsteps against the waxed floors of the hallway and immediately sit down along with the rest of everyone in the room. The whole class shifted in a prim and proper manner as if no one moved an inch while the teacher was gone. You rummage through your bag to find the book you had taken out from the library to help sell the act.

"I'm surprised half of you didn't leave while I was gone... You are free to pack up now." She nodded and left the class to probably catch her own lunchtime.

"Why will Kyungeun be of no use?" You get back on track with Sunghoon after the short commercial break.

"What's this book?" He ignored you, snatching the stack out of your hands without much thought.

"Don't ignore my question! And it's for one of my classes." You added.

He flipped to a random page like you had done when you first saw the book. He scanned the text and made all kinds of expressions, "Why the fuck do you have this?!" His jaw slightly lower than usual before an unexpected cast of excitement took over his face "This book you have, I'll have to confiscate it, pretty girl."

Immediately making you jumped on both feet to block any further travel, "Why? No? It's rightfully mine!" You scrapped the question and got more worried about the book.

He held the book as high as he could so you wouldn't even attempt to snatch it from him, "I'm starting to think you're fooling us more than we're fooling you. How much do you actually know about us?" He was clearly amused by you.

"Am I that clueless???" You bit down on your tongue, the word murderers coming to mind. But somehow that answer didn't seem right. "Fine keep that book and don't answer my question." You muttered bitterly.

Sunghoon spun around in his slender form, "I'll answer all of your questions and give you this book back." You watched as he steadily gravitated toward the door, "Meet me at the front of the woods at dusk." And so he left the room, his mysterious intent making you uneasy. The meetup was being held so late, in the dark, far from school grounds.

...

"I figured you had detention Y/N..." Hyesun tsked, "How was it?"

"It was alright, got some studying done... Funny, I saw Sunghoon there." You shivered just saying his name aloud.

"Sunghoon? Of course... He's sort of a snob to the teachers. Speaking of Sunghoon, Dahee told me this morning that she couldn't stop thinking about him." Hyesun bit deliciously down on her strawberry pastry, "But by chance... Do you by chance like him?"

"Why do you ask?" You answer not thinking at all.

"Dahee thinks you do, apparently by the way you look at him...? I mean, she really doesn't want to get too attached if that's the cas-"

"YES! I do like him!" You cut Hyesun off with the thought that by saying you liked him would get Dahee away from the dangerous prick.

Were you screwing up something up by saying that? Hopefully not.

"Oh, then you should tell her... I think the sooner the better because she was really wondering this morning whether or not to keep flirting." Hyesun suggested before her eyes grew large out of their sockets as she looked over your shoulder, "Hey Jungwon?"

You jumped out of the table, your mind in full freakout mode, "Jungwon??? Hey!?" You panicked as you were positive Jungwon heard literally everything that just came out of your mouth. "Hyesun I need to talk to Jungwon about a project if you'll excuse us." You were full of lies today and you were sure it would come to bite you back somehow.

Yanking Jungwon's wrist, you led him outside the dining hall and into the courtyard where there were actually people hanging around in the warm autumn noon. Jungwon shook your hand off of his coldly.

"Since when did you like Sunghoon?! He's fucking insane he will fucking ruin you!" Jungwon screamed with his voice that even began cracking up. He was yelling so loud, not giving a damn if the full basketball court heard him.

"Stop getting so mad?! I know he's a fucking bad guy! I don't actually like him calm down!" You tried raising your voice over his, trying to control the temper in your body.

"Then why in the hell did you tell your friend you do?! Why are you getting so involved with him dear God!" Jungwon breathed fire through his nose, resting the side of his fingers over his brows to avoid looking at you.

"Because I'm trying to protect her??? Would you stop acting like this? I don't understand why he's a bad person but it's clear he has some malicious intentions with my friends so just get off my fucking back would you? You don't even wanna explain to me either so just chill out!" You exploded with emotions right then and there but you had more fuel to the fire, "Are you just leading me on by caring about me this much? Are you jealous Jungwon? Do you like me? Answer me!"

In your deepest wishes, you wanted him to say yes but part of you was plain tired. You didn't know where all this talk of yours was coming from but somehow your feelings blended into the chaotic mixture of the moment.

He hesitated to answer which was enough to boil up some sort of pain and frustration in your heart, "I-I don't know!? I just really care for you Y/N!" Jungwon held his head as he lost his balance his face expressing he was not feeling well. He took a few steps back, his voice a lot softer as he began to breathe a bit heavier. "I think I'm gonna throw up." He groaned in pain as he held onto his head tighter.

In an instant, you snapped out of your anger and looked around for help while still checking on him, "Jungwon are you alright?!" You slid your bag off of yourself and put your hands near his sides in case he fainted, to which he was already in the process of doing. "Holy shit! Jungwon?!" His legs gave up on him completely, melting down into the pavement. Luckily he would not smash his skull if it weren't for the instinct of your arms to catch him.

You turned to the basketball court to see Jay had already approached the situation, a beat-up basketball in between his fist and torso. Jay knelt down with worry, "I knew this would happen to him..." He mumbled in frustration

#enhypen fic #enhypen fanfic #enhypen vampire au #enhypen au #enhypen x reader

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tapping-away · 3 years

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My take on a potential Santa Clarita Diet season 4, in the form of episode synopses because I’m terrible at committing to writing long things, but I also really wanted to explore how a fourth and final season could have gone. Let me know what you think of it.

Santa Clarita Diet S4

1. Joel is now a zombie; things are pretty good, he’s a bit looser, a bit more carefree, slight undertones of being a bit more dangerous than anticipated. Sheila and Abby decide to keep a close eye on him (sorry I didn’t go into a lot of detail here, wasn’t sure how to start it all off)

2. Sheila and Abby think maybe things will be fine; it takes some getting used to, but they end up having a lot of fun and think that’s just how it’ll go; Joel gets his motorcycle back out and starts using it; he and Rick talk motorcycles, and Joel is revealed as bisexual as he flirts with Rick. He goes for a ride and comes back at night, when no ones awake, covered in blood under his helmet and jacket; there’s a report on the news the next day of a brutal crime scene and a missing person, Joel turns the tv off before anyone else sees it

3. Abby begins questioning her relationship with Eric and struggles to figure out how she feels for him; learning her father is bi has made her start to consider other options she hadn’t had time to consider before then; Sheila learns about the murder that happened in the next city and is starting to worry; she goes to their storage unit to get more food and is shocked to find there’s another body in there; Joel reassures her that it was a bad person and that it wasn’t planned, but it worked out; Sheila can’t argue when she knows she’s done the same; She keeps it from Abby

4. Abby is flirted with by Winter who then asks her out and is uncertain how to respond. She tells Winter she’ll let her know; Eric notices acting odd when he comes by and Abby tries to steer the conversation away, to Eric’s confusion; Sheila tries to talk to Joel about where he was two nights ago and he says he’d just been out riding until he ran into a supposed drug dealer who he killed; Sheila asks Anne and Rick about the bloody crime scene that happened and what they know about the missing person, she learns it was someone from Joel’s high school and gets further suspicious of her husband; Joel says he had nothing to do with it and gets angry that Sheila suspects him, and Abby overhears while on her way to talk to her parents about things; Joel storms out when Abby starts questioning him as well. That night Joel pulls up outside an apartment building, he takes off his helmet and grins

5. Joel doesn’t come home the next day and Sheila and Abby are getting very concerned, they talk to Eric and try to get back in contact with Dr Wolf. Learning that they found the reason for the metamorphosis, the clams, Dr Wolf decides to look into them and attempt to figure out a true cure. Sheila goes looking for Joel with Abby and Eric, and is concerned when she’s a tv displaying news of another reported bloody scene with no body in sight. Joel is revealed to be at Ron’s place

6. While at Ron’s, Joel starts questioning him, revealing that he thinks Ron or someone Ron turned is behind the murders happening in town. Ron tries to deny it but Joel terrifies him into revealing that he turned Chris and Christa, he doesn’t know their connection to the Hammonds but did tell them everything about being undead. Joel remembers what Sheila said about the first person who got killed being from their high school and realizes Chris and Christa are responsible. He threatens Ron with death if someone else dies because of what he did or if Sheila or Abby end up hurt. Ron is left terrified and makes a phone call.

7. Dr Wolf calls Sheila and tells her she managed to locate some of the clams and is running tests. She posits the theory that the undead could possibly be able to consume the clams instead of humans, after seeing a clam ingest a finger of an undead person. Sheila is excited at this prospect but still hopes to find a cure. Abby and Eric talk about what’s been going on after Eric sees Abby staring at Winters name in her phone. Abby admits she isn’t sure about who she is anymore or how she feels about him, and Eric- while clearly disappointed- tells her that she should take the time to figure things out and that he’ll always at least be her friend. They hug but before Abby can do anything with the number, Joel finally returns. She runs up to her dad to confront him, and follows him into the house with Eric. Sheila thinks it’s only Abby and starts talking about Dr Wolfs findings before she sees Joel. The episode ends with them all looking at each other

8. Sheila tries to make up an excuse to keep Joel from realizing she is looking for a cure, uncertain of how the new him would react, and is shocked when he seems almost hopeful about the idea of not having to murder people anymore. Abby demands that Joel say where he’s been and if he had anything to do with the murders, to which Joel is still angry they suspect him but tells them that he went to Ron’s to ask if he had anything to do with it. He reveals that Ron turned Chris and Christa and told them everything, and that he thinks they’re behind the recent murders happening. Sheila wants to tell Anne or Rick but Joel is worried about what would happen if they did, as weapons won’t work and it could result in zombies being discovered by the police. Eric reminds them that that might happen anyway if there are any clues found that lead to the true culprits. Joel and Sheila decide they’ll have to kill Chris and Christa, but Abby doesn’t want to leave Christian an orphan even if she hates him. The family are unsure what to do.

9. It’s two days later and the Hammonds are still undecided on what to do; meanwhile there have been two more murders that have occurred- making four total- of someone from their high school. Anne is getting suspicious of the fact the Hammonds went to school with the missing victims, but her faith in Sheila has her believing that it’s a devil of sorts trying to go after Sheila. Abby meanwhile decides to call Winter after deciding she wants a break from all the weird shit happening. She sets up a date for that same afternoon and ends up kissing her. Abby finally gets a chance to talk to her dad about the fact he’s bi and discuss her own uncertainty of where she’s at. The two reconnect over the conversation as Joel shows he’s still her dad even if he’s different, just like Sheila is still her mom. Cut to Dr Wolf in her lab as she manages to synthesize a cure that completely reversed the undead state

10. Sheila talks with Joel about Abby and about what they should do. He says they’ll figure something out and that Abby will be fine. Eric comes in at the same time Abby appears and it’s a bit awkward , but Eric reveals that Dr Wolf is on her way there with a synthesized potential cure and with some of the clams in a farm to see if they can eat them instead of people. The Hammonds are overjoyed at the idea of getting anywhere closer to normal, but before they can get too excited there’s a knock at the door. Joel goes to answer it and is promptly stabbed in the chest and shoved out of the way to reveal Chris and Christa, who close the door behind them. They reveal to the Hammonds and Eric they are the ones behind the murders and that Ron called them after Joel left to warn them that he was on to them. Joel, after yanking the knife out, asks them what exactly they plan to do. Chris says that they are going to frame the Hammonds as the murderers, kill them, and set the house on fire to make it look like they went on the run after disposing of evidence. Abby tries to get them to see sense, tells them to think of their son, but the two seem indifferent to what may happen to Christian. This makes Joel and Sheila furious, and Joel tries to stab Christa- who’s closer- with the knife, but Chris manages to pull a gun on Eric before Joel can do more than cut Christa’s face. Abby is terrified and Eric tries to tell her it’s okay, but Chris hits him with the gun to make him be quiet. As this is all happening, Dr Wolf arrives outside but hears the commotion and tries to figure out what to do. She notices Rick in a police car next door. Inside a stalemate is happening as the Hammonds try to get Chris to release Eric. A knock at the door interrupts them all.

11. Chris and Christa tell them to answer the door, as the fact their cars are outside would make it suspicious if they don’t answer. Joel goes to the door and finds Dr Wolf on the other side. She hurries to pretend to be someone from the neighborhood and makes conversation while subtly asking Joel what’s happening through her phone text. Joel mouths the word ‘zombies’ at her and gestures to the newspaper sitting at their door with the murders on the front page. Dr Wolf seems to understand and opens her briefcase. She hands Joel a syringe and mimes poking it in the neck. Joel realizes she wants him to use it on Chris or Christa to because Dr Wolf said that previous tests resulted in death of the clams and that working tests still resulted in pain during the transformation back. She also gestures at Rick next door and Joel nods at her, telling her ‘You’d be better off asking my neighbor Rick for help about that kind of thing.’ Agreeing to her getting Rick to help. Joel closes the door and hide the syringe in his back pocket, before walking back. Outside Dr Wolf makes her way quickly to Ricks house and knocks on the door, proceeding to tell him that she thinks someone dangerous is in the Hammonds house. Back inside Joel returns and says it was someone new to the neighborhood asking for directions, and that he sent her away, tacking on that she introduced herself as a doctor or something so the others know who it actually was. Joel moves towards Sheila and Abby and shows them the syringe, while Chris and Christa talk about what to do next. Joel catches their attention telling them to let Eric go and take him hostage instead, saying that a bullet to the brain is just as effective on him as it would be on Eric. Christa doesn’t think it necessary but Chris overrides her in an urge to have his old rival in such a vulnerable position. Joel walks forward and suddenly yanks Eric out of the way before jamming the needle in Chris’ neck. Chris’ gun goes off as he collapses in pain. Joel turns to go after Christa next but she’s coming at him with the knife, right before she can stab him another shot goes off and Joel turns to see Sheila holding the gun Chris had. As Christa falls dead, Rick comes in with Dr Wolf and takes control of the situation. He asks what’s happening and the Hammonds tell the truth, for once, that the murderers aren’t them and that they were about to be framed. Rick calls in backup after cuffing Chris, telling the Hammonds that he’s glad none of them were hurt. They all hug, including Eric, the screen fades to black. Two months later shows things back to normal again, as Abby comes down in the morning to tell her parents she’s going out with Winter on a date and has plans with Eric later as well and so won’t be home till night. They tell her to have fun, and not to do anything they wouldn’t do. The scene ends with Joel and Sheila shown either eating normal food or eating the red clams, implying the cure didn’t work or that they didn’t take it.

#Santa Clarita Diet #joel hammond #sheila Hammond #the Hammonds #Eric bemis #Abby Hammond #I didn’t include a lot of characters cause I couldn’t really remember much about them #I wanted to focus on the family bringing things to an end themselves #also I made Joel bi cause I could #Abby is also Not Straight

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whenimaunicorn · 3 years

Text

Playing House - Part 7.1

This one's a little short and a little subtle, but I thought I'd whet your appetite for more mayhem this week. Going for a weekly update schedule on Tuesdays for as long as I can keep it up!!

There is a small time jump here; it’s been a few days since the last chapter.

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Ivar has really nice knives. You’ve never seen him cook, not since you moved in and not before, but you know the set of expensive Messermeister knives in the grey canvas case belong to him. They are just a dream to use, better than anything that you could afford.

You know that the knives belong to him because he gave you very explicit instructions for their care. “No one else is allowed to touch them,” he told you during the first week after you moved in, running his fingers down the longest blade as he showed them to you, “but I will allow you that privilege if you follow all my rules.”

There’s a problem today. His breath hitches when he opens the case; your body stills. “Y/N, what is this?”

You inch forward, peering over his shoulder with apprehension. His fingernail is tapping at the wide blade of the chef’s knife.

“Did you dry these with a cloth, right after you cleaned them?”

There are a few translucent white circles marring the blade, the kind that are sometimes left behind after water evaporates.

“I—” your throat is suddenly dry. “I must not have.”

“Evidently not.” He turns the knife around, offering you the handle with a significant look. “Wash it again.”

He doesn’t seem angry, and the tingling in your body is not exactly anxiety. “Of course.” His eyes linger on yours, even after you look down to carefully take the exquisitely-crafted tool from his hand.

You turn to the sink, listening to Ivar gather his ingredients behind you. This morning he had surprised you with a long, very detailed shopping list for what is apparently his signature pasta sauce. Details as in brand names, and specifying the amounts down to the ounces. You have never seen the boy cook before, but today you’re learning why he would even own expensive knives.

I cook, he had said almost defensively as you teased him about the uncharacteristic request. But do you think that animals like my brothers deserve to enjoy my skills?

Your cheeks warm now as you contemplate that statement. It meant that he considers you to be worth cooking for tonight, doesn’t it? You rub soap on the knife carefully from the back edge and glance over at him.

Ivar is inspecting the fresh herbs you bought. You hold your breath, but he gives them a little nod and moves on to the onion and garlic. You dry the knife and bring it to him.

“Good girl.”

Even just those simple words have your body thrumming. He’s not a dick about it, he just likes things his certain way, and that submissive streak in your soul is just loving every opportunity for Ivar to keep telling you what to do.

He sets the knife down, then holds out his hand. “Give me that towel.”

He folds it twice and lays it on the table in front of him. He pulls a tool from the bag that looks like a round little sword. “Oh,” you say, “does it need to be sharpened?”

“This is not for sharpening,” Ivar says, his voice cool and still, like he’s preparing a ritual. “This is a honing steel.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a common mistake. But we don’t want to sharpen a knife too often. Sharpening removes some of the metal. This,” he says, setting the tip of the steel against the towel and holding the hilt up vertically with his left hand, “is for honing.” He lifts the knife in his right hand and sets it at a close angle against the steel. His fist grips the hilt of the steel firmly, while his fingers curl more loosely, elegantly around the handle of his knife. He draws it down the length of the steel in a firm, deliberate movement. “Honing merely aligns the sharp edge of the blade, so it doesn’t blunt itself by curling to one side.” The blade crosses to the other side, sliding down in another brisk line. He builds a rhythm, every movement deft, controlled, and faster than you would have felt safe moving that blade around. “There.” He admires the edge with a satisfied nod. “Bring me the teak cutting board, from the bottom of the pantry.”

You didn’t even know they had a “teak cutting board.” You and Ubbe have been using a scarred plastic one that looks ready to crack in half at any moment.

You find the board wrapped up in the back; when you pull it out you want to cry. The rich shades of amber and honey in the woodgrain are just gorgeous. “Why do you have such beautiful things?” you say softly as you set it down in front of him.

“I like beautiful things.” He catches your eye, and there’s no way he’s not including you in the sentiment.

You smile and look away, smoothing your hands down your skirt just to give yourself something to do. Your movement draws his gaze, and a thick, satisfied look suffuses his eyes as he admires your outfit. Inspired by your little domestic 1950’s housewife fantasy, you’d bought yourself a vintage dress, royal blue, complete with full, knee-length skirt, fitted waist, and sweetheart neckline. Now that that fantasy seems to be coming true, you couldn’t resist putting it on today, even if your only plans consisted of staying home and cooking with Ivar.

He drags the knife across the steel a few more times.

“How do you know it’s sharp enough?”

He flashes you a grin, the one with the sadistic edge that makes your knees a little weak. “There is one test,” he lifts the knife in his competent grip, “to see if it can shave an arm hair . . . hold still.”

His eye glitter as you take a step back from him, sucking your arms up tight against your ribcage. Even though the idea of Ivar holding cold steel against your body is making your heartbeat quicken, a little warmth gathering between your legs.

He cocks his head, don’t you trust me written all over his smirk. He savors your discomfort for a moment, before speaking again. “Or, we slice a piece of paper.” He takes a flyer off his stack of mail on the table, something unimportant with Act Now! in big block letters at the bottom. Grasping it at the top between two fingers, he lifts the knife and slashes down quickly through the vertically-suspended page.

It slices neatly in two, the outer edge fluttering down to the floor in front of him. “Wow, that is sharp.” You wanted to say something infinitely cooler, but how exactly do you tell someone “your knife skills are turning me on right now?”

Ivar frowns at the lower portion of the 9-inch blade. “I felt a catch toward the bottom.” He turns back to the honing steel and rasps a few more precise passes.

He may be pretending this is still a normal conversation about sharpening, but there’s a darkness in his eyes when he looks up at you again. He tips his head dramatically to the side, looking you up and down until your cheeks start to heat up.

“Seeing something that you like?”

You stammer out two answers at once, so the sounds you actually make are non-sensical.

“Do not forget that I can tell when you are turned on.”

You finally notice your mouth hanging open, and you close it.

He inspects the blade’s edge with an unnecessary flourish. “You into knives?” he asks casually. His predator’s eyes watch carefully from under heavy brows as you flail about for an answer.

“Mmm,” you say, completely uninformatively. “Um, you mean like, sexually?”

Ivar nods slowly, as confident as you are flustered.

“There is something—something about it,” you babble, trying to push through your embarrassment well enough to be honest, “but not like… I’m not saying I want to get cut up right now.”

Ivar’s mouth makes a soothing sort of sound, his gorgeous lips puckering up. “Of course not. But there’s something about—” he hefts the knife in his hand, “—the threat inherent in a dangerous object, isn’t there. Even though I’m not even threatening you with it right now.”

You gulp. “Yes.”

His head is waggling, eyes narrowed over his smile. “Come here.”

It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing he could possibly say to you right now. You want to trust him, but you really have no idea what Ivar Lothbrok will do to you if you come within arm’s reach of him. You make a small sound.

He makes a beckoning gesture.

The heavy knife is resting against the cutting board; when you step toward him Ivar leaves it there and opens his arm to pull you in close. With a hand on your waist he guides you to face the cutting board, your back against his front. The stool he’s sitting on is tall enough that he can still see from behind you, and his arms up come up around either side of your body.

“One more test. I want you to feel this one.” His voice is rich and low, so close to your ear. “Did you know that if the knife is sharp enough, cutting an onion won’t make you cry?”

“No,” You say brightly, through a burst of exhaled air. You’re relieved, although maybe just a little bit disappointed, that the topic of conversation is back to cooking, and not secret dark kinks that you might not even be ready to admit to yourself. Ivar’s body brushes softly against yours as he places an onion at the center of the cutting board and sets the knife against it.

“Here,” he says, wiggling his right hand just a bit. “Take the knife from me. Keep it lined up, but do not cut yet.”

You do as he asks, and his hand ghosts over yours, covering your grip on the handle.

“You barely have to push down. Slide it forward slightly, and the blade should sink right in.”

His guiding hand follows as you do, and the onion comes apart easily.

“Good. Keep going. We want this one finely diced.” He keeps your body pushed forward with the pressure of his from behind. Is he making sure your face is right above the onion, ready to take in all the fumes that usually blind you with tears after the first few slices?

You get the skin off and keep slicing, as instructed. The little approving noises Ivar is making into your ear must mean that your method is correct, so far. And, miraculously, your vision is still clear.

“A dull blade crushes the onion cells, releasing the chemical that makes you cry. A sharp one slices through so cleanly that this barely happens. Are you feeling anything yet?”

“No,” you say. Not from the onion, at least. The way Ivar’s body is wrapped around yours, his breath warm on your neck, has you feeling all kinds of things.

Ivar coos. “Then I’ve done well. And so are you. Even finer, please.”

You pinch the back of the blade between your fingers and chop quickly. Ivar has released your hands, placing his own about your waist instead. When you finish, you set the knife down and he coaxes you to turn around.

He inspects your face. Your eyes had started stinging just a little during that final pass, but no tears have formed. His tongue clucks, softly. “Honestly I’m a little disappointed not to get to see you crying. I think we’ll remedy that later.”

You just about quiver in his arms.

You were supposed to be his sous chef today. I mean, that would only be appropriate given the roles that you two like to assume with each other in every other context. And it is Ivar’s recipe, after all. But once he knows what watching him use a knife does to you, he performs all the rest of the dicing and chopping himself. You’re relegated to walking back and forth across the small kitchen, fetching and washing and lining up the neat little prep bowls as Ivar fills them with each of his ingredients.

He watches you all the while, in between bouts of extreme concentration on his work. He says nothing about your dress but you catch him admiring its twirl as you spin through the kitchen.

Watching him chop the garlic is almost unreal. Ivar’s not one for that garlic press contraption, and clearly he doesn’t need it. He takes a second knife from his collection, one that’s flatter and a little more squared. His slices are just about paper-thin, and he’s minced them and scooped the little pile up on the side of his blade so fast you just have to stop and stare as he does it again for each clove. His hands are large but elegant, their subtle strength readily apparent as he handles the blade with impressive agility.

“Why did you switch knives?”

He tilts the tool in question in his hand. “This is called a santoku. Japanese knives are great for speed, and the fancier skills. But for most tasks I prefer the weight of the chef’s knife. These German-made ones feel so good in the hand.”

“They really do,” you agree. “How did you get so into cooking?”

“Just a hobby I picked up for a while.” His eyes meet yours. “I am enjoying having the excuse to remember my skills again.”

You almost can’t bear to keep looking at his face, his angelic visage just beaming his delight at you. For the second time you flush, and duck your head. You’re definitely not used to Ivar being so . . . direct about his feelings for you.

He saves you from having to respond by issuing his next order. “We are ready to start cooking. Measure a tablespoon of olive oil into the pan, turn the burner on high, and help me get my stool next to the stove.”

He puts the garlic in first, stirring it briskly to, as he explains, suffuse the oil in its flavor. Next come the onions, and there is something about the way his wrist cocks as he keeps everything moving in the pan that’s almost as fascinating as his knife work. His rhythm remains steady as he directs you to add each ingredient, his other hand lightly teasing at your waist, or your hip, or your leg at the bottom edge of your skirt every time you move close to him. He pretends he’s not doing it, but there is mischief behind his eyes. By the time a thick red sauce is filling the wide pan, you’re about ready to skip this dinner and see what other treats he’s got planned for your night in.

The apartment door swings open. Ubbe enters noisily, slamming the door shut behind him. “Smells so good, Y/N! I’m starving, what are you—” He cuts off when he rounds the corner into the kitchen, and sees Ivar sitting by the stove. He takes in the luxury kitchen tools spread out on the table, and you in your housewife dress and your kitten heels. He pulls back just a little, like maybe he’s thinking he shouldn’t intrude. But then he leans one forearm against the wall and grins. “You’re making the sauce, bro?”

Ivar rolls his eyes. “Yes, Ubbe.”

“I can’t fucking wait.” He turns to you, his wolfish eyes bright. “This is gonna be the best spaghetti night you’ve had in your life.”

“It is not spaghetti night,” Ivar says crossly. “We are having gnocchi. Also, I didn’t think you were going to be home.”

Ubbe shrugs. “I don’t have anything going on.”

“Ubbe,” Ivar chides, shaking his head as he speaks. “Don’t you usually have a date lined up just about every night?”

Ubbe is only looking at you. “That just doesn’t seem very interesting anymore.”

Ivar makes a dismissive sound and nudges you. “Time to add in the spices, Y/N.”

You tear your eyes away from Ubbe, and all the things that you might just be imagining are lying behind his eyes. He walks away as you lift the last prep bowl, headed back toward his room. You sprinkle the herb blend over the sauce.

“Now we simmer,” Ivar says, turning the burner down low. “But we must keep stirring.” He slides the spoon quite precisely around the edges of the pan, then spirals it through the middle. “Can you do it this way?”

You take the handle from him and attempt to replicate his practiced movement. After a little adjusting, he leans back with a satisfied sound.

“Keep that up. No more than sixty seconds between stirrings.”

He reaches for his crutches, and you lift a brow in silent question.

“I want a shower before dinner.” He gets to his feet, then leans down to murmur low into your ear. “I am planning a long night after that.”

How can he slay you so well with only a few words?

The corner of his lip is quirked as he shifts his weight back into his crutches. “After ten minutes, start the water boiling for the gnocchi, too.”

Read On

Taglist: @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @vladsgirl@youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog @earl-aive @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @pokeasleepingsmaug @hvittysmutanon @honestsycrets @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor @writingfromasgard @tootie-fruity @lordsexmachine @ uncomfortable-writers @sadbutatleastsassy @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme @likealostkiss @thehangedmanandthehoneybee @xxlilqueeniexx @thefightingdragon

#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar imagine #dom!ivar #ivar the boneless #playing house fic #vikings college au

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 9

cw: anxiety, swearing, panic attack, injuries/scars

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // read it on ao3!

wordcount: 8909

Thomas does not get paid enough to deal with this.

Realistically speaking, he’s the one in control of his own salary. He makes the budgets for the house, he decides what Virgil’s rate of pay is (at least for the work he does in the lab; his art commissions are something else), he decides how the grant money they receive is dispersed. He’s the only one he has to answer to in terms of payment.

Statement revised: Thomas does not pay himself enough to deal with this.

Roman stares expectantly at him, gesturing at the mound of smoking, sparking, stuttering metal Patton has just dropped at Thomas’s feet. Thomas nudges it hesitantly with his foot, and it throws up a shower of sparks that has him and Roman leaning back quickly.

“What is it?” Roman asks.

“It looks like a piece of trash.”

“It’s not a piece of trash!” Roman snaps indignantly. “Well - I mean, it’s trash now , but it‘s not actually trash! It’s some weird metal fish that was stalking us, so we killed it! So tell us what it is!”

“How the hell should I know?”

“It’s human technology! You’re a human!” “Not all humans can identify every single piece of technology on sight, Roman! Especially when it’s just been destroyed by a merman with a vengeance!” Roman frowns at him in apparent disappointment, but Thomas just rolls his eyes. “It’s essentially a piece of garbage right now.”

“It’s important garbage, though!” Roman’s tail spines poke out a little indignantly. “It almost attacked me and Dad!”

Patton’s voice echoes from the ocean and a curve of iridescent blue arches up alongside the boat. “Okay, okay, it didn’t outright attack us. But it was clearly planning to! Look at it!”

“It just looks like a mangled pile of scrap.”

“But it’s important!” Roman stresses again. Thomas resists the urge to facepalm and roll his eyes. Roman does have a point; finding something like this roaming around the open ocean is abnormal. It doesn’t look like any aquatic research drone Thomas has ever seen, but there’s nothing else it could be.

Is there?

“We have to go home now,” Thomas says. “We have to get this fish back to Logan so he can eat, and we have to analyze this whatever-it-is and figure out what it wanted from you. Are you riding home or swimming?”

“Swimming,” Roman says. He looks offended that Thomas would even consider him riding on the boat. Like an eel, he slithers over the railing and disappears into the ocean. Thomas sighs, kicking at the hunk of smoking metal on his deck, and then disappears into the cab. He pulls the radio off the wall and clicks it.

“Doctor Sanders paging Virgil. Come in, Virgil.”

The radio crackles, squeals out a harsh blip of static, and then Virgil’s voice comes in, worried. “Doc? What’s wrong, are you okay? Is everything okay with Roman and Patton?” Thomas can hear Logan making an assortment of strange noises in the background that he assumes is some sort of concern for his family.

“Roman and Patton are fine, don’t worry. We found something disturbing while they were hunting, so we’re on our way home. We have plenty of fish, it’s gonna be okay, but . . . but there’s going to be a lot of work to do when we come home.”

Virgil exhales heavily. Thomas can picture the way his hand is shaking, the way he’s gripping the hem of his shirt and twisting it around to try and calm his nerves. “I . . . okay, okay, Doc. I’ll get Logan situated and prep the tanks to move Roman and Patton into the lab.”

“Prep a large sample bag, too.”

“How large?”

Thomas squints at the smoking pile of wreckage on his deck. “I’d say . . . leatherback sea turtle or bigger.”

“What the fuck did you all find out there?!”

“Nothing good. We’re on our way back - meet me on the docks.”

Virgil disconnects from the radio, presumably to go and have a panic attack while ranting anxiously to Logan and pushing large carts around the lab, and Thomas makes his way over to the controls. A long, iridescent blue half-moon of tail curves up out of the water, followed by a few more as Patton circles around the boat before settling on the left side. Thomas revs the boat engine and makes his way home.

He stares out over the open water, watching as the fuzzy stretch of mainland on the horizon begins to gain clarity, letting his mind wander. If Roman and Patton hadn’t found that robot and destroyed it, would it have followed them home? Did it come from the same source as the net that trapped Logan on their beach? Would it have found its way into the lab and attacked Logan? Attacked Virgil?

Thomas’s fists clench tightly on the wheel of the boat. He takes a deep breath in, lets the stinging salty air filter in and out and take all the negativity roiling in his brain with it. There’s no point in speculating on what-ifs, as he’s so quick to remind Virgil. Roman and Patton did sense the danger of the robot, and they did dismantle it before it could attack. They’re safe, for now, and Thomas will do his damnedest to make sure they stay that way.

He still remembers what Virgil was like when he first came, all sharp edges and spite wrapped like a spiky cocoon around a curious, intelligent, artistic mind to protect it. Thomas had taken one look at him, hanging back after the rest of his class to ask questions and correct an error that no one else had spotted, and known that he would do anything to protect him. Seeing the way he’s grown now, matured into an intelligent scientist in his own right, Thomas couldn’t be prouder than if Virgil was his biological son.

He won’t let anything happen to Virgil, or to any of the mer. He refuses.

The rest of the journey passes in a blur of seawater and suspicion, until Thomas is pulling the boat up just shy of the rocks that guard the entrance of the grotto. Roman pulls up alongside the boat, poking his head out. “Dad wants to know what the plan is.”

“Head into the grotto with your dad. I’ll dock the boat and come down with Virgil to bring the two of you into the lab with Logan, okay?” Roman squints suspiciously at him but nods, disappearing back into the water. Thomas waits for the squiggles of Roman and Patton beneath the water to disappear into the distance before pulling towards the dock. A purple splotch waits on the docks, pacing anxiously back and forth along the edge. Thomas glides easily into port, killing the engine and throwing the mooring lines towards the dock.

Virgil ties the boat off anxiously, darting aboard before Thomas has even lowered the gangway properly. “What happened?” he demands. Before Thomas can answer, his gaze lands on the pile of metal wreckage Thomas had hoped to hide between the piles of fish. “What the fuck?!”

“It was following Roman and Patton around when they were hunting. Roman got suspicious and stabbed it, and then it started smoking. They asked me what it was, but I don’t know, not without further testing.”

“I don’t like this,” Virgil mutters, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet. “I don’t like this at all. I don’t like this, Doc, this whole thing just reeks of someone looking for something they lost - I bet they’re looking for the net, since we deactivated the GPS, which means that they’re looking for Logan, too -”

Thomas reaches out and grasps Virgil’s shoulder. “Breathe,” he says. “Roman took the robot out quickly, so even if it was transmitting somewhere, they got very little evidence. The GPS was disabled when Roman took it out. The closest they got is a general location somewhere close to where the net they lost was originally deployed.”

“That’s still close to us, though,” Virgil says. “It’s close to our stretch of beach - they know we’re around these waters frequently, they have to, and this is just another nail in our coffin -”

“Virgil!” Thomas grabs both shoulders and wrenches him around to look at him. “You’re catastrophizing. You have to take a deep breath and count for me, okay? Come on. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m right here. Nothing is going to happen as long as I’m around to prevent it, so take a deep breath. Come on, here we go . . .”

It takes longer than normal to get Virgil’s breathing back under control, but Thomas waits patiently until he’s breathing regularly. “There we go.”

“Sorry,” Virgil croaks.

“No need to apologize, or I’ll have to shove you into the sea. Come on, we gotta get this fish back to Logan so we can get Roman and Patton out of the grotto.”

They decide eventually that Virgil will go and fetch Roman and Patton while Thomas brings the fish and the robot remnants back into the lab. Virgil disappears down the docks, and Thomas begins loading as much fish as he can reasonably manage into a cart. The robot parts he loads into a separate bag, slinging it over his shoulder before leaning against the cart and grunting until it starts to move.

When it finally grinds to a halt inside the lab, Logan jerks his head up from where he’s apparently been falling asleep on the table. “Virgil?” he calls, squinting in confusion.

“Not quite,” Thomas laughs. “He’s gone to get your pod from the grotto. I did bring you food, though! I’ll be over there in just - nngh! - a sec -”

Thomas likes to think that he has a decent about of muscle on his frame. He’s not built, by any means, but he’s decently strong from hauling lab equipment around and working the boat machinery. He’s beginning to question his own strength as he struggles with the fish cart.

He drops the bag of machine parts on a nearby table as Logan sniffs at the air, leaning forward and snatching a fish off the cart. Thomas watches the flash of bone-white teeth as Logan leans forward and sinks his teeth into the fish’s flesh. He looks ravenous, tearing through one, two, three fish rapidly before finally slowing down around his fourth. Thomas opens the bag and starts laying out shards of metal and circuitry, inspecting them critically.

“What’s that?” Logan asks. “More fish?”

“No,” Thomas says, too distracted to pay much attention to Logan.

“Something’s wrong,” Logan says, setting down his half-eaten fish. “What is it?”

“Your pod,” Thomas says, turning away from the scraps. “While they were hunting -”

“What happened? Dad, Roman, are they okay? Where are they?” Logan bristles, and little lines of blue electricity begin to crackle along his arms.

“They’re fine,” Thomas says, raising his arms to calm Logan. “Virgil is bringing them in from the grotto right now. While they were out hunting, there was a fish that aroused Roman’s suspicions. He stabbed it with his spines, and it turned out to be a robot. Virgil and I have to analyze it more, but it’s suspicious, certainly. Especially given where and how we found you.”

Logan frowns. “But they’re alright?”

“Yes, Logan. Everyone is fine.”

“Logan!” Roman calls. Virgil staggers into the lab, Roman draped around him like the world’s heaviest, bitchiest scarf, and Logan relaxes instantly when he hears his brother’s voice. Virgil unceremoniously dumps Roman into the tank set up near Roman’s lab table and turns around to go and retrieve Patton. Roman reaches up and takes Logan’s hand, pressing his wet head against Logan’s upper arm.

“Thomas says that you encountered a strange and unusual creature in the water?”

“I killed it before it could hurt me or Dad, don’t worry.”

“You can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” Thomas says.

“What do you mean, isn’t alive?”

“I mean, this is a robot. It’s not a living thing. A human made it, using metal and computer circuits. They programmed it to do what they wanted. It’s not a real fish, it’s not really alive. I am glad you destroyed it when you did, though. From what I can tell, it has a transmitter on it, for audio and video feed.”

“None of those words mean anything to me,” Roman says, reaching for a fish of his own.

“It means,” Thomas says, “that there’s someone out there who could see what this thing saw and hear what this thing heard. And since it saw and heard you -”

“The other person did as well.” Horror dawns on Logan’s face.

“Don’t worry, Logan. Roman destroyed it well before anything significant or identifying could be transmitted. They got a glimpse of Roman, if anything, before he destroyed it.”

Logan and Roman don’t look particularly convinced, but luckily Virgil chooses that moment to begin complaining loudly about how he’s not strong enough for this as he wheels Patton’s cart into the lab. Thomas abandons the robot to help lift Patton up into the tank with Roman. The very tip of his long, light blue tail arcs up out of the water to gently stroke Logan’s back. Logan smiles weakly and leans into it.

While the pod eats their fill, Thomas and Virgil pull on gloves and goggles and set about examining the remains of the robot. Thomas is no expert in robotics or computers, but he knows enough to keep up with the advances being made in the fields of prosthetics and other such machinery useful for marine biology. He’s been doing more research, since Logan washed up on their beach, and what he finds makes his blood run cold.

“Luckily,” Thomas says quietly, “it seems that Roman managed to short out the GPS and transmissions systems when he took out the robot, which is good.” Virgil nods, frowning at something before sliding it under a microscope. “What is it?”

“There’s something engraved on this piece, but I can’t see what it is . . . I can feel it under my fingers . . .”

Virgil frowns into the microscope, and then he stands up abruptly, darting off to another corner of the lab. “What is it?” Thomas asks. The fact that Virgil is so flagrantly disregarding lab safety is ample cause for Thomas’s concern.

Virgil doesn’t answer him, scrambling frantically through a pile of something on one of the other tables before hurrying back to slide something else under the microscope. “I hate being right,” he mutters. “Fuck! Shit fuck god fucking damn it fuck -”

“What? What is it?”

“There’s an insignia engraved on this piece of shit machinery, and I thought it looked familiar. I was right. The same thing was engraved on one of the little barbs of the net that captured Logan. Which means -”

“They were made by the same person.” Thomas looks over at the small pod of mer assembled on his lab tables, sharing a meal, and feels ice cold fear strike through him like a knife in his heart.

He also hates being right - they are in danger, all of them.

*~*~*~*~*

“Is everything quite alright?”

Virgil isn’t looking at him. To be more precise, he isn’t looking at Logan’s face. His gaze flits from Logan’s knee to his shoulder to his chest to his neck to his hair, but never his eyes.

“Virgil,” Logan says. He reaches out to where Virgil is drumming his fingers nervously along the lab table, a rapid staccato taptaptaptap of anxiety, and takes his hand. “Are you alright?” Virgil’s hand shakes in his grasp, and Logan shifts to push his fingers between Virgil’s to help calm him. “You are shaking.”

Virgil doesn’t respond to him, but his entire face lights up pink. Logan squints at him, leaning in to try and gain more clarity regarding Virgil’s facial expressions, but it only increases the pinkness. “Roman and Dad found something, didn’t they? What was it? Did something happen?”

Virgil exhales shakily. His hand tightens around Logan’s, and Logan squeezes back to try and communicate that he cares about how Virgil is doing. “I . . . Roman found a robot in the water. It has a mark on it that’s the same as the mark we found on the net. We’re worried that it’s from the same person who tried to trap you, which means -”

“They are attempting to track me down,” Logan says.

“Yeah. Obviously, we’re not gonna let that happen, but it does mean that they know Roman’s here, at the very least, because they saw him on the video feed before he destroyed it. They won’t have gotten more than a glimpse of him, though.”

“Why are you distressed?” Logan asks. “Are you worried that they will attack you or Thomas to get to myself and my pod?”

“No! Well, yeah, kind of, but - I’m worried because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I l - I care about you, a lot, and I don’t want anything bad happening to you. Or to your pod, for that matter, but I - I just mean -”

The pinkness grows brighter and brighter still, and Logan squeezes his hand again. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I know it is an . . . imposition, caring for me and my pod the way that you do, but -”

“You’re not imposing,” Virgil says. “Taking care of wounded sea creatures is our job, and - and even if it wasn’t, I would be happy to do it for you. I would be happy to do just about anything for you.” Virgil slaps his free hand over his mouth, like he hadn’t meant for the last bit to come out, but Logan just smiles and squeezes his hand even tighter.

“Thank you, Virgil. I appreciate you, and everything that you have done for me and my pod.”

Virgil reaches up and gently tucks Logan’s hair behind his ear, sweeping his bangs away from his eyes. “Logan?” Logan feels his heart stutter and skip a beat, and he leans his head up, looking at Virgil’s face. Virgil is finally looking at him properly, and Logan can’t look away from his eyes. They’re like nothing he’s ever seen before, truly. How beautiful, Logan thinks, before nearly throwing himself backwards off the table because what in the seven seas is he thinking what is Virgil thinking -

“Yes?” Logan whispers. He can’t bring himself to speak any louder, worrying that whatever is happening between himself and Virgil right now will shatter like a fragile piece of sea glass if he speaks too loudly. He’s aware of Roman and Patton still eating next to him, aware of Thomas muttering to himself and making noises doing whatever he’s doing across the lab, but the only thing he can hold his focus on is Virgil.

“I - um - it’s time to change your bandages,” Virgil says, reaching out and tenderly touching one of the white patches on Logan’s neck. “Are you done eating yet?”

“Wh - I - yes,” Logan stammers. Virgil smiles at him, and Logan swears that the entire room spins and lightens.

“I’ll go get the bandages, okay? You good to wait here?”

“It is not as though there are many other places that I am capable of getting right now.” Logan means for it to be a serious remark, but Virgil snorts and smiles and laughs, eyes crinkling up and hair flopping into his face and Logan can barely stop himself from reaching for Virgil and demanding some form of affection.

He does, though, and Virgil heads off across the lab. Logan wonders what the primary expressions of human affection are, compared to his customs. He wonders how Virgil would respond if, when he gets his tail back, he curls it around Virgil’s legs and winds it in and around, different than the way he curls with his pod. He wonders how Virgil would respond if Logan spent hours, days even, combing the sea floor for a single perfect gift - an unmarred shell, a weathered stone, a piece of glass smoothed by the sea into an absolutely beautiful texture - and presented it to him as a token of affection, of his intentions. He wonders how Thomas would react if Logan brought him a heap of fish, proving his worth as a hunter and a mate, and asked for permission to - to -

To what? Is there any way, realistically, for Virgil and Logan to court? Logan may have legs now, but they are a temporary feature, and Virgil doesn’t have a tail at all. Even if Virgil is interested (which is still a pretty big if, in Logan’s opinion), is there any possibility of a serious courtship between them?

Logan decides that he isn’t going to worry about this right now and turns his attention back to Virgil, who’s returning with another roll of the white patches he uses to help bind Logan’s injury, as well as a few other things. “This is probably going to hurt,” Virgil says apologetically.

“You’re not doing anything that might hurt him!” Roman says. Logan wishes he still had his tail so that he could slap Roman across the face with it.

“It’s not a serious hurt,” Virgil says, rolling his eyes. Logan had been ashamed to hear that Roman threatened Virgil and Thomas, after all they’ve done for him, but Virgil seems to have taken Roman’s personality in stride recently, which Logan is eternally grateful for. “I have to pull off the old bandages, and since they’re sticky against the skin it can sting a little. Then I have to disinfect the wounds, and that stings a little too, and then I apply new bandages. It hurts a hell of a lot less than what caused these injuries in the first place, I can tell you that for certain.”

“It is not the first time I have had these changed,” Logan says softly. “I am used to the sting, Roman. It will not hurt me badly.” Roman snarls suspiciously, but he sinks back into the tank and lets Virgil get to work pulling off Logan’s shirt and rolling up the sleeves of his pants to reveal the injured areas.

Virgil’s fingers are long, although not as long as Logan’s, and his claws are blunted and short. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, carefully brushing the tips of his fingers over Logan’s skin as he peels off the old bandages. Logan winces and lets out a short, sharp puff of air, but does his best not to react too badly. Virgil won’t startle, but if Roman thinks Virgil was lying about the pain of the process he’ll lose his mind.

“What’s this from?” Virgil asks, drawing Logan’s attention from his wandering thoughts. Logan’s focus returns in time to notice Virgil’s fingers gently stroking over a silvery patch of skin on his arm. “It’s a scar, right? An old one, given by how well it’s healed.”

Logan takes a moment to find his voice. “I - yes,” he finally stammers out. “It’s - um - hunting incident. Back when I first joined the pod, while we were getting used to each other, Roman was practicing with his spines and he stabbed me.”

Virgil whirls around to glare sharply at Roman. “Some brother you are!”

“It was an accident!”

“It healed well, all things considered.”

Virgil’s fingers trace up Logan’s arm, lingering on another set of scars that swirl around his arms. “And these?”

“I fought off a squid.” Virgil’s eyes widen, and Logan senses an opportunity. “It was quite an adventure - I was separated from Roman and Dad, and before I knew what was happening, the squid was upon me. It wrapped itself around me, and -”

Generally speaking, Roman is the fanciful one, the one telling stories of grandeur and regaling others with his hunting exploits. Logan calls on every memory he has of Roman showing off as he speaks. Virgil sits on the lab table next to him, eyes wide and shiny, fingers always touching some part of Logan. They skate from injury to injury, peeling off the bandages and disinfecting the fresh wounds while tracing questions along the healed silvery scars. Logan tells story after story, and Virgil appears completely enraptured.

“Trying to impress the pretty human, are you, Sharkbait?” Roman snarks. Dad’s laughter echoes musically from the tank as well.

“Shut up, Roman!”

“Brotherly disputes?” Virgil teases, gently dabbing a damp cotton ball at Logan’s wounds. Logan hisses a little at the sting, but he keeps his body still to allow VIrgil to work. The rest of the wounds are treated and re-bandaged relatively quickly. “It’s interesting, you know.”

“What is?”

“Hearing your hunting stories. They’re really interesting. I love hearing about your way of life and how it differs from ours up on land. Any customs that you have, feel free to share them with me.” Virgil smiles broadly, and Logan smiles back. If he still had his tail, he would make a very rude gesture at Roman for snickering in the background.

“Are you finished, Virgil?”

“Yeah. Do you wanna practice walking for a little bit before I turn in for the night?”

“Turn into what?” Virgil laughs softly; Logan’s entire being melts, just a little.

“It’s a human expression, Lo. It means before I fall asleep.”

“Yes, I would like to practice walking, then.”

Logan is unashamed to admit that he has a very strong tail. He’s much faster than Roman is, and although Patton can travel more distance in a shorter amount of time due to his size, Logan is still faster relatively. He’d assumed that the strength of his tail would translate to his new legs.

That does not appear to be the case.

“You’ve got a whole new set of muscles in there,” Virgil tells him, wrapping his hands around Logan’s - what had he called them? Ankles , that was it - and sliding them off the table to the floor. “Swimming and walking are two completely different sets of motions, even for someone like me who uses their legs for both activities. You’ve got to strengthen yourself. It might take some time.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan says. “I should not need you to hold my hands like this.” I want you to hold my hands, he thinks. I want you to hold my hands and my arms and my all of me. I want you to hold me close and press your face into my hair and let me bring you courtship gifts.

“It’s okay, Lo. It’s no skin off my back. I like doing this, I like helping you.” Virgil carefully wraps one of Logan’s arms around his shoulders and takes Logan’s other hand, taking a few steps backwards and pulling Logan with him. Logan wobbles shakily as Virgil helps him onto his new feet, and Virgil smiles, and the entire world is okay again. There’s no mysterious force out there, trying to net him or his pod, there’s no fresh scars forming under the bandages all over his body. There is just Virgil, smiling at him like he arranged the Upper Oceans, and nothing else matters.

Virgil slides his hands down to grip Logan’s forearms, careful to avoid any areas with bandages on them. “One step back, one step forward, okay? We can do it. You can do it.” Logan nods. He’s determined not to let Virgil down. He can’t - he won’t.

Virgil pushes himself up onto the front part of his feet - his toes, Logan thinks he called them - and takes a step backward. Logan concentrates and lifts one foot, taking a single clunky step forward. It’s far more graceless than Virgil, who moves elegantly even when he’s in a frazzled rush, but Virgil still grins at him. “Fantastic! One more, okay? One step back, one step forward.” Virgil takes another step back with his other foot, and Logan shifts to follow him. They continue like this for quite a while, across the lab, and when they reach the far wall, Virgil slowly turns them around so they can go back across the lab. His hands slide down to take Logan’s, as opposed to gripping his arms.

“Less support for you, so you have to rely more on your own muscles,” Virgil says. “But I’ll still be here to catch you, no matter what. I believe in you. Two steps at a time now, alright?”

Logan nods, and when Virgil steps backwards, one-two, Logan attempts to step forward, one-two. Unfortunately, Virgil and Logan both overestimate Logan’s strength, and he pitches forward with a startled shriek.

“I gotcha!” Virgil says, surging forward and throwing his arms around Logan as he collapses into Virgil’s chest. Logan grunts as his face collides with Virgil, looking up to see the pinkness returning to his cheeks. It takes Logan a few moments to realize that he never put his shirt back on after Virgil changed his bandages, and now his bare chest is pressed against Virgil. Virgil’s face is open and pink, and Logan can feel his own face growing warm and pink as they stare at each other.

“Oh,” Logan says, softly.

“Oh,” Virgil agrees, equally soft.

“How long are you going to make penguin eyes at him before you give him a courtship gift?” Roman calls.

“I’m going to stab you with your own spines,” Logan snarls, struggling to try and right himself. Virgil’s hands quickly slide from his waist to his elbows, pulling him upright again. Logan slides his hands around to grab Virgil’s arms as well so that he won’t let go again.

“Everything okay with you and your brother?”

Logan sighs. “He is being abnormally stubborn and rude, at the moment.”

“Am not! You’re just useless and pining over the pretty human!”

“Ignore him,” Virgil says. “He’s just jealous because you get to spend time walking around staring at me and he doesn’t.” Judging by Virgil’s tone, he’s being sarcastic, but Logan knows that he’d be jealous if he were in Roman’s position. He’d be jealous of anyone who got to spend an extended amount of their time up close and personal with Virgil.

They walk a little more, and Logan only almost falls three or four more times. It’s not great, but it’s better than the last time he tried. Eventually, he grows tired, and his feet and legs begin to ache. Virgil helps him back to the table he’d been sitting on. “Hang on - I gotcha -”

Virgil bends at the knees and scoops Logan up, draping him across his arms and carefully arranging him on the table. “There you go, L. Sitting comfortably?” Logan is too stunned at his abrupt proximity to answer properly for a moment, but eventually he manages to answer.

“Yes, I - thank you, Virgil.”

Thomas and Virgil sit down to eat in the laboratory, at a cleared-off and cleaned table near Logan and his pod. They normally don’t eat in here, but apparently it doesn’t make sense to keep moving up and down and up and down repeatedly from the house proper to the laboratory. Logan lets his eyes slide closed as the conversation washes over him, soft like the gentle waves on a clear day. He tunes back in sharply when he hears his name.

“What are we going to do about Logan?” Thomas says. Virgil puts down his eat stick and frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Patton said he won’t get his tail back until tomorrow, right? So there’s no way that he can sleep in the tank with Patton and Roman like he’s been doing. What are we gonna do about that?”

“He could always come and sleep in the house with us,” Virgil offers.

“No way, absolutely the hell not, there is no way I’m letting Logan spend the night alone with you humans -” Roman spits, spines puffing out like a sea urchin.

“It’s not your decision, Ro,” Patton says gently. “Logan, it’s your call. Thomas is right, you can’t sleep in the tank with us without working gills, you’ll drown.”

“What did Patton say?” Virgil asks.

“That Roman is overreacting, as usual -”

“Hey!”

“- and that I cannot sleep with them without my gills, which I will not regain until tomorrow at the earliest.” Logan looks at Virgil and Thomas, watching the way Virgil watches him - cautious, hesitant, but hopeful as well. “What do you suggest, Virgil?”

Virgil exhales shakily. “I have a room in the house, where I sleep. It’s big enough that you could sleep there as well, if you want. We can come back down to the lab first thing in the morning after breakfast, let Patton and Roman see that I haven’t done anything untoward to you in the middle of the night.”

“I would greatly enjoy sleeping with you,” Logan says, just a touch too eagerly. Virgil chokes on his food. Thomas makes a very strange face at him over the table; it reminds Logan of the way Roman and Patton have been teasing him recently. Logan decides to ignore it; he’s got plenty to think about in regards to his own entanglements with Virgil.

Patton and Roman are both teasing him about the anticipation in his voice. Logan decides to ignore them as well.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil is not particularly looking forward to trying to maneuver Roman back into his tank. Roman is a bit snappish with him at the best of times, and while Virgil understands his disdain for humans after all he’s been through, he likes to think that he’s earned enough goodwill for Roman to drop some of his suspicions.

Still, Thomas has already wound the majority of Patton’s long, flexible tail around himself and braced his arms under his torso, shuffling his way up the stairs around the tank. Patton had reared up out of the tank to press his forehead against Logan’s, letting out a strident chirp of mer before pulling back into the water and forming his customary travel bubble.

“Can you please stop looking at me like that?” Virgil sighs.

“Like what, human?”

“Like you’re contemplating how many spines it would take for you to murder me.”

“Maybe I am contemplating how many spines it would take to murder you.”

“I have a name, Roman. You know my name. You’ve used my name before.”

“That was before I realized you had designs on my brother.”

“Yes, designs to keep him from drowning in the middle of the night since he can’t breathe water right now,” Virgil says dryly. Logan suppresses a soft, wheezing laugh, and Virgil feels his chest grow lighter. “Come on, Pincushion, into the tank with you.”

“Who are you calling a pincushion?” Roman demands. He furrows his brow in confusion. “Also, what is a pincushion?”

“It’s a soft little thing that you stick sharp pins into when you’re not using them so that you don’t stab yourself by accident, and as you’re full of sharp spines, you look and act very much like a pincushion.”

“I think I’m supposed to be offended by that.”

“Well, I’m offended that you keep trying to murder me for being nice to you and your brother and your dad. Life goes on. Put your spines down so I can put you into the god damned tank.” Roman hisses at him, puffing his spines up even more in protest. Virgil hisses right back, startling both Roman and Logan. “What? Did you think you were the only one who could hiss when they’re upset or threatened? Think again, Princey.”

Roman’s spines all flatten at once. It’s probably more out of shock than anything else, but Virgil’s not complaining. Roman reaches out and squeezes Logan’s hand before turning back to Virgil and lifting his arms up dramatically. Virgil rolls his eyes and drapes Roman’s tail around himself before hoisting the merman up into his arms. “If you prick me, I will throw you down all of the stairs in this lab, so help me God.”

“What is a god?” Roman asks crossly. Virgil huffs with the effort of going up the stairs and doesn’t respond. By the time he makes it to the top of the tank, Thomas has just finished lowering Patton down into the water. A curl of blue tail rises from the water and delicately curls around Thomas’s arm like a thank you before sinking back into the tank. Virgil drops Roman into the water with a good deal less delicacy. He gets splashed for his troubles, but he doesn’t care that much what Roman thinks of him.

“I apologize again for Roman’s behavior,” Logan says. He reaches for Virgil’s hand, and Virgil lets him take it. Logan’s hands are surprisingly smooth, as though they, too have been weathered and worn by the ocean; they’re a little cooler than the average human skin, but Virgil runs a little cold himself, so he finds it comforting. “He has always been quite . . . protective of me. I suspect that my being taken has only amplified those feelings.”

“I don’t have an older brother, but I understand where he’s coming from. As long as he doesn’t actually stab me, I’m not that upset about it.” Logan smiles, soft like the breaking dawn, and Virgil feels a tidal wave well up and drown him in overwhelming affection. It takes all his energy not to lean in and kiss Logan right then and there, to press his free palm up against Logan’s cheek and slide his fingers into Logan’s hair.

“I am glad,” Logan says softly, “that my brother’s . . . concerns have not destroyed what we have with each other. We are . . . friends, are we not?”

Virgil’s exuberance dims, just a little, but he nods. “Yeah, Logan. We’re friends.” Logan smiles again, squeezing Virgil’s hand. Virgil squeezes back. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you upstairs. Do you think you can walk over there if I help you?”

“Is walking backwards dangerous?” Logan asks.

“If you do it a lot and you’re not careful, it can be. You can’t see where you’re going when you do it, not unless you twist your head all the way around, and even then you have a limited field of vision.”

“I don’t want you doing that if it’s dangerous for you,” Logan says, brow creasing in stress and worry. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“Aw, why not? Do you care about me?” Virgil teases.

“Yes,” Logan says, so earnest and serious that Virgil’s breath catches in his throat a little. “I do care about you, very much. You - you are the first friend that I ever made, outside of my father and my brother. You are . . . important to me, and I do not wish to see you injured.”

“There’s other ways to walk,” Virgil says, once he regains his voice. “We can go side-by-side, if you like.”

“If there’s less chance of you injuring yourself, then that’s the option that I prefer.” Virgil carefully picks up Logan’s shirt and helps him tug it on, to prevent any repeats of the capital-i Incident from earlier. Logan shuffles around until his feet hang over the side of the table, and Virgil bends down to help him up. He carefully wraps an arm around Logan’s waist and Logan drapes his arm around Virgil’s shoulders.

“Will you be okay putting the lab equipment away by yourself, Doc?”

Thomas smirks. “You seem to have your hands full, Virge.”

“We can wait to go upstairs if you need my help here,” Virgil says, pointedly ignoring Thomas’s insinuations. “Logan, you don’t mind waiting a few more minutes, do you?”

“I do not have any opinions of the sort.”

“See? We’ll be fine to wait.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, smiling. “Don’t worry about it, Virgil. I cleaned up the lab by myself for years before I took you on as my live-in doctoral student, I can handle one night.” Virgil resists the urge to flip him off and sticks his tongue out instead.

“What does that mean?” Logan asks as they slowly shuffle towards the door.

“What, doctoral student? It means . . . well, essentially it means that I’m studying with the doc so that I can write a really really long, really really specific paper that’ll get analyzed and hopefully approved by a bunch of people with a fancy title so that I can also have a fancy title.”

“Oh! Is that hard?”

“It’s pretty difficult, yeah. Most people don’t do it. I’m a bit of a rare exception.” Virgil tries not to puff out his chest in pride. He’s pretty sure he fails.

“That isn’t what I meant, though. What does . . . this mean?” Logan pokes his tongue out curiously. Instead of looking like a retort, like Virgil had meant it when he stuck his tongue out earlier, Logan looks adorable and confused. Every single cat video Virgil has ever seen involving a cat sticking its tongue out in a blep runs through his mind at once, and he nearly collapses from the sheer adorableness of the situation.

“It’s . . . just a human thing,” Virgil says quickly. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I - oh. This might be an issue.” He hadn’t considered it before, given how often he traverses this path every day without any issue, but he’s never traversed it with an unstable merman with the footing of a newborn deer before.

He has no idea how he’s going to get Logan up the stairs.

Virgil’s initial thought is that he’ll just show Logan how to climb the stairs and help him up, the same way he’s been helping him walk across the floor. This plan is quickly derailed when Logan nearly faceplants across the very first low step. “Will it be alright if i just carry you?” Virgil says. “Like I do when you have a tail, or like I do for your brother.”

“I hope you’re a bit gentler with me than you are with Roman,” Logan says. It takes Virgil a few moments to realize that Logan is actually joking, and then he snorts and laughs.

“Don’t worry, Logan. I like you much better than Roman, I won’t drop you.” Logan laughs.

“If Roman hears you say that, he very well might stab you.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

Logan loops his arms around Virgil’s neck as he’s hoisted up into his arms. Virgil fights very hard not to think about the fact that he has an arm very closely braced underneath Logan’s ass, or the way that Logan leans his face into Virgil’s shoulder with a soft, satisfied sigh, as though he trusts Virgil to protect him from any and all dangers in the world; he fights not to think about the way Logan’s lips look, still slightly wet from when he’d had his tongue poking out mere moments before, or the way his lower lip sticks out slightly, round and kissable; he fights not to think about the way Logan’s hair flops in his face and his eyes, or the way he wants to run his fingers through it and memorize the texture, memorize the way every curl, every lock, every individual strand feels slipping across his fingertips, along his palm, tangled up in his fingers and soft against his bare chest and tickling his nose if they fall asleep snuggled together and -

Virgil hurries up the stairs before he becomes so distracted that he drops Logan.

They get waylaid in the kitchen so Virgil can get a drink before he goes to bed. Logan is fascinated by the house, asking questions about everything he sees. “What’s that?”

“It’s called an oven. You put food in it, and it gets really really hot inside and it makes the food hot, too.”

“What’s that?”

“The stove. You put food on top of it to heat it up, kind of like the oven, but a little quicker.”

“What’s that?”

“The refrigerator; you put food in it to cool it down and keep it cold, to keep it from spoiling.”

“Humans are very obsessed with controlling the temperature of their foods, aren’t they?” Logan muses.

“I guess we are. I never really thought about it before . . .”

Finally, Virgil manages to get them up into his bedroom. It looks the way it normally does, but Virgil finds himself fixating on the mess - a few scattered piles of clothes, textbooks and other books strewn haphazardly around the room, random papers everywhere, pinned on the walls in patterns that wouldn’t make sense to a madman, most of them marked with thick streaks of marker and hastily scrawled three-am revelations.

“Sorry it’s such a disaster, Lo.” Virgil carefully sets him down in the desk chair and throws open the curtains covering the glass door onto the balcony. The sun has set over the ocean, but some of the colors still linger in the sky, vibrant like strokes of paint on an Impressionist canvas.

“I do not see a disaster here, Virgil. I see evidence of life. It is quite . . . fascinating. And I assure you, our regular sleeping grottos are just as messy.” Virgil still hurries to try and tidy up his room, kicking piles of clothes under the bed and throwing them into his often-neglected hamper. He stacks the books as best he can, assembles the papers into one large pile and pins them down with a loose seashell.

“Still, the floor is gonna have to be cleared off if I’m gonna sleep on it.”

“Why would you sleep on the floor?” Logan asks. “Is that not the point of that thing?” He points to Virgil’s bed. “Is that not a place for sleeping?”

“It’s called a bed,” Virgil says, “and you’re going to be sleeping there. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Why would you sleep on the floor?”

“Because the bed’s really only big enough for one person, Logan. You can sleep on it, since you’re the guest, and I’ll sleep on the floor. Or I can go downstairs and sleep on the couch, it’ll be alright, but I thought I’d stay on the floor in case you needed something.”

Logan frowns, looking almost heartbroken. “I . . . you will not be sleeping with me? You said you would . . .”

“Well yeah, I meant you were sleeping up here in my room, I didn’t necessarily mean - I didn’t know if you would be comfortable sleeping that close to me. I mean - I -”

“I always sleep with my pod,” Logan says. His voice is small and shaky, heartbroken. “I have not slept by myself - prior to the incident with the net, of course - for so long . . . please, do not make me sleep alone again.”

Logan is going to kill him, Virgil is absolutely sure of it. “I . . . okay, L. I’ll sleep with you. Just let me get changed, okay? Let me get into my pajamas.”

“What are pajamas?”

“Clothes you sleep in.”

“Do I need a pajamas?”

“No, that’ll work just fine. You’re comfortable, right?”

“Yes?”

“Then you’ll be okay. Wait right there, okay? I’m gonna get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Virgil quickly ducks into the adjoining bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face and tries to regain his composure. He never thought that inviting Logan to share his bedroom would entail sharing his bed, but he supposes he should have known better. In for a penny, in for a pound, et cetera, et cetera. Logan won’t read anything into it if he doesn’t act like there’s something to be read into it, so as long as he keeps himself together it’ll be alright.

The rest of his bedtime routine is relatively swift - washing his face properly, brushing his teeth, changing into loose sweatpants and an oversized tank top, dragging a brush through his tangled messy hair, making sure he remembers to take his anti-anxiety medication, using the bathroom. He’s in and out in less than five minutes, plugging his phone in to charge on the desk and making sure that he sets his alarm for the morning.

“It’ll just be a second while I make sure the bed’s ready, if you don’t mind waiting a little.”

Logan yawns, waving a hand at Virgil. “Take your time.”

Virgil piles all the clothes littering his bed into a corner, somewhat ashamed of the fact that he hadn’t been bothered to put them away properly, before digging out his nicest, softest blankets and pillows and piling up the bed to make it nice and comfortable.

As he turns back to Logan, a thought occurs. “Do you brush your hair, underwater? Or your teeth?”

“What is brush?” Logan asks. Virgil fetches his hairbrush from the bathroom and demonstrates how he drags it through his hair to make it smooth and neat.

“There’s a different one of these, as well, smaller, that we use to clean our teeth because otherwise they can get diseases and fall out.”

“We don’t have brush or whatever you call it, but there are small fish that swim around and eat the scraps that get stuck in our teeth. Dad likes to sit there with his mouth open for hours and let them swim in and out of his mouth.”

“You guys use cleaner fish?” Virgil asks.

“Is that what humans call them?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes, we do. But we have no such thing for our hair.”

“I bet your hair is awfully tangled, after being in the ocean for so long. Do you want me to brush it?”

“Will it hurt?” Logan sounds small and scared, reaching up to hesitantly touch his hair.

“It may pull a little, especially if you have big knots or tangles, but I promise I’ll be as gentle as I possibly can.” Logan nods, hesitantly, and Virgil carefully lifts the brush to his hair. He expects it to be coarse and rough, since seawater dries out human hair, but it’s strangely slick. It sort of reminds Virgil of the way a duck’s feather repel water, but it’s smoother than that. It feels just as nice as he’d imagined beneath his fingers. Logan wince a little when Virgil pulls on a few particularly rough knots, but all in all he sits through it with a brave face.

“All done,” he says ten minutes later. “Does that feel better?”

“I do not know if I would say it feels better, per se, but my hair certainly feels nice and smooth.” Logan runs his fingers through his own hair, smiling. “I have never been able to do that before. It is quite wonderful.”

“I’m glad I could make you happy,” Virgil says. Logan smiles, and Virgil would sacrifice the world, the universe, and everything in it if he could keep making Logan smile like that.

Virgil puts Logan up against the wall so that he doesn’t accidentally fall out of the bed. It’s not really meant for two people, but Virgil thinks that as long as they’re careful he’ll be alright. He draws the curtains again, turns off the lights, and shuts the door. “Would you like a light o - oh.”

When he turns around, Logan is glowing softly - his eyes are bright blue, and every single freckle on his face and arms gleams like a little star. “Apologies,” Logan says, sounding embarrassed. “My scales and eyes glow in dark water - Dad’s and Roman’s are the same way. I didn’t think I would have the same effects while in this human guise, but . . . will this affect your ability to sleep?”

“It - I - um - it shouldn’t, I mean - there’s usually some light or another coming in, it’s never pitch black here.” Virgil shuffles across the room, finding it much easier to navigate now that he’s cleared the piles of clothes and books and other flotsam and jetsam from the floor. He carefully climbs into bed, settling under the covers and arranging them over Logan as well. He settles on his side, facing Logan, who blinks back at him with his eerily bioluminescent eyes. Virgil makes a note to test the bioluminescence of all three mer tomorrow.

Logan lets his eyes slip closed, exhaling a soft puff of air across Virgil’s face. “Good night, Virgil.”

“Night, Logan.”

Logan drifts off fairly quickly, chest rising and falling evenly, and Virgil, for all his gay pining, isn’t far behind. He wakes up sharply in the middle of the night, gasping when he realizes that he’s not alone. Blue light filters into his sleep-fogged vision, and then he realizes exactly what position he’s in.

Logan is slotted up against him, legs all tangled up together with his the way Virgil has seen his tail coiled in with his pod’s. His face is pressed up into Virgil’s chest, pillowed neatly on his shoulder, and his arms are tucked between them, hands curled in a delicate half-open shape. Virgil has one arm curled up around Logan’s head and the other thrown over his waist. He wants to move, to pull away before he wakes Logan up and makes him uncomfortable, but before he can do anything Logan stirs in his sleep. He shuffles, shifts closer to Virgil, and nuzzles into him, letting out a soft sigh and a soft trill of foreign language that sounds much more musical than any mer he’s heard before.

Virgil can’t bring himself to pull away after that. He leans forward, shamelessly nuzzling into Logan’s hair, and Logan presses into the touch with another gentle trill. Virgil has no trouble falling back asleep with Logan securely in his arms.

#starshinewrites #lovely dark and deep #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #patton sanders #analogical

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pparkerpoetry · 3 years

Text

Face Reality (Part 3)

Title: The Void Becoming His Best Friend (you tried to stop a god? i’m still here)

Summary: Tommy searches for a way to get to Ranboo. Ranboo isn't having fun. Things that have been done here are permanent, there's no escaping what happened, and Ranboo can't help but feel like there's no hope.

Will Tommy reach him in time to prove otherwise?

WARNING: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

Part 1 Part 4

Masterlist

It was a while later, and three of the four people were awake and thinking.

“Tommy, I get that you want hope and that you’re optimistic, but really? ‘Oh, we just gotta waltz up to the enderman and give it the old chat’ really, Tommy?” Techno asked, unhappy that his slumber had been interrupted while Tubbo got to rest.

“But we could find him! You’ve got so many books here, surely one of them is on enderman language.” Tommy argued. “What’re you gonna do, just abandon Ranboo?”

There was silence in the cottage. It was deafening.

“What the… no! I don’t get why you’re so content to just leave it alone, how do you sleep at night?” Tommy exploded. “How do you sleep at night knowing that somewhere, Ranboo is all alone, just like I was? I know what he’s gone through, you don’t. You only know riches and pride. So how about once, just once, you get off your pedestal and get your head out of your ass to help me find my friend?”

“Tommy-” Phil tried to interject.

“No, you don’t get to interrupt me. You two only wanted to use him- not even Tubbo is completely innocent, he used some pretty questionable methods to try to restore his memory- but at least he had good intentions! You just wanted to use him as what, a secret weapon to help you get your way?”

Silence fell again, until Techno heaved a heavy sigh.

“Fine, Tommy. I’m sure that at least the villagers have a book that might help. Just… don’t get your hopes up. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt, because I’m not going to stop until Ranboo is home.” Tommy retorted, getting up to begin his work.

In the following days, Tubbo left for Snowchester, for he had other priorities. He wished he could stay, but he wasn’t sure he completely trusted his room mates yet. He’d visit soon, but ultimately, he wasn’t part of the second search.

Technoblade did help Tommy in finding books and scriptures that might help him, but he didn’t have spare time other than that. He had pets to tend to, farms to harvest, journeys to travel. He’d be there for the major parts of the research, but ultimately, he wasn’t part of the second search.

Phil helped in his own way. He kept the food plentiful and warm, he made sure the woodpile outside was always ready to fuel the fire, he made sure that in the late nights where Tommy had stayed up, he found his way to bed. He made sure that Tommy was well taken care of, but ultimately, he wasn’t part of the second search.

Tommy dove into his quest to bring Ranboo back. He travelled to a multitude of villages, he ransacked Techno’s library, he wouldn’t sleep until he had finished that page- that chapter- the whole book. He wouldn’t eat until he’d found one more hint, he wouldn’t rest. Tommy was doing everything in his power to succeed. He was the second search.

It seemed like ages to Tommy, by the time he found a reasonable script of text that would help him learn the language, but maybe that was because he pulled one-nighters more than he slept through the starry skies.

The book itself was small and unassuming, and to be honest, he had almost passed it by without bothering to check. But, in the end, he was glad that he did check it, because the purple cover and black binding held all of the answers that he had been looking for.

The pages were old and crackled as Tommy flipped through them, he was almost scared that they’d dissolve right in his hands. The handwriting was beautifully curved, and it seemed to give off glowing purple particles every few minutes. He looked through it quickly, and he grinned, because there on the pages, was a way to communicate to the only way to find his friend.

It took him weeks to figure out how to make the guttural chirps and various noises, and he knew it would take even longer to learn it fluently, so he figured it was best to just translate as he went. So, on a bright, sunny day, Tommy went outside in the snow. There was no one around, they were all off in their places, he didn’t know where. He only knew where the enderman was.

It was old now, that lanky creature, since it was already a considerable age when it had reached the overworld. It’s vibrant skin had faded to a dull grey, and its warbling cries were hoarse. It pried its eyes open as Tommy approached, and its gaze lazily shifted to the book that he held. The look in its eyes was almost one of… recognition.

“Hello?” Tommy tested, unsure of how this would work. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the writing yet.

The enderman let out a similar sound to the trill that he had tried, so he supposed it was fine. Was this working?

Tommy flipped through the book he held, finding the words he wanted to say. It was slow, but it was working. “Where… boy… go?” Not the greatest grammatically, but it got his point across.

The enderman let out a huff of air, settling down in its boat. It was silent for a moment before looking back at Tommy. “Hybrid?”

Once he found the word that he thought the enderman had said, he nodded frantically. “Where?”

There was now a sad look in the enderman’s eyes, but the way its teeth were bared almost made it seem like it was smiling. What was going on?

“Where?” Tommy asked again, more aggressively this time.

A soft crooning came out of the enderman. It held emotion, it held regret, it held everything that Tommy never would have thought endermen would feel. It took longer to find the translation now. When he did, he wasn’t sure if it was a clear answer.

“Called home?” He repeated.

The enderman nodded. “The boy was called home.”

“Where is home?” Tommy asked. Ranboo had a home other than here? Where was it?

“The End.”

Tommy scrunched up his eyebrows. The end? “End of what?”

“Home.”

No matter how much Tommy tried, the enderman kept repeating those two phrases. Home. The end. He never answered where home was, never answered what it was the end of. Was it the end of their home, Ranboo returning? Tommy didn’t know.

He got up to leave after a few hours of trying, tired of listening to the same words over and over again. As he stood, the enderman said one last thing.

“Find him. Hurry.”

The voice was so genuine, so worried, that Tommy just nodded and didn’t bother telling the enderman that he was going as fast as he could.

_____________

That night at dinner, Tommy brought up what he had heard. Techno and Phil were just as well off as he was- confused and angry because of it.

“Tell me it again?” Techno asked.

“The boy was called home, the end, home. It kept repeating that, like some weirdo.” Tommy scoffed.

“Pass the salt,” Phil said, before continuing. “Ranboo went home, but as far as we know he doesn't have another home here, right?” He got confirmation, so he rushed to finish. “Well, Ranboo’s a hybrid, so what I’m trying to say is… what if he went back home, but to the endermen? There’s gotta be a place where they all exist, right? We just gotta figure out how to get there.”

They thought about that for a moment.

“Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain the end thing. The end of a story? I don’t get it.” Tommy said, frustrated.

Techno chucked. “You don’t get a lot of things, Tommy.” He let out an indignant noise when he was smacked by a dark grey wing. “Phil, aren’t you going to tell him to stop it?”

Phil laughed. “Tommy, don’t hit your brother.”

Tommy stopped, but he couldn’t help but think that Phil hadn’t done anything when Techno was trying to kill him way back when, in L’manberg. He shook his head as if that would help clear it. Those times had passed, at least he had a family. That was more than Ranboo could say.

Unless the endermen were his family. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to come back. Maybe this was all useless.

____________

When Tommy tried to research a home for the endermen, he came up with nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. To the world around him, endermen just popped into existence when they wanted to, but he knew something was wrong. He needed answers.

So Tommy did something he hadn’t done in a long time. Not since right after Ranboo went missing and they didn’t even realize it. He put on his boots, he put on a determined look and he picked up his communicator.

“Hey, Sam. Mind heading to the prison? I fancy a visit to that green-looking bitch.”

It was no less ominous than the last time he had been there, and you could tell that no one had visited in a while. After a long wait, when he finally got through the lava, he saw Dream.

He looked significantly worse than last time, but Tommy didn’t feel any sympathy. He got what he deserved.

“Hey, Tommy.” Dream drawled, sitting on the floor in the corner.

Tommy nodded. “Hey Dream. Listen, I need some information. I need to know where the home of the endermen is. I figured you might know.”

“It’s gonna cost you, Tommy. I-”

“I’m not going to call for your release, so you can just forget that right now.”

Dream laughed. “I’m not stupid. I know that I’m stuck here until I can figure out how to escape. I was gonna say, if you want this information, I’m not going to revive Wilbur. This kind of information is valuable, I need to make sure you really want it.”

Tommy inhaled quickly, and looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. He didn’t like how his eyes filled with tears at the mention of his older brother. He didn’t like how even then, in that moment, Dream still had power over him, trying to scrabble for even the slightest bit of hold on him.

“Think it over, Tommy. This isn’t a rushed decision.”

Tommy glared at the man, but his brain rushed with thoughts. The most prominent?

Wilbur was gone. He didn’t want to come back. One of his brothers was too far gone to be helped, but there was still one that he had the power to save. He couldn’t do both.

“Just give me the information, Dream, and I’ll leave you alone again.”

“You’re doing all of this for Ranboo? Are you sure he’s worth it?”

Tommy rolled his eyes to hide his insecurity and didn't bother asking how Dream knew. “Shut it, Dream. I’m not going to give up on him like everyone else. So give me that information, and we’ll see what other purposes we can have for you besides rotting in hell.”

_____________

Dream ended up writing out some stuff in one of the many books that he had, and Tommy left him with a middle finger in the air and a smile on his face.

“You all set?” Awesamdude had asked, and for once, Tommy was able to say, truthfully, that he had never been better.

______________

He was back at the cottage, sitting at the dining room table, the simple leather book open to the lazy scrawl of Dream’s writing. There wasn’t much, for even Dream had his things that he didn’t know, but there was enough that surely they’ll be able to find the enderman home. Tommy scanned the book and-

“That motherfucker.”

Phil looked over. “What?”

“You wanna know what the home of the endermen is called? Huh, Phil? You wanna know? Jesus.” Tommy raged.

Techno popped into the room. “Well, I want to know. What is it?”

“The End.” Tommy said, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe it. I was all ‘the end of what’ when it was a name the whole time? Man.”

Techno laughed, but Phil didn’t. He had some questions. “Well, does it say how to get there, or are we just as well off as we were?”

Tommy squinted at the words on the page. “It says there’s a portal that we have to put eye of enders on. I’d always wondered what those things were for. Huh. Oh, here we go. The portal can be found in a fortress, uhh… there’s a lot of rooms in a fortress, so we need to find the portal one.”

Technoblade stopped laughing. “Does it say what the portal looks like?”

“A circle of sand-like yellow bricks that have some sort of blue substance on it? That doesn’t make sense.” Tommy muttered to himself, but Techno just groaned.

“I am such an idiot.” At a look from Tommy, he elaborated. “Tommy, we’ve been using the portal as a table this whole time.”

________________

After another week of preparation, they all stood around the portal.

Well, not everyone, because the room was pretty small, but there were a few people there. Phil and Techno were there, Tubbo was there. Tommy was there. Fundy wasn’t, and Niki wasn’t, but there were people there. They were all geared up and ready to go, all prepared to go fetch Ranboo back.

They had eyes of ender.

They just had to be placed.

Tommy wasn’t sure if he was ready, because he’d spent months on this. Years, if you count the first search. He had grown, in those years. He was still Tommyinnit, legendary fighter. He was still immature sometimes, he still swore, he still had fun. But yeah, he had changed. He wasn’t innocent or naive anymore. Was he ever? His laughs weren’t so carefree, his smiles weren’t so sincere, his eyes didn’t shine with the mischief that they used to. He had grown, and he was ready for this. He placed the enders into the portal.

Nothing happened.

“What?” Tommy asked. “What? No, no, no, no, Dream said this would work. It has to work. This is the only way to get there- this has to work.” His breathing quickened and he grabbed the book, flipping it over and searching the words again. “Yeah- it’s supposed to work-”

Phil sighed. “I don’t know, Tommy. Maybe it’s just a regular table. Maybe it’s not a portal.”

Techno was silent, but he nodded.

Tubbo didn’t say anything.

Tommy didn’t know which one was worse.

His wings circled his body as he fell to sit on the ground, knees pulled up against his chest. “It was supposed to work.” Tommy’s voice cracked, and he didn’t have the energy to groan at it. “Why didn’t it work?”

There was silence. He knew they’d be leaving soon.

Before they could, though, there was a soft gust of wind. They all turned to the doorway of the room, where a shadow stood.

“Who are you?” Techno asked, raising his axe.

“Calm down, Blood god.” The being sneered. “I’m not here for you.” The being drifted over to where Tommy sat and gave out a quiet cluck. “Aw, the scripts really haven’t been kind to you, have they? No matter. Do you want to go through the portal?”

“Yeah.” Tommy’s response was too small-sounding for his liking.

The deity looked at the room, and hummed. “I can’t let all four of you through, and two of you couldn’t even travel through the End without those handy wings… But, I only promised Ranboo that I’d let someone through if they truly were looking for him.” The piercing gaze turned to Phil. “So you can understand why you can’t go through either. Only Tommy can go through, and that is final.”

“How do you know my name?” Tommy asked, dragging himself to his feet.

“Oh, Tommy.” The deity laughed, waving its hand and doing away with the portal, only to wave it again and the portal was back, only this time the middle of it was taken up by a black expanse, scattered with stars. “You’ve been trying to kill a god, but you were looking in the wrong places. Sure, you locked up a wannabe, but I’m still here. Go through the portal, Tommy. It’ll be open as long as it takes you, but don’t expect to be in my good graces again. You’ve lived life on a thin line, Tommyinnit. Eventually, you’re going to fall.”

Tommy hesitated, but he was given a harsh push and he fell through the portal, screaming.

_______________

His back hit the ground and the air left his lungs, leaving him gasping. When he rolled over, he noticed that what he was standing on was definitely not dirt. Because, last time he checked, dirt was not yellow.

Was it snow?

He got up onto his feet and stretched his wings, turning in a slow circle. There was no land in sight, in any direction, and he certainly did not know where to go for sure. He had a hunch, but his hunches were barely right.

He ended up deciding to just pick a direction to fly in, and hope he encountered a city to ask for a route to Ranboo or something, and he wasn’t going to question why his method succeeded.

It just didn’t work out exactly how he thought it would, but it worked.

When he landed in the city, the endermen avoided his gaze. He’d never seen so many in one spot, and he’d never seen any so mad. It looked like a relatively new settlement, but he plucked up the courage to speak to one.

“Hello?”

One glared at the space between his eyes. “What, Human?”

“Where is hybrid boy?” Tommy asked, hoping they got what he was trying to say, hoping desperately that this was a city that knew Ranboo.

He got a response, but it wasn’t a positive one. It was a hiss, a scream, a yell of such pure and unfiltered anger and disgust that Tommy took a full step backwards. The enderman pointed in a direction. “Kill him if you want to. We have no use for him. Now go, before we kill you.”

Tommy didn’t understand the entirety of the words, but he got the gist of it. Kill? Why would they think he wanted to kill Ranboo? Why did they hate him so much?

He ran to the edge of the floating island he was on and leaped, letting his wings carry him. He traveled for ages, but eventually, another island came into sight. Only, instead of a heavily populated city, all that was left was ruins.

_______________

Ranboo didn’t do much on the first few days after he was abandoned for the… third? Time. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that his animals needed tending to. It was the only thing that kept him alive, that kept him from finding the void more appealing than it already was. They’d be all alone, no one would find them.

No one deserved to be alone.

He stopped writing in his memory book. It hurt too much, to pick up that pen and have to face all that had happened, but he couldn’t burn it. It hurt too much, to flip through the pages that he had been so happy in, still alone but happy. He thought maybe, if he didn’t remember it happening, it wouldn’t have. TIme would go in reverse. He wasn’t stuck here. Surely, someone would come for him. Why was he here again? He didn’t remember.

He didn’t want to remember.

After a week, he got angry. He had internalized his pain for so long, maybe he deserved an opportunity to let it out. So he did. He let it all out, he screamed as he let his true height show, as his body was surrounded with floating purple particles. He didn’t remember what happened, but he blacked out and when he woke up, the city was destroyed. It was only when he opened his eyes that he realized what had stopped him. One of his parrots had been caught in the crossfire.

Wasn’t everyone?

The parrot got buried. It took work, but he couldn’t just toss the body in the void.

He started talking to himself. “What if I act as enderman-like as possible? Will they come back?”

“What if I punish myself? Will they come back?”

“What if I make myself worth it? Will they come back?.”

Eventually, it got worse.

“Please, I’ll do anything, I want to go back. I made a mistake, they didn’t care for me but maybe if I come back, they will. Maybe if I lose the part of me that they wanted to use, they’ll see me as someone to care for.”

Who was he kidding. They’d always use him.

Ranboo started crying more. It always hurt, but sometimes he liked it. Sometimes the dull pain was a nice reminder that he wasn’t dead, yet. He fell asleep at night crying, and would wake up with a headache. He’d shake and scream, he’d panic and have his breath speed up, but he made it through it.

At some point, he couldn’t remember when, he stopped crying. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore. The stinging had faded. He didn’t cry at night (was it night? The sky just stared endlessly at him. He didn’t remember what time it was.) anymore. He stayed awake most of the time. When he did cry, it still didn’t hurt. It took him a while, but he got the courage to look into the water bucket he had brought with him. He wished he didn’t. His face was covered in ugly red and maroon scars, deep and aching. They’d never heal. This was something he’d have to live with forever. Maybe forever wouldn’t last that long.

He started dipping his hands into the water instead of crying. It burned more.

It seemed like months passed before he got used to his whole situation. Sure, he still pondered on what could have been done differently. What if he never left his shack? L’manberg? The End, the first time? He couldn’t tell where the mistakes and bad decisions began.

He could feel himself adapt.

His hearing was more sensitive, for without the constant buzz of endermen, the End was dead quiet. Maybe that wasn’t the best metaphor, though.

His eyesight was better, but it was different. He wasn’t sure how to describe it. Dull? Maybe it came from staring into the void.

He did keep talking, but only spoke in the human dialect when the voice of Dream came to visit him. It wasn’t that often, but it kept him company. He never got that closure that everyone told him he needed. Most other times he used the endermen warbles that he had been shunned for forgetting, hoping that it might bring them back.

DId he want them back?

Time passed. He wasn’t sure if it was slowly or not, because he couldn’t tell time at all. He measured time by when his pets died, first the other parrot, then one cat, then his dog, then Enderchest. Enderpearl was the last to go, of old age or lack of food. He guessed nothing but endermen could survive in the End. Was he part of that?

He already felt half-dead. What was the difference?

He knew time had passed. He was no fool, he knew it left him behind like everyone else. He lived in his ruins alone, and he learned to tolerate it. No one used him. There was no one to use him, and no one to use him against, but he glossed over the details.

What if things had gone differently?

He couldn’t think like that. They never would go differently. He was stuck here, and maybe he’d learn to love it.

The void was becoming his best friend.

Days went by in a steady routine of the same thing over and over again, a haze that he could never be broken out of. At least, that’s what he always thought.

Until he woke up one day and heard something for the first time since he’d last felt pain from the water on his hands and had screamed. He didn’t know what it was, but as it got closer, his ears hurt more and more. He decided to curl up in his house until it was gone.

It didn’t go away. It got worse.

It stopped for a second, then it got way worse but- was that- no, it couldn’t be. Was that- was that- English?

“Ranboo? Ranboo, are you here?”

He whimpered, and the noise paused, replaced with the sound of feet hitting the ground. A shadow came across the doorway, though the room was already dark.

“Ranboo?”

He put his hands over his ears, and he heard a soft ‘oh’.

The voice spoke soft nothings, comforting words that he hadn’t heard in so long. It was a while before he felt like he could open his eyes. When he did, he gave a quiet screech of surprise.

“Tommy?”

The blond smiled. “Hey, buddy.”

Tommy was almost an adult, or was already one, either way he was old enough that his eyes told weary stories of his battles but young enough that his bones still had spirit.

“Are you real? There’s no way you’re real- you’re fake, you’ve got to be, you came after all this time?”

Tommy’s grin faltered. “I can’t understand you that well. You wanna talk in a language we’re both fluent in?”

Ranboo almost laughed, because that was such a Tommy thing to say, but instead, he felt tears welling in his eyes. He sniffled a little bit, and suddenly he was being hugged- and surely, it shouldn’t have been so nice, but it had been so long since he had last had one that he cried, and he hadn’t cried for such a long time, but it felt good to feel something again. It felt good to just be held, because it felt so good to be comforted and cared for.

Ranboo didn’t notice when Tommy brought him outside, but it was brought to his attention when Tommy said something about it, in better lighting.

“Oh, Ranboo, what happened to you?”

Ranboo didn’t respond, he was burrowed too far into a hug, and the gentle touches on his scars were more comforting than painful.

“Ranboo, I know you haven’t seen me in a while, but we gotta go back. Phil, Tubbo and Tech are all waiting for you.”

He barely registered it, but he noticed the fond nickname that Technoblade had been given, and suddenly he felt guilty for intruding on the probable whole family. “I don’t want to get in the way of your true family.” He said sleepily.

As he drifted off into the first peaceful sleep since before he found this hell, safe in Tommy’s arms, he heard one last thing.

“Aw, but you are my true family, big man.”

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

´till death do us part

@911lonestarangstweek day 4 - m is for...mcd, mourning

if you saw my posts about the 'crying fic'... this is it

thanks to liz and @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 5.5k | major character death, hurt/comfort, mourning, non-linear narrative, car accidents, hopeful ending

This is a mistake.

It’s been a long time since Carlos last did this, but not long enough at the same time. His friends would disagree with him—they tell him he needs to get back in the game, and it’s well-meaning, but they don’t get it. They don’t know how hard these past few years have been for him.

They don’t know what it’s like to lose the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with; they don’t know what it’s like to go from being engaged one day to alone the next. In fact, there’s only one person Carlos knows who even has a hope of understanding, and he really doesn’t appreciate the irony that it’s the one person he’s guaranteed to never see again.

It’s not that he meant to turn himself into a recluse after it happened; he knows that’s not what he would want for him.

Thing is, Carlos isn't sure that he gets to have an opinion anymore, since he was the one who left. Carlos doesn’t blame him for what happened—that would be stupid—but sometimes, sometimes, he just gets so damn angry at him.

(he always feels guilty for it after, which is equally as stupid as the anger. there’s no one left for him to direct it at, after all)

Carlos sighs, shaking his head as he steps into the bar. He doesn’t want to be here—he wouldn’t be here, but Michelle had threatened to make a special trip back to Austin specifically to kick his ass if he didn’t at least give this a try.

This, being the blind date his friends had insisted he go on. Technically, he could leave and still not be lying when he tells Michelle he went—he is in the bar, after all—but Carlos has never liked the idea of standing someone up, no matter the circumstances.

So here he is. Alone at a bar, nursing a lukewarm beer, and wishing he were anywhere else.

Someone slides into the seat next to him, and Carlos barely gets a second to prepare himself before he’s met with a winning smile and sparkling green eyes.

God, why did they have to be green?

“Hey,” the guy says, still smiling. “Carlos, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Domenic.”

Carlos is still trying to catch his breath, his head thumping back against the wall of the bathroom stall they’ve ended up in, when lips brush his ear, hot breath sending electricity down his spine.

“I’m TK, by the way.” The whisper is rough, a smirk laced into it, like TK knows exactly what he’s done to him.

And Carlos is so far from fully-functioning that the only response he can come up with is a breathy, “I know.”

TK pulls back, his brows furrowing though there’s a wry quirk to his lips. “Didn’t take you for a Star Wars fan, but okay.”

Now it’s Carlos’s turn to frown as his addled brain struggles to put together TK’s thought process there. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Well. This took a turn. Carlos has no idea what’s going on, but there is something in the back of his mind that tells him he must have sounded like a creep, telling this guy he’s pretty much only just met that he already knows his name. He gestures lamely towards TK in explanation. “Your turn-out coat at the scene the other night. I thought it probably stood for something but then one of your team—Marwani, I think?—called you. So.”

Carlos shrugs, embarrassment quickly catching up with him, which seems absurd given what they just did. Then again, it’s been a long time since he’s done anything like this; he’s more of a wine-and-dine kind of guy than the type to make out with a near stranger in a less-than-sanitary bathroom.

But there’s something about TK Strand that has Carlos wanting to know everything about him.

And if everything starts here, well. He’s more than happy to take it.

Thankfully, TK seems to pick up on the sudden awkwardness in the stall. He takes a couple of steps back until he’s leaning against the opposite wall, which doesn’t really put that much space between them, but Carlos appreciates it all the same.

“So, do I get a name, or…?”

The question has Carlos flushing all over again, turning a bright red when he sees TK’s smile. He clears his throat and smiles, trying not to wince. “Carlos.”

“Carlos,” TK repeats, dragging the syllables out like he’s testing the sound of them on his tongue. Carlos shivers a little, his breath catching in his throat at the small smile that spreads across TK’s face.

Then a phone is being thrust in his hand, unlocked and opened on the Add contact page. “Put your number in,” TK says. “In case you ever, you know. Feel like doing this again.”

A thrill runs down Carlos’s spine at the thought that TK wants to do this again. Maybe he’s not the only one who feels this connection. Maybe…

Well. It’s too soon for that. But as he types in his number, Carlos can’t help but wonder where, exactly, this road might lead.

His house is quiet when he gets home. It’s a familiar kind of quiet, one that’s lain over the place like a blanket ever since that day three years ago. Carlos has gotten used to it over time, and he thinks that maybe it’s eased a little—but only a little.

Things haven’t changed much over the years. TK’s stuff still decorates the house, not as much as it used to, but Carlos hadn’t been able to bring himself to remove the stuffed bear that sits on the chair by their bed, or the plastic duck TK had insisted they have in the bathroom for ‘the vibes’, or the hand-sewn heart a little girl whose parents TK had saved had gifted him, which hangs proudly in their front window.

And the pictures; Carlos refuses to take the pictures down. The one sitting on his nightstand had been turned over for a long time after the accident, but now he can’t imagine going to bed each night without seeing it. It’s from their engagement party, a candid captured by Evie, a professional photographer in the making according to Tommy.

Carlos is inclined to agree—the photo, showing him and TK looking at each other, wide smiles on both their faces, is his favourite thing in the world.

His phone rings, making him jump. Carlos sighs heavily when he sees Michelle’s name flash up on FaceTime and he briefly considers declining, but there’s no way she’d be deterred so easily.

He takes a second to get himself together, then answers, plastering a smile on his face. “Hey chica.”

Michelle doesn’t waste a second in getting to the point. “So,” she says, leaning forward and grinning, “how’d it go?”

“It went.”

Her smile falters and she frowns, scrutinising him. “Did you even go?”

“Yes.” Carlos purses his lips, not wanting to get into it anymore, but Michelle is insistent and he’s too tired to make excuses right now. “His name is Domenic, he’s nice, I’m not seeing him again.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Carlos.” Michelle sighs, her voice going quiet. “It’s been three years.”

“That’s not a long time.”

“I know.”

“I still dream about him, ‘Chelle,” Carlos cuts in, sudden tears overwhelming him. “I still—I still think about what I could have done differently to save him, I still imagine the future we could have had. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop. I don’t know if I can stop.”

“When Iris disappeared—”

“It’s not the same,” he snaps, harsher than he means to. “You always had that hope, right? Everyone was telling you Iris was dead, but you always believed that she would come back. And she did, and I am so happy about that, I am, but guess what, Michelle? TK is dead. He’s dead. I’m never gonna see him again—in fact, the last time I did see him, it was when his body was lying in a morgue, and he was so cold and so still and so—so not TK that I could barely believe it was him.

“But it was, because he’s dead. It’s not the same.”

He’s properly crying by the time he finishes his speech, and Michelle has tears in her eyes too. Carlos feels a little guilty now, but he can’t bring himself to be fully sorry for what he said. Still, Michelle looks crushed, and Carlos can’t lose his best friend.

One more loss would kill him, he thinks.

“Michelle, listen—”

“It’s fine, Carlos,” she interrupts, swiping a hand under her eyes. “You… You’re right. It’s not the same. I’ll just. I’ll leave you alone now. I��m sorry the date didn’t work out.”

Then she’s gone, and Carlos is alone again, the weight of it settling uncomfortably on his shoulders.

Their first real date is painfully awkward, reminiscent of covert high school meet-ups with boys in the nearby diners, or like that one time Carlos tried using a dating app. That had been an experience he’d wanted to forget, but now he finds himself recalling it in horrific detail as he and TK sit on opposite sides of a table, a plate of limp fries slowly cooling between them.

“So—”

“I was thinking—”

They both speak at the same time, and an embarrassed flush rises on Carlos’s cheeks. He swallows past the lump in his throat and gestures to TK, barely able to look him in the eyes. “You should go first.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “I was about to tell you the same thing. Since when have things been this awkward between us? We fucked on the floor of your front room about a week after meeting, surely we should be well past this stage by now.”

He has a point.

Carlos laughs too and finally works up the courage to meet TK’s gaze. “I mean, it’s not like we were doing much talking back then.”

“Things are a lot simpler without clothes,” TK agrees, a suggestive lilt to his tone and, somehow, it’s all that’s needed to break the tense silence they’d previously been suffering in. Carlos grabs a fry, grimacing at the grease that instantly coats his fingers, and points it at TK.

“Cool it, Strand,” he warns. “You aren’t going to find it that easy to seduce me anymore.”

TK grins, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Officer.”

Carlos is surprised when he wakes up the next morning to a text from Domenic.

Hey, it reads. Sorry about last night. I know that you’re not into me or whatever and that’s cool, but I like you. Do you think we could maybe still be friends?

He sighs and drops his phone onto his bare chest, arm flopping onto the other side of the bed. It’s funny, he thinks idly; before TK, he’d tended to sleep closer to the middle and it had never bothered him. Now, it feels weird to break from the way things used to be—in Carlos’s head, the left side is still TK’s, and the right his.

He knows what Domenic’s text implies. ‘Let’s be friends and then we can see how it goes’. Carlos could tell him now that it’s not going anywhere and save them both the trouble, but he kind of...wants a friend.

It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears, but all his friends are either fellow cops, the 126, or Michelle, who’s in another state. And Domenic was nice. So, really, what’s the harm?

Twenty minutes later, they have plans to meet at a coffee shop.

Ten minutes after that, Carlos arrives.

Carlos startles as TK’s arms suddenly slip around his waist, his chin pressing into Carlos’s shoulder. He quickly relaxes into the hold, covering TK’s hands with his own, but TK isn’t fooled.

“Where did you go?” he murmurs, breath tickling Carlos’s neck.

“Nowhere,” Carlos answers. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well…” He hesitates, biting his lip, then spins to face TK, letting their still-joined hands swing in the minute space between them. “This is crazy, right? Not, like, bad crazy—well, a little bit bad crazy; our last place did burn down—but all of this. Getting a house together. Three bedrooms. All of it. It’s crazy.”

TK grins, the little frown that had emerged at Carlos’s first words quickly melting away. “Completely,” he agrees. He kisses Carlos briefly, then steps away, breaking their hands apart to tread a slow circuit around their new front room. Carlos watches him fondly, somehow falling even more in love with him.

“You know,” TK says suddenly, his eyes roving around the empty space, “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“What do you mean?”

He waves his hands, gesturing at the flaking paint on the walls and the lack of furniture. “Decorated a house. I had an apartment in New York but that came fully-furnished and I didn’t exactly have a ton of stuff to add. And then when I moved here with my dad, I didn’t care too much about how the house looked, and you know how my dad is about interior design. It’s a little...scary, thinking about doing it now, with you.”

Carlos’s eyes widen, his heart clenching at the words. “Do you… Do you not want to do this?” he asks, half-dreading the answer. He’d thought they were both on the same page here, but what if… What if…

“What?” TK frowns, crossing the room in three quick strides to meet Carlos. “Babe, no, of course I want to. It’s a good kind of scary, I promise.”

“You sure?” Carlos scans his boyfriend’s face, searching for any hint of doubt or anxiety. But there is none, and TK just smiles, kissing Carlos’s cheek.

“A thousand percent,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

(‘Fun’ isn’t the word Carlos would give to what came next. ‘Frustrating’, possibly. Or ‘exhausting’. Maybe even ‘interminable’.)

(But, at the end of it all, they have a home. Their home. And Carlos can see their future taking shape before his very eyes.)

Domenic grins when he sees Carlos approaching him, and a part of Carlos regrets even agreeing to come. But he can hardly turn around now, so he forces a smile and slides into the chair next to him, extending a hand to shake. Domenic sends him a strange look at that, but obliges anyway, shaking Carlos’s hand with a surprising firmness.

“Hey,” he says, still smiling.

“Hey.” Carlos sighs, taking in Domenic’s bright eyes and warm, hopeful face, and decides, fuck it. “Look, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m not looking for anything right now. My friends set me up on that date with you—and it’s not that I don’t think you’re a good guy, I honestly do, but—”

“Carlos.” Domenic appears to be fighting off laughter, though he’s not entirely successful in it, a brief chuckle slipping past his lips. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I know it sounds hard to believe, but I really am okay with being friends. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes, but…”

He trails off, seeing what must be obvious doubt on Carlos’s face. “Look, I’m kind of new in town, alright? I don’t really know many people around here, and I’m just...fuck, man. I’m lonely. So if you wanna be friends, then that’s incredible and more than enough for me. I swear.”

And Domenic is looking at him so earnestly that Carlos really has no choice but to believe him. He feels himself flushing a bright red, embarrassed at how self-centred and narcissistic he must have seemed, and a stammered apology is halfway out of his mouth when Domenic reaches over and lays a firm hand on his arm.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, patting once before drawing back. “I do want to ask, though, if you don’t mind? Why did you come on the date if you didn’t want to? Not many guys would.”

Carlos huffs a laugh. “My friends think I’m turning into a hermit. It’s an assessment that I...wouldn’t disagree with. Let’s just say you’re not the only one looking for a friend.”

Domenic’s eyebrows quirk up in interest. “Oh? Anything to do with your unwillingness to date? I mean, a guy like you—it’s hard to imagine that you don’t have men practically throwing themselves at you. Maybe even literally. How come you’re still single? Is there...someone else?”

Carlos’s whole body tenses at the question, his gaze dropping to his hands and his heart in his shoes. Tension lies thick in the air, and he feels the sudden urge to flee, but he’s rooted to his chair, stuck under Domenic’s scrutiny.

“Shit,” Domenic says, voice hushed. “Carlos, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Fuck, forget I said anythin—”

“I was engaged.”

Carlos hadn’t meant to say it. He doesn’t know why he did. It’s just… He hasn’t really talked about TK properly with anyone in the three years since; his friends were all TK’s friends too, and they all knew him—knew them.

This is the first time he’s actually spending time with someone who didn’t know, and it’s not freeing exactly, but it’s the first time he feels free to speak about TK the way he wants to, without anyone else’s memories looming over it.

“I’m not anymore, obviously,” he laughs wryly, finally managing to look back up at Domenic, finding shock on his face. “It was… It ended.”

Domenic’s mouth opens and closes several times before he’s able to pull himself together enough to speak. “Who called it off?” he asks—which was not what Carlos was expecting. “Because if it was him, man. He really missed out there.”

Carlos hesitates a moment, then answers, “It was him. But it wasn’t on purpose.” He breathes out shakily, swallowing hard. “He died a month before the wedding.”

Carlos smirks as he hears a groan at his back, glancing over his shoulder to find TK pretending to bang his head on the table. “Having fun, babe?”

Another groan. “Let’s just elope. Let’s get married in some random courthouse by some random Texas official. That way we wouldn’t have to figure out stuff like a seating plan or—or what kind of cake knife to use. I mean, babe.” TK sends a pleading look in Carlos’s direction, and Carlos can’t help but laugh, cruel though it feels when TK’s wounded expression just gets worse.

“I’m pretty sure my mother and your dad would kill us if we did that,” he points out, causing TK’s mouth to twist.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t.” Grinning, Carlos turns back to his chopping, except, when he reaches out for the next ingredient, he only meets empty space. “Mierda. TK, babe, can you run to the store? I forgot the chilis.”

“Can’t you just leave them out?”

There’s a hopeful note to TK’s tone, but Carlos stands firm—his cooking is the one thing he’s able to resist TK for. “You’d think you’d be used to spices by now,” he comments. “And the answer is no; go on. You’ll barely even taste them.”

TK mutters his disagreement, but he gets up and leaves anyway. Carlos watches him go, shaking his head fondly before returning to dinner. Technically, he could leave the chilis out, but he’s been brought up to consider even the mere suggestion as sacrilege, and he’s not planning on letting TK persuade him otherwise any time soon.

Twenty minutes later, he’ll regret that decision more than anything else in the world.

“Carlos, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to—”

“I want to. As long as you’re okay with it; I don’t want to just unload all over you.”

“It’s okay, I promise. What are friends for?”

Carlos frowns, checking the clock. TK should have been back by now; the store is only a five minute drive from their place, and surely he would have texted if he was going to be delayed. He’s about to call him himself when his phone starts ringing, TK’s name flashing up on the screen.

He sighs in relief, answering the call. “Did you get lost or something?”

Silence.

“TK?”

Nothing again, and Carlos’s panic starts to skyrocket. “TK!”

And, this time, he gets an answer.

“C-Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart drops into his stomach at the rasp of TK’s voice. He sounds like he can barely breathe—in fact, if Carlos strains to listen, he can hear stilted, ragged breaths coming through the phone’s speakers. TK is hurt, probably seriously, and, fuck, it was Carlos who sent him out in the first place, this is his fault, he—

“Carlos, please.”

He breaks out of his spiral and clutches his phone tight to his ear, racing around the house to get his shoes on and grab his keys. “TK, where are you? I’ll find you, I promise I will, and you’re gonna be just fine, okay?”

TK doesn’t speak for a few seconds, before, “No.”

Carlos screeches to a halt. “What?”

“I don’t—I can’t tell you where I am. I don’t know. And there’s—there’s no time. No— Someone found me, they called 9-1-1, but they won’t—there’s no time.”

“TK, don’t you dare give up, okay, don’t you dare talk like that. You just need to focus on my voice and stay awake for a little while longer and then they’ll get you to a hospital where they’ll fix you up. You’ll be good as new right in time for the wedding.”

“The wedding. Carlos, I—”

“And if this is your way of getting out of making all the decisions, then it’s a little bit over the top, you know? I mean, point proven and all that, but you could have just told me.” He’s getting hysterical now, he can feel it, standing in the middle of his front room trying to keep his fiancé alive and talking when he’s god-knows-where in god-knows-what condition.

But, as always, TK is there to centre him again. “Carlos, stop, please.”

Carlos doesn’t know if it’s the way TK’s voice is getting quieter and quieter, his energy obviously flagging, or if it’s his pleading tone, but he’s suddenly struck completely still. He can’t move a muscle, every sense tuned into whatever is happening on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t—I don’t want to spend the time we have left lying to each other,” TK eventually says, his words riding on broken breaths now. “I don’t want to leave you, but I think… No, I know that I have to now. I’m s-so sorry. I wish… I wish we…” A gasp, and a horrific cough that sounds like it’s tearing TK apart. “I love you.”

Carlos doesn’t get a chance to reply before there’s a loud thud, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what caused it.

TK dropped the phone.

TK passed out.

It’s salt in the wound when, seconds later, Carlos hears the wail of sirens approaching the scene.

There are tears dripping down his face as he tells Domenic of the sheer, gut-wrenching panic and fear of those next few minutes.

How he’d been unable to put the phone down, instead listening as the screech of machinery and the raised voices of firefighters and paramedics drifted through the speakers.

How the noises had dimmed when they extracted TK, and how Carlos had strained to listen as the paramedics began to work on him.

And how, when he’d heard those final words, his world had come crashing down.

“I’m calling it. McRae, radio it in to the ME’s office.”

This isn’t happening.

Carlos cannot be sitting in his parents’ backyard, at his fiancé’s wake, in the same place and wearing the same suit that he was supposed to be getting married in a month from now.

He—

Fuck.

Carlos presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and curls in on himself, barely suppressing a moan of agony at the pain in his chest. He’s distantly aware of everyone’s gazes on him, but he can’t stop this tidal wave of emotion anymore than he can turn back time and change the fact that TK is dead and that Carlos failed him.

TK died all alone, and Carlos didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or tell him that he loved him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak at the funeral—the one thing, the last thing he could do for the love of his life.

Instead, when it was his turn to speak, he’d been frozen in his chair, eyes locked on the coffin—(and, fuck, TK was in there, that was TK, fuckfuckfuck)—and Judd had had to take over.

Carlos hadn’t heard a word he'd said, though he’s sure it was beautiful, and everything that TK deserved.

Everything that Carlos couldn’t give him.

He failed him, he failed, he—

“No,” a hushed voice says, warm arms pulling him into a tight hug, and Carlos must have been talking aloud without realising because the voice keeps reassuring him. “You didn’t fail, sweetheart, you didn’t, I promise. You were there for him at the end and that’s all that matters; that he wasn’t alone when it happened. I know it hurts but it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

Carlos tenses, wanting to scream at whoever’s holding him because how could anything possibly be okay? But when he pulls out of their grip, he sees that it’s Gwyn, her eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, and all Carlos can do is fall apart in his not-quite-mother-in-law’s arms.

She keeps whispering that it’s okay, and Carlos knows that it’s as much for her own benefit as for his.

“Hey sweetheart,” Carlos whispers, getting out of his car and leaning against the closed door. He always comes here when he wants to remember TK; it is where they said goodbye to him after all. And it’s the place where they had so many important moments—it’s where they became official, and where they finally spoke openly and completely with each other for the first time, and where they got engaged.

It’s their place, ridiculous as it might sound.

“Remember that night?” he asks, even now feeling a little self-conscious talking to the air. “I made you a picnic and we came out here to eat it and you somehow managed to get chocolate on your nose from the chocolate-covered strawberries.” Carlos chuckles, then sighs wistfully. “You were so beautiful. I had this whole plan to propose to you, but one look at your face and that damn bit of chocolate and I forgot the entire thing.

“I just blurted it out, right there and then. ‘Marry me, Tyler Kennedy’, and you said yes, and it was perfect.”

He blinks furiously, tears beginning to blur his vision. “I thought… But it was too perfect, I guess. Perfect things never last, and since I was never going to leave you, the universe forced you to leave me.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s nothing you don’t already know, and I’m not sure if I even believe that you can hear me. I never used to, back when we were together, but things change when suddenly the one who’s gone is someone you love. I’d give anything, Ty, anything to talk to you again, so I’m here.

“You know… Just in case.”

His hands tremble and he swallows reflexively against the pain and grief crawling up his throat. He reaches inside the car through the window and grabs the bouquet of flowers he brought with him off the passenger seat.

It’s the same one he always brings whenever he comes out here—red camellias, hydrangeas, blue salvias, and forget-me-nots—all flowers that have meaning to them and their relationship. Hydrangeas for understanding; it had been the first flower TK had given him, his way of saying thanks for sticking around even after their disastrous beginnings.

The camellia, Carlos had gifted TK one anniversary. It means ‘you’re a flame in my heart’, which TK always was, always, and Carlos had found it a little funny too, given TK’s background. TK had loved it, and had made sure to tell Carlos in as many ways as he could think of that he felt the same.

The salvias were something they both did, often and at random, sometimes with no particular reason. Just whenever they wanted each other to know they were thinking of them—though, that was something they knew anyway.

Carlos had added the forget-me-nots himself after… After it had happened. It’s a reassurance, both to him and to TK, that he’s not forgetting; that he never will.

That he can’t, even now, three years down the line.

On shaky legs, he walks over to the tree a little distance away, laying the bouquet between the roots almost reverently. Carlos stares down at them long after he’s straightened back up, leaning against the tree, and he allows the memories and the pain to overwhelm him for a moment.

“Can you believe it’s been three years?” he asks the empty air, shaking his head. “I swear, I still miss you like it was yesterday; it doesn’t seem real that I haven’t seen you or kissed you or heard your voice in three whole years.

“I’m going to see your dad later. He’s… He’s doing okay, all things considered. He misses you—we all do—but I think he tries to hide it, like he has to be the strong one for everyone else. Don’t worry though, Ty, we’re looking after him. Making sure he doesn’t, you know. Do anything stupid.

“Your mom helps out a lot too, her and Enzo and Isaac. God, TK you’d be so proud of Isaac now—he’s started school, making loads of friends, and he’s just… He’s such a good kid. I wish you could see him; he was so young when you— You’d be amazed at how big he’s getting. And, hey, we’re making sure that he knows who his big brother was, so...so don’t worry about that either.”

Carlos hesitates before continuing; it feels weird to talk about Domenic here. He doesn’t need to, he knows—technically, there’s nothing even going on between them, though Carlos couldn’t deny how good it had felt when Domenic had hugged him when they parted ways after coffee. But there’s been a weird lump of guilt sitting in his stomach since that first date at the bar, and Carlos figures that TK deserves to know about it.

Even if he’s three years dead and probably can’t hear any of this.

“I met someone, you know,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s not like that, we’re just friends, but I think… I think maybe it could be like that? Maybe? I don’t know, Ty. I thought I’d never be able to love anyone in that way ever again, but Domenic is so kind and sweet and he makes me wonder if there’s a chance.

“I’m terrified. It’s—It’s stupid and selfish, but I’m so scared of getting hurt again, of having to go through what I went through with you again. Not that I blame you for the accident, it’s just… I can’t do it again. I can’t.

“God, even considering this feels like I’m betraying you. I do hate you a little for that; you still own so much of my heart and I’m never getting it back, whereas all I have of you are your hoodies and your mugs and that goddamn stuffed bear. Why did you have to go and ruin me like that, huh? Why, TK?”

He’s almost shouting now, but the question fades unanswered into the air, and Carlos’s anger vanishes with it. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t hate you. I love you so much, and I always will, but I think maybe it’s time for me to let some of that go. I can’t carry on like this for much longer; you understand that, right?”

And maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the breeze picks up a little then, gently ruffling Carlos’s curls, and it feels like… It feels like peace.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s like he can feel TK there, like he never left at all.

I know, it feels like, his voice ringing loud and clear in Carlos’s head. I love you.

“I love you, too,” Carlos whispers, opening his eyes. TK isn’t there, of course, but, somehow, he doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Then, with one final glance at the flowers, Carlos turns and walks away, his heart feeling lighter than it has in three years.

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